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chaosfae-writes · 3 months

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

synopsis; a tender moment away from the chaos.

pairing; Alicent Hightower x brown!Targaryen!reader

a/n; a drabble for my love, mine all mine. requested by a lovely mutual from ao3. fluff for my gay mothers. they deserve it.

It’s a miracle from the Seven that the raven hasn’t been struck dead by the heat of Alicent’s eyes.

A letter has arrived, hailing from Dragonstone. Princess Rhaenyra declares her soon return to King’s Landing—- the note wrinkles under Alicent’s fingers.

It has been two months.

Two months since the incident with Vaemond—- who broods in his self-pity. He's been a sore thumb, he doesn’t quite mesh well in the king’s court. He reeks of the sea, and his insistence of traveling to Driftmark has not ceased.

Rhaenyra, nor Laenor doesn’t have any inkling that Alysanne has been born. Alicent has relished in her selfishness, savoring all her time with Alysanne, and you.

Even in the past days, Vaemond has barely held Alysanne—- Alicent ensured of that. Now the Realm’s Delight is to return and soil Alicent’s life once more.

A dread burdens Alicent’s mind as she tosses the letter in the fire’s pit, watching it smolder to ash within the flames.

Alicent worries. She worries that Rhaenyra will meddle. Snatch Alysanne under the guise of a doting aunt—- and her plain featured sons mingling with Alysanne, Alicent scoffs under her breath.

A sinking sensation caves inside Alicent’s cavity, her footfalls faltering.

Mutely Alicent enters her chambers, moving in the silence as a mouse.

Her quarters are warm, provided heat from the burning hearth. Thankfully, the windows are shielded by the floor-length double curtains—- white and green. A comforting dimness casts upon Alicent. Candles are lit, providing a dew hue.

A spacious chamber, meant for the queen, her only reprieve. In the corner, is a cradle with toys.

Sniffling as her shaky fingers unclip her earrings—- she stops in her tracks.

On her massive bed, there lay three sleeping lumps huddled.

Alicent quietly steps closer to the bed, a small tender smile curls at her lips. Sunk into the massive stitched quilts, pale and sepia arms interlocked—- and tucked in the middle is a small bundle with short tuft of silver, and chubby brown curling fists.

Helaena rests to the left, as you lay asleep on the right of the mattress. Alysanne stretches her small arms, and settles back in her sleep.

Alicent is grateful that you can understand Helaena—- and be her comfort. Helaena is a painfully shy, and odd child, but she is Alicent’s pride and joy.

That Targaryen strangeness, how sweetly you would coddle Helaena as a little duckling. Especially, when Helaena would get fussy, you always calmed her down.

It’s only you that Alicent fully trusts with her children, how you helped her when she didn’t feel any bond with them when they were freshly born.

Eased the burden of motherhood, let her rest when the children got too rambunctious, and she felt the threads of her sanity snapping.

Alicent quietly sits at the edge, her hand finding rest on your hip, caressing you through the embroidered quilt. A sweet sight that calms Alicent, the stresses melting away from her skin.

Alicent’s hand leans to Alysanne’s little chest, feeling her breathing under her palm. Her finger stroking the plump cheek, her small sleepy huffs. Moving to Helaena’s silver head, curling her hair behind the shell of ear.

Alicent’s body yearns to rest, she stands to get up for her vanity.

Alicent tugs on the emerald fabric, undressing and freeing her flesh. The dress falls in a wrinkled bundle by her feet, leaving her in her undergarment sheath.

Walking to her dresser, as she untangles the gold ringlets from her thick waves. One by one, removing the rings on her fingers —- all but one.

The one you gifted her, on that day on Dragonstone. Alicent can still feel the warmth of the sun, and the sweet whispers of shared vows. She twirls the bejeweled ring between her finger tips, a small smile curls.

Bare from jewelry and confining lace, thick waves of curls bounce down to the nape of spine, Alicent’s eyes gaze through her mirror—— catching yours in the reflection.

She hums a giggle. With a grace to her step, Alicent walks to the bed. Curling under the quilt, you gaze at Alicent sleepily. Cuddling Helaena’s little body to her chest, Alicent interlocks her ankles with yours.

You can tell by the way Alicent’s eyes droop that she’s been thinking too hard —- worrying too hard.

Tenderly, your knuckles graze Alicent’s cheek. “What ails you, my dearest?” The pad of your thumb soothes under her eye, cupping her face. Alicent holds your hand in hers, eyes closing with a dejected sigh.

For a split second, you stare at her red cuticles.

“Nothing of importance.” Alicent says, kissing your wrist. “The council’s insistent bickering over the realm.” She swallows.

It pains Alicent not to be honest with you, but your love for your sister has not yet simmered. She intends to keep you away from Rhaenyra as long as she can, hoping that a distance can be reached between your eldest sister and yourself.

Not only for yourself, but for Alysanne’s future.

“As the Princess, I order you to stay,” both of you giggle quietly. “I command the Queen’s presence.”

“Ah, how could I disobey an order?” Alicent jests. A happy toothy smile. A comfortable heat encases you both. Alicent plays with Alysanne’s soft tuft of hair.

“How did they fair the day?” Alicent asks.

“They fell asleep rather quickly,” you say, looking at the girls adoringly. “Helaena was excited to show Alysanne her toy bugs.”

Alicent scrunches her nose, “I prefer the wooden ones, I found one crawling near my dresser.” You suck in your lips, to stifle the laugh that rips in your chest, shaking.

Alicent tuts, “Pray to the Gods, you don’t discover a beetle dancing in your sheets.” She speaks through a laugh, her smile wanton now. Her cheeks glowing.

Small conversations, and a few kisses flowed through the hour. Within the noon, all fell in slumber, hugging in embrace.

#alicent hightower x reader #alicent hightower lesbian #wlw #brown reader #chaosfae drabble

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tekia · 2 months

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Sun Blind

I commissioned @meredithmcclaren! She was a pleasure to work with and produces some of my favorite art! (I got my character drawn by @meredithmcclaren!!!!! omg how cool is that??(◕ᗜ◕))

Najma closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

In the shade offered by the balcony above her, she stamped her feet and stretched her arms, twisting her back and bending her knees. She had ran around the arena twice before arriving at the entrance, and her skin was pleasantly flushed, her body loose. Her bare toes dug into the dry dirt under her feet, the bite of the marble stone walkway bisecting her foot, cold and rough compared to the fine grain of the dirt in the arena.

Cheers and cries of merchants filled the air around her as the people gathered in the stands awaited the show. Children laughed at the antics of the fools now dancing for their entertainment. Drunkards shouted for more wine and beer. Somewhere, one woman’s boisterous laugh carried over the rest. Horns trumpeted in the distance as a foot race concluded, and a cheer went up as the victor celebrated.

Najma tried to ignore it all as she shook out her arms. She bounced on the balls of her feet, balanced delicately on that edge of marble.

“Najma,” her brother called softly from just beside her, and her eyes popped open.

“What are you doing here?”

Zilan smiled slightly, his dark hair blowing in his face as a breeze picked up, carrying with it the scents of fried foods, unwashed bodies, and animal. Najma shivered at the scent of angry bull.

“I’ve come to wish you luck.” He held out a length of ribbon, brightly dyed and thin. She peered at it happily until he motioned for her to turn. She presented her back to him and felt him tying the ribbon into her tightly bound hair. The tips of the ribbon only just brushed her shoulders once he was done.

“I love the color,” she said, picking up the end and eyeing it. It wasn’t an expensive ribbon, but Zilan surely knew how likely she was to ruin it today, perhaps even lose it. But it was the thought that counted.

Red for luck.

She turned back to him, smiling up at him.

He had always been taller than her, as far back as her first memories, when he held her clutched in his arms, his heart pounding loudly against her ear as she cried for their parents. It had been so cold back then, in the dark and rain.

She shivered again, and he reached out and rubbed his hands down her arms. “You’re ready for this.”

“Mn,” she agreed. “I know I am.” Her heart was pounding as loud as his had on the night they lost their home, for a reason so far removed that she couldn’t hold the sadness in her heart.

She knew the sadness of their loss was never far from her brother’s thoughts, something that kept him going in troubled times, but he tried for her. He smiled at her confidence and nodded.

“I’ll be watching from up there,” he said, pointing above their heads. She bit her lip.

Up there, the rich could afford seats under a shade and servants to bring them food from the market without them having to brave the crush. She and Zilan were certainly not wealthy enough to place among them.

Their parents had been simple folk, weavers by trade, dead these past eleven years. They had escaped the raging waves of the untamed river that had swollen with freezing waters into the city with only the clothes on their backs with the other displaced peoples of the flood. Just a pair of orphans among the dozens of others, lost into the crowd of poor and hungry.

Zilan had been old enough to become an apprentice, and clever enough to hide his sister in his little room permitted to him by his master that they had survived, but Najma had to wonder how much of their luck was due to hard work and how much of it was due to Zilan’s loose morals.

She had seen him come home far too often beaten and bloodied.

He patted her shoulder and shook his head. “Just focus on your performance today.”

She nodded. “Be careful up there with the lofty types, hum? They’re far more dangerous than any thief with a knife in the dark alley.”

“And you beware of the horn!” He pinched her cheek like she was still a child. Whinging like a child, she pulled away, batting at his hand.

“I know Sap well! He will not harm me!”

Laughing and shaking his head, Zilan left to take his seat as horns within the arena sounded. Najma returned to her preparations, stretching and bouncing on her toes.

She wore little clothes, so as not to have anything that might catch and pull. She had bits of cloth wrapped around the length of her feet, leaving her heel and toes free. Her hair had been pulled up, secured with pins and ribbons. Beside her, two other young women also prepared for their own performances. Dressed similarly, the three of them were a little troupe of dancers that knew no rivals in the city.

The oldest of them was Selika, dark and tall. She was well muscled and limber, and had been dancing their dance since she was a child, as her father had been a master in his own time. Najma was only two years younger than her, and the third girl was much younger, coming only up to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma wasn’t tall at all.

Salima had been sold to Selika’s father as a serving maid when her mother died and her father found he didn’t have it in him to care about a girl child that couldn’t work the fields. Selika’s father was a decent man that raised Salima as his own, giving her his family name, and teaching her alongside Selika. When Najma appeared to watch the girls practice, the man had easily drew her into the lessons until she was a part of the little troupe as if she were their sister, too.

He had died two years ago, a cough that wouldn’t go away, so Selika had taken over the training, while their cousin, Atam, insisted on taking over the business end of her father’s business.

He wasn’t as decent. Salima now lived with Najma, and Selika hoarded away as much money as she could, out of his hands.

Salima jumped into the air, touching the tips of her fingers to her toes in the air, and a few children spotted her, cheering at the display of skill. Salima landed, her arms thrown up into the air, posed just right, back arched, feet planted. A louder cheer went up.

Two fools came running back toward them.

“Let’s go,” Selika said, then ran out into the arena. Najma followed, and she could feel Salima behind her.

Two steps out of the shade, the sun bore down on them and sweat beaded on her brow, but she ignored it all in favor of leaping into the air, her hands landing with a dull thud in the dirt. She shoved back to her feet, into another flip, and a third, hands nearly touching her heels with every flip.

She caught glimpses of Selika doing a similar trick, higher into the air than herself. Then she stopped just in time for Najma to flip onto her shoulders. She caught her balance and held her pose as Salima lightly skipped onto her back. She touched a hand to Najma’s shoulder, and Najma gripped her leg and lifted her into the air.

Salima waved to the crowd, drawing more cheers, before Najma dropped her leg and caught her by her arm pits and then let her to the ground. Selika threw her into the air, and Najma twisted into a spiral before landing sideways in her arms.

“Good,” Selika commented before setting her on her feet. Najma nodded to her before bouncing back into motion, kicking up into the air to the cheers around them.

Flip. Flip. Flip. Twist. Land and tumble under Salima’s flip. Climb Selika’s knee and flip. Catch Salima and throw. Pose. And breathe.

She looked over the crowd, but there were so many people she couldn’t quite tell one face from another, and the balcony was facing the sun.

Who had decided to make them face the sun?

She glanced at Selika and saw that she was also worried about the sun. Under the balcony, Najma could just make out the shape of Atam as he opened Sap’s pin, but the bull that exited wasn’t Sap.

He was an unfamiliar bull, and Najma stiffed as fear coursed down her spine. The bull scuffed the ground, his snorts sending up a plum of dust.

“That’s not Sap!” Salima cried, her voice high with terror.

“Salima,” Selika snapped. “You stay out of his sight.”

“But-”

“But nothing. You stay out of his sight. Keep the crowd entertained and distracted with your flips and tumbles.”

“Yes, xwişk.”

“Najma-”

“Let me do it.”

“You-”

“He’s too short for you. You’ll get injured if he tosses his head. I can do it.”

Selika sighed. “Okay. I’ll dance.”

Grimly nodding her head. Najma ran forward. She knew Selika would be running just beside her. Salima would be sure to flip around to the back of the bull where he couldn’t see her and would hopefully forget about her.

The first pass the two girls dodged his wide horns as he charged, and each flipped in a different direction as the bull turned to face them again.

From around her waist, Najma tugged free the red pennant that would draw the bull’s attention to her alone. With the dust and dirt in the air, the red wasn’t as vibrant as in the fields just outside the city, but the size and fluttering nature of the fabric was enough to keep him distracted.

Selika kept pace with her as she raced toward the bull again, but once more they diverged when the bull swung wildly. Too dangerous to trust.

Panting, Najma knew that they’d couldn’t keep it up. Two flips was the standard. Najma daren’t go for more. Sap would have tolerated it, but this unknown bull was dangerous. Where did he even come from?

The third pass arrived and the bull lowered his head just right. Najma felt Selika break off as she caught the bull by the horns and threw herself into the air, feet over her head, body twisting as the bull tossed his head, shoving her farther up into the air. Silently cursing, she released the horns and touched her feet to his spine before quickly skipping off into a second flip.

That wasn’t elegant or smooth, she thought as she landed on her knee, quickly tumbling to her feet and dodging out of the raging beast’s path. Selika distracted the bull only momentarily before he was once more charging at Najma.

He was too close. The sun was directly in her eyes.

Huffing, Najma nodded to herself and met him head on again. He swung his head the wrong direction, and, had she time, she would have broke off, but they were too close. She heard Salima cry out.

Launching herself into the air, she landed on her hands on the bull’s shoulders, felt his horn brush her thigh, but shoved off just as quickly and landed on the ground, knees bent to absorb the impact.

There was blood dripping down her inner thigh, but it was done.

She did a back flip in place then looked to the bull.

She had dropped the red pennant on the last jump, and the bull had mauled it into the dirt. Selika was flipping off to one side, headed toward the shelter of the balcony. Salima was already in the shade behind the stone guard that surrounded the arena.

Najma quickly made her way out of the arena amid the cheers. Panting, she stopped beside Salima. “Are you alright?”

“Mn, he didn’t come near me.”

She reached out and patted her hair. “Good. That was dangerous.”

“You still did it.”

She nodded. “It was too late for all of us to back out. Never jump over an unknown bull, Salima. You saw how he tossed me the first time and then gouged me the second?”

Salima looked down at the blood on her leg. “That looks painful.”

“If it was painful, she wouldn’t have done it,” Selika’s cousin sneered, snapping a rope in his hands. “What a pathetic display.”

Selika stepped between them, glaring at her cousin. “Where is Sap?”

Atam shrugged. “I sold him. He cost too much to feed.”

“What?!” The three girls shouted in unison. Najma and Salima gaped at Atam while Selika fought to keep the rage out of her voice.

“How dare you? He was my bull!”

Atam waved a hand and turned away. “And the money I got for him will pay your rent.”

“In my father’s house?”

“And for your upkeep,” he went on, ignoring her. “Next time, I expect to see a better show.” He snapped at the arena. “And get that bull back into the pin so I can return him to his owner.”

He left them, and Najma could only reach out and rest a hand on Selika’s shoulder.

Salima leaned against her own shoulder. “How are we supposed to get him back in the pin?”

Selika shook her head, looking lost and afraid. Najma didn’t know what to say, and when she turned to wrap her arm around Salima, she spotted her brother standing farther inside the shelter, his arms over his chest and glaring at Atam as the man walked away.

She shivered at the hatred and anger in his eyes. She hadn’t seen that look since the day they discovered that the district governor had been the one to order the dam upriver from their family’s village to be destroyed.

That governor was now dead through unknown causes.

She met Zilan’s eye and shook her head. His eyes narrowed then he moved away, disappearing into the shadows, out of her sight.

#original character #ttrpg character #comissioned art #original work #original fiction #2k words

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eveenstar · 4 months

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heii!! ^^, can you make another hoodie x reader one-shot? i've come to love ALL of your scenarios ,, left me wanting more :D

if you don't want to do this... well! thats fine, i'd understand! ^^

maybe... hoodie's hurt? and reader cares for him?

hurt, as in, wounded! like, knife stab or something!

thank you,

take care

One injured Hoodie coming through! This was interesting to write. Hope you enjoy! Sorry it's short. Take care! ♡

your blood in my hands (and I wouldn't have it any other way) | Brian Thomas/Hoodie

tw: reader's gender isn't specified. Obvious blood mentions, nothing too gory.

Beneath your hands, Brian lays as still as a rock. He doesn't flinch from your touch, not after the last three reprimands you muttered under your breath. It was odd enough that he let you tend to his wound, even more that he actually listened to you! Then again, there was a bullet wound on his body. Thankfully, it hadn't punctured any organs. Still, you were surprised someone had managed to survive long enough to shoot him.

Ah, well, Brian wasn't a young man anymore. He was closer to his mid forties than his mid twenties.

And with the number of Americans now possessing guns as if it were candy? Tsk. That was bad for business. Brian's business, that is.

"That's enough." Brian uttered, pulling himself up to his feet - and almost sliding back down onto the blood-stained chair with a frustrated hiss. "Fuck.."

"You lost too much blood." You sat back, rummaging through the old medpack. Living with a stalker-killer "employed" by an eldritch being, far away from any civilization, had forced you to take on skills such as cleaning wounds (of any kind), sewing and cooking with the bare least you had.

You sighed. "I thought... Why did you take on such a mission alone? Why not take a lesser one with you?"

"It is what He asked of me."

The words fell off painted in tones of melancholy and numbness. There was no trace of emotion behind them, like a corpse. If it wasn't for his beating heart or the living blood that stained your hands, you would've thought Brian was as much of a dead man as those that fell to his hands.

Resigned, you closed the medpack. "Then you should tell him that you are not allowed to go on any missions that aren't scavenging for information."

For the first time that morning, a hint of emotion reflected on his eyes. Raising an eyebrow, a wheeze of laughter escaped his lips. "Allowed?"

"Yes," You mimicked his expression. "You care for me, I care for you. That was our deal."

"Our deal," Brian leaned forward, supporting his elbows on his knees. He bared his teeth at you in a low hiss, "did not include you bossing me around."

Still mimicking him, you too leaned closer until the tips of your noses were grazing each other. "Consider our deal emended."

For the briefest of moments, you thought Brian would lash out, pull you away as he always did. When his eyes narrowed, you prepared yourself for the worst. Your gazes met, and you hoped to see the man behind the walls Brian built around himself. You had his blood in your hands, but you didn't have his heart. No, his heart already belonged to something far above you.

Far darker.

The flicker of his gaze to your lips did not go unnoticed. You were close enough to smell the iron-blood in his skin and feel his breath mixing with yours. You believed Brian would kiss you right then and there.

Instead, he stood to his feet with unprompted strength. With a low rumble, he said, "Your skill with the needle has improved."

You assumed that was his way of thanking you and acknowledging your efforts. One, for removing the bullet. Two, for cleaning the wound. Three, for stitching it. You huffed lightly; Brian should be thankful you didn't take advantage of his altered state, stumbling bloody upon the kitchen at early sunrise and take him out of his misery right then and there.

Then again, you doubted you could take a man of his size and strength even when injured. A deep but low voice whispered in the back of your mind that that was not the only reason; you were in this with Brian. There was no turning back. Surely, no one sane enough would happily remain in your position.

Maybe you two weren't so different after all.

#brian thomas x reader #hoodie x reader #marble hornets x reader #creepypasta x reader #hoodie creepypasta

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hyunsvngs · 3 months

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content warning: masochist,gymrat(kinda),bf!hannie, sub!hanjisung, cockstepping, scratching (m. rec), hair pulling (m. rec), switch!reder, foot stuff (duh), dirty talk, degradation (m. rec), aftercare/ implied aftercare, safe word mentioned but not used

———————————————————————————

“Jisung, why do you wanna get so big? Are you a masochist?” You eyed him as you both walk to your shared apartment.

“A.. a masochist?” He stops dead in his tracks, which has you turning to face him two feet away. The tips of his ears are turning the prettiest shade of pink and his boba eyes are so wide, mouth slightly agape.

“You’ve put on quite the muscle since I first met you a few years ago,” you begin, images of Jisung walking into your college mathematics class looking considerably toned, but slightly thin. A small smile finds it’s way onto your face as you finish your sentence, “and every New Year’s Day I ask you what your resolution is, but the answer is always the same.. ‘I wanna get bigger’.”

He looks down at his physique and makes a unsatisfied face. “I just don’t think my physique looks that nice,” he begins walking and grabs your hand to lead you on the sidewalk. You almost think you didn’t hear him correctly when he whispered “and maybe being sore feels really good.”

And heard him correctly you did.

A week later, Jisung asks you a question you never thought you’d hear.

“Hypothetically? Are we sure this is a hypothetical question, Hannie?” One of your eyebrows is raised out of suspension while he plays with a loose sting hanging from the bottom of his grey sweatpants shorts. You walk over to his figure on the couch from your previous position in the kitchen and sit next to him. His body sinks towards your weight, his face vulnerable.

“I thought about what you said.. and it makes sense. 1000%. I enjoy feeling pain. I like how it feels when I’m done doing a set of exercises, and I especially love being sore the next day. I just- I wanna try it. Please.” Jisung shifts his body so that he’s facing you, almost frantically. Like he can sense you pulling away, even though he knows you wouldn’t leave him because of this..maybe you would find him weird. He doesn’t want that either though.

“Are we talking barefoot? Sneakers? Boots? High heels?” Your head tilts and you even look away a little to think about what he would want as the first step.

“H-huh?” There’s no longer a pit in the bottom on his stomach, just whispers of heat beginning to stir under his waistband. He’s beginning to fall apart at the seams and nothing has even happened yet.

You had already toe-d off your house shoes before he realized what’s going on. “You can’t seriously be hard already.. we just started talking about it!” You laugh and he covers his semi with both of his hands. “I-I’m sorry baby.. sorry.”

Without a word, you slapped his hands. He knew what you wanted.. his hands away and to not return until told otherwise. He’s gripping and unclenching the couch cushion with anticipation and desperation, head already a little numb. It’s always easy to spot when he gets floaty- his ears and neck (even upper chest) become splotchy with a dusty pink hue, and his hands are restless.

“Hannie, you look so pretty like this. Can you tell me the safe word?” You stroke his cheek and wait for his answer. The word is spoken softly, almost like he is too scared to speak any louder- terrified he may ruin the mood after he built the courage to ask you such a question. “Perfect baby, sit up a little for me.”

Jisung sits up slightly, allowing you to remove his loose black shirt. His heated, splotchy chest looks like a masterpiece paired with his tanned skin; it invites you to places kisses against the muscle. Your right hand flies to his waist and dig your fingertips into him. He jerks at the feeling of your lips and hand- he wants, NO.. needs more.

“Please hurt me, pleasepleasepl- AH!” His hips lift from the cushion as he feels your teeth nip harshly at the skin next to this left nipple, your hand following to scratch at his side.

“Jisungie.. shhhh. Let me play with your body.” You whisper against him. You place your right hand on top on his clothed cock, and the most sinful and beautiful moans are coming out of his mouth. As quickly as your hand appeared, it disappeared and he makes his disappointment known. You shoot him a glare to shut him up and he listens. He knows you mean business right now- you always do when it comes to his pleasure.

At his side, next cushion over, you lean back on both hands and lift your right leg. Bent at the knee, ankle loose and foot firm, you hover it over Jisung’s hips. He’s watching your every move with scrunched eyebrows and mouth unhinged. The ball of your foot begins to press down on his erection, not stopping even though gravity has done all its work. The force starts to push into his bladder but still no mind, he’s now staring at you like you put the damn stars in the sky and you’re drenched. You can feel your panties sticking and it won’t get better from here because you know he won’t want to stop any time soon.

“Hannie, does it feel good? Or do you not want it to feel good?” Even you’re breathless.. the view you have looks straight out of some cheap porno. His red and bitten-raw lips open, his cheeks flush and his eyes heavily lidded with lust, even his labored breathing.

“Need more. More pain. Please” Voice cracking on his last word, you get up as fast as you possibly can. This newfound confidence in yourself after seeing what you can do for your boyfriend has you reeling. Jisung lets out a yelp of surprise when you grab a fist full of his hair and begin to drag him off the couch and to the center of the living room.

“Take off your shorts and lay down. Now. And I didn’t tell you to touch yourself, did I?” He had grabbed his base over his shorts when you tugged on his hair. He feels so pathetic like this, he could totally get off on this but he doesn’t want it to end soon. He stripped himself of his shorts and laid down on the carpet floor, even the navy blue underwear making for a great view against his thick thighs- threads stretched taught against the muscle.

The second his whole body made contact with the floor, you raised your right leg again. Bent at the knee but with a firm ankle and firm foot, you dug your heel into his cock. Jisung took in a sharp breath and a few moments later, released a shaky one. “Oh fuuuuuuuck!” His eyes rolled into the back of his head.

You’re dripping, and you’re about to lose your mind seeing Jisung strung out on the carpet like this. You don’t even wanna blink because you’re afraid you might miss the sight like he could disappear.

“How about this, Hannie? You like this shit?” You scoff, “What a fucking painslut. Getting off to me stepping on your dick.” You moved your ankle back and forth to dig into his skin even more and you can hear the carpet being scratched at. He is trying his hardest to stay grounded so he can feel this bliss for as long as he can, but you go just deep enough and he’s done.

“I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum!” He’s breathing frantically.

“Just from this??? This is all it takes, Hannie? Just need me to step on you??” You put as much weight into your right foot as you can for a few seconds to help him reach his orgasm.

“Yes! Yesyesyesyes! I’m cumming! Gonna come so hard!” He’s babbling and you watch him break.

His fingertips are white from digging into the carpet and his body twitches as his underwear becomes soaked with fluid. His moans and gasps are so loud you don’t doubt there would be a complaint or two tomorrow. There’s so much cum, you question if that’s all it is and nothing else. His back is arched in the prettiest curve and his neck is on display as if saying ‘I still need more, please bite me’. He stopped breathing towards the back end of his orgasm as if to prolong it (asphyxiation is something you will bring up another time).

The aftershocks are still hitting him when you drop to your knees next to his head. He’s so dazed and spacey. You give him a quick kiss to his forehead and tell him you’ll be back in a second. You come back with a new pair of underwear and a towel to wipe him with. You help him change and sit him up.

“You doing okay baby? How’s your penis? Does it hurt too much?” You ask while giving him a scalp massage, trying to relieve what you caused earlier.

Jisung shakes his head and whispers “I feel so good right now. Can we lay down on the couch?” You both make it to the couch and you offer to make him some food and get beverages. Only after 10 minutes of cuddling, kissing, and ‘i love you’s ’,does he allow you to do that.

“I know the initial conversation we had about this was about a week ago, but if it wasn’t obvious… I really like your physique, Jisung.” You say as you place the plates of food on the coffee table. Your cheeks heat up at the confession, but all he can think about is your lips on his body. He shoots you a quick smirk and says “Yeah, totally wasn’t obvious.”

OMGoMG i know i said hard thot (or was it hot thot????idek) LMAOOO i got carried away sorry <3 also the end is rushed but i hope you enjoyed

-✖️

Jjesus what

THIS BROKE MY BRIAN. i meant my brain but also

MY FAVE PART WAS THIS

"The force starts to push into his bladder but still no mind, he’s now staring at you like you put the damn stars in the sky and you’re drenched." holllly HOOOOOOLY THIS WAS SO GOOD. I WAS CHEERING MAKE HIM PEE MAKE HIM PEE MAKE HIM PEE!!

NO THIS WAS SO GOOD!!!! AHJDGKDGNJK

#juno’s asks ♡#✖️ anon 💌#asks: jisung

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

It’s exactly a quarter past nine when his eyes snap open at the sound of soft music coming from Spades’ side of the wall. He tries to ignore the irritation and rolls over, hoping that if he buries his head deep enough into his pillow that it’ll drown it out. It doesn’t matter because he’s already awake and he’s not going back to sleep. His phone buzzes on the table and he picks it up.

Awake yet?

He rolls his eyes at Spades’ question.

I am now.

Wanna come over? I’m doing a spa night. Gaz and Soap are here. Price said maybe next time :(

Ghost is now curious and he rolls out of bed, crossing from his room to hers and tries the door. It’s already unlocked and waiting. Immediately, he’s taken aback by the two men reclined on the queen-sized bed, wrapped in giant fluffy blue robes, towels on their heads. Their eyes are covered with slices of cucumbers, gold crescents under both eyes, and a tea-green face mask painted on. They look awfully comfortable as Spades, who’s wearing the same thing save the cucumbers, is doing their nails.

She looks up with a smile and hooded eyes, beckoning him with a tip of her head. “Go shower. Bathrobe and towel for your hair are in the bathroom.”

“I’m…good,” he replies and goes to sit on the sofa, but her bare leg lands on his middle, foot pressed into his stomach; Ghost’s eyes take in the smooth skin and freshly painted toes—blood red, always Spades’ favorite choice.

“Shower,” is all she says, with a smile that’s a lot more threatening if he decides to disobey her.

He rolls his eyes and takes her foot gently in his grip, digging his thumb into her calf as he bends it back to where she had it. “Fine. But I’m not wearing the hair towel.”

He disappears into the bathroom, spends all of ten minutes in before he returns, smelling of lavender, vanilla, and stargazer lilies, an almost cozy look on his face as he rests on the end of the bed in the comfy robe.

Spades turns on him and crawls into his thighs, pushing his hair back so she can see what she’s working with. “I see you haven’t been using the face cream I sent you a year or so ago. That cream costs a fortune and you’re wasting it.”

“I’m not afraid to get old,” he mutters as she takes a brush and opens the tea green mask, starting to paint it on him. “Why worry about the wrinkles?”

“Because crow’s feet are gross and you have wrinkles,” she replies and sets the gold jellies under his eyes. “You need to take care of your skin.” Her fingers gently place the cucumbers at his eyes before she takes his hand and starts buffing and filing his nails.

“I can’t believe you managed to convince them to join you in this.”

“Well, you see, Soap and Gaz haven’t fought me for ten years. They like me.” She looks at Soap who is now asleep, Gaz not far behind. “My money too, it seems.”

“You can’t win everyone with money,” Ghost says.

“I don’t have to, Simon, most people like me for me.” She switched hands and gently massaged them with an oil. “The only reason you don’t like me is because we’re much too similar. Whereas I’m just the kinder version of you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Oh please,” Spades says with a grin, starting to move. “It’s okay to be honest, Simon, it’s really not going to hurt my—”

“I like you,” Simon interrupts and puts a hand on her thigh; he doesn’t have to remove the cucumbers to let her know he’s staring right at her. “I just…have trouble accepting how free you are. Like you have nothing to lose and you’re still okay with life.”

Spades reaches up and plucks the cucumber from one eye and tosses it into her mouth. “Simon, I was two when my mother put a gun in my hands and taught me how to shoot dead center. I was eight when I realized I could kill a grown man with any weapon given to me.” She applies a clear lip calm to his lips; it smells like spearmints, Spades always smells like lilies and spearmint. Simon's always liked how she smells in those moments when he gets close enough to knife her that he can breathe in her scent. “I’ve spent my entire life being a killer because it’s what I was made to be. I am far from free. The money, the life, the luxuries I have? There’s always an expense to be paid for it. It’s a piece of my soul every time. Even if the lives I take are some of humanity’s worst, I still remember. I will still remember even when I am dead and gone.”

She stares at him. “You, Simon, are still worthy of something good. And your infantile belief that my life is so much greater than yours, or that I still have nothing to lose is idiotic at best.” Her eyes search his. “What do I have to lose? Everything. All of me.”

Simon falls silent and she gently reaches up, brushing dampened blonde hair aside. “I didn’t want you on this team, Spades.”

“I know.”

“Not because I hate you.”

“Oh?”

Simon shifts uncomfortably, like he’s about to reveal a big secret. “Those times when I’m fighting you…it’s one of the only times I feel like things are okay with life. Like there’s an equal to my own soul.”

Spades smiles at him, and for once it’s not the smile that means she’s hiding something. “Careful Simon, I’ll think you like me a little too much.”

“Would that be so bad?” he asks, he hopes.

“No,” she murmurs and rolls off his lap. “But you should aim higher than me, Simon.”

The reply dies on his tongue as she nudges Soap and Gaz to wake them up and gossip about the new recruits, particularly the newest sniper from Austria.

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eatommo · 1 year

Text

Regalia [d.d]

cw: fully clothed vs naked, helmet comes off, PRIMAL PLAY, cat and mouse, themes of stalking, smidge of brat taming, praise kink, pinv, mando'a, unprotected sex, use of restraints, sensory deprivation, pussy eating (from the back), cream pie, Din is also a big softy but won't admit it per usual

a/n: Hello! This might be the nastiest thing I've written for Mr. Din can, I did get a Frank/Matt/Reader request that I am working on so if you see this anon I haven't forgotten about you I promise! As always like/reblog even feel free to message me! I don't bite I promise. This is also loosely inspired by some of my favorite authors who inspired me to come back to writing, and being this is a little over a one year anniversary for this blog I just want to say thank you to these @pastafossa @no-droids @absurdthirst @wardenparker (and many others in my near dead brain) lovely people who contribute so much to my life in so many ways <3

wc: A brief but nasty 2k

You don’t know if it’s his elevated tone or his body language, but you know that he is irritated. His shoulders are tight, and his posture is iron as you storm up to him, feet thundering and kicking up blizzards of snow with each step.

“Which one of you decided that the inside of the Cave was a good idea?” You pointedly speak at the wall of metal in front of you, knowing that he’s just as irritated as you are. “Because I will be lucky if I get out of here with the tip of my nose.”

“The kids' ears are turning grey.” He retorts body only growing stiffer as you retreat to the safety of the crest. “So don’t act like you’re the only one suffering.”

You glance down at the hovering pod, the baby sound asleep but his forehead scrunches as if deep in thought. You feel slightly guilty, you don’t know how good beskar is at keeping him warm but you’d imagine there’s a good chance Mando is uncomfortable as well. “Yeah, well maybe if you actually listened to me instead of insisting on finding a bounty that’s probably buried in permafrost.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you ask me to get you caf in a marketplace. Credits don’t come from hyperspace.” His tone is as biting as the wind. “I’m getting real sick of your attitude.” He turns his head real sharp, not a hitch in his strong pace, “How was I supposed to know the fob would lead us to the wrong place?”

You grit your teeth biting back an angry retort as you gaze into the blank slate of his visor, “Maybe you’re just losing your touch.” Putting on a false sense of acceptance in your voice is the best way to get under his skin, and for just a beat of your heart, your resolve falters as silence falls between you. Did you go too far? He’s the least deserving of this attitude, you know that.

“Okay, once we get off this hellscape I’ll show you just how good my touch is sweet girl.” His cadence immediately washes away the smirk on your face and kickstarts a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’ve never seen so many trees. There are groves upon groves of thick-rooted trees that have practically slowed your head start to a literal crawl as you duck down into a crouch.

Even with a late start, he’s seemingly tracked you down in what feels like a matter of minutes. The unmistakable heavy steps crush leaves and debris as he snakes through the ravine, getting closer and closer as you do your best to stay quiet. Your breath comes quickly as if the atmosphere is thin. He’s instructed you to run, not to hide, but fear is creeping up your spine and you scramble to find purchase after the footsteps fade away.

There’s a brief moment of relief, as you approach a brook, hoping to use it to disguise your trail. You remove your clunky beat-up boots and step into the clear, surprisingly warm water. You take a few steps across the sandy bottom of the creek, the unusual feeling of wet sand between your toes grounding you at the moment with a smile and a small laugh.

The lack of cover doesn't even occur to you until it's too late, just a flash of silver in your peripheral and you're launching yourself downstream, soaking the thin fabric of your pants.

His footsteps grow louder until they sound like they're tearing down every tree in his path to get to you. You divert your path, deciding to truly make a final break for it, as you drop your shoes on the bank. You climb over roots that are taller than your hips and duck under any that you can fit beneath, but the further you get away from the water the more tangled and frequent the trees become.

Swearing under your breath, you find purchase on a branch, testing its strength before using it to help bolster your other leg over the root. The hair on your neck stands straight as a flash of red light shatters the branch you're using to support yourself, sending you back to the ground firmly. You feel the muzzle of Din’s blaster nuzzle into the small of your back.

“Easy.” Your breath is coming in pants, and your heart is racing out of your chest, does he expect you to fight? But again his voice runs down your spine, calm and his breathing even, “Do I have to restrain you? Or do you think you're ready to surrender?”

You chew on your lip, the longer you hesitate the harder the blaster digs into your back, and you begin to feel the weight of his body trap you to the root. The wood is surprisingly soft under your palms, “I yield.”

You feel the sound before you hear it, a great and deep rumbling in his chest of pure satisfaction, of possessiveness, like a vulptex guarding their catch. “Good.”

There's an increasing amount of pressure on your body, shoving you until you're practically bent in half over the wood and he’s pulling your hands behind your back. You feel the weight of something encapsulate your wrist and then the other before you can even protest your wrists are bound tightly together behind your back. You stammer in surprise “I said I yield.”

“I know, this is more for…” The vocoder cuts, and you wonder if he’s turned it off or even changed his mind before the next weighted words settle deep in your core, “leverage.”

Your body involuntarily shutters, fighting the urge to moan as he begins to strip you from your clothes. “This is what we were doing?” Confidence suddenly bolstered by the neediness in his movements, practically tearing your trousers down your legs. “I could’ve been naked this whole time.”

He’s practically growling over your shoulder, as he tosses his gloves onto the thick branch, “Next time.” He uses his knee to nudge your thighs apart and plants a hand on the wood next to your hip lining himself up, you wince in anticipation knowing the stretch will be painful.

Instead, you heard a curse, and his body’s warmth is gone for a moment, all you can listen to is metal on metal as he tears the rising phoenix from his back, and he takes the cape from his shoulders, and lays it on the wood beneath you in one fluid motion.

Kriff, in the heat of a chase and what's likely going to be the roughest fuck of your life, he’s still worried about the roughness of the wood on your soft skin. Under your breath, you mumble a quick “Thank you.” that he dismisses with a soft caress down your spine.

He feels the tension in your back beneath his palm, as frantic as the need to fuck you is and his normal urge to make it hurt just a little bit not waning, he is aware of just how big his cock is and decides to drag this whole charade to both of your wit's end. “Eyes shut for me C’yare.”

It’s usually unlike you to do as told, but there’s a cutting-edge of a promise in his tone as if he is trying to encourage you to comply for your own benefit. So you do, and in an even more unlikely turn of events, you hear the hiss of his helmet unlatching. Before your scrambled adrenaline-riddled body can even comprehend what's happening it is being lowered over your head. Barely cracking an eye open you realize your vision is null, there is nothing but black for your searching eyes to find.

Your heart beats away in your chest, and the thrill of being caught is now only amplified in a different sense. You begin to wonder why he decided to take this risk when he is usually so careful, so painstakingly stubborn, but then his hot tongue licks up the seam of your core. You curse, his stubble is rougher than usual, and it tickles the back of your thighs, as he tortuously licks into your slit, drinking up each bit of arousal he earns.

“You’re so beautiful for me.” He uses his fingers to separate your lips, displaying the flushed skin of your cunt to his visor-free eyes, “Mesh’la.” He plants a single lingering kiss on your clit, letting his nose nuzzle against your entrance teasingly.

Your knees buckle as you picture yourself laid out for him, pathetically draped over a root and grinding back on his face naked and desperate, while he is dressed in his full regalia, minus the helmet that he places so trustingly upon your head. Swallowing a whine, you start to rock your hips against his mouth in a silent plea for something, anything.

In contrast to his profession, he can be incredibly gentle, at least in the beginning. He suckles and licks at the supple skin of your pussy, coaxing pleasure out of your body with a languid accuracy.

The sudden change from running for your life to being walked to the edge of orgasm is enough to give you whiplash. “You’re doing so well for me.” You know he likely can’t see you but you nod anyway, the praise coming from right against your skin as if he can’t bear to leave your pussy for a breath. “Cum for me so I can take my prize,” Another lingering kiss, “Sweet girl.”

You continue to rock your hips against his face, and he nuzzles deeper sucking your clit into his mouth and shaking his head back and forth, gently but with haste you can feel vibrating through his own body. Your climax all but wrestles you to the ground, knees giving out as you practically sit back onto his face, riding the waves of the orgasm with shudders and cries.

Unable to stop himself he nips at the curve of your ass as he stands up, his cock heavy in the flight suit and weeping against his much cooler skin. You take the moment to try and catch your breath, chest heaving and body still vibrating more than you ever thought possible. The smell of him is surrounding you thanks to his cape, barely making it past the helmet's defenses.

He’s lined up at your entrance within a matter of moments, whatever patience and grace he’s shown you thus far is gone as he plunges his thick and painfully hard cock deep, striking up another fire in your belly.

The plates of beskar adorning his thighs dig into your skin, undoubtedly leaving bruises for him to apologize for later, but the pain only adds to the delicious resonating pleasure with each punishing thrust of his hips. You can hear the root of the tree creaking with his efforts, threatening to break with each slap of your bodies joining together. The pace is inhuman, he’s fucking into you like he wants you to lose the ability to walk, scrubbing so deliciously against that spot that makes you see stars. Then he remembers the cuffs.

One of his hands leaves your hips and wraps tight around the link joining your hands, he starts tugging you back onto his cock with each thrust, fucking deeper than you ever thought possible.

You start to clamp down around him, and as your body goes limp against him he growls, hunching down to bite on your shoulder. The cool shock of his chest plate mixed with the feeling of his teeth in your skin is enough to send you barreling over the edge.

The feeling of your pussy baring down on him draws that delicious tingle at the base of his spine up until his brain and his endless praise are scrambled with the white heat of his orgasm. His hips stutter a few more thrusts, as he pumps ropes of his hot cum deep inside your pussy.

He manages a loose fist against the log so that he may trail some kisses down your back and across your shoulders, it’s not often that he gets to have these moments with you, “Eyes closed again C’yare.”

In the afterglow of your orgasms, he gives you the most gentle and loving of kisses on your mouth, before he returns to being the iron-clad hunter you’ll never doubt again.

#din djarin x reader smut #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin #mandalorian smut #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian spoilers #star wars fanfiction #pedrostories

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preciouslandmermaid · 2 years

Text

| comfort | carmy x reader

eNote: All kinktober content is mature/explicit. Fics will be posted on Tumblr first, then transition over to ao3. All fics will be reader/canon-character with no use of Y/N. I will do my best to include additional warnings, but most should be self explanatory in the prompts.

prompt: writers’ choice by @wolffininthestars | pairing: carmy berzatto /f!reader | warnings: explicit sexual content. basically, I wrote a little fic of washing Carmy’s hair and it leads into Carmy taking care of reader ;) (established relationship/lots of checking in/consent/ROMANCE/can you read this as a NGHYB-universe fic?? sure! lol)

You’re dead on your feet after working a double shift. If not for Carmy tapping your leg on the train seat, you might’ve fallen asleep and missed your stop. The warm spring air lulls you into a sense of comfort while walking up your apartment stairs with Carmen trailing quietly behind you.

You appreciate that he doesn’t fill silence with useless, nervous conversation. He’s always been good like that. Maybe it’s a side-effect of his years of introversion as a kid, or maybe it’s because he realizes you’d be a shitty conversationalist at the moment.

Your jacket falls to a heap at the front door alongside your sneakers. Carmy stops you from collapsing onto the couch, tugging you gently by the wrists toward the bathroom with both hands, “C’mon.” He mumbles, “You’re greasy.”

You snort. “Pot meet kettle.”

He rolls his eyes. His fond, exasperated look brings a smile to your face. The bathroom fogs with condensation once the shower is turned on. Your apartment wasn’t fancy, but the hot water never failed you. You lift your arms, letting Carmy pull your shirt over your head, and he presses a soft, chaste kiss to the middle of your brows.

“Can I take care of you?” He asks – bashful and sweet. Your chest balloons with warmth and Carmy’s eyelashes flutter against his cheek. You nod, simply too tired for words, and Carmy peels the rest of your clothes off with tender, slow hands. He even removes your smelly, gross socks which you think is the nearest thing to an admittance of love.

You step into the steamy, blissful shower and sigh loudly.

“Don’t pass out.” Carmy calls from beyond the foggy, mottled glass.

You laugh. “I won’t!”

You start to feel like a human again as the hot water sluices down your body and moist air fills your nostrils. You awkwardly nudge to the side when Carmy joins you. Your exposed skin outside the stream of warm water prickles with goosebumps.

You bite your lip and smile at him when he pinches water from his eyes and blinks. His dark curls flatten against his head beneath the showerhead and droplets run down the curve of his jaw and drop like tears from the tip of his large nose.

He squirts a quarter-sized handful of bodywash into his palm. He starts at your shoulders, and you groan, his strong fingers work through the tension of your neck and shoulders, the bodywash silken and smooth beneath his hands. His thumb rubs circles at the nape of your neck and then massages down your spine, to your hips, then up again. You press both hands against the wall to hold yourself upright.

His touch is entirely innocent as he glides his palms over your breasts. Your thoughts -however- are understandably sinful. A low spark ignites in your stomach and dances down your legs. He holds your waist and guides you under the full stream of the water to rinse off the foamy, fragrant bubbles. You close your eyes and lean into his chest. His hands slide over your arms, a touch that is affectionate and practical to clear away the last of the soap. The world is quiet beyond the sounds of your own heartbeat, shared breath, and the water rushing through the drain.

You say, “Mm. I have an idea.”

“Hm?” His nose brushes the shell of your ear.

You grab your shampoo from the edge of the bathtub. “Turn ‘round and tilt your head back for me.” You say while pouring a bit of shampoo into your palm. Carmy does so without question or complaint. Some guys might grumble about smelling like ‘Fresh Jasmine’ or ‘Clear Spring’. But Carmy doesn’t. You work the shampoo into a lather between your hands before touching his scalp.

He exhales a shuddering, extended sigh. The bubbles foam and seep through the gaps in your fingers and saturate his hair. You imagine all the grease, and stress, and cigarette smoke being washed away through your deliberate and firm hands.

You scratch his scalp, massaging it, and Carmy groans. You notice his shoulders relax and you hate the idea of stopping—but you have to. You make a mental note to do this again for him sometime soon.

“Okay, rinse.”

His hair plasters onto his forehead before he slicks it back with both hands. He blinks water away from his eyes and meets your gaze. Your heart somersaults. His skin is flushed pink from the shower and water drips from his earlobes. The ceiling swirls with hot steam and unspoken desires.

He scoops an arm around your waist, pulling you close to him, “Feeling better?”

“A little.” You admit.

“Good.” He drops his head down and kisses you. Warm water splices between your lips, tickling your chin, and gliding down your collarbones and breasts. He presses the full, strong length of him against you and the wall tiles are cool and delightful against your spine. Your mouth opens, letting him in, as you always have. Carmen Berzatto always managed to undermine all your defenses.

His tongue plays along yours. A soft sucking sound echoes in the small, heated space of the shower when he draws your lower lip between his. You purr happily, your fingers splayed like twin stars against his muscled chest. You find his heartbeat under your palm. It’s strong, and fast, and familiar. Your scalp tingles with awareness and your stomach flutters.

He mutters against your mouth, “Can I touch you?”

You hum. “Yes.”

Your spine knocks against the tile again as Carmy parts your thighs with a firm, tattooed hand. You grip the muscled curvature of his shoulders for balance. He kisses you once more when his index finger slides playfully, teasingly across your clit. His touch between your legs is light and coaxing. It elicits quiet, unrestrained whimpers from your throat and your hips twitch involuntarily. You’re happy to stand here, holding him, letting him touch and play with you as he pleases. Your brain shuts off. The stresses of the day wash into the drain. He moves his fingers in a concentric pattern over your clit. You shudder against his palm.

He asks, “Is that good? D’you like that?”

“Y-yeah.” You respond in a breathy voice.

Slowly, ever-so slowly, Carmy plunges his index finger into your waiting, throbbing cunt. You are wet and warm around his finger. You cry out softly in relief into his mouth and his exhaled sigh from his nostrils tickles your upper lip. You hike your leg up around Carmy’s waist to allow for more space. The slick bathtub squeaks dangerously beneath your foot.

You flex your fingers on his shoulders, tightening your grip, “Don’t let me fall.” You say – as if you haven’t fallen for him already.

“I won’t.”

His lips trail across your jaw, kissing away shower water, and leaving a hickey on your exposed, arched throat. You le tout a needy little moan. The echo carries through the steam and water. His middle finger thrusts into you, pumping, slow and sweet. You inelegantly jerk your hips in tandem with his hand.

You peer up through your water-clumped eyelashes at him. Carmy, in this moment, is the same Carmy you’ve seen glimpses of in the kitchen. Determined, focused, single-minded in whatever task he’s got in hand. (In this case—it’s you). Your body is slick with water and hoping not to fall even with his arm taught around your waist.

“Do you wanna come?” He asks shakily, “I wanna make you come.”

He captures your mouth before you can answer. You playfully and lightly nip his lower lip—which earns you a rare, beautiful smile that crinkles the corners of his doleful blue eyes. His fingers curl into you, stroking your front wall, and you gasp at the shudder that travels down your body.

“God,” Carmy chokes out, looking down at his fingers disappearing into your cunt, “You’re so fucking pretty.” Your inner walls pulse around him.

You mumble, “Keep talking.”

And bless him, he does.

“I l-love…” His brow furrows, stumbling over his words, “The face you make when you’re close…”

Forgoing the risk of falling on your ass—your hand slips between your legs to rub your clit while his fingers continue their ministrations. The joined sensation makes your head spin.

He swallows roughly, “And how you sound…”

You whine, gasping shortly into his mouth, your hips bucking into his hand as that blissful, white-hot pleasure coils and twists in your gut. Everything compounds – moist heat and Carmy’s purposeful touch – until you’re panting and trembling around his hand. He rests his forehead against yours, water splashing around your ankles, and dripping from his soaked curls.

“Fuck – fuck – Carmy.”

“That’s right, baby.” He says, “’m gonna take care of you – m-make you feel so good.”

“Yes, yes,” you repeat the word until it loses meaning, until the only thing that matters is the lava burning through your veins, and you’re gushing over his fingers. Your spine bows forward, limbs quivering into satiated numbness, and you collapse into his wet, muscled chest.

He kisses the top of your head, wrapping both arms snug around you, “Feeling better?”

“Oh yeah,” You smile against his skin, “Definitely.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

((tag list: @wittyno /// @lafantasiaworld // @comfortwaterbottle // @thebearinmind // @imreadingrespectfully // @jotarosasscheek // @buzzfrill // @man-johnnie // @reesespieces10123 // @a-wake-and-unafraid // @mondieumat // )_

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fic #kinktober2022comp #carmen berzatto x reader

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whump-4-ever · 5 months

Text

Reformed, Part 4

Please let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list OR if you are already on it and would like to be removed 😅

Once the seizure had ended and Caretaker had checked Hero over to ensure that they were still breathing okay and hadn’t injured themself, Caretaker had climbed onto the couch with them, their head in Caretaker’s lap.

“Their fever hasn’t gone down at all,” Villain murmured under their breath as their eyes took in what was in front of them, concern forcing a wrinkle into the skin of their forehead. Hero was damn near gasping for air now, each inhale and exhale a desperate, shallow wheeze.

Caretaker nodded their head in acknowledgment but did not speak. Instead, they began to brush Hero’s hair back with their palm, grief squeezing their heart and causing moisture to gather in their blood-shot eyes, their reddened, tear-stained face screaming to the world how emotionally distraught they were. Hero was their boyfriend/girlfriend, the man/woman they would give their life for. They couldn’t die, not now, not after everything they’d been through, and certainly not to something as simple as an illness. Hero was supposed to die many, many years from now, to something courageous like saving people.

Villain sighed heavily, unsure of what to do next. Nothing they’d already tried had had any effect on Hero’s condition, and taking note of how much worse Hero had gotten in such a short amount of time was enough to inform them that they were running out of options. “Your healing magic isn’t working,” Villain stated, breaking the silence. It wasn’t exactly a question, but rather an audible confirmation; it was Villain’s way of making certain that Caretaker was on the same page as they were in terms of the situation.

Caretaker shook their head in reply, sniffling softly as they continued to run their fingers through Hero’s sweat-soaked curls. “I don’t understand,” they whispered brokenly. “I don’t know why I can’t heal them. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Before Villain had a chance to respond, Hero suddenly moved, fidgeting where they lay and letting out an agonized groan as the movement aggravated their aching bones. Slowly, they then peeled their eyelids apart just the slightest bit and ran the tip of their tongue over their chapped lips. “…..d-don’….” they gurgled out, a violent shudder rippling through them.

Immediately upon Hero regaining at least partial consciousness, Caretaker wiped their tears away and shifted where they sat so they could cup Hero’s too-warm cheeks in both hands, stroking their thumb along their cheekbone in an affectionate manner. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” they murmured. “I’m here. I’m-“ they stopped mid-sentence, fear spiking inside their chest at what they saw. Hero’s eyes weren’t their normal hazel color, nor were they the radiant sapphire blue of the Tempestinians. They were glowing a bright scarlet red, the same scarlet red of a Demonian, Supervillain’s species.

Villain jumped to their feet and took a few steps back, adrenaline pumping through their veins. They were a Demonian. They’d rebelled, they were no longer working for Supervillain, and no, they were not responsible for what had happened to Hero, but they knew exactly what Caretaker was thinking. Seconds after they retreated, Caretaker’s head snapped upwards in one swift movement, their facial expression radiating fury. “I didn’t-“ Villain started, but they were quickly interrupted.

“You did this.” Caretaker’s voice was barely audible, their words threatening to break under the weight of their rage. “You bit them, infected them, didn’t you? You did this to them and then you lied to me about it.”

Villain could see Caretaker’s body visibly shaking with barely-contained anger even from a few feet away, but they refused to give in, because they knew they didn’t do it. No matter what it took, they would prove that. “I did fucking nothing,” Villain snarled back defensively. “If not for me, Hero would already be dead, and you wouldn’t have had a clue as to where they disappeared to until it was too late.” They clenched their jaw in an effort to remain in control of their emotions, but the anger inside them was rising rapidly.

Caretaker was now breathing so heavily that it was audible. “I’m not going to kill you,” they began, “but when I’m done, you’re going to wish you were dead.” They fixed Villain with a glare so powerful it sent chills down Villain’s spine.

Villain prepared themself for another verbal assault, ready to bite back and defend themself again, when Hero very abruptly shot up into a seated position. If not for Caretaker’s quick reflexes, Hero would have hit them in the face with their head. The room fell into a silence of anticipation as both pairs of eyes locked onto Hero, waiting to see what they were going to do next.

“I hate you,” Hero spat as they twisted around to face Caretaker. “I fucking hate you!” They yelled. Without warning, their arm shot out and they grasped Caretaker’s throat, their fingers curling around it. Then they squeezed as tightly as they could.

Caretaker choked out a startled gasp, their eyes going wide in shock. “Hero, i-it’s…m-me….” they wheezed, but their words only seemed to increase Hero’s anger.

“Fuck you.” Hero yanked Caretaker so close that saliva splattered onto their cheek. “Pick a god and pray, princess. It won’t matter who you choose. The elements have abandoned you, as have your kings and queens. The place you once called ‘home’? You’ll never see it again. In fact, where you’re going, you won’t be seeing anything for a long, long time.” They chuckled deeply, grinning widely before lifting Caretaker up into the air and throwing them across the room. They slammed into the wall with a loud ‘thump’. A sickening smirk of delight tugged at Hero’s lips as they heard it, overjoyed when they saw how much of a struggle it was for Caretaker to stand back up.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any to make my entrance,” came the sound of a new yet nauseatingly familiar voice from a darkened part of the room. Both Villain and Caretaker looked in the direction of which it had originated from, shock and terror written into their facial features.

“Supervillain,” they hissed simultaneously.

Supervillain stalked forward out of the shadows, revealing themself fully. “Why the surprise, darlings? You had to have known I’d be arriving to collect my prize.” They were in their wolf form, their partially-shredded wings spread out at full length to show dominance. Their eyes glowed the same scarlet red as Hero’s. “Ding! Dinner’s done!” Supervillain snickered at their own comment. “Well then. Sorry to cut this reunion short but I must be getting my newest team member home.”

Caretaker, still a bit dazed from bashing their head against the wall but capable of staying on their feet, stumbled over to Villain and stood beside them. Pain pulsed through their skull with the movement and a rush of dizziness temporarily distorted their vision at the movement, but they chose to ignore it. “No! You won’t be taking them anywhere!”

Villain gave Caretaker a warning shove, reminding them who exactly they were dealing with before clearing their throat and drawing Supervillain’s attention onto themself instead. “You’re trespassing, you know, Supervillain.”

“Nonsense! I’ve merely come to retrieve what was taken from me,” Supervillain replied. “Come, my child.” They gestured for Hero to walk over to them.

As Hero reached Supervillain and Supervillain had wrapped a wing around their waist possessively, Villain spoke up. “Bullshit! Nothing was ‘taken’ from you. Hero left on their own and I found them alone in the woods. For one thing, if not for me, they’d be dead. Second, if my history with you is anything to go by, I’m willing to bet they were running from something. They were not ‘taken’. They escaped, and you can only blame yourself for that one, you lazy bitch.” Villain’s heart thudded painfully in their chest, anxiety surging through them with each beat, but they stood their ground, refusing to take back what they’d just said.

Supervillain barred their teeth and growled sharply, their ears flattened to their head in a display of pure aggression. It was a warning. “This is your one and only chance, Villain. Hand Hero over willingly or I’ll do to you what I did to your parents.”

Villain had to bite their tongue at that last part. It was very clearly only said to piss them off, and they could barely contain the fury that threatened to consume them at the mention of their mom and dad, meaning the comment had done its intended job, but they fought against it. Instead, they answered with, “As Caretaker said: no.”

Supervillain didn’t give up easily. They never did. “You’re a stain on your family’s history, as were your mother and father,” they continued, sensing Villain’s rage and wanting nothing more than to play with fire. “You and your fucked up parents have tainted the Demonian bloodline with your betrayals. I can’t change the past, but I can have a do-over.” They gestured towards Hero, implying that Hero was their do-over. “With Hero, we’ll start anew, make up for your mistakes with new beginnings, starting with your punishment.” Supervillain then met Hero’s gaze. “Kill them.”

Tags

@morning-star-whump @whatwhumpcomments

#whump prompt #whump writing #whumpblr #writing prompt #writing prompts #whump community #hero prompt #hero whumpee #reformed villain

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wellthebardsdead · 1 year

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Marigold: *arrived in skyrim from windhelm a few days prior, now making his way through the rift looking for a dwemer ruin related to his magic studies* hm? *looks up seeing a group of thalmor justiciars and soldiers headed in his direction* odd… I thought this was stormcloak territory… hm. *keeps walking towards them preparing to step aside for them to pass*

Head Justiciar: Wait- *stops the group as the other high elf approaches, eyes locking with the travelling mer* I know you-

Marigold: I’m certain you’d like to but you dont~ *keeps walking*

Head justiciar: No I definitely know you. You match the description of a live capture and retrieve perfectly. Guards arrest him.

Marigold: oh dear here we go- *blasts one of the guards with a shard of ice right through his skull while zapping another with lightning frying him alive in his armour*

Head Justiciar: *dodges out of the way using another guard as a meat shield* Well don’t just stand there you idiots! Subdue him!

Not Taliesin: *watching as the other justiciars attempt to grab at the high elf only to get zapped* this better not ruin my hair- *charges forward tackling Marigold to the ground, both of them tumbling down a hill with absolutely not Taliesin landing on top, pinning the pretty elf beneath him* Well then, that’s enough of that. *grabs both his wrists tying them together*

Marigold: *giving up easily, not seeing any point to fighting for his life* oh you’re a cute one~

Still not Taliesin: *starts blushing* s-stop that you. You’re under arrest now act like it. *pulls him up to his feet*

Marigold: Gladly- COME SEE THE VIOLENCE INHERENT IN THE SYSTEM! HELP HELP IM BEING REPRESSED!

Nope not tally boi: *trying to keep a straight face* I take it back you can shut up. *leads him back up the hill*

Marigold: You still haven’t told me why I’m being arrested though so this is officially a kidnapping- Ohh why did you pick me? Do you think I’m cute~?

Absolutely not taliwack: *pulls his hood down over his face a little more* by the eight stooooop-

Marigold: Aw why? Can’t I have fun while I’m being held against my will by such a handsome Mer?

Not Talimctaltal: Stop talking you’re making this weird. Now be quiet before I make you.

Marigold: *pouts* you’re a mean and pretty one. Lucky for you I like that~

Can’t Possibly be trash can tally: *trying to remain professional* I said don’t make this weird- *grabs marigold by his hair gagging him with a rag*

Marigold: mmmmphh~

Might be trash can tally: WHAT DID I JUST SAY?!

Head Justiciar: *looks down the hill* what’s taking so long?

No it can’t possibly be Taliesin: *bright red* I’ve subdued him! Somebody please take him from me!!!

*a few days later*

I can’t believe it’s not Taliesin: *pulling Marigold along by the rope tied to his wrists* Gods why are you so slow?

Marigold: *sore from travelling, the surgery from his childhood making his body hurt all over, looking like he’s ready to pass out* mhmmmmphh… *knees suddenly buckling taking him to the ground*

Head justiciar: *looks back and sighs* We’ll stop for a break. I don’t know what the grand overlord wants with this one but if we turn up with him dead we’ll all be dead. Prop him up by a tree and give him some water. And keep. An eye on him. I mean it. You’re on your last chance now as we speak. *huffs and walks off*

Spreadable right out of the fridge not Taliesin: *sighs and lifts marigold up placing him under a tree, gently removing the gag* are you alright?

Marigold: *too sore to think of a witty remark* mm… *just nods*

Taliesin: you sure don’t look like it- *turns his back to get a water skin from his pack*

Marigold: *looks at him then over towards the tree line knowing once in there he can sneak away undetected* … *casts invisibility on himself and quietly gets up ignoring the pain in his body as it screams in protest from the movement* … *looks to see Taliesin still rummaging through his stuff before quietly tip toeing over to the tree line and disappearing into the forest*

It was Taliesin all along: Ah there it is. *turns around holding the water skin only to see the other high elf long gone* …Shit.

*a few hours later*

Marigold: *staggers out of the tree line onto a path not fair from dark water crossing* gods, now to get my hands free-

*creeeeeek-SNAP!*

Marigold: *spins around in time to catch a flash of blue fur, and an arrow flying right for him* SHI- *falls to the ground unconscious upon impact*

———

Marigold: *groans waking up feeling his body being jostled by movement and the rumbling of wheels on cobblestone* huh… *sits upright wincing in pain* where?…

Ralof: hey you, you’re finally awake.

#how marigold met two of his best friends in the same day #marigold dragonborn #Altmer dragonborn #skyrim taliesin #skyrim #inigo skyrim

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another-corpo-rat · 1 year

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Sometimes you just gotta indulge and write a stupid little scene between your OC and the fuckwit bastard cyborg you paired her with so yup yup, enjoy.

Adam Smasher/{Non-Canon} Corpo V General warnings for an unhealthy relationship but tbh its kinda par for the course with him, aint it

*~*

There are certain things Smasher tolerates. The Maelstrom that linger around the Ebunike, admiring their metallic idol from a distance that could hardly be considered safe. Yorinobu, for the family name that follows and the wealth of potential it entailed; despite the man in question considering it a lingering odour he couldn’t quite shake off. And his countless technicians, scared shitless of the cyborg and completing the necessary procedures with the slightest shake to their hands.

Victoria Crane considers herself lucky to be counted among that scarce list, even if she pricks at his already threadbare patience to quell her own boredom.

Even if they both know that really, tolerance is too mild a word for what he lets her get away with.

“The fuck’re you doing?”

Case in point: now.

She pauses in her ministrations, pursing her lips as she pulls back enough to meet his unblinking stare. He wasn’t quite glaring – or what could constitute a glare with his pinprick optics, but he manages when he wants – so she stays where she is: ass planted comfortably on his lap, arms curled around his neck.

“Ah.” Clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, she draws her clawed fingers tentatively across his jaw. “See, there’s this thing called affection,” she says matter-of-factly, tone carefully devoid of her usual bite. The ‘corpo-accent’ Grayson would call it, if he wasn’t suddenly busy with something to do elsewhere when she was pulled onto Smasher’s legs. “And I think you might be terribly starved of it.”

It might be a risk to kiss him again. She does anyway, on the tip of his nose.

His fingers curl at the action, loose fists set against his knees. But she’s not dead so that’s something.

“Affection.” He grounds out, distorting the word into an insult with his characteristic growl. The weight of it settles on her shoulders, pressing them down. “How disgustingly human of you.” Something like disappointment joins that heaviness, sinking lower to curdle in her chest. The sigh that escapes her is more sincere than she intended.

“Fine, I’ll stop.” The words are sharper too, a needling precision perfected to dig under other’s skin yet ineffective against Smasher. As most of her arsenal is. Her arms slip from their loose hold around his neck, a hand bracing against his shoulder as she stands. Her pettiness too is tolerated, when it isn’t poked at and provoked for his entertainment.

“I didn’t say you could leave, Crane.” She’s barely managed a step when he speaks, the scant space between them removed entirely as he pulls her back. His frame is warm, pleasantly so against the nipping cold of the night air. Stubbornness keeps her from sinking into him, keeps her gaze pointedly on the mundane view of the inky water rather than the behemoth of chrome she’s perched on.

His fingers are always colder than the rest of him. As good an excuse as any if he points out how she shivers when his fingers crook under her chin, the touch deceptively gentle.

“Oh, so I’m Crane now?”

He pauses, fingers pressing a bit firmer as she draws in too deep of a breath. She doesn’t know what goes through his mind then – ever, if she was being truthful – but she imagines he’s recalling their past exchanges, these odd little things that a fool would call a power play. It’s more a dance; one where he’ll always lead, where the onus of their precarious balance is at his whim. His choice if he’ll drop her to the ground or pull her back to her feet after a dip.

“Victoria.” He doesn’t purr but the low rumble to his voice is dangerously close to it, rolling through her and leaving a warmth lingering in its wake. The breath leaves her, a slow exhale that eases the set of her shoulders and jaw as she finally looks at him. He’d be grinning if he could, entirely too smug at how easily he pulls her threads.

“Adam.” And finally she sinks against him again, turning to sling her legs over one thick plated thigh. He’s certain to hold her in place; a large hand cupping her rear, his grip easing after a squeeze.

“I didn’t tell you to stop either. Get back to it.”

“Get back to what?” Unlike him she can smile easily. Smugly too. He huffs, the sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh.

“Don’t push your luck now.” She knows a warning when she hears it, even one laced with amusement.

Her arms return to their slack hold around his neck, pulling herself up to continue her assault of fluttering kisses against the mottled skin of his face. If his shoulders relax and he sinks deeper into the shitty settee, she doesn’t mention it. Just as he doesn’t mention her occasional firmer kiss here and there, often against the metal mandible where his lips should be.

They don’t mention a lot of things. Keeps the peace that way.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk oc #corpo v #Adam Smasher #Victoria Crane #can't wait to write the follow up where Smasher goes into the Arasaka offices #and people are gawking at him cos Vic's lipstick is still all over his fucking face #fic tag #my writing #Ship: Gilded Chrome

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scribblesbyb · 22 hours

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Writing Game Week #1: Use These Prompts to Get Back Into Writing!

Prompt 1 Prompt 2 Prompt 3 Prompt 4 Prompt 5 Prompt 6 Prompt 7

A/N: End of the week! Yay. This streak was nice but let's see if it'll carry on for another week lol

Anyway~ This one was...strange. Didn't know where I was going but hey

Tags: Goth fantasy

WC: 1031

Prompt 8:It was a moonless night, a smell of copper filled the air; definitely, a night where nightmares…..

It was a moonless night; a night where nightmares came alive. With the smell of copper filling the air, what a perfect time it was for Dawn to rise.

Leisurely, her pale, bony arms stretched towards the outskirts of her coffin. Long, bloody nails dug into the dirt around her as she, so effortlessly, removed the lid hiding her body from the modern world.

Dusting the crimson dress that stuck to her pear-shaped body, a fullness untouched by the years of rotting in a grave, she helped herself out of the hole.

Dawn’s bare feet tickled the short grass under her soles. Being grounded in nature again made her feel happy, blissful, alive. Her thin lips, smeared with blood from her last meal, smiled at the irony.

Gliding across the graveyard, Dawn’s dirty hands tapped one tombstone after the other—intentionally missing some. At her touch, those seemingly resting under the surface awoke, obeying their Goddess' silent command.

Rotting teeth and pale bodies stayed on Dawn’s trail. Some carried dead pets in their arms or perched on their shoulders. Others wore accessories from a lost time. Monocles, pocket watches, cigarette holders.

Finally reaching the graveyard’s gates, and with a dozen of her followers behind her, Dawn snapped both set of fingers. A transparent veil webbed itself into existence, starting from the tips of Dawn’s nails and going on, creating one thread after the other, till it hid the undead from prying eyes.

Dawn began to lead them out into the world. Out the gates, across many streets, and into the hustle and bustle of the city.

Protected by her veil, the army of undead, as one might call them, split up and blended into the human crowd. With cloudy eyes, they pried into their lives, looking over their shoulders to watch what they were doing.

Whenever a human would flop as a shiver ran down their spine, an undead would giggle. Same went for when they’d mistake their goosebumps for excitement, not knowing that an undead was touching them, in awe of how alive their skin felt.

Some took offense when a human would mistake them for someone else. When they’d stand and speak to the space around them, and thank their deceased loved ones for watching over them. But that was never the case. Unless they were part of Dawn’s following that is.

A rare few of them didn’t make it back from Dawn’s strolls; their bodies destroyed by a swift snap of her fingers. Those were the ones whose fascination turned into hysteria. Their fragile minds couldn’t fathom seeing but not experiencing life.

Dawn had no need for weaklings.

Arriving at her destination, finally, Dawn turned and whistled; a high-pitched noise only her followers and dogs would hear. The undead flocked to her side, while a number of humans looked quizzically at their dogs, cocking their heads and twitching their ears for a moment.

With a silky voice, and in an ancient tongue long-forgotten, Dawn spoke.

“I hope we’re not late. I’d hate to miss it.”

Her long neck looked up at the abandoned mansion that stood before her. Pale, blueish, and greenish veins drew maps on her exposed collarbones and chest as she inhaled deeply.

Breathing out a misty exhale, the air from her rotting lungs swiftly breaking down the manor’s door. It landed quietly, not even a thud to be heard.

A cyclone of dust circled them. They watched as it gradually grew, moving with the help of Dawn’s fingers further inside what she once called home, stopping at what she once called a ballroom.

The cyclone dissipated into shapes; bodies; three to be exact. The dust also formed a throne-like chair and a big TV out of thin air. With another echoing snap, the dust fell off the figures in one swift motion, revealing them.

“See? I told you she wouldn’t be late. It’s her favorite show!”

A black-haired young woman with gleaming blue eyes chimed before turning to set up the TV behind her. The man she was reprimanding, a tall, thin, scrawny, and bald fellow, quickly plastered on a smile.

“Welcome, Goddess. We’ve been waiting all month for the moon to disappear.”

The third of the group, one whose gender was unclear, dropped to their knees in respect. With pinkish lips and long hair that covered half their face, their meek voice piled on with, “We hope we’re able to rightfully entertain you and your following this month too, Goddess.”

Dawn stepping out of the veil, revealed herself to them. Eyes cast to the ground, fearful of what would happen if they gazed upon her ethereal presence, they prayed in her ancient tongue.

Pleased, Dawn snapped her fingers, revealing the rest of the undead.

“You have your work cut out for you.” Dawn joked in her language. “My following has doubled since last time.”

“We can see that, Goddess.” Maria, the black-haired woman breathed out nervously.

“Rest assured, we’re up for it!” Dax, the tall man exclaimed.

Ash brushed their hair to the side, counting the heads rolling off on shoulders or dangling off broken necks. “13 is no feat, Goddess.”

Dawn smiled, showing little beads of porcelain teeth.

“Are you ready for me, then?”

Maria jumped, not expecting to be singled out. “Y-yes, Goddess,” she stuttered, gesturing grandly at the chair.

Gracefully, Dawn stepped up to her throne and slowly sat down. She hummed, pleased that her human followers had kept it clean, comfortable, and unbothered.

Maria nodded, now turning to turn on Dawn’s favorite show; the one thing on Earth she indulged in. While they were bothersome mortals, she didn’t mind confessing that this show was a guilty pleasure of hers.

As she sat there taking in the scenes unfolding on the screen opposite her, Maria, Dax, and Ash took to entertaining her followers. Whatever they desired, the three humans would grant them.

Knowledge. Companionship. Blood. Flesh. Conversation. Sex.

It didn’t matter.

The friends knew it would be worth it in the end.

Perhaps not now. Perhaps not for years to come. But when death came knocking at their doors, they’d be joining their Goddess for strolls under moonless nights.

That was devotion. That was loyalty.

#writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing game #writing prompt #goth writing #goth #prompt #blurb #creative writing #writer's block

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alongtidesoflight · 1 year

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a gentle kiss to ask forgiveness - for anyone you want!

oh, thank you! that's a lovely one! i'll write a little re-envisioning (meaning it uses some canon dialogue) of my dragon age legionnaire carys and anders on the run from kirkwall after the events of DA2! it's a bit tricky to let people in on the lore of them because they're not exactly canon-compliant but canon-adjacent, but the gist of it is that i usually have several protagonists working together and if there's a game series previous protagonists & co are usually cameoing in followup games and that's what's going on here. hope that makes sense it's like 4am lol

It had been a rough couple hours ever since they'd boarded Katara's ship - the ONLY Qunari ship still anchoring at the Lowtown docks - and hauled their asses out of Kirkwall at breakneck speed. Carys had lost count of just how many people she'd had to politely remove from their path on the way there. Mages and those blasted templars alike, too many people had met the sharp end of her blade tonight.

Upon their departure, the city had still been on fire. Pillars of smoke and flame reaching for the sky she'd once been in so much awe of and dreamt of reaching for herself. Now she didn't dare look up at it again for fear of seeing the inferno still raging in the distance.

She could still hear the screams. Feel the crunch of rubble and debris under her sore feet. Taste the bitterness of iron at the tip of her tongue. The sting of sulfur and smoke clung to her clothes like leftover traces of soot and dirt clung to the skin of her face, and her axe and hands were still coated in the deep crimson of dried blood.

There can be no half-measures. There can be no turning back.

Had she ever truly known him?

Slightly turning her head towards the man who'd spoken those fateful words just moments before tossing an entire city into uncontained chaos, Carys sighed quietly, hiding her gaze behind a veil of her golden hair. Observing him like she'd observe the many shifty looking strangers crowding the Hanged Man on a busy evening.

Anders sat slumped against the rickety walls of the ship, seemingly deep in thought. He hadn't looked up ever since Katara had insisted they lock him away below deck. In fact he hadn't even protested it, which Carys found odd. Whatever Hawke decided his fate would be, he seemed to be fine with just... accepting it.

And now?

He'd rather die fighting, he'd said tonight. And then he hadn't.

Hawke would have fulfilled his wish in her grief, but then Carys had stepped in.

Carys's gaze sought out his eyes. She couldn't read him at all.

And now she felt as if she'd made a terrible mistake.

What did she know of mages and templars, truly? Who was she to speak on surface business, to decide on who gets to live and who gets to die? Kirkwall was burning and its citizens were at each other's throats. Meredith and Orsino were dead. The chantry was gone. An entire city razed to the ground and Anders had been at the center of it all.

And then Carys had thrown herself between Hawke's blade and Anders's body, begging for his life like a lovestruck fool.

"If only you'd told me the truth", she whispered softly and hated hearing the pain in her voice.

Anders finally raised his head to look at her.

Anders didn't speak instantly, but when he did there was a saddened sharpness to his words, a distance that made Carys desperate to reach out for him. But she stayed her hands. "I told you there's a lot of ugliness in my life."

"Have you ever?", she wondered out loud, strength returning with every syllable. "I know nothing of alchemy or magic, but the sela petrae... how could I have been so stupid."

She'd seen it in use before, down in the Deep Roads, when a handful of Legionnaires had sacrificed themselves sealing off a hurlock-wrought pathway with a massive explosion. It had left nothing but destruction in its wake. Why she'd procured the stuff for him, not questioning his intentions once, she didn't know.

A weak smile tugged at the corners of her mouth when all she wanted to do was cry. "So, once. Remind me to add a notch to the tally."

"I should have trusted you", Anders said when silence began to stretch between them. He swung his legs off the bench and abruptly stood up, sinking to his haunches before her. "Even with all we shared I didn't think you'd understand." Tenderness returned to his voice and softened his warm, brown gaze.

"I might have, if you'd ever shared your plans with me", Carys returned. "That night when we headed into the sewers, when you told me you'd found a way to separate Justice and you safely... Anders, if you'd told me the truth instead I would've helped you."

"Just as I feared." Anders ran his hand down her forearm and slowly laced his fingers with hers. "I can never return to Kirkwall, love. I will be hunted wherever I go. No one is going to offer me mercy. This isn't the life I was envisioning for you."

Carys huffed. "I'm a Legionnaire, remember? Not like anyone even knows who I am. I'm as expendable as they come."

A steep line furrowed Anders's brows. "Not to me. I did what needed to be done, but I couldn't bear the thought of condemning you to the same fate. You couldn't be told."

He leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. "Forgive me, Carys", he murmured, raising his hand to her cheek and wiping traces of soot and dust off her face. His lips found hers in a gentle brush, as light as the touch of a feather. "Fighting this fight with me, I couldn't have asked that of you. Forgive me."

She gasped quietly when his tongue parted her lips, finally giving in to the desire to embrace him and holding him tight.

Anders had once said he'd drown the world in blood to keep the both of them safe. And as they held each other like this, lips searching for each other in increasing desperation and breath intertwining, eagerness only interrupted by apologies and more pleas for forgiveness, Carys knew that she would do the same for him. Stone be her witness, she'd fight a thousand Kirkwalls for him if it meant he could be free.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #da2 #brosca #anders #brosca x anders #ask #my writing #not proofread n it's 4am have fun babes #i have a couple more prompts sitting in my inbox and i'll get to every one of them and also message back people!! just bear with me

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scribblelegs · 1 year

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wrote this almost 2 years ago.

‘Severed’

To the nights words ran until our throats went dry, cracks in mud branch into the cycle thats embedded into the wrinkles of our brain.

Huge blocks of days have been removed, conversations on the tips of their severed tongues chalked full of regret, coughing up the blood of past summer nights mixed with cheap vodka and backseat horrors.

Distasteful. Disgust.

Stale memories remain buried like tree roots breaking through dirt, pushing downward to grow outward. they lay there dead alive but still hard to pull out.

Hurts too much anyway..weak, feeble minded, flawed into the core of existence.

.♡...

.To The nights we thought the world's collided n something ignited n for a moment in time we didn't want to die.

Deception.

Warm faces, crossed legs, circles of friends with music.

Midwest sunsets. Highway bridges. Hidden rivers.

Where did the time go?

Was the time spent worth all the pain?

♡...

.Crushed cans scatter around feet, embers fade to dust swirling up into night skies, cedar pops n flames remind me that life isn't so bad.

How I could be so wrong.

♡...

.Knees smash onto gravel, pebbles effortlessly nuzzle under the scraped skin on impact. I realize how im numb, an infection that festers, &I am nothing.

♡...

.Sitting inside a broken couch falling behind the shattered glass n crumpled eviction notice remains the last shred of hope

The threads unravel more n more as this old tattered fabric falls apart again.

Seems to unwind, feeling worn just wanting to unwind from my own mind.

♡...

.I lash out, i hurt so I keep hurting others.

I dont want to hurt let alone hurt the ones I love. I dont know why.

♡...

.The moon is low, my teeth constantly ache. I do not know who i am any longer. I feel like a stranger to who I've become to hate. What's new though when you hate everything...

♡...

.To the nights our thoughts of mud turn to puddles and flood away who we are so existing wont be as painful as we once knew.

My voice is gone, my cheeks stay wet and i still don't know what it feels like to just be ok. Feel human, at home, or that I even belong anywhere.

...

At least I am alive I guess. I feel that too much.

♤...

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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 1 year

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"We should start back. They’re all dead."

“Looks like it,” Pyro said. But he sent one more jet of flame scouring across the charred bodies piled in front of him, just in case.

Fucking Brood. It was nice to be fighting something so far removed from human that even the holier-than-thou X-Men had given him and Shaw blanket permission to pull no punches. Sometimes he just wanted to torch things without tip-toeing around Krakoan law, or even his own budding conscience. But damn if the creatures didn’t make his skin crawl.

The way they could just burrow deep down inside you, and you’d never know until they tore your body apart from within, and there was fuck all anyone could do about it. He shuddered.

“Actually, Allerdyce, I….may have….spoken prematurely…..” There was a definite strain in Shaw’s voice, and Pyro whirled around, to find that the large man had fallen to his knees, one hand clasped over his stomach. The flesh underneath Sebastian’s fingers writhed in a way that made Pyro want to vomit.

“Much as I hate to say so, it appears that….I am in need….of your unique brand of violence.” Shaw’s face had gone milk-white, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “How hot can you make fire?”

“Hot enough to melt most metal. Stone, even.”

“Make it….hotter than that. Understand? I want you…..to strain yourself to the absolute limit…..You must….burn this creature…out of me. I trust that there will be no…..squeamishness or….misguided mercy on your part.”

“You trust right,” Pyro said, raising the flamethrower.

“Be….thorough, Allerdyce. And if….it doesn’t work….I believe you can make those flames of yours….solid. A spear of flame….directly through the eye socket…..into my brain. That will do it. Put me down before you…..let that creature….take me.” Sebastian doubled over, his face frozen in agony.

“No worries there.” Pyro gave a grim smile. “I’ll see you right, one way or another.”

And then he let loose. It was almost like the “good old days” with the Brotherhood, trying to see if he could melt Colossus just for the challenge of it, before everything had gone to shit for their team and he had wasted away in a fog of sickness and confusion and regret.

The good old days, when he could cheerfully commit murder without thinking about it too much.

Sebastian was a shadow under the lovely, orange-gold flame that blazed hotter and hotter, turning blue and white as Pyro gritted his teeth in concentration. The sand under Shaw’s knees bubbled, and the one tree in Pyro’s field of vision, several yards away, burst into flame. Fine, more fuel to pull from. He swept the extra fire towards Sebastian’s vague shape, and made it hotter, hotter, and hotter still.

There was a sound over the roaring of the flames, like a high, keening wail, that prickled up and down Pyro’s spine. He saw Sebastian lurch forward, and then another shape emerging. Pyro could barely see, but he could have sworn that something black and misshapen was scrambling out of Sebastian’s mouth.

The black, misshapen thing then jumped away, completely seperated from Shaw, but it didn’t get far, on account of also being on fire. It thrashed in the sand, still keening, as it’s limbs crumbled to ash, then finally lay still.

Pyro let go of the fire, and it guttered out as his head began to throb. This kind of strain, he’d have an intense migraine for the rest of the day. Shaw still looked worse, with his clothing and hair burned entirely away, and his body caked in ash. Yet somehow, the man stirred, and staggered to his feet.

“…t …ck” Shaw muttered.

“What?” Pyro asked.

And then Sebastian swung his fist down at the burned creature in the sand, and there was a crack like thunder, and when Pyro was able to think again he realized he was sprawled in the sand several feet away, now sore over his entire body, and the migraine still gaining ground.

“The fuck was that?!” Pyro demanded.

“All that thermal energy had to go somewhere,” Sebastian said. Even scorched bald, with his sideburn-less face oddly bare, and not a stitch of clothing on, Shaw still managed a haughty expression. “I told you to get back.”

“You’re bloody welcome,” Pyro said snidely.

“Ah yes……I suppose gratitude is in order.”

“Not holding my breath on that.”

“The fact is, Allerdyce, I am a man who pays my debts. And I would greatly prefer not to owe you a favor. So as soon as we return to Krakoa, I’ll write you a check for a reasonable amount.”

Pyro considered this. “I prefer cash.”

“You’d ask ask for stock options if you had any sense, but very well. As much cash as you can carry.”

After another moment’s consideration, Pyro realized how easily this particular wording could screw him over. “And that had better be all in large bills!”

The negotiations continued as they staggered back towards the gate together. Behind them, the molten sand where Sebastian had knelt cooled into glass.

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