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cookies-over-yonder · 4 months

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seven minutes in hell

Normal and Taylor won't stop arguing, so Scary does what any sane person would do, and shoves them into a closet.

gift for @officialgleamstar and @llumimoon :3c

ao3

“I’m gonna go pick up the pizza.”

Taylor grabs his cane and gets up from the couch.

Normal isn’t all that hungry, and besides, the vegan pizza options mostly suck anyway, so he let everyone else order whatever they wanted.

Link gets up too. “I’ll come with.”

And Link is going with him. Of course. Normal scoffs.

“What was that?” Taylor asks, with a slight edge to his voice.

“Oh, nothing, I just figured you two were going off alone again. Ignore me,” Normal cuts back with the wave of his hand.

“What’s your problem, Normal?” Taylor steps closer, and rather than glaring back, Normal locks his gaze on Taylor’s dangling and sparkly heart earring, scarlet like the streaks in his hair.

“I don’t have a problem,” Normal mumbles.

“ Yes , you do,” Taylor lifts an arm to point an accusatory finger, and the movement makes the earring sway backward and forward. Normal didn’t initially know Taylor to wear flashy accessories, but it seems like the survivalism paired with mandatory camouflage has worn off a little. “You’re always weird with me.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that everybody loves you even though they hate me!”

“Huh?”

Taylor’s eyeshadow matches his earrings too, scarlet and sparkling. Normal thinks he’s only started wearing eyeshadow recently, though he’s worn the same black cat-eye eyeliner for as long as Normal can remember.

“Just…”

Well. Now he’s looking into Taylor’s eyes.

And they’re confused.

And Normal can feel the explanation bubbling up and his filter fails him, but maybe that’s fine. Maybe everyone will see his side.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Normal stands up to reach a level playing ground with Taylor. “You’re not taunted. You’re not shunned. You’re not bullied. You’re not ignored. Everyone loves you even though you’re just as annoying as me! ” Normal sucks in a breath. “No. Even more. You’re even more annoying than me. You’re so full of yourself even though you’re a loser too, and I can’t wrap my head around why everyone likes you when they can’t like me.”

Normal huffs, cheeks hot.

Taylor stares back, eyes glassy.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, dude?” Taylor’s voice remains strong as ever despite the tears in his eyes. “If you hate me so much, then why are we even here? It’s not my fault that you’re just a jealous bitch! We’re getting the fucking food!”

He grabs Link by the arm and starts marching toward the door.

“ Hey. ”

A sharp voice cuts through the tension in the air like a knife.

Scary.

The look in her eyes means business, and Normal feels he can’t say a word.

“ What. ”

Ah, leave it to Taylor to fill the silence.

“You two,” she grabs Taylor and Normal each by the wrists. Taylor yelps and she whispers a quick apology before dragging the both of them down the hallway.

Next thing Normal knows, he’s thrown into a closet with Taylor.

“Don’t come out until you’ve figured out your shit!” Scary shouts from outside the door.

“Scary, are you sure—”

“This is their fucking problem, Link, and they’re going to fix it. I’m sick of it.”

“Okay, okay.”

Normal hears Scary grumble something about pizza, and then two sets of footsteps trailing away.

“Is she serious?” Normal huffs, staring at the closet door. It’s not like it has a lock.

“Are you serious?” Taylor snaps, and Normal locks eyes with his, and suddenly he can’t pull away.

The strand of jet black hair that lands just over his left eye is backlit.

“Your eyes are glowing,” Normal breathes out despite himself.

“Dude.”

“Right.”

“You know you don’t know everything, right?” Taylor asks, voice a lot softer than before. Shakier too.

Fuck.

It finally sets in.

Normal barely processed what he was saying in the moment, and now, well.

He thinks he might be sick.

“Look, Taylor, I’m sorr—”

“Stop. Just stop. You apologize every time I make you pissed. I get it.”

“It’s not—”

“And I also get that your jealousy is why you keep projecting everything you hate about yourself onto me.”

Taylor clears his throat.

Normal swallows.

“Honestly, I don’t get why you hate yourself so much. You’re not a loser. You’re on the fucking cheerleading team. I think I’d collapse and die if I tried doing one of those routines,” Taylor swipes a hand through his hair.

“You wouldn’t die.”

“Let’s not test that theory.”

“Right.”

“Also, not everyone hates you. There’s at least us, your friends,” Taylor says, with his hand landing on Normal’s shoulder, sending shivers down his spine.

“You don’t hate me after I said all that stuff to you?” he asks, shutting his eyes.

“Do you hate me for calling you a jealous bitch?”

“No. I deserved it.”

“That’s another thing I don’t get.”

“Huh?”

Normal looks back up at Taylor’s glowing eyes, startlingly sincere.

“You said everyone loves me. That’s not true.”

“Really?”

He nods.

“You wanna know why I took up martial arts?”

“Why?”

“To defend myself.”

“Well, yeah—”

“Against bullies .”

“Oh.”

“I have haters too. They just can’t handle T. Swift. But that’s their problem. And the same thing goes for you,” Taylor moves his hand from Normal’s shoulder to press a finger to his chest, and Normal sucks in a breath. His long, claw-like nails are painted with a red to match the rest of his look. “It’s their problem. Not yours.”

All Normal can do is nod.

“And I’m sorry too. For excluding you, I mean.”

“No, that’s—I was just reading into it.”

“Well, either way, you’re always welcome to join in.”

“Thanks, Taylor.”

“No problem, Normie.”

The nickname makes his stomach flutter a little.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a pretty cool dude,” he adds.

“I think you’re cool too.”

Next thing Normal knows, Taylor’s wrapping him up in a tight hug, one where he’d usually suspect Taylor’s knowledge of pressure points to come into play, but this isn’t an attack.

Still, he can feel his heart thudding.

And Taylor smells nice. Like flowers. That’s the last thing he’d expect.

After a few seconds, he pulls away, though hesitantly.

“When did you start wearing eyeshadow?” Normal asks. Though it’s dark, he can still see the contrast of red against his olive skin.

“Oh, like, a few weeks ago? You like it?”

“It’s pretty.”

“Thanks,” Taylor bites his lip.

Cherry red lipstick.

He really did coordinate well.

“... heaven.”

Taylor was saying something.

Fuck.

He got distracted.

“What was that?” Normal asks, eyes still on Taylor’s lips. Despite the dark closet, it’s a red so bright. Pretty colour.

“I said it’s funny how Scary sent us into seven minutes in heaven.”

“Pfft, more like seven minutes in hell,” Normal replies, though the thought of that game is enough to tear his gaze away and bring it back to Taylor’s eyes.

“Oh, what, ‘cause I’m a demon?”

“Mhm!”

“You write fanfiction, right?”

“Yeah.”

“You ever written a seven minutes in heaven fic?”

“It’s kinda hard to fit two mascots into a closet.”

“I’d say that makes it even steamier.”

“Taylor!”

Taylor giggles, and man, it’s insufferably cute. Whatever. Taylor’s always been cute, and Normal’s sure everyone knows it.

“I’m just saying! It’s a fun trope. I’ve written it.”

“I knew you were a fanfic writer!”

“How did you?”

“Author recognizes author, I suppose.”

Taylor bites his lip again, grinning like mad.

“What are you smiling about?”

“I don’t know, I missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“Like…” Taylor grabs Normal’s hand and holds their interlocked grasp between their chests. “We were never super close, but we used to actually talk. I don’t know how the fighting started, but can we make a truce or something? Like is it over?”

God.

Taylor is so sweet.

He might be one of the most loyal people Normal knows.

“Yeah. It’s over,” Normal smiles back at him.

“I guess Scary was right, all we needed was a makeout session to solve our problems.”

“ What? ”

“Because it’s seven minutes in heaven.”

“It’s not.”

“Well, my fics often start with bickering too,” Taylor smirks.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“I’m telling you about my writing habits,” Taylor says, leaning in closer. He’s definitely trying to fluster Normal with his fluttering eyelids and glittering blush and cherry red lips that have some sort of magnetic pull luring him in.

And it’s working.

“This is seven minutes in hell.”

“Oh please,” Taylor leans away, and starts pushing the door open, “you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupi—”

Normal is the type to get what he wants.

Normal is the type to follow his heart.

He’s impulsive.

And yes, that impulse has led to danger.

And yes, that impulse has led to hurt feelings.

That impulse may be why some hate him.

Chasing his desires may be why some hate him.

His desires themselves may be why some hate him.

But that’s their problem.

Because right now, he finds himself lip-locked in the closet with Taylor Swift, hands on his cheeks.

And Taylor’s hands make purchase on the back of his neck, pulling him closer.

When they part for air, Taylor gasps, looking back at Normal dazed, before his eyes float back to his lips. And he leans in again, but before he can close the gap—

“It made you look pretty stupid too.”

“Yeah,” Taylor breathes out, before pulling him back in.

Kissing Taylor is like having your soul sucked out of you and replaced with lava. The desperation and craving that he exhibits makes Normal wonder how long he’d been wanting.

And Normal doesn’t know when, but Taylor pins him against the closet wall, breathing heavy before taking more of Normal’s air.

And Taylor’s tail coils around Normal’s wrist and pulls, like it’ll never let go again.

An involuntary whine escapes Normal’s throat, and Taylor freezes before backing away.

Normal misses the heat of his lips immediately.

“You okay?” Taylor asks, breathless, licking lipstick off his teeth.

“Yeah, yeah, I… I… holy shit …”

Taylor nods and his head dips down. His cheeks are flushed bright red and Normal can feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Hey, are you okay? You’re really warm,” Normal says, holding him steady by the arm.

“��M good. Just need something to drink.”

“Okay, I just don’t want you to pass out or anything.”

“Still would’a been worth it.”

And almost as if on cue, the voice of Scary rings through the hall:

“We got pizza and drinks! You guys done yet?”

“I’d still say this was seven minutes in hell,” Normal whispers, “because you ,” he presses a finger against Taylor’s chest, “are an insatiable demon.”

Taylor looks back with a mischievous glint in his eye and a fangy grin on his face.

(*˘︶˘*).｡*♡✧*(◍•ᴗ•◍)✧

#tayloak #dndads #fic #cookies writes and cookies wrongs #cookies fix #dungeons and daddies #taylor swift dndads #normal oak #angst #fluff #seven minutes in heaven

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broodwolf221 · 7 days

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“You’re staring.” - Solas x (a character you havent written with him yet >:3c)

hehehehehehe smutty >) @dadrunkwriting 1098 words cws: none

“You’re staring,” he pointed out, smirking as he saw Blackwall flinch in his periphery.

“Just admiring how you’re handling the wood,” he said after a moment and Solas hummed, unconvinced. It wasn’t the chunk of hardwood in his hands that Blackwall had been staring at. Not the way he held the carving knife, nor the delicate shavings that were littering the tabletop.

He should let it go. He should. Instead: “what do you think?” Blackwall cleared his throat.

“You’re skilled,” was what he apparently settled on. “Have you done this before?”

“Yes. A few times.” He refrained from asking whether Blackwall had. He knew the other man had no ulterior motive to the question, however perfectly posed it was, but his interest was painfully obvious, as was his unfamiliarity with said interest. More than once Solas had caught the Warden examining him at length. At first he had worried that Blackwall might be suspicious, but over time he had recognized the true source.

It was curious. Before, he never would have thought of pursuing any member of the Inquisition. But now that he recognized Blackwall’s attraction for what it was, he had begun to look at the other man in a different light. It was terribly hard to refrain from flirting with him, from pushing him just enough that he’d blush and stammer, but ultimately Solas had no interest in being cruel.

It was just…

“How did you come by this?” He asked the Warden, pausing in his carving to face him.

“By…?”

“This—” Solas lifted the carving knife Blackwall had loaned him. “A soldier, a Warden… when did you pick up carving?”

“Ah. Well, you know how it is. Sometimes all you're doing is waiting.”

“Indeed.”

“I had a knife. Easy to find some wood. It just… gave me something to do with my hands.”

That was what intrigued Solas. Their shared experiences. Oh, all members of the Inquisition had seen battle. But only a few of them had lived it. Bull had, of course, but he kept the difficulty of it locked up. He let himself rejoice in it in a way that Solas never could, even though he understood the use of that perspective well enough.

But he recognized the weight Blackwall carried. There was something achingly familiar about him.

He returned his attention to the wood.

Several days passed before the Inquisitor took them both out. As they made their way towards the Western Approach, he and Blackwall spoke often. At night, Solas worked on his carving more. Sometimes Blackwall watched.

When they arrived it was predictably hot. They made good progress scouting the area more thoroughly, although by late afternoon they had to stop and recover for a while. They had stopped near a small river and Sera and Blackwall both decided to wade into it. Solas tried to discourage them but they were already stripping down to their smalls before plunging in. He sighed.

When they emerged some time later and the sunburn began to set in, he had already prepared a poultice. He gave half to Lavellan, suspecting Sera would be less bothered by her touch than by his, while he tended to Blackwall. As he worked the poultice into the man's skin he also allowed himself to linger just a bit, to really let himself feel the ridge of scar tissue, the firm muscle, the layer of fat.

And all the hair. Solas really wasn't accustomed to that, finding the sensation under his fingers fascinating. Then he had to focus on working the poultice into Blackwall’s face and neck, although a part of him knew that the other man could've done this much on his own.

They shared a tent that night, as they always did. This time, though, Solas did not lay down after taking off his outer layers of armor. And when Blackwall sat up in his bedroll with a puzzled frown, Solas hooked his thumbs in the waist of his breeches, smirking at the Warden's flush. “I think we could enjoy ourselves tonight, if you're willing,” he said after a moment, carefully watching the other man's expression.

“Maker, yes.” The immediate acceptance went to Solas' head—and his cock. He had expected more hesitation, more dithering from the Warden, perhaps an uncertainty about his interest in men. Instead, he just sounded eager and relieved.

Still smirking, Solas drew his breeches and smalls down together, revealing his hard cock. Blackwall just stared for a moment before he seemed to realize his role in this, working quickly to strip away his remaining layers while Solas bit back a laugh at his haste.

The warrior’s cock was thick, even half-hard. He had been debating about letting Blackwall take him but the width made him decide against it, at least for tonight. They'd need more time to make that work. Something simpler for now.

He settled in beside Blackwall, then after a moment decided on something else and straddled him, both of them gasping as their cocks slid together. Then he began humping him, grinding sensitive flesh together, his own slick slowly making the process easier. Blackwall continued to fill out underneath him, hushed, gravelly moans escaping him periodically.

Aside from muted sounds of pleasure they were quiet, unwilling to advertise what they were doing, but the way Blackwall stared up at him spoke volumes. There was a deep admiration in his gaze that made Solas' feel delightfully overwhelmed, even as a distant part of him was wrenched with guilt at the sight. But he tried to let that part go for just this night, this shared moment.

Soldiers finding some comfort in one another… it need not be anything more than that.

Eventually Blackwall's hands settled on his hips and he began to drag Solas against him even as he thrust up, his mouth parting as his breathing sped. “Close,” he whispered and Solas just nodded—so was he. He felt Blackwall's cock twitch against his before the man's whole body tensed, coming across his own stomach. Solas rose on his knees and took himself in hand, quickly jerking off until he clutched at Blackwall's bedroll and started coming, mixing his seed with the other man's, biting his own arm to muffle his moan.

When he was done he let himself fall to the side, slowly catching his breath. He glanced up when he felt himself being observed, grinning to see Blackwall looking down at him. “You’re staring,” he pointed out, amused, and Blackwall snorted.

“So I am,” he admitted readily, and did not look away.

Solas found that he didn’t mind.

#dadw time #broodwrites #solas #blackwall #im....#wolfwarden???#idk. what are ship names.#greywolf??#honestly it's probably smth like solwall but. no.

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collegeoflore · 3 months

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7 snippets, 7 mutuals

tagged by the wonderful @rosieofcorona!!! thank you!!

i am. an awful and inattentive mutual and i don’t actually know who has any writing projects on the go right now who would want to share, but i know some of y’all do sooooooo consider yourself tagged :3c

i also have the memory of a goldfish so if you’ve already seen any of these snippets in my wip tag just pretend you haven’t

1. “rare and sweet” (subject to change lol) xarrai/astarion

This was supposed to be easy. He’s done this for two hundred years, lured lamb after lamb to the slaughter to save his own hide. It should be easy, natural, instinctive. But Astarion looks at Xarrai and he can feel the gravel under his knees, the resistance of their muscles under his fingers, their nails on his scalp.

The disgust is one thing – he knows that, knows how to work around it. The disgust has been his to have and to hold for centuries. The desire makes things complicated.

He wants them. He does not want to. Their wrist is still held inches from his face.

Astarion bites.

2. untitled xarrai/astarion piece

From anyone else, it would sound candid. But Xarrai, Shadowheart has noticed, seems far too guarded for candor. What may be candid from someone else’s lips is just as likely to be deceit from theirs; a layer peeled back only shows yet another layer beneath, opaque and inscrutable even as their lilting voice rings clear and true.

Then again, it might not be. That’s the trouble with liars – how does one know when they’ve stopped lying?

3. yet another untitled xarrai/astarion piece. i swear i write other things too sometimes

The problem, of course, is that he wasn't the only charlatan on that Mindflayer ship.

And so, Xarrai sees his deception plain. Why shouldn't they? It mirrors their own; careful misdirection and flippancy wielded like a knife up a sleeve. A liar sees a liar sees a lie. They are both wolves in patriars’ clothes, spiders spinning webs of cheerful deceit. And even if they hadn’t caught his lie when they first met, they watched him dip his fingers into a tiefling’s pocket on their way out of the grove not an hour prior. There are few magistrates with the balls to try that.

4. ALSO untitled xarrai/gale piece

Xarrai’s thumb is on his cheek, now. He can feel the callous where it brushes his stubble. Their voice almost shakes, but not quite. “Can I kiss you?”

Gale has scarcely dreamt of anything except hearing those words again since the last time they asked it. He breathes deep and closes his eyes. There it is, that hint of bergamot and rosemary and brandy. The smell of graveyard dirt and blood. They aren’t his. Anger and grief and love like a house fire tear through his chest. “You know the answer to that,” he says, softly. None of the anger, all of the grief. He won’t think about the love.

“I do,” they say. They linger, one last moment. “I’m sorry.”

5. untitled gale/ieriyn piece. as u can tell titles are like the last thing i do lol

“You must know,” says Gale, eyes half lidded, “that there is only one star in the sky brighter than Mystra’s.”

“Of course,” Ieriyn murmurs. Gale’s hand is in his hair, twining the strands between his fingers like silken flame. Ieriyn melts into it, into him; he presses his hand to Gale’s chest and feels the steady beat of his heart.

“Ieriyn. The Sailor’s Star.” It’s breathtaking, the way most anything can sound like a prayer on Gale’s tongue.

6. i bet u can guess what this one is. (xarrai/astarion. no title. lol)

For once, Xarrai doesn’t know what their face looks like. Their ears are ringing, their lungs filled with rage, their heart pounding in their chest. Astarion looks at them with that same fire in his gemstone eyes, wild and panting. Cornered. The Weave is alive on their tongue, a mouthful of electricity. They could show him exactly what they know of fucking tyranny. They could make him feel the pain he seems so certain meant nothing. They could peel apart the folds of his mind with a flick of their tongue. They could grab the knife in his ribs and twist, twist, twist. They want to. Their whole body screams at them to do it, to use the truth he’s given them like a weapon until he weeps before them like the frightened child they used to be.

7. i'm predictable. i'm sorry. LOL. this one is Very nsfw though be warned

Astarion doesn’t hesitate before he nods. “Of course I can.” He leans into their touch. “Honestly, dear, you’re more trouble than you’re—“

Lips on his and a sharp nail dragged lightly across the head of his cock and Astarion forgets entirely what he was trying to say. He shudders, nails finding purchase on the ridges in Xarrai’s back. He whines into their mouth and feels them laugh against his lips as their hand finally closes around him, the fingers of their other hand still pressing relentlessly into his prostate. He breaks the kiss to press his face into the crook of their neck again instead, breathing in the smell of the oiled leather of their collar where it mixes with the salt of their sweat and the warm musk of their cologne. His gasps and whines are muffled by the leather, and he digs his nails into their skin, fucking himself on their fingers and rutting desperately into their hand. “You are—“ he gasps softly, lips nearly brushing Xarrai’s ear, “fucking incredible.”

“Oh? And here I thought I was more trouble than I was worth.”

#wip tag #漫言 #r. hold me like a knife #r. see how it shines #oc. xarrai #oc. ieriyn #nsft text #ty again for the tag!!!#i tried to choose ones i haven't posted before but i truly do not remember what i've posted and what i haven't LOL #all of this is like deeply wip and a little unpolished but :)#i think this is the first bit of gale/ieriyn i'm posting at all :) it's also the first bit i've written lol

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adelaidedrubman · 1 year

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Can i get an order of 🔮 + jessie at her most unhinged please ( if not, her regular amounts of unhinged are also fun) :3c (--direwombat)

GLADLY actually one i can answer right away. chapter 16 jessie is doing Great and she does, in fact, get an axe. warnings for violence.

“Don’t think they’re actually soldiers,” Jestiny whispered to her, darting tawny eyes towards the bodies hovering around the dancing orange light of a campfire. Their faces were bare of signature red balaclavas, and the sling crossing over the man at the heart of the crowd’s chest appeared to attach to a guitar rather than a rifle. “Look like civilians.”

“Still look like culty fucks,” Jess responded, subtly pointing towards the familiar design of the metal cross staked into the ground and marking their camp. Its paint flaked and peeled under the harsh sunlight, just like the one she remembered —

Not thinking about that, Jessie.

“My vote would be to kill the fuckers anyways. Peggies are peggies,” Jess added, her eyes narrowing towards the group. “But I’ll let you make the call, since you’re the one with a target on your back with Jacob right now,” she offered with a shrug. “More bodies we leave lying around, more likely he is to put you together you didn’t actually die and try hunting you down again.”

Jessie swallowed, trying to think. The corners of her vision tinged crimson with guttural fear at the thought of being captured by the man again — her memories of what actually happened in her presence were hazy, but jostled her with a low vibration of panic nonetheless, followed by disgust churning in her stomach. The smell.

But she’d learned her lesson since the Henbane, she was more than happy to keep up the rumor that she had died in the pile of bodies left in the decay of the Grand View, carefully avoiding any public appearances that might spread word of her survival.

Of course, if she eliminated the full party it wouldn’t be an issue, she thought with a prickle of guilt crawling down her neck as she viewed their happily smiling faces with her hand readied at the handle of the throwing axe holstered at her side — a keepsake looted from the lumber mill, and a more than adequate replacement for the pocket knife she’d lost when a quieter, messier kill was called for.

But it may not be called for now, she lectured herself, watching as the man with the guitar propped the instrument in his lap and positioned his fingers on it, strumming to produce a surprisingly familiar chord. He beamed at his companions as he began tapping his foot to the rhythm, opening his mouth in preparation to sing along to the tune and motioning for the rest of the group to join.

“Come brothers and come sisters, come weary and come strong! Come meet the man who —”

The weight of the axe left her hand with a low whoosh as it soared through the air, its blade finally landing to bury inside the singer’s skull with a wet thwack.

And the delicate, rustling hush of the attack was broken by a piercing scream ringing through the air from the woman beside him, as he folded forward to land with his head at the woman’s feet.

#im gonna end up posting the whole chapter in snippets but. definitely a low point for her #the worst So Far #i won't say it's her most unhinged EVER.#but i shant spoil the surprise

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arcann · 9 months

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🩹 or 🔪 for Taigat? :3c

🩹 tending to each other's wounds

1.2 k words

cw description of injuries

This last decade has been brutal to their body. They wonder if other viera beginning their life took harm into account when trying to guess how many hundreds of years they’ve got left, especially if it was done in such quick succession. Broken bones, muscular tears and infected wounds. Aetherical disbalances, considerable blood loss and unstable curses.

Mutilation. Symbiosis. Close dismemberment.

Many times they’ve thought I’ve had worse than this and the frightful revelation was that they were right. They still hadn’t pondered on how that makes them feel. Sad is their simple answer, because finding a more complex one could be such a lonely, possibly heartbreaking, experience.

They’re the one who has been brutal to their body, not time.

And then another to the count. Another that fills their heart with anxiety.

The needle below Taigat’s eyebrow digs carefully through their skin, leaving behind a new stitch that itches and aches and forces another shaky gasp to escape from their lips. The needle stops, right at the edge of the new injury that just moments ago was streaming blood down their only healthy eye, now gently cleaned despite their open unrest.

“You are crushing my arm. Release me.”

Taigat’s mind fights their body to obey but a few seconds later the fingers buried in Gaius’ bandaged arm shoot away, freeing him from their iron grip. Their hand twitches awkwardly beside him, confused about what to do now. Taigat’s eye, previously closed, opens up briskly, searching for anything they could grab for. The sight of them not finding anything to their liking makes Gaius sigh and pull the needle just an inch away from them, where it wouldn’t pierce them while they were still tied to it.

“Remember, you need to stay still while I finish. Don’t do something you might regret.”

“Regret? There’s plenty to go around! Who leaves a kitchen knife inside an upper shelf? I do apparently! At least I’m the only one who got hurt.”

They were going to lose their one healthy eye, all because of one stupid domestic accident. Their vision was blurry, tears coming out irregularly but they still tried to reach for the little mirror they knew was close by, over the nightstand. Gaius’ healthy arm stops him, coaxing them to return to their position. He’s unusually delicate in his motions and Taigat notices his other arm chasing them with the needle so he wouldn’t pull on the wound.

The viera can hear him swallow harshly, thinking carefully of what to say next. “You can still hold onto me if it pleases you, just not my arms. I don’t want to err and hurt you.”

They watch him watch them, tense and ready to act from a chair he dragged next to the bed Taigat sat in, waiting for them to settle down.

Not the hip, he hid an old scar there that flared from time to time and already they messed with the burns the Praetorium left him with, which the bandages were supposed to protect. Not the neck, as much as they want to. It would be an awkward position to work from and he would probably protest again. Both would bring them unnecessarily close to each other, to the point of being distracting.

They settle for his leg, just above the knee, caressing him. Taigat slowly closes their eye but not before catching a glimpse of the corner of his lips going upwards, presumably unnoticeable to the viera.

“Very well, let us continue.” His tone does not betray his improving humor but the viera smiles brazenly as they reach a bit higher across his limb.

Their good mood slips away as the stitching restarts though, their focus returning to each other's face, one to fix and the other to stay still. Their attempt to turn the situation around is forgotten. Still, Taigat controls themselves better this time, holding their companion without hurting him.

Gaius quickly finishes the last stitches and cuts the thread, carefully cleaning their forehead one more time, watching their pronounced frown stay. “Don’t chastise yourself so harshly, even here accidents can happen”

“But I should do better, I should think twice, especially here.”

“It’s just a kitchen, not a battlefield.” he replies as he cuts gauze to cover their injury “Besides, only you use it. Everyone else avoids it like the plague.” Taigat had tried to teach Allie and Ricon how to cook when they visited but even they would much rather let the viera do the cooking. And when they were there, Taigat was only too happy to oblige them.

“Only you avoid it like the plague!” Taigat releases his leg to try and bop him in the nose but Gaius deftly avoids them, rolling his eyes.

“I know it's not that grave, I know! I just…” their thoughts are in turmoil, one asking for more distractions then the next wishing to talk about their feelings but their face hurt so they sigh dejectedly and stay silent while Gaius keeps preparing their new bandages. When they’re ready, the garlean presses his hand against their chin, coaxing them to raise their face towards him again. Once more he tries to be gentle, to soothe them.

“I am evidently making you feel dismissed,” He places the bandages over the closed wound and checks to see if they hold but his hand lingers, caressing their red locks with affection. “And yet the way I see it, you need not worry. The only consequence is a scar. I know you have gone through worse.”

Ah, there it is.

“I thought, for a moment, I was going to lose my eye.” Finally, finally they can pull Gaius close and hide from the world in his embrace. Finally they can find that old fear and give it a name. “I thought this was the worst that could happen to me, here and now. To lower my guard for months now, to think myself safe and then this. I was scared. Beyond scared.”

“You didn’t lose anything today. Even if the wound had been worse you wouldn’t have. I would have made sure of that.” Taigat reaches back and circles his hips to hug him back.

“I know.” The smell of blood is gone and warmth surrounds them. The emotional distress begins to fade and the pain doesn’t seem as poignant without its companion. Being held, cleaned and cared for, Gaius’ words ring true.

“Thank you.”

As always, Taigat doesn’t pull away from their embrace and Gaius lets them stay there, calm and comfortable for as long as they need to. He couldn’t deny that he enjoys it either, the way he leans his head over the viera’s hair and rocks them gently. They can’t tell how long they stay like that but it’s enough to relax and feel their day go back to normal.

“I can change your bandages, if you’d let me.” It’s Gaius' turn to sigh. He had never enjoyed that part of his daily routine, no matter how necessary it was for his well-being and he preferred to do it in private, away from others.

“Wouldn’t you rather… hold my legs instead?” That makes Taigat burst out laughing.

“Oh? Are we calling it that now?” They can feel Gaius’ heartbeat rush while he is so close.

“I’m asking if you would give me a massage.”

“You were? I guess I could do both since you’re being so good to me today.”

“I am very good to you every day” he flinches and adds, “now and forward.”

“As am I, now and forever.”

“Then yes, please do so. Afterwards we can see–”

“–where it goes? Let’s.”

#otp: save your strength for me #the hero now has a cringe fail cooking scar. the hero has a panic attack about it. the villain tells them to fucking chill (affectionate)#the hero will soon suck [REDACTED]#thanks wiz! <3 #about the delay. the horrors happen #oc: taigat #written words

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themountainsays · 1 year

Note

On the subject of mother in law Julieta there was an idea a while back of Isabela with an abusive girlfriend and I wonder how she is with a woman who is hurting one of her babies. Also maybe she knows about Isabela's feelings for her sister and that they are mutual so after she gets over the shock tries to get them together and break up Isa with her abusive girlfriend.

Yes yes yes yes yes, I love Isa with an abusive girlfriend >:3c mmmm I don't think Julieta would actively try to "get her daughters together", but I can imagine her being... really furious and disappointed with Isabela once the learns the truth about her feelings. But as she sees her get into a relationship with that horrible older woman, she can't help but be a mother, and express love and concern but her daughter. She notices her mental health deteriorating. Being with this woman is a form of self-harm. She's trying to forget about her sister. Accept the abuse as a form of punishment. She deserves nothing better. Julieta worries she might have had some blame for Isabela's state, and she tries to talk to her, but she can't seem to reach her. And if she ever sees her baby return home with finger marks around her neck or wrists or a brusie on her face, well, she's not going to be careful with this girlfriend of hers. Next time she comes to the house looking for medicine-food, she'll only get a knife pointed at her and a very angry mother telling her to leave town and never return.

#madrigalcest #isamira #kinda #shipcest

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arsenicxarcana · 3 years

Text

random scenario I just thought of

(prime of his life Count Lucio chilling in the bar getting drunk as hell with the lads like you do)

lucio: whoa that one hit different

assassin pretending to be a bar patron sitting next to him: that would be the (some fantasy poison) I put in your drink :)

lucio: hm? oh, oopsie, I already swapped it with yours while you weren't looking

assassin: wh-- no you didn't

lucio: see I just did it again

assassin: you didn't even move!

lucio: didn't I?

assassin: did you?

lucio: :)

assassin panics and pulls out the antidote- which lucio swipes w one hand and grabs the dude with the other

lucio: yoink! (chugs that mofo)

assassin: ah fuck

lucio: you wanna know what kills people faster than poison~?

assassin, eyeing his gauntlet: .... is it knife fingers?

lucio: it might be knife fingers!

#the arcana #lucio #OC #headcanon #i may draw the last part #'it might be knife fingers :3c'

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newvegascowboy · 2 years

Text

Tagged by @bigbraincel :3c ty 💖

This little bit is from my Reyes wip, titled "soldier, king, and spy" which I've been working on today because of @morscanis 's wonderful enabling 💕

Vulpes' back hits the dust with a thump, hard enough that Reyes hears his teeth clack together. The fight is over in an instant. He snarls, bucking beneath her in a vain attempt to throw her off, but she has him thoroughly pinned. One wrist is trapped beneath her knee, his fingers grasping weakly at the meat of Reyes' calf. The other is stretched above his head, her fingers tight around his wrist. Reyes has a forearm barred against his throat, enough pressure applied to be uncomfortable, to make him squirm.

Vulpes' face twists, lip curling into a grimace. He bucks beneath Reyes' weight, but she's straddling his chest and he doesn't have the momentum. His struggling is rapidly flagging, face growing redder the longer Reyes keeps her arm pressed across his throat.

Something stings inside Reyes' mouth. She licks the inside of her lip, tongue brushing over a cut from her teeth. Eyes still locked on Vulpes' face, she turns and spits blood into the sand. "I told you," she pants, leaning over him until her shadow falls across his face. A strand of hair drips from behind her ear, trailing in the sand next to Vulpes' head. "If you tried anything, I'd kill you. Did you think I was bluffing?"

Vulpes doesn't answer. He couldn't if he wanted to, but Reyes isn't letting him, her arm flush to the soft flesh beneath his chin. His face is tight, eyes flicking rapidly side to side, just off Reyes' face. She can feel the muscles of his throat working against her forearm, but his teeth are clenched, preventing him from gasping. He would die before begging, and Reyes knows it. Strength is the rule of the Legion and Reyes has proved hers in the bowl of this dusty basin, beneath the hot mojave sun. The shame of having been beaten will subdue him, no matter how underhanded he might be.

Carefully, Reyes leans back, easing her arm off his neck. Vulpes shudders beneath her, eyes squeezing closed. He hacks, sucking in a long, ragged breath, then coughs again. Reyes settles back on her haunches, raking her hair off her forehead with her freed hand. She glances around, taking in their scattered campsite. Vulpes' knife is lying not far away, obscured by sand where Reyes had kicked at it. Grunting, she leans over to paw at it. She catches the edge with the tip of her fingers and the blade jumps. Again, and she drags it closer by the flat of the blade. Grit scrapes her palm as Reyes picks it up. The hilt of the blade fits neatly into Reyes' hand, bronze blade flashing in the sun.

Beneath her, Vulpes has gone rigid. He's staring at her from the corner of his eye, tracking Reyes' hand as she tests the weight of the blade. She huffs a tired laugh, tapping the point on his breastplate. "Relax," Reyes says. She scratches at the leather with the point of the knife, leaving little white scars behind. Absently at first, then intentionally, until an angular R has been whittled into it. Vulpes watches, resolutely silent. "I'm not going to kill you," Reyes says. "But I could. Understand?"

He says nothing. Reyes squeezes his ribs with her knees, spinning the point of the blade on his breastplate. "Hey. I'm not letting you up until you tell me you understand. I'd like to not have to do this again."

Vulpes' lip curls again, bearing his teeth. A muscle in his jaw jumps as his head drops back to the dust. He's silent. For a moment, Reyes wonders how long she'll have to kneel here, testing his seething resolve against her patience. He would be the type to fight a war of attrition. Reyes can't give him an inch, cannot waver, because that would be weakness. Vulpes' contempt for the weak is only barely rivalled by his blind devotion to Caesar.

His head jerks once. A short nod. Reyes' shoulders relax, the tense line of her body softening. It's an out for him. He could escape now, if he wanted to, but only because Reyes let him.

#fallout #kal talks #kal writes #courier reyes #legionposting #ahh... the beginning of their weird power dynamic...#vulpes inculta

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gondowan · 3 years

Text

Communal Property

Pairings: Din Djarin x f!Reader, allusions to Paz Viszla x f!Reader, Boba Fett x f!Reader, other Mandalorians x f!Reader, big gangbang vibes here lads.

“I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.”

Tags/Warnings: NC-17. Explicit sexual content. Established relationship. Verbal humiliation. Dom/sub. Choking. Lots of finnnngerrring (vaginal/anal). Canon-typical violence (Din stabs a rando). Soup, but make it sexy. Daddy kink (ehe). Suggestions of a threesome, gangbang, public use, bondage, breeding, double penetration (if I missed anything please let me know), its fluffy at the end :D

Word Count: 4,709

Notes: <:3c please don’t read if you’re not comfortable with anything listed above lol. Seriously though.

---

It was getting late, and the only clientele left at the dingy cantina were either drunk and rowdy or on their way to out. Which was fine, it was rare for the two of you to have some time together and you relished every second you could get. Din had just bagged a large bounty for Karga, enough that he could be persuaded to take a short break. It had been far too long since the two of you could spend some time together without a bounty puck hanging over your head or fears of Imperials looking for the Child.

Besides, Sorgan was as quiet as it got, and with all the planet-hopping and close calls in the last few cycles, the two of you really hadn’t had any time to yourselves and you were getting a little...tense from the lack of release.

It wasn’t that Din ignored your needs, but rather you were both so caught up with everything that there was barely any time to sleep, let alone indulge in a long scene. There just weren’t enough hours in the day to both take care of the Crest, the Child, and yourselves while on the run. You could tell he too was tense from the lack of physical connection; from the moment you stepped planetside, he was constantly touching you, either guiding you with a hand on the small of your back or

Din was in a mood.

“What will it be?” the barkeep had asked when you both walked in.

Before you could open your mouth, Din replied “Some stew and cider for her please, nothing for me,” he said in a clipped tone, not bothering to look at you or even ask what you might want.

As the barkeep walked away, he turned his helmeted gaze towards you. “Any objections sweet girl?”

You felt your face get hot. “No,” you murmured.

He cocked his head to the side, waiting. He was in that kind of mood tonight. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the barkeep coming back to your table.

“No...daddy,” you mumbled, dropping your gaze away from him right as the barkeep put down your drinks.

“Let me know if you all need anything else!” she said cheerfully as she set your plate of food and drink in front of you, oblivious to what had just occurred.

“That’ll be all, thank you.” Din said, not even bothering to look at the barkeep. She must’ve thought you were mute or the two of you had an argument or something, the air between the two of you felt so charged. You hadn’t spoken a word since you two stepped in, and this armor-clad Mandalorian was basically bossing you around.

She walked away, and you reached for the soup.

“No.”

You blinked at him in confusion.

“I’m going to feed it to you,”.

If you weren’t embarrassed before, you were now. Although the two of you had conversations about taking your dynamic outside the bedroom, Din hadn’t tried anything outside the ship just yet. The two of you were constantly surrounded by others anyway (Cara, Mayfeld, Boba, etc), so there wasn’t much of a chance to be naughty in public.

Except now, you suppose. You should’ve known.

“Mando, we’re in public,” you hissed, looking around the cantina. It was crowded and loud, and you were in a corner booth, but there was still a nonzero chance that someone might glance over.

His vocoder crackled, “Just the first spoonful,” he said, dipping the spoon into the soup and raising it towards you. You knew better than to say no, not if you valued the ability to sit down comfortably tomorrow. If you were really uncomfortable, all you had to do was blurt out your safeword, and you knew he would stop.

You licked your lips, “Just the one.” You prop your forearms on the table and lean towards him, parting your lips, fervently hoping that no one would look towards your table. Din carefully tips the soup into your mouth, watching intently as you swallow.

“Good?”

You lick your lips, despite the (admittedly delicious) soup, your mouth feels dry, “Y-yeah,”.

“Finish it and we can leave,” to do what it is we really want to do, is the unspoken statement hanging in the air. He pushes the bowl towards you; you hastily grab the spoon, not even tasting it anymore. Din watches you eat, unmoving save for an impatient drum of his fingers on the table.

You relax a little, and ramble at Din about this-that-and-the-other to fill in the silence as you move onto polishing off your cider. Din says little in return but traces circles at your thigh, gloved fingers leaving a burning trial in its wake. Right as you are about to finish, a drunken man saunters over. You can smell the stench of alcohol rolling off of him. So much for a quiet night.

“What’s a pretty lady like you doing with a tin can like that?” the drunkard giggles, pointing at Din. “Come with me instead, I can show you a great time, and you can see my face!”.

You sigh, so much for a quiet night, “I’m not interested, thank you,” you say with a clipped smile, turning away, hoping to the maker that he’d leave.

Unfortunately this idiot can’t read the room, “Awww, don’t be like that, I can-”.

“She’s not interested.” Din said, voice flat, gaze still directed at you, not even bothering to give the drunkard the luxury of his full attention.

The man scowls, throwing up his hands. “Whatever, she’s probably all used up. I hear you Mandos like to share your women anyway.”

The air got deathly still. Before you can turn to stop him, Din’s vibroblade is sticking out of this man’s shoulder. He screams, sobering up instantly, as Din twists the blade.

In a flash, the barkeep shows up, blaster in hand, “OUT! All three of you!”, she yells, “Sa’al, I told you if you were going to get in trouble for this shit one day. Don’t let me catch any of you back here again.”

You throw down a fat wad of credits at the table, face apologetic as Din pulls his knife out of Sa’al’s shoulder, returning it to his boot. Sa’al collapses and scurries away in pain, clutching his shoulder. Din calmly stands up, takes your hand in his and leads you towards the exit. You mouth apologies at the barkeep before stepping out into the cool night air. Sorry, my partner is...touchy tonight have a good night so sorry I’m so sorry.

You shiver, not looking forward to the long walk back to the Crest. Surprisingly, Din turns you in the opposite direction, marching you towards the inn.

“Don’t want to wait,” he says. “Besides, it’s getting cold, and I know you don’t like that,” he drapes his cloak over your shoulders, and despite the reaction he had at the bar, your heart feels warm, and you lean into him.

---

The inn is quiet, and you were lucky to get a larger room at the end of the hall. A bath would be nice, the refresher aboard the Crest did its job, but five minute showers really didn’t leave any time for luxuriating. Maybe you could MacGyver some bubbles and really indulge with Din.

Din however, has other ideas. He all but shoves you into the room, closing the door behind him and quickly doing his usual checks for cameras and recording bugs. Old habits die hard. Once he’s satisfied, he sits at the edge of the bed. He pats at his lap, gesturing for you to sit. This had become a bit of a ritual for the two of you, he would often decompress by holding you as you sat there, either in the cockpit or the sleeping quarters. You amble over, planting a kiss on his helmet, and sit down.

Din doesn’t say anything at first, just lays his head on your shoulder. You reach in between his armor to rub at the tense muscles on his back, and for a few moments, it’s just the two of you and the sound of his breathing out of the vocoder.

“You didn’t have to go so hard on the poor man you know,” you murmur as you massage the back of his neck. Din doesn’t move, just continues to hold you on his lap, head on your shoulder as he scoffs.

“I’m getting soft. Before I met you, old me would’ve killed him,” the voice underneath the helmet is deadly. He releases his hold on your waist and takes off his helmet, immediately peppering kisses along your mouth. You knew he wasn’t lying, he had done worse--for less. “No one talks to my girl like that,”.

“It’s fine, you dealt with him. My honor remains intact, I swear.” you giggle as his lips reach a particularly sensitive spot behind your ear. Except the idea was enticing. Maybe you could bring it up another time, when Din wasn’t fresh out of nearly killing someone for saying that. The idea of being sandwiched between two Mandalorians was...tempting. You squeeze your thighs together, willing the thought away as you card your fingers through his hair. For someone who routinely kept it covered, it was so, so soft, and one of your favorite parts about him. Din still kept his helmet on more often than not, so you relished every chance you could get.

His mouth wanders to your collarbones, hand reaching into your shirt, fingers smoothing over your nipple.

“Although Din--ah,” your breath hitched as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, “What was that with the soup?”

“You didn’t like it?” his voice is muffled as he sucks a bruise onto your shoulder.

You loved it actually.

“Need to make sure babygirl has enough energy for Daddy,”. He continues to play with your nipple as you fuss around his lap.“Although...you averted your eyes earlier sweet girl,”.

You whimper, body tensing. Shit. That had one been one of the rules he had laid out for you at the very beginning. Eye contact whenever you were playing. Din loved it because it made you embarrassed to have to admit to your desires to his face and it put you in an almost automatic submissive mindset.

“Are you ashamed of being my baby girl?” he murmured, catching your chin with his hand, tilting your face to meet his. You knew it was a trick question, you could never be ashamed of the relationship the two of you shared. It had grown from just business to more, and despite the near-constant danger, you never wanted to be away from him, and you knew Din felt the same.

“Of course not,” you sigh. You could never be anything but happy to be his.

“Then why did you look away from me?” he asked, keeping your chin in a gentle grip, looking at you fondly, a smile of wicked pleasure gracing his handsome features. His voice was calm, and he maintained an innocent demeanor even as his other hand drifted away from your breast onto your thigh, squeezing gently.

“I was just caught off-guard, we were in public,”. You braced yourself for what you knew was coming-- punishment.

The other hand that had been trailing along your thigh paused, prompting you to freeze. “Well, it looks like you need to be taught a lesson. Always be ready for me, kitten.”

“I think five is good,” he releases your face, hands roaming to your bottom, groping as you let out a shuddering breath, “Remember to count them”.

You burrow your face into his shoulder, holding on tight. Din keeps his gloves on, knowing that you have a special fondness for being spanked while he was wearing them. The leather just adds that extra touch.

The first hit takes you by surprise, and you buck into him, feeling the sting of his hand.

“O-one.”

The second and third hit right next to the first, causing you to moan into his neck.

Din rubbed the growing warm spot on your asscheek, “You should be in a museum kitten, your body is a masterpiece,” he growled, “Almost makes me feel sorry to hurt you.”. He lifts his hand away and you close your eyes, bracing yourself.

“But not quite,”. The next hit has you whimpering.

“Four.” you manage between clenched teeth.

He murmurs, “Last one okay? You’re doing so well.” You steel yourself, knowing that this one will be the most painful. You loved it when he was cold and domineering, playing with your body, inflicting both pain and pleasure at his desire, extracting whatever he needed out of you.

Din’s hand comes down, hard. You cry out, shifting forward with the force, but are caught by his chestplate.

“Five!” you call out, relieved. “T-Thank you Daddy,”.

Din kisses your cheek, phrases of adoration and love filling your ear. He moves you off his thigh, pushing you onto the bed in one swift motion. You land with a soft ‘oof’, getting up on the back of your forearms to look at him.

Din hurriedly takes off the rest of his armor and looms over you on the bed, arousal rolling off his body in waves. His palm reaches down between your legs. “Babygirl...you’ve already made a mess.” Din pulls at the crotch of your panties, feeling the wetness that has seeped through. He yanks them off, making a big show out of sniffing them, all the while maintaining eye contact with you as you squirm under him.

“Is this all for me sweet girl?”. You nod feverishly and Din groans, as he inhales deeply again, your ruined panties pressed right against his nose, “It’s too good--I should just keep your pussy under lock and key.”

“Did the spanking get you all riled up?” he asks, the curve of his cock visible even through his pants, making your mouth water.

“Or…” his voice drops precipitously, “Were you thinking about being passed around?”

Damn, of course he’d know. Your eyes widen and you swallow, stomach twisting.

Din grins as he continues to let his hands caress your hip, “Was that it? Is that what you want? Passed around and used up by a bunch of Mandalorians?”

You whine, biting your lip, refusing to give him the pleasure of confirmation.

A sharp slap across your nipple brings you back to reality. “Answer me.”

You nod, lips parting, unable to answer as Din pushes a finger into your mouth and across your tongue. You lap at his finger, pleased at the subtle shiver that goes through him. He adds a second finger, reaching deep into your mouth, making you gag as you garble out an affirmation.

Din grins ferally. “You know I could call up Paz and Boba, let them take turns on you”. You shudder, the thought of sucking Boba’s cock while Paz worked your pussy was hot. You hadn’t done more than exchange a few conversations with the two of them, but you knew that Din would trust them with his life, they were his vod. Paz was the biggest one and you knew he wouldn’t take it easy on you. Boba, however, would be brutal, possibly even more so than Din.

“Although I don’t know babygirl, I’m not sure I can share your pussy-- maybe I’ll keep my cock in your pussy and the others can take turns on your ass and mouth, keep you airtight and so full. Would you like that baby? Be stuffed full of cock?” Din hums as he pulls his fingers out of your mouth. The image he’s painting in your mind is disgusting and oh so good, you imagine yourself straddling Din as his cock fills your pussy, holding on for dear life while Paz eases himself into your other tight hole and you choke around Boba’s length, utterly debauched.

Din pets your cheek, soft gesture contrasting sharply with the utter filth coming out of his mouth. His hand finally reaches down towards the apex of your thighs, knuckle grazing up and down your folds. “We better train your asshole then, don’t want Paz or Boba to hurt you,” your heart flutters, filthy images of you on your knees plugged up making your blood pound.

“That’s Daddy’s job after all.” he says absentmindedly, eyes laser focused on your pussy as he briefly dips his finger even lower, just barely skimming across your other hole.

“Look at you,” he says, admiring the way you shudder as he inserts his fingers into your pussy, you’re so turned on you can hear the squelch as he pushes in. “Knew you were a greedy slut since the first day I set eyes on you.”

You keen under his touch, mind flying high, pussy throbbing as you move your hips into his hand. “I’m your greedy slut Daddy,”

“Yeah you are, sweet girl.” Din says fondly. You wonder how it is that you’re already this close even though he’s barely started to finger you.

“Can I kiss you? Please?” you whimper, reaching for him. Din hums and puts a knee on the bed, leaning over, chest pressed against yours, pressing a kiss to the underside of your jaw. You pull him closer, needy for more of him as you wordlessly beg for more. He nips at your bottom lip and you open your mouth to let him in, never minding the mess of saliva.

“Never thought you were that much of a whore,” he hisses against your neck, teething grazing along the line of your skin as you tilt your head back to allow him better access. His fingers continue to work their magic on your slick folds, and you’re pretty sure you’ve made a mess on the bed already, and dear maker, he hadn’t even made you cum yet.

“Alternatively…”. Din stands up, mouth leaving yours and withdrawing his fingers as well. You whine at the loss of sensation. He nips at your breast before reaching down to pull his pants down. You swallow, chest heaving as you part your legs further for him. Din rubs the head of his cock on your clit,

“Spread yourself,” he orders with a sharp smack to your inner thigh. You scramble, reaching down to give him better access. Din lets out a moan at the sight of your dripping pussy and your debauched dreamy expression, fresh bruises adorning your neck and chest, all his doing. He loved the way you folded under his touch as if you were made for him, always so sweet and anticipatory of his needs. A beautiful complement to his twisted desires. The thought of it made his heart swell. He was never going to let you go.

Din makes an appreciative noise as you follow his command, lining himself up with your wet hole. You’re breathing so hard in anticipation that you feel light-headed, “Or...I could take you back to the Covert, let everyone else have a turn at you,”

Before you can fully register what he said, he pushes deep into you with one fluid motion of his hips. You squeeze down on him, grateful for the pressure and the way he fills you up every time like he was made for you.

“We could get your implant taken out, make you take all of our loads in your pussy. All of our cum mixing together.” You moan, head dropping back, shuddering as he continues to thrust, bottoming out, not giving you any time to breathe let alone think.

“Would you like that babygirl? Naked in the middle of the Covert for all to see?” you scramble to hold on to his arm, legs circling around his back. You squeeze around his length, getting close, but you don’t dare to cum without his permission.

“D-daddy…” is about all you can muster out, eyes looking at his face but unseeing as he continues. You pull at the arm he’s been using to brace himself against the bed, gesturing at him to put his hand around your neck. He obliges with a small laugh, the span of his palm encompassing your neck, lightly resting his hand there and not squeezing, yet.

“Close baby?”

You tremble, “Y-yes Daddy fuck, please may I--”

His hand returns to your clit and he presses down, taunting you, “You’re close already? If you cum, you acknowledge that you’re a filthy slut who needs Daddy to keep them in check. Is that what you are? A whore for Daddy?”. The hand on your throat squeezes just right and you can’t hold on any longer.

“Always Daddy f-fuck.” you cry out as you curse, feeling your release overtake you as Din fucks you through your orgasm.

“What do you say,” he snarls, ignoring your attempts to scramble away from the overstimulation of his cock and fingers.

You blink and take a deep breath, “Thank you for letting me cum Daddy.” You’re past the point of embarrassment at this point, he has you wrapped around his finger, all mental filters long gone.

You can see Din’s jaw clench before he pulls out quickly and you whimper at the loss of sensation. He flips you over and pulls your hips up. He huffs out as he pushes himself back in, chasing his own pleasure this time, nailing you to the bed and all you can do is continue to take it. Your mind swims as you let out a sob; you’re so deep in a trance that you barely register his finger at the edge of your asshole again. He pushes in slowly, first knuckle breaching the tight ring of muscles as you tense up around his thick finger.

“I knew you would love being the Covert slut; you always need so much to be satisfied,” he sneers, voice dropping even lower as he continues to mock you as his thick cock continues to work your hole and his finger fully breaches your asshole. “Maybe we won’t stop until we’re sure you get pregnant huh? You won’t ever know who the father will be since you won’t ever see their faces.”

You’re nonverbal at this point, your litany of ‘yes Daddy’ and ‘more please’ muffled by the pillow.

“I guess we’ll just have to hope it looks like me huh?”. You groan, too overcome to do anything but moan.

“Gonna give us warriors babygirl?”. Din snaps his hips particularly hard, you’ll be feeling the smack of his thighs against yours in the morning.

You can feel yourself getting closer, the combination of the obscene image he had planted in your mind coupled with the press of his cock at your back and the fullness of his finger in your asshole was getting to be too much. You grip the sheets in a vice grip, mind falling into the web Din painted, of you on your knees, collar tied to a post, all your holes dripping with cum while the other Mandalorians all take a turn at you. So filthy, and you love it. You know nothing would please Din more than your complete and utter submission, and if that involves the entire covert or Paz and Boba, so be it.

Din’s hand comes back up to your throat, and squeezes, playing with your breath right as his other hand inserts a second finger inside your asshole. You clutch at the hand wrapped around your neck, feeling your head swim, closing your eyes as you bounce up and down on his cock.

He growls, biting into the shell of your ear, “Aww baby are you drooling?” he smears your spit across your cheek with his thumb. “Look at you, you’ve only cum once, and all of this is already making you cockdumb. Might have to call Paz and Boba in after all.”

You could only mewl in affirmation, mind floating, body only anchored by the points of contact made by Din’s hand on your throat, his cock in your pussy, and his fingers in your ass. You feel so good being used like this.

“I love it when you’re like this babygirl, so helpless for Daddy,” Din growls in your ear. His eyes are hooded as he chases his own orgasm, the rhythm of his hips becoming more erratic.

“I-I--” your tears break free, running down your cheeks as you struggle to form coherent words.

Din is unaffected, unrelenting in his thrusts against your walls. “Tears aren’t your safeword babygirl. You can do better than that.”

You manage a moan, barely registering his words, cries reverberating around the room as he knocks the breath out of your lungs with each thrust. “Tell Daddy you love this.” he hisses.

“I-I fuck, oh, oh, iloveitdaddypleaseplease,” you struggle to find enough breath to answer him, mouth dry from all your panting, Din’s hand unrelenting across your throat.

“I know you do baby. Is it getting hard to breathe? It’s okay, Daddy’s got you,” his voice full of pride as he rails you, splitting you open, filling the room with nothing but the sound of his cock moving in and out, his hips slapping against your ass. “So good for Daddy fuck-- I’m gonna-- this pussy is too good--such a good girl for me.”

His words fill you with warmth, and you squeeze your pussy against him right as he pulls out. Din moans, his hand letting go of your throat, looking for more leverage as he gets closer to his own completion. “Make a mess all over me babygirl, it’s o-okay I got you,”. You wail and sob as he pushes you over the edge again. All you can hear is your garbled ‘thank you Daddy thank you’ as you thank him devotedly over and over again. All the tension drains out of you, leaving you boneless on the bed, only held up by the fingers still in your ass and his cock.

“S-shit. You made a mess all over me f-fuck, oh fuck.” Din groans as he finishes inside you, filling you with warm cum. He pulls his fingers out and collapses on top of you. Din places his head against yours, peppering kisses all over you as he pulls out, his cum oozing out of you. It’s quiet as you both catch your breath.

You open your eyes blearily, “Fuck.” is about all you can manage before giggling, the endorphins making you feel so good. You can feel Din smile as he lifts himself up, pushing you back on your back. He looks ethereal, hair sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping down his body as he gazes at you fondly. You reach up and caress his face and he leans into your touch.

“How do you feel?” he murmurs, warm brown eyes on yours, laying a kiss on the back of your hand; ever the gentleman when he wasn’t busy degrading you at your request.

You stretch languidly, a little sore, but no more than usual. “I feel great actually. And you?”

Din smiles softly as he caresses your face, “Never better,”. You love all these aspects of him, the bounty hunter, the Mandalorian, your lover. Nothing made you happier than getting to share these moments with him. The two of you lay there for what feels like eternity, happy, sated, no concerns, just kissing each other softly, coming down together. You feel your eyelids close.

His voice brings you back from the edge of sleep. “Sweet girl...we need to clean up,”.

You blink at him blearily, “Ah right...I made a mess,”.

“We made a mess,” he chuckles, pulling you up into his arms (how did he still have all that energy?) before depositing you in the tub and turning on the warm water. Right as the water covers your shoulders, he gets up.

“Where are you going? The water is niiiiice.” you say as you make a big show of sinking into the bath. “Although not as nice as your ass.”

He smirks, “I need to send a message to Paz and Boba. Got exciting news for them,” he says as he turns towards his discarded armor.

Your eyes widen. Wait what?

---

I regret nothing lmfao. This is 100% me procrastinating from the fact that I have six months to finish writing my dissertation nbd. The line “you should be in museums” and “pussy under lock and key” is from Megan thee Stallion’s Sex Talk and Dance respectively. As always, comments/reblogs/keysmashes are always appreciated and give me much serotonin :)

Might do a part two with actual Boba and Paz but there are only so many euphemisms for cock that I know of ahaha.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #paz viszla x reader #boba fett x reader #mono writes

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angelharness · 4 years

Text

can tell theres gonna be a lot of pyramid head on here =3c

WARNINGS: none

PYRAMID HEAD / THE EXECUTIONER

• I very much believe he can show affection in his own way! It takes a lot to decipher his behavior, and sometimes trying to read him can be like learning a second language; no matter how well you know him, there will always be an air of unpredictability to him. He can very quickly become agitated or violent, though will never intentionally direct that at you.

• Mostly, yes, his dialect of affection lies in tolerance, but you have to realize how incredible that is for a creature manifested out of agony and guilt. He deals out punishment, and once his work is done his existence ceases meaning. You’ve given him a new meaning, so it’s new territory for the both of you.

• Touch is murky terrain with him. You can never really be sure what might upset him or even worsen his pain. It’s a safe guess to keep physical affection around the arms; stroking his shoulder or intertwining your fingers. He doesn’t feel the scars, no matter how deep, but the weight of the helmet is a horrible and constant ache. He will, from time to time, claw desperately at it or groan metallically. There isn’t much you can do to soothe this but reassuringly rub his forearm.

• Unfamiliar with physical contact that isn’t the distressed thrashing of a victim or their hands raking at his, trying to pry his unrelenting grip from their neck. Might be startled by physical intimacy.

• Sometimes, though (which is an uncertain gamble), he might be fine with you petting the helmet. Will sort of lean into the palm of your hand and make a steady rumbling noise.

• It’s hard to define the concept of friends to him beyond people he doesn’t want to hurt, so you can’t expect him to get along with your fellow survivors just because you like them. His work always comes first, though if it causes you such distress he might ease up on his punishments. Again, this is a considerable achievement.

• Is content with protecting you. In the interludes between trials he often sticks by your side (or expects you to stick by his), usually towering over your shoulder, at alert. Makes for a peculiar sight, such a horrific beast, so docile, even as he stakes his great knife in the turf and presents it by the handle.

• You’re inevitably going to get a little roughed up around him. Pyramid Head struggles to restrain his strength, something he’s never had to worry about beforehand—you’re absolutely going to have to remind him to tone it down before he pulls a limb of yours out of its socket. You’re not sure if he understands you, but is very observant of changes in your voice, even the slightest inflection. Raising it will get the idea across.

• Kisses are even more dubious territory. He might imitate a kiss by pecking you with the rim of the helmet, but otherwise the concept is lost on him. You could probably kiss his hand, but you’ll have to excuse the grime and blood.

• Built for taking naps on. He’s surprisingly comfortable to lean on, when he permits that, and takes his role seriously when watching over you during these moments of rare intimacy. Once again, it’s hard to interpret his mood (irritation is easily recognized by violence, but everything else is skeptical), you might, however, tell he’s at ease when his breathing’s evened out and his posture loosens. These are things that only really happen around you and outside of matches.

• On very rare occasions, he makes a steady, rolling sound that could be likened to purring. If you put your head to his chest you can really hear it.

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #horror x reader #reader insert #x reader #dbd x reader #silent hill x reader #pyramid head x reader #reader imagines #reader #slasher imagines #slashers x reader #headcanons #slasher x s/o #💾:harpy writez #request

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in-tua-deep · 4 years

Note

🌻 If I may just request something lighter. I nee that right now.

a “happy ending, the team wins and life is made easier for them” au coming right up ;3c

bear with me for some less light content though bc it is the umbrella academy and there’s a lot of. u know. child soldiers and death. but i will try!! bear with me, starts off less light and ends much lighter I promise

so maybe not light but on god it’s going to end soft

---

When Five is seven, he walks into a room and makes a face. His siblings, who are loudly arguing, don’t notice. It’s just One and Two, going at one anothers throats for the eleventh time that one.

(It should be noted that’s it’s only the fifth of the month. So really not surprising in the slightest.)

And then Five tilts his head, and very purposefully steps backwards, and a few seconds later a knife embeds itself in the wall a few inches from Five’s face.

“You almost hit Five!” One roars, pointing accusingly.

“I wouldn’t have.” Two scowls.

Except he did.

The next day, Five looks up from his homework and frowns at Six. He’d rather ask Six alone, and Four is present, but this is the best opportunity he’s going to get to ask anything without Dad finding out or having to deal with, ugh, One.

“Hey Six?” Five asks, getting a quiet ‘hmm’ in return as Six looks up, “You ever have a dream that comes true?”

Before Six can get out a word, Four rolls over from where he’s taken his book and sprawled out on the floor with it since he can’t sit still in a chair longer than four seconds. “I thinks that’s called deja vu, dude.”

Six nods, “The feeling something has happened before, sure. Plus, if you’re stressed out about something you might dream about it. You having dreams, Five?”

Five shrugs, thoughtful. If there’s a name for the experience, then it’s something that happens to everybody and isn’t something to worry about.

“No,” He says, “I’m fine. Thanks.”

---

When Five is ten, he refuses to follow One’s - Luther’s - plan for the first time in a real life situation.

“No.” Five says, firmly, “That plan is going to get someone killed.”

“It’s a good plan.” Luther says, equally firm and just the slightest bit irritated. Being in Luther’s favor actually counts for more than he might know, and being out of it... Reginald listens to Luther in a way that he doesn’t for the rest of them.

So Five toes the line, but usually doesn’t give the boy a reason to actually complain about him. So he grouches and snipes and snarks but usually follows the plan, if with some... embellishment. He doesn’t usually disobey outright.

“I’m not doing it.” Five says, and the team is quiet to the side. Five has always been headstrong, but this head on collision is not his style.

“Yes.” Luther says, anger twisting his face into something ugly, “You are.”

And then their illustrious leader beckons for them to go, and it’s Allison who flounces off first to her position followed by a stalking Diego. Ben gives Five a hesitant look, but goes ahead without saying anything. Ben has never been a fan of conflict.

Five stares at Luther, and Luther’s eyes narrow, and Five thinks fine, he thinks, I’ll do it myself. And he jumps away.

And when things fall apart and go to shit, Five is there yanking on a skinny arm and a bullet whizzes by and Five cover Klaus’s body with his own as he shoves them both under a desk. A few minutes later, knives appear out of thin air and Five pries them out. He doesn’t even realize until they’re all looking at him, horrified, that he’s been shot. Not until he touches his fingers to his shoulder and feels the red against his fingers.

“Oh.” Five says, frowning, and then he looks at a pale faced Luther. “I told you your plan was shit.”

That’s the last thing he remembers, until he wakes up in bed feeling fuzzy with his shoulder patched and bandaged and Mom right there helping him sit up and sip from a glass.

That’s the first time Five realizes that what he does can be dangerous.

---

The thing is, it starts off incredibly simple. Harmless.

When Five dreams, his dreams are... strange. He dreams of simple things, little things. An argument that will happen. What dinner will be. That Ben is going to leave his book in the little storage room by the dumb stature of an elephant that looks more more like a bulldog with a snake attached to its face.

The thing is, he believes Klaus at first. That it’s harmless. Except it becomes less fuzzy and less a feeling that something will happen, and becomes something sharper. Something more than deja vu.

He thinks about telling his father, because he’s angry with Luther and craves recognition and discovering something new about their powers is a surefire way to get Dad’s undivided attention.

(When Diego discovered he could hold his breath for an alarming amount of time, the rest of the family didn’t see him for a week.)

That’s the first night he wakes up with cut off screams in his throat, and the knowledge that his father is a ruthless, tricky man. And very very inventive.

(He does not tell his father about his power development. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually.

He loves his siblings, but he doesn’t trust them. Information, in this household, is power. A bargaining chip. He loves his siblings, but Reginald is clever and he is cruel and any one of them would betray the others if it hurt enough.)

As he grows older, his dreams become more vivid. And they stop just being about the next day.

He saves Klaus’s life from a bad plan, but he learns a lesson. If he changes what his dreams show him, he doesn’t know what will happen next. He saved Klaus, but got shot himself.

He gets a choice, between having absolute certainty, and changing the future. It means that Five rarely acts on his dreams. Not unless he has to. And after that awful, awful mission, Five also learns to be more subtle.

Especially after a bedbound interrogation by his father, that Five barely manages to spin into it just being a challenging brat, and things just happening to go down badly was a coincidence that Five will hold over Luther’s head for the rest of time.

And Five is a challenging brat at the best of time, and so Reginald believes him, but he learns to be more subtle.

So Five... nudges things. When he absolutely has to. And the rest of the time he bites his own tongue and stomps on his own fury and grits his teeth. He does what he can, when it can’t be traced back to him.

(Klaus goes into the mausoleum, and he wraps his arms around himself in a terrified hug, and his hand bumps something in his pocket. A little flashlight. Klaus thinks for a moment about how it could have gotten there, and decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. It’s still terrible, but it’s more bearable with a little bit of light.)

---

Five is twelve when he starts dreaming about the end of the world. He also discovers an entirely new aspect to his power.

When Five sleeps, he dreams of time travel. He dreams of the fizzle of time itself against his palms, how exhilarating it is. Time itself at his command, no, not command. Time itself cradling him in its infinite grasp. It’s not like jumping through space. Time is, it’s so big. And it loves him. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does. Time loves him, and he loves it.

He wants to travel, he wants it desperately. But he knows what will happen if he does. He knows, he sees, he dreams over weeks, over months, lives an entire life in eight hour increments.

And in this life, Five learned his lesson early. You don’t tell Reginald Hargreeves about new developments in your power unless you’re willing to go through his private training in order to train it.

Five doesn’t mention anything about time travel, to anyone.

Five is thirteen-years-old and two-months and he misses the day he was supposed to time travel on. And he wakes up sweating and dizzy and dying.

(Five Hargreeves is time’s child. Time loves him, but he needs time in a way he never realized. he made a change. It’s too big of a change.)

Five wipes his face, splashes some cold water, and gets to work.

The first thing he does, is go into Vanya’s room and sit her down.

“Are you okay?” She whispers. She’s always been so quiet, like a mouse tiptoeing around in a house full of cats. And Five regrets, for just a moment, not telling her sooner that she’s always been a cat as well.

“I need to tell you something.” Five whispers back, determination making him sit up straight. “And I need you to not be angry.”

“Why would I be angry?” Vanya asks, tilting her head and looking confused.

“Because I kept a secret from you.” Five whispers.

Vanya just gives him the most puzzled look, “What secret? Why?”

“Because information is power, Vanya.” Five tells her, reaching out and taking her hand in his own, “Because I love you, I love you all. But I don’t know what’s going to happen, only what could happen. What cannot happen.”

“Five you aren’t making any sense.” She reaches up to feel his forehead, snapping her hand back to her side, “You’re burning up! Five!”

Five smiles at her, “I keep so many secrets, Vanya. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m going to change the world, and you’re the only one I can trust to help me, okay?”

“Five... I don’t understand.” Vanya says, helpless.

“You will.” Five says, his smile turning just a little watery, “Promise me something though. Promise me you won’t hate me. Won’t hate any of us.”

“What are you talking about.”

Five shakes her hand, “We were so little Vanya. We didn’t know. Allison didn’t know. The only person to blame for this is Dad, because he did something terrible, Van. Something awful. He made us all do something terrible.”

“Five...”

“Promise me Vanya.” Five demands, shaking his head. “Promise me, promise me you won’t hate us. If you have to hate someone, hate dad. But promise me.”

“I - I promise.” Vanya stutters, confused.

“Haven’t you ever wondered why you’re the only child that didn’t develop powers?” Five asks gently, “Haven’t you ever wondered why, if you don’t have powers, Dad kept you? You know him. We all know him. He’s a practical man. If you’re of no use to him...”

“...He would throw me away.” Vanya finishes, her voice a mere whisper. “But he did. He did keep me, so - so he must think I have potential, right?”

“He knows you have potential, Vanya.” Five’s voice is soft, gentle, in a way it never is. “He knows, because he took it away from you.”

“What - Five?”

Five gives Vanya’s hand another little shake. “How long have you taken your anxiety meds, Van?”

“My what?” She pulls her hand out of his, drawing it up to her chest, “I - I don’t know. A long time.”

“Since we were four, Van.” Five tucks his empty hands into his lap, hiding the trembling of his fingers, “Do you know what else happened when we were four? We started getting our powers, remember?”

“Speak plainly, Five.” Vanya’s hands are trembling as well, but not for the same reason.

“He stole it from you, Van.” Five whispers, “You were four. You didn’t realize how dangerous you were. You didn’t understand, you were so little. So he took them, and then he never gave them back.”

Vanya’s eyes are wet, and she brings a trembling hand to her mouth, “No.”

“He told Allison to make you forget.” He grips the fabric of his shorts as a shudder ripples through him, “She was four. How could she say no? He made all of us forget, and then how could we know to tell you?”

Vanya is openly crying, a hand over her mouth to stifle her sobs because everyone in the manor knows how dangerous crying can be. How dangerous the wrong kind of attention can be. “Then how do you know, Five.” She manages to get out, “How do you know.”

Five offers her a watery smile, “Because I keep secrets, Vanya. My powers, they’re not. They’re not what everyone thinks. I know things, because when I close my eyes at night I see things.”

That makes Vanya stop crying, just for a moment out of sheer confusion. “What?”

“I’ve known about you for a year. I know so many things. A lifetime of things. But none of that matters, because this, right here, right now? Changes everything. Do you understand?

“No!” Vanya bursts out, sounding angry. “No, I don’t understand!”

“I’m dying, Vanya.” Five says bluntly, which throws off Vanya’s anger like she’s been dunked in cold water. “I didn’t know. Not until today. This is the biggest change I’ve ever made, do you understand? I didn’t know. I need to leave. I need to - to reboot. I don’t belong to this timeline, not anymore. It’s rejecting me, unless I can reset myself. But if I do, where will I land?”

Vanya looks confused, and Five can’t blame her. He’s dropping a lot on her right now.

“Isn’t it funny?” Five’s smile is anything but cheerful, “Isn’t is cruel? If I want to survive, I have to jump. But if I jump, I can’t change anything. So you see? I have to try and change everything now. I have to trust.”

Five loves his siblings, but he’s never trusted them. Not really. Not with the important things. But now he has to. Has to take a, ha, leap of faith.

“Five, talk sense.” Vanya demands.

And so Five tells her everything. He tells her about yesterday, about getting up from the dinner table, of jumping three times and ending up in the apocalypse. He tells her about the Commission, about Reginald’s death, about a man with two faces who convinced Vanya he loved her and turned her against them. He tells her about the end of the world.

Vanya is pale, and shaking. “I wouldn’t.” She whispers, “I wouldn’t.”

“You won’t.” Five says, “You were manipulated. It was planned, you were pushed. You were the weapon that was used to start the apocalypse, but you weren’t the shooter, Van. You’re my sister. I love you. I know you. You’re stronger than you know.”

“I’m not. Five, I’m not.”

“Look at me.” Five demands, getting get attention. “I’m right here. Telling you. I’m not in Luther’s room, asking him to keep an eye on you. I’m not in Allison’s room, telling her to use her powers to keep you in line. I’m not in Ben’s room, telling him the future. I’m talking to you. Vanya. My sister.”

“Five...” Vanya whispers.

“I’m a secret keeper, Vanya.” Five says, “I don’t trust. But I’m here, and I’m trusting you.”

“Why?” Vanya asks, a sensible question.

“You’re the only one I can. Luther and Diego are too hotheaded. Allison too vain. Ben too afraid, Klaus too fragile.” Five tells her as another tremor goes through his body. “I love you. I trust you. You’re going to save the world.”

“How?”

“You need to be careful. There are eyes on us. Watching. If we change too much, we risk everything. You need to be quiet, you need to be wary, you need to trust no one. Dad thinks he controls you entirely, he thinks he has you completely under his thumb. He doesn’t watch you the way he does the rest of us, which gives you a freedom none of the others have.”

Vanya shakes her head, “I don’t know, Five.”

“If you want to stop taking your pills, you can. You can sneak out. You can train by yourself, away from the cameras. If you’re careful, you can learn.” Five looks at her sympathetically, “But the thing about that power, is that you have to keep it secret. Dad kept you, when he thought he could control you. What would he do if he thought he couldn’t?”

Vanya lifts a hand to her mouth. She wants their father’s attention with same fierce heartbreaking way they all do, but she also knows him. He’s Reginald Hargreeves, and he’s drugged her for the entirety of his life in the name of control. He is the ultimate power in the household. Reginald doesn’t flinch at killing. They all know that.

“You have to be careful.” He tells Vanya, “You have to stay alive. You have to save Ben. You have to be smart, you have to be so smart, Van. And you have to do it alone, because I won’t be here.”

Vanya nods, quiet and solemn.

Another shudder ripples through Five, this one hard enough to make him fell off the bed with a muffled shout. Vanya shoots to his side instantly, grabbing his arm and helping him up.

“You need to go, Five.” She says, frantic, “You need to go.”

“I don’t want to.” Five admits, “I don’t want to leave you alone. This is so much, Van. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

“I’m not alone.” Vanya tells him firmly, “I have you. And I’ll have you again, in seventeen years. It sounds like a long time, but that doesn’t matter. Because you’ll be alive. You’ve always been there for me, even when you didn’t know. Even when you thought I was ordinary. You’re the only person in the house who treats me like, like a person.”

“You’re my sister.” Five smiles, “I trust you.”

“Go, Five.” Vanya whispers, leading him to the window and hiking it up. Five appreciates the gesture, it’s always easier to jump when he knows where he’s going to land. “Go, and I’ll make sure you have a world to come back to.”

Five nods, and he’s crying a little as he pulls her into the tightest hug he can. She’s crying, too.

And then he jumps, and he’s out on the street. He turns to look back up at the window, and there’s Vanya with a hand to her mouth but still watching him. He nods to her, and then he jumps.

---

He’s crying, as he jumps the first time, but it’s almost in relief. The way he changed the timeline - it hurts. It’s not a simple thing. The other timelines he altered, they aren’t nearly as big. By not going the day he should have, by telling Vanya and asking her to save the world...

He gouged out a timeline. He carved out a future from time itself to cast it aside. Not just a little one, not one that didn’t matter, not the future of something as small as a human life. He changed the future of the world.

But when he bathes himself in blue, it smoothes over the ragged gaping wound he put in himself. It takes away the pain, because time is... adaptable. It isn’t linear. It repairs itself, given the opportunity.

He jumps again, and the pain gets even better as time itself heals. As it accepts his actions, what can and will happen.

He hesitates though, before the final jump. He never lived that first timeline. Not really. But he remembers it, which is nearly as bad. He remembers the hunger, sharp and painful. He remembers the grief. He remembers finding the bodies of his siblings, and not understanding what had happened. He remembers the apocalypse, in all of its gruesome glory. It’s never happened. It will never happen, because he trusts Vanya. But he remembers it, and so he hesitates.

But he trusts Vanya. He has to trust Vanya.

So he jumps, one final time, he jumps.

---

He stands on the street, and someone bumps into him from behind and mutters an apology, and Five is rooted to the ground. The world has not ended. He is on the street, in front of the manor, and he whirls around and looks up and a window and -

Vanya isn’t there. Of course she isn’t. He never got a time he arrived in the future-that-wasn’t. She wouldn’t be able to just... stand at a window all day. That would be silly.

He has to find her. He doesn’t know where she is. Except - except he can hear something. Loud, raised voices. Familiar voices, even out here on the street.

The courtyard.

Five is exhausted. He’s healed, the timelines have smoothed over and stopped killing him, but he’s tired. But even so, he jumps. It’s nice to have a view of where he’s going, but he’s never needed that.

He jumps into the middle of - an argument. His entire family is there. Harold Jenkins is there, yelling something about the family not loving her, and Five freezes.

And everybody freezes.

And then Vanya smiles at him and says, “Five. You made it.”

Harold Jenkins sputters, the rest of the family starts to shout, and in one smooth movement Vanya pulls something out of her jacket and turns around and -

Harold Jenkins falls to the ground. Dead. The gun sits in Vanya’s hand, steady as anything.

“Shit!” Luther roars, but Five doesn’t care about that.

He’s already run into Vanya’s arms. She drops the gun on the ground and folds him against her and he’s crying and he isn’t quite sure why. “Shhh, sh. It’s over.” She soothes him, her hand carding through his hair, “It’s over. You did it, Five. You saved the world.”

“No,” Five manages to find his voice, “You did. And you did it alone. You must have been so so alone.”

Vanya laughs, squeezing him tighter, “Don’t worry. I’ve had a lot of practice at that.”

“What the actual fuck.” Ben says. Ben. Alive and wonderful and alive and Five draws back just to stare at him. “Five?”

“You killed a man!” Luther hollers, looking absolutely scandalized. He isn’t huge, isn’t wearing a trenchcoat. He looks... smaller, than Five remembers him being. More normal.

Klaus looks... normal. Well. He’s got what look like the tightest possible skinny jeans and a crop top and way too much eyeliner, but otherwise - he looks healthier, draped across Ben’s shoulder and staring at Five with wide eyes.

“Vanya?” Allison demands, and Five kind of wants to duck behind Vanya because his breath is coming a little bit fast and he feels a little bit dizzy, which is stupid because this is everything he ever wanted. Everything. His family, safe and sound and whole.

Vanya smoothes her hand through Five’s hair again, and then looks around at their audience. “I think,” She says, and her voice is strong and sure and so very different from the Vanya Five knows, the one that whispers and tiptoes as quiet as a mouse, “We should take this conversation inside.”

And that’s how they all end up in the living room, squished onto the couches. Five is next to Vanya, he hasn’t let go of her arm.

“I think I should tell you about the night that Five went missing.” Vanya says finally, when they’re all settled.

“What about it?” Diego says gruffly, his arms crossed defensively across his chest. He also hasn’t taken his eyes off of Five.

“Five’s powers aren’t just jumping.” Vanya says, after looking at Five to get his nod. And doesn’t that comment set a fox among the chickens? There’s a solid five minutes of yelling before the family realizes that Vanya is patiently waiting for silence.

Vanya smiles and nods approvingly when they all settle down. Five wonders if she’s a kindergarten teacher or something in this timeline.

(He has to hold in another shudder at the thought, because he’s finally realized why his lungs feel so tight and he hasn’t really spoken yet. He’s terrified. He’s so used to knowing, and he’s just dropped himself in the middle of a giant mystery. He loved his siblings. He loved them in the timeline-that-wasn’t. He loves them now. But he doesn’t know them. He doesn’t know anything. And that terrifies him.

In their household, information was power. To not have any at all is... unthinkable. Horrifying. He’s so scared, he can barely breathe. But Vanya is holding him back, and she just saved the world, and he tries his best to trust her.)

“Five’s powers are to do with time. He saw the future, and he saw the end of the world, and he decided to stop it.” Vanya says finally, “And he told me how to do it.”

“Why is Five so quiet?” Allison demands, sounding worried. Five wonders if Claire exists in this universe. He mourns, just a tiny bit, for the niece he never met.

Vanya squeezes Five a little, and looks at him with just as much worry in her eyes. “Five?”

And for some reason, the first thing that falls out of Five’s mouth is - “Dad’s dead?”

“Dead as a doornail.” Klaus confirms, and Ben nods.

“Really dead?” Five insists, and he’s not sure why, “You’re sure he’s dead?”

“Yes, Five.” Ben says, quietly. “He’s dead.”

Five looks up, and he finds Diego’s gaze and holds it, “If he knew, if he knew what I could do...” He sees the realization spark behind Diego’s eyes, “I saw it, when I thought I was going to tell him. I saw what he would do, if he knew.”

“So you kept it a secret.” Diego says softly. He’s not as hard as not-Five’s Diego, or at least not right now. He looks sympathetic, as Five nods carefully.

“Do you remember,” Five begins, pausing the clear his throat, “Do you remember that mission where I told Luther his plan was stupid?”

Luther’s eyes are wide when Five glances over at him.

But Five skips over Luther and looks at Klaus, “You could have died.” He tells his brother, and his voice shakes a little bit, and it’s terrifying to say these things out loud. Part of him expects his father to walk out from behind a door, having heard everything. “You would have died. Except you already died, the night before, when I was dreaming.”

“Five...” Klaus shakes his head, and Ben grabs Klaus’s arm tightly as if the lanky man will evaporate into thin air.

“I for one want to know about the dead body in the courtyard.” Luther says, sounding a little shellshocked.

“He introduced himself as to me as Leonard Peabody.” Vanya picks up, “His real name is Harold Jenkins. He wanted to destroy the Umbrella Academy. He didn’t realize that he was actually priming a bomb.”

“A bomb?” Diego yelps, “What bomb?”

“Me.” Vanya says, smiling.

Everyone stares at her, and Five hits her on the arm. “You aren’t a bomb. You’re my sister.”

Vanya smiles at him, and tucks him firmer against his side. Two days ago, Five would have bristled and pushed her away. Today, Five’s entire world has been ripped away from him and he refuses to feel guilty for taking comfort where he can.

Five turns to glare at Luther, at Diego, at everyone. “You all died.” Five informs them, and he isn’t sure why he’s angry, “The whole world died. I don’t care about one murderer who hated us, who wanted us to suffer. He tried to use Vanya, and I’m glad he’s dead!”

Silence follows this declaration, and Five isn’t actually sure when he’d started yelling. Or when he’d started crying, actually.

But there’s Vanya, and she’s there folding him back into her arms and letting him tuck his face into her neck as he sobs like the world ended. Except it hadn’t. It hadn’t.

“What’s wrong with him?” Klaus fails to whisper.

“It’s been a long day for him.” Vanya says, and Five is so tired. “He’s just helped pull off the biggest con of the century, and the fight isn’t over yet.”

“The commission.” Five whispers.

“Get some rest.” Vanya tells him, pushing at him until he’s paying down on the sofa with his head in her lap, “You’re practically falling asleep. We’re still going to be here after you get some sleep.”

“You promise?” Five asks, and maybe it’s childish but - he’s afraid. He’s afraid he’s going to open eyes and find out that this is just a dream again, that he’s going to have to do this all over again.

“I promise.” Vanya says, smiling. “Have I ever broken a promise?”

And Five’s eyes are slipping shut, and the world has been spinning for a while, and he’s had a very very emotionally exhausting conversation with his sister, jumped in time three times, and then had a very emotional time reuniting with his family and watching his sister shoot a man.

“Trust me.” Vanya says softly.

So he does.

---

“He’s so little.” Ben whispers, a solid five minutes after Five’s eyes slip shut.

“He’s thirteen.” Vanya tells them, carding her fingers through Five’s hair. “He’s thirteen, and he’s had the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

“Why didn’t he just tell us?” Allison asks.

Vanya just looks at Allison with sad eyes, “Why would he have? By staying quiet, he gave himself the power to act. By staying quiet, he protected himself.”

“He should have told us.” Luther states firmly.

“He was just a kid.” Vanya says, “He was just a kid, and he was scared. We all were. But he was more scared than anyone. You know the way Dad pitted us against one another. He loved us, but he didn’t trust us. Not when Dad was too smart and too cunning and too cruel.”

“Don’t talk about Dad like that.” Luther says quietly, and just shakes his head, “I know. I know. But - I know. But he’s still - he’s still Dad. I still - I know, but - ”

Luther has had a week, so Vanya forgives him. Finding out Dad was... Dad had been a bit of a shock to him.

“What now?” Ben asks.

“Now, I tell you about the Commission.” Vanya says serenely, “Now, we work together and make sure that the world stays whole. Now, we look after our brother.”

“If I remember anything about Five, that’s going to be a difficult job.” Klaus waves his hands a little but in emphasis.

“Good thing he has all of us then, isn’t it?”

---

That’s it. That’s the au. Five’s time travel powers translate into seeing the future, and he uses it to give his sister a little trust and a lot of responsibility and manages to save the world

Vanya listens to her brother. She keeps her head down. She knows, with undeniable proof, that her family loves her. That at least one person trusts her. That at least one person believes in her.

She is Vanya, with a mission. With the most important mission the Umbrella Academy had ever faced. Perhaps the most dangerous mission the Umbrella had ever faced. The scariest mission, because it’s an undercover one.

It’s one where Vanya kept quiet, stayed silent, stayed under the radar. She hid pills under her tongue and left the mansion, going to the parks in the dead of night with her violin tucked under her chin trying to figure out a power she didn’t quite understand.

Vanya saves Ben. She crept out, was in the right place at the right time. Blasted one man into a wall with the sound of gunshots rattling in her skull, and then went home and bit her knuckles until the whole team came home safe and sound.

She saves Luther. Luther was hurt, but he didn’t die. He wasn’t at the point their father tried an experimental drug on him. His knee might never recover. He might always walk with a limp. But he’s alive, and he doesn’t have to hide. Isn’t ashamed any time he looks in the mirror.

She saves Klaus. She gets him into rehab. She encourages Ben to check in on him. She keeps in touch with the both, makes sure Klaus has enough to eat and isn’t on the streets and that he’s happy and healthy and safe.

She saves Allison. She doesn’t write her book, but she writes to Patrick. She talks to him, on the phone, and essentially gives him the shovel talk. She tells him that Allison has issues, she encourages them to get therapy. Couples therapy. Allison works on her issues at Patrick’s insistence. They still divorce, but it’s amiable this time around.

She saves Diego, who in another world grieved Ben and pushed the rest of the family away. Diego is less angry. More solid. He dropped out of the police academy, but he co-owns a gym and boxes in his free time and he doesn’t live in a boiler room.

She saves Five, who is so young and so frightened, who loves her enough to trust her. She saves him, by saving the world. Her brother, her wonderful brother who pulled the strings for so long and was terrified to stop. Who is thirteen years old and a child and it’s hard to believe that she was ever that young herself.

They have a lot to do still, of course. The Commission isn’t going to be happy, they’re going to be sending people. But they aren’t as broken. And they have a unifying force to help them along:

Five. Because he’s young, and tiny, and he reminds them of exactly what their father did to them in a way canon five just... doesn’t. Because canon!Five looks young, but they know he isn’t every time they interact with him. This Five is... he’s young. He’s scared. He’s angry. He’s grieving.

He doesn’t know them, and he isn’t sure if he wants to. Isn’t sure if he wants to let go of the siblings he knew while wanting desperately to connect with the siblings of now. Because at the end of the day, he loves them.

And Vanya is independent, and more confident, and she hasn’t been on that numbing medication in years. She hasn’t been a mouse since she left her father’s house when she was eighteen. Her brother was gone, and she had to step into his role as puppetmaster. She had to pull strings, to keep her family alive, while never looking like she was.

Vanya has waited seventeen years preparing. She has a two bedroom apartment, she moved most of Five’s things over there years ago. She’s ready to do what someone should have done all those years ago. She’s ready to take care of her brother, because she didn’t realize until she took the job just how much he had on his plate.

The family has to band together to deal with the commission agents. But Vanya refuses to be a weapon. She refuses to be the bomb. She refuses to betray her family.

Five chooses to trust, but Vanya is the one who steps up. Decides that even if she doesn’t care about the rest of the world, even if she doesn’t particularly care for half of her siblings, it doesn’t matter.

Vanya is going to save the world.

#ask game #this was fun lmao #prophet au #five has future vision why not #vanya gets to save the world by herself #because she deserves it #vanya saves everyone including herself #and also still gets to kill harold #vanya deserves an award for trickery #she makes for the best secret agent #five is. very stressed out #that's what happens when you experience an entire lifetime of memories that are super traumatizing #without actually experiencing the trauma #five is very confused #and very scared #and very stressed out in general honestly #he's only thirteen after all #not sure how light this ended up being but it sure is new lmao #it was this or an au where five travels back in time... after he dies #and everyone knows that klaus's power is 'astral projection' not talking to the dead #aka klaus fakes a different power with ghost!Five's help #but instead you get prophet five au #long post #far tua long #the umbrella academy #tua #tua au #five hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #jojowing

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ofdiviniity · 3 years

Note

📖 :3c

Send “📖” to have my muse tell yours a fairytale, myth, or story!

❝ be wary. this is a very . . . very disturbing one.

this was many years ago , and before i was even born . . . there was this young couple who lived alone out on the ice. neither of them had any family to return to - as they were dead. "

they loved each other very much , and their love kept them warm for many days and many nights. they lived out in a igloo , and they had this fishing hole. a hole in the ice that lead straight into the water , and it's how they got dinner most nights.

sometimes . . . the husband will go out and hunt for food. the wife would not see her lover for weeks sometimes. but he always eventually comes back. and their love grows even stronger , built on trust and patience.

however , one day . . . he took a little longer to come back.

the wife kept waiting , and waiting....when will he ever come back ? it has been nearly a month , and there was no sight of him. she was near heartbroken , thinking something horrible might have happened to him. thinking that he might have died , and she would never see him again. thinking that he left her , that maybe he found a new woman.

but her thoughts were instantly put to a halt , as she saw something.

a spirit.

long , and even longer fingers. i do not remember the name of it . . . it has been so long since i have been told this story . . . but the fingers that it has is used for tickling. and this spirit would end up approaching this woman , who had no chance to defend herself , until eventually . . . he tickled her. she laughed , and laughed , and l a u g h e d.

. . . laughed so hard that she died.

. . .

the spirit ended up lifting her body , and rubbed her against itself. getting all of her scent in any place that she could. legs , arms , her hair , her neck , so it could smell just like her. the spirit /ripped/ off her head , and decided to wear it. putting on a smile , while blood was everywhere. even going as far as to put on her clothes , leaving her bare and dead , headless body to freeze. the not-wife waited hours for the husband returned. because it knew he was coming back shortly.

and he did.

he was so incredibly happy to see his wife. she looked beautiful , like she always did. the light was brought back into his eyes , but as seconds turned into minutes . . . he could tell something was . . . off. that his wife , was acting off. how she spoke and how she moved. the happy light in his eyes was replaced with fear and true terror. horror -- the moment he went inside of the igloo and saw blood everywhere.

and of course , the headless body. the remnants of his true wife.

he knew once he turned around to look at his wife , that it was , indeed , not her.

' you are not her ' , he said. his voice wavered. ' who are you ? '

his eyes are blown wide. the spirit knew it could not fool him anymore, and once the clothes fell off , and the tickling spirit's long and disgusting fingers came out , the husband could only let out a cry. he could only do so much to defend himself. he had a knife on him -- and after a moment of struggling , he cut off the spirit's head , with his wife's head still attached to it.

. . . silence.

the husband was heartbroken. a heart to freeze for ages , losing the only person left that he loved so very much. loved with all of his being. after several minutes of grieving - the husband decided to do one last thing. because it was better to do this , than left everyone else suffer the ends of the tickling spirit. the husband grabs the head , the head of spirit still embedded in the wife's head , and decides to take it outside.

he went to the fishing hole , and plugged it up , using his wife's head.

the husband remained cold and alone for centuries , but now the tickling spirit was gone once and for all.

. . .

and now , currently , the ice completely covers the ocean. the head must have been frozen over so much , that you can now barely see it. and for those who decide to fish there - to unplug the hole to see if they can get any fresh food . . .

the will be meant with the horrible pain-filled groans of the wife , mixed within the laughing and cheerful voice of the tickling spirit.

pray for those - who have probably met the same fate today , tomorrow , before , or the next. ❞

#ic. — ☆ [ ❛ ʰᵃᵈ ᵐᵉ ᶠᵉᵉˡᶦⁿᵍ ˡᶦᵏᵉ ᵃ ᵍʰᵒˢᵗ — ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵃᵗ'ˢ ʷʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒˢᵗ . . . ❜ ]#asks. — ☆ [ ❛ ᵐᵘˢᵗ'ᵛᵉ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰᶦⁿ' ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᴵ ˢᵃᶦᵈ ʸᵉᵃʰ ! ❜ ]#s1lveredw1ngs #tw: blood #tw: gore #tw: death #tw: murder #[YEAH THIS IS A DISTURBING ONE SO BE CAREFUL]#[kingthur has a lot of horror stories aGHAGHSDGHF]#[also my mother told me this story so here u go]

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mybunnyparadenme · 3 years

Text

So I wrote this a while ago and only my friend Ashleigh’s read it so I figured I might as well let the rest of tumblr see it lol It’s something silly I wrote between chapters of a bigger project that WILL see the light of day soon I swear to godddd...

Anyway, a brief summary! Mantequilla/El Pollo Loco angst, kind of an AU to the movie, but mostly just indulgent drama :3c If anybody wants the lore behind this ficlet let me know! Also I used google translate for the spanish bits because even though I’m literally mexican and speak it every day I’m just. Awful at it XD

The sun was setting over the horizon, taking the heat of the day with it, but still Mantequilla felt a line of sweat trickling down the side of his face. He was going to be late to the meeting, all because he had stayed with David and his family for longer than he should have... But it had been so nice to share a moment of peace with his friend, so he'd let himself get distracted by little Juanita and her dreamy stories of becoming a famous dancer when she was older and the war was over.

He and David had smiled and nodded along to the little girl's words and performances, but when their eyes met across the table, the look they shared was one of grim reality. The war had been raging since they were children, and showed no signs of stopping in the near future. Most days, Mantequilla didn't think there would ever be an end to it, the violence and the tyranny that came from up north. The States were hellbent on getting through their borders, and it was only through the endless efforts from resistance leaders like them that kept the worst of the fighting at bay.

Mantequilla sighed and let himself rest against the wall of a nearby bodega. He'd be busy organizing his people for the next few days, today's dinner his last reprieve for the forseeable future. It was hard, the long days and sleepless nights, sometimes so much that he questioned whether or not it was even worth all the work. But then he thought about David's daughter with all her optimistic hopes and dreams... things that depended on him and his resistance network to keep going. A brighter future for her and kids like her had to be worth it, right?

"It's rare not to see you running, conejito." A deep voice whispered in his ear.

Mantequilla nearly leapt out of his skin as he whirled around, his hand going into his pocket to pull out his trusty knife. HIs grip relaxed when his eyes landed on the face the voice belonged to, his relief too big to keep from flooding his tone, "D-Diosito Loco, I nearly killed you!"

"You didn't even come close, Mantequilla." El Pollo Loco said, reaching up to run his thumb over the flat part of the blade. "Don't tell me you're getting soft on me?"

"There's no room for softness in our line of work." Mantequilla murmured, his fingers itching to reach out and touch Loco's face. He was unmasked at the moment, a rare treat that he didn't get to see often. His golden hair stood out like a sore thumb, same as his, but Loco held himself so casually that no one would think to look twice at him. Mantequilla dropped his gaze for a moment, pushing down the fluttery feeling underneath his ribs. Loco was her on business. "H-Have you gotten the information I asked you for?"

"Yeah, I did." Loco glanced around the area with keen eyes, looking for spies listening in on their conversations as always. In their line of work you could never be too sure of who to trust. "I'll send the official transcripts to General Desorden, but the long and short of it is that they're planning on sending in more soldiers, but not like the ones we've been fighting lately. These are bad people, Mantequilla."

"We'll be ready for them." Mantequilla said, a familiar buzz of anxiety spasming through his hands. He pressed his knuckles together and rubbed them against each other, the friction keeping him grounded. "I won't have any more of my people taken from us."

"There's always casualties in war." Loco said, a sad look entering his eyes. No doubt he was thinking of his brother, fighting over on the State's side. Patriotism was a hell of a drug, one that Mantequilla was well aware went both ways. How many attempts had been made on his life by people who called him 'el gringo sin lealtad,' despite the fact that he'd chosen Mexico years ago? He'd been loyal to it's people, his people, and yet because he'd been born on the other side of the border, his loyalty would always be cast in doubt.

He would still fight for those people though. Because they deserved to see peace too.

"Some day it'll be over." Mantequilla said, dropping his gaze to the ground as he said it. He really wanted to believe it. He wanted Loco to be able to see his brother without fear that he'd end up with a bullet to the head for treason. He wanted to see Juanita dance on a stage in a country that wasn't ravaged by war. He wanted... The last rays of sunlight reflected off a window and illuminated Loco's hair, and Mantequilla felt his heart skip a beat. He wanted a future where he could casually run his fingers through that hair and be free to express his feelings instead of dismissing them as a terrible distraction.

"Tienes demasiada esperanza, conejito." You have too much hope. Loco reached out to touch his cheek, a soft brush of his knuckles that only lasted a moment. The only sign that he had the same feelings and fears that Mantequilla had.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and gave him a wistful smile. "Es todo lo que tenemos, mi pollito loco." It's all we have.

They didn't say anything else, and after a moment Loco walked away without looking back. His job was done now, and he'd only come back when Mantequilla needed his skills again. It was the only way to keep the feelings at bay, the distance both a blessing and a curse. The longing never left, aching just underneath Mantequilla's skin, but he knew how to practice out of sight, out of mind better than most people. He repeated it over and over like a mantra as he walked away from the bodega.

With Loco gone, he could focus on the path ahead. He had a meeting to get to, and a war to win.

#south park #south park fic #sp bunny #bunny sp #butters stotch #kenny mccormick #my fics #mantequiloco #i guess??#it's after midnight lmao I've got no shame anymore #might post on snapshots idk...

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emetkoto · 3 years

Note

(FF anon) HAKDSNSK THE FUNNY LITTLE JESTER THING SENT ME, I really rarely laugh out loud about text posts but that one got me.

Now onto the fun stuff :D

What do you think Strade's favorite thing to go for first would be? For me- Personally- I think it'd determine how they treated Mira (getting to handsy, speaking to her Weirdly or generally being weird with her) or how they spoke to him when they realized they were up shit's creek without a paddle. If they generally ignored Mira when she was trying to sweet talk them to get them to come with her, I feel like he'd go for ears first, as like, a random example.

Sometimes, when hes feeling particularly fucked up and evil and Mira's still new to his whole game, I cant help but feel he'd like. Grab Mira's hand, and like. Y'know how if you squeeze a cat's beans, they'll pop the claws out? He does that and like, manually claws and scratches at victims, and if Mira doesn't do it or resists, he in some way punishes her (that I'm not sure on? Maybe you'd be able to think more on it lol)

Above all else though I feel like his favorite thing is like, dislocating wrists & twisting them around so he can get at the palms of hands and just. Slices the webbings before going for the rest of the hand as slowly as possible, probably starting at the pinkie, ending with thumbs then going for the full hand.

sometimes im funny ;)

ANYWAY i love the thought of that! its a fun little messed up way to get her more "involved" in it all :) he always asks for a report about their behavior on the way back to determine how he starts, and he can always tell if she

s lying bc she's terrible at it <3 if they talk to her weird they lose their teeth or have their jaws broken since as fun as cutting out tongues is it ends things too quick and that's no fun :,( broken jaw is fun bc he can have mira heal them and then do it again and again until he's satisfied ;) handsy men get their fingers broken or just get a nice good old fashioned knife straight through the hand..extreme situations might call for amputation so keep your hands to yourself if you know whats good for you....not like it'll save you either way!

I like the sound of that!!! definitely something fun to do if she's resisting! grab her hand and yank her over and just forcefully use her hands and claws as little blades while she screams and cries and tries to look away but of course hes holding her face forward with his other hand....<3 on its own its a punishment for not mauling on command since its pretty traumatizing seeing him forcefully use her as a weapon so he doesnt really feel a need to punish her for not cooperating since its enough fun to watch that! if shes having a particularly bad day she'll snap and just go off on the guest like he wanted so thats a nice bonus from time to time :3c

MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM i love it :heart_eyes: he does it nice and slow and makes sure youre watching <3 he gets real close so the only other thing you could look at is him getting hot and bothered by your pain and misery <3

#tw violence #gore text #btd #strade #ocs #mira #strira #ffxiv au #words of mimi

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stardancerluv · 4 years

Text

All Flowers Must Bloom Even In The Winter

Part 3c

Summary: new feelings for Reader and John Bishop

Warning: Teasing, sex from behind, exhibition (not diliberate or planned) mentions of murder then fluff

For @theblackmaskclub

You smiled, “I like it very much. It’s beautiful.” You brought it to your cheeks. “It is so soft John.” You hugged him then.

He was stunned no one ever hugged him. He wrapped his arm around and patted your back. “A girl like you deserves lovely things.” You squeezed him at that.

You looked up at him, he enjoyed seeing a flush in your cheeks. “How were your hands at cards?”

He smiled, “I won them all.”

“Oh! That is fantastic!”

He met your eyes, what was it about you, he wandered. He was really enjoying your company.

“John?”

“Yes?”

“I had an idea. I’ll be right back.” He shook his head, he took off his jacket. Catching his, reflection he smoothed his mustache. He took a moment, and kind of looked around.

****

You snuck down the secret stairs and into the kitchen. You cut a slice of the sweet cake Anna made earlier. You grabbed a bottle and snuck back upstairs, when you were back into your room you found John looking through your journal. A pang hit you hard. You nudged your door closed with your hip. You put the bottle and the plate down. Your heart beat heavily.

You had never expected him to look around. You hoped he didn’t find the poster. Your mouth went dry.

“I see you found my journal.” You flushed.

He grinned as he turned to you. “So I am the darkly mysterious and wickedly notorious John Bishop?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit of a mouthful.”

You nodded, still holding your breath. “I’ve always been one for too many words.”

He shrugged. “You may use alot of them but they do not claw at one and become annoying.”

“Thank you.”

He stepped towards you. His mouth had formed a grim line. “I do have a question.”

“Yes?” Your voice cracked.

He held up the poster, he raised his eyebrows. Your heart hurt, you went over to him. You stopped close.

“Y/N?” There was an edge.

“John,” you wrung your hands behind you back.

“I...I...”

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna be gone.” You finally gushed. “And....I well didn’t want to forget your face.”

His brow knit together. “Really?”

You sighed. “Yes.”

Turning, he put the poster back on top of your journal. Closing the distance, he drew out your arms from behind your back. “Is my face that dynamic?” He smirked.

You nodded. “You’re the most handsome man I ever met.” Your cheeks burned.

He threw his had back and laughed, his blue eyes twinkled when he looked at you then. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Damn it.” You were embarrassed now.

He lifted up you chin. “Thank you, little flower.” He kissed you them.

You melted momentarily into it but a feistiness in you broke the kiss. “You probably, think I’m silly.” You huffed.

He chuckled again, then he grabbed your shoulders. “Y/N, I’ve met a fair share of women and none of them said that about me.” That surprised you.

“Well, I just don’t know.”

“Fear.” He smirked, as he brought his face closer to you. “I am an outlaw.”

You shivered, his words the expression brought the sweet ache from you and it pulled a soft moan from your lips.

“Y/N, are you ok?”

You nodded. “Yes.” Feistiness still filling you, you stepped closer to him. Taking a hold of his hand, you loved how large it was. “Your hands are so rough yet smooth. And so large.” You let his thumbs, grazed the back of them.

“Thank you.”

Lifting, your dress and chemise, you put his hand between your legs with a sigh.

“Y/N.” He gently moved his fingers.

“John...” you breathed.

He touched you more. Your hand dropped away and bitting your bottom lip, you whimpered against it. Closing the distance, he wrapped an arm around you, his hand still between your legs.

A smile spread across his face. “Let me hear you.”

“John?”

His fingers stopped. “I said me hear you.”

“Ok.” Your voice trembled.

He began moving his fingers once again. You, opened your legs more for him. You couldn’t stop yourself from arching against him as one of your hands clung onto him. This was stealing your breath, as a moan came from you. “John...”You whimpered.

“Little blossom, would you like me to show you something new?”

“Yes.” You breathed.

He kissed you then, your heart quicken. “Take off your underwear. Then go and get on all fours on your bed for me.”

Something about this seemed very different and the thought of that made you feel wetter.

*****

He could have guessed that was why you had the wanted poster. Though watching you squirm a little felt good.

He harden, as you held and caressed his hand. There was something about your touch, how delicate your hands that were very enticing. He bit the inside of his cheek, when you drew his hand to your wetness. He certainly was making you bloom.

He smiled, he wanted to relish in the sounds you would make. “Let me hear you.”

“John?”

He stopped his fingers. “I said, let me hear you.”

“Ok.” Your voice trembled.

He dragged his fingers against your bud. You, opened your legs more for him. “Good.” He encouraged.

“Little blossom, would you like me to show you something new?”

This back and forth with you tonight, made him incredibly hard. It wanted to bury himself deep with your. He also wanted to bring a twist to it.

“Yes.” You breathed.

Drawing, you close he kissed you then, he could feel your heart race as he held you closer to him.

“Take off your underwear. Then go and get on all fours on your bed for me.”

Watching, you made him harder to appease the ache between his legs, he palmed himself gently.

“Just like that.” He encouraged, once you did as he asked. He pulled off his boots, before coming to kneel behind you.

Pulling, just so he freed your breasts from your dress. He licked his lips. He remembered how sweetly you smelled there. “John?” Next, he lifted your dress and chemise till the rested above your hips.

“Yes, little flower.”

“I am aching for you.” He met your eyes, when you looked at him over your shoulder.

“Good.”

Opening your legs a touch more, he finally undid his belt and undid the buttons to his slacks, with a sigh, he removed himself. He cupped you, giving you a squeeze, before dragged two fingers across your wetness. There was so resistance, he loved the gasp that came from you as he slipped a finger into you.

He pulled it out, looking as he did so he lined himself to your opening. Holding onto your hip, he entered you. Both of you moaned then.

“Oh, little flower” He moaned, as he went far deeper into you then he expected. You were incredibly wet and tight. What you did, next stole his breath. You wiggled your hips. “You feel so good.”

Trying to breath, he began to move in and out of you holding onto both of your hips.

Hearing your pants and your moans fueled his movements. Reaching, he pulled on the firm buds of breasts, loving the sharper moan it pulled from you, a breath later you grew slicker with how much wetter you became.

“John,” You whimpered and moaned. “I am coming undone.” You moaned louder. “I might scream.”

“I’ll take care of that.” Despite loving the sounds a scream may be too loud. He pulled out of you. In a move that, that he managed to do, it was easier then he expected. He got you onto your back in front of him. He pulled you close, a touch away from being rough but enough to make you gasp. He bent over you. “Kiss me.” He breathed. As you did. He played with those pink buds that only made you write and arch into his fingers as he did.

Reaching between you, he wrapped his fingers around his cock which was still wet from being deeply inside of you. He broke the kiss. “My flower.” He breathed and entered you.

Easily, he found his rhythm moving in and out of you. You were gasping and moaning, matching his own sounds. He looked down at you. “Unravel for my little flower I want to feel it.”

He met your lips though. He would muffle the sound he craved. Perhaps one day, he promised himself despite knowing that probably would never happen.

Moving back, he relished seeing how he had been able to make you melt under him. But then, he watched as your fingers played with those wonderfully pink buds. He made him moan as he felt the tight spasms.

“Yes, do that.” He encouraged, licking his lips.

As he moved, he soaked in your wild hair, your swollen lips open as you panted and moaned, and your full breasts.

He came then in grabbed him, pulled hard on him and then exploded deeply. He moaned loudly, which was also your name. He bucked against you as the waves of it washed over him.

That’s when a sound tickled his ear that shouldn’t be there. Turning, flushed and still finding his breath he saw one of his men. They peaked in.

Anger poured hot down his spine. His eyes narrowed. The man closed the door. Looking back down at you. He couldn’t tell if you saw or heard. He gently thrust a final time deeply into you.

He bent down, he kissed those swollen lip. “Excuse me, my little flower.”

He gently pulled out of you. And tucked himself back into. He put on his boots.

“John, I have a bed pan.” Your voice was hoarse.

He shook his head. “Not in your company. Little flower.” He drew a finger across your cheek. “I will be right back.”

Opening, the door he looked. The man he saw was at least not lingering. He went to his room, and affixed his knife to his belt. Going down the stairs, he found him. He was leaning against then wall. Bile raised in his throat, he swallowed it down. He pushed him, so he’d face him.

“Do you always, spy on your boss and his girl?”

The man chuckled. “The boss and his girl?”

He took his knife out. “What is so funny?”

“We were all placing, bets on whether you’d bed the kept whore.”

He rose his knife now. He smiled seeing in the candle light, a flicker of fear. “You see this?” He rolled his knife between his fingers. Now the man, smiled and nodded. “Answer my question.”

“I was worried, someone was gutting you.”

“I’m sure. Now, you are to breath a word of his. I want her honor protected. She is not a kept whore.” He swallowed

“Yes...yes sir.”

“Say after me. She is not a kept whore.”

“Your girl, is not a kept whore.”

“I will not brag or speak of what I saw.”

“Good. Now get the fuck out of my face.”

The man, practically ran away. Sticking to the shadows, he looked to see if his brother was at the bar. A smile curled his lips when be spotted him. “Vic,” He hissed from the shadows. “Vic.”

Turning, his brother squinted and then came over to him. “You look rather ruffled.”

“That’s not important.”

“Ok, what do you want?”

“Remember, that idiot Edwards?”

Vic, rolled his eyes. “Yeah.”Kill him.” “What?”

“You heard me. Ride him, well beyond that house of woman. Make it look like he got lost.”

“What did he do?” “Doesn’t matter. Just do it.”

“Ok, big brother.” “Don’t fuck this up.” “I won’t...I promise.”

John, smiled. “I knew I could count on you.”

******

He stepped out, the cold and the ice slammed him as he did go outside to take care of his needs. With the way, this storm hung over all of them it would be a miracle when he and his men were supposed to leave.

Hurrying back, he kicked the snow and ice from his boots outside of your room. Coming in saw the cake and bottle you had brought up.

He looked over and saw that you had dozed off. The sight pulled at him. Leaving him torn, he was tempted to go and help his brother. He would love to carve his tongue out for what he said about you, about him seeing your. But you were a great pull.

Locking, the door he took off his boots. He rinsed his hands in your bowl. Wiping his hands on his slacks he brought the bottle and the cake to the table you kept by your bed.

Following, the feeling he did something he had enjoyed early and wanted to do again. Before you, the idea made his stomach turn, it held no interest.

He pulled out his shirt, undoing the bottom he slipped from it and then his slacks. Gently, making sure you were in your chemise he pulled your heavy blanket was around the two of you. You whimpered as you felt then cold tentacles had managed to hold onto him but with a sleep filled sighed you nestled closer. It was then he let his eyes, drift till they were closed.

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