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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 6 months

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a solace in the dark

kinktober 2023 masterlist

scarlet witch x reader

18+: mentions of murder and corrupted wanda, smut; wanda has a magic penis teehee, daddy kink, slight dumbification and degradation, restraints, edging, oral, breeding kink, overstimulation, fingering, choking, dom!wanda

wc: 1.4k

You told Wanda from the beginning that you’d be with her until the end. You promised her with each grain of earnestness you could find that whatever she may do, you’ll stay at her side. She’s glad you’re true to your word, that despite the decline into the darkness that took hold of her and dragged her down and down, you stayed with her.

Each life she takes for her own benefit, she dedicates to you. Her sweetest love, the only good part of her heart she has left. The witch adores you more than anything. Even more than the feeling of her magic strengthening with each power she drains, leaving a trail of destruction behind the pair of you that grew with each passing day.

People leave, she knows that fact all too well; chaos magic may fade, but you - her perfect little accomplice - will be with her forever.

She cupped your cheek with a smile reserved for you, towering over your body in nothing but her underwear.

“You were so good for me today,” she murmured along the skin of your throat, dipping her face into the crook of your neck to heat up your skin with her breath. “You know just how to please your witch.”

With each mission she sets the pair of you out on, you prove your loyalty - the Scarlet Witch has taught you well. Death and destruction are a second nature to you now, all too familiar with the way life fades from somebody’s eyes. She’s never loved you more.

Black tipped fingers trailed over your chest, pulling a pert nipple to be rewarded with the small whine at the back of your throat. They wandered over your body as her lips moved with yours, until they found a place around your neck, pushing the breath out of your lungs until your head grew fuzzy.

“Now, be a good girl and take what I give you.”

Her voice was tinged with that darkness that fills you with anticipation, the kind that lets you know she has frustrations to take out on you.

Your hands that had once lay upon her waist were soon above your head, encased in red tendrils that allowed zero movement. No amount of fidgeting got them to give way and the pain that surrounded your wrists with each fight against the restraints made you hungry for her touch.

“Have you not learned by now, sweet girl?” she tutted. “There’s no escape. Even a dumb little whore like you should’ve worked that out.”

She knows you don’t want reprieve but she also knows the forceful promise of having no choice in the matter makes your cunt throb for her; with your naked body in front of her she can see the soaked mess between your legs.

“Or is that all you are, hm?” the woman mused, peppering kisses across every part of your exposed body she could reach. “A stupid little fucktoy. Needy and pathetic, completely dependent on me.”

“Daddy, please,” you breathed out in frustration, only making her smirk at your writhing desperation. “I want you - I need you - please. I’m all yours.”

The woman knows she practically owns you but hearing it from your lips is nothing short of divine.

Your hips lifted into her on their own accord when her tongue licked a swipe through your pussy, grunting into you at your taste. Hands tainted with darkness crawled up your body, nails scraping over your flesh as her tongue worshiped your cunt like drinking from a holy altar.

The peripherals of your vision took in the sight as much as you could in your held down position; the head between your thighs and the lusting eyes that peered up at you, the stygian digits that clawed at your body and toyed with your nipples.

Each flick of her tongue was as perfect as ever, teasingly poking at your entrance and her lips that sucked your swollen bud made your legs threaten to clamp around her head.

Your pulse raced with the fast approaching orgasm readying itself to wash over you and that’s what made it that much more aggravating when she pulled away with glistening lips. She merely chuckled at the pointed glare you shot her way as she wiped her chin clean of your juices and with a flick of her wrist your arms were free and she was on top of you again.

“I’m gonna fuck a baby into this pretty belly of yours,” she rasped, her lips ghosting yours with her words as the cock she’d fashioned herself with nudged at your hole. Her soaked pussy had been transformed into a dick that throbbed with ravenous hunger for your body. “You want that? You want daddy to fill you up?”

Your head swam at the mere concept, your body grew painfully hot and any words you tried to muster didn’t seem enough to verbalise your enthusiasm. Instead, you settled on a grasp of fingers around her length, guiding it into you with symmetrical moans from the both of you at the feeling of her sliding into the warmth of your sex.

You clenched around her as she stretched you open, pushing deeply into you until you’d taken it all. With one hand pulling her face to yours for a kiss filled with utter electric fervour, and the other grabbing at the plush of her thigh, you encouraged the snapping of her hips into you.

The gentle pace she set out on contrasted the fierce roughness that surrounded any other part of her life that didn’t involve this. Her and you. This bubble of solace that serves as the only comforting escape either of you can fall into. With all of the loss the both of you have endured, the stability of having each other eternally was sacred.

And to know this all powerful witch could have moans pulled out of her by you only made you love her more. The feeling of your greedy pussy pulling her into you made her groan into your mouth, feeling the throbbing of her cock with each time she bottomed out into you.

The hand that wasn’t holding her body up settled around your neck, stealing the breaths you tried to take whilst she sunk her teeth into your collarbone.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my baby,” she uttered, quickening her rhythm with the soon nearing releases creeping up on you.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you stuttered out, wrapping your legs around her waist to pull her into you as much as you could, grabbing at her back with streaks of pink decorating her skin from your nails.

“Me too, honey,” she returned with a choked moan falling into the plane of flesh between your breasts.

With her cock filling you up, and the tightening of your cunt around her it didn’t take much for the both of you to cum; the room was filled with the lewd sounds of skin hitting into skin, groans of pleasure accompanying the audible sound of her filling you up.

You felt the warmth of her seed painting your pussy, overcome with pleasurable sensations as she fucked her cum into you, milking herself of all she could with slow glides of her hips into you; her new position on her knees allowed her to watch your shaking body bathe in the moment. She watched hungrily how she disappeared into you, how your chest rose and fell to catch your breath.

Wanda watched the perfect way you whimpered at the emptiness when she pulled out of you, and how you squirmed at the fingers she thrust into your leaking hole. The cum filled cunt soaked her fingers when they buried themselves into you and the woman couldn’t deny the sadistic amusement she entertained herself with whilst your dazed body begged for reprieve when her thumb rubbed over your sensitive clit.

“One more,” she whispered. “For me.”

You couldn’t even form a half-amused, snarky comeback at her faux innocent tone, too overstimulated by it all as she quickly worked you into another orgasm with the attentive assault she forced onto you.

Tears filled your eyes at the bordering painful ache but you let her pull you over the edge and took the fingers she nudged at your lips, slackening your jaw to suck them into your mouth. Her cum coated your tongue as you licked her digits clean, basking in the taste, distinctly hers and faultlessly sublime.

And when she pulled you into her side whilst your heart still thrummed in your chest, you smiled into the soft kiss she pressed to your lips, knowing that it beat for her and hers beat just for you.

#wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader

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novlr · 11 months

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Types of Character Arcs

Just like there are various flavours of ice cream to satisfy our taste buds, there are different types of character arcs to captivate readers’ imaginations.

Transformational Arc: A character undergoes a profound transformation throughout the story. This transformational arc takes them on a journey of personal growth, where they evolve, learn from their experiences, and undergo significant change. Think Frodo Baggins from The Lord of the Rings, who starts as an ordinary hobbit and becomes a heroic figure, or Cinderella, who goes from being a mistreated servant to a princess.

Flat or Static Arc: Not all character arcs involve drastic change or growth. In a flat or static arc, the character remains relatively unchanged throughout the story. Instead of personal transformation, these characters serve as a stabilizing force or a moral compass within the narrative. They maintain their core values, beliefs, or traits, providing stability and guidance for others. Sherlock Holmes is a prime example of a character with a flat arc. His brilliant deductive reasoning and logical nature remain consistent, while the world around him evolves.

Positive Change Arc: In a positive change arc, a character starts with flaws, struggles, or a particular mindset, but over the course of the story, they experience personal growth and positive transformation. They learn valuable lessons, overcome obstacles, and develop into a better version of themselves. This arc is often associated with themes of redemption, self-discovery, and the triumph of the human spirit. Characters like Ebenezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol or Katniss Everdeen from The Hunger Games exemplify positive change arcs.

Negative Change Arc: Contrasting the positive change arc, the negative change arc delves into the descent or downfall of a character. It explores the moral decline, corruption, or internal conflicts that lead the character astray. This arc can be dark and intense, showcasing the destructive power of choices or external influences. Characters like Macbeth from Shakespeare’s play or Anakin Skywalker in Star Wars demonstrate the negative change arc. 💻✨ Discover how the transformative journeys of character arcs breathe life into your stories, and captivate the hearts and minds of your readers. You can read the full post in the Reading Room at the link above.

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holybibly · 2 months

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You're so right on your possessive piece on san, seonghwa, and mingi. Especially mingi that boy is so possessive! And he loves attention. Hard thoughts here, just imagine him catching you staring at all his rings on his big hands OR THOSE THIGHS. And him teasing you about it cause you're so cute when you blush. Also pussy drunk mingi >>> he eats out on the counter, in his studio, in the bed, everywhere. Your writing is so amazing and it's so fun to see all your thoughts through hard thoughts week 💚💚

Just a reminder, the hard / unholy hours will continue for the rest of the week.

Thank you, darling. I'm trying so hard to write more and better so that you can continue to enjoy my work. Frankly, I love praise, but I'm always terribly embarrassed by it. But I really appreciate everything you've said 💖💖💖

And now it's time for a bit of talk about my toxic boys. I hit the nails on the heads, didn't I? I have a feeling that practically all of my bunnies are of the same opinion. They give off that vibe, don't they? And I should probably just write something for them. I'm kind of crazy about this concept and I'm not ashamed of it at all.

Oh Mingi, he's definitely a pussy eater and yes, he's fucking drunk on it. (Slightly off-topic, but I'm sure Seonghwa, Wooyoung and Hongjoong feel the same way. As if they want spent a lifetime between your legs. San is definitely an oral fixation and enthusiast. As for Yunho, Yeosang and Jongho, I think they don't mind eating you. But it's not high on their list of priorities.)

I think that at the beginning of your relationship he would have been a little bit shy about it. But, hell, he'll find it harder to control himself the more time you spend together. Poor guy just wants to stick his tongue up your sweet little cunt, sue him for that.

So when he finally gets to do it, all hell is going to break loose. God, he can never get enough of you, can he? He's got this wild hunger inside him. It's clawing at him from the inside. He needs you so badly.

You're his perfect breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"It's all just for me." Mingi moans. He leans forward and licks a thick strip of your cunt. You cry out at the hot sensation, at the wet and skillful tongue sliding through your folds, and your head falls back onto the pillow as you feel his fingers stretch your labia to give him better access.

He pulls away for a split second, just long enough for him to hum lowly and mutter under his nose, "So damn wet and only mine." Your hands are gripping the sheets, and he's even more enthusiastic as he dives back in, opening you wide for his insatiable mouth.

Your nipples are so hard they hurt, and your head is spinning from all the sensations. He's driving you crazy, but for Mingi, this is just a warm-up; he hasn't even started to eat you for real yet.

Mingi swirls his tongue greedily around your hole a few times before going deep and fucking you too fast with his talented tongue, enough to make your walls clench tightly around him. After a few more thrusts, he pulls back and uses a long, slow lick to catch the large amount of fluid that is leaking out of you, his tongue pressing down flat and heavy on you. He licks you like an animal, panting and growling at the taste of you. When he reaches your clit, he gently glides his tongue over the sensitive bud several times, finally pulling it into his mouth to suck on it, causing you to moan loudly and desperately.

"Oh, fuck. Damn, M-Mingi. Oh God!"

You swear you can feel him smiling at you with a smug and lecherous smile as he returns to your hole to start all over again, but with even more desire and hunger. His guttural moan sends a wave of destructive vibrations through you.

He's pretty damn good at it.

You lose track of how many times he repeats this process until the excitement overwhelms you so much that you think you may die.

Since he started fucking you with his tongue, you have no idea how much time has passed. Hours, maybe even days. Mingi certainly has the look of a man who could do this forever.

"I can't do it anymore." You say, and the desperation in your voice is so clear to hear.

"Do you want to cum, doll?" He mumbles, pressing his cheek against your inner thigh, his gaze so foggy and distracted that he will be completely whipped for you. "You can do it. If you want to. Cum for me, doll. Let me drink you more."

#ateez smut #kpop smut #atz smut #ateez hard hours #ateez unholy hours #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa smut #park seonghwa smut #ateez scenarios #ateez au #ateez x reader #smut #mingi smut #mingi smau #song mingi smut #mingi x reader #san smut #choi san smut #san x reader

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fayeriess · 3 months

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⋆｡‧₊°♱༺ THE STORM ༻♱༉‧₊˚.

aemond targaryen x fem!reader

summary: restless nights come with revelations.

warnings: 18+, tully!reader, mentions of death, descriptions of death, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of childbirth, a small bit of angst, an even smaller amount of fluff, ( should be everything but if something is missing please let me know )

a/n: not much to say except a big thanks to @aemondtarqaryens for beta-reading this for me, I appreciate you friend <3 enjoy!

Soil often had centuries of stories to tell; laying dormant beneath blades of grass. Tragic tales that weaved themselves deep within valleys, grasping the roots of trees, and twirling around death to keep themselves nourished. A realm stained with maroon liquid that would seemingly rejuvenate the earth; feeding it flesh and carcass as an offering for those who had conquered, who had built on such sacred lands and birthed destruction.

In turn, erde would lap the harsh waters that sat at Blackwater Bay, raising the tides, angering the gods — old and new. It devoured those whose hearts palpitate under the scrutiny of the sweltering heat, falling victim to the ball of fire in the sky. It clawed at the remains of sanity, erasing any and every part of one’s being until flesh peels away from bone.

For the lives erde took, less was given.

The greater the loss, the greater the greed.

That was something your mother had whispered near the shell of your ear, her voice lilted and as smooth as honey — becoming equally sticky when it finally stuck itself between lumps of tissue that made up your brain.

She had told you to be cautious, for she would not be around much longer. Within the crevices of your soul, you knew that to be true, as she had sacrificed her entire being to keep you gentle, and strong — something she could not be. Though young, pale skin and sunken cheeks were what you gazed upon when the thinness of your fingers would swipe across her face in tender affection, you were always doing your absolute best to keep the tears at bay.

Sickness flourished in her lungs soon after; blooming from the inside, withering her away little by little until you had nothing else left to cling to. Her skeleton became fine flora and fauna on your ten-and-fifth name day, sprouting stems of green, budding willows and small clusters of lavender blooms.

Your bones had ached with growth as the years grew harsher, and war crept close in the form of those a part of the City Watch, donned in the finest of armor and longswords sheathed at their sides when they’d march about back within the walls of safety. Imagining the blood dripping down the sharp, curved edges of their blades came easy, as you had witnessed such brutality and heard it with your ears.

And once you were married off by your father, serenity became a craving. An itch in your gums and esophagus exceedingly stuffed with savagery so grand, the familiar taste of copper would pool in the middle of your tongue. The foreign feeling would not fade until it was acknowledged, welcomed with warm arms and an equally warm heart — somewhat naïve — just like you.

At first, it had been bearable. Starting as a tingle on the bumped expanse of the spine, inching in every way possible, a certain desperation in how quickly it spreads, how it consumes you whole in something mildly familiar. Delusion — something you’d come to realize you would happily tangle yourself in if the soles of your bare feet weren’t absorbing the vibration from woodland grounds, greenery tucked between your toes.

Moonlight descended upon your skin, trickling up the stretch of your arms in a dim warmth you were sure that none else would bring you. The lids of your eyes were screwed tightly, a dull throb forming in the sockets as you balled your fists at your sides.

If there was one place you should not be, it was here, out in the open and shaded by nothing but leaves of the weirwood tree in the Godswood, the looming towers of the Red Keep filling your veins with a sense of dread.

Misery has become you; sealed in your fate the minute you were bound to your husband — a Targaryen man with a temper as hot as coals. Though you have never been on the receiving end of his murderous wrath, you were no stranger to his sharp tongue and hasty decisions. Aemond was clouded by his loyalty to his family and the crown, and in the end, it would surely be the thing that would kill him.

A reoccurring dream would appear behind your lids on eves such as this, when the night grew colder and the violence you had grown accustomed to faded with the crickets' songs, becoming a solemn lullaby. Most nights, you’d have no qualms, resting your mind once you were cradled in the arms of your lover. But this night, sleep had yet to find you, and without Aemond’s presence looming over, scarpering was as easy as taking a breath.

A light wind swept through the air, ruffling the already creased fabric of your nightgown even further as you stared at the face carved into the tree, corners of your lips downturned in a slight frown. By now, you had committed every single piece of chipped wood to memory, eyes growing watery and skin bumpy with gooseflesh the longer you stood atop dead leaves, hearing them crunch beneath the soles of your feet as you shuffled somewhat.

Perhaps you were waiting for a beam of lighting to strike down upon you, to scorch your insides and eviscerate every single cell in your body until you become one with the earth. Either that or whisked away into the air. As of now, you had no arguments as to which one would be your fate.

Cold had nipped at the pads of your toes, a sure sign that it was time to retire to your chambers and retreat underneath the comfort of your sheets. Yet, no matter how tempting that fleeting thought was, it felt as if you were cemented to your spot, slightly swaying in place to get rid of the chill.

“What are you doing out here alone?” His voice made your spine stiffen, teeth gritting together at the low, patient tone of his voice. The clatter of his shoes reverberated throughout your ears, turning light as he joined you on the grass, shoulder nearly pressed against the left side of your back.

Aemond’s lingering presence brought you some sort of comfort, even if it was just a ghost of a touch covered by clothing, and you found yourself longing to be in his arms. Ultimately, you kept your distance, fingers numb as you tried flexing them at your sides.

“I received a raven earlier in the evening,” your murmur came quickly, lips barely moving as your gaze blurred slightly, eyes glistening with a sheen of unshed tears. Although he does not answer, you can feel his violet eye cautiously peering at the side of your face, lips slightly pointed downward.

“Grandfather is ill. Elmo will be lord soon.”

Not a crease embedded itself in the muscles of his face as he continued to stare — only for a second longer before averting his eye to the weirwood tree. “We’ll make him see reas-”

Shaking your head, you finally cocked it in his direction, crossing your arms over your chest to self-soothe as you took in the sharp angles of his face shadowed by the moon.

“He is still keeping our house banners in Riverrun. I know Elmo well enough to know he has already chosen. He’s always looked at Rhaenyra as the sole heir to the Iron Throne, and when grandfather takes his last breath, he’ll surely pledge allegiance to the Blacks.”

Your elder brother was stubborn. His skull was as thick as the fattest lords in all of Westeros, and even if it was indeed your grandfather’s dying wish to join the Greens in this war, Elmo would rather take a blade to the skin of his own throat than obey. Perhaps, that was one of the many reasons why you did not get along as well as siblings should have. Where you were meek, he was bold. Where you were sharp and quick-witted, he was dull and slow-minded. Choosing opposite sides when it came to the facet of war, of life and death, further broke a bond that was already weakly stitched together.

Deep within, you were confident your words would fall on deaf ears, and Aemond would eventually take to the skies with Vhagar, only to find himself in Riverrun and surprise Elmo Tully with an unwanted and unexpected visit. He was married to you after all. What good of a husband would he be if not to check on the wellbeing of your kin?

Aemond sighed, momentarily closing his eye before turning his body to face you, hands snaking up to circle your forearm. “You should be resting. The maester requested that you not walk much.”

Huffing, you swat him away, practically ripping your hand from his grasp before turning sharply on your heels. “I just need a minute, Aemond, please. I do all you ask of me, just grant me this.”

Salt-ridden were your tears as they cascaded down your chin, dripping onto the linen of your nightgown when you clutched your swollen belly, anxiety rumbling with your little one. A throat full of sand and a broken heart was what you carried when he nodded reluctantly, taking small steps toward you until his arms snaked around your hips, coming to rest at your stomach.

He smelled of dragon; the faint scent of rose and citrus from his earlier bath still clinging to his clothing just as you are, the back of your head pressed to his chest. You focus on the low thrum of his heart, the stiffness of his body as he hums lowly.

“He spoke to me about your dreams as well.”

Blinking, you press your lips together thinly before responding. “Now I’ll refuse to utter a word to him.”

“Hm, yes, I would rather my wife tell her husband what troubles her.”

“I am worried the babe might be suffering.”

Aemond’s chest caves below your head, crisp, night air all but knocked out of his lungs at your vague concern. However, he does not move, not even when you crane your neck to stare at his clouded eye as best you can.

“When I finally find rest, blood decorates the sheets. It all starts the same. I reach between my legs and the smell of copper sours in the air, and everything feels wrong.” You shake your head, ridding your mind of such an ugly, yet recurring thought.

There’s a fearful movement in your fingers as your nails bite into his covered arm, eyes blinking rapidly as you nonsensically continue. “Fire spreads, setting me ablaze and I watch as my flesh burns.”

Aemond says nothing, only pulls you as closely as he can manage, thumb bending to trace shapes over the clothed, stretched skin with his nail.

“It’s merely the stress, sweetling.” His dismissal has you scoffing, warm breath hitting soundless air, eyes rolling far in their sockets when he continues. “A lot has happened within the past moon, I’m positive it's taking hold.”

Your hands curl inward under his warm palm, the other moving to clasp over the fingers that itch your skin. “No, Aemond.”

Foreign to your ears is your voice, laced with annoyance and fearfulness at the darkness consuming you entirely. Even in a state of unconsciousness, you weren’t safe, and as long as this babe grew bigger inside of you, you’d never be.

Turning in his loose grasp, you clutch at the collar of his tunic, lower lip trembling as his brows furrow in concern. “Then what is it?”

In the short time you’ve come to know Aemond, you’ve always made it your goal to at least try and understand him in ways none could; whether that be through a slow blink of his eye or a quick twitch of lip, his expressions weren’t as concealed as he hoped to keep them. You could tell it peeved him to no end — having someone recognize what emotions were harbored in the center of his heart, unprotected by the rest of his shielding exterior. In truth, it would’ve been all too easy to lie and say he was quite satisfied with the way things currently were. In his mind, what little claim to the throne he had in the palm of his calloused hands amounted to nothing, especially when he had offered to seek out his brother the second word had passed that his father, King Viserys, first of his name, had succumbed to the Stranger.

It was a striking reminder that anything, and anyone he’s ever held dear in his heart, could wither away before his very eyes.

Including you.

His wife. The mother of his unborn child. Someone he had sworn his entire life to protect and cherish as if you were a part of him, a missing piece he had the pleasure of rediscovering.

Your revelation had hushed the dragon fire burning in his veins but emboldened the tragedy materializing in his psyche. Aemond Targaryen would never win, and that was something he would not swallow even if it had been poured into a chalice of wine.

“Helaena speaks in riddles, as if her tongue is twisted.” Tugging the pillowed flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, you wrack the mess that is your brain of how to word your next sentence. “Death amid a storm.”

It rolls off of your tongue, malice laced between her spoken words that have yet to leave you. Helaena was peculiar — in a sort of way, one would either deem her mad with the words that left her mouth as quickly as they had come.

Her lavender eyes would fall cloudy, hazed with something unforeseen to anyone else but her, mind miles away, and never in the present.

“The sun rose and fell three times, and what has yet to leave with it, Aemond?”

The man before you can only part his lips, skin creasing in the gap spacing his brows, shaking hands now resting at either side of your waist as his sole eye scans the distress etched in your features. He knows.

He can smell previous rainfall in the air, inhales it, and lets it repose his lungs with freshness he can only compare to the feeling of your skin against his.

“The rain.”

You nod curtly. “Exactly. And with these dreams destroying my sanity, draining the blood from my very being, how can I not believe her words to ring true?”

The safety you had hoped the weirwood tree would bring, has not reached you, nor will it tonight as he pushes you toward the Red Keep, thin-lipped and jaw tight. “We’ll further discuss this in our chambers.”

Aemond clenches his teeth together; not out of vexation, but out of consternation. He hopes, and prays to the Seven, that everything you uttered was merely due to your worries of the babe’s nearing birth as he guides you up the steps toward one of the many halls.

And when his lips press against your temple, right hand coming to rest on your swollen belly once again, the clouds continue their crying.

#house of the dragon aemond #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen angst #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond targaryen x female reader #hotd x reader #hotd aemond targaryen

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astarionslittlejuicebox · 5 months

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The Promise of Eternity (Part 2)

Author: @astarionslittlejuicebox

Imagine: The reader helped Astarion ascend and became his spawn. After saving the world from the Elder brain and it’s destruction, the reader and Astarion set out to take on the world together. While he promised to never forget the gifts the reader has given him, Astarion has seemed to have changed his attitude towards the reader in the last century…. After someone breaks one of Astarion’s rules, how will this affect the reader’s fate?

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader

Trigger warnings: potential for minor spoilers, suggestive themes, language, mentions of death, mentions of blood, abusive relationship, mention of slavery

Word Count: 1246

Imagine Series List

Side Notes:

This imagine series takes place 200 years after the events of Baldur’s Gate 3. Everything you read in here is a story from my mind outside of the original BG3 character Astarion.

In this imagine series, Astarion is a bit more unemotionally unavailable, and this series will follow the decisions and consequences of that change. This is not canonically accepted and it is just an idea I’ve had in my head! (I do believe Astarion might truly care for the reader after Ascension, but that is open to individual interpretation.)

In this series, TAV is mildly based on my first character I played in BG3; she is a drow and I will make references to her in her background and knowledge as well. I do apologize that it is not 100% your own imagine, but the name for TAV is up to you as well as anything else that I can think of leaving to you, the reader, to decide.

I appreciate everyone who reads the imagines and this series, and I hope you enjoy the story!

TAV POV

Breakfast time was a busy time for everyone in the castle. The chefs were busy preparing a large feast for the Lord of the castle and his exquisite taste buds. For the last two hundred years, Astarion has indulged and refined his taste for mortal foods, and the ever-rotating kitchen staff struggles to keep up with his desires. This morning, the chefs had prepared a feast of danish hens, caviar, fish, eggs in various styles, and other luxuries that only the nobility could afford in Toril. As I walked around the long dark wooden table that stood proudly in the center of an exquisitely decorated dining hall, I observed those who were hustling and bustling about the dining hall. Humans, elves, tieflings, and other people of all sorts of races rushed about to ensure that the breakfast buffet on the table would match the vampire lord’s meticulous standards. The silverware was polished and then examined before it was repolished several times until the silverware was finally deemed satisfactory.

I took note of the facial expressions of the servants as they all appeared to be frantic in their preparations. I was searching for any signs of deception or discontent with their tasks as servants placed two sets of plates on the table, one at each end of the table where an intricately designed chair sat proudly. One of the chairs belonged to the vampire lord himself, and the other belonged to his most beloved. I fondly glanced over at the chair I had sat in so many times over the last two centuries. Before I could reminisce on fonder days, a familiar voice agitated my drow ears.

“This fork is not shiny enough for the Master!” The voice sounded like the person only spoke from their nose—an impressive talent—but the voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard to the ears of those who heard it. The tiefling made her way hastily to the seat I had been staring at, with two puncture marks still lazily bleeding on her neck. Upon noticing me looking at her, she narrowed her eyes and gave me a snide look. “Look away, spawn, or I’ll tell your master that you’re bothering me.” She let out a laugh that reminded me of a pack of gnolls, but I turned my attention elsewhere as I left the room. On my way out, I almost collided into the pale elf himself, Astarion. He didn’t even spare a glance at me before I was shoved out the way and into the wall. I caught myself before smoothing out my dress and continuing my path towards my bedchambers. I could hear the ridiculous hyena laugh echo through the hallways until I had gotten several more feet away. Several of the spawn had given me sorrowful expressions as I passed, but I merely smiled at them as I took longer strides. Pity was etched onto every one of their faces, and I could not bear the weight of it on my shoulders. Besides, someone in this castle had broken a rule, and I was tasked to find whomever had done so.

Arriving at my bedchambers, I hastily opened and shut the door behind me before my handmaiden, Kristiana, greeted me. Kristiana was a spawn without a vampire master who Astarion and I had taken in under our wings one hundred fifty years ago. She was a short human female with big brown eyes, golden brown hair, and a soft smile. She was totally devoted to serving me hand and foot.

“Good morning, Mistress, was the sunrise beautiful this morning?” She asked as she walked into the large dressing room attached to the bedroom. “What are we thinking of wearing today? A nice autumn themed dress or shall we wear something more comfortable today?” I slipped off my gown and handed it to her through the door. Before I walked towards the warm bath she had drawn me. I sunk into the heated water and my muscles relaxed into the hot water. Kristiana walked over and poured water on my hair and brushed the knots out before she proceeded to wash my hair.

“We are going to put on something more comfortable for today. After I am dressed, please take the day to rest and relax. You’ve been working so hard lately, and you deserve a break.” Kristiana’s hands paused in my hair.

“Are you sure, Mistress? You know there are still plenty of duties for me—“ I waved my hand to stop her.

“I am absolutely sure. I can handle myself. Besides, I have business in town, and I am perfectly capable of handling myself.” I gave her a smile, which she graciously returned.

“If you are sure, I shall take you up on that offer.” She then continued delicately washing my hair while I washed my body. The sweet aroma of peaches filled the air in my room as dirt and grime was washed away from my body. Once I was rinsed, I stood up and wrapped a soft towel around my body as Kristiana laid out a plain black shirt and black trousers for me, I put on a pair of black leather boots to finish my outfit then smiled at Kristiana. I sat in front of the mirror, even though I couldn’t see my reflection, as Kristiana stood behind me and ran a brush through my hair.

“Just throw my hair into my usual bun and we shall call it a day.” I saw her nod her head in the mirror before her skillful hands went to work twisting my hair into a beautiful bun. She placed small black pins into my hair to hold it in place before she pulled out two strands to frame my face. She took a step back to admire her work before she smiled at me.

“All done, Mistress, and you look as beautiful as you always do.” I gave her a small smile.

“Thank you Kristiana. You always do such a wonderful job. You are dismissed until tomorrow.” Kristiana gave a timid bow before she walked out of my bedchambers. I took a moment to sit in the complete silence of the empty room and thought about how my morning had started. My eyes watered with the familiar sting of tears as I recalled the small glimmer of how things used to be with Astarion, but the moment quickly dissipated the moment she walked into the room.

I sighed heavily as I looked out the window, reminiscing on the days when Astarion and I were on the same page, wanting the same things, and speaking the same language. You will be my most beloved spawn, my right hand, my dark consort. I felt a single tear escape from my eye as his honeyed words rang through my head once again. Together you and I will be the most powerful people in the world. A few more tears slid down my face and collected onto my trousers. I had foolishly thought my little star had meant those words he had spoken, and I believe he truly did at one point in time. I wiped the tears that escaped my eyes before I straightened my posture. Regardless of how I thought he felt, he did entrust me with the task of finding whoever had stolen his blood. I grabbed my cloak and left my bedchambers as I set out to head towards my next destination: the library of Baldur’s Gate.

#astarion imagine #astarion x reader #baldursgate3 #baldursgate3imagine #ascended astarion #imagine #the promise of eternity

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swayziiwriter · 10 months

Text

Destruction | Kylian Mbappé

summary: kylian absolutely destroying your body in the best possible ways.

WARNING: 18+, sexual content

It was quiet all throughout the home of you and Kylian. Our heavy breathing filling the void of silence as our hot naked bodies laid under the cold covers.

Kylian continued to slide under the covers disappearing between the sheets towards your aching core, you felt Kylian's fingers tapping all over your stomach and hips until he reached your dripping pussy.

"So wet, all for me" you heard Kylian say as he dipped his face into your pussy, without any warning as you couldn't see him under the sheets.

"Shit Kylian" you moaned out as Kylian started to suck on your clit before darting his tongue in and out of your core.

He continued eating you as he found his pace, it was fast and hard. He was bringing you close to your first climax of the night as you reached your hands under the sheets searching for his body, needing to feel him as he ate you out.

"Kylian I'm so close" you breathed out edging closer to your high as Kylian never stopped his movements. Kylian moaned into your core sending vibrations all throughout your body, your body felt like it was on fire, his tongue moved inside you hitting all the right places, curving at the perfect angles leaving you chanting his name begging for a release.

Kylian abruptly left your core as you let out a whine at the loss of contact and pleasure. "Want to cum?" he asked, moving the covers off his face so he could look at you. "Yes, yes" you whined out, moving your hand down to his neck trying to push him down to continue your cloud nine.

"Beg for it" he smirked, teasing you brought Kylian a joy like no other, having you begging under him, helpless and needy for his dick.

"Please let me cum Kylian, I need to cum" you replied with no shame, your need for a release was stronger than any desire to be composed in a situation like this. "Cum all over my mouth" Kylian said dipping back into your throbbing pussy, he continued at a fast pace leaving no time for you to take it in.

You felt hazy as Kylian once again hit your g-spot, your hips buckled before Kylan grabbed them keeping them in place as you neared your climax. Kylian sucked on your bud hard, that brought you over the edge leaving you cumming all over his mouth as he licked all your juices up greedily.

You moaned out his name as you came down from your high, Kylian's warm hand inched up your body sliding up to your breasts gabbing them in his hands as he slid up from the covers towards your chest.

Kylian then left open mouthed kisses all over your chest, mumbling dirty words as he did so. You let out a sigh before lifting Kylian from your chest bringing his face up to yours, you brought your lips to his in a fiery kiss. Kylian lifted himself to be over you, his lips never leaving yours as you continued to kiss him.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, it made your insides turn with excitement as you longed to taste his juices.

You slid your hand down to his cock, which was pressed up against his abdomen hard and leaking pre cum.

"fuck" Kylian lowly moaned out as you pumped his cock in your hands, his head fell against your shoulder as he let out a throaty moan.

You continued to pump him as you left kisses on his neck sucking on his sweet spot, earning a moan from Kylian that was music to your ears.

"Don't want to cum yet" Kylian moaned out knowing that if you stroked him anymore he wouldn't be able to contain himself. "fuck me Kylian" you moaned out as Kylian smiled to your requests. "All you had to was ask me mon amour" Kylian replied flipping you over to be on your chest.

"Ass in the air" Kylian demanded,

"I'm going to fuck you from behind"

Kylian continued, running a hand up and down your ass before giving it a harsh slap, leaving you moaning.

"You like that huh? such a slut for me y/n" Kylian groaned out, "all for you" you replied. You felt Kylan wrap his hands securely around your hips, lining himself up with your core.

He snapped his hips harshly into you his cock bottoming out in you almost immediately as your wet folds invited him in.

You moaned out as the headboard slammed against the wall, as Kylian began to mercilessly fuck your guts.

It felt as if he was rearranging your insides as he fucked you from behind harder then ever before, he was deep inside of you his cock hitting all the right angles as your face was buried into the sheets the pleasure leaving you unable to hold yourself up.

"Kyky" you moan, your voice breathless and weak from the pleasure. Kylian watched as his cock rammed in and out of your pussy, his handprints covered your ass, marking you as his.

Kylian grabbed your hips, fucking you harder. You can only scream, feeling your climax near you moaned out louder telling Kylan that you were close.

Your first orgasm washes over you hard and slow, loud moans spilled out of your mouth as your tight core spasmed all over his cock. Kylian didn't pull out, cumming inside of your sensitive pussy. Coating your walls with his thick hot load.

He slowly pulled out of you, watching the mix of your juices leak out of your pussy, dripping from his cock. He unconsciously moaned at the sight, needing to go again.

"All fours mon amour" he begged, his cock still hard and twitching.

You lean up, turning around to give him a long sloppy kiss. "Anything for you" you replied, pussy throbbing at the sight of Kylian's long, thick cock hard against his abdomen.

He smacked your ass, causing your body to jolt forward. You bite your lip waiting for him to enter you again. "Be a good girl and arch you back" Kylian whispered leaning down to you ear, giving the spot under it a kiss before lightly squeezing your neck.

You comply with his words as kylian praised you for it. Kylian lines his cock up with your entrance but doesn't slide in. "How bad do you need this cock y/n?" Kylian teases, you moan. Your pussy throbbing, begging to be fucked. "Need it so bad" you whimper, arching your back even more. "Good girl" he replies, thrusting into you faster than before.

Your mind is a blur, your conscious slowly fading as you let Kylian do all the work, his cock working wonders in your pussy. You screamed out as Kylian pounded into you, he laughed at how loud you were being. The sound of skin harshly slapping against each other filling the room, like a sound made only for you two to hear, so raw, so passionate.

"I love this cock" you moaned out as Kylian gripped your ass harder slamming into you rapidly. It was your turn to tease Kylian,

"Kylian' you lowly moaned out recovering from screaming just seconds earlier. "Want to cum" you mocked his words earlier, "beg for it" you moaned out Kylian still fucking you into the mattress.

Kylian never missed a beat, still pounding in and out of your tight pussy "let me cum so deep inside this pussy that any man who fucks you after me will taste me anytime he tries to eat you out as good as I do" he grunted. You moaned to his words as his warm hand reached up to your neck, "I'm close" he moaned out.

You decided to move your hips back into his in a circular motion, that sent him over the edge moaning out your name, chanting it like a way to survive. "Fuck this pussy feels so good" Kylian continued to moan as he spilled his seed deep inside your core, triggering another release from your overwhelmed pussy.

You came shouting Kylan's name, telling him how good his cock felt buried inside of you, it was blur until the end of your high. Coming down from both your highs, Kylian stayed inside of you letting his cum drip from the small gap between his cock and your pussy.

Kylian pulled out with a low groan, flipping you to be on top of him as he leaned towards your face to give you a long kiss. He pulled away saying between heavy breaths "this pussy is so fucking good, he mumbled pecking your lips. "Never going anywhere"

"And you better not. This is my dick." You smirked, leaning down to lick his sweet spot before sucking on it, sure to leave a mark.

"Always baby" Kylian whispered, moving your head to be face to face with him. "Always" you softy replied leaning down to his lips capturing them against yours.

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helix-studios117 · 27 days

Text

Halo Reloaded: Advice... Again

Fred-104 was sprawled on a moth-eaten couch that had seen better days, probably around the time the Covenant thought humans were an easy target. He was idly flipping through a digital magazine, "Cuisine for the Super-Soldier Soul," a title so absurd it had to be military issue.

Kelly-087 was beside him, her legs thrown over his lap in a casual display of affection, her attention on a holoscreen displaying a list of 'Top 10 Quiet Getaways for the War-Weary Soldier.'

"Look at this," Kelly said, pointing at a blip on the screen. "There's a place that serves a dish called 'The Master Chief.' It's essentially a steak so tender it sneaks up on your taste buds."

Fred chuckled, the sound gruff but warm. "Sounds like something John would accidentally invent and never realize it's named after him."

Their banter was abruptly interrupted by a sound resembling a Warthog crashing through a supply depot. Except this depot was their living room window. Glass sprayed across the room, a makeshift reminder that peace was always temporary.

John-117, the epitome of Spartan stoicism and the most unlikely window-smasher, lay amid the chaos he'd created, looking momentarily perplexed by his own entrance. Fred and Kelly, veterans of countless battles, could only stare.

"John, ever heard of knocking?" Fred finally said, his tone dry enough to make a desert jealous.

Kelly, ever the pragmatist, was already calculating the cost of replacing the window. Again. "Or, you know, using the door like a normal person?"

John rose, shaking off glass like a dog shedding water. "Apologies for the dramatic entrance. I require... assistance."

Fred raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Did you run out of doors to knock on?"John's gaze was serious, a storm brewing over an ocean of uncertainty. "It's Linda. I need to ask her out. On a date."

Silence enveloped the room, punctuated only by the distant hum of the station's life support systems. Kelly and Fred exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them.

"You flew through our window... for dating advice?" Kelly's voice was a mix of incredulity and amusement.

John, unfazed by the absurdity of his actions, nodded. "Yes."

Fred stood, adopting the stance of a mentor about to impart wisdom upon a wayward student. "Well, step one: don't start by breaking her personal belongings. It tends to set the wrong tone."

Kelly, finding her voice again, added, "And maybe try using words. 'Linda, I value our time together both in and out of combat. Would you be interested in exploring a more... personal mission with me?' See? Easy."

John considered this, his brow furrowed in concentration. "No tactical overlay? No mission brief?"

"Definitely not," Fred deadpanned. "Try to sound less like you're planning an assault on a Covenant stronghold and more like you're, you know, human."

A moment passed, then John nodded, a determined glint in his eye. He turned, assessing the room with a tactical eye that unfortunately included the remaining intact window.

"Not again," Kelly sighed, already knowing what was coming.With the grace of a Spartan (which, in domestic settings, translated to 'bull in a china shop'), John made his dramatic exit through the second window, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Fred and Kelly, now facing the prospect of explaining to UNSC property management why two windows needed replacing due to 'Spartan relationship advice,' couldn't help but laugh.

"Dinner and window shopping, then?" Fred quipped, offering his hand to Kelly to pull her up from the couch.

"Let's just hope the restaurant has a discount for heroes," Kelly replied, accepting his hand with a smile. "Because at this rate, we're going to need it."

#halo #halo fanfiction #halo fanfic #master chief #john 117 #master chief fanfic #master chief fanfiction #halo headcanon #halo au #helix studios117 #halo reloaded #Ultimate halo #fred 104 #fred/kelly #fred 104 x kelly 087 #john 117 x linda 058 #linda 058 #john/linda

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asmallmoon333 · 6 months

Note

Once upon a day, in some distant AU, Light and L have swapped bodies. What happens next?

Lmao, hahahaha.

Crack answer:

Light-in-L's-body: You know I think 'Light-kun' is guilty after all and I think another 50 days of confinement is needed. What's that Matsuda, you don't think so, well who asked you? I'm L, I can do what I want, and my reputation is already terrible. You thought I was corrupted by power before? Hah. And so I think numb arms for 'Light-kun' is very necessary in cracking this case. Oh, and Watari, where are those secret files I know we have? Remind me. I want to refresh my self-knowledge. Also, I want a haircut. And, oh yeah, I'm a vegetarian now, exclusively eating spicy peppers and chilies. Get me the hottest stuff you can find. Let's ruin these taste buds.

L-in-Light's-body: Screaming in the background.

Serious Answer:

Assuming that in Light's body, L becomes the owner of the Death Note, can now see Ryuk now, and maybe even tricks Ryuk into telling the truth before Ryuk realizes the swap, then we have an L who knows what's up, but is now in a position where he is technically Kira and guilty of it. So he'd probably keep it quiet and set a trap for Light in the event they swap back, and Light would do the same thing for L. They couldn't target or ruin each other or 'themselves' tho, not until they were sure if the swap was permanent. So until then, it would be more mind games and weird tension but actually (reluctantly) platonic cause Light is not that much of a narcissist. (L would do it tho, he's a pervert and insists it wouldn't matter in the dark, but he's been outvoted by Light + Light's fist).

Tangent, but L has fun messing up Light's reputation, he has to entertain himself somehow. Basically, it's a state of detente due to mutually assured destruction until the swap is over, and in the meantime, we get some relationship development as they are now in each others' shoes (Poor L's feet, now forced to wear shoes.)

#death note #lawlight

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monstersandmaw · 1 year

Text

Male dremora x female character - Part Nine (nsfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere.

Content: domestic fluff, a little bit about dealing with the practical aftermath of a family member’s death, domestic smut, oral sex

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw), Part Seven (sfw), Part Eight (sfw)

Huge thanks to the two people who wanted this for their commissions and all the other people who’ve been politely begging me to add another part to this. I hope you enjoy this part as much as Alys does...

Wordcount: 3447

Alys stirred awake to the scent of something rich and savoury filling the small cabin, and she stretched like a cat before opening her eyes.

Her dremora sat cross-legged on the hearthrug in front of her, occasionally poking at the contents of a pot that dangled over the fire, and as she sat up and shook the sleep from her shoulders like a heavy blanket, he turned to face her.

“How long was I asleep?” she asked, rolling her neck to ease out a little of the stiffness that had built up after drifting off in a chair by the fire like an elderly Khajiit.

“Only an hour or so,” he said. “You’ve warmed up.” It wasn’t a question, and she wondered if he could tell that through their connection as well, or if it was just that she was calm and comfortable again.

She eyed the pot and peered over the rim from where she sat. “What’s in there?” she asked, mouth watering.

The dremora dropped his gaze and smiled bashfully. “I found an old recipe of your aunt’s in one of the books over there,” he said, gesturing towards the windowsill where a number of Gisela’s recipe books were stacked, along with The Gourmet’s famous tome.

“Good job you picked her book and not ‘Uncommon Taste’,” Alys muttered. “Did you know that the souffle recipe in there calls for an entire ‘cupful of nutmeg’? Ingesting that much would kill someone.”

“A human, maybe,” he grinned, levering his long frame up from the floor and absently pulling his long plait forwards over one shoulder to fiddle with the tip of it between his fingers.

She blinked up at him. “Don't tell me you actually could eat a whole cup of nutmeg without dying? And are dremora taste buds completely different or are you just… immune to stuff like that?”

“Our tastes are a little different,” he said with a shrug, “But we can stand toxins a lot better than humans can. An Orsimer might enjoy the effects of that much nutmeg though maybe. Maybe this ‘Gourmet’ is making souffles for orcs…”

“Come on, as if someone called ‘The Gourmet’ would ever be an orc,” she scoffed. “Anyway, what did you pick? It smells like Gisela’s venison casserole, but it’s not had long enough to cook down.” When he looked a little guilty, she added, “Did you use magic?”

He nodded.

“You know cooking magic?” she blurted, and he whickered a low laugh in response and folded his arms in a mime of mild outrage.

“It’s just refined destruction magic,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve never made toast in your college dormitory with a modified flame spell?”

“And what would you know of college dormitories?” she asked with another laugh as she got to her feet and stood looking up at him with a slow-beaming smile.

“You’ve never been to the Midden below the College?” he asked with a genuine frown, his body language changing again from playfully coiled to languid as a Khajiit in his curiosity.

Alys shook her head. “We’ve all heard about secret passages and chambers full of draugr beneath the College, but I’ve never been. I don't even know how to get down there. How do you know? Were you summoned by a student or something?”

She didn't mean to let the pang of jealousy quiver through her like the discordant pluck of an out of tune lyre, but it did all the same, and the dremora smiled softly. “I have been summoned to this plane a few times,” he said, “And once was to lend some power to a ritual taking place in what they called the Midden Dark. A group of students wanted access to a Daedric gauntlet, but I wasn’t powerful enough either and they banished me before too long… though not before they spent an hour bickering over a campfire about whether to keep me around or not.”

“What, and one of them just whipped up some cheese on toast to keep them going while they argued?” she said with a raised eyebrow.

Dremora laughed again and nodded. “More or less. It smelled wonderful. Infinitely better than the crushed frostbite spider eggs they’d used in the ritual.”

She shuddered and her stomach turned over. “Ugh, let’s not talk about spider eggs when you’ve gone to the effort of making casserole for us. I’m assuming there are no spider eggs in it…” she said, only half-joking as she regarded the stew pot. “You are a dremora, after all…”

He shook his head, plait swinging freely. “Venison, spices from the cupboard that were still good, and some of the vegetables you brought back.” He turned suddenly shy and added, “I hope you don’t mind that I…?”

“What, mind that you took care of me when I said that was exactly what I wanted you to do? No, of course not. Come on,” she said as her mind forgot about the spider eggs and her stomach growled at her instead. “I’m starving. It’s been one hell of a day.”

For those first couple of days at the cabin, Alys ignored the letter from ‘Gabriella’, and spent her time cleaning the dust and grime of the past months away — by hand, not by magic, much to the dremora’s bafflement — and sorting through Gisela’s belongings and deciding what to keep. “She was taller than me, and I’m terrible at sewing,” she said regretfully, staring at the tablet-woven hem of a beautiful, bluish-purple dress that had hardly been worn.

“You know there is such a thing as magic,” the dremora said from across the room where he was seated at the kitchen table. He, as it happened, was threading a magically-reinforced, bone needle through the leather of his cuirass strap, repairing a gash in the material from their encounter with the bandits outside Falkreath. “There’s a whole school that’s literally called ‘Alteration magic’.”

Alys snorted, balled up the dress and hurled it at him, then began to laugh even harder when it snagged on his horn and dangled limply off it like he was a particularly tall and muscular cloak peg. He set his armour down and plucked the dress off the tip of his horn with delicate, slate-coloured fingers and he held it up thoughtfully in both hands. His eyes flared from black to scarlet as he called his magic to him.

She felt the room crackle with it, like the air before a lightning strike or the aura of a storm spell, and she held her breath, watching. With a low-frequency hum as the magic of Oblivion bled across the realms, the hem of the dress drew up a little off the floor and the sleeves shrank up by an inch or so. When he was done, he held it out to her.

“You’re a useful Daedroth to keep around…” she muttered, cheeks flushing warm as she crossed the small cottage and took it back from him.

The dremora inclined his head, horns glinting. “I live to serve,” he said with a dry humour that instantly shattered her playful mood.

When her expression shattered and she let her arms drop, dress pooling in folds of midnight fabric at her feet, he realised exactly what he’d said.

“Alys, I didn't mean it like that. You know that. I… I chose to bind myself to you that day. I do not, and will not, regret it.”

As if to lend strength to his oath, the fire behind his eyes blazed brighter and his lips drew back just enough to reveal those unholy, double canines.

Instead of guilt or relief though, all Alys felt in that moment was desire, and the force of it took her by surprise.

This creature from another plain of existence should have cut her gleefully to pieces at his first sight of her, at the insult of being summoned improperly and for a task as mundane as guarding an exhausted, frightened woman from a few bandits, but instead he had chosen to kneel in the snow and to protect her, and then to bind himself to her will. He’d travelled across Skyrim at her side like a humble, hired mercenary, offered her comfort, laughed with her, shared his warmth with her — heck, now he’d even altered her damned clothes for her. The knowledge that she was not alone in facing what was to come next crashed through her in a great wave and she almost swayed on the spot.

She drew in a shaky breath, vision misting with unshed tears, and offered him a wobbly smile.

“Hey,” he said, and stood. He closed the distance between them and took her in his arms before gently prying the dress from her fingers and draping it over the back of the other chair by the table. He cupped her face in his warm, smooth, leathery palms, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words escaping as almost nothing more than a sob. “Thank you for being so kind.”

“You know,” he rumbled, “You offer me quite a lot with this bargain too?”

“Yeah?” she said, looking up at him.

His eyebrows rose a fraction and he nodded. “Mmm.”

Gods, she loved that sound; that soft, satisfied purr that reverberated in his chest. It made her want to rest her ear against his warm skin and close her eyes; to hear his steady heartbeat and feel the length of his body pressed against hers again, as it had been in the bedroll back at that lonely camp beneath the rocks. She’d slept with people before, but she’d never ached for someone the way she found her body waking up then at his touch. She knew he would feel it, but this time she made no attempt to hide it.

“I will never take more than you offer me,” he went on carefully, “And if you ask, I will not deny you.”

“Deny me what?”

“Anything.”

“Kiss me,” she said, and he bent down and brushed his lips against hers.

That first taste was as tentative as a moth’s wings against a window; fleeting and just barely there before it vanished into the dark.

To start with, he was painfully careful with her, as if waiting for her to draw back, to change her mind, to push him away, but when she took hold of the back of his head and pulled him fiercely down into a kiss that she herself deepened, he groaned and let his red eyes roll closed.

He backed her up a few paces, using his superior height and strength over her, and then his hands closed around her hips and he lifted her up to sit on the table. She gasped as he broke the contact and let his hands skim up the soft wool of the dress that covered her thighs, revealing her legs to well above the knee.

“May I?” he asked, his palms still resting on her slightly parted thighs. His voice had dropped a few notes in pitch, rasping in his throat as though ground raw by his own barely-leashed restraint. She could see his double canines when he talked, and glimpsed his dark tongue behind.

“Yes,” she gasped, head tipping back as he sank to his knees. She’d never been more aroused in her life than by that one gesture, and she let the heat of it lick around the edges of her mind like flames.

He drew the damp fabric of her underwear down along her legs to lie forgotten on the flagstone floor. Then, hooking both arms under her thighs, the dremora tugged her in a single, swift motion right to the edge of the table, and shifted his grip to push her thighs slowly apart with his thumbs, fingertips barely resting on her skin. Something about the position was so erotic that her mind went blank for a few heartbeats.

She looked down at him and saw the way his breath caught at the sight of her exposed body, his jaw slack and slightly open as he regarded her before bringing his face slowly down between her legs. With the pad of his thumb, he slowly teased through her wetness and circled her clit just once before licking a long, hot stripe over her.

As the taste of her hit his tongue, he growled; long and loud and decadent. She felt the vibration of it against her and bucked weakly. The sound of it filled the cabin as it rolled out of him, turning from the wild, feral growl of a werewolf to a distant, purring rumble.

His left arm held her in place, clamped under and around her thigh, fingers pressing into the muscle hard enough to leave marks, but the contrast between that firm grip and the delicate brush of his tongue around her sensitive folds and up to nudge tentatively at her clit was almost enough to make her come already.

Her mind floated away to a place of thoughtless bliss as he began a regular rhythm that started off slow and gentle, easing her into it and waking her up before he slid his right hand free from where he’d anchored it under her left thigh. He leaned back a little, and she looked down at him again to find his lips and chin glistening, his eyes blazing red in the shadows of his face.

The dremora traced his fingers up the inside of her thigh, the touch whisper-light, and she arched and grunted inelegantly, wordlessly begging him to return to what he had been doing a moment earlier, but he ignored that and instead circled his thumb languorously around her clit. He seemed to love the skittering sparks it sent up her spine and down her legs, and he savoured every little twitch her body gave him. Then his fingertips pressed inside her and she felt the slight stretch of it as he filled her. He sank to the knuckle inside her and crooked his fingers, pressing his fingertips against her walls and pulsing an insistent rhythm.

Leaning forward again, he kissed her clit.

There was no mistaking it. He closed his lips around the place where she was most sensitive and kissed her. He suckled gently at it for a moment, then let his tongue go back to the rhythm that had had her shaking and begging. With the additional pressure of his fingers inside her, she knew she wasn’t going to last much longer.

She curled forwards over him and reached down, instinctively grabbing his horns and pulling herself even closer into the contact. As she took hold of his horns, he let out a deep moan against her clit and his steady rhythm stuttered. The solid ridges and gentle, arching curve felt incredible beneath her fingers and the flecks of pyrite gold shimmered in the soft light of the room. It felt like they’d been made for her to hold onto.

“I’m so close,” she whispered.

“I know you are,” he said in a voice like gravel, lifting just far enough from her to speak. His breath was hot against her, his lips tantalisingly close, and she twitched as his words whispered across her skin. “I can feel it. If you come, you’re going to make me come too.”

“What —?” she gasped, letting go and leaning back, hips lifting.

Then his fingers pressed just-so inside her, and she lit up all over and came.

Her spine arched, and with her head thrown back she let out a broken yell as the pleasure that had been building and building inside her suddenly careered away from her and dragged her down with it.

She’d never been so wet, so aroused, so turned on, and as she came into his hand, clenching around his knuckles, she just heard him give a soft grunt. He stopped moving, his lips frozen in place against her and his fingers keeping a steady, insistent pressure inside. The very slight nick of his double canines against her tender flesh made her gasp and shake, and it prolonged her orgasm until she felt wrung-out and shaky.

Heaving for breath, Alys forced herself to sit upright again, elbows aching where she’d locked them to keep herself from falling back onto the tabletop behind her, and she found him still kneeling between her legs with his fingers curled and buried to the hilt inside her.

Slowly, he opened his red eyes and slid free of her. Gods, she’d made a mess of him. She thought people only made that kind of mess in the lewd tales the City Guard bragged about on nights out with too much mead.

With the reverence of a pilgrim at the end of a long journey, the dremora looked up at her and smiled almost bashfully. He looked a little out of breath too, and as stunned as she felt. And, she realised, he looked uncertain.

“Help me down from here?” she asked. “Not sure I can feel my legs yet.”

He hitched a half-smile and nodded, standing to reveal a dark, damp patch in his leggings. He hadn’t been kidding about coming when she did.

She eyed it and then looked back up at his face. He didn’t seem embarrassed or put out by the fact that he’d come untouched in his underwear from having his mouth on her and his fingers inside her while he’d given her what was quite possibly the most mind-shattering orgasm of her life. “I feel bad now,” she said. “That can’t have been too comfortable for you.”

He shook his head and the smile encompassed the other side of his mouth too. “I didn’t mind at all,” he said. “You want me to carry you to the bed so you can catch your breath?”

There was no pride or gloating in his tone. It was just a simple question.

“If I said yes, would you like to join me?” she asked, biting her lower lip to stave off a little, gusting rush of self-consciousness. She was also careful to make sure it was completely his choice, given the power she had over him anyway.

“I would,” he smiled, and slid an arm under her knees and around her shoulders.

He hefted her easily and stalked over to the small bed in the corner of the cottage. There, he laid her down and stepped back to shuck out of his ruined leggings while she drew her dress off over her head and let it fall in a crumpled heap at the end of the bed. She took a moment to enjoy the long, slender lines of his grey body, and his stormcloud skin that was punctuated by red lines of lightning running from his face all the way down his torso and spine, over his hips and along his slender, muscular legs to his black-taloned feet.

When they were both under the covers, he lying on his back with his arm underneath her head and Alys on her side, tracing those red lines on his torso with a fingertip, left leg thrown over his thigh, she sighed and kissed his chest.

“Are these tattoos or natural?” she asked, eyeing the contrast between blood red and slate grey skin.

“We’re not born with them, but they’re our mark of bondage to Mehrunes Dagon, ultimately,” he said softly. “I may be bound to you for now, but my soul is tethered to the Deadlands. When this body ceases to exist, my soul will return there. These marks will guide the way.”

“Like a summoning circle,” she murmured and he nodded.

She let her palm skate across his smooth, lean and muscled chest, then down over his ribs, and his breath hitched as she passed the sharp jut of his hips. He pushed his head back into the pillow, the tips of his horns pressing into the soft linen, and he let out a shuddering moan that travelled the length of his body.

She kicked the covers back off him and watched his clawed toes flex as his muscles tensed and relaxed in a wave, and she saw that his cock was hard again already. It twitched and left a silvery line of pre-come between tip and stomach. Slightly darker than the rest of his skin, with a single red line running along the underside from the crease of his balls all the way to the head, he was large, but not intimidatingly so. She closed her hand around him and he moaned. He was so hard; she would never have guessed he’d just come only minutes earlier.

His mouth opened a little, dark lips parting just enough to show her his pointed canines again, and he swallowed thickly, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Alys,” he gasped when all she did was gently squeeze the length of him in her hand.

More pre-come drooled over her skin and down the back of her hand. “Mmm?”

“You don’t have to —”

“But I want to,” she said. “Let me?”

“Anything,” he exhaled, shuddering again. “Gods, anything.”

With her permission granted, Alys set about returning the favour, and learned exactly how many times in a row a dremora could come.

___

Hopefully you’re still enjoying this story, and hopefully next time we get to meet Gabriella, and see just what she thinks of Alys’ choice of boyfriend/bodyguard...

Don’t forget to reblog if you did enjoy this! It means the world to creators like me, and it’s the only way our work ever gets seen.

Masterlist | Ko-fi (tip jar) | Library/Story Archive Blog

#dremora #demon #demon x human #dremora x human #male dremora #male dremora x female human #skyrim #skyrim fanfic #monster boyfriend #demon boyfriend #monster lover #demon lover

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yan-ken · 9 months

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Ok i don't know if anyone thought of this before but :

What if aliens don't have taste ? like they didn't have to develop taste buds for some reason and they only eat to appease their hunger ? Or maybe they don't feel hunger and only eat for nutrition ?

And when aliens will visit us they may get a handle on our anatomy and what is healthy food so everytime they see a human eating something with high levels of sugar they would just throw the food out cuz Sugar in the aliens perspective is technically poison to human wich leads to a conversation like :

Human : Sugar isn't that unhealthy

Alien : the Sugar that you humans make is poisonous, Especially in such high dosage.

Human : yeah but it tastes good !

Alien : tastes... good... ?

Human : yeah and it also releases dopamine !

Alien (who knows what dopamine is and is tired of humans self destructive behavior) : of course it fucking does.

#humans are weird #humans are stupid #humans

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

The Beginning and End of Jake Seresin

Pairing: Jake Seresin x female!reader

TW:angst, death, I think thats it

Summary:They say life is like a story. There’s a beginning, a middle, and an end. If you’re lucky, somewhere scribbled in between the failure and heartaches, you might just have some good. But for Jake Seresin, you weren’t just some side character muddled within the plot. You were the entire book, written like poetry that would rival the greats. You were the sun, moon, and stars wrapped up in a galaxy personified. You had always been his North Star, guiding him through the blackest of nights. And then one day, he was shrouded in darkness without you to lead him home.

Word Count:2k

Gif credit @babyrooster bc I literally could not figure out how to use it without saving it

Very few people have ever known the real Jake Seresin, the number one reason being that the real Jake, your Jake, doesn't exist anymore. Coyote is the only one of his friends who has seen the true Jake, the man that shone so bright even the sun had no choice but to admit defeat and bow down in his presence.

In order to know who Jake used to be, first they'd have to know you. The woman who made the blonde pilot everything he was. You see, before the world knew Hangman, the overly arrogant and guarded pilot, he was just Jake. Way back in the beginning, he was just a southern boy with too much charm for his own good.

He was friends with everybody, his laugh could make angels weep, and he was rarely found without a smile gracing his features. When you walked into the academy, he was the first person your eyes landed on. It took him a second to see you, but once he did he never looked away again.

In an instant, his entire world shifted. It was as if he'd never laid eyes on another woman, and truthfully he wouldn't care if he never did again. You were a raging fire, capable of setting the world ablaze and watching it burn from the center of the flames.

Yet somehow at the same time, you were a tidal wave, washing over him and engulfing him in cool water that paralyzed him and made him feel alive as he swirled around in your current that pulled him in.

Destructive and cleansing and so beautiful without even knowing it. Suddenly, he realized that his life didn't begin at birth. It began when he met you. Little did he know, love is a dangerous game to play and in the end, he would lose.

His life began and ended with you, and he discovered that his life would be a short one. He may not have died in the literal sense, but Jake as the world knew him was gone the second he lost you.

Sometimes his teammates would get a glimpse of who he used to be. When your guys' song came on, when he saw your favorite flower, when someone wearing your perfume walked by, or when he heard a joke you would have laughed at. It caused him to falter and for a fraction of a second, his eyes light up and he breathed a little easier.

Those moments were far and few between, but when they happened the rest of the squad got the privilege of witnessing who Jake Seresin could have been.

To know you was to know what it felt like to be loved and cherished. You weaseled your way into his heart and life without even trying. It was only a few months before Jake was calling home about you and promising to take you to see those infamous Texas stars. And he did.

He took you home on break, and his family fell in love with you just the same as he did. The two of you went through the academy together and then flight school.

You traveled the world together on deployments, took vacations, and danced in the rain. Jakes sure if you could look at his skull, you'd find his memories with you etched into the bone.

You set every cell in his body on fire, and it made him feel like he could conquer the world. It didn't make any sense, but everything was just better with you. His taste buds could pick up on the slightest hint of flavors, music seemed to make his soul dance, and flying with you made him confident he could touch the sun and not get burned. After all, it paled in comparison to the way you set a scorching fire within him.

But much like Icarus, he got too close and was sent reeling, tumbling towards unbearable pain with nothing to break the fall.

He'll never forget the sound of your voice as you begged not to be taken from the world yet. To be taken from him. It all happened so fast, and no one was able to do anything. Least of all Jake, who sat on the carrier listening to it all unfold over his headset.

You were on a mission with Coyote as your wingman, and Jake was forced to stand by helplessly as your engines failed and you plummeted from the sky. He cried and pleaded for somebody, anybody that was a higher power not to rip you from his hands like this. He had never been a religious man, but he prayed you would be okay until his voice was raw.

He can still feel his knees hitting the ground when Coyote met him in their bunk with a solemn look and shook his head, silently confirming his worst fears. You were gone.

Just like that, your light extinguished as if it wasn't the only thing keeping him from getting lost in the dark. Suddenly, the ring sitting in his nightstand thousands of miles away cruelly mocked him.

In a single blip in time, Jake as the world knew him was gone and Hangman was all that was left in his wake. He died with you and Jake was left an empty shell of a man.

Coyote held him as he wailed, repeating the words 'I didn't get to say goodbye." like a mantra as if it could bring you back. It was never supposed to end like this.

In all honestly, Jake would have jumped in the ocean right then and there to be with you if it hadn't been for the one thing keeping him grounded. His daughter he shared with you.

At the time he couldn't fathom how he was going to return home to his little girl that had your bright smile and infectious laugh and not feel his heart shatter every time he looked at her.

She was young when it happened, having just celebrated her second birthday a few weeks prior. He realized that his sweet precious girl, the only one that could hold a candle to you, would grow up motherless with no memories of the woman who gave her life. The thought alone was enough to make him sick.

He stood stoic with your little girl clinging to his leg as the jets flew over and stepped forward to pound the wings into your coffin. Coyote was the one tasked with presenting Alice with the American flag and dog tags, and he looked up at his friend with tears flowing freely. He knew Jake would never be the same.

At work, he was Hangman. The selfish and arrogant pilot that everyone assumed was just a heartless dick. However, the second he crossed the threshold into his home he was a different man. He cherished every second with his daughter, painfully aware of how quickly it could be taken away.

No one aside from Coyote knew about Alice. Jake selfishly wanted to keep her separate from the life that took the love of his life away. So he did. She stayed with his parents when he was away on deployment and by the time he got to Top Gun, that part of his life was under lock and key.

The daggers never knew about you or Alice, Jake didn't see any reason for them to. Perhaps if they had, they would have understood him a little better. Maybe had some empathy and understanding for why he kept people at a distance. Though that's the thing about Jake.

He didn't want them to understand. It would make it all too real and he wouldn't be able to hide from the reality of what happened. So he let people make their assumptions and kept the cage around his heart welded shut.

Jake may have died with you, but it didn't stop him from being a devoted father. Alice was the only one who got to see anything close to who he was once upon a time. He took her on dates whenever he could, showed up to every single school event, he even took a class to learn how to do her hair.

He thought that watching her develop into her own person without you would be the hardest part. Every time she had a first day of school, or mothers day celebration with her class, or introduced him to a new friend he wished you were there to see it.

He knew one day it would be bigger life events. First boyfriend, learning to drive, prom, graduation, getting married. He knew your absence would be felt by both of them, but he did his best to keep your memory alive.

He told her stories whenever she asked about you, they looked through pictures and videos together, and he tried to take her to see your parents as often as possible.

What he hadn't expected was how difficult it would be when she needed boy advice or motherly comfort. He handled it the best he could, but they both needed you. His heart broke all over again when all she needed was a motherly hug that she would never get.

He believed all that would be the worst part of being a single and grieving dad, but it wasn't. As Alice grew up, she looked and acted more like you with every passing day.

He could no longer run from his past when it was staring back at him every morning over breakfast. It forced him to confront what he had been running from for so long.

One day when Alice was a teenager, it hit him like a ton of bricks. He walked down the stairs and immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw his daughter.

She was wearing a floral print sundress that he recognized. His heart stopped in his chest as he asked where she got it and had his suspicions confirmed.

It came from your wardrobe that he never got rid of. It was the same dress you had worn on your first date with him. Memories flooded his nervous system and he had to excuse himself to go back upstairs. That had been a rough day, mostly spent sobbing on the floor of the bathroom.

Alice wanted to be just like you, and it wasn't hard. She was practically your clone with the same personality and fiery passion that Jake fell in love with. Even her voice was eerily similar to yours. It was torturous at first, but over time Jake found that it was actually healing the gaping wound that never closed.

With each new day, he noticed a new trait that your daughter shared with you. Eventually, he realized that it was the closest he'd ever be to having you around again.

By the time she was an adult, she had started wearing most of your clothes and even started listening to your favorite music and cooking your old recipes that Jake thought he'd never taste again.

His daughter was a beaming ray of light, and one day he realized he had never been in the dark at all. Slowly but surely, he felt like he could breathe again and he was reminded of what it was like to feel human. To feel alive.

The old Jake Seresin was revived and that intoxicating smile, lighthearted laugh, and bubbly personality was back like it never left.

Before Jake, there was Hangman, the overly arrogant and guarded pilot. Way back, somewhere in the middle, he was just a broken man stumbling his way through the darkness. He didn't make friends, nobody ever saw him smile or heard him laugh, and he had a razor-sharp edge that cut anyone who got too close.

Then there was this sweet little girl who walked around like sunshine personified, and she re-lit the fire that had been snuffed out. So you see, eventually the world got to see the real Jake Seresin again. Because to know Jake, they'd have to know Alice. The woman who made him who he is.

@drakelover78 @manyfandomsfanvergent @ssprayberrythings @disturbedbeautywrites @desert-fern @one-sweet-gubler @callmemana @luckyladycreator2 @bookchik26 @taytaylala12 @michalkasimp @xoxabs88xox @loveless-simp @withakindheartx @formulapierre @ccristata @shanimallina87 @k-k0129 @izz-ayes-world @kajjaka @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @phantomxoxo @rosiahills22 @gspenc @chair-things @benhardysdrumstick @cookielovesbook-akie @dempy @wellshit6 @blue-aconite

#jake seresin #top gun maverick #hangman top gun #top gun imagine #jake seresin top gun #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin angst #hangman angst

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blackwolfstabs · 6 months

Text

30 Day Writing Challenge: Day 22

DUALITY

What might've happened before Wayne Bailey woke up around broken glass and hunted his she-devil in disguise.

“Sam!”

Tara’s voice awakened her unconscious mind, faded among the ringing that grew louder and louder.

“Sam!”

Her voice wasn’t as muffled this time, and Sam was able to open her eyes. At first, she didn’t remember where she was or what happened, but when pain radiated through her muscles and stinging filtered beneath her skin—where fresh air seeped between her sliced flesh—it all came flooding back.

Through the blurriness, she could see Wayne’s unconscious body lying where they had landed from falling off the balcony. Broken, shattered glass was littered beneath them, and she could feel where some of the shards had cut through her clothing to stab her. The exposed skin of her arms and torso weren’t immune, feeling those intensify the longer she was lucid. The wooden strip that had collapsed onto her side was still there, promising a bruise to patch her ribs, if it wasn’t there already, while the entire side of her body that she fell on throbbed a deep pain.

But then, the wood plank was moved, and a soft hand replaced it.

“Sam, can you hear me?”

Tara.

Sam blinked, her eyes sliding to the corners to find her baby sister’s concerned face, but all she could manage to answer with was a nod.

Tara hovered over her, unsure of whether or not it was safe to touch her for the fear that she might be more hurt than she looked. Her eyes jumped back and forth from her sister to Wayne, anxious that he would wake up any moment and take his chance to kill them both. “How bad are you hurt? Can you move?” she quizzed.

The other swallowed with a small jerk, the poignant, metallic taste of blood seeping into her taste buds. Tara was right, even though she didn’t say it directly. She had to move, so they could finish this.

All of the shit done that couldn’t be taken back. All of the insults and threats that couldn’t be wasted on anyone else. All of the torn-up dignity and respect that couldn’t be put back together again.

All of the lies and schemes that Sam would rip apart herself for the sake of her family and her bloodline…

“Yeah,” she rasped, and moved to prepare herself to get off the floor. Agony rippled beneath the surface of her entire left side, making her hiss as she raised her upper half. The movement had what felt like an invisible knife driving into the side of her head. She bowed it with a grunt, bringing her hand up to hold it.

“Sam…”

“I’m fine, Tara,” she nearly growled. She then lowered her hand to reach across her torso and pull a large piece of glass out from her side that was embedded. A pained whimper forced itself out of her as she threw it aside. She lifted her head and looked up at her sibling. “Are you okay?” Immediately, she was drawn to the large blood stain that painted her stomach.

But Tara nodded anyway, her adrenaline overriding what she knew she’d feel the next morning. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered and took another glance towards the fake detective, “but we gotta go.”

Her older sister silently agreed and pulled her knees in to steady herself. “Fuck…” She clutched the slash Ethan had given her just below where her clavicle and humerus conjoined. Having to balance herself on three limbs, she realized just how shaky and exhausted her body was.

“Are you good?”

“Yeah.” But she pushed it aside and forced herself to her feet, having to tug a few more shards of glass from her figure along the way.

Meanwhile, Tara was navigating her way through the destruction, careful with her footing but even more careful with her volume. Her eyes studied Bailey’s seemingly lifeless body, circling him in search for what she knew would make his ending swift. “Sam,” she whispered in a hiss, “Where’s his gun?”

“We don’t need his gun.”

Her voice came from farther across the theater, making her look up to find her back turned and staring down at the floor. Her brow hardened as she stepped around the glass to move towards her.

Samantha blinked down at the black eyes and pale face that held her name in its shadow. The cracks and aged material that made up an entire mastermind. The sole object that everyone wanted her to bow down to and muzzle her true intentions for another’s. “He wants a legacy, he’s gonna get one.”

She picked up her father’s mask, the one she had insisted she would never be seen in. And she wouldn’t be seen in it, because the only person who would tell see her would be dead by the time the sun rose.

Tara stood a few paces away, staring at the way her sister seemed to blend the idea of herself and her unstable bloodline into one. “What are you—?”

“Do me a favor, okay?” Sam interrupted, her voice cool and calm, as if she no longer felt any of the pain that once twisted her tongue. As if something stronger than the passion for pain corrupted her half-blood into a full-blood. She sounded like a killer—the serial killers that always kept a level head and spoke with so much control, it was chilling. Like her father. A purebred wolf.

The spitting image of Billy Loomis, who lived inside of her.

The mastermind’s daughter turned around and paced up to her little sister, who stared at her, gingerly holding the wound in her stomach. She then held her phone out with Detective Bailey’s contact glowing on the screen. “I think it’s your turn to ask the questions,” she said, insinuating the revenge the younger deserved from the humiliating and traumatizing phone call she was forced to endure. The one that served as her ticket into this mess of a franchise. The older Carpenter nodded. “You know what to do.”

Tara blinked down at the phone, before raising her eyes to find a dark streak in Sam’s. She took it, then glanced down at the mask, watching it as her older sister moved past her and towards the stage. “What are you gonna do?”

Samantha stopped with one foot on the first step of the staircase leading up. She turned her head over her shoulder, the blood leaking from her bicep giving her overall appearance a daunting aura that influenced her words.

“I’m gonna handle the rest.”

i had to cut this one short bc i'm running low on time to finish this challenge, but i really wanted to put more into this one! whatever, i hope it still serves well. maybe i'll rewrite it someday??

All my best! Stay frosty ♡ - parker

#scream #scream v #scream vi #sam carpenter #tara carpenter #carpenter sisters #wayne bailey #billy loomis #ghostface #ao3 #ao3 author #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #30 day writing challenge #duality

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mspaint-turtles · 1 year

Note

What about. Leo nd his infamous cucumber gatorade.

destruction. of taste buds.

#rottmnt #rise leonardo #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #leonardo #asks

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waynes-multiverse · 2 years

Text

Bad Reputation – Chapter 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Series Summary: In a world full of careless supes, powerful people, and corruption on all levels, Y/N’s the typical millennial, trying to make the world a better place one good deed at a time. As a civil rights lawyer in New York City, justice, kindness, and selflessness are her motto. Her patience is tested, however, when none other than America’s ass himself shows up on her doorstep and needs help.

Warnings: +18, strong language (please mind the fandom), angst + crack = crangst, violence & a few death threats, a budding forceful friendship?

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I, uh... words... Okay. How to describe this? Maybe “opposites attract” meets “gun-point friendship to lovers”? This is still in the early days of writing, but I wanted to share this first chapter with you guys as a thank you since I’ve reached 500 followers yesterday and y’all know I can’t do one-shots or keep things short 😂 I appreciate every single one of you so much and I hope you enjoy this little series. It was a lot of fun to write and to play around with a new character (even one we don’t know much about & I wrote this after 3x04). Enjoy, loves! And no, for once this wasn’t inspired by T. Swift but by the Joan Jett song 🤘

Say a big thank you to my sweet @eevvvaa for encouraging me to post this months sooner than I normally would have 😉🖤

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

“And we’re done,” the EMT smiles kindly as she removes the needle from Y/N’s arm and carefully places a band-aid over the small puncture wound.

Y/N rolls down the sleeve of her hoodie and rises from the metal examination table, gathering the rest of her belongings. “Thanks, Amy. Have a good night.”

“Don’t forget: plenty of fluids and eat something. I don’t want you to faint again,” Amy reminds her with her infamous concerned brow as Y/N hops out of the back of the ambulance.

“Don’t worry. I have a box of macaroni and cheese waiting for me,” she grins in response, but honestly, it’s nothing to get jealous over. It tastes like the most generic shit ever and nothing like her grandma used to make it.

It’s Wednesday and almost midnight when she strolls home below 14th street into the Village. Street lamps and neon signs guide her way home, tourists and locals crossing paths on sidewalks. New York City is never quiet, especially after midnight, and especially with Vought HQ and all its superheroes nestled right in the heart of the city.

Every Wednesday, she donates blood after work. Hospitals are in dire need of it, not surprising with all the destruction around caused by reckless and careless supes – not that legal action could ever be pursued. She knows. Every second client of hers has been damaged or violated by a so-called hero, but barely a handful of them ever get any compensation for it.

Y/N’s not a superhero and never wanted to be one, even if Mother Theresa paid her a million bucks. Maybe that sort of power would only corrupt her like it seems to do with everybody else, you know?

In other words, Y/N’s simply a woman with a kind heart and a giving spirit. She grew up in suburban Connecticut with two warm-hearted parents and an admirable older brother. She doesn’t live lavishly, only buying what’s necessary and donating the rest. She’s still occupying the same apartment she’s lived in since she attended NYU. It’s a crappy place, hasn’t been renovated since the 80s, but she all too happily still calls it home. The world has become a sinister place ever since greed and corruption took over, but she’s far from willing to give up. If she can better the lives of a handful of people, that’s enough for her. So, she spends every ounce of her free time helping others. She helps organize protests, tutors kids for free at the local youth center, volunteers at homeless and animal shelters, and stops by the retirement home as often as she can to play bingo with old vets.

Y/N doesn’t care that there aren’t any days left for herself anymore. Her self-care is giving time to others. It makes her happy to make them happy, believing kindness is still the greatest superpower of all and time the most valuable gift.

With almost scientific accuracy, she pushes her various keys into all four locks before kicking the badly oiled door to her apartment open and closing it behind her, the rustling of a chain and four locks following. She’s already been mugged five times since her move to the city. No superhero ever came to help, which was probably for the best, considering the building would’ve most likely been leveled.

You’d think she’s kidding, but she’s not. Just during her lunch break, a building in Midtown was demolished to the ground with nineteen people left dead by some airhead supe. Honestly, she’d move, but these idiots have been scattered all over the country by fucking Vought. It’s like an alien race has ceased the planet and declared itself the new rulers of Earth. Everyone else is presented with two options: obey or die, and even if you play along, the chances of being blown into oblivion are still high.

Y/N grabs the pack of Queen Maeve’s Macaroni and Cheese from the pantry and turns on the stove, carelessly dropping the gross contents into a pot. Everything’s branded these days, and it’s even hard to purchase something that’s not decorated with one of those fuckers’ faces. Honestly, they might as well go ahead and burn that shit into her skin. It really doesn’t matter anymore.

While the yellow paste is cooking itself to completion, her mom calls like she usually does when Y/N gets home from work, even stays up late to check in, and always whispers through the speaker so as not to wake her snoring father next to her in the bed. Her mother constantly worries about her, wishes she’d only move back where it’s “safer,” but Y/N knows safe places don’t really exist anymore. Have they truly ever? To her, it seems like they’re a mere illusion people hold onto to sleep better at night.

Suddenly, some continuous thundering pounds on the front door rattle her, and she jolts up, almost dropping the phone in her hands into the pot. The pounding is so goddamn loud and heavy that the whole wall shakes and the thin wooden door comes close to giving in and crashing down.

A few seconds pass before she’s unlocked the door again, phone neatly tucked between her ear and shoulder as she pries the door open, the chain still providing her some necessary safety.

Her brow furrows, head tilting to the side, and her eyes wander up the tall, bulky frame of the stranger on her doorstep. He breathes heavily, stares angrily, and looks…

“Uh, Mom, I gotta hang up. There’s a homeless guy at my door,” Y/N says and mindlessly ends the call, her mother’s “call the cops, honey,” only a faint sound in the distance.

She’s not gonna lie: the dude in front of her looks rough. Long, untamed hair and an even more untamed beard almost entirely hide his green eyes and the freckles on his skin, dirty and ripped clothes (sweats no less) clad his muscular body, and his smell direly suggests a need for a shower. Either way, he seems to be in his thirties and definitely gives off serial killer vibes.

“Can I-, can I help you, sir?”

Look, if the guy needs a shower, some food, and fresh clothes, she’s not gonna turn him away. Everybody needs a little help sometimes or the kindness of a stranger. She’s still got some old attire from her brother lying around that she was going to donate anyway. She probably should call her upstairs neighbor Eddie, though, before she lets the man inside. Although, by the looks of it, the guy seems like he could probably take out both her and Eddie easily at once. Nevertheless, some extra protection never hurts, right?

However, before she can lift her phone to her ear again, the guy’s fingers curl firmly around the rusty metal chain. He yanks it off its hinges, screws propelling to the floor, and violently pushes the door open. The sudden force makes her stumble backward, and before she can utter a single word or catch her balance, he bursts into her apartment.

Her breath hitches as she watches his chest furiously heave and his nostrils flare. “Wait… what are you doing? You can’t just-,” she splutters, the rest of her sentence cut off by his hand around her throat.

He’s quick, too quick to even see him move when he pushes her harshly against the door, his fingers squeezing into her flesh and tightening her airway as her feet lift off the creaking floorboards.

“Can’t do what?” he growls through clenched teeth, a certain cockiness gleaming in his eyes. She’s scared shitless and can tell that little detail only amuses him.

His strength is unnatural and the arrogance on point, so she doesn’t have to think long and hard about who she’s up against. “You’re one of them... Supe…What do you want from me?” Each word pushes out with an exhaustive breath, making her wonder how many she’s got left, the harsh grip on her throat seemingly unwavering.

Quietly and mostly reserved, he stares at her, studies her, as eternal seconds tick away on the clock. She squeezes her eyes shut, a part of her already accepting her fate and repeating the death statistics in her mind. Dying by supe is almost as likely as a heart attack nowadays. She guesses for her it’ll be the former.

But then, absolutely nothing happens. In fact, his grasp even loosens slightly, and as she dares to open one eyelid again, she finds him gazing at her display of family photos on the little side table next to the door. Then he abruptly drops her, her ass rather painfully hitting the ground. She rubs the sore skin on her throat and coughs until her lungs finally refill with enough oxygen at her first deep inhale.

Her eyes then find the supe as he paces curiously through her living room. He stops in front of the window and gazes through the yellowing blinds, pushing them apart with two digits. “You know, this used to be my place. Got it back in the late 70s… off the books. Warhol recommended it to me. He brought the sluts from Studio54 here and fucked ‘em upstairs,” he chuckles over his shoulder and throws her an expectant look like she’s supposed to be impressed by his little history lesson.

Who the fuck is this guy?

“What a… sweet story,” she clears her throat and smiles at him, but she’s sure it looks awkwardly uncomfortable as she slowly gets back onto her feet, her back pressing against the door. Man, she wishes she could disappear right through it. “Look, I get being sentimental, but I don’t care that you’re a supe. I’ll call the cops if you don’t fuck off.”

What follows next can only be described as a death stare before the creases around his eyes soften and his whole body starts to erupt into shakes.

Oh shit… he’s fucking laughing at her. That’s not a good sign.

His laugh is loud and booming as it bounces off the walls. He rubs the tears out of his eyes, still chuckling when he strolls her way. “Gotta admit, I haven’t laughed like that in… well, hell, probably forty years.”

“Gnarly,” she grits sarcastically, and yet her heart is wildly hammering against her ribcage, the sound ringing in her ears like a shrill alarm bell. Maybe it’s the coronary that gets her, after all.

His mouth opens, ready to retort something or swerve into another story, but then he closes it, his eyes flickering to the TV screen as the late-night news report rolls footage of today’s explosion.

And then, she’s certain the heart attack wins because she surely can’t feel hers beating anymore.

Holy fucking shit Christ… She’s fucked, isn’t she?

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Same sweats, Y/N. Why are you even asking? “You killed nineteen people,” she whispers, and it comes out almost incredulously, like the number can’t be real and representatively standing in her living room right now. It’s too fucking surreal.

His head snaps to her, each heavy step towards her pushing his full weight onto the old, wooden floorboards. His eyes are dark, empty, and nefarious, his body threateningly towering over her small frame like the Berlin Wall. She’d love to cower in front of him, but she’s even too frozen for that. “You want to be number twenty, darling?” His hand reaches out, knuckles lifting her chin to meet his gaze. She shivers in fear and flinches away. He smirks and drops his hand to his side. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of hurting a pretty girl like yourself, okay? Now, all you need to do to make me keep that promise is to shut that fucking mouth and stay outta my way. If you don’t, I might have to crush your skull. Understood?”

She nods with a thick swallow, her mind racing a mile a minute before her brain flatlines altogether.

“Good,” he smiles and ambles to the couch, planting himself in front of the TV. She’s frozen in place, can’t move a limb or a goddamn pinky. She’s not sure she’s even allowed to breathe at this point. All she hears and feels are her thudding heartbeat in her ears and the fear coursing through her veins.

He glances at her from his periphery, rather annoyed, and sighs, “Look, after a goodnight’s sleep to clear my fucking head, I’m gone again and you can return to your pathetic, little life, alright? I just need… a safe place, okay?” He shifts a bit on the couch and looks at her fully now.

“O-Okay,” is her response, not quite believing that word left her mouth. But for a blink of a literal eye, there was a softness flashing across his pupils. “You-, uh, are you hungry? I can order pizza.”

Jesus fucking Christ, is she losing her mind?

He seems to be as baffled by her question as she is. “Aren’t you cooking dinner right now?” He gestures to the pot on the stove.

She grimaces and shakes her head, “Trust me, you don’t wanna eat that.”

“You just found out I killed nineteen people. Do you really care what I eat?”

Well, he’s got her there. She really just wants him to leave her apartment again, but she supposes that won’t happen anytime soon, judging how his ass is firmly planted on her fucking couch. But now, she’s stirred her own appetite for pizza and craves some comfort food on top of it all. The last fifteen minutes have been incredibly stressful, and she’s donated a lot of blood tonight and feels dizzy under the circumstances.

“Okay, let me ask you this,” he interrupts her train of thought when several seconds pass without a response from her, “Are you just offering pizza so you can leave and get help?”

She shakes her head, lips slightly pursed. “No, uh, I was gonna DoorDash it.”

His brow knits, and when she pulls out her phone to show him what she intends to do, he suddenly jumps up from the couch and snatches the device from her hands, almost crushing it in his fist. “Whoa! What weapon is that?”

Confused, she arches an eyebrow at him, “Weapon?” Seriously, who the hell is this guy? He looks way too young to have partied here in the 70s and everything about him seems a little odd and out of place. “That’s a phone,” she points out.

He scoffs, the angry wrinkles on his brow reappearing, “How stupid do you think I am?”

“You want me to answer that honestly?” she snorts and then chokes the laugh when his glare only intensifies. “Look, I promise it’s just a phone, okay? Everyone’s got ‘em. Nothing special about it,” she assures him, and to her surprise, he seems to believe her, his shoulders slumping a little.

“It doesn’t have any buttons,” he grunts and squints his eyes at the device in his large hands.

“Yeah, it’s a touch screen,” she shrugs and observes his lips curl into a pout. God, he almost resembles her grandpa when she gave him a tablet for Christmas. “Can I have it back to order, or do you wanna do it?”

A moment passes between them as he seems to contemplate his options before shooting her a reluctant glance and handing her the phone back. “Nah, I’m sure you can handle it, sweetheart,” he smacks her ass with a smirk and coolly proceeds to saunter to the TV as if he hadn’t just touched her inappropriately.

“Sure,” she replies somewhat bitterly. Any other guy would have already received a lecture and a sprained wrist from her, but she figures an ass grab is not really worth dying over.

While she opens the app and places an order, she watches him as he inspects her TV, his head poking behind the flatscreen. The app announces the pizzas will be delivered in twenty minutes, and as she glances up at the superhero in her living room again, he has moved on to her laptop now. He picks it up, weighs it in his hands before opening it up sideways like a book. All in all, he seems lost and, frankly, slightly panicked.

Yeah… she should ask questions, right?

“Uh, just-…” Upon her utterance, he puts the computer back down on her desk and blinks at her expectantly. “Are you… alright? Like, in the head?”

His eyebrows draw tightly together, and then he rolls his eyes and licks his lips. “What do you mean?”

She twitches her shoulders, hoping she won’t say something stupid that’s going to get her killed. “I, uh, I just mean… maybe you have amnesia or something. Maybe a concussion? Did something happen to you? You remember anyone hitting you over the head?”

“Why are you asking?” he snaps a little impatiently.

“It’s just… the phone, the TV, the computer-”

His eyes widen almost comically as he thumbs back over his shoulder to her desk, “That’s a computer?”

“Yeah, see, kinda the point I was trying to make,” she nods. “No offense, but you seem like someone who’s stuck in another decade. And honestly, you look way too young to have already been alive and partying here in the 70s. Are you one of those supes that doesn’t age? Did you take on someone else’s identity, like a, uh, a mind switch? Or is your superpower time traveling and a wormhole scrambled your brain?”

“Look, I-…,” he scratches the nape of his neck and purses his lips. “Something like that. You don’t need to know the exact details, okay?”

The doorbell interrupts their talk, and she quickly rushes to accept the food. For a second, she thinks about dashing out that door and calling for help, but she doesn’t want to get the delivery guy killed with her. She puts the two boxes on the coffee table, the supe instantly plopping down on the couch and grabbing himself a slice. The way he hums in delight around the melted cheese and crust makes her think it’s been a while since he had a decent meal.

“Uhm, if you want, you can use the shower. I have some fresh clothes that should fit you, too,” she offers him and softly clears her throat to catch his attention. “Nothing fancy. Just some old ones from my brother.”

“Thanks,” he states gruffly and then continues to eat and watch TV.

She cleans up the kitchen a little, removes the vomit-looking food from the pot, and mostly stays out of the superhero’s way. After he’s done with his pizza, he wordlessly locks himself in the bathroom while she tells him a fresh set of clothes is already lying on the hamper. He showers for approximately fourteen minutes before she hears him cursing when the water finally runs cold. She’s turned the TV off in the meantime and prepared the pull-out couch for the night, only the dim and flickering kitchen light remaining to illuminate the apartment. The door to the bathroom then opens, steam flowing through the crack as her eyes slowly wander up his frame.

Admittedly, he looks a lot better once he’s cleaned himself up, her brother’s old Giants jersey and sweats fitting him like a glove. The hair and beard still remain a wild mess, and even the supe seems to think so as he rubs his chin rather uncomfortably and then looks up at her.

“Oh, uh, I can get you a razor tomorrow,” she tells him. He nods silently, and yet, she can detect a little gratefulness gleaming in his green orbs. Still, she reminds herself he murdered nineteen people and only threatened her an hour ago. As she dries the last plate over the sink, however, he walks to the fridge and grabs himself a beer, examining the label closely before popping the bottle open and gulping it down.

“I’m Ben,” he suddenly says, and her eyes almost spring wide open because she’s so surprised by the information he decides to share. A small part of her already bet on that he’d likely kill her in her sleep tonight.

“Wow, uhm, no stupid superhero name?” she questions, bites her bottom lip instantly, and honestly doesn’t understand why she keeps engaging him. She should count her blessings that she’s still breathing at all.

“I think it’s best if you don’t know that either, darling,” he replies and then stares at her intensely before she realizes he’s waiting to hear her name.

“Oh, uh, Y/N,” she swallows and then abruptly backs out of the kitchen. She doesn’t exactly know why, but his presence is making her feel fairly uncomfortable – and not just because of the killer look in his pine green eyes. “Uhm, I’m gonna go to sleep. I left a pillow and blanket on the couch for you. I’ll take the bed since I pay rent and you better not crawl into mine while I’m asleep. Got it?” she tells him in a sharp tone, wondering where the fuck that courage is coming from and immediately feeling like she’s going to pass out.

He bobs his head, tongue licking over his plump lips as he guides the beer bottle away from them. There’s slight amusement detectable in the corners of his mouth. “Alright… But you’re aware I could easily kill you and just take the bed, yeah?”

To his bewilderment, though, she plainly shrugs her shoulders and bravely meets his gaze, “Honestly? At this point you’d be doing me a favor.”

When he only nods and nurses his beer in silence, she finally escapes into her bedroom and closes the door firmly behind her, locking it for good measure, although she knows that won’t do shit to keep out a supe if he ever changes his mind about her living status during the night.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. How is she supposed to get outta this one alive?

Chapter 2

Please do let me know if you want more of this! I’m a little goofing around with this series and having fun. It’s got a bit of everything in it and if you know my writing and my humor by now, you probably can guess what this series will be like 😝 Don’t worry, tho – there’s no excessive slow burn, but as you can tell reader needs a little time to adjust to her hostage situation 🙈

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