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macabr3-barbi3 · 5 months ago

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*gets on knees* hello,,,,, I am,, muy hungr y.......... priest vox one-shot PLEAAAAASE.. perhaps Vox has taken a more Catholic turn with Voxtech to capitalise on the fact that being redeemed has suddenly become extremely popular since the Hazbin Hotel was rebuilt ('TRUST US! with YOUR redemption'), he doesn't ACTUALLY believe in any of it of course but anything for a buck. Idk how reader would end up there LOL but I can't stop thinking about him using the most dirty religious euphemisms AND MAYBE USING A ROSARY TO BIND READER'S(OR HIS IF UR FEELING REAL FREAKY) WRISTS RUFF RUFF BARK BARK BARK I'm totally normal (I'm losing my mind)

HELLO FRIEND I LOVE THIS (AND YOU SINCE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE LOL)

disclaimer that I am not religious, I took most of these bible verses and things at face value- Vox doesn't care about using them correctly why should I LMAO

going to Hell for this one lads anyone wanna carpool?

Tags: blasphemy, priest kink, fucking in a church, improper use of rosary beads, confession that is not up to code, exhibitionism? if you squint? improper use of bible verses

HOT PRIEST VOX IN THE BANNER FROM @chefskjssart AND THE BANNER ITSELF FROM @fraugwinska I LOVE YOU GUYS ❤️❤️❤️

When you arrive in Hell as the result of a car accident, the first thing you see is a billboard- there’s a television on it, of all things, one with a face that wore a confident smirk under eyes that seemed to promise something. What exactly it was, you couldn’t tell, but the bright, flashing words next to him caught your attention, like you were sure they were supposed to: “VoxTek presents VeeLigion- TRUST US! With YOUR Redemption!”

You spend a couple days trying to get your bearings, and you determine that Hell fucking sucks- before falling you had been stabbed a grand total of zero times, and within 24 hours you’d had a knife in you twice. Which, TV did a terrible job at depicting stabbings; it wasn’t a soft gasp and a betrayed glance at the person holding the knife, it was a burning flash of pain and a scream that echoed in your head even after you stopped, even after the wound miraculously healed and left you with holes in your clothing that exposed unblemished skin.

TV also painted a pretty inaccurate portrait of Hell as a whole. Sure, you’d been stabbed a couple times but it wasn’t all fire and brimstone- everyone else mostly left you alone, a fox-faced woman had given you a bandage and a half eaten sandwich while you sat bleeding in an alley outside, there were bakeries and regular storefronts, and maybe a few more sex shops than you had been anticipating. But it was a whole society like it was when you were alive, albeit with maybe less rules and consequences.

You see more advertisements from the guy with the television head (Vox, you had picked up from the newspapers and magazines that littered the sidewalks), promises of salvation to be found in his newly built church in Pentagram City, redemption at a low cost. You had seen other ads, from a place called the Hazbin Hotel, but regardless of how different Hell was from what you had imagined, you still figured that the Devil was bad- his daughter couldn’t have been much better. And the Princess of Hell just didn’t catch your attention like Vox had; come on, his head was a television, what choice did you have but to look at him?

And it was no real surprise that you had ended up here, despite the years of Catholic school and nuns striking the fear of God into you when your parents had decided that you were too much trouble as a teen and shipped you off for a few years. You had done your time, did the prayers and shit with your skirt just an inch or two above the regulated length, and as soon as you had the chance you were out of there, back to the fun life you had enjoyed before…

Even if you did now have the voice of Sister Lucy in your head when you went down on someone, telling you that idle hands- and probably lips- should only be used in service of the Lord.

But Jesus, was some premarital sex really enough to damn you to this shithole? The more you thought about it, the more you wanted to find your way to the center of the city to find that Church. Maybe the whole redemption thing was bullshit, but also maybe since it was a church they could give you shelter. A place to hide from the chaos on the streets while you figured out what the fuck you were going to do. You didn’t think you needed food to survive, really, but you would do almost anything for a hot meal in your mouth just for the comfort of it.

After getting directions- and another fucking stab wound, where the fuck were people getting these knives?- you make your way to the VoxTek church, and here’s another point against the Hotel. The thing is massive and gorgeous, blue and white stained glass that covered the building reflecting the red of the pentagram in the sky, Vox’s likeness front and center above the intricately detailed doors. It’s pristine, and perfect, and you’re suddenly very self conscious about the state of yourself, covered in blood with clothes that are the wrong brand of ‘holey.’ But you’re already here and on the steps, so there’s not much else to do but climb them and reach for the doors.

A tablet pops in front of you, ‘AdamAI’ engraved across the top. “Welcome to the VeeLigion church,” the thing says, the voice bored and haughty. “Entry starts at $5.99.”

“You fucking charge just to come in?” Maybe you shouldn’t swear at what looks like some sort of angelic device but fuck, really?

“A small price to pay for salvation!” It says, and little wings flick out of the sides to flutter, like it was trying to distract you. “Come on, don’t you wanna go to Heaven? It fucking rocks up there- Hell is dirty and smelly and gross, and-”

“Yeah people just stab you like all the fucking time,” you mutter, “but I don’t have any money.”

“Plan B then- you can sign this screen right here-” Some sort of contract appears on the screen, the letters too small to read properly, with a line at the bottom. “And the matter of payment can be discussed at a later date, at the owner’s discretion.”

“That’s a little suspicious.”

“You could go get stabbed again,” it snarks, and a pen pops out of the top. “Or you could go to that shitty hotel that doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing, with Lucifer’s brat. Choice is yours.”

You have to admit that the pristine glow of the church seems more promising than what you had seen of the Hotel, so you sign the contract and the doors swing open without the creak of heavy wood- when you touch it on your way in you realize that it, too, is actually metal, manipulated to look like wood to sell the facade of the building. “Good luck,” the tablet chirps, followed by something that sounds suspiciously like “you’re going to need it” as the door slams shut behind you.

It’s eerily quiet inside the church, likely soundproofed since you can no longer hear anything that’s going on outside. There’s no one else inside, no priest or other sinners, the stage at the front of the chapel empty except for the obviously simulated sunlight that streams through the windows at the back. Despite the cash grab at the door, the place does feel divine. It’s quiet and peaceful, and beautiful beyond belief. You wander up to the front, looking around to see if there would be some sort of pastor or something to show you what, exactly, you were supposed to do- to give you answers, to show you some kind of mercy in this hellhole.

A door slams somewhere in the building, and gradually a voice gets louder as they approach the chapel. “-told you, Val, that the church was a waste of fuckin’ time,” they’re saying, “but did you listen? Of course not- you’re shoved so far up Angel’s twinky little ass lately it’s a wonder you have time to plan your fuckin’ ‘holy orgies’ or whatever the fuck you’re calling them-”

And there’s the television you had been seeing on the billboards and ads- Vox in the flesh, priest robes dripping off his frame, one of those little hats somehow attached to his flat head. Even with his eyebrows drawn down in irritation at whoever he was on the phone with, he still has an air of confidence and cockiness about him that you can admire- and you had seen some of the magazines declaring him the hottest in Hell, and know that he has clean lines of lean muscle hiding under those holy folds of fabric. He paces back and forth across the stage a few times, throwing insults and jabs into the phone in his hand, and then he looks up and finally notices you.

“Oh fuck,” he says, eyes widening in surprise, and then- “not you, Valentino, Satan, fucking narcissist. Someone’s fucking here- yes, in the church- fuck it, no, I gotta deal with this.” And the phone is slipped into one of the pockets of the robe. His whole demeanor changes- his posture straightens, his eyes closing and his face rearranging into something softer, more peaceful as he looks down at you.

“Welcome, lost lamb,” he says, and you could almost believe him if it weren’t for the glitch that crackles across his screen at the words. “How may I help to guide you today?”

“Um… I’m not totally sure,” you confess, and his eye twitches in irritation. “I saw some ads and I was curious about the idea of a church in Hell. If you can actually get redeemed here then, you know, I’d love to give it a try-“

You don’t even get to mention your almost ulterior motive before he fucking laughs at you, the sound echoing with the acoustics of the place. “Fuck, so you’re a real one then? Y’know how many people I’ve had sitting in these pews that don’t give two rats shit about redemption, just wanted to see the fancy new fucking building and watch one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell strut around in this stupid fucking thing?” He plucks at his robes, the fabric fluttering around his body. “And now I've got a real one. Imagine that. Okay!”

He claps his hands together and a small bench emerges from the floor in front of the stage as he drops to sit on the edge of it, legs hanging off so his feet touch the floor. “Fucking kneel, then,” he says, gesturing to the cushion, “Don’t these things usually start with confession? I don’t have all day if you have like, a million sins to confess.”

“Oh, right.” This part at least you knew, even if it usually took place in a booth and the other person couldn’t see you. You hadn’t really been planning on confessing when you got here, but at least it was an easy part.

You watch him patiently, waiting for the usual blessing, until he stares at you expectantly. “Well?”

Guess you were skipping that, then. “Um, okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” He waves a hand at you; a silent ‘get-on-with-it’ if you’ve ever seen one. “It’s been… ten years? Since my last confession-“

“No fucking wonder you ended up down here, doll,” he mutters, head tilted towards the ceiling and not even looking at you, “you were one of those ‘Easter and Christmas’ church-goers, huh? And you thought that would be enough.”

“Hey, fuck you,” you snap, flushing at how easy you were to pin down like that, and his head snaps back down to look at you, an eyebrow raised like he’s fucking bored. “Aren’t you supposed to be here to help?”

“Does it matter? Besides, I’m new to the job; sue me for a learning curve. Come on- what sins are you confessing?” His screen brightens suddenly, a grin directed at you that steals your breath. “Was it something fun? You kill someone?” His eyes go hooded, expression lascivious as he looks down at you. “Impure thoughts, maybe? Impure actions?” His gaze lingers on your skirt before he meets your eyes again.

Your face heats- you’re very aware, suddenly, of the position that you’re in- knelt on the floor in an empty church, the priest as far from saintly as one could get and hot as Hell even with his TV head, his knees spread apart where he sits on the edge of the stage and you essentially between them. Images race lightning quick through your head- pushing his robes up around his thighs, leaning forward with your tongue out to show him just how impure your actions could be-

A bell rings overhead and you’re reminded that you’re in a fucking Church, even if it is one in the center of Hell. You had come here for help, not sex. You shove the thoughts back. “Can you just- be a normal priest, please? With the bible verses and shit so I can feel like this wasn’t a total waste of whatever I signed before coming in here.”

He sighs but seems to acquiesce, placing his palms on the stage and leaning back. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one! Give me one sec…” His screen changes, words and images flying across it at lightning speed while he taps his fingers on the floor under his hands, sometimes slowing on a particular passage, and it occurs to you what he’s doing- he’s searching the fucking internet for a bible passage.

“Ha! This should do-” His face comes back, expression serene, and he leans forward and places a finger under your chin to tilt your head up, closer to him now than you would have expected. “I know how you feel, my child, tempted by the sins of the flesh,” he says in an exaggerated tone. “‘For we do not have a High Priest who cannot sympathize with our weaknesses.” He winks at you with that smirk of his back in place, “but was in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin.’”

You blush but can’t turn away with his finger on you, keeping you tilted to face him. “‘Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ Is that what you’re here for, doll? Mercy?”

Your mouth runs dry, and you can see the way his eyes track the movement of your throat when you swallow. “Y-yes,” you stammer, and your voice is weaker than you would like, your eyes half-lidded as you look up at him. “Mercy-”

“In your time of need,” he offers, and when you close your eyes you feel his thumb trace over your cheekbone, his hand warm against your skin. “What do you need? Cause I’ll tell you- all flushed and trembling and sweet on your knees here? I don’t think a bible verse is gonna cut it, babe.”

He almost slides off the stage, dropping to a crouch so he’s level with your face. “Sir-” you try, and his grin is wide and dangerous.

“Father,” he corrects you, and if you weren’t already on your knees you would have fallen to them. “And I believe you still have to confess before we can move on.” He reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out something long and dangling- a rosary, you realize, and you can’t stop the flash of heat that rips through you despite the blatant blasphemy of what was happening. “Give me your hands.” And you do, helpless to refuse as he winds the beads around your wrists with the cross dangling between your arms as he finishes. He stands then, using a hand on the beads to pull you from the cushion and guide you forward on your knees when he sits on the edge of the stage again. You’re properly between his legs now, the fabric of his robes almost touching your nose, and he’s holding your bound hands atop one of his knees.

“This is just to keep you focused,” he says when he sees you watching where he has them restrained in one hand. His other hand pets across your head, a finger briefly touching one of the horns that you had grown upon arrival. “Now then- tell me of your temptations, little lamb, and I’ll give you absolution. I’ll give you the mercy you want.” When he meets your wide eyes again, he winks. “Maybe something else, too.”

“Fuck, I’m- God, okay. Okay. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” You take Vox’s silence as a sign to continue, his hand still gently brushing through your hair, the other keeping a tight grip on the rosary beads. “It’s been ten years since my last confession.”

“Go on, my child,” Vox says, and fuck, it feels wrong that the words of a priest- regardless of how legitimate he was- are making your core clench, a strong jolt of arousal bolting through your body. “What brings you to confession today?”

You try not to tremble as you continue. “I have… behaved immorally in the past. And even now I’m having impure thoughts,” you whisper, and you hear Vox suppress a groan in front of you. “I- I know the Bible says not to fall prey to temptation, but it’s so hard to resist. I can’t stop myself from thinking about it- about what I’ve done. And about you.”

The fingers in your hair are gone, grip tightening on the one holding the rosary. “This is troubling indeed,” he says, like you can’t hear the smirk in his voice. “Tell me what you’ve done- what you’ve thought about. What you want now. Be specific.” There’s a soft rustling of fabric before you, a whisper of air across your face as Vox moves. You make an inquisitive noise and he shushes you. “Keep your eyes closed, dear- imagine you confess to the Lord himself. Show him how earnest you are in your devotion.”

You let your face relax, brow going slack and keeping your face tipped up. You can see through your eyelids the shine of the sunlight through the windows, artificial but warming and holy nonetheless. And like this you ‘confess.’ “I’m thinking about you touching me- in s-sinful ways. Your hands on my skin the way that others have touched me. It feels good, I can’t help but want it…” You feel a little ridiculous even with the flush of your cheeks and the need overtaking your body.

“Fuck,” you hear Vox whisper, and there’s another faint sound of movement that you can’t place with your eyes closed. “How did these f-f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘t͖͖̠̬͛h̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́ sinners touch you?” His voice seems to fail him at the thought, a crackle in his vocals that betrays how much he’s invested in the moment.

“Like a harlot,” you say, and you hear a full groan escape him, a tug to the rosary when he leans a bit down towards you. His face is closer now; you can feel his hot breath as it ghosts across your lips when you speak. “They touched my bare skin- sometimes I lie awake at night and trace the path their hands have taken over my body, over my breasts, between my legs. I’ve let them fuck me, bent over tables and spread across beds, and God, I want more.” You let your voice take on a pleading edge. “I want it to be you- please, won’t you help me?”

You let your eyes flutter open, and the sight before you steals your breathe- Vox’s eyes are trained on you, his mouth hanging open with his face screwed up in pleasure as he fists his cock inches from your face, his robes drawn up over his thighs to jerk himself off in time with your confession. When he notices you watching him he smiles, all teeth and dripping saliva, looking more and more like the agent of damnation that he is than the holy man he’s pretending to be. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧa͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞t͖͖̠̬͛,” he growls, his vocals once again corrupted and fried when he speaks. “‘No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. G-G̯̯̩̙͆ͣ͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ is faithful, and he will not let you be tempted beyond your ability-’” The last words are accompanied with a harder thrust of his hips, bringing him closer to the edge of the stage, the head of his prick nearly brushing your lips before its covered with his fingers as he continues to stroke. “‘But with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it.’”

You know what he’s going for, but… “I think in this instance, ‘enduring it’ would mean not giving in to the temptation,” you murmur, and you let your tongue ghost over his hand when it gets within reach, just able to taste the saltiness of his precum on his fingers. “But I think I’m weak to it, Father- would you forgive me if I can’t resist?”

Static flashes across his screen for a moment. “Fuck,” he pants when he sees that you’ve kept your tongue extended, waiting for him. He loses the haughty, holy edge to his voice as his fingers tighten their grip, less of a stroke now to let the head of his dick tap against your tongue a couple times. “Can’t fuckin’ think straight like this, Satan- how am I supposed to keep this shit up when you look at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like a devout whore praying for a cock in your throat,” he snarls, and releases the hand keeping hold on the rosary to cup your face. You waste no time in bringing your bound hands up under your skirt, shoving your panties to the side with trembling fingers to rub at your clit. The angle is all wrong, but any friction is good friction at this point, and Vox laughs breathlessly at the desperate way that you rock against your hands with your head held in his. “I might not be God but I can answer that fuckin’ prayer if you want.”

The way you shift to get a better angle to slide a finger into yourself brings you closer, your head resting more heavily in his palm, and you can’t resist giving him a wink- “Promise you’ll give me my absolution after?” You let your mouth fall slack, and groan around the length of him as he pushes past your lips, both of his hands abandoning their respective tasks to tangle in the strands of your hair and keep you still.

“I’ll give it to you, doll, I’ll fuckin’ give you a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛.” He guides himself in further, deeper, until the head of his dick is just bumping against the back of your throat, whorish whines escaping the scant space between your lips when he starts to buck his hips, sucking to the best of your ability while you ride your own fingers and try to work your tongue against the solid erection that’s taken up a temporary residence in your mouth. His hands fist in your hair and tug you closer, your nose bumping the sharp lines of his abdomen and the solid weight of his balls resting against your chin with every jerk forward. A particularly hard thrust has your gag reflex triggering, the channel of your throat convulsing and fluttering around the head of his cock while his head throws back with a moan.

Tears prick at your eyes- your orgasm is a distant, intangible thing, the pleasure from your fingers sweet but not even close to what you needed, whimpering and drooling around Vox’s cock in a way that echoed around the beautiful chapel. When you look up at him his eyes are wide and frantic, harsh moans falling from his mouth and rumbling through his body so you could feel it against your nose pressed into his pelvis the way you are.

A hand slides forward to brush at your tears, a smile more befitting the devil than any kind of priest taking up Vox’s screen, red lines of what could be drool dripping off the sides. “Fuck, gonna cum- you want it, angel? Your a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎b͔͔̳͈̊̆ͥ͂͜͝s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡t͖͖̠̬͛i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥ?” You can’t speak with his cock filling your mouth so fully, so you nod the best you can and grind your hips down onto your fingers, still bound together with the rosary. He chuckles low, once again keeping your head still so he can pound into the wet heat you’ve provided to him, the muscles of your throat clenching down every time he pushes far enough back. “‘Repent and be baptized, e-every one of you-’” he starts, the silky skin of his erection sliding pleasantly over your tongue a final time, then he stills. His cock twitches, and there’s a jet of hot, bitter liquid spilling across your tongue before he pulls out completely. “‘In the name of J̸̡̡̟͑ͭ̄͘ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧs̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅụ̴̴̾̀͟͡s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅ Ch̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅt͖͖̠̬͛, for the forgiveness of your sins.’” There’s another pulse of cum that lands on your cheek as he pulls back, his thumb coming up to smear it on your skin and then dip into your mouth for you to suck it clean as his cock gives one final twitch, a weak spurt against your lips closed around his thumb. “‘And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit,’” he finishes in his normal voice, that cocky smirk back on his screen when he finally pulls all the way back.

You lick your lips, rid yourself of the remnants of his release that you can reach. “Is that what that was? You don’t look much like the Holy Spirit to me.”

He groans looking down at you, the hand still in your hair petting almost affectionately through the strands. “We make do with what we have in Hell,” he says. His eyes flick down to your lap, where you still have two fingers poorly sunk into your pussy and are rocking back and forth on them. “Don’t worry, doll, you’ll still-”

He freeze, some notice popping up in one of the upper corners of his screen, and he shakes his head and groans as it clears away. “Quiet- someone’s at the door,” he murmurs, and takes his hands off you entirely.

You suppress a groan at the lack of contact, fingers momentarily stilling and cocking an eyebrow at him. “How can you tell?” There’s no knock resounding through the building, no bells or chimes, and he holds a finger to his lips.

“I get an alert when someone interacts with the AdamAI. Just hold on a sec-”

There’s an audible gasp from the sinner that enters the church, and Vox looks down at you with a wicked smile. “Keep praying, my child,” he says softly, “and we’ll resume our discussion on the matter of your ‘repentance’ soon.” He stands to his full height and with a swish of his robes he’s gone, approaching the newcomer behind you and speaking in hushed tones- you catch something about a ‘private prayer session’ and resist the urge to snort, instead shifting a bit to get your thumb against your clit and rub soft circles. You don’t think you can cum like this but it's nice, sweet little zaps of pleasure that start at your core and echo through your body like the acoustics of the church you kneel in. You bite your lip to keep the sounds from escaping you as they talk, the low timbre of Vox’s voice making your body hum and tingle remembering the way he had moaned and clutched at your hair as he chased his release with your mouth around him.

Fuck, if Sister Lucy could have seen you now she would probably have an aneurysm. But its not her words echoing in your brain right now- it’s Vox’s soft “keep praying” that has your hands unable to stay still, your hips jerking minutely while you reach futilely for the edge of your pleasure, to tumble headfirst into it.

It takes a moment for you to realize that the Church is silent once again, and when you look up- and up and up, your head tilting all the way back like you’re searching for God himself in the rafters- Vox towers over you from behind, his eyes dark and hungry. He drops to his knees, a resounding crack on the floor as he reaches for you, his hand wrapping around the front of your throat to keep your head tilted back, and a low growl rumbles from his chest when he feels you swallow against his palm. “Such a well behaved lamb, to stick to your prays so devotedly in the presence of others,” he whispers, his tongue curling over the shell of your ear, and now that you’re alone there’s no shame in the desperate moan that you let loose- the way he says ‘lamb’ is so sickeningly sweet and exaggerated that you know the word he wants to use is ‘slut.’ “What kind of shepherd would I be if I didn’t give you a reward?”

His other hand comes down to grab the rosary, pulling your fingers from the slick heat of your cunt and bring them to his mouth- his tongue curls around them, the lewd sound of him sucking the juices from your digits right next to your ear, causing heat to pool in your lower stomach. Once he’s satisfied, he hoists you up with his grip on them, spinning you so that you’re facing him and pinning you to the edge of the stage. “Thought the ‘baptism’ was my gift,” you say as he lifts your legs up around his waist, shoving your skirt out of the way and just tearing your panties off your body, exposing you to the cool air of the church. “You should keep your metaphors straight.”

“Come on, I’m fuckin’ trying,” he mutters, pressing his screen to your forehead so you’re breathing in the same air. “Didn’t Jesus say some shit like ‘choose words that bring peace, not conflict’ or something? Take that holy advice, stop poking holes in my sermon, and let me show you Heaven.” He leans in before you can respond to tangle his tongue with yours, and considering where you are and what you’re doing, kissing a television is hardly the weirdest thing to happen to you today. It’s pleasant, even, a light hum of static where your lips meet his, his tongue almost vibrating with concealed electricity as he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste his own cum in the back of your throat.

When he pulls back for your answer, you can’t resist the truth- “That was Buddhism,” you deadpan, and laugh when static crackles across his body, a renewed erection pushing into your thigh when he uses your bound hands to lay you flat on the stage. He fumbles with his robes to get them up and around his waist again, and the laughter dies in your throat as the silky smooth head of his cock bumps against your drenched folds.

“You know a lot about religion for someone that seems to only know how to be on her knees for one thing,” he murmurs, and it's both shame and heat that flashes through you at the words while he slides his length back and forth through your wetness, pressing lightly against your clit and retreating, teasing. “Let’s see how long you can keep that up while I’m fucking the thoughts out of that pretty head, hm? Gimme a Bible passage since you know so much, dollface.”

“I don’t have access to the internet in my brain like some people but I’ll do my be- ahhh, fuck-” Vox cuts off your sentence with a solid thrust of his hips, the tip of his prick finally slipping in, and he works it in slowly, letting you adjust to it a few inches at a time until he’s buried to the hilt in your wet cunt and breathing heavily against your neck. “Oh God-”

“Thought taking the Lord’s name in vain was a sin,” he breathes, and licks down the column of your throat. He pulls back a little, the drag of him inside of you a delicious burn before he snaps forward again, punching the air from your lungs. He maneuvers the fingers of the hand still holding the rosary to press the wooden cross into your palms. “Come on, angel, give me something good.”

It’s admittedly hard to think with the way that he pistons into you, hips angled just right to hit that sweet spot inside that you had been missing with your bound hands, his free hand digging bruises into the flesh of your hip. You blurt out the first thing that comes to mind- “‘A-All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for- fuck, for instruction, for conviction, for correction, and for training in right-righteousness,’” you manage through the pleasure that courses through you, and Vox laughs, the action causing his body to shake against you.

“Something better,” he demands, still drilling his cock into your pussy, hard thrusts that make your vision waver and your breath catch in your throat- how he expects you to talk during that, you weren’t sure, but you would do your damndest as you search your memory for something else.

“Fuck, uhhh… ‘If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with pointing finger… and malicious talk, and if you spend yourself on behalf of the hungry-’” You lose focus on the words you can see behind your eyelids when the hand leaves your hip to press a clawed finger to your swollen clit, a firm circling that has you choking on the words before they can finish leaving your lips. A whimper escapes instead, and Vox’s grin is wide and hungry as he stares down at you.

“‘And satisfy the needs of the oppressed,’” he continues for you, “come on, little lamb, you know the rest.”

“‘Then your light will rise in the darkness, and your light become like the noonday.’” Every muscle is tense, waiting for the thread to snap as Vox continues to fuck into you like a man possessed, his tongue lathing over whatever bits of skin he can reach. You can feel the orgasm crackling like electricity down your spine, unsure if that’s a side effect of Vox’s half-machine body or just how fucking good it feels. Either way, the cusp of release has never felt like this before, like you might pass out from the strength of it, from how all consuming the pleasure is before the peak has even hit.

The pressure against your sweet spots- inside and outside- intensifies suddenly when Vox tilts his hips, pressing down harder and slamming his thick cock against that bundle of nerves inside, the wet sounds of your coupling all that you can hear over your voice and his grunts of effort. “‘The lord will guide you always; he will… s-atisfy your needs in a- in a- oh fuck, God, Vox-”

You want the face he’s making framed in the living room of wherever you end up living in Hell; he could almost be a real priest with the expression of worship that’s taking over his screen, looking down at you like you’re Heaven incarnate. “F̼̼͓̙ͤ̋̅̚͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔, d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘l͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, that’s right; cum on my cock, sweetheart, a͔͔̜̗̦ͩ̅̎n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧl͖͖̰̝ͭ̀͘, fuck-”

It’s just as all consuming as you expected- even more so as you tip over the edge into blissful ecstasy, every part of your body clenching down, your hands on the beads, your legs around Vox’s waist, your walls around the hard length still pounding away at you. You’re not even a little embarrassed about the echoing of your cries as you cum, the sound bouncing off the walls of the church and coming back to you and Vox, who’s chasing his own release in the tight clench of your pussy. The lewd, wet sounds intensify suddenly, sharply, the evidence of your orgasm drenching the robes bunched around Vox’s thighs. A high pitched noise emits from him, and his screen goes dark when he follows you over the edge, hot pulses of heat into your slick cunt, walls fluttering and spasming and wringing every last drop of cum from him, resting thick and warm inside of you as his head drops down to your chest and the entire building seems to just power down.

You fiddle with the rosary beads in your hands, trying to see if you can get them undone on your own- and yes, there they go, a quick twist of the wrist and they’re sliding along your skin, your wrists sore where they had been digging in this whole time. His grip on the beads had slackened as well, so you pull out of his grasp and let your hands run down his body, properly touching him for the first time- and it was well worth the wait, even through the priest robes. His muscles felt firm to the touch, the skin of his arms soft where his sleeves had ridden up, and the hot air coming off his head when you traced your fingers along the ports and wires on the back of it was oddly pleasant.

“You keep touching me like that,” he mumbles against your chest, and you feel his dick twitch where it’s seated inside you still, “and you can be the one to explain to my business partners why power’s down across Pentagram City.” The building flickers back on slowly, the simulated sunshine once again streaming from the windows as Vox boots back up, a loading screen flashing on his face before it turns back into his eyes and mouth, quirked up at the sides while you run your fingers over his body and head. “Gimme like half an hour and we can go again without blacking out both rings of Pride, maybe.”

You laugh when he pulls out, collapsing in the space next to you, the stupid little hat tumbling off in the process while he adjusts his robes. “‘Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be my light,’” you quote. “Maybe a power outage will bring more people to the Church, you could play that up on your advertisements- then if we regularly fuck there’s a business aspect.”

His chuckle echoes in the chapel. “Where have you been all my afterlife?” He jokes, and his clawed fingers give yours a squeeze when they come down to your sides. “I know you’re probably half kidding but listen, I could use some of that religious knowledge if Val and Velvette insist on making me do this once a week- the fucking doesn’t always have to be a part of it, but-”

“Listen, if that offer comes with a place to sleep and a hot meal every once in a while I’m down.” You think back to the screen you had signed before coming into the church- “Shit, unless that tablet I signed means I don’t get a say? Guess I should have looked at it a little closer-”

“Oh, that.” He has the decency to look a little ashamed as he pulls something up on his screen, making a note before closing it again. “Sorry, just a contingency- if we didn’t have a way for financially challenged sinners to get here that would severely limit our target market so we added that contract as an option. Technically your soul is now owned three ways by the Vees as a whole until terms are settled, but we’ll renegotiate, figure something else out.”

“‘Give to everyone who begs from you, and from one who takes away your goods do not demand them back,’” you quote at him- “you help me out and I’ll help you.”

“Deal.” He stands and pulls you up with him, and you place the hat back onto his head- it snaps into place with a soft click that you laugh at- “Magnets, babe, I work with what I have”- while he leads you to the back of the church to clean up and talk about where you would be going from here.

Bonus

You’re laying reclined on Vox’s living room couch a few days later, wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else while he pours a couple drinks for you. All things considered, going to the church that day had worked out well. You weren’t ‘dating’ Vox, but he was keeping you off the street, fed, and fucked, so you didn’t have much room to complain. Every once in a while you would go over some common Bible passages with him, try to play out a full confession so he could see how it was actually supposed to go to try and help with the church thing, but because of how you met you could hardly get out “forgive me, Father” before Vox was hard and pulling at your clothes.

He’s bitching about it now as he mixes things in glasses at the kitchen counter when his apartment door flies open and Velvette strolls in. “Vox, babe, the fuck are you doin’ at that fuckin’ church? Your ratings are absolute shite compared to the stand-ins we have and that should not be the fuckin’ case.”

He immediately jumps on the defensive. “Imagine that- maybe its because I’m not a real fucking priest? God forbid it take me a fucking minute to learn the shit.”

You pipe up from the couch, tipping your head back over the arm to look at Vox and Velvette upside down. “A good start would be not taking the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Traitor,” he hisses at you, and the demoness doubles over in laughter when static sparks between his antennae as he whips in your direction. “And you’re one to fucking talk- remind me how we met again?”

“You sure you wanna do that while your friend is here, Vox? I can live with the blasphemy of fucking in a church but I draw the line at full blown exhibitionism.” Velvette wipes a tear from her eyes while Vox’s screen tints pink. “And besides- we’re working on it, aren’t we, Father?”

Velvette’s irritated grumbling is ignored as Vox pushes her back out the door and approaches you on the couch, curling his claws into your hair, coaxing you to your knees for another confession.

#priest vox #vox fanfiction #vox being vox #vox smut #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #x reader #hazbin x reader #LISTEN I HAD A BLAST

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miceysfandomcreations · 1 year ago

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Seasons Came and Changed the Time

I wrote a spoilery csm fic. Tagging my comrades in *** *****, @gunfiendbabymama, @lela-ri, @itoshisoup

The Gun Fiend’s holding cell is cold and dry, a grey rectangle with the bare necessities and no windows except the one on the door. The fluorescent lights buzz on his skin.

He picks at his lip with his remaining hand. He’s not allowed to reform his other one unless ordered to; the last time he did that it got torn off by a trigger-happy Devil Hunter and that blasted fox devil.

That agent shouldn’t have done that, or been near you at all. The Child had said. In fact, Public Safety has fewer agents than I remember.

The Child, short, clad in winter gear, at times more mature than he seems, was with Gun Fiend for as long as he could remember. From the moment he came into consciousness in the cold cell of a Public Safety facility, his entire body in pain and regenerating, the Child was there, placing his spectral hands on Gun’s remaining one.

I have black hair. The Child says.

“I don’t care.” Replied the Gun Fiend.

I’m pretty short next to you.

“I don’t care.”

I think I remember slicing apples into bunnies, but everything else is hazy.

“Can you feed me one of those bunnies right now?”

No, sorry.

The Child smells like nothing, no blood, no life. He follows the Gun Fiend whether inside his cell or outside on missions. None of the Gun’s handlers seem to notice him.

The Child was very annoying, actually. Don’t eat that. Spit that out. Keep your hands out of the snow. Stop trying to suck the bloodstains out of your shirt, you’re only going to waste energy. Please go to sleep earlier, you’ll feel less tired. I mean it, stop eating the decorative soaps! You’ll get sick!

He shot at the child once, out of curiosity and during the chaos of battle, where he wouldn’t get scolded for acting without orders. The bullet went straight through him. That won’t work on me, you know. Gun Fiend apologized a while after, when he noticed the Child seemed very down, so it was fine.

His nail hits a chunk of loose skin. He pulls and pulls until it detaches. Beads of blood emerge on his lip, and he laps them up. The tang coats his tongue.

Stop that! It’s only going to hurt you. The Child points out.

Gun Fiend doesn’t care. He chews that scrap of skin between his iron-tinged teeth. Blood is blood, even if it’s from his own body. It’s leagues better than that watered-down trash Public Safety keeps giving him. He swallows the skin. He’s still hungry, still weak. Still locked up until Public Safety wants him to shoot at something. He sticks his tongue out at the Child.

Why do I even bother trying to help you? The Child rolls his eyes and tilts his head back in a show of exaggerated exasperation. Gun Fiend ignores him. The Child can give him the cold shoulder all he wants, but sooner or later, the Child will go back to complaining about Gun Fiend’s bad habits. It wasn’t Gun’s fault those soaps at the mall where the consumption devil attacked looked like candy.

A new scent of sweat tinged with cologne emerged from down the hall, followed by footsteps. It was time for the agents posted outside the cell to change. “Did you hear about Chainsaw today?” One said to the other. Gun Fiend felt The Child perk up.

“Yes, he stole a kill from us.”

“Does he even get paid for that? He’s making all of us look like fools.”

“I swear, Public Safety’s gone downhill ever since Makima disappeared. You may not remember, but she really was the top dog.”

I hope Chainsaw Man’s feeding himself, do you think he’s learned how to cook?

“Why are you so obsessed with him?” Gun asks.

I’m not sure. I need to see him.

The talking stops outside the cell door, and then resumes.

“Look at us now, reduced to working with that pistol-headed freak that talks to air. I’ve got friends who were killed in its rampage. I joined Public Safety to kill these things, not work with them. I swear every time the public sees we’re leaving him alive, they hate us more.”

“It’s not like we can do anything about it, most of our fiends with less publicity got killed. Most of our devils too. Fox’s threatening to sue for overwork.”

The Child dissolves into a pile of giggles. Gun Fiend, by instinct, feels his chest contort into a laugh. He wasn’t sure why; his only experience with Kon was when the Fox Devil complained about the loss of his good looks, whatever that meant. And then eating his gun arm, He can’t forget about that.

One of the guards, the more senior one, bangs on the door. “Hey! Shut up!”

“You sure we’re safe from him?” The other one asks.

“Yes. These walls are bulletproof, and he’s not fed enough blood to do any real damage.”

“Until he’s on the field. Anything about his mental state?”

“What, you suggesting we get him a fiend therapist? Dump him in a mental hospital and have him be someone else’s problem?”

The guards laugh together one last time, and one of them leaves. Gun walks away from the child and sits in the farthest corner of the room. His stomach growls. He curls up in a ball and lies down. The cut on his lip has stopped bleeding.

They shouldn’t treat you like this. It’s not right. The Child comes over and tries to brush the hair from Gun Fiend’s forehead, but his hands go right through his face.

The blast from the Fireworks Devil sends Gun Fiend flying across several city streets. He hits a building very hard. He feels his ribs, shoulders, and the back of his head crack upon impact. His gun arm and left leg get flattened by rubble. He struggles and yanks himself free, losing the two crushed limbs in the process.

Something warm rises in his chest, and Gun regurgitates all the blood his handler fed him at the start of the devil fight. A shame, he was full for the first time in weeks, and now he’s not. The sun feels unfamiliar on Gun Fiend’s skin. His lungs, which burned so wonderfully when he was in combat, are torn open by his ribs.

Gun looks down at the blood vomit in front of him. He leans down and opens his mouth. Stop that! The Child’s voice bursts into his mind.

“I need blood!” Gun Fiend shouts. It’s been so long since he got truly mad at the Child, but this wasn’t a mere matter of gluttony. He wanted to live, dammit!

I, I know. But that’s not going to be enough. The Child points at the rubble next to Gun Fiend. A limp, pale arm sticks out. Food! It smells relatively fresh for a dead person. Gun pulls himself forward with his one shaking. The debris and glass shards cut into his palm. He yanks the arm. Watch out!

Dislodged pieces of crumbled building fall and hit Gun squarely in the face and chest. The gun barrel protruding from his forehead cracks almost clean off. He feels woozy in the head from all the cracks in his skull. He spits out blood and a few teeth. Gun Fiend falls backward, the crushed upper body of a corpse close to his chest, his prize for all of this.

Gun Fiend starts with the hand. It is exquisite. He bites the fingers off and rends flesh from bone. The meat is juicy and tender. The tendons are chewy and melt in his mouth. He eats the delicate finger bones whole. They crunch under his teeth. He breaks the studier hand bones and sucks out the marrow. He sucks the blood-coated nails and then spits them out. It’s been so long since he was able to chew something, to truly savor a meal.

Gun sniffs the air for the scent of his handler, the handler who’d force him to vomit everything up if he caught him like this. He’s dead, he got eaten in the fight, remember? The Child reminded him.

“What about the others?” The Public Service agents smell of fear and hostility, a smog that makes It hard for Gun Fiend to breathe.

Either dead or busy with Fireworks. All rookies. It’s been a while since Public Safety handled a devil this dangerous.

“Because of this Chainsaw Man?”

That’s the most likely guess, I suppose. Is he busy somewhere else?

A moment passes where there’s nothing but chewing and distant explosions in the air. Gun Fiend gulps down the arm and his skull knits back together. His ribs jerk into place. The fresh blood works wonders on regrowing his leg. He begins to reform the barrel on his forehead when the Child speaks up.

We can do it now. We can run.

The Gun looks quizzically at the Child. He’s never spoken of this before.

We can disguise ourselves and find Chainsaw Man. He’ll know what to do. I’ll be able to remember.

Gun Fiend takes in his surroundings. He cannot understand the strange symbols on the storefronts. The signs and screens on the buildings flash bright and loud, and buzz with electricity. The streets are deserted but hold the scents of many people coming and going, of crowds and noise. During Gun’s first fight outside, a crowd threw rocks at him. And the Child wants them to disappear to disappear into this strange world.

Do you want to go back to Public Safety?

That little grey cell. That shitty water they call blood. Shivering throughout the night. Never being full unless he’s needed for a fight.

Rage bubbles up in Gun Fiend’s gut. His barrel’s halfway to fully reforming. He resists the urge to shoot a bullet from it into the air.

Gun licks the blood off his fingers. “Will there be lots of bodies I can eat?”

Yes. Plenty of devil fights happen in this city, there’ll be dead bodies everywhere.

“What about a live one? I want to eat a live one.”

The Child sighs as if he’s had this conversation a lot of times before. If you eat the live ones, people will report it to the police. We’ll get in legal trouble. Public Safety will catch us easier. Besides, there’s a ton of other things you can eat. Remember when one of the guards bought a bento box to their post?

Gun Fiend remembers. He had salivated all night from it. “Other things? Like what?”

The Child launches into a list. Sliced apples, coffee, beer on someone else’s tab. All of these can be found throughout the city. I can even teach you how to make them, if you promise not to kill civilians.

Apples, coffee, beer on someone else’s tab, whatever that meant. Blood, gooey, thick blood, even if it’s from the dead. The chance to gorge himself day and night. The sound of fighting dies down in the distance.

If we run away, we need to do it fast; I think Public Safety’s almost finished. The Child looks at Gun Fiend’s almost complete gun barrel. Oh. That could be a problem.

Gun grabs a slab of concrete and slams it into his head. He slams it until the barrel fractures and falls clean off. “Dinner first, and then we find Chainsaw Man.” The Child beams.

In Public Safety, an alert rings out. The Gun Fiend is missing. No one discloses it to the media; Public Safety’s public rating is bad enough as it is. Agents on overtime are sent to come through the streets.

A nearby paramedic thinks he misplaced some supplies in the aftermath of the Fireworks devil. A man with bandages around his head and a missing arm staggers away from the battlefield, and into the city. Most bystanders pity him but refuse to look closer.

The Gun Fiend disappears into the sea of humans, led by the ghostly specter of a child in winter gear, ready for a good dinner.

#csm #chainsaw man #my writing #glock posting #aki hayakawa #hayakawa aki #csm fanfic #chainsawman fanfiction

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trappers-cloak · 11 months ago

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The Buck and the Fox: Chapter 3

"Men in Sheep's Clothing"

a/n: after months of me agonizing on how to finish this chapter, here it is! we last left off with Diana heading to bed with her husband Eugene. Now this is where things are starting to pick up.

Tags: slow burn, female!oc x Arthur Morgan, hints of pining. this is very plot heavy - while it is a work of fanfiction, it leans into creating a compelling story within the world/story of rdr2.

TW: incest, dubious consent, captivity

word count: ~ 4k

Diana Wegner

Diana hadn’t expected to see Arthur at the ranch, but it was a welcome surprise. She was also sorry not to have said hello, but it would’ve been too much of a risk with Eugene home early anyway. Still, the thought of Arthur kept her through the evening's chores.

Eugene, having arrived drunk with his new, unnecessary stallion, put Diana and Seamus to the task of stabling the horse and feeding him. The whole time, she thought of Arthur, knowing that such thoughts were folly anyway. For Christ sakes, she’d only met the man once, yet here she was giggling and blushing about him like a schoolgirl. She couldn’t place her fascination with him, besides the small fact that he was a dangerously attractive cowboy who quite literally had saved her life. It was something out of a storybook from her youth. Even Eugene’s new horse reminded her of Arthur - this new, frivolous purchase was the same color and pattern as the man’s war horse.

“Missus Diana?” a question from Seamus broke her from her thoughts.

“Oh, um…yes?” she asked Seamus, hoping he hadn’t seen her in her thoughts. His smirk told her he had.

“I just said that I’ve got the rest of this. You best get on inside. Mister Eugene said he…wants you tonight,” he mumbled. He knew better than to tease her after saying such a thing.

Diana’s heart sank. Here she was, fantasizing like she was Miriam’s age, and she had to go do her wifely duties with a man she near despised. She sighed, and handed Seamus the reins.

“Gimme some of that moonshine. The strong stuff, this time,” she said to Seamus. He handed over his own flask, a stolen engraved hip flask.

“This stuff’s got some poppy in it, if you catch my meaning. Absinthe, too,” Seamus said. Diana took a sip, and winced. She tried to give it back to Seamus, but he didn’t take it, and nodded towards her.

“Another sip. You’ve…well, you’ve earned it,” he said. He was gentler than usual. These nights brought out the kindness in him. Diana obliged, with a big sip. This moonshine, whatever special stuff Seamus kept, had a way of numbing the senses, more so than other moonshine.

The world seemed to float, and Diana's brain slowed its thinking. A bead of sweat formed on her forehead, and she giggled. It took more of her effort to walk, one step in front of the other.

Eugene was waiting for her outside his bedchamber. Months ago, it had been theirs.

“C’mon, darlin,” he murmured, drunk as a skunk himself. He clapped her shoulder and not-so-gently ushered her towards the bed. His “loving” demeanor was gone, and as she turned towards him, his eyes were dark. At the sight, he shoved her towards the bed.

“Now get undressed,” he snarled.

Normally, Diana would’ve slapped him. The moonshine and the memories of Eugene’s rage stopped her. That, and she’d forgotten her knife. So instead, she did as he asked, and laid on the bed. Prepared now, physically and mentally, she laid there. Bare. Vulnerable.

She fucking hated it.

But she had never been more grateful for the poppy-laced moonshine. It dulled the sensations, kept her calm. Instead of the task being a misery, it was more of a nuisance. Something she had learned to tolerate, even if she couldn't imagine doing it sober.

She looked down halfway through the deed. Her dear lord husband’s gut was swinging, and obscured any view she might’ve had. It wasn’t stopping him. She allowed her mind to wander.

It wandered where one might think it did. Towards the figure on the hill from earlier. She supposed Arthur could be her if she’d been born a man, but that wasn’t really why she thought of him so frequently. She conjured scenes from a dime novel, and put Arthur's face to them. It made her feel almost good, especially if she closed her eyes.

As Eugene moaned, her eyes snapped open again, startled. He moaned again, and she relaxed. Until it happened again.

“Oh,” he groaned. “Oh, Miriam!”

Diana froze. Not a single muscle moved. Her husband was finished, now, which haunted her even more. His face, inches away from hers, gave no inclination that he’d known what he’d said. She turned over as he laid down beside her, and stayed staring at the wall until morning.

When morning came and the roosters called, Diana was up and dressed in the same clothing from the previous day. Eugene still snored on his side of the bed, and she prepared herself for the early departure. Her husband was a monster of a man on a good day, and a hangover did nothing to improve the matter.

As she crept downstairs, she headed straight for the kitchen, nursing a hangover of her own. The smell of tea coaxed her like a siren song, and she wandered towards the edge of the ship until she came face to face with Miriam. The pair started in tandem, and froze. A moment passed, and Miriam rushed forward and embraced Diana in a hug so tight it took her breath away.

“Oh, Diana!” Miriam whisper-cried. “What are you doing out in the open?!”

“Your father was kind enough to take me to bed last night,” Diana replied, sighing as she said it. Nevertheless, she hugged Miriam with a similar enthusiasm.

“O-oh,” Miriam said. She wasn’t shocked, per se, but such a thing is never comfortable to hear. “Was it…” she probed. She didn’t truly want to know, Diana could tell.

“It was…normal,” Diana replied, still in a soft voice. “But-”

She was interrupted when a maid came in. It was Miriam’s governess, though she hardly needed one.

“I think that will be all, Diana,” she said, a cold woman with an equally icy delivery. “Now go on. Mister Wegner will be downstairs any minute now, and you wouldn’t want any trouble, would you?”

Diana and Miriam froze once again.

“No. I wouldn't want that. But I would like to say good morning to my stepdaughter and eat a meal with little interruption,” Diana replied, trying her hardest to emulate the same frigidity.

“Mister Cripps has prepared a morning meal, has he not?”

“At this hour, likely not. And that does not preclude me from saying hello-”

“Miss Miriam does not need such tidings. There is no reason for you to confuse her further with your…habits. Habits and ideas,” the governess said. Her face was unmoving. She was winning, goddamn it. Miriam remained silent, a type of silence that Diana recognized. Fear.

“Now, Miriam,” the governess said, turning towards the petrified girl. “Our lessons begin at nine. Go get yourself ready,” she commanded.

“Yes, Missus Carmichael,” Miriam answered in a voice quieter than a church mouse. She squeezed Diana’s hand once before leaving, and was ushered up the stairs to her glorified cage. Diana was alone. She took another sip of tea, still coming down from her fear of Missus Carmichael when the true reality of her situation slammed into her chest.

Eugene, her husband of years gone by, lusted for his own goddamn daughter. Not his stepdaughter, not his goddaughter, his own daughter, by blood.

Diana rushed out of the kitchen and ran to the barn, hoping to catch Seamus before his work had started. She was lucky enough to find him alone in the barn, where the only prying ears belonged to the cows.

“What in the-” he started, before Diana slammed the door behind her.

“You’ll want more of that Poppy-shine before I start,” she said, grabbing her metal mess cup from her belt. “Now pour.”

He poured, but stopped her before she could take a sip.

“I’m out of that good stuff - I gave the last of it to you last night. This is still strong,” he said. Diana rolled her eyes, and again went to take a sip. This time, Seamus let her, and the burn of the moonshine slid down her throat like nectar. The taste was rich, like a sweet plum.

Seamus took a sip as well, and grabbed a piece of paper from his coat.

“Look, Diana, there’s no easy way to say this, but-”

“Eugene wants to fuck Miriam,” Diana said quickly. She couldn’t bear holding it in another second. Seamus paused, his mouth agape.

“What?”

“He said her name last night. At first I couldn’t believe it, but he said it again.” the gravity hit her again, and dread along with it. For once, Seamus looked surprised.

“Well…shit,” he said, taking another sip.

“That's your reaction? Seamus, we have to do something!” Diana was close to shouting. Seamus moved again to get the piece of paper. Diana couldn’t believe him.

“Goddamn it, we need to do something-” she continued, and he slapped the paper down on the table.

“Look,” he said. “Just look at it.”

Diana unfolded the paper and unveiled a bounty poster. On the poster was a picture of the man who’d saved her. In big letters at the top read:

ARTHUR MORGAN. WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE $5000 REWARD BY THE STATE OF WEST ELIZABETH, AND THE COMMONWEALTH OF BLACKWATER. IF FOUND, DO NOT APPROACH. ARMED AND DANGEROUS. CONTACT THE PINKERTON DETECTIVE AGENCY.

After a beat, she spoke.

“Where did you find this?”

“Cripps saw it at the station this morning. Poster just went up.” Seamus tried to gauge the expression on her face, to no avail. The gears behind her eyes turned and turned and turned.

Seamus spoke up again, seemingly uncomfortable with the silence. Even the cows had stopped mooing. “Now, I knew there was something up with this feller when his old man came and started spouting nonsense about so-called ‘lost goods’. I’d guessed the pair were thieves, until I saw this.”

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“Well, I thought you’d just want to know–”

“That I’d had a savior delivered onto my doorstep?”

“Wait, what?” Seamus looked confused. “I was just gonna warn you–”

“That there are bad men out there? Seamus, you do business with bad men everyday. I’m married to perhaps the worst man in New Hanover,” she replied.

Seamus sighed.

“Listen Missus Wegner, I don’t think you’re thinking this through. I also don’t even know what you’re thinking of doing!”

This gave Diana pause - he was right. She knew for a fact that she was angry, that Miriam was a caged bird, and that her husband had said his own daughter's name as he found his completion the night before. She knew that she loved Miriam like something between a sister and a daughter, and that she had never felt something like that for anyone else. She also knew that the man who’d saved her, Arthur, was a good man. All her silly fantasies laid aside, he had saved her life at his own peril, without the expectation of money, sex or goods, or any combination thereof.

She sighed for what must have been the umpteenth time.

“You’re right. I-I just need rest, time to think,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes felt like they’d been attached to lead weights. The sleeplessness of the night sunk in.

“Climb up to the hayloft and sleep there. I’ll tell you if something goes down,” Seamus said, and Diana whistled for Pluto. Diana climbed up as instructed to find a bedroll amidst the hay. Her sheepdog bound up the rafters to join her, and snuggled up against her instantly. Before Diana fell asleep, she was startled by Seamus climbing up to pass her waterskin.

“Here, Missus Wegner. Oh,” he said, reaching behind him. He pulled out the bounty poster, along with two others. “I think these fellers are all working together. If you have some harebrained plan hatched involving that Arthur fella, you’ll probably encounter these guys too.”

“Thank you,” Diana responded, sleep beginning to overtake her. Seamus nodded, and started down the stairs. She opened the other two bounty posters, revealing the faces of two other men. One, a dark-haired mustachioed man named Dutch Van der Linde, and the other, a gray-haired older man named Hosea Matthews. She pondered the posters, and turned again.

“Seamus?”

“Yeah?”

“We need to save her. I will save her - even If it’s the last thing I do.”

Arthur Morgan

The gift box proved harder to balance on Ares’ back than expected. Ares was a stocky horse, but impatient, and loath to slow to balance a parcel on his back, and Arthur had had to slow the horse to a trot the whole journey back to the Overlook. By the time he had entered the forested trail back to camp, the steed was still restless.

Suddenly, another surprise- an unexpected voice came from the trees.

“Who’s there?”

The voice asking that question usually belonged to Bill or Javier- sometimes even Charles. This time, the voice was a different one- harsher.

“Micah?”

“That’s right, cowpoke, I’m back!” Micah came into view, his gigantic blonde mustache dripping with what must have been whiskey.

“And here I thought they were gonna hang you in Strawberry,” Arthur said. He tried to hide his disappointment at his comrades' safe return.

“You ain’t getting rid of me that easily! I don’t go down without a fight,” Micah retorted.

“Certainly had us fooled. You damn near gave Lenny a heart attack- the poor kid was panicking when he came back with the news!” Arthur said. The memory was a vivid one - Lenny had interrupted a meeting with himself and Dutch in a frenzy, panting and saying Micah was in jail in some ‘vacation’ town west of the Dakota River.

“Ehh, he’ll be fine. One day you’ll have to learn to loosen up a little, Morgan,” Micah said.

Arthur rolled his eyes and rode into camp, hitching his horse and grabbing the box from its back. He tried to hide his impatience to moderate success, but inside he was itching to know its contents. As he plopped on his cot, he did his best to open the box without tearing into it like some wild animal.

The cloak he pulled out was thick and the color of snow and soot. Sheep’s wool, by the feel of it. It had the recognizable smell of leatherworking material and livestock, plus a slight floral - or was it blackcurrant? - scent. He almost got so caught up in it, running his hands over the woolen decadence, that he missed the note at the bottom of the box. The green ribbon on the note gave it away, and he gently set the cloak down beside him to read.

Dearest Arthur,

Please accept this gift as a token of gratitude for saving my life just one week ago. Not a day goes by where I do not think of you and the kindness extended towards me. I am sorry that I had to cut our meeting short that day, and would love to speak with you - or share a drink with you - another time in the near future. Mister Cripps informed me of how delightful you were to have as company. I hope to see you again soon at Emerald Ranch. If you and your compatriots are still in need of money to get back on your feet, there is ample work to be found at the ranch, and Mister Cripps will happily buy any hides, if you continue your career as a hunter.

Warm regards,

Diana Wegner.

On the other side of the paper was a small addition.

P.S., if you should be in need of other business opportunities, feel free to visit and ask after myself or our foreman Seamus. I hope to hear from or see you soon.

Diana.

“Arthur?” Mary-Beth’s voice, like Tilly’s, carried itself on the air like birdsong. Arthur cleared his throat and looked to her, hoping she hadn’t been calling his name for the past few minutes.

“Sorry, Mary-Beth, I- well I was miles away, I’m afraid,” he said. The girl giggled, and responded.

“Aren’t we all! I understand. What’re you reading?”

“Just a letter, someone at the ranch southeast of here, offering some work. That and…well, they sent me something as a thank-you for helping ‘em out a few days ago,” he said, sheepishly. Mary-Beth noticed his expression, and visibly took note of the delicate cursive on the page he was reading, the packaging surrounding Arthur’s bed.

“A new girl, huh?”

“Nah - well, yes but…” Arthur trailed off. “Not in the way you’re thinking, so no need to get all excited,” he said.

“Okay,” Mary-Beth said, with a smirk. Like Tilly, Mary-Beth was like a kid-sister, barely eighteen years old.

Arthur folded the letter neatly, placing it in a spare satchel hanging by his bed, and picked up the cloak, spreading it out before him. It was large and surprisingly light- when slung over his shoulders, it felt almost like a blanket. Its comfort, combined with the slowly encroaching nightfall, looked to lull him to sleep. He was just getting to lay down, the cloak still on his shoulder, when a voice emerged.

“Arthur, my boy!” Dutch’s voice boomed over the ambient sounds of camp.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Dutch,” he said, “How are we doing? Money-wise?”

“Not so great yet. Have you managed to find a score? Have you done any collecting for Strauss?”

Arthur had to hold back a groan at the mention of Strauss. Even Dutch agreed that it seemed more dignified to be a bandit than to do work for the Austrian loan shark, yet Strauss still remained with the gang for reasons unknown.

“Not yet,” he said, “nor have I found a score. You know me, I’m better at carrying out the robbin’ than I am finding the people to do it.”

“I know, I’ve already asked others if they’ve found anything,” Dutch replied. “I’m sending some of the boys out to sniff around Valentine,” he said, turning towards the main campfire. “Bill, Lenny, you two head into town tomorrow. Take some of the ladies with you, and start scoping some stuff out. Micah, John, you two head to that ranch and see what you can rustle up…take Uncle with you, put him to work,” Dutch trailed off, looking around the camp to see who else he could delegate.

Arthur cleared his throat, which had become oddly tight at the mention of the ranch. Dutch had to mean Emerald Ranch. He spoke before he could think.

“Maybe we should just try to find jobs, Dutch. I thought we were lying low. I’ve already run into O’Driscolls, Hosea showed me some good hunting around here, and maybe we can just hide until Blackwater blows over,” he said. Dutch responded by staring at him, wordless. He remained quiet, an unreadable expression on his face, until Hosea spoke up, lifting his face from the book it was buried in.

“He’s right, you know,” he said. “And it’s only what I’ve been telling you this entire time. We have a good contact at the ranch, both for selling our goods and he’s the foreman there. Townsfolk will buy our stories more if we start looking for work too - we can’t milk the “laid-off worker” angle for long if we don’t start working around here,” he continued.

Arthur could see the gears turning in Dutch’s head. The need for fast money, a way to escape from all of this, was the first thing on the older man’s mind - but so was not getting shot to swiss cheese by the Pinkertons.

Dutch’s voice went to a higher pitch, like it always did when he was stressed. “Fine,” he said. “Everyone gather round! Guards too, get over here!” he shouted to no one in particular.

The camp denizens, sober or not, began to gather in a semicircle around the front of Dutch’s tent. His lover, the redheaded Molly O’Shea, peeked out from behind the front curtain - Dutch turned to her and took her hand before addressing the lackluster crowd.

“My boy Arthur here…” Dutch began, gesturing to Arthur with his free hand, “has, along with Hosea, convinced me that what we need now is not only money, but honest money. Good honest work. So that…” he paused again. Arthur had once found the words “pause for effect” in Dutch’s speech notes, and had to stifle a laugh to himself. Dutch continued. “That…is what we shall do. Tomorrow I want all those able to start looking for good, honest work. There’s plenty of ranchers, drivers, railway men looking for hands, and we shall supply it. Keep an eye out for scores, but do not do anything unless you bring it to Hosea and I first!”

“We failed in Blackwater because we tried to do too much too fast, and didn’t coordinate,” Hosea continued off Dutch. “We will save lives with this - ours and the lives of others.” it looked like Dutch was going to keep on strategizing to the gang, but a member towards the back, cleared his throat. Karen and Abigail turned to reveal Micah, raising his arm. Where he was trying to make the gesture seem tough, Arthur conjured an image of schoolchildren.

“While honest work seems a good plan for the rest of you…” he started, “some of us haven’t the uh.. temperament for such things, right boss?” he looked towards Dutch, trying to appeal to him. Dutch looked firmly back.

“It’s like Hosea said, Micah,” he started, but a quick look exchanged between himself and Micah prompted a change in Dutch’s expression. Arthur watched their faces, trying to channel his inner Hosea - read them, their thoughts, their intentions. He came up with nothing. Dutch continued.

“Any of you have any trouble, see me, Miss Grimshaw or Mister Pearson. We always need people at the camp and hunting if they don’t find a job,” he said. The gang gathered still, grumbled their assent, and stood there for a moment. The silence was heavy until Miss Grimshaw spoke up, with an authority befitting the de facto camp mother.

“Well don’t just stand around, y’all, get back to whatever it was you were doing!” This spurred the camp back into motion, as if they’d frozen in time beforehand. Most of the men made a beeline back to the campfire, with a convenient box of whiskey bottles beside it. Abigail took the arm of the woman from the Grizzlies they’d rescued - Adler, was it? - who was crying softly. Little Jack, the resident 5 year old of the gang, took the woman’s other hand, and the pair led the crying woman to their tent, tucked behind the chuckwagon. For about an hour, the entire camp resumed it’s normal activities; singing around the fire, chopping firewood, playing poker, and, of course, drinking.

After three beers and four of Uncle’s outrageous stories later, Arthur grabbed a bowl of venison stew and took the steaming bowl of Pearson’s cuisine back to his tent. Sitting down, he could hear Dutch’s voice faintly behind him, speaking in whispers. He took a bite, and wished that he’d had the stew Cripps had offered earlier. That had smelled like apricots and berries - in fact, it smelled like the cloak, spread out on the bed. Blackcurrant. It must grow near the ranch.

Dutch emerged from the small wooded area behind Arthur’s tent-wagon, his whispered speech ending in a “we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

Arthur turned, expecting to see Dutch walking with Molly. The pair often rendezvoused in the evenings away from camp, considering Dutch’s tent - and bed - were smack dab in the middle of camp. But, instead of seeing Molly with a messy red braid replacing her neat plait, Arthur saw Dutch emerge…with Micah. Micah instantly walked towards the chuckwagon, not even giving Arthur a second glance.

“Thanks, boss,” was all the cowboy said. Dutch nodded, and turned to Arthur.

“Goodnight, Arthur. Let me know how you make out tomorrow,” he said, and ducked into his tent without another word.

That night Arthur had a dream; a red fox wandered the plains, and disappeared into a forest.

Only once did the creature glimpse back at him.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #the buck and the fox #rdr2 oc #rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x oc

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dreamcatcherrs · 4 years ago

Text

what catches their eyes/attracts them?; mcyt x reader

+ this is in no way factual information, only my very weird and specific opinions :)

dream:

free-spirited people

someone who isn't afraid to speak their mind

confidence, to a certain extent

someone he can be loud with

someone who will wake up in the middle of the night with him to go on a car drive to nowhere

the colour blue (dnf👀)

clean and fresh-looking clothes

satin fabric

big height difference

the smell of citrus fruits

large smiles

silver jewellery

small hands

smart people who aren't afraid to show it

george:

calm, laid back people

someone quiet, but still able to have a laugh

very friendly vibes - even when first meeting them

the colour blue (literally the only interesting colour he's able to see lol)

bright eyes

lip gloss

flower print

slightly shy people who are actually easy to interact with once you start a conversation with them

pastel-coloured nails, not too long

pink-tinted lips

ponytails

the smell of vanilla

puppy eyes

sapnap:

energetic people

someone who can hype up their friends no matter the situation

the colour red

like, a bloody red

soft skin

full lips

loose shirts over skin-tight tops

when shoelaces have a different colour on each shoe

corsets

a very subtle scent of perfume

thigh highs

someone who just wants to enjoy life with the people they're surrounded by

badboyhalo:

large, bright smiles that spread up to your eyes

freckles

button noses

rose-gold jewellery

french manicures

bangs

slightly shy people

genuinely sweet people

not the fake type that talks shit about people behind their backs and then will compliment them a few seconds after

someone who when they enter a room feels like a breath of fresh air to everyone else

someone completely selfless

the smell of lavender

shiny hair

technoblade:

people who aren't afraid to take the lead

glasses

intellectual people

like, for example people who know a lot of random stuff from a bunch of different things that they're interested in

or also just book smart people

slightly clumsy people (finds it cute)

gold jewellery

someone with some mystery to them

refreshing scents, like clean laundry or shampoo

cat eyes (eyeliner)

wilbur soot:

long legs

chokers

shy people

someone who gets flustered easily

glasses + thin bangs

the colours brown and beige together

baggy, comfy clothes

the smell of newly baked cookies

beanies

the kind of person that makes him feel like he can always talk to them - someone he can feel safe with

birth marks

accents

jschlatt:

smart people

the way they speak is just so clean without even noticing

fox eyes

people who aren't afraid to wear sweatpants in public

generally just someone who isn't afraid to do, say and wear whatever they want

someone who stands for what they think and have the balls to say it when needed

nose rings

simple yet flattering pieces of jewellery

long nails

someone who he can stay up all night with and never get tired of them

high heels

hip dips

corpse husband:

fishnets, of course

someone who give 0 fucks about what everyone else thinks of them

unique people

wether that be physical features or straight up the personality, it draws him in

chokers

chunky, black sneakers or boots

someone who can make him happy without even trying

a positive aura for the most part

as in he doesn't want to be surrounded by someone who’s negative or dragging everyone else down with them

the colour yellow

rings - lots of them

karl jacobs:

a walking ray of sunshine, basically

tbh, karl has a couple of things in common with what corpse is attracted to;

positive energy, uniqueness and rings

a palette filled with bright colours

like, almost rave style colours

that could be clothes, makeup, hair, nails, accessories

chunky, white shoes

selfless people

someone who as each day goes by becomes more charming to him

he likes the smell of candles from bath and body works, as we all know

the colour purple

skeppy:

big eyes

someone who’s able to make him laugh without even trying

tooth gaps

someone who has very playful, innocent vibes to them

and someone who can take jokes and pranks

people who walk confidently

the smell of strawberries

long eyelashes

someone who collects things others usually wouldn’t

someone who is very respectful to others

a mix between really comfy clothes and really feminine clothes

fundy:

someone who comes across as “different” than others

and don't you dare think of ✨I’m not like other girls✨ (I know you did -_-)

he just thinks people who think and act very different than others are very interesting

beauty marks

nicely shaped eyebrows

someone who finds mystical things interesting

fox eyeliner (yes, I put this in here because: furry)

someone who has unusual, yet surprisingly good taste in music

people who are constantly warm

red lips

the colour light brown, almost beige-like

quackity:

someone who gets his humour

someone like him, but more quiet and slightly shy

especially when on screen in front of an audience

sliver necklaces

the smell of flowers

dark, extreme eyeliner

loose clothes

freckles

piercings

someone who teases others and who can handle to be teased by others

the colour dark blue

punz:

the colour grey

a fresh fashion sense

yet still very comfortable fits

messy buns

someone who he just knows will be a cool person before he even talks to them

someone who just has that kinda vibe, y’know?

glossy lips

independent people

someone responsible and caring to others

tattoos

navel piercings

awesamdude:

cropped jackets

the colour neon green

hair put up in a bun

someone with a free nature

someone who is a complete wild card

like, someone who will jump over a fence just to get closer to a bunny they think they saw on the other side of it

loose strands of hair

clear nail polish

cargo pants

the smell of chocolate

slimecicle:

people who have comfort items

someone who knows random facts that no one else usually knows

people who have a unique way of thinking

passionate people

and when they talk about what they’re passionate about, they talk for hours

shorter hair

sweet and nutty scents

natural beauty

fluffy hair

honest people

but not brutally honest

the smell of coconut

eret:

eye glitter/shimmer

silky clothes that shine in the moonlight

platform boots/heels

long, flowy dresses

someone who does whatever they want

and who doesn't like being told what to do by others

the colours pink and dark purple

the smell of the ocean

someone who already knows how to live their life

stretch marks

foolish:

low-cut jeans

someone very silly who knows how to have a good laugh

someone very supportive of their friends

curtain bangs

long-sleeved sweatshirts

someone who loves food

puppy eyes

straight, white teeth

someone who is willing to help others in need

someone who doesn't talk badly about others behind their back

someone who knows what they want

jack manifold:

confidence

white, wide-legged pants

the colour light blue or just pure white

people who are very easy-going and fun to be around

someone who can fit into and understand anyones humour

an open-minded person who likes to hear from other people’s point of views when they have a different opinion than them

butterfly patterns

crop tops

oversized t-shirts

hair beads

tommy:

people who are just as loud as him

and at the same time knows when to be serious

the colours yellow and grey

people who are kind to everyone

creative eyeliner

fluffy hair

people who can get so lost in their own world, they almost forget about their surroundings

colourful accessories

someone who isn't afraid to be who they are

someone who has many passions and loves to talk about them

oversized hoodies

tubbo:

hoodies layered over skirts or dresses

frilly socks

people who are very adventurous, and wants to make their life as interesting as possible!

someone who can help him overcome some of his fears

charm bracelets

cute habits

the colours yellow and orange

dimples

the smell of almond milk and honey

people who twirl their hair unknowingly when bored or unfocused

ranboo:

someone who looks intimidating at first (he thinks people like that are cool as fuck)

but then is, like, the sweetest person he’s ever met

loves someone who can speak fluent sarcasm, just like him

he likes sass

glassy skin

fingerless gloves

people who act cocky for the fun of it

but actually don’t care about winning or losing or proving anything

simplistic earring placements

people who have hidden talents, and the more you get to know them, the more talents are revealed

people who don't gossip

____________________________________

tag list✰

@zayenz @terribletoothbat @0t0n1n @0125cm @yukiuheh @shinee-is-5-forever @regularnoceur @b01nk-b0w@christhebish@nutritious-emo-crackkk@bookishreid@giavanna-707 @reddiesmcdonalds@cosmins@vixxzial@autumnpleaves@paradigmax@meaganjm@shiningsunrises@moralofwalls@username1212131@gxldentaestuff@innitdream @televisionpresent38 @bubblyanis@zurami @highoffhockey @popinjaytaylor@196os@livsbaby@doubts-of-gold@bunlina@retrav @mcyt-is-my-life@aleaisntcreative @my-shitpost-of-writing @my-shitpost-of-writing @clownsdrowning @pissbabywastaken@shiningsunrises @tie-dyed-dumbass @death-by-rats@simpfordraco @bippity-boppity-boopa@neongreendaydreams @vibin-by-myself@littlepotatos0w0@christhebish @pipp-poppz@btsiguess-kpop@prettysmallfries@hiyoko-kos@kenmxskitten@fudrudy@weepingartanimespy@rhino-zucchini@goldenstarofthunderclan@melonmarz@ubeicecreamisthebest@polaroidinurroom @ady-yoo@isimpforeveryone@edenhollandd@ineedtogetoutofhere@glitter-night @hamilsandersfam@mothheart-witch @wrong-exit@trashcanfullofdork @hellfirepheonixx @marshmallow-babe@isimpforeveryone @ky50621 @randomcloud@wormie4k@dinonuggies50 @p4rty-t4ttoos@aspenthegremlin@book-of-anarchy @jeyacore @thetattooink@gogywasfound@millavalntyne@junob1ade@ubeicecreamisthebest@karida @i-have-paws-love@drvgonraja@eatasslikegrass@creamofweep@venusomega@lunarfedora@rowe-n @wreny24 @vincent-stargogh @floatingplanets @vernon-dursley @childhoodgrunge @fivxss @hexagonclash @crazyjuls12 @littlebabysandboxburritos @shifted-dreams@lenamarie666 @reinyrei @sozvuchiy @weaslvy-mxlfoy @aiofheavenandhell @honeyglaazed @carisle-mikealson @ineedtogetoutofhere @twist3dtinkerbell@cracraforfandoms@angel-dazey @leia-starly @smiithys @squiddyyyy @c0wc0ww @animeweeb019284 @m00-bl00m-k0le @stqrs-thoughts @jenlouvre @uhhhguiltypleasures @trappedchest @punzrights @trashgremlin36 @cyberrsoot @elebeleb @k3nn3dis-crap @karlshoodies @rascal-in-banishment @heartbroken-writer @bartok-the-magnificent @ihavenoideashelp @goldiefox1 @bethybop @helluhru @venuzblr @pha5ed5tar50 @cscooop @bethybop @lunareclipse-13 @http-strawberryy @mahitophobic @ahmya-4 @dracoscumwh0re @darkdaria1 @jiminifiess @orchardangel @shyorchider @cupcake54492 @natsueyama @honeyconnie @notacardigan @maybeshroom

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witch-hazels-musings · 3 years ago

Note

🌸 Ask box open WOOOOO, could I ask for Beidou, Diluc and others of your choice, with someone who is exceptionally gifted with animals, and loves nerding out about them🌸

zoology

Warning -> SFW (Beidou - long hair mentioned)

Character X GN Reader | anthology

Includes: Beidou, Diluc, Ganyu

Beidou

She’s already so impressed with you - how could she not be considering how the two of you met

When she saw you fighting a group of smugglers on the docks of Liyue, your hands gripping onto the cages of the animals they were trying to take with them - not caring for your safety in the slightest and taking hit after hit in a desperate attempt to shield the animals inside

At that moment, she became your shield - your barrier between the harsh reality of the world and promised to keep you safe

That bright smile behind bruises and cuts as you watched the small creatures find their freedom once again was enough information for her to know what kind of person you were

Now, every time she returned to Liyue, she was excited to see your face or the sanctuary you had built from the ground up -- you were a human she wished to see more of

“Y/N? You in here?” She called out to you, her hand pushing past the beads which separated the outside from the in. Animals ran around her feet and, as carefully as she could, she stepped through them.

“A!H! Beidou??” Your voice called out to her, a crash sounding somewhere in the distance and a small curse following right after. When she found you, the state of your hair - frazzled and half-hazardly placed on top of your head - the long coat you liked to wear pooling beneath your feet as you worked to pick up the items that had fallen, and the reassuring expression you gave to the startled animals around you made her head swim and mouth stretch.

“Little friends, hold on. That was rather frightful, wasn’t it?” The tone you used was sweet and kind and she watched as a small fox stepped toward you before pressing its nose carefully against yours. “That’s right, see nothing to be worried about.”

When you caught sight of her, the grin that plastered across your face reached all the way into your eyes. “Need some assistance?” Beidou asked, extending her hand out toward you.

“I’ll always take some help from my favorite captain.”

Beidou would often bring you lost or injured animals - it was like you had a knack for helping them recuperate and on the days when she was around to see you release them back into the wild, well the energy that radiated off of you was stronger than a swing of her claymore

The knowledge that you had about them shocked her, enlightened her, and made her understood why they were so calm when near you -- to have that level of love and compassion for the creatures of the world meant your heart must be as pure as gold

Ganyu

Just like you, Ganyu has a high affinity to care for the creatures of this world. She has vowed to protect them just as much as you have, and her spirit feels kindred to your own -- like two wandering souls who found each other in a chaotic world

It was after a ‘not so eventful’ sparring match with the adeptis Xiao that she found you - quickly, she made her way to offer you assistance and when she found you holding onto an injured animal with tears in your eyes … she wanted to know more, so much more about you

The two of you raced off to get some aid, the small creatures shook the whole time in your arms, it scratched and bit at you - she could easily see the marks on your skin - but you continued to reassure it of its safety, never once did you react violently or alarmed at its behavior, and after some time it calmed down … it found a home with you and from that point on never left your side

The apartment which you decorated in the themes of the animals which you took in, or who visited you on a regular day, felt more like home than anything she’d ever seen -- the open windows, the coming and going of beings whose freedom was all their own, and the space you created for them was everything to her kind heart

The items in her hands were getting heavy, but she continued her way over the bridge knowing that the strain would soon be alleviated. The walk to your home was long, but not challenging and soon she found herself strutting down the path only to find you standing outside in the sunlight.

You were sitting on a small bench, one that you’d find tossed out by some store owner and had worked hard to bring home. Birds flocked to you, some resting on your head, others bouncing around your feet or over your thighs. They were eagerly eating up the crumbs of food that fell to the ground in even intervals.

“You must have flown so far to reach me.” The way your voice sounded brought comfort to all who heard it. A kind finger brushed against the chest of a bird who had settled onto your shoulder and when you pulled away it preened its feathers and made a soft chirping sound.

The birds took flight as Ganyu approached, their upset screams sounding as they settled onto the roof of your home. “Pleasant greetings.” Ganyu bowed, her head dipping slightly before returning to its normal place.

“Hiya!” You leaped from your spot and made your way toward her with unbound energy. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I uh - I brought you some things from the market.”

“Oh wow! How generous, thank you.” You reached for the extended back and let the straps rest over your arm. “Are you busy?”

“N-no, I have the day ---!” With gusto, you grabbed her hand and lead her toward the house. When you looked back at her it was like looking into the brightest star and Ganyu wondered how she got so lucky to have met you on that fateful day.

She learned much from you - like an endless wealth of knowledge you shared with her fact after fact and no matter how unique the animal, you still knew so much about it

There were many days where the two of you would just sit out on your porch and chat about the world outside

Nature and all its creations were so fascinating to you that it seemed you had lived much longer than one lifetime

Diluc

It's not that he … hated animals it was more that they never seemed to get along well with him. He couldn’t understand how someone could be so well-liked by the creatures that seemed to despise his very existence

“Just … If you’d only just leave, then we both wouldn’t be in this situation.” He called to the stray cat that had lodged itself in the corner of his bar. How it managed to get onto the upper shelves he would never understand, all that he knew was it wasn’t proper to have a cat as a patron.

He reached up to grab it but pulled his hands away when it hissed violently at him. “I can handle abyss mages, drunkards, and all manner of situations … yet it seems I am bested by a simple cat.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he contemplated his next steps.

There was a ringing at the front entrance and he turned toward the sound only to catch sight of you illuminated by the sunlight. “Hey there.” You smiled at him but he was much too irritated to return the gesture. “Your face is .. worse than normal.”

“I have a problem I cannot solve.”

“What is it?” You settled into the barstool, your arms crossing about your chest as you eyed him curiously.

“There is an unwanted guest here today, I and cannot get them to leave.” Your expression turned to confusion until you tracked the pointed finger to the corner of the bar.

“OH! A kitty!” Exclaiming, you immediately ran around to his side, not caring in the slightest of the sign that said ‘employee’s only.’ Grabbing the stool under the counter, you carefully stepped your way onto it and extended your hand to the trembling little one.

“Be careful, it’s quite viole --” In a matter of seconds, the cat had leaped into your arms and was softly purring away. Its face was in utter bliss as you gave it scratches under its chin. Diluc was stunned, nearly gobsmacked at the quickness of its trust toward you.

“Animals just like me.”

“So it would seem …”

There are people in this world that have an unnatural ability to create trust in seconds and you were one of them -- something about the aura you gave off, the energy that spilled from every fiber of your being told those around you there was no need to be distrustful of you -- and Diluc learned that early on

Not only were you able to tame the animals around you, but you tamed his unsteady heart --- he felt … comfortable, more like himself when you were around and was often drawn to your side when he didn’t expect it

The only problem was that you also drew animals to you - and most of them were quite protective of the space at your side, if he wanted to stay there, he was going to have to learn to relax a bit

Though it’s quite fun so see how tense he gets when they land on him … at least he always had you and his trust hawk to keep him company (if he could manage those relationships, he could manage a few more)

tag list:

@star-gods @mercurysmaiden @dourpeep @clemmywrites @pepperoncinipizza @handswritteeen @lucifucker @beelsdessert @odafashioned @coolcats09 @ninqat @musekala @sufzku @mooshymello @heavenlyang @plenilunegazes @glazelilyy @justyoureverydayqueer @idunkar @solowmomo @twokissesforamelia @the-mermaid-of-mondstadt @fuwon @goat-mama-breezie @angelmelt @lucacandy @shesleire @mariana @zentoruu @smol-knife @nightlywallows @aoirohi @nitorious-ghost @mguerra11 @maiiikoo @actstfbla @youaskedfurret @nonniechan @evolcahra @tempehlust @zenith-impact @plumpkie @jaggedsi @salty-salty @onlyhereforinteractivestories @gultonluvv @shy-specter @liebestraumss @jaemjenjam @softlybeloved @anatthesavage

#genshin impact #genshin impact X reader #genshin impact headcanons #beidou #genshin beidou #beidou x reader #genshin impact ganyu #ganyu #ganyu x reader #diluc #diluc X reader #genshin diluc

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band--psycho · 4 years ago

Text

Chibs Telford Smut-Illicit Affairs (Music Writing Challenge 2021)

Music Challenge Masterlist

A huge thank you to @miss-nori85 who helped inspire this fic, I hope you like it!

Warnings: Smut, cheating

‘Meet me at the usual spot in ten minutes,’ I couldn’t deny the way my heart skipped a beat, nor could I deny the arousal that flooded directly to my core as I read those words. It was like my body was autopilot, quickly changing into the closest items of clothing I could get hold of. For a while now Chibs Telford and I had had this arrangement; originally it started with long (and somewhat romantic) nights spent in hotel rooms, fucking until we fell asleep. That’s all it was, it wasn’t making love, it was a lot more primal in that, like an animalistic hunger that we both craved. The guy I was seeing now, he was one of the sweetest people I’d met in a long time, he was practically perfect in every aspect except one. He wasn’t Chibs. I knew what I was doing was so many levels of wrong, I always said I’d neve cheat on anyone….but when it came to Chibs, I just couldn’t say no. He could ask me anything and I’d do it in a heartbeat and he damn well knew it. He had a hold over me, one that I couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard I tried. I’d be his in heartbeat and that again was part of the problem because that’s not what he wanted. He didn’t want a relationship like that. I tried so hard to fight the feelings I had for him, the urge to feel his lips against mine, I tried to forget him and move on. That’s how I met Reece, we’d been on a couple of dates and we weren’t officially official but he spent most nights at mine. The relationship I had with Reece was so different to the one I had with Chibs, Reece and I went out on cute little dates to the movies, the park, all of those things a normal couple should do and for a while I did manage to forget about Chibs, a small part of me even began to imagine a future with Reece, a future that was filled with security but slowly, the echo of Chibs’ touch found me again and I couldn’t help but crave every aspect of him again and I couldn’t resist it when I was alone with him and neither could he, that’s how our affair started and that’s how it carried on, today was just another day of being torn between my heart and my head.

Quickly I made my way over to the abandoned parking lot that was a few blocks away from my house and there he was standing next to his car.Just the mere sight of him was enough to get me soaked; his hair was slicked back, dressed from head to toe in black. As soon as he looked up, I averted my gaze to the floor as I walked closer to him. I felt his eyes burning into me as I approached him, like a rabbit approaching a fox. In one swift motion I felt his cold grip on my chin tightly forcing me to look up at him, the anger burning behind his already darkened eyes. I knew I was in trouble, before I even got a chance to defend myself, he placed a finger over my lips.

“Ye’re late,” he growled in my ear, lowering both of his hands to my waist and lifting me up onto the bonnet of the car, quickly pulling my trousers down so they were hanging off of my ankles. Those actions were enough to have me dripping for him as my arousal continued to build

“Chibs-” I began, my voice barely a whisper but was cut off when his lips crashed down onto mine in a bruising kiss, one of his hands gripping my thigh tightly while the other hand traced along the damp line of my panties. He was the only one that could turn me on this quickly and in such a dominant way. He wasted no time in removing my hoodie and sports bra, disregarding them onto the floor, he trail of hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck before moving further down your chest. His mouth sucking on one of the curves of my chest, his tongue rolling over my nipple while one hand squeezed my breast, occasionally pinching the nipple causing jolts of pleasure to course through me. I was barely keeping it together as he switched actions between my breasts.

“Need you-” I moaned out, gripping onto his shoulders, desperately trying to catch my breath as he continued his relentless attack on my breasts. A low chuckle escaped his lips as he halted in his actions, his lustful eyes locking on to mine.

“Need what?” He asked, his hand moving slowly moving my panties to the side, allowing him access to the place I craved him most. All the words seemed to melt away in my mind as he lightly tapped his finger against my clit, the pleasure taking over all of my thoughts and all I could do was moan in response, bucking my hips slightly.

“I need an answer, love,” he whispered, gently biting the lobe of my ear as he began to tap my clit faster.

“You, I-I need you,” I moaned out, feeling his erection pressing against my thigh.

“Does your guy get you this wet?” he taunted, his hot breath making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge as he ran a finger along my dripping slit. I let out a shaky breath as he whispered “answer the question, or I stop right now.”

Just as he was about to pull his hand away from my pussy I whispered a “no” in response, a small smirk came across his face at my admission.

“Say it louder,” he demanded, as he slowly pumped his finger in and out of me.

“NO,” I moaned in response, gripping onto him for dear life.

“No what, love?” he taunted, his thumb circling my clit as his finger drew me closer and closer towards the edge.

“He-he doesn’t make me this wet,” I admitted, desperate for my release and just as I was about to fall over the edge he stopped. My moans turned into a whimper at the loss of him, but he just smirked, raising the finger that was covered in my juices to his lips.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he stated with a triumphant smirk on his face. He waited a few seconds before doing anything else, reveling in how desperate I was for him. Those few seconds felt like an eternity to me, I needed him inside me. I needed him to fuck me, now...I was so lost in the ecstacy of pleasure that I didn’t even hear him unzip his trousers before he entered me. I screamed slightly at the sudden feeling of his member inside me. I knew it wasn’t going to take long to push me over the edge, but by the look on Chibs’ eyes it was going to take him long either. Relentlessly he thrusted into me hitting my g-spot. Every.Single.Time. It was like I was on cloud nine; there was nothing that compared to this, no one that could bring me so much pleasure. I could feel myself about to fall over the edge again this time Chibs didn’t stop, he just kept on pounding into me.

“Fuck,” he groaned, wrapping one of his hands around my throat, only adding to the sheer pleasure I was feeling.

“Does he fuck you like this?” He asked against my lips, applying slightly more pressure to my throat with each thrust.

“No...he... doesn’t fuck me... like this,” I choked out in between moans, sweat beaded both of our foreheads as his speed increased.

“Who owns this pussy?” He asked, slowing his thrusts down, to look at me directly in the eyes, awaiting for my answer.

“You do…” I answered,knowing that it was the truth. He clearly saw the truth in my eyes because his thrusts began to get faster and faster, after a few more rapid thrusts my loud moans and his guttural groans were echoing around the parking lot as both of us came undone, finally reaching the release we both craved. Once we both caught our breath he released his grip on my throat and pulled out of me and I hopped down from the bonnet of the car, both of us quickly sorting ourselves out and just like that, it was all over, nothing else was said by either of us, although I could feel his eyes lingering on me for a split second as I got changed. But that was it. And just like that he got in the car and I made my own way out of the parking lot. By the time I got back home, I was already craving him inside me again.

“Hey baby,” Reece called out, as I entered the front room. I mentally cursed myself, completely forgetting that I’d given him my spare key.

“Hey,” I called back, guilt washing over me.

“You okay? You look a bit flustered,” he said, worry lacing his voice as he walked over to me, his hands moving to my face, caressing my cheeks lightly.

“I’m fine, I just went for a run,” I lied, with a fake smile painted on my face but it was enough to persuade him.

“Aw babe, don’t burn yourself out okay? I’ll go so you can get some rest,” he said, pressing a light kiss to forehead. I couldn’t help but remember how foreign his lips were on my skin compared to Chibs.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” I said, with another fake smile on my face. Breathing a sigh of relief as he left. Part of me hated Chibs...hated how his touch, his kiss had created some type of secret language that I couldn’t speak with anyone else because no one else was him.

Tagging:

@little-diable @rosieposie0624 @xbreezymeadowsx @ideclareflananigans @sharpiewashere @leah-halliwell92 @chibsisadream @tommyflanagans @screesflanagan @rebelwrites @come-join-themurder @kyber--wolf

Join my taglist here

#chibs smut #chibs telford smut #chibs telford imagine #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford x oc #chibs telford #chibs sons of anarchy #SOA chibs #chibs x oc #chibs x reader #chibs x you #chibs x ofc #chibs xofc #chibs telford imagines #chibs imagine

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jangosweat · 4 years ago

Text

Warm

Pairing: Boba Fett x female reader

Summary: you've been missing your guy and need to be with him.

Length: short// drabble

Warnings: NSFW, some strong language, explicit content, Boba is at your mercy, sorta sub!Boba, rope as a restraint, p in v, unprotected sex, established relationship, cock warming.

Tagging: some of the hoes in the GC (: @meabravo @kavecika @hobbitlover23 @blissful--moon @batfamily14 @onabouteverything @beskarprincessjenny @adonishxney @himboba-fett @mysticalgalaxysalad @rosethornsx @the-siren-writes-it @latenightsthoughtsnstuff

You're not entirely sure how Boba Fett had let all this happen and you weren't entirely sold on asking questions about it, it honestly made no difference because you were together, locked together in this room and you were grateful for it. It had been a long few weeks, he was gone on a mission that held more of his attention then you could possibly stand and it made you annoyed that you didn't have all of it. You always had it. The energy and stamina to keep up with a man like that turned him on more than anything but he needed to focus on the task at hand, no distractions, no delays. No lack of judgement.

He needed a clear head to get the job done and come home for a bit of rest and those little Holovids you were sending weren't helping him one bit.

He had a plan to punish you for it when he got back but he took it back, knowing you were missing him and needing him and his presence made his heart ache. So he gave you an option, one that landed you in his lap in his favorite chair.

You helped him out of his armor, setting it aside

with careful consideration, it was his father's after all and he took care of it well. He was always so swift in taking off his helmet and his undershirt in a flurry of black and green that made your head spin. Exposing his barrel like chest and earned battle scars from years in training and fighting and winning.

He told you to show him how much you clearly missed him, nuzzling his face into your neck about it. About the Holovids, how desperate your whines and pleas for him to come home. It made you hot.

You picked up his helmet, turning it over in your hands and placing it back on his head, cupping the cold, painted beskar and pressing your forehead to it with a soft smile. Then you pushed him back, falling into his armchair with an oof coming from the modulator, you climbed into his lap and hugged him to your chest, breathing him in. Blaster fire and residue filled your senses and something that was undeniably Boba Fett. You could never put your finger on it but it always smelled like home.

"I'm so glad you're home." You hummed into the space between his helmet and neck, lips dancing dangerously close to his tan skin. His arms encircled your waist, thumbs pressing against the bottom portion of your ribcage.

"I can tell." Boba answered with a chuckle, it bounced into your chest. "Are you going to show me how much you missed me or not?"

You pulled back and gave him a look, tilting your head like you had seen him do thousands of times. "Can I do it my way?"

"If that's what you want princess, I am at your needy mercy."

Perfect.

You hopped off of his lap, missing his warmth briefly before you started rifling through his utility belt, seeking out what your imaginative mind had been thinking about for weeks now. Boba watched you curiously. You finally found it.

You took off the hook from his grappling gun, uncoiling the sturdy black rope and turning around to face your man, waiting patiently as you strolled back over. "If you let me do things my way, I'm going to need your full participation. Is that ok?"

Boba waited a beat before giving you a slow nod.

"Good! Now hold out your hands, palms together." You heard Boba laugh, he's said those same words to you once or twice before.

He did as you asked, watching you wrap the rope around his wrists, wondering just what you had up your short little sleeves. Pleased with your work you bent over him and worked the belt he wore out of it's loops, the buckle clanging lightly as you wrenched it free and unzipped his pants.

You bit your lip as you pulled him out of his pants, he was already semi-hard and trying to get you to wrap your hand around him, little jumps of his hips as he sat. You shook your head.

"You said I could show you my way and that's not how we're going to do this, understand?"

Boba gulped. Your tone was something new and exciting, no one ever talked to him the way you were. Authority looked fucking delicious on you and he nodded once more. You smiled and grabbed the bottom of his helmet, tilting his head up at you.

"Good boy. Now sit still and let me show you how much I missed you. How much I missed you filling me up, consuming me like only you can. Making me feel safe and sated, I'm going to do that for you now." With a brighter smile and mischievous fox like grin you slipped off your sleep shorts, kicking them away before getting back to your spot on his lap, caging him in you reached beneath you, pumping his cock just enough to get him rock hard and throbbing in your grip, running the pad of your thumb over the slit that was already leaking a few beads to your delight. Giving him a nod of your own, you sat up just enough, rocking his cock back and forth over your clit and folds, gathering what wetness you had already produced from teasing him and sank down on it, inch by sinful inch.

You both gasped, Boba's head fell back against the chair, your hands pressing into his chest, feeling him tense and twitch inside you as you leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his thick neck.

He waited for the slow drag and pull of your cunt, for you to slide up and down his heavy cock, to feel your walls pull him in and grip him like no other. Your pussy was made to fit him, he was sure of that the first time he filled you.

But it never came.

You were just sitting there, in his lap, with his dick bottomed out in your core. You weren't moving at all.

"Princess… what are you d-doing?" His voice strained when you moved a little wiggling your hips on top of his, his thighs twitched a little with the rocking motion.

"Showing you how much I missed you cyar'ika. I told you how much I needed you, how I missed you filling me. I just need to feel you here." You moaned and grabbed his bound hands, placing them on your stomach, right where he was inside.

Fett grunted. At the way you called him your beloved at the fact that he could feel where he was, your pussy stretched nice and tight around keeping him in place and it started to make him anxious that you weren't going to move at all. You just wanted to have his cock inside you. To have all his attention, to have him locked and secure.

You just wanted to be warmed by his cock.

Boba's head lulled back again with a guttural groan, you too tik tocked your hips again, squeezing your walls on purpose, getting him to hiccup out another breath.

"Princess please… can you move just a little for me?" You hadn't even done anything and his voice, even through the modulator, was like he'd been fucked out for hours. His breath coming in short little pants.

"Why?" You breathed, smiling that you were making the Boba Fett become a mess.

"Please princess! I need you to move I can't-- I need to feel you. Like really feel you. Move up and down on my cock, clamp down on me." He was working himself up, his short nails scratching at your belly, stoking the fire you both were adding log after log too.

"Like this?" You squeezed him again.

"Stars! Princess… please. Please do this for me. I know you missed me, I know you did and I m-missed you too. Just… p-please I need you to move."

"Sounds like you're asking me to fuck you? Is that it? Is that what you want?" How you were able to keep your voice low and slow and not wrecked like his was a complete shock to the both of you.

"Yes."

"Say it. I wanna hear you say it Boba. Tell me you want me to fuck you." You preened.

"Please princess. I want you… I want you to fuck me. Fuck yourself on my cock, use me how want, how you need it. Just please baby fucking move!" He practically cried out.

"Like this?" You beamed, proud of yourself with your hands on his bulky shoulders for leverage as you moved and rocked and slid his cock out and back in over and over, both of you had been so patient you needed the release. To feel him twitch and throb, to have your name falling from his pouty lips like dripping honey, his name falling out of your own mouth like a sacred prayer. Reaching higher and higher, you dig your nails into his skin.

"Princess… I'm gonna cum. Cum with me. I need it." Boba groaned, watching you bounce and get yourself off on him, fucking yourself in a fervor that made your legs ach from the prolonged torture of having Boba at your mercy. Hearing his strained voice and familiar low moan and faster rising and falling of his chest made you flush.

"Come on. Come on cyar'ika, give it to me. Give it all to me, fill me up please come on just a little longer." You whined and whined some more when he trapped your bundle of nerves between his pressed together thumbs. He circled it around as much as he could, the rope digging deliciously into his skin at this angle.

"Come on princess, I'm so close. Cum with me...now." Boba flung his head back panting and panting and then he came, hot spills of his seed shot up into your cunt, painting them white. Feeling it slick up your walls you came with him, a wail and gasp of his name echoed in the quiet air of the room. The obscene sounds of your love making coming to it's final climax.

You shook in his lap, coming down from your explosive high, your jittering fingers lifted off his helmet, his face was wet with sweat and passion, his bottom lip had a pair of deep teeth indentations. His brown eyes shined and his lips crashed against yours, clicking your teeth together. He came at you with such force you thought he might break your nose, you licked inside his mouth, fucking your tongues together.

Boba pulled away, kissing your cheek and temple, nuzzling his face against yours. "If this is what I get when I'm gone for a few weeks, I may have to take more jobs."

You pulled back instantly. "Absolutely not! Next time I'm coming with you."

"Then you won't fuck me like this again."

You smiled. "Well… we could always do it like this in Slave I."

That thought alone made his softening cock, still stuck in place give a little twitch, on its way to becoming hard once again.

That could definitely be an option.

#yeehaw motherfuckers #this came outta nowhere #i had a thot this morning #saw sub!boba in the gc and i just woof woof #e idea wouldn't leave me so here ya go #boba fucks #boba fett x you #boba fett x female reader #boba fucking fett

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marvelmymarvel · 4 years ago

Text

Beauty (Part 7)

Jiraiya x Reader x Genma (Love Triangle)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Synopsis: At the age of 14, you begged the 3rd Hokage to let you raise the brand new baby, who just like you lost his parents to the nine-tailed fox. People thought you were crazy, but the strange new man who was training Naruto saw you as something else.

A/n: If you’re new to my stories, I try to be as inclusive as possible so please do not think that the gifs I use are supposed to be what you ‘look’ like. I use gifs purely to express the emotions or scene. Thank you <3

Tags: @brithedemonspawn

“Why?”

Your trembling and shocked question caused a roar of laughter to fly from the man's lips, the vibrations from it passing through your entire body that was flush against his. “Jiraiya” you breathed out, the sound of his laughter had hit you with full force and for once, this wasn’t a dream.

“I’m sorry... I don't have time to explain, but we should probably get out of here before the ninja after you come down for a fight” Jiraiya proclaimed as his eyes moved up towards the roof where the ninja stood. He wasn’t showing it, but watching you fall made his heart race, and even with you safely in his arms.

He was still panicking.

His eyes cast back down to your face and the soft frown he wore turned darker as he caught sight of your tears. A coo flew from his lips as he set you down, pulling you closer into his body as he attempted to calm you down. The toad you were standing on began to move and you had no other choice than to clutch onto Jiraiya for dear life.

“I’m so sorry I left you, kid...” you shook your head in his neck as the shock slowly subsided from your body. He had only been gone for a couple of days, but it felt like centuries had passed without the feeling of safety he delivered. The toad came to a stop in the forest, the only sound you could hear was the distant roar of the battle and a few birds singing peacefully above you. Pulling your head from his neck, you craned it up to lock eyes with him. The grimace was still evident on his face but the grasp he had on your body told you that he was hiding the majority of how he felt right now.

He was frightened.

Your own eyebrows furrowed in confusion, not sure of what exactly he was petrified of. “Jiraiya...” you cooed out as your hand rose to cup his cheek, “What's the matter- AH” pain exploded under your skin as your howl of pain cut off your questioning. Jiraiya gripped you harder as you slumped down, screaming as you scratched at your left shoulder. Your body writhed under him and the shrill sound of your screech caused all of the birds to fly away in panic, you sounded animalistic.

“Y/n” he stated firmly, watching you rip at your clothing as if you were being burned by the fabric. “GET IT OFF, GET IT OFF ME” your fingers finally sunk into the fabric over your shoulder, thoroughly and effortlessly ripping it away to reveal the mark of Jiraiya’s old friend. It was bright and the black seemed to seep around your skin in other markings, yet it wasn’t giving you power like intended.

Its purpose was to give you pain. To make you scream.

“He’s trying to find you” Jiraiya muttered, hand tightening around your waist as you arched up into him, another roar of screams leaving your lungs and raw throat. “IT CAN TRACK ME?!” the dread inside of you grew tenfold as you scratched up Jiraiya’s skin in response to the brutal waves of agony that were coursing through you. “No, but your screaming is enough” he whispered as his fingers traced the delicate markings that Orochimaru’s bite left. You tried to quiet down your screams by shoving your face into his shoulder, moaning and shrieking into his muscle instead of the air.

Jiraiya’s head turned back to the village, eyes narrowing as he zoned out your sounds and began to listen to the forest around him. A tree branch snapped to his left, but before you could react or notice it, Jiraiya was gone and so was the toad underneath you.

Your body hit with a thud against the hard ground but you didn’t have time to scream as a hand gripped your throat tightly, finally silencing you. Your body was slammed into a tree, as the only thing holding you up was the grip around your neck. “Awww, did he leave you?? She’s alone!” the Sound ninja holding you up wasn’t the one who was carrying you on the roof, but you were sure that you’d see that guy soon enough. At the sound of their leader's words, the rest of the Sound ninja tasked with getting you emerged from the trees around you. Tears welled in your eyes as you tried to kick at the man, but one press of his knee against your body stopped all of your movement in an instant.

You looked up to observe the 10 other sound ninjas, locking eyes with the one you ran from, to begin with. He had a bloody nose that was surely broken and it looked as if he had barely escaped a deadly beating. “Lord Orochimaru doesn’t like when his things are taken, so after we deliver you to him, we will be killing the ninja you escaped from”

Your eyes shot back down to the one holding you up, fear and sadness filling your eyes and body as the thought of someone dying because of you overwhelmed your senses. The ninja smiled at your fear, happy to get such a reaction from a so-called ‘strong’ shinobi. Leaning forward, his lips brushed against your ear as his fingers tightened around your neck, causing you to cough and sputter out into the air.

“We are even going to kill him in front of you... How does that sound?”

Your hands clawed at his wrists, head shaking slightly as you tried to voice your feelings on the whole ordeal, but he only tightened his grip. Your neck arched as you tried to get out from his deathly grip. You had a max of 20 seconds, but the way black spots were already appearing in your vision told you another story. “I don't need you awake for the travel back, and you won't escape so easily this time around” His voice continued to get softer as the blackness took over.

Your body went limp as you passed out, the ninja holding you up dropping you instantly to the ground. You both were completely unaware of the fact that Jiraiya didn’t leave you to die like you once previously assumed. In fact, the 10 ninjas behind the one holding you up were killed before your body hit the ground.

The ninja’s smirk fell quickly as a Kunai knife was pressed against his neck, Jiraiya's body towering over his in a way that made him feel like a child. “I’m going to keep you alive for one reason and one reason only” Jiraiya snarled, knife pressing deeper into the Sound ninja’s flesh as he spoke. Blood began to bead under the edge and the vulnerable ninja no longer felt cocky in his actions as he felt his own life teetering on the edge. “Tell Orochimaru that I got his message loud and clear, but she’s mine, and if he tries to hurt her again. I will kill him myself”

The ninja nodded feverishly, promises of delivering the message falling shakily from his lips as Jiraiya dug the edge deeper into his neck. He had the urge to kill him, kill all of the people who dared hurt you, but the message needed to be delivered. Pushing the ninja away, Jiraiya watched angrily as he ran off to go tell his precious leader about his old friend's threat.

Once the ninja disappeared from his sight, Jiraiya turned back to your limp body on the ground. If only he was a couple of seconds sooner... It wasn’t his intention for it to take that long, but the size of the group overwhelmed his abilities. Moving towards you, he moved your body into an upright position before plopping down beside you. Pulling you into his side, he looked around at the dead ninja surrounding you both. Your head lolled onto his chest, facial features soft and delicate as you soundly slept in his arms. If it wasn’t for the fact that you were forced to pass out and would soon be waking up, Jiraiya would be happy to see you sleeping peacefully. Pressing a kiss to your temple, he silently promised to let you sleep in his arms for however long you needed to feel safe again.

“You just had to run into him of all people...”

#jiraiya imagine #jiraiya imagines #jiraiya x reader #jiraiya fanfiction #naruto imagine #naruto imagines #naruto x reader #naruto fanfiction #Genma imagine #genma imagines #genma x reader #genma #naruto #jiraiya

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newswcanonprompts · 4 years ago

Text

prompt #37 - Jedi are like Magpies and love their clones

sorry we haven’t posted in forever! to make up for it, i’m posting one of our longest and detailed prompts (maybe even the longest)- this came from a LONG discussion a few weeks back, and it was a lot of fun. this idea morphed a ton, and it became this huge thing. this is personally my favorite one, so hope you enjoy!

Jedi collect trinkets and wear them!!! Hand them to others as a very important gift

The Clones dont really get it, but they are happy

The jedi make them things like jewelry, keychains, little beaded things, colored strings, they’ll give them feathers, you name it

Its another way to show that they are individuals, and that the jedi know them specifically

The veteran clones have long keychain type things and the shiny clones want them very much and it’s something they look forward to

The padawans hand the commanders things and being sad when the CC’s tell them they can’t take them into battle

Krell gets found out earlier.

“Okay, look, i know krell is… well, he is *something* and i don’t want to accuse a master of the order but have you looked at his men?! where the hell are their keychains?!”

The padawans stage a protest at the senate because how else are they going to make sure that their troops know they are loved and get their trinkets

This idea can get angsty really quickly (finding trinkets after battles, in ship crashes, or post-order 66), but we won’t do that because of how angsty this server already is, we need some fluff sometimes

Palaptine can commit self delete

Clones will paint armor for padawans cause that is how they show honor and stuff

The clones, upon figuring out what they mean, give their jedi trinkets also

Mirialan padawan holding armor they got: “ITS GREEN LIKE ME!”

There are little figurines, some painted rocks, some little shiny things found on the battlefield

The clones who aren’t as good with their hands singing songs or telling stories

The jedi record them and keep them on little datachips that they keep on them at all times

Barriss doesn’t go bad because this is happy time

The jedi padawans start a riot / protest outside the senate building because some clones got their trinkets taken away by asshole civilians because they’re “not human”, just copies

The (now very pissed off) jedi sprung into action

If a snooty senator(s) takes away a clone’s trinket, the jedi just sit back and grind to a halt. Because if the clones, the PEOPLE WHO PROTECT THE REPUBLIC, are gonna get treated like that, the war can wait

The jedi knights and masters just meditate wherever the padawans are protesting

This is done to ‘keep the peace’

If anakin hears a snooty senator degrade the clones, he starts ranting and shouting about their individuality and accomplishments, while pointing at each trinket.

Someone live streams this

Luminara joins in (barriss is right behind)

Aayla too

Luminara, anakin, aayla, tag teamed shouted speech

Ahsoka and barriss are being held back by the CC’s (ahsoka is making some very crude hand gestures and barriss is like “i can name every bone in your body as i break it” - cause barriss has all that healer knowledge)

Once these three are done, mace windu comes along with the council. They think mace is going to scold the three of them until mace starts shouting at the senators too. The council just lets mace do all the talking.

This is the most watched live stream this year. It’s very funny and starts a ton of memes (obi wans face, yoda meditating, the look of “oh shit” on the original snooty senator’s face, the look of surprise on everyone when mace starts shouting too - there is also a gif made of the council looking at the situation, looking at themselves (mostly mace) and then they all step back to let mace do the talking, the clones faces when they see that three jedi and then the jedi high council are defending them)

Mace, rolling up his sleeves: “okay let’s do this”

The senators: backing away in fear

Obi wan might commit a war crime right now because no way people can talk about his troops like that

Obi wan: “am i allowed to kill a senator?”

Cody: “General, do not-”

This whole thing leads to a massive debate and overwhelmingly good PR for the jedi and clones

Shady sheev doesn’t like that. Good PR for the jedi? No thank you. But since this is a fixit he gets his ass kicked later on so everything’s fine (skeevy sheev has to scramble to try to fix his plans though)

All the padawans from that one lightsaber episode (the one on ilum where the younglings got their kyber crystals) are there and SHIT’S GOING DOWN

Petro in particular is very close to kicking someone’s ass

Caleb dume is there also.

“Master depa said we should never raise our blades in revenge or anger. But this is not revenge.” this is war, this is justice, this is defense of a defenseless group

Padme also joins in all of this (but much more calmly)

She also might make some passive aggressive comments about the snooty senators trash outfit

She and all her senator friends are gonna blacklist the original culprit

Padme and bail organa (they also got help from many jedi) put in the clone rights bill the next day

In the halls outside the debate chamber, padme threatens to gut people with her hair pins if they don’t vote in her favor

sure, it’s *technically* extortion, but come on, who’s gonna stop her? those pins are pointy y’all

Anakin tried to help draft / present the bill but he spent most of his time ranting about the injustices the clones have to face (leia had to get it from someone)

Anakin, out of breath: “AND ALL YOU SENATORS JUST SIT HERE, DOING NOTHING, WHEN THEY’RE OUT THERE DYING FOR YOU-”

Padme: “okay ani i got this, drink some water please”

Ahsoka also jumps in

Plo, who’s watching the debate: “little ‘soka, please don’t hurt anyone” (but he’s not about to stop her, after all these are his sons we’re talking about)

If someone said “well they’re not slaves?” anakin would go OFF. if you thought he was angry before… you got another thing coming.

“I AM A FREED SLAVE! I KNOW WHAT IT IS LIKE! THESE MEN HAVE LESS RIGHTS THAN I DID AS A SLAVE!”

If the public doesn’t know about his childhood before, they do now

Imagine the shock

Padme: “Ani, deep breaths, it’s gonna be okay.”

Also padme, to the other senators: “well i mean he’s not wrong you assholes”

Padme is also making very well timed comments and suggestions. It’s the most successful day she’s had since she became senator

She’s also revealing all the senators’ dirty secrets

Padme: “oh, senator so-and-so, i released all your finances and your voting history on the holonet. I’m sure your supporters will love that you’re embezzling funds. Oh, you lost your support? Tragic.”

The jedi also have dirt on everyone and they just casually let everything slip like they weren’t secrets

Shady sheev Palpacreep is in his little podium thing during the debate, and he is very pissed, because his plan is getting ruined, but he can’t let it show or else people will discover the truth about him

Anakin: “isn’t it great that we’re finally doing something about it?”

Sheev, pained: “Of course-”

This whole debate is still live streamed - and it’s very popular

The senate who made the original comment and started all of this is #cancelled

This is the greatest thing the galaxy has ever seen / watched because drama

If a jedi dies, and they aren’t brought back to the temple, they are burned with the other dead on the battlefield. Young padawans take their master’s trinkets in remembrance, wanting to follow their path and have tangible proof that the master passed into the force but that they left their mark in the world

You do not burn the trinkets. Krell tried once. It almost started a jedi civil war (maybe that’s how he gets found out)

Or maybe krell was found out because he gives zero trinkets to his men, and everyone caught on and were like “hey wtf man”

But if you wanna make it angsty ( cough cough umbara ) then krell tells the 501st to remove / burn / throw out their trinkets or he’d do it for them

He gives them an example by slicing a very special one that anakin and ahsoka both gave to rex

Krell also slices one of dogma’s. It was the only one dogma had because he was newish to the battalion at the time and wasn’t sure if accepting the trinkets was against regs or not. Krell slashes it and dogma doesn’t say anything but there were tears in his eyes

All the jedi who find out what happened replace all the trinkets so fast. They also give krell’s men a shit ton of presents.

Krell’s men have no idea what to do with them, but they are so touched a few shed tears when they get them

The clones get small tattoos of patterns that the little padawans drew for the men

The tattoos are small because some of them *might* just be random squiggles but the padawans looked so happy the clones just had to get them tattooed

Anakin orders japor wood with padme's bank account to make snippets for the clones because it’s not only a jedi thing, it’s from anakin's homeworld - and that’s like the highest praise you can get from him

The clones might not know exactly what it means but they know its super special

Padme figures out a way to buy japor wood in bulk. Anakin is very touched by this

When snooty senators start badmouthing clones, yoda just sits there and meditates to drive the senators nuts

“Sitting, i am, because stand you bitches, i cannot”

Padme gets many trinkets from the 501st because they all *know* about her and anakin

Any trinkets that she gets she likes to incorporate into her outfits (like the warrior fashionista that she is)

She embroiders some of them into her dresses and hairpieces

They both get a TON of trinkets when the twins are born

Padme also gives trinkets to the 501st, some of the 212th, and all of the coruscant guard. Especially fox cause she sees all the work he does and the senators he has to deal with

She’s besties with the coruscant guard. Like yeah, she knows the 501st and they know about her and anakin (and she’s one of them because of it) but the guard is who she’s always with

She probably wore red on debate day to represent them

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basicjetsetter · 4 years ago

Text

Part I

♡ Pairing: Peter Parker x Black!FemaleReader

▹ Warnings: Mild Language, Triggering Content

▹ Words: 4.6k

▹ A/N: Buckle in. This is going to be a long ride.

“No way!” Your friend Manda squeals. “Those were the exact words?!”

You smoosh a frantic hand over Manda’s mouth and shush her, then slightly pop up from your seat to scope out the packed bus, making sure none of your schoolmates heard her outburst. To your relief, only a few close students glance over with little interest and barely anyone in a wider radius catches Manda’s words over the buzzing clammer of other conversations. Blowing out a satisfied exhale, you turn back to your friend, removing your hand from her mouth with a teasingly reproachful frown.

“Tell the whole world, why don’t you?”

She giggles, “My bad. But can you blame me? This is huge!”

Thrilled warmth floods into your cheeks from her enthusiasm. She’s right. This is huge, and you might have secretly sought this exact reaction because only Manda’s trademark, earsplitting squeal stamps news with the seal of authenticity. It’s real. You heard your Destined Words.

The same jitters from when you woke up this morning skitter up and down your spine, sharpening your senses to the max, making it easier to recall the words that floated into your subconscious—words from a bodiless voice. Your Soulmate.

I’ve got you.

Your mind handles the precious words like a porcelain tea set, carefully deciphering the voice pitch and attempting to match it to a face, knowing its efforts lie in vain because the words’ owner only becomes apparent when they speak them to you.

Some inner part of you distinctly translates the words into a comforting assurance, an assurance one might receive after coming home from a long day’s work and walking into the soft embrace of a lover. It weaves itself around your mind like a consoling safety net, painting an image of a lover better than you’ve ever imagined and everything you’ve ever hoped for.

You couldn’t have hand-picked a better day than today, Midtown High’s field trip to the MoMA, to gush over the words with Manda while admiring spectacular, thought-provoking art pieces. One of the perks of going to Midtown High is their fantastic field trips. You circled this Friday on your calendar at the start of the semester because while you loved being in a school centered around technological sciences, you were excited to study artists’ colorful, eclectic expressions and how their cultural personalities materialize in the stroke of a paintbrush.

“You’re so lucky,” Manda says, trying to pull off a pout. Her vibrant smile triumphs. “Only three days after you turn eighteen, and you hear your Destined Words. I’ve got four more months before I file a complaint.”

You sympathetically rub her shoulder, her oversized, long-sleeved denim jacket rough to the touch. “It’ll come. Just don’t wait for it.”

“Oh, I know it’s coming. I just want it to be something as cute as yours, you know.” She shudders, “My cousin Alonzo said his Destined Words were ‘Sure, whatever.’ Can you imagine that? Finally being mature enough for your Soulmate and that’s the first thing they say to you? I mean, sure, he and Tanya are super cute together, but ugh. Those words?”

You snicker, “Let me guess. You’re expecting a grand gesture?”

Manda nods with a dead serious face, though she could never truly pull it off with her full lips and Cabbage Patch Doll cheeks. She’d have a better chance at getting away with murder than intimidating someone with her cute little frown. “If I don’t hear the words ‘Where have you been all my life, you breathtaking, drop-dead gorgeous goddess,’ then I’m demanding a full refund.”

You blankly stare at each other for a beat before you crack, both of you laughing until your sides ache and you’re gasping for air, not caring for the teachers' hushes from the front of the bus.

“I just can’t believe I finally hear the words, you know,” you say as the laughs fade. “It’s like a fairytale come true.” You lean your head against the cool glass window, watching the placid cerulean waves come into view as the bus drives onto a bridge. “I wonder what they’re like, if I know them. If they’re nice. My mom says she already had a mega crush on my dad, so when he said the words, it already felt like they were together.”

Manda sighs dreamily. “I bet they’re cute. And super smart. Those words seem kind of thoughtful, too, so that’s a bonus. And, hey, don’t worry so much.” She gently knocks her shoulder against yours. “They’re going to love you.”

You weren’t scared that they wouldn’t love you. Everyone who finds their Soulmate never doubts that that is their person. What pins a tiny knot of anxiety to the pit of your stomach is how it will happen.

As a young girl, you spent countless nights dreaming of the sequential events leading up to the day you finally met your Soulmate, orchestrating the moment like a scene from all the rom-coms you binged. Your person accidentally bumps into you either in a hallway or on the bus or in the lunch-line, gazes deep into your dazed eyes, then declares their love for you with some cliché phrase before scooping you into their arms and planting a kiss on your expectant lips.

I’ve got you.

The sweet words drifting in your head do their best to ease away the anxiety. You have nothing to worry about. The meeting will play out the way you fantasized, if not better. All because of those words.

“We’re all gonna die!” Ned Leeds shouts from the middle of the bus.

All heads snap to the right windows. In an instant, densely packed bodies swarm from the left side to the right, sandwiching together to search for what Ned was staring at, some opening the windows and craning their necks for a better look. You grunt as someone digs their elbow in your ribcage to see more, and you tensely shove them against the back of the seats in front of you before peering out of your window.

It’s a sight no eyes could miss. A large, metal donut levitates in the clear sky, an obstruction not there mere seconds ago. You gasp in wonder, but not fear. Surely, the Avengers, Earth’s mightiest heroes, will have this taken care of before the sun sets.

The bus driver, an old man with a smile as sly as a fox and pearly white hair, casually calls out, “What’s the matter with you kids?! You’ve never seen a spaceship before?”

“He’s got a point,” you shrug as Manda gapes at the driver with incredulous eyes, then rounds on you as you calmly sit back down. “We always get so worked up over these aliens, and nothing ever really happens. The Avengers got it handled.”

“You sure? Because that looks a little menacing.” Manda worries at her lower lip, anxiously sneaking peeks out the window. Many students stay plastered to the scene.

“Positive.”

✦ ✧✦ ✧

The appearance of the metal donut effectively sullies your experience of the MoMA. None of the tour guides thoroughly explain the paintings' and sculptures' meanings or historical relevance. Instead, they string together incoherent sentences about person, place, and time as they gape at the video feeds live-streamed to their phones. Even Manda stays glued to her screen, chewing on her lower lip so hard you're surprised she hasn't punctured it.

Fifteen minutes into the tour, aggravation chafes into you like sandpaper, rubbing your skin raw. You waited months for this trip. Months! You'd be damned if a few pesky aliens took this special day away from you. You weren’t afraid. You had no reason to be.

Fed up, you take matters into your own hands and stealthily break away from the group, tip-toeing back to an intriguing wall of paintings and observe it by yourself.

One painting catches your eye early, drawing you to the middle of the wall to study it further. Its tag reads The Lovers, René Magritte, Paris, 1928, Surrealism, Oil Painting. There are two people, a man and a woman, painted with white cloths shrouding their faces as they share a seemingly intimate kiss. You lean in closer, noting the almost murky atmosphere and how it lends to the mystery of the kiss. What did Magritte want you to think when you analyzed this piece? What questions did she want you to ask?

You derive two: Is love mysterious and complicated as the atmosphere suggests, or is it intuitive and straightforward as the veiled lovers suggest? And, would the love still be the same once they lift the veils?

Beep. Beep. Beep. All the phones in hearing range chime out three urgent trills, nearly ejecting your soul out of your body. Clearing your head with a shake, you pull your phone out of your back pocket. You don't even have to unlock it. The news alert flashes up like a hazard light. Tony Stark Missing.

You blink. What the hell is going on?

"Are you seeing this?" Manda whispers, sidling up to your side.

You nod, at a loss for words. Iron Man is missing? How? What happened? Did it have something to do with the metal donut?

You blink harder and take another long look at the notification, hoping it was a typo or missing a few words, words like Tony Stark Missing Iron Man Suit. Hell, even Tony Stark Missing Cheeseburgers. Anything but what's on your screen.

Somewhere in the background, Mrs. Kramer, your Art teacher, roll-calls the students to the front entrance. "Okay, guys, time to cut the field trip short."

Your shoulders sag. This can't be happening. Is it really that serious?

"Peter? Peter?" Mr. Dell calls out, clenching onto a clipboard with shaking hands. "Has anybody seen Parker? Peter Parker?" he inquired, looking over the students' heads. A bead of sweat gathers on his forehead, even though there is virtually no heat in the building, and it's a breezy, 72-degree late-spring afternoon in New York City. "Where does this kid always sneak off to?"

Ned stuttered out, "He, uhm, Pe-Peter left early, sir. Family emergency."

"An emergency? Was it so important he couldn't at least notify the supervisors?" Ned bobbed his head up and down, keeping his eyes stapled to the floor in a manner that hinted at no further comment. Mr. Dell huffs, "Alright. But he's getting detention, and I have half a mind to put you in there with him, Leeds."

Ned's face screws up in a chastised grimace. "Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again."

Your eyes linger on Ned as he pulls out his phone and rapidly taps at the screen, probably sending a strongly worded text to his best friend, rebuking Peter for roping him into his antics and nearly earning him a week's detention. You don't know much about their friendship, but they appear tied to the hip at school.

Ned's a nice guy. Reliant to a tee. You had the pleasure of partnering with him on an art project in Kramer's class a few weeks back, spending a considerable amount of time joking while diligently rendering an interpretation of Van Gogh's A Starry Night on a five-by-five foot canvass. During that time, he often complimented your paint-smeared overalls and your hair's ever-changing up-dos. He seemed like such a great friend to have.

Peter, on the other hand, is a tough nut to crack.

You only ever shared one class with Peter Parker. Spanish last semester. You remember him being too antsy for your liking, always checking his watch impatiently, answering questions too fast, bouncing his leg up and down, acting like he had someplace better to be and better things to do. His impatience never made sense to you until you heard some girls in the locker-room whispering about his Stark internship and how lucky he was to be working for the Tony Stark.

When the internship suddenly halted, and Peter landed himself in the longest detention sentence you'd ever heard of, you started to take more notice of him only because he was around more often. He was sort of cute in a boy-next-door kind of way with his science pun tee-shirts and smooth, tousled brown hair. For a brief time, you fleetingly considered asking him to Homecoming, but the futility of such a question wasn't lost on you. He noticeably crushed on Liz Toomes, and you were confident Peter's pining for her meant destiny twined their paths.

But Liz is gone now, and there's a growing 90 percent chance Peter's set his sights on MJ. Brooding quirky girl ending up with boy-next-door, now that match made perfect sense, just like a rom-com, or even better, an 80's teen romance.

Manda tugs on your arm, her hands forming a shackle around your wrist. "Come on. They're getting back on the bus without us."

Sure enough, you two were nearly the last ones in the entrance, the remaining students filing out of the door. You rush after them and reach the bus doors right before they shut, huffing in unison. Manda doubles over and grasps her knees, heaving.

"Here," you gasp. "We're here."

Your driver tuts, swinging the doors back open. "Good thing you two made it in time. This bus waits for no one, not even me. Come on," he says, waving you inside. "Let's get this show on the road."

You trudge back to your designated seats, collapsing against the plastic covering as the adrenaline subsides, replaced with the forgotten dread of the trip's abrupt end. You lean over and peer out the left side windows when the bus rolls over the bridge again, surprise rattling ominously over your bones as you find the metal donut gone from the sky.

Where did it go? Did the Avengers get rid of it?

Your hand still clamps your phone. An annoying, slight tremble in your hands trips up your fingers as they try to type in your passcode, but you succeed on the fourth try. You scroll through your social media, hoping beyond hope that someone captured the Avengers' victory or something close to a victory, something that proves the news headline wrong. Stark's probably lying low, too beat down to show his face to the press.

The far-fetched lie makes you internally flinch. You don't know much about the guy, but you're more than a thousand percent sure Stark wouldn't hide from the press if he won anything.

A sinking horror clogs your chest as you obsessively watch clip after clip, onlookers recording some unconscious guy in a red cape being invisibly bound and trailing after the commanding hand of an elongated, greyish-blue alien. Spider-Man tries to get the red-caped guy back, swinging through the city and dodging billboards, his webs clinging to the departing ship's underside, Iron Man flying into the sky after them.

It’s bad. Oh, sweet heavens, it’s bad.

Maybe it’s not that much of a big deal. Yeah. Yeah, it’s probably nothing. The end of the videos suggested the Avengers gained the upper hand on the fight, so maybe, just maybe, the alien was fleeing—fleeing… with a captive. Hurtling off into God knows where with Iron Man and Spider-Man onboard.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

Your back flattens to your seat and your unseeing eyes meld to your phone, the thunderous beats of your heart stifling the rest of the world into silence. The air is thinning.

Your ears are buzzing.

A vice clenches your chest.

It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine.

The dubious mantra and vague words of your Soulmate blend into an all-consuming cacophony of words, gelling together in a chant of solace.

It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine. I’ve got you. It’s fine.

By the time the bus drops off the students at Midtown and you and Manda quietly walk in the direction of home, the mixture of affirmations fans away the panic settling around your chest, bringing back a semblance of your earlier confidence, or rather, what was left of it, which wasn't much.

Outside the apartment complex, an overwhelming amount of residents’ windows glow, most of them probably stuck to their couch, replaying the recent events on any major news network and speculating the whereabouts of our mightiest heroes.

It takes a while to dawn on you that you and Manda are the only ones standing outside. On the entire block.

Nothing stirs. Even the bodega on the corner appears closed for the day.

It's five o'clock on a Friday afternoon and there’s plenty of light left.

Emptiness pours out of every alley like ink spilling from a broken bottle, blotting the whole surface of the street with the absence of human activity. A tree's rustling leaves are so startling your breath locks up and you jump. Manda doesn't say anything, recovering from the sudden noise herself.

Leaving the deserted streets behind, you and Manda glumly walk up the steps of your apartment complex and up to your residence on the third floor. The apartment is eerily silent as you toss your keys on the kitchen counter and lock the door behind Manda.

"When are your folks getting back from their honeymoon again?" asks Manda, shrugging out of her jacket and toeing off her sneakers, leaving them propped against the wall by the door.

Habit controls your body as you open the fridge, grab two Sprites, set them down on the counter, then reach for the half-finished bucket of Red Vines from the top cabinet shelf. "Sunday morning, I think. They only have the weekend off. Want some pizza? I can call up Joe's."

"Please and thank you," she says, plopping down on the couch. The old thing croaks, its springs wheezing under the unwelcomed weight.

The maroon monstrosity is a family heirloom, dating back to your grandparents' time. Mom loves it, claiming it adds the right amount of character to the drab living space, knowing fully well that anyone with fashion sense would never describe any space she inhabits as drab. Dad is adamant that it's one spill away from handing in its resignation.

Picking up your house phone, you confirm, "Extra-large cheese and olives?"

You don't know why you ask. Ever since the inception of your infamous best friend "crash-overs," cheese and olive pizza starred as the staple meal: that, and a bucket of Red Vines your dad occasionally steals from. Maybe you asked for normalcy or maybe to confirm Manda's plan to stay for the rest of the night. What you do know is you don’t want to be alone.

She hums a distracted yes, turning on the TV and upping the volume to listen to Channel 10's news reporter recount the fight between Iron Man and the alien.

Though already burned in your memory, the images douse your body in bone-chilling fear.

You turn your back and dial in the order, not at all surprised that Joe's is still up and running. Once the employee confirms your order and promises a speedy delivery, you grab the drinks and candy and place them on the coffee table, ignoring the TV.

"C-can you turn it to something else?" you quickly pipe up as you sit next to Manda, unsuccessfully hiding the tremor in your words. "I don't think I can stomach the news right now."

"Yeah, sure." Slow and reluctant, Manda switches the input and goes into Netflix. "Anything you wanna watch?"

"Teen Wolf."

Manda groans, "Again? We've seen that a million times."

"Oh, come on," you groan back, playfulness strained in your words. "It's a classic. You can't say no to a classic."

She gives you a dour frown, one that still couldn't land an inch of seriousness on her amber-colored cherub cheeks, until she relents from the weight of your puppy dog eyes.

"Fine, but only because of Michael J. Fox. Next time, I'm picking."

Neither of you really pay attention to the movie or touch the pizza when it arrives. In fact, for most of the night, Manda scrolls through her social media, watching what you can only assume are today’s events. Sometimes she’d put the phone down when you politely asked, but it unfailingly ended up right back in her hands, so after a while, you stop asking. When the movie’s end credits roll around, and you dress into your pajamas, put away the remaining slices of pizza, and call it a night, both of you climb into your bed. She is still scrolling.

You try and force yourself into REM sleep, keeping your eyes shut until you hear Manda’s heavy breathing beside you. The clock on your nightstand reads 9:53 p.m.

Yawning, you curl up into a tight ball on your side of the bed and wish your mom and dad were here to help you get out of your head. Manda can’t do it when she’s so caught up in hers, and you don’t think you’d be able to tell her how scared you are. It’d only scare her more.

Tony Stark is missing. Manda would have screeched her head off by now if anything changed.

I’ve got you.

Yeah, but Tony Stark, the freaking Iron Man, is missing.

I’ve got you.

You can’t possibly understand how bad this is.

I’ve got you.

You audibly huff against the reassuring words, but they eventually do the trick in temporarily pushing the worry away, allowing you to fitfully slip into dreamless oblivion.

Seven hours later, you wake to a text from your mom. The sunlight is so bright in your room you lower your phone’s brightness all the way down, squinting at the small letters.

-Coming home early bbygrl. Dad says hi and he misses you lots hunny bun. xx

A titanic-sized weight lifts off of your shoulders—something you hadn’t even known was there until you re-read your mom’s text and verify the timestamp.

They’re on their way home, where it’s safe and you can all keep an eye on each other. Niagara Falls is just a six and a half-hour drive from here and Mom texted two hours ago, so they’ve got a couple hundred miles left. You don’t care about the distance. As long as they’re coming home, you’re fine. You can wait.

The morning’s activities in your residence pass into a weird déjà vu of last night. Manda is awake before you, sitting on the couch with a bowl of cereal in her lap and the TV turned on to Channel 10, the volume slightly lower from last night. A bit peeved, you ask her to switch it to some cartoons while you pour yourself a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

She goes back to scrolling on her phone, sparingly taking bites of her soon-turned soggy cereal. You perch on the arm of the couch, far away from Manda's screen, and munch on your cereal in silence. This whole situation sucks enough without Manda’s constant doom-scrolling, but her utter silence is wearing your nerves thin.

Three full episodes of SpongeBob play on before you heave tempered sigh and set your finished bowl of cereal on the table and face Manda.

“Do you have to do that?”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance. “Do what?”

Unbidden anger flows through you like magma spewing from a freshly erupted volcano, flaming into your veins and flaring your heart rate as you yank her phone away and toss it behind the couch.

Manda stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. She may be partially right.

“Why the hell did you do that?”

You scoff, “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I like talking to my friend once in a while. Maybe it’s mentally damaging to watch the same thing over and over and over again, and I was just trying to save you from brain rot.” You stand up and cross your arms over your chest, letting the rage propel your words. “Seriously Manda, give it a damn rest.”

“Why?” Manda crosses her arms too, glowering up at you, close to achieving a convincing frown. “Because you’re ‘positive’ nothing’s going to happen, right? It’s just aliens. No prob.”

You hold your tongue, waiting for her to air out all her frustrations because she’s right. She’s right to throw your words back at you. Yesterday morning you were totally sure of the Avengers, and not much has changed. You still firmly believe they’ll win whatever this fight is with the aliens, but you know scrolling through your phone for updates won’t do anything but boost your anxiety, like it’s doing to Manda.

When you think the coast is clear to speak, you lowly say, “I get it.”

“You get it? You get it? No, mama, you don’t get it. Because, see, if you got it, my phone wouldn’t be collecting dust behind your couch!”

“You needed a break, Amanda!” You shout back at her. “That phone’s never left your hand since you got here.”

She snaps her fingers as if she reached an epiphany. “Attention. That’s what it is. I haven’t given you enough attention today and you’re feeling left out of the spotlight. Newsflash, hon, the world doesn’t revolve around you. Other things are happening besides you hearing your Destined Words.”

“Wh-what?” you balk. “That… no, that’s not what this is about.” You’re not even sure where she even came up with the conclusion that you needed something as stupid as attention right now. Did she think you were that self-centered?

She cocks her eyebrow challengingly, “Alright, then tell me what it is. I’m all ears.”

“Me hearing my freaking soulmate has nothing to do with this! Nothing! And I’m not some attention-starved lunatic. Christ, Manda,” you roll your eyes, letting your hands fall with a slap against your sides. “It’s about you watching the news all day like… like this is the end of the world or something. We’ve gone through this. New York has gone through this. Alien attacks are nothing new, and I’m tired so sick and tired of you…”

You slow down, raising a soft hand to your chest—strange, tugging sensations sprout somewhere deep, deep down within you. So deep you're not sure it's actually there.

“Sick and tired of me what? What?” Manda pressed, the almost-frown lessening as your head tilts. “What’s wrong?”

You gradually shake your head. There’s no conceivable way to articulate what’s happening to you because it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. You feel… tingly, like every single hair follicle on your arms and legs rise, standing on high alert.

“Something’s not right.”

The tugging intensifies dully. You gasp against it, desperately clawing at the front of your shirt with the pads of your fingers, seeking to protect something tangibly nonexistent. It’s like someone’s fingers pinch a taut guitar string inside your chest, pulling on it with increasing pressure, pulling it further and further until it can’t move an inch, holding it the apex in a deathly promise that, with one final tug, the string will give.

I’ve got you.

Everything happens within a second.

You whimper out an anguished yelp as the string abruptly snaps.

Manda leaps to her feet and grasps your shoulders, begging to help.

Then, right before your eyes, Manda’s body begins to dissolve.

“M-Manda...? Amanda, wait! NO!”

She falls away into a pile of ash on your floor.

You drop to your knees, screaming.

And so does the rest of the world.

...

Part II

#peter parker #peter parker au #peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x black!reader #soulmate au #marvel fanfic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker angst #post endgame #post infinity war #peter parker soulmate au #pre far from home #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker slow burn #slow burn #black!reader

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synechd0che · 4 years ago

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Tolkien Secret Santa Advent Calendar Day 14: Masquerade

There are Roses That Come Without Seeking (AO3 Link)

@officialtolkiensecretsanta

Pairing: Curufin/Finrod

Rating: E

Word Count: 2700

Summary:

Finrod throws a masquerade ball for Nargothrond’s Midwinter celebration

Note:

Obligate warning since they’re technically half-cousins

Second obligate warning for what I guess one could call identity porn, as they are initially unaware of the identity of the other. One could argue it borders on dub-con, hence the tag "chose not to use warnings" rather than my standard "none apply." It's worth noting that the sex is consensual, though Curufin is surprised to realize his partner is Finrod.

Title from Heart of my Own by Basia Bulat. I think it kind of characterized Curufin and Finrod's complex thoughts about each other.

Curufin slouched idly under a pillar, holding a flute of sparkling wine. From here, though he could see the masked partygoers spinning across the tiled floor, he was presently content to watch the bubbles rise in his glass and let the music wash through him. He was not averse to a good party, and even he would admit that Finrod's Midwinter festivities were second only to those of Tirion in their splendor, but networking in this anonymous throng would be impossible.

Celegorm had slipped away some time ago, ostensibly to avail himself of the trestle tables along the mezzanine, but Curufin could see his grey wolf mask in the crowd, and his hands around the waist of some mouthful of a starling. His son was nowhere to be seen either, though he had spoken that afternoon of meeting some of the other smiths for a foray to the Midwinter night markets in the lower town. Curufin adjusted his own mask, a likeness of a red fox; with no other opportunities for diversion, he supposed he would accept another flute of wine from the next server and dance as he might with the next willing suitor.

As fate would have it, the suitor appeared before the wine. As much as Curufin prided himself on his keen senses, he did not notice the elf behind him until his voice came warm and low in his ear.

"Peace, mellon, I mean you no harm," said the strange nér, holding out a steadying hand. "I wish only to ask you for a dance, if I may."

Curufin gave his suitor an appraising look. His kingfisher mask, beaded in sapphire and crowned with a spray of primary feathers, covered his entire face. Ever crafty, Curufin searched for a marker to identify the stranger, but even his hair was covered, tucked under the hood of his cloak, richly embroidered with the suggestion of speckled wings. Curufin could see only the sparkle of his eyes, perhaps the suggestion of a smile through the parted beak of his mask.

The suitor held out his hand expectantly. Curufin, deciding that a quick turn across the floor was preferable to an evening spent sulking, swallowed his thimbleful of wine, palmed his glass off on the nearest server, and accepted. His partner was perhaps a hair taller, his bearing dignified, and Curufin consented to let him lead and to be swept forward in the crush of dancers.

The song the musicians were playing was fast-footed and breathless. The dulcimers threw sound up into the vaulted ceilings, whose milky glass tiling passed the music about playfully before releasing it as a canorous drone that Curufin felt in his breastbone. The style required each dancer be passed among strangers before returning to their partner, which precluded any length of conversation. It did offer Curufin, from his vantage point in the arms of a tall nís costumed as a boreal lion, an excellent view of the stranger's lean legs.

The music shifted to a slower courting tune, a season staple from Tirion. On cue, the stranger pulled Curufin into the cage of his arms. Someone had produced an ocarina, whose tune hung and wove through the air.

After some time, the nér asked "Tell me, why is someone who dances with such grace relegated to a post under an archway?"

Curufin laughed at that, showing a bit of canine. "As useful as state functions are, I tire easily of mindless babble."

"I do hope you aren't bored by a fête of my own design," his partner said with mock recrimination.

"You are a lord on the planning committee?" Curufin said, trying to place him by voice among the number of nobles he had worked with in the weeks prior. "I cannot say I recognize you, and you do not have the hands of a craftsman."

"One could say I was party to the proceedings," he replied. "But here's what I really would like to know: In your estimation of me, what sort of hands do I have?" His partner asked, beak close to his ear. He smelled of something dark, and citrusy.

Curufin flushed slightly – perhaps from the wine, from the proximity of his partner, or from his subtle insinuations. He looked down to their hands interlaced. "I suppose you have the hands of someone who has held a sword - though not recently - and you have the calluses of one who writes frequently and at length, so I conclude you are more competent than some of the nuisances and fops I deal with."

"Spoken like a true smith," laughed the nér. "What hand have you played in the Midwinter planning?"

Curufin felt a stirring of pride. "The instrument strings I made on commission for the musicians' guild. My team was one of three overseeing the new crystal tableware. My mask is stitched with carnelian and vermillion glass beads that I hand-drew." He paused contemplatively, adding "And I took more requests than I can count for petty baubles and costume trinkets for the rich and distinguished." Curufin's eyes idled in their arc across his partner's body upon the rings on his fingers.

"I suppose I am not the only one with competent hands tonight," murmured his partner. "My compliments, for you must truly possess a rare – skillset." Curufin was suddenly glad for his mask, and for his dark skin.

The crowd was beginning to settle down; the old guard drifted away, though the dancing would continue until the wee hours of the morning as the servers were replaced and given leave to partake in the festivities. Curufin decided to test the waters. "I can already see parties splintering away toward the refreshment tables and a chance to rest their dancing slippers – or toward the quiet of the labyrinthine corridors of the keep, and indulgences of another sort."

"As captivating as this conversation is," the other nér said, "can I interest you in continuing it somewhere more private?" His eyes glinted behind his mask, intent obvious and just shy of predation.

Curufin took a breath. "I would not be averse to – a moment of indulgence." He could have sworn the beak of his partner's mask snapped shut in quiet satisfaction.

It was all they could do to exit the hall with a graceful demeanor and not that of hot-blooded youths just past their majority. That evaporated as soon as they were far enough down the main corridor to be out of eyeshot, and Curufin yanked the nér down a side hallway and into a shallow alcove.

Curufin went straight for his throat, pressing kisses to the soft crease between neck and jaw. His hands fumbled at the fastenings of his shirt, sliding on the rich brocade. In return, a hand cupped him between his legs, and another covered his mouth to silence his moan. "I don't think I need to remind you," said the other nér, "that even down this hall, hidden as we are, they can still hear you if you cry out."

It was true – Curufin could dimly hear the strains of music that floated out of the ballroom, the chatter of late-comers and the click of boots down the main corridor. He was aware that at any moment, they could be discovered. He was also aware of the aching hardness in his breeches. "Undress me," he commanded.

His partner was happy to oblige, boxing him up against the corridor wall, running his hands appreciatively down Curufin's body. As he cast aside his outer shirt, he paused briefly to thumb aside the open neckline of his underclothes. "Now that's an interesting tattoo," he remarked, "In a style I've seen but rarely. It reminds me of the work of the Laiquendi... The only other I know who adopted that style is my kinsman, third-born of Fëanor. Though, you are not he, with your dark hair - though you share the same haughty bearing."

Curufin tensed slightly. "Will that be a problem?" He asked. Even now, there were some who were averse to the presence of kinslayers in Nargothrond.

"No," the other nér responded, straightening the neckline of Curufin's smallclothes. His exploration drifted south, and Curufin gasped when his clever fingers slipped inside his breeches to twist at his cock. "And truthfully, I am eager to see to what use we can put that proud mouth of yours."

Itching to plunder that sweet-talking mouth, Curufin reached to untie his partner's mask. "Kiss me and find out," he began to say, but in a dizzying rush found his face pressed against the mosaic tiling of the wall. One hand trapped was trapped by the other nér, and with the other he braced himself against collapse. The length of the nér's body was taut against his back; even fully dressed, Curufin could feel the strength in his core, in the arms that held him captive.

"Isn't anonymity the point of the festival?" Quipped his partner, rutting against him. Curufin let his breathing settle, contemplating the mosaic pattern of the wall, sea greens and blues mimicking waves on the ocean. In the shuffle, the other nér’s hair had slipped from inside his hood. It lay over Curufin’s shoulder. Golden.

“When you said you were party to the planning-“ began Curufin, before that clever hand found its way back in his breeches, thumbing across his foreskin. His desire was undeniable now, almost painful. He gasped again when the other nér struck up a measured rhythm.

Curufin’s eyes drift to the hand that held him against the wall. Now at eye level, he could see the pair of rings on the index finger. Citrine and gold, unmistakable craftsmanship. He remembered those twin rings, and for whom he had made them.

He spoke again, voice hoarse but strong. "I fashioned a number of Midwinter pieces, including ones for the King. Tell me, from which smith did you procure them?"

Even though Finrod had mandated that guests come in disguise, the King himself had been easy to identify during the ball by the sparkle of the Nauglamír around his neck. Even his costume had been ostentatious, a full mask in the moon-faced likeness of a barn owl, a train of snow-white feathers to match. Curufin had seen him, during the ball, he had seen – a nér in a full mask, identified implicitly by a bit of jewelry. Yet now...

"Will that be a problem?" Finrod mimicked sardonically. He gave another cruel tug to Curufin's cock, light enough to grant small relief, hard enough to leave him wanting.

"No, I don't suppose there will be," Curufin replied.

"Good... good," Finrod said. He forced Curufin to his knees. The flagstones were cold beneath him. He made to touch himself, but Finrod knocked his hand away with a slippered foot. "Not yet; I think you can wait a bit longer."

Finrod kept one hand tangled in his braids, and used the other to undo his lacings. Curufin moved to tilt his mask up, but Finrod pushed it back down over his eyes. "Better leave that on, hmm?" He mused, freeing his length from his trousers. "I think we're reasonably alone here, but if you wish to chance the whole of Nargothrond knowing how eager you are to fall to your knees, that's your choice."

"The real question is," Curufin ground out from his position between Finrod's knees, "If you're here getting your cock sucked, who's running the kingdom?"

Finrod waved his free hand carelessly. "My man-at-arms, Edrahil. I begged a few hours of freedom by swapping disguises. He's a good sort, makes a decent False King, though I feel bad for leaving him covered in more suitors than the poor fellow know what to do with."

Curufin rolled his eyes. "What a task that must be, entertaining an entourage of willing morsels; I can see why you were desperate to escape."

"Let it never be said," laughed Finrod, "that I scorn bedding those of abrasive character in favor of those tame confections seeking to curry favor with a king."

Curufin responded by taking Finrod to the root and hollowing his cheeks. The surge of sensation forced Finrod's head back against the wall. With the chill of the tile seeping into his skull, he mused "Only you could suck a cock like you were delivering a divine punishment."

"If you come on my mask, I will bite your manhood clean off."

"Peace; Eru, you're precious. Someday I think we should replace that stick up your ass with something else, hmm? Pity I don't have any oil."

Nose pressed against golden curls, Curufin snorted. He swallowed once, deliberately, knowing before it happened how Finrod's eyes would fall shut, how his the muscles of his thighs would tense, how he would reflexively force Curufin further down his length.

Finrod worked his hands deeper into Curufin's braids, thoroughly undoing hours of Celebrimor's careful work. He thrust once, experimentally, into the wet heat of Curufin's mouth, and looked down as if to ask for permission. Curufin gave his assent by way of grabbing him about the hips and pulling him forward into another stuttering thrust. He seemed to get the cue then, manhandling Curufin a little as he pushed him back down onto his cock.

Curufin had little control over these proceedings, and certainly in other circumstances Finrod would have been a more accommodating bedfellow, but as it happened he simply braced his right arm against the wall and his left upon Curufin's shoulder, and drove himself into the waiting warmth like a man seeking shelter from a storm.

The music still filtered into the corridor, mixing with the soft sounds Finrod made and couldn't contain as he rose toward his peak. Finrod hadn't undressed - just let himself out of his laces - but Curufin was aware of his own disheveled state, cock hanging out the front of his trousers, shamefully hard, dripping for anyone to see. The scene was mostly obscured by Finrod's cloak, but beyond the orange silk lining Curufin could the flicker of shadows arching down the corridor from the ignorant passersby in the main hall. At that moment, he couldn't even bring himself to care.

The only warning Finrod gave was the tighting of his grip and the way his breath halted as he doubled over. He thrust once more, nearly choking Curufin, who swallowed around his girth, and stilled. Finrod sighed, pulling free.

"Touch yourself," he commanded as he tucked himself back into his laces. "No, on your knees," he amended as Curufin made to rise, "I want to see you at your king's feet."

Any other day, Curufin would have had something cutting to say, but he wanted so desperately to come that he held his tongue - for possibly the first and last time of his life - and fisted his neglected cock in his hand. "I won't last much longer," he murmured.

Finrod said nothing, just ran his fingers through the braids that were unspooling themselves down Curufin's back. Curufin turned his face into the crease of Finrod's hip as he came, muffling the hoarse cry he couldn't bite back. His seed spattered onto the flagstones, and the blue silk of Finrod's dancing slippers.

He was allowed a moment's rest before Finrod drew him back to his feet, helped him lace his clothes, corrected the angle of his mask.

"What about your slippers?" Curufin asked in a moment of contrition.

"I am the King," Finrod said. "I will simply walk back to my chambers. And the people will simply ignore my slippers." He paused for a moment, and then unhooked his cloak from about his shoulders. Throwing it over Curufin, he said "You, on the other hand, might benefit from discretion."

"This doesn't even match," protested Curufin, "And – and people will know I got it from you."

Finrod removed his mask, pressing the only kiss of the evening to Curufin's lips before swiftly replacing it. "No," he corrected, "if anything, they'll think you got it from Edrahil." He disappeared down the corridor and into the faint music.

Note:

I signed up for the masquerade prompt with one pairing in mind and one pairing only. I think Curufin and Finrod are the rare-pair of people fascinated by unhealthy relationships and games of cat and mouse. Based on my reading and interpretation of the Silmarillion, I always kind of thought of the relationship between Finrod and Curufin and Celegorm as a game of wits, with grudging respect paid while trying to pull the rug out from underneath the other party. Of course, this is a game that Finrod eventually loses.

A note to characterization: Finrod may seem overly dominant here, and while I think he generally has a sunny disposition, he has a strong spine and won't pass up a chance to knock his cousin down a peg or two. I hope it was obvious that Finrod seems to catch onto Curufin's identity even before they leave the ballroom.

I chose the kingfisher as Finrod's disguise for a number of reasons. It's glamorous plumage disguise its prowess as a hunter, as it is capable of diving into the water without casting a ripple. However, most die young from starvation and cold winters, so one wouldn't say they were an apex predator by any means. I was fascinated by the idea of Finrod, always beautiful, sometimes deadly, choosing something like the Kingfisher, perhaps as a morbid sort of joke with regards to his foresight of his own death. I suppose their greatest dissimilarity in character is that the kingfisher has a rather ordinary song.

The reasoning behind Curufin and his fox mask, I assume, is self-evident.

The bit about the music in the ballroom is as accurate a description as I can give as a musician. Glass does in fact distort sound as it reflects it. There are two non-music halls one can play in (in my experience): ones that consume your sound and make for a surreally lonesome viewing and playing experience, and ones that bounce too much sound back like a series of echoes. Personally, the latter was the vibe I was going for in this fic, the creation of a droning tone without a droning instrument. Not an important detail but I'm a nerd.

Also I think Curufin absolutely knows how to make instrument strings, he probably does it on principle for Maglor. Personally, he's not that interested in music, but he absolutely is petty enough to learn a skill simply to do it better than the rest of Tirion.

#tss2020advent14 #curufin #finrod #curufin/finrod #silmarillion #long post #this is longer than I treat I think

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shsl-otaku · 4 years ago

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Where Greed Goes, Despair Follows: Chp. 12

Y/N: Raven Sin of Despair

Pairing: Ban & Y/N

Anime: Seven Deadly Sins

Genre: Adventure, Romance

Warnings: None

Tag List: @asgleo16 @yuri-2018 @vialuciferscage @commanderawkward @chidayasays @misfitgirlwrites @amberfoxcosplay @catlover7722 @shiggi-trash @supremetodoroki @happynoodle @remikay313 @milkysamu @kageyamis

•••

"Oi. Shortie. Wake up."

Your eyes fluttered open to see a shirtless Ban facing you, pointing your cheek. Your eyes widened and you quickly sat up. Ban laughed at you, pointing at you mockingly.

"Haha, very funny," you said, rolling your eyes. You pouted and rubbed your eyes. You looked out the window to see that the sun was setting. You turned to look at Ban. "You didn’t get any clothes?"

He rolled his eyes. "You think that any of your guys’ clothes fit on me? I’m like twice as tall has the Captain."

You laughed. "Good point." You dug through your drawers to look for an outfit for the Sins’ "celebratory reunion party." Ban sat on the bed, waiting.

You turned to face him, growing slightly self conscious. "What are you still doing here? You’re not gonna go outside or something?"

"Awwh, are you shy?" Ban teased, raising an eyebrow.

Your face blazed red and you stuck your tongue out at him. "Idiot!"

"You're the one that came to bust me out of prison," Ban said, raising his eyebrows at you.

"You're the one who got yourself in prison! Which, by the way, was a stupid decision," you retorted, pointing a finger at him.

"Yeah yeah, whatever." He leaned on the bedpost and smirked. "Hurry up and get ready so that we can get me some clothes already," he said.

You groaned as your cheeks flushed red. "Yeah but don’t look!" You threw a pillow at him as he cackled.

"I won’t look, I won’t," Ban laughed. He flopped onto the bed face first and stayed there. You rolled your eyes and smiled at his silliness.

"Okay. I’m ready."

Ban got up from the blankets and yawned dramatically. "Took you long enough. I was already falling back to sleep under the... blankets..." His eyes widened as he looked at you.

"What?" You asked, raising a brow at him. You wore a black monochrome outfit consisting of an off-shoulders long-sleeved top with a corset, shorts with chains hanging from the sides, a belt, and 3 inch heeled boots. You fixed your hair to be nicer than usual and had matching earrings and a necklace.

"Um, hello? Ban?" You said, waving your hand in front of him. Ban blinked a few times and hid his face behind his hand.

"Come on, dumbass. We’re gonna get me some clothes," Ban said, standing up and walking to the door of your room.

"What are you gonna do? Mug someone and steal their clothes?" You asked sarcastically, rolling your eyes.

Ban turned to smile cheekily at you.

"Wait—no I was only joking. Ban. Ban!"

He was already opening the front door of the Boar Hat. "Hurry up, idiot!"

You groaned and stomped to the front door. "I’m coming, you dumbass!"

•••

"Okay, Elizabeth. Let me officially introduce you. This is Ban, the Fox Sin of Greed," Meliodas said, showing Ban, who now wore red leather pants and a matching jacket with steel beads embedded on them, to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was lying in a bed due to her injuries she got from a fight with a Holy Knight.

"Nice to meet you," Ban said, grinning as he sat on top of a barrel of beer.

You stood by Diane, watching the scene that was happening.

"Uh, where did you get that outfit?" Meliodas asked Ban. Your eyes widened and you and Ban made eye contact. You fake coughed into your fist.

"Uh—It was a fluke," Ban said quickly.

Not too long ago...

He was already opening the front door of the Boar Hat. "Hurry up, idiot!"

You stomped to the front door. "I’m coming, you dumbass!"

You strolled through town together, your thumbs hanging onto your belt. Ban sauntered next to you. You two appeared to be a very weird duo: a well-dressed woman and a man who was hardly dressed at all.

A few villagers that you passed would stare at you two—some making comments on how attractive you looked and that they had never seen you before, and others wondering why there is a half naked man walking with you.

"Hey, look at that! That guy’s naked," a man said, snickering to his friend. He wore red leather pants and a matching jacket that had steel beads embedded in it. You looked to see the 'I’m so done with this' expression on Ban’s face and cackled.

"'Hey, look at that! That guy’s naked,'" you mocked, cackling.

"That lady with him is pretty hot though," you heard him whisper again. You groaned and cringed at the comment. Ban huffed and turned around to look at the two. Specifically, the one with the red outfit. Even more specifically, the one who made that comment about you.

The man with the red leather outfit heard Ban turn around and he glared at him.

"What are you looking at, you swine?" He sneered at Ban. You raised a brow as Ban's eyes narrowed in annoyance. You two looked at each other, then turned to look at the red leather guy with matching smirks.

•••

"—Speaking of introductions," Ban said, trying to change the subject. You laughed at his attempt. "It’s been a long time, Diane."

"I’d have been perfectly happy if I’d gone 100 years without seeing you," Diane said, turning away from him. You laughed at her.

"I’m Elizabeth. Please pardon me for not getting up," Elizabeth said from her bed. Ban got up from the barrel and walked to her bedside.

"Not at all, Highness," he said. "Our order doesn’t stand on ceremony." He bowed, making you pout with a hint of jealousy. "Let’s all be friends, the five of us."

"Don’t you mean six, buddy?" Hawk said, going unnoticed by Ban.

Ban looked at you and raised an eyebrow. "Are you out of it, idiot? There are only five."

"That wasn’t me, dumbass," you yelled, swatting his arm.

"There are six! Are you sure you don’t have a screw loose, buddy?" Hawk said again.

"Who said that?" Ban asked, looking thoroughly confused.

"I did," Hawk said, standing by Ban’s feet.

Ban’s face instantly changed to pure terror. "THAT PIG IS TALKING," he screamed, jumping back from Hawk. You fell to your knees, laughing loudly.

"You’re freaking out over that now?!" Hawk yelled, making you laugh even harder.

"No way! A pig that can talk like a person?! That’s really crazy!" He yelled, backing away from Hawk. You tried to stop laughing, shoulders shaking from the effort.

"I’ve got it! You’re King, aren’t you?” Ban said, pointing at Hawk. "That must be it! You were cursed and you finally turned into a real pig!"

You were now laughing hysterically, tears falling from your eyes as you occasionally gasped for breath.

"Guess again," Diane said, deadpanning.

"King is dead. According to rumor, anyway," Meliodas said.

"I’m warning you. I’m no ordinary pig," Hawk huffed. "I’m Sir Hawk, Captain of the Order of Scraps Disposal!"

"Oh, WOW!" Ban exclaimed. "I’ve never heard of that order before!"

You could no longer laugh. You writhed on the ground as you continued to cry and gasp for breath.

"Have you made your introductions?" The doctor guy asked. "Eat your dinner before it gets cold!" He was the one who was actually hosting the party after you guys saved his daughter.

"Let’s eat," Meliodas said, smiling widely.

"Don’t start without us, Captain," Ban said, running to the table.

You smiled at the two as they ran to the table and started getting food like two giddy little kids. You got up from the ground and started dusting yourself off. Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling so much.

•••

"C’mon, don’t hold out on me, Captain Hawk," Ban slurred as he laid on Hawk, his feet dragging behind them. You covered your mouth to keep yourself from laughing as you watched them from a safe distance. Ban was absolutely wasted.

"Teach me, Master," Ban exclaimed. Your shoulders started shaking.

"Do something about this guy," Hawk shrieked. "Y/N help me!" You were

"Ban, don’t overdo it," Diane said.

You turned to look at her, cackling. "He’s already wasted! We're too late!"

"Y/N," Ban slurred, staggering over to you. He stumbled a few times until he finally rested his forehead on your shoulder, breathing heavily. You snickered.

"Y/N, have some beer," he yelled, forehead still resting on your shoulder. "Come on, it’s good!"

"Why? So I can end up like you?" You laughed, knocking the back of his head.

"It’s funnnn," Ban slurred. He looked up at you and smirked, his face flushed. "Unless you’re too scared~"

You felt your eye twitch at that. You scoffed and crossed your arms. "I’m not gonna drink, thank you very much. In case you’ve forgotten, we have to share a room and I would like to be sober while having to deal with you and your drunk ass."

"Nehhh. You’re no fun," Ban slurred. He grabbed your wrist and twirled you around while slightly staggering, causing you to laugh at him.

"Father! Look at the sky," Sennett exclaimed, pointing up at the sky.

You and Ban looked up to see shooting stars flying across the sky. Your eyes widened as you took in the beautiful sight. A smile slowly made its way onto your face.

"It’s just like a passage from one of Britannia’s old poems," Sennett’s father said in awe.

"'When shooting stars streak across the sky in the form of a cross, Britannia will face her darkest hour. This is a trial, preordained in the ancient times. And it will herald the beginning of a holy war between the guiding hand of light and the bloodline of the darkness.'"

#ban x reader #ban #ban fox sin of greed #sds #sds x reader #sds ban #seven deadly sins #seven deadly sins x reader #nanatsu no taizai #meliodas #elizabeth liones #diane

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cultureisdarkbeer · 4 years ago

Text

Road to All Things: Chapter 10 Irrevocable

Road to All Things

Tagging: @season4mulder @today-in-fic

Bacon sizzling. Her apartment filled with the smell and had Scully salivating. She opened her eyes and realized she had actually drooled on her pillow. The sheets on the other side were crumpled, but the bed was empty. Mulder was cooking. Scully tried not to smile, but she really couldn’t help herself. It almost felt like a dream,-too real to be real- but as she stepped in the shower and the hot water cascaded down her body, her sore muscles ached out the markings of Mulder’s path. It had been quite a night and very little of it was spent sleeping.

Dressed, Scully came into the kitchen and snagged a piece of the bacon. Salty and crisp, cooked to perfection. Mulder turned with the pan of scrambled eggs and scooped them up to carefully lay an equal amount in each dish.

“You got up too early.” He looked up at her and smiled sheepishly. “I was going to make you breakfast in bed.”

Scully poured herself some coffee and sat down, taking an approving sip. She raised an eyebrow. “You want me to go back to bed?”

The corner of his mouth raised. “Well, yeah, but not for bacon and eggs.”

Scully ignored him, although his words resonated sharply in her chest, and concentrated on eating her breakfast. Who knew Mulder knew how to cook breakfast? He surprised her every day. Mulder sat down beside her and started eating. The air between them was thick and alive. Every time their eyes met she felt their connection, only now it was concentrated into electrified intense explosions in her chest.

“You have plans today?” Mulder asked, grabbing the last piece of toast and using it to sop up his remaining eggs.

“I’m having lunch with my mother,” Scully replied solemnly, fidgeting in the chair and sending a fiery lock behind her ear. “I have to tell her. She knew I went through the procedures. It’s not a conversation I’m looking forward to.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Mulder, I’m capable of telling her.”

“I know that.” He looked at his watch. “What time am I picking you up?”

Scully’s heels clicked loudly against the uneven pavement approaching her mother’s house. It was a cool day, yet Mulder had perspiration beading along his hairline. “Are you nervous?” she asked.

Mulder released a humored breath and pressed in the button to ring the bell. “Your mother and I are friends, what would I be nervous about?”

Not to anyone’s surprise, Maggie’s face glowed and her smile grew extra wide at the sight of Mulder. “Fox, how good of you to come,” she spurted merrily.

Scully helped Maggie serve lunch while Mulder squirmed in his chair, slurping his tea and as Scully could see, trying his best not to break anything. On their second trip to the kitchen and Mulder happily munching on a sandwich, Maggie cornered Scully between the sink and the drain rack. “So what brings the two of you here? Might there be some news?”

“Mom,” Scully started, but then cracked, not able to hold back the disappointment, “It didn’t take. I’m not going to be a mother.” Her mother had looked so excited that it almost broke Scully to see the features in her face fall and her shoulders slump.

“Honey,” Maggie said, bringing her into her arms, letting her cry.

The ice maker thumped from the fridge alerting them to its presence and Scully sniffled. “I’m all right. I’ll be okay.”

“Dana,” she said, as Scully backed away from their embrace. “You’re allowed to not be okay. How is Fox handling this? I’m here if either of you ever want to talk. It wouldn’t hurt to talk with a priest. Even a counsellor. There’s couples counseling..”

“Mom, mom,” Scully hugged her again. “Thank you. I know. Mulder and I don’t have that kind of relationship. We are good friends.”

“Dana, don’t be naive. You asked him to be the father of your child. He was preparing for that and now he has to accept that the outcome has changed. He’s not going to let on because he cares for you, because he’ll want to be strong for you, but he’s mourning too.”

Scully felt the wrath of her decisions needling its way inside. “I-I feel like I disappointed you. You’ll have no grandchildren from me.”

“Honey, I have grandchildren and it’s not to say that you will never have children. God will answer your prayers in ways you may not be able to imagine. Never give up on a miracle.”

Scully squinted and tilted her head slightly. “That’s the same thing Mulder said to me.”

“He’s a wise man, Dana. You should listen.” Maggie lifted the tray of freshly baked cookies and headed out to the dining room. “Let’s go, we’re being rude.”

Maggie poured the coffee and Mulder snagged two cookies. “Mrs. Scully, this was incredible. I almost can’t eat another bite,” he said with his mouth full, the chocolate oozing from the corner of his lips. He wiped it with his pinky laughing at his eagerness, using a napkin to clean the rest off his face.

After dessert and idle conversation, they stood to leave, Scully hugged her mother and walked ahead to the car. Maggie pulled Mulder aside. “I know this is hard for you too. I know you wanted this baby.”

Mulder tightened his upper lip and his shoulders drooped giving the appearance of a bird nesting on a branch. “I want what’s best for Scully. Right now I’m just making sure she knows I’m here and I support her.”

“I know, Fox,” she said, rubbing his forearm, her warm touch providing solace. “You and Dana are very good at carrying your burdens, but no matter the arrangement, your heart was preparing for you to be a father.”

His eyes burned. Looking into Maggie staring woefully at him everything seemed very real. The pain cutting through his heart and mind, demanding attention, stinging with every breath he took.

If Scully couldn’t have a child, then neither could he. The onesies, the star mobile, and the soft yellow blanket would remain tucked in the back of his closet to gather layers of dust. Maggie held out her arms, he bent down to hug her and leaned his head on her shoulder. Her comforting hand stroked his hair and squeezed his back. Breathing in her Wind Song perfume he could almost hear the mediocre wedding band and feel the pain from pinched cheeks telling him how much he had grown.

She pulled back with a reassuring smile. “Don’t let this get between the two of you, Fox. God is listening and he will provide.”

Days Later..

A few drops of crimson on cotton and Scully had to draw back tears. It should not have been a surprise. The natural result of her and Mulder’s attempts. The answer to a prayer. She knew it would arrive eventually, but even though she was expecting it, she wasn’t expecting its symbolism to hurt so much. She was at work, in a cold metal stall of the lady’s restroom. Her body trembled as she sucked in a breath and headed out. There was no reason to get upset anymore. There was nothing to be done. No baby. A future of great uncertainty.

When she returned to the office, Mulder lifted his head away from his computer screen. “I’ve been researching reports of a vampiric witch roaming Olympic National Park.”

“Fangs and all?” Scully asked, suddenly amused, and relieved to send her mind elsewhere. That was what she needed, to focus on the work. “Acts like an ordinary person, has no discernible creature features,” Mulder explained and she could hear that underlying excitement. “At night, however,” Mulder said, putting a little sing song for dramatic effect at the end of his voice that put a smile on Scully’s face, “it prowls the graveyards in search of entrails so it can create a libation that allows it to shapeshift. If it cannot get the entrails it needs it hunts the bedrooms of the local townspeople.”

“And local law enforcement? What’s there take on this?”

Mulder picked up a pencil to twiddle between his fingers and propped his feet up on the corner of the desk. “Their take is it’s your run of the mill serial killer that is looking to distract everyone by imitating the myth.”

“Even if a vampire witch did exist, why would it need to shapeshift?”

Mulder sat up in his chair and leaned forward. “Those that believe, think it does so to combat being enslaved… by aliens.”

Scully stopped reviewing her lab results and lowered the page to get a good look at Mulder to make sure he wasn’t putting her on.

“I understand your doubts… and if you’re open to it, we could take a trip to Bali,” he suggested and Scully could see the emerald glow in his hazel eyes. “You could bring your snorkel and we could learn the roots of the lore.” Mulder rose from his chair to face her. He cupped her cheek and locked their eyes, gently swiping at the stain from one of the twin tears that had trickled down her face. “We can step away from this case if you’re not ready,” he said in low tones, “There’s another case within driving distance.”

Scully slowly shook her head and took a half step back out of his reach, her eyes lowering from his gaze. She stiffened. It was the first time they had touched since their night together. The first inkling either of them gave that anything at all had transpired between them or about their loss. With nothing left to do or say they just pushed forward.

“There’s no need to travel to Bali. We’ll do both cases.” She joined his eyes only for a moment, raising the file in her hand. “I need to get these to the lab. There are further tests I’d like them to conduct and while I’m down there they asked for my help. Can you arrange our airfare?”

“Sure,” Mulder murmured with a concerned look on his face that almost made Scully sprint rather than walk out of the office. All she really needed right now was to work.

Ten Days Later...

“Will you be eating tonight?” Mulder asked, skulking around the back area of the office, rummaging through the cabinets. It was all very curious. Was he looking for something or hiding it?

“What? Yes, of course,” Scully answered, his questions as peculiar as his behavior. She walked over to where he was hovering and placed her notes from the last meeting in her drawer. His stare unnerved her, she could feel the pressure of his question like an overinflated balloon pressing against a bed of nails.

“I was thinking of ordering a pizza and I was thinking that I’ll probably have a few slices left over,” he said, cooly.

“I’m sorry, tonight is not a good night for me.”

“Okay.” Mulder said, his bottom lip poked out past his top. “Another night.” He walked back to his desk and shook his mouse, taking the screen out of safe mode. Great, he was hurt.

“I’ve decided to start making healthier food choices,” she offered as an alternative excuse. It happened to be true. That and avoiding being with him alone at the late hours of the evening.

“I can stop at the pet store on my way home. Pick up some rabbit food.”

He wasn’t giving up. She walked around his desk to hand him his summary notes and Mulder minimized his screen. A branding iron couldn’t have made her hotter then what he had been looking at. “No need to hide it. I saw the screen. Research?” she asked, tapping her foot with her hands at her hips.

He rotated the chair so he could look her dead in the eye, crossing his arms. “What if I can track down more vials? What if there is viable ova out there?”

She had been incorrect. A steam engine was hotter, and she could almost feel that steam rising from her ears. “And today you decide to pick up this crusade? You were there through everything that had happened with Emily and you never said a word.”

He ran a hand through his hair and scratched the back of his head. “You’re right.”

“You took that chance away from me.” Red lightning filled her sclera, her irises burning hot blue flames. “Tell me Mulder, have you really asked yourself why you agreed to be my donor?”

Mulder bolted from the chair. His jaw rocked and he lurched forward as if to challenge, but then left the office with her standing there, alone, wrapped in a translucent blanket of uncomfortable silence.

That Night..

Scully’s knuckles dropped three solid thuds against the hard wood. Against all judgement and possessed by what she didn’t know, Scully stood fidgeting, excuses at the ready. She reviewed her apology speech in her head hoping he would forgive her earlier cruelty. The heavy brass deadbolt clanked back into its shell and Mulder’s door rushed open. He initially looked surprised, but as their eyes met, the tension before was replaced with a new heat. Her heart ached from the distance she had created. She needed to feel their impenetrable bond every time their eyes met. He sent a hand through her hair and pulled her into the apartment, kicking the door closed with his foot. Her back slammed against it so hard she lost half her breath. The other half was taken by Mulder as he covered her mouth with his and sucked it away. His long thin muscled body hard against her. His tongue demanding the fire from her body. He tasted like midnight and shadows, mysterious and sublime. The smell of rain, thunder, gunpowder. The Darkness coated them, an old black and white played softly from the television, pulsing its hues around them. Their bodies so immediately intertwined and so caught up in passion the clothes on the lower half of her body peeled off almost by telepathy. The hasty sound of his zipper burned her with desire. With a swift thrust, he was inside her, her nails digging into the soft cotton fabric of his shirt, hoping to withstand the pleasure of his cock hard and heavy, reaching into the most salacious and esoteric parts of her. Mulder was so thick and long that when he pushed all the way into her, she could feel the tip brushing the end of her, demanding even more, while his hard pubic bone pounded against her clit sending shockwaves of its own. He grabbed the curve of her behind and drove steadily into her sleek, tight canal, undulating his hips with solid, rhythmic thrusts. Oh that luxurious wonderous cock. It stretched her wide, and she melded so tight around it. Like everything else on Mulder, lanky and strong-willed and needing of her attention. And what she needed was their raw, rough, passionate connection to take her away from the peril and torment that had quickly become her life.

Scully strained, desperate to thrust against him, to match his pace, but he had her pinned to the door. Mulder controlled the motion, controlled her pleasure, and she willingly surrendered, loving the devoted look in his eyes, the way his body shook in her arms as he did. The heat of their breaths filling the gaps between them, wrapping them inside a steamy cocoon. They were forgiving the other, caring and desperate to heal. What they both failed to express with words, their bodies could perfectly articulate; making it clear just how badly they yearned for one another.

Mulder groaned, his fingers gripping hard into the flesh of her ass, pistoning in and out in a quick barrage of strokes. Without warning she skyrocketed to a peak, her muscles clenching and releasing in quick succession as she came hard around him. The sensations kept going, lingering, building again and Scully moaned aloud, the pleasure so intense, almost too much to take. A desperate sound that was almost a growl rose deep in Mulder’s throat and he quickly joined her. How she relished that feeling of him coming, the throbbing contractions at his base, vibrating his shaft to fill her hot and fast.

He kissed her slowly, gently, his swollen lips brushing over hers again and again, pushing against them so his tongue could caress hers. A smile grew at the corners of his mouth as his lips softly departed. “Did you miss me?” he asked, smug and rhetorically. He headed to the bathroom and called out, “You’re not going to come and go, are you?”

Unbeknownst to him, Scully had already picked up the crumpled clothes at her feet and dressed. She wanted to say something, but she had nothing to say. She didn’t want to discuss it, she just wanted to leave. So she left, Mulder calling her name from the bedroom. She knew she was running from something she had to soon face, but what was she to tell him? That depression filled her the moment it was over until she was drowning in it? That the ineffectual absurdity of the act plummeted down like a cement block tethered to her ankle, sending her deeper towards the bottom until she was unable to see any daylight? The button of the elevator lit as her manicured nail caused it to recede. The floors denoted their names with each illuminated number and Scully’s shoe began to tap as if it might move it along. Nervously, she felt for her keys. When she didn’t feel the cold metal or hear their familiar jingle she checked her other pockets, over and over. Digging and patting. Shit. They must have fallen out on the floor in Mulder’s apartment. The hallway felt as if it had stretched walking back to number 42, her heels rapping a foreboding echo. The loud churning above the groaning radiator pipes she soon realized was the nerves of her stomach.

The door not yet locked by Mulder, she turned the knob hoping to sneak them out, but Mulder poked his head from the kitchen. “I’m heading to bed, suddenly I’m feeling very drained,” he said, his tongue bulging the side of his right cheek.

Not quite sure how to proceed she followed him into the kitchen and watched him pour himself a glass of water from the faucet. Even though years had passed since his episode of grand hallucinations, he still hesitated right before he let it slide down his throat. He took another glass from the cabinet. “Water?”

Scully shrugged and Mulder filled it. The glass cool in her hand. He left her in the kitchen and paused before opening his bedroom door, turning his head to lock their eyes and send an irresistible electric pulse to her heart. “Coming?”

Scully woke to the rising and falling of Mulder’s chest against her back, their breaths falling naturally in unison. They were clasped to each other, Mulder sharing his body heat as easy as he shared his heart. Yet she felt like poison ivy covered her skin, and an invisible belt cinched at her neck. Lately, her eyes fluttered open in the mornings to his embrace or thoughts of him, his work dominated her, every opinion, hypothesis and theory, challenged and cross referenced by his own beliefs, and at night her body craved him, and in her dreams her mind played in a future it dared not venture in the light. Mulder had leaked in every crack and crevice of her life.

Like a wolverine or stealth fighter jet, Scully stealthily snuck out of Mulder’s apartment without him stirring. By the time she drove across town and showered, she was already late. She picked out another turtleneck sweater, they were both tearing through their collections given their propensities to play Dracula on each other’s neck. Luckily there was never any exsanguinating, just a few bursted capillaries between good friends. Last night she didn’t recall either of them doing an imitation of a Hoover, but she preferred not to take her chances. Shuffling into her coat at 8:50am meant Mulder would have to cover for her if Skinner decided to request their assistance. Before even stepping into the hallway, a newspaper caught her eye. One she did not subscribe, but what grabbed her attention was the photograph and the article about God’s healing power. Down the hallway she scanned, but she was the only one blessed with the paper and no paperboy to thank.

Hours later, Scully returned to the office having met the miracle boy and his family, and the cigarette smoking man looking for a light and salvation. Mulder hadn’t returned, and most likely, if she had to guess, had gotten caught up with The Lone Gunman trying to trace the email address it all had originated from. That probably took them into who knows how many directions and conspiracies. She didn’t pick up the phone to dial Mulder and tell him of the experience she had this morning. Something stopped her. Was it that she wanted to deal with this issue without his overbearing perspective, or that she feared the Smoking Man might hold true to his threat of dying with the technology, or perhaps she was rebelling, their relationship smothering her as she struggled to understand how to live the rest of her life knowing now she would not bear children.

Not wanting to deal with any of those possibilities, she picked up the phone. Then hung it up. That might not be wise to call him directly if it was a setup. Instead, she traced the number to see for herself where evil resided.

The Smoking Man had not lied to her about Samantha being dead. Not this time around anyway. She believed him that he was dying after seeing him a few times. Was it that far fetched that at his deathbed he decided to leave those that remained a cure for cancer? Was it that unbelievable that he trusted her with the science and not Mulder? Armed with a wire and a need for her own answers she dialed the phone and left a message on Mulder’s machine full of half truths. It was a family emergency after all. She just didn’t say specifically which side of the family.

Mulder’s voice rang true into her answering machine, beckoning her with throaty emotion. It felt like utter betrayal to leave him in the lurch and plan a weekend getaway with his arch nemesis. It was almost like something outside of her body was driving her.

“Hello.” Mrs. Scully answered her phone and Mulder felt the pangs of dread if she didn’t know where Scully really was. The last thing he wanted to do was have her worrying, but he had to know.

“Mrs. Scully,” Mulder replied, “It’s Mu-Fox. How are you?”

“I’m just fine Fox, is everything okay? And please, call me Maggie.”

“Scully had left a message on my answering machine about a family emergency?”

“She did? That’s odd. No. I spoke with her two days ago. I asked her about you, did she tell you?”

“Not yet, but thank you. So you haven’t seen or spoken with Scully yesterday or today?”

“No. Do you think she is in trouble?”

“She didn’t answer her cell phone when I called, but she left a message on my answering machine saying she would be gone for a few days.”

“That is strange. She didn’t tell me anything about it. If I hear from her you’ll be the first to know.”

“It’s just not like her to lie to me.”

“It’s not another man, if that’s what you’re concerned about. There’s only you Fox.”

Mulder chuckled. “Thanks. My mind is at ease.”

“Just give her a little time, she’ll come around.”

“Okay, Maggie. Thanks.”

Two Days Later..

How could she be so naïve? Three whole days. No contact. To discover she willingly went with him . Spent the night. His fists clenched against the steering wheel, he was a time bomb about to explode. He took a breath to calm himself. “Scully, I know you had good intentions.” He sent his tongue hard into his cheek, then wet his lips, shook his head. “I know how convincing he can be.” He gritted his teeth and wrung the plastic at the steering wheel. “I know all about believing his lies. I just- I wish you would have come to me.”

“I already explained to you that I couldn’t.” She looked at him and he nodded, sending his tongue back tight into his cheek. “This was something I felt I had to pursue,” she added, then looked back out the passenger window at the darkening sky. They were only a couple miles from her apartment. A few more traffic lights and they’d be there.

Hm. He squirmed in his seat and fought to keep his cool. “I would imagine. It’s a doctor’s dream to be able to cure any patient.” He paused and stopped himself from rolling his eyes. “For you to have that kind of power. Perhaps he knows you better than I thought he did.” Mulder breathed in sharply, and held it a few seconds, shaking his head, then spewed, “Then again, you two have been seeing a lot of each other lately.”

Scully sat quietly, crossing her legs so that her back was almost to him. Her eyes were daggers, but she kept them pointed at the window. He instantly regretted his words, but he also couldn’t help but think, what if something irreversible had happened? Dammit he always had to push it. “You said he had inflammation on the brain?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Scully’s face softened and she sent her eyes to her lap. “Yes, from the brain surgery. He said he only has months to live. Sounds like the surgery was less than successful.”

“Unless it was too successful,” Mulder added. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. They should change the subject. “I read the emails between yourself and Cobra. At least The Smoking Man and Cobra. Cobra had quite a crush on you.”

“What?” Now she turned to face him.

“Yes, and the correspondence made it sound as though you might reciprocate.”

“Mulder, I knew nothing..”

“I know.. but for a split second, I almost believed that you did.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Mulder said nothing. Deciding against mentioning that once The Lone Gunman proved her email had been hijacked, his next picture in his mind was her being held against her will. How wrong he had been.

“Mulder,” Sculled said, laying her hand on top of his, softening his edges. “Why am I still alive?”

He sighed and squeezed her hand. “I really believe the plan was for you to be killed. I think he looked into your eyes and it was just as you said. He longed for something he could never have. You made him a better person.” He took his eyes off the road to look into her own. “I know how you’re able to do that.” He sighed again and looked up at the sky to see the stars still shining, blurring as his eyes welled up. He wanted to hold her close and push her away simultaneously.