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themotherofhorses · 7 months ago

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simon riley x fem!reader

warnings: explicit language. soft smut. breeding kink.

On the continuation of my “Soft!Ghost” ideas:

Imagine lovemaking with Simon.

Simon has you—his pretty girl—tucked inside his bedroom, sandwiched between him and the mattress. Right in his arms, where you rightfully belong.

(In his arms, you’re protected. Safe. Nothing could possibly ever harm you.)

Of course, the intensity of sex differs with his moods. On some days, he is a delicious mix of dominant and aggressive, claiming your body with a certain roughness that reflects how possessive he is over you. But, on other days, all Simon wants is to possess your heart and soul, in some desperate frenzy to stake his claim over them.

You were made for Simon. In his eyes, that is the truth. How could it not be? Every inch of you—from the curve of your hipbones and the tanalizing way your bottom lip shines with a fresh layer of gloss to how your beautiful, doe eyes twinkle anytime he is near—is all his. You’re irresistible.

And when you lay beneath him, completely bare, ripe for the taking, whining out for his touch, what else could he possibly do than worship you?

One arm keeps him steadily up, towering over you; the other cradles your soft cheek against his palm. His thumb strokes along your cheekbone. He’s gentle, smiling, even chuckling. “I’ve got you, baby,” he purrs in that deep, hoarse accent. “Shhh, darlin’. C’mon, lemme take care of ya.”

“ Si…”

Your body stiffens as Simon gently slides himself into your pussy, until he’s buried balls deep; he lets out a breathless “fuck” as you tighten around his cock, followed by a low groan. “Perfect for me, aren’t ya?” He pauses, leaning to kiss you for a moment.

“That’s my good girl,” he mumbles against your lips, letting his tongue entangle with yours. “So fucking good for me.”

His hips slap against yours at a slow, gentle pace—matching his thrusts. “C’mon, baby, fuck.” You whine in response, arching your back, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders while your pretty, teary eyes hold his gaze.

“ Simon…! ”

Simon chuckles, takes one of your hands in his, and flattens it against your lower stomach. “Feel that, love?” You gasp, nodding. There is an unmistakable bulge in your belly; you can feel it. “Aye, that’s me.” Your cunt takes him so unbelievably well; he cannot stop pistoning his cock in and out of you.

God, he thinks, you were made for him.

You were fucking made for me.

The only thing that could possibly be better than this is—

“Lemme make you a mum,” Simon suddenly says, groaning. “God, baby, need to make you one.” His fingers find your nipple, pinching it before rubbing it back and forth, causing you to squeal. “—make these pretty tits all swollen. You’d be so bloody gorgeous, love.”

Simon wants a family, so fucking badly. He is beyond desperate for one — ever since he looked into your eyes for the first time, and saw his future staring back. At the time, the feeling was confusing and disorienting….

…now, it all made sense.

“Yeah?” Mid-thrust, he kisses you again, swallowing your gasps and tiny whimpers as he splits you open on his cock. “You gonna let me make you a mum?” Another thrust. “C’mon, baby, use your words, my girl.”

You nod, unable to muster up a response to your husband; instead, your mouth falls open—pretty, pink lips dropping into a perfect “o." “P-Please, Si…” your soft, little voice whines out, stirring up more heat in Simon.

(He loves your voice. So bloody fucking much. You could ask him to raze the Earth to a burnt crisp, and he’d do it for you.)

“Please what, baby?”

The sensation of his massive cock overwhelms you. You fall slack as an orgasm rips through your body, robbing away all of your inhibitions; all you can do is let out another high-pitched moan, praying your body gives him the answer that your voice cannot.

“Fuck — gonna breed you, baby. Gonna have my kid in you by the weekend.”

It’s a promise. His thrusts continue, in the exact same measure as before, not wanting to fuck you, but to make love to you. “You’re so bloody beautiful.” He’s gonna cum. Cum deep inside you; give you the family you deserve.

“Look at ya — bloody work of art.”

Flushed cheeks; breasts sweaty and heaving with countless love marks scattered around the skin; your fingers card softly through his hair, pulling him closer to you. He’s a lucky bastard, indeed.

“I love you."

Simon repeats those three words— “I love you. I love you. I love you.” —against your mouth, feeling his entire body tauten before he spills his cum inside you.

I love you. You saved me. You’re everything to me.

You smile up at him, flushed all prettily, and he flashes a smile back, taking a moment to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. God, he fucking loves you.

“I love you,” he says again…and again…and again.

notes: my attempt at writing smut for the first time in months. if it sucks, it's cause im in my late luteal phase.

#vic writes 🧸#call of duty #cod mw #cod ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x fem!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x fem!reader

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acid-ixx · 24 days ago

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Sigh.. We all should've have chosen both wally and conner...i can't imagine the faces of batfam

how to be a heartbreaker! (again &. again concept)

ft. yandere! wally west, starfire, roy harper, artemis, conner kent, bart allen x gn! neglected! reader w/ platonic yandere! batfam.

— masterlist !

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: age gaps but there isn't nsfw (except for conner) and the reader is described to be older than 20 in this concept and was far ignored longer than in the og story.

a/n: happy (late) halloween! 🎃 i'm praying to the gods, please don't let this post flop, i'm in my flop era fr! because i am not writing allat for it to get ignored 💔 (just kidding i love u guys, especially to all those who comment! i read all your comments even if i'm unable to reply at times). if you guys are wondering why i didn't include all the characters, it's because this is just a drabble and if anyone likes more concepts about this, please send in asks! anyways, enjoy this sweet harem au hehe.

anon, you are so right. but let me raise you this: getting together with all your siblings' teammates. i'm not just saying wally and conner, no! i'm saying the young justice, the teen titans, all their friends and old pals— the moment you come of age, hide under the radar for a few years and eventually meet them at random. you'd be giving dick, hell, even bruce, your father, mind you, a run for his money when it comes to a player reputation amongst the siblings, and the best part (or worst part for you once it's too late...) of it all is the fact that you don't even have to keep all your little relationships with them a secret when they never once bat an eye on you until recently.

the funny thing is: you didn't even have to try to attract them. it was all them approaching you at random days and getting to know you better, with you, at your lowest point, accepting any medium of attention. at first it was them feeling pity, perceptive to how your siblings chose to focus on them rather than you, but now it's them chasing after you because you're so interesting in every aspect; even if you find yourself average at best compared to your talented siblings.

maybe it's because you bring the normal out in them, or because you display such raw emotions and are an entirely separate being from vigilantism. either way, they find themselves thinking about you more often than their missions and that's harrowing.

and because you're such a pathetic, wet cat, so desperate for love; all the people you hit on develop a savior complex because of you. i don't just mean them finding you cute, or interesting, absolutely not. i mean you're constantly being thrown around like a prince or princess who needs a knight in shining armor to catch them when they fall, except you're constantly being carried in some other's arms even when you can stand on your own two feet.

you just have that special quality in you that makes everyone fall head over heels. it makes them fantasize scenarios of a home life with you; they could provide better than your current ones do, for sure. you'd be spoiled to death with kisses to your face, hands wrapped around your body, and a guarantee that you'll never feel alone or unsafe in a world full of danger that lurks around the corner.

that same quality may have also been your downfall.

wally west doesn't mind training all day to become stronger and faster to save you from every danger that lingers near your presence. hell, he doesn't complain anymore whenever dick assigns him some missions if that means he can pass by your room by the manor as an after-mission reward, loving it when you smile at him with the gentlest quip of your mouth as he hastily wraps you in his arms with the same amount of speed it took to run to your house. wally cherishes watching you in slow-time because he could worship every little part of his darling's expression, quelling the boredom he had for the entire day. he wants to be fast enough for his babe, not only just to impress them but because he wants them to see him as the only reliable individual capable enough of protecting and flirting with you. not everyone can measure up to his speed, no? nobody could keep up with this man's speed and he's known for taking you away whenever you're with someone else just to get a sliver of your time.

starfire's emotions become ablaze and so does her powers every time she notices one of your other sweethearts becoming too touchy with you, unable to comprehend why you're not even in a relationship with her yet. but you're too sweet and you bury yourself in her curly tresses to calm her down. at first that's enough! she doesn't understand the concept of physical affection and the boundaries that come with it as much as others but boy does she crave it when it comes to you. it doesn't help the fact that you're incapable of sometimes denying her affections and letting yourself be constantly kissed by the girl in every part of your face. she's very warm, though, and her curiosity about things foreign to her, paired with you teaching her more about your world, makes starfire adore her sweetheart's willingness and patience; it simply warrants another passionate kiss in the mouth from the pink-haired alien.

roy harper brings out a more rebellious side of you that you never imagine yourself sporting. his experiences in life and his rebellious relationship towards oliver queen, his adoptive father shapes him to who he is now; and he'd be damned if you drown yourself in endless misery like he did. yeah, it doesn't help that lian loves you as much as he does and he thinks you're the perfect match for him, watching you play with his little girl and care for him whenever he's injured does wonders for the fantasies that plays itself in his head, all scenarios of coming home to you after a hard day of work, just to see you and lian greet him the moment he enters your shared house with him, kissing him in the lips, telling him about the wonderfully prepared dinner you and lian whipped up for him, and watching your eyes widen at another bouquet of your favorite flowers he bought home for you. you're not in a relationship with him at all but can't a man just dream?

why dick wonders every damn time one of his friends ditch another one of their hangouts is a question never to be answered. but it's been noticeable these days that he's starting to suspect something wrong at play, especially since he's noticed tension within his comrades, and as a leader he couldn't just simply ignore the tense glares, insults to their being, and the hushed whispers; all pet names, a mantra they're used to calling you.

but dick doesn't take it seriously until it's too late.

that his baby bird long fell off the nest years ago, taken into the arms of whom he thought to be his most trusted comrades, thoroughly loved more than he could've given you. and it's not just one person smitten with you; it's an entire harem of people unwilling to share you just as much as dick who'd soon realize that he shares far more similarities with you; a heartbreaker, yet a caretaker at heart.

it's no wonder why everybody wants you for themselves. it's not only your family who loves to hear your precious laughs and gentle hands; that sets the jealousy ablaze in his heart.

jason never thought that artemis carried a softer version of her. but he's been picking up telltale signs of her donning dangling keychains, all cute doodles of her no doubt, and necklaces he's sure he's seen around the manor at times. it's not her typical style, and she never really found the appeal with cute things like crochet plushies of her; yet the designs are oddly reminiscent to someone he always called his angel. but whenever he tries to bring the topic up, he only receives a snarky reply, a protective hold on her things, and a familiar phrase telling him to mind his business. he isn't aware of how she met you one time after you've nearly been crushed to death by a car accelerating at you, if not for her taking the blunt end of the hit. ever since that day you've been seeing her regularly by alleyways watching over you as your guardian and giving her tokens of appreciation, albeit small, that she keeps as her prized properties; ones nobody has special access to touch. she's not much of a heckler for physical touch, but she occasionally gives you a head scratches and the rare peck to your lips.

jason doesn't like how jealous he is towards her, because of how the would-be stranger treats her and why he can't seem to pinpoint the primal urge to rip those little trinkets from her. sometimes he feels like a man possessed, eyeing the keychains and the random pastel bracelets longer, all warranting the same angered glare artemis reciprocates.

he swore he's seen them before, splayed across the random rooms in the manor, some even being in the library; things he loved to fiddle with whenever he was bored out of his mind. so seeing them being proudly displayed by artemis triggers visceral reactions within him.

but could jason do anything about it when he's part of the reason why your roster consists of your family's comrades? no.

if you couldn't get attention from your family, you'll just have to get it through their affiliations. yeah, some are older than you, but god are you treated like divinity with just how willing they are to kneel upon your feet just to gain a crumb of your attention. even the strongest lay weak whenever you look at them with disappointment or sadness with your wide, captivating eyes.

all the times tim drake would be with teammates, he'd notice how their eyes look at him expectantly, as if waiting for another one to accompany them. at first he ignores it, but the longer their strange behavior persists, he begins opening a case about his close friends.

he soon realizes that conner has a record of mentioning "his cute little darling," and how he'd brag to his other friends about how left his jacket and all his favorite t-shirts in your room and how you're always drowning in his scent— always quiping about just how much it smells like you and how he enjoys wearing all his clothes right after you wear them just to get a whiff of your presence in his life; you being his motivation to fight against crime just so he could see your pretty face and tell him you're proud of him. undeniably, he's the one who spends the longest time with you and he's prideful about it, being the only man with the privilege to touch every part of your skin, wishing to melt against you just so he'd be branded in your body like how your name is the only sweet thing he can taste in his mouth.

it's not only conner, but bart allen would bounce around more often demanding that it's unfair how conner gets everything and how he gets little time with you, with just how often you get thrown around by all your love interests! he'd admit just how cute he finds you whenever you coo about him and play with his messy locks of hair whenever it's his time of the week to visit you right after missions. spending time with him is arguably the most casual part of your life, because he loves to help you with your daily errands despite him complaining about the same tasks to his other teammates... he says it's because you stimulate every part of his brain to find satisfaction in every small action that you do, but it's not only that, rather, he wishes to gain all your praises that you sing for him, never finding boredom in your presence at all.

tim's the first one who pieces the jigsaw puzzle together, but he's thoroughly astounded either way at just how smitten they are with you. it makes him open an entirely different case that's just about you; where he discovers how you're connected with nearly everyone close to him and his siblings.

it makes him wonder what makes you all the more interesting. it's how exactly he spirals into a periodic cluster of events investigating your entire life and drowning himself in work, terabytes of files each analyzed carefully— all about you, your past, and present situation. tim drake never saw a person this admired that much, so much so that online stalking lead to physical stalking.

all your dm's are spammed by countless people, and you don't even take the initiative to reply because you'd be too busy being tossed around by the time the vigilante tracks your location. it's honestly amusing at first but the longer tim become a third perspective to your life, the more he craves your physical presence, just to get a taste of dissecting all the thoughts in your brain. but with just how often their friends fight over you, it'd be hard to rip you away from the clawing hands of all your admirers.

that's why he sets a plan into motion. if he couldn't have you to himself, then he could at least share you with the closest people he had in his life— not with all the strangers who think they know his younger sibling better than he does.

a simple document, many actually, so documents, were all he needed, with printed stacks of a4 paper compiling each and every known fact about you.

all in the name of love, he'd give it out to every member of the family in quick succession.

a hefty reminder to take back what once was theirs.

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if-loves · 3 months ago

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reverence

// Yandere Capitano

sum: when a man stands in front of an altar, is it a god he prays to?

wc: 822

warnings: probably OOC capitano

a/n: capitano + worship is everything to me / also i didn’t really go so hard on the yan i think?? maybe it’s been too long or maybe idk what im talking about

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

Capitano has never been one to pray. He respects the Tsaritsa, he is thankful to her even, but he is merely not the kind of man to worship, to pray. He is a righteous man, yes, and he does not need to rely on a higher being to be that.

Capitano has seen war. He knows war, far better than most, but he has never found the need to make desperate pleas to a god, an archon that can do nothing. He’s far more content in placing those bets on himself.

Yet he finds himself in a dilapidated church, hidden deep in the woods, the cold Snezhnayan wind seeping through the cracks and holes of the building, the ends of his coat fluttering along with it. With calm steps, he walks towards the crumbling statue on the broken altar, noting the vague resemblance to the Tsaritsa.

With a gentleness unbefitting of him, he closes his eyes and kneels with his head lowered, a hand on his heart. He does not know how to pray, so he hopes this will suffice.

Capitano rarely kneels, for there are very few he deems worthy of his respect. But when he kneels in front of this altar, he does not kneel only to show respect; he kneels to worship, to adore, and most importantly, to love, and none of it is for the Tsaritsa or anyone else for that matter - because in his heart, there is only room for you.

In his mind, thoughts of you never cease, not even for a moment. They always exist, whether in the front or back of his mind, like a stream of water. He wishes, silently, that you would never have to part from him, that he could bring you along to all his expeditions. He wants so desperately for you to always be by his side, to always be able to hold you in his arms, but he of all people knows that there is no point. He is lovesick, yes, but he is not so mad as to place your life in danger when the safer, safest, option is right in front of him.

And so, when Capitano prays, he prays not to a god nor an archon, but to you. He has no need nor desire to pray to superficial beings who do not care for a human like him. You, you, on the other hand?

You need him, and he needs you. You are the blood that flows through his veins, the air he breathes, the heart that pumps in his chest and most of all, his soul. You are his savior, the singular person in this harsh world that deserves his utmost devotion; if it would please you, if it would satisfy you, he would single-handedly raze Teyvat into cinders, and bring you the ashes.

Capitano doesn’t know how long he’s stayed kneeling, a gloved hand on his heart, eyes shut. Perhaps it has been minutes, maybe even hours, but the wind outside has calmed. When he rises, the metal of his chains screech against the floor, and it reminds him of war. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and turns his back against the altar and its statue.

Perhaps he should build a shrine for you at home. A glorious statue of you, sculpted by only the finest of sculptors, with every single detail no matter how big or small engraved into it. It will have only the things you enjoy, whether it be food or candles or flowers, no demand of yours unmet, lest it be leaving the estate; if there is one wish he cannot grant, it is that.

The wind softly blows his hair and the fur of his coat as he makes his way back to the estate. It is late, he muses. The sun has set.

He wonders if you’ve already fallen asleep, if you dream of him. He wanted to surprise you with his return, purposely telling you in his letter that the journey would take a week longer than expected. He wonders if you’ll be happy to see him, if you will leap with joy or hug him with longing. He imagines each potential reaction with fondness, until the mansion is in sight, guards stationed at every corner, bowing their heads at his arrival.

It is silent, eerily so, when he walks in. Without conscious effort, he finds himself on the way to your shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. Gently, he opens the door, a small streak of moonlight his guide.

There you lay, ethereally so, asleep in the warmth of the covers. Upon reaching your sleeping self, he kneels once again, taking your hand in his. Once more, he prays.

“I love you.” He murmurs, the warmth of your palm against his cheek. Perhaps what he loves most about you is the humanity you make him feel. “I love you.”

#capitano #genshin impact #capitano x reader #yandere capitano x reader #yandere capitano #yandere genshin impact #yandere fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers #yandere x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere

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monstersighing · 7 months ago

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MDNI, 18+, NSFW

AFAB Reader x priest

Content: Blasphemy, priest kink, penetrative sex, creampie, public sex, dirty talk.

Title: Confessional

+++

You go into the confessional box because the young priest fresh from the seminary is there.

You spill out every filthy thought and desire that you’ve had to him. What you think of when you masturbate, how often you do it, how the shame of confessing makes your cunt leak and face burn.

You tell the priest that when you opened your mouth to receive the host from his hand at communion you imagined him pushing his fingers in your mouth to suck on. How the dry host stuck to the roof of your mouth. That you wished it was his plump leaking cock you were tonguing instead.

His breathing gets louder, laboured. You hear a shifting sound of fabric. You can only see an indistinct shadow of the priest through the confessional screen, but he is bent forward, bowed over his lap now. His discomfort and desire fan yours. You clench your thighs around nothing. You tell him that even now, in the midst of your confession, you are imagining new sins you could commit with him: being bent over the altar as his cock slams in you, over and over, your desperate hands clenching the altar covering under you, crying out to God.

When he gives your three rosaries to say to atone, he speaks slowly, stutters. As you leave the confessional you hear a bitten off moan.

You kneel in front of a pew and begin to pray, but before you’re even finished with your first Hail Mary you push a hand down your waistband so you can rub at your clit.

You feel a presence from behind you and the priest is there. He pulls you to your feet, grasps your wrists and pushes your hands down flat onto the pew in front of you. When he grasps your jaw to draw your attention to the altar and the crucified Christ hanging above it, you moan.

“Start again,” he says. “Look at him and repent.” His body is pressed full length behind you. You can feel the hardness of his cock against your back.

You can only say “Please please please.” The priest is holding your face towards the altar, but your begging isn’t directed at God.

“We will do this, we will repent, and then we will both be clean,” the priest says. He grinds his cock slowly against your ass, “There is no way back from this, only through, I think. But we must temper your pleasure with pain, so you learn.” He paws against your tits and then pinches your nipples so pain sparks bright from them. When you cry out, he twists your nipples harder. The pain and the pleasure twist and become one. Your cunt throbs.

The priest pulls down your pants and leaves them trapped over your thighs. You feel him move back for a second, then hear the rasp of his zip. You feel him line up his cockhead with your hole, and then he fucks in with one hard push. Once inside he slams into you fast and desperate, and your legs shake. His fingers bite down hard on your hips. You can hear the slick sound your cunt makes with each plunging stroke of his cock and the slap of skin against skin. You drop your head to your hands and feel as his thrusts become staccato and he spurts inside you with a groan. You come a moment after, on the feeling of cum filling your hole and the priest fucking it deeper with one last grinding push inside you.

He leans forward and whispers against your ear, “Four rosaries now,” he says. “And I’ll see you for private confession in the vestry next week.”

#priest kink #religious kink #hierophilia #priest x reader #monstersighing

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forusomimiya · 1 year ago

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Check part one if u wanna enjoy it full 😚

Virgin!Suna wasn't afraid to stick his dick in a real pussy. Unfortunately, a teammate gave his a fake one for his 23rd birthday, so he had time to practice and learn how to care and touch it.

"How can you turn 23 and still be a virgin?" Komori added. "You should stick it in at least once before kick the bucket, Rintaro. Trust me, it'll be worth it" Washio advised.

Virgin!Suna wouldn't stop showing you how hard he was thinking about you at home, in the shower, or even in the gym locker room surrounded by people. It couldn't just be him showing how needy he was, because you needed him too, badly enough. You would go straight to hell if anyone saw the images you and Suna shared with each other. It was worth doing.

Virgin!Suna would pray to every god in existence that he could take more than 2 minutes inside you, and he would curse to believe that that fucking silicone pussy would help his control it. He had no choice but to spend time beforehand flattering, kissing and caressing it before filling it.

"God… *kiss* it smells so good *kiss* *kiss* and it's sooo soft… *kiss* I can't wait to take it bunny. Can I call ya that? ´cause that's what you're going to be, right? My little bunny."

Virgin!Suna with his heart about to burst out of his mouth, would contemplate how your pussy opens up perfectly for him, sucking him off without grumbling.

"Oh shit, no no no, I can't, I can't baby. You're so wet that- I don't think I can hold it in. I don't know if I can do it, I-I don't think I can even get back in."

He wasn´t wrong.

Virgin!Suna would take a breath and with courage, prepare to enter a second time. But oh, the thought of getting it into a pussy was so easy but, what was there in seeing you half-naked lying on his bed, arching your back in a desperate search for his thick cock, wearing his team t-shirt, (which he cursed with all his being to have lent you for not imagining he could see your hard fucking nipples under it), suffocating, whining and almost whimpering surrendering under his grip, and with your fucking pussy dripping endlessly onto the sheets and throbbing with every approach to your entrance?

A mistake. A fucking mistake.

“Shit!”

As uncontrollable were his thoughts as the leakage of semen.

“Oh sssshit babe! Aaah s-sorry babe, i can’- fuck, I can’t stop, hah… hah honey, just- shit, fuck me, and don’t fucking s-sstop”.

Virgin!Suna it would take not once, not twice, but three times to get his emotions back in order to act properly. But the best was yet to come.

Virgin!Suna had a pretty lucky first time. He took all the time in the world to take you as many times as he wanted so he could surrender to you and let you take control at least once. A control that would completely end with him every time he got lost in the movements of your ass riding his cock, or in your sweet mouth, which ended up being his favorite body part to cum in.

"Bunny... if you're going to take me like this every time we fuck, you're going to drive me completely crazy."

And even though he had taken you completely, the bastard was already missing seeing you again.

•

enjoy :P @animeloverzx @passionateuchiha @hayatslife @tojicvmslut @pinkscolouredcrayons 💖

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goodlucktai · 2 months ago

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16 for the dialogue prompts?

dialogue prompts

16. “God, I’m so sorry, it’ll be over soon, I promise.”

@dandywonderous im so sorry about this in advance 🥹

When they were little, and they started wearing masks because Mikey wanted to be like the heroes he watched in Saturday morning cartoons, Donnie asked Splinter to cut the tails of his short so they wouldn’t get in his way.

Leo thought that was a crazy decision, because if the tails were short they wouldn’t match Raph’s.

“So?” Donnie said, unscrewing the bottom panel of the oscillating fan he stole from Splinter’s room.

“So what?” Leo said.

“So what if I don’t match Raph? I don’t have to,” Donnie pointed out, a seven year old at his most reasonable.

His twin blinked, then his striped cheeks puffed out, brow furrowing, fully not understanding the question. He wanted to do everything Raphie did, but denied it when anyone told him so.

This certain proof of that behavior made Donnie smile, quiet and indulgent the way he only ever was for his other half, but only when it was just the two of them.

Leo whined and kicked his feet but Donnie wouldn’t tell him what was funny.

Those long blue mask tails are sodden and heavy as Donnie shifts them out of the way, leaving a sickening trail of red where they drag against Leo’s neck and shoulder.

They’re pinned down, what’s left of the tunnel groaning and shifting around them, at least three Technodromes filling the sky outside. Donnie can feel the hum of impending doom in his teeth.

“Hush, Nardo,” Donnie whispers, hand clamped over Leo’s mouth hard, even though it cuts him to have to do this. “You can’t scream, mellizo. Hush.”

His twin writhes, digging at Donnie’s grip with desperate fingers. His chest is heaving, eyes wild with pain. The rosy glow of Raph’s ninpo is all they have to see by as the projection hovers above them in case of another collapse. In the dim light, Donnie can almost pretend it’s mud he’s kneeling in, warm and slick and pooling at an alarming rate from the slab of concrete that Leo’s right arm has been crushed under.

The safe zone has been compromised. It’s devastating, but not at all surprising. Two of their scouts didn’t report in when they should have, baseline humans who didn’t have a hope of resisting the Krang’s method of interrogation, so it was only a matter of time before the enemy came knocking.

April, Mikey and Cass have been evacuating their people and transporting supplies in and out of sunny orange portals all morning while Draxum, Hob and Usagi guarded their every move with eagle-eyed vigilance.

Donnie, Raph and Leo were holding the Krang at bay for every extra second that they could, but they stayed out there a second too long.

Now Leo is bleeding and the Krang hounds are prowling, their horrible faces scraping the ground as they sniff out that rich source of life, and Donnie’s mind is blank with panic. They’re trapped, and if he lets go then Leo will scream and bring death down on them, and if he doesn’t then death will come anyway, with teeth and venom.

“Shhh, Lilo,” Donnie tries to soothe, imagining Leo’s sweet, bright ‘shhh yourself, Dodo!’ in place of the uncomprehending whine he gets in response. “God, I’m so sorry. It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

Maybe we should pray, he thinks wildly. Not to god, because that would be a spectacular waste of breath, but to one of the people who left the party early and might be willing to toss a miracle or two in their direction. Papa, or Gram-gram, or April’s mom.

The red projection surrounding them begins to shrink. Slowly, making sure the rocks above and around them won’t shift, until the ninpo is just a warm glow beneath Raph’s skin. Donnie feels a rush of relief and anticipation—Raph has a plan, Raph will tell him what to do.

Raph puts one arm around Donnie’s shoulders and cups Leo’s face with his other hand, stroking his cheek with the pad of his thumb. Blood smears beneath his fingers. His expression is hard to read in the dark underground.

“You’ll be alright, big man,” Raph murmurs, all conviction, as if he can make it true out of sheer love. If anyone could, it would be him. Then he says, “Donnie, can you cut him out?”

The question makes his stomach lurch with nausea, bitter and acidic, but it’s a question that he can answer. After fighting in a three-turtle team for the better part of two hours, Donnie’s ninpo feels like coffee dregs left in the bottom of an empty pot. He has enough strength left that he could summon a tool for an emergency amputation, but only that.

“Not quickly,” he says pointedly, “or quietly.”

Raph nods. He just sits there for a minute, holding them. They don’t have a minute and Raphie knows that but he’s just holding them. Donnie’s heart begins to race in a brand-new direction, some frightened thing in his very center sitting up and taking notice.

Donatello has always been an incredible number of things, not all of them good or noble or worth bragging about, but above all else, at the end of each and every day, he was Raphael’s little brother.

Donnie didn’t imitate him when they were kids—didn’t wear his mask tails long or find reasons to follow him around—but he was every firm hug Donnie needed to keep his skin from itching when life got too loud. He was an attentive, listening audience when Donnie had to talk about the things pingponging around in his mind without being interrupted or he’d scream. He was the large hands that held Donnie’s, the snaggle-toothed face that smiled in encouragement, when Donnie learned to walk.

Donnie knew him fundamentally. Intrinsically. A textbook he never had to study, knowledge that grew up with him from the first moment he opened his eyes to the big, bright world. That’s how he knew what was about to happen the second before it did.

“No,” Donnie says hoarsely. “Please don’t.”

“Raphie’s gotcha,” Raph says warmly, the last steadfast and solid and remarkably kind thing left in the apocalypse.

He reaches down and presses the panic button on Donnie’s gauntlet. The alert activates with a bright pinging sound effect, echoing twice in their little disaster-made cavern as it’s received by Leo and Raph’s comms, and the Krang hounds nearby whine and bark in excitement. Their claws churn up earth and rock as they start to run.

Raph spares a second to press a kiss against Donnie’s temple, and another to Leo’s forehead, and then he’s gone. The light goes with him. Donnie shakes like a leaf, unreasonably cold, unable to think.

Leo is half out of his mind by now, sobbing and jerking at his trapped limb, but all his agony is soundly drowned out by the brutal battle Raphael is leading far away from them.

“Hush,” Donnie whispers, eyes stinging so badly he can hardly keep them open, tears dripping endlessly down his face. “It’ll be over soon.”

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #brains and brawn #hamato donatello #hamato raphael #hamato leonardo #disaster twins #smash and smarts #my writing #prompt #tmnt fic #dandywonderous #:'(#cw injury and implied mcd

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starnightlover · 1 year ago

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Manifestation is instant

You’ve probably heard bloggers say this a million times, but I will say it a million times more. Manifestation is instant. The moment you desire something you have it that instant.

The 4d and 3d have zero separation this as soon as you imagine your desire you have it! All of this, every single thing in front of you is from your imagination. In this world it is just imagination protection imagination. It's all one, and that one is you. It is God. There is no seperation, not even if you think their is.

"So why do my desires not show up instantly?"

Well, here's the answer. You're not accepting that it is!! You are either "trying" to manifest something or you are assuming that there is this imaginary time lag that doesn't exist!! You are creating one.

Do you see your desires as something separate from you instead of being part of you? If so there is one of your problems!! You're desperately trying to get something instead of knowing it is done already.

"Assume the feeling of your wish fulfilled and continue feeling that it is fulfilled until that which you feel objectifies itself. If a physical fact can produce a psychological state, a psychological state can produce a physical fact. If the effect (a) can be produced by the cause (b), then inversely, the effect (b) can be produced by the cause (a). Therefore I say unto you, "What things soever ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye have received them, and ye shall have them" - Neville Goddard

You seriously only need to accept that your desires are yours right now and persist in that notion! It instantly is done because it is in your imagination, and imagination is all there is.

"So how can I fix this problem?"

I believe people can work on this type of issue by working on self-concept, I know so many people think that self-concept is just how we perceive ourselves but it's so much more than that. Everything is SELF so we should work on how we perceive everything through self-concept, like removing our limiting beliefs, improving our self-belief, and fully transcending the ego through becoming aware of our self-concept. SELF is all there is, it is your physical body, your surrounding, the people around you, even the universe you're in. It is all imagination and that is SELF. That is consciousness, and when we rewire how we perceive that we will overcome all limitations.

“Consciousness is the one and only reality, not figuratively but actually. This reality may for the sake of clarity be likened unto a stream which is divided into two parts, the conscious and the subconscious. In order to intelligently operate the law of consciousness it is necessary to understand the relationship between the conscious and the subconscious. The conscious is personal and selective; the subconscious is impersonal and non-selective. The conscious is the realm of effect; the subconscious is the realm of cause. These two aspects are the male and female divisions of consciousness. The conscious is male; the subconscious is female. The conscious generates ideas and impresses these ideas on the subconscious; the subconscious receives ideas and gives form and expression to them. By this law-first conceiving an idea and then impressing the idea conceived on the subconscious-all things evolve out of consciousness;” - Neville Goddard

This is why everything and anything you could ever want is yours. It is in your imagination, and being that consciousness is the only reality it is done! Your failure to just accept that is the reason you are not seeing it right now! Manifestaion is always instant.

So be it now. Assume it now. Nothing is separate from you. BE it now!!!

#law of assumption #manifestation #neville goddard #manifesting #reality shifting #shifting #void state #loassumption #loa blog #loassblog #reality shift

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houserautha · 5 months ago

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These Destined Ends

Part Seventeen

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Warnings: angst, depictions of violence, breeding/pregnancy kink, oral sex f receiving, some good ole p in v

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I’m baaack (for now). My plan for this part was for Feyd and reader to fight/argue more but I love them too much and I just couldn’t do it

It takes a tremendous effort not to look at Feyd. You can only imagine the expression on his face, the depth of hurt in his dark eyes. Even the image in your head is enough to plant a seed of despair, spiraling through you like crushing vines.

“What baby?” Feyd asks again. His voice has taken on a steely undertone, perceptible only to you. You’ve heard a plethora of emotions running like currents in his voice, disguised by years of training and practice, but this one guts you the most. There’s a single layer of vulnerability.

Of questioning hurt.

You inhale and force yourself to say, “Our baby.”

There’s no way to know how he will react. You’ve seen every side of him — the lover, the monster, the soldier — and you’ve examined each with a careful eye, peering into the mouth of his being and inspecting its teeth. But no amount of familiarity can prepare you for his calloused hand encircling your wrist and tugging you to face him.

“Say it again.”

Tears burn your eyes. “Our baby.” And suddenly it comes tumbling out, all of it. “I’m pregnant. I haven’t known long. I-I was going to tell you after you healed because I knew you would fret over me. You have to understand.”

Your explanation hastens as he stares back at you blankly. You would’ve preferred him to lash out at you, hit you, call you any number of insufferable names. But this…

“You didn’t tell me,” he says. He’s mastered his voice enough that it feels like the prick of a blade under your ribs, waiting to push in.

“You couldn’t afford to think about me,” you tell him, “you needed to focus on your health.”

There’s a flicker there, in his expression. “It is not solely your decision to make. The child is both of ours. You should’ve told me.”

“Feyd —”

“Enough.” Feyd releases his grip. “I’ve heard enough.

“Feyd, please —”

His jaw feathers with suppressed emotion. Feyd whirls on the heel of his boot and storms off, leaving a wake of silence. You watch his retreating form, sorrow clenching in your chest like a fist. Only once he’s disappeared around the corner and you’re sure he won’t return, do you lash around to confront Chani.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” A lazy smile unfurls on her face. “I assumed you told him already.”

“Fuck you.”

“Again?” Chani asks.

No one dares stop you as you dress for battle in your stillsuit. Chani better pray to her gods that you don’t find her alone in the battle field, you can’t promise not to take out your anger. The public argument between you two simmers as the group gathers, reviewing the attack. A familiar movement in the corner of your eye distracts you, and surprise grips you in response.

“What are you doing?” You breathe out, ashamed to admit how relieved you felt, however fleeting.

“Did you think I’d let you go out alone?”

Feyd avoids your gaze, keeps his own focused on Stilgar as the bearded man explains his plan. Your husband is so heartbreakingly beautiful. You commit his profile to memory, the essence of him — wrath and death, the god of war, but also the softer side of him that only you’ve seen. Before, on Giedi Prime, you didn’t know the pain of losing him, of seeing him bleeding out in the sands of Arrakis.

The memory flashes in your mind. The level of desperation in your voice is frankly pathetic, but you wouldn’t allow it for anyone else. “You have to forgive me, Feyd. I thought —”

“Save it.” His gaze slides, finally, to you. You might imagine the softness that forms there when he looks at you. “We’ll talk later.”

Your legs are cramping. You’ve laid on this fucking sand dune for what seems like a small eternity now, covered in a mesh blanket to disguise yourself. Feyd rests next to you. The Fremen are buried in the sand for ambush. You don’t know why you would want to help the Harkonnen, but they were insistent upon you being removed from the initial attack.

Your decision to move your leg is forgotten at the droll sound of a ship in the distance, a dark shape in the sky that grows exponentially larger. Feyd stiffens next to you.

“Rabban might be on that ship,” you say as loud as you dare.

Feyd’s mouth forms a firm line. “I hope he is.”

It strikes you that you’re quite grateful to be on the side of the Fremen as they launch their ambush, bodies upon bodies emerging from the sands like desert wraiths and immediately killing every foot soldier. You and Feyd launch from your hiding spot once the ship opens fire — Feyd to join the fighting on the ground, you aiming the blasgun given to you. You follow him with your eyes as he moves through the bloodshed like it’s a well-choreographed dance, both graceful and gruesome, his blades glinting.

Shot after shot you take out as many Harkonnens as you can, trying not to think about how you might know them. You focus, instead, on the fact that they would do anything to erase the life growing inside your womb, the promise of unity.

The Messiah.

From your vantage point the ambush looks to be waning when a figure disembarks from the ship. The last time you saw him, you’d tried to kill him.

The feeling hadn’t gone away.

Feyd kicks in the knee of a fellow Harkonnen, who drops to the ground. In a fluid movement he removes the helmet and slits their throat, then regards his brother. There’s no doubting that Rabban recognizes his brother, even in a stillsuit, recognizes the man he trained and fought with.

Every instinct in you is yelling at you to tumble down the dune to join the fight, but the rumble of a sandworm hums beneath your feet and you know that you don’t have time. Already the Fremen are retreating. Almost all of the Harkonnen soldiers have been cut down except for the spare few who stayed behind with Rabban. The ship whirs to life. You can’t tell if the brothers exchange any words before the ship lifts back into the air and Feyd is clamoring back to you, his face paler than normal beneath his protective helmet.

You know not to question him about it until later but when you return to the sietch, the ambush team rejoices in their triumph. You’re jostled back and forth and away from Feyd. “The Messiah paved our way to victory!” Stilgar exclaimes, dirt and blood smearing his face.

A roar of approval echoes him and you smile weakly at the Fremen patting you on the back and reaching out to touch your abdomen. An actual growl over your shoulder wards them off, though, Feyd appearing in your peripheral.

“Y/N!” Jessica emerges from the festivities, expression concerned. “Are you alright?” Her attention drops to your stomach.

Irritation has you grinding your molars together as you bite out, “I’m fine.”

“Where were you?” Feyd levels this question to your mother.

Jessica says, “I was doing my duty. Here.”

“You say you have the interest of the Fremen at heart but you make yourself conveniently scarce whenever the opportunity arises to prove it.”

You suppress a smirk. While healing, he missed most of your mother’s Bene Gesserit propaganda. It pleases you that he sees through her bullshit right off the bat. Even if he doesn’t completely understand it, or your participation in it, Feyd knows that Jessica is not as genuine as she says.

“Do you doubt me?” She asks him.

Feyd’s silence is response enough. A flicker of irritation crosses Jessica’s face.

“You need to speak to them,” she says to you, “tell them that you foresaw this victory. That with our help, with the support of the Messiah, they will succeed in this war. That today is just a taste.”

Feyd cuts his gaze to you. Well, he knows your participation now.

“No,” you tell her.

Jessica has the good sense to look taken aback. “No?”

“I am tired. And I wish to reunite with my husband. You speak to them.” You grab Feyd’s hand despite knowing that the contact is unwanted, dragging him away from the crowd and your mother’s palpable anger. For your sake he clings to you until you’re out of sight, then wrenches his hand away.

“I have not forgotten what you done,” he snarls.

You double check to ensure that no one is around to overhear what undoubtedly will become an argument. “I know.”

Soft to his unyielding fury.

“Tell me everything.”

Unable to look at him, you find a spot on the wall past him, regret burrowing into your heart. “I-I’ve known for roughly three months now. I didn’t know if he would survive the crash.”

“He?” A single word.

“Yes.” For the first time in his presence, you let your fingers drift to your abdomen. Feyd’s hands twitch but otherwise he’s motionless. “It’s…a boy. He’s strong. I can feel it.”

Feyd wavers slightly, the news leeching from the reservoir of his anger. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I told you, I knew you would never give yourself the time to heal if you knew.”

“It’s my duty to protect you. My privilege. And all this time, not knowing—” Feyd cuts off abruptly, a spasm of pain crossing his expression. “I thought we told each other everything. No more games.”

Your heart pangs. “I wasn’t playing a game, Feyd. I wanted to protect you. I had to watch you nearly die in front of me. I can’t lose you.” You blame the pregnancy hormones for the tears that spring to your eyes, the emotions thick in your throat. “Please don’t hate me.”

“Nothing you do can make me hate you,” Feyd murmurs after a heartbeat. He steps closer, his thumb swiping over your cheeks, your tears. He seems to be wrestling for what to say next and finally whispers, “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” you say, laughing, nearly delirious.

A moment passes in which he stares at you in disbelief, before he loops his arms around your waist and picks you up off your feet. A smile graces your face, buried in his neck, as he whirls you in a circle and sets you back down with a rarely-heard laugh — clear and deep.

“A son,” he breathes. Realization encroaches his delight. “What does this mean? For us? For…him?”

Sorrow eclipses your own happiness, however brief. You keep it close to your heart, a memory for later, when it will be scarce. “The Fremen have been condition by the Bene Gesserit to believe our child is their Messiah.”

“Isn’t he?”

“Yes.” You cringe. “And no.”

“Explain.”

“As you know, we’ve been bred for generations to produce the Kwisatz Haderach. But according to the Fremen, to what the Bene Gesserits said, the mother must also be Bene Gesserit. And I am…not.”

“But they believe you are.”

Guilt punctures you like a blade to your lung, slipping between your ribs and expelling all of your breath. “Yes, they do. It’s all by my mother’s design. She wants the control.”

Feyd’s brow furrows. “Against my family?”

“The person in control of Arrakis is in control of the whole universe,” you say, “she wants to orchestrate everything from behind the scenes.”

To say it out loud devastates you, how you and Feyd have been only pawns in a scheme much larger than the both of you. And now your child.

Power drove your family apart.

“What do we do?” Feyd asks.

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly.

Feyd’s attention drifts to where the sietch is still celebrating their victory. “These people have been oppressed for too long. We can’t allow it to continue.”

“We need their allegiance, though,” you tell him. “We won’t win this war without them.”

“Wouldn’t we just be falling right into the Bene Gesserits hands? Lending ourselves and our son to them? Enslaving them?”

“I want justice for them as much as you.”

The slightest of exhales from Feyd. “What’s your plan?” When you look away without a reply, he reaches out to take your hand. “We’ll figure it out. But we don’t have much time.”

“Y/N.”

You turn to face your mother, wreathed in yellow fabric. The intensity of her blue-on-blue eyes is frightening. You haven’t dared to look into any reflective surface to see if yours possesses the same hue but, judging by the tint in Feyd’s, you probably look the same.

A visible sign of the way your life has transitioned.

“We aren’t done,” you say to her flatly.

“It can wait.”

Feyd bristles. “She said we weren’t done.”

Jessica lazily assess your husband. It incites a flare of anger in you; no one has ever looked at Feyd-Rautha before with such indifference. He simply did not command it. Out of the corner of your eye you peek at him. Shutters have drawn down on his face, making him entirely unreadable. The slightest of muscles jumping under his eye tells you of the turmoil beneath the surface of his composure.

“You think you own her?” Jessica asks. “Just because you’re wed? Need I remind you that it was by my design.”

Feyd snarls, “No one owns her.”

“You belong to centuries of Bene Gesserit design,” your mother reminds you, “this is your destiny.”

“It’s the destiny that you’ve manipulated,” you snap back. “What will they do when they find out that I’m not a witch? That everything is a lie?”

“It’s not my fault that you failed to live up to your potential,” Jessica shot back.

It hits you like a slap to the face.

“I suggest that you take your leave,” Feyd says into the stunned silence. He steps forward, half shielding you with his body.

Jessica’s upper lip curls. “The failed heir to the Baroncy. A weapon, but nothing more. Except perhaps a sire. Congratulations.”

“Enticing us into an argument isn’t going to make us give in to your demands,” you say. “I refuse to take part in your indoctrination anymore.”

“Fine. Tell them it’s a lie. They’ll kill you before you can say another word.”

Feyd curses under his breath. You both know that she’s right, that the link of your son is the only thing keeping you alive. It’s a tremulous relationship between you and the Fremen, one that not even the victory today could completely reconcile. You hate that Jessica still has such a firm hold over you. Over Feyd. Your son.

At your sides, your hands tremble with suppressed rage. “This isn’t over.”

“Isn’t it?” Jessica’s lips curl into a smile.

You lay side by side later that night, mulling over the events that had unfolded. The darkness obscures your husband but his presence beside you is solid, unyielding. Safe.

“He saw me today. Rabban.”

“Do you think they’ll come for you?” You ask.

His silence stretches on for quite some time before he answers. “Perhaps. I’m not sure whether I want them to or not. Probably not.”

“Why wouldn’t they? Surely they thought that you — we — died in the crash.”

“That’s just it,” Feyd says, “Rabban undoubtedly reported our deaths and, by admitting he’s wrong, will suffer for it. I suspect that he’s fuming right now actually.”

“Hopefully long enough for us to figure out our next step,” you murmur in reply.

The cot that you both have squeezed onto rustles as Feyd turns on his side. You can just barely make out his face, the shape of his shoulder. His hand moves to your abdomen, where it hovers before finally landing. His palm is warm on your skin, alighting a fire inside of you. No matter how many times you touch your entire being reacts to him, surging up to meet him. And there, as weak as a fluttering pulse, your baby, too small for Feyd to notice rejoicing in his closeness.

“Our next step is just to take them one at a time.” His eyes glisten in the darkness. “I do not want to miss out on these moments because I am worried about a future that is not promised.”

Feyd dips down, presses a kiss to your navel. You can’t help but sigh in response, hips rising, eager to feel his lips elsewhere. He chuckles, deep and rumbling, fingers dancing over the waistband of your pants. “We have conceived a child. Some would argue that our obligation to one another is finished.”

“And what would you argue?”

He pretends to pause, to consider this. “I would tell them that I must be cold in the ground to miss an opportunity to fuck my wife.”

A laugh escapes you as he masterfully removes the barrier of cloth between you, relying on touch to guide him down your body. Hips still wriggling, Feyd quells your impatience with his tongue. He slides through your folds like he’s savoring the experience, like he might never taste you again, tracing over your entrance but denying you the admittance. You buck up in frustration.

“Patience, jewel,” he murmurs against you, “I want to relish touching my pregnant wife for the first time.”

Your cunt clenches at this. You’re forced to squeeze your eyes, as the sight of him between your legs is almost too much to bear. Your whole life you have been chasing home and now, here, you have found it in him, in his ruinous touch. You were his, marked before by the band on your finger and now the child in your womb, not a sign of ownership but belonging.

“Such a good, perfect wife,” he says as he pleases you, a mixture of his fingers and his mouth. “Taking my seed so well and giving me a son. I cannot wait to see you grow with him in your belly, my child. Our child.”

He withdraws long enough to stroke himself, clearly aroused at the thought. Your thighs press together, slicked by his mouth and your own arousal, but Feyd pushes them apart with one hand while pumping himself with the other. In a single, fluid movement, he then pushes his cock into you with decisive force. You bite down on your lip to keep from crying out as he fills you completely, stretching your walls.

Feyd draws back and thrusts into you, over and over, building in ferocity. You bury your fingers into the cot to anchor yourself. Stars burst across your vision.

He speaks through each panted breath as if he might perish if he does not say the words. “I have given my heart to you, my soul, and in return you have given yourself to me. To my son.” There’s a hitch in his voice. Feyd presses his body to yours as he drives into you, holding you close. “You have given me the ultimate gift.”

Tears splatter on your chest. You realize with a lurching heart that he is crying, overcome with his emotions. You hold on to him just as tightly — there are no words fitting for this confession. Instead you pour yourself into him, into the push and pull of your bodies. And when you come together, crashing into your release, there is no distinction between you or him; you are only one. One breathing, pulsing being, utterly entwined.

Afterwards, when you have kissed the tears off his cheeks and he’s thoroughly cleaned you, Feyd curls up beside your abdomen. Adrift in your post-orgasm bliss, you’ve nearly succumbed to sleep when he says:

“I see him.”

Drowsy, you ask, “Who?”

“Our son.” This piques your interest, leading you to squint into the dark at him. Feyd, sensing your confusion, elaborates, “I see him in my dreams. Nightmares. I didn’t understand at first but now I know that it’s him.”

“Really?” Your voice is soft.

Feyd nods. His finger trails up the curve of your belly, not quite shaped by your pregnancy. “He looks like you and I’m so…I’m so proud of him.” There’s an edge of sadness in his voice now. “Even though, in my nightmares, he —”

You wait for him to continue but he does not. Feyd shudders against you, wrought with whatever pain the poison-induced dreams leave.

Feyd finally whispers, “Do you think we can change our fate? What’s been laid out for us?”

“I like to think so,” you say with honesty. Every instinct in you is raging at whatever has unraveled your husband so, but you know that the matter must be delicate. You don’t want to press.

“But what if we can’t?”

You ghost your fingers over his head, desperate to comfort him. The words unnerve you but you don’t dare let him know that you’re frightened by the same thing.

“I will love you until the very end of it,” you breathe, “that is all I can say for sure.”

Feyd replies, full of fear and regret, “I know.”

Part Eighteen

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @m-indkiller @kpopnstarwars @dacreshoney @stopeatread @the-na-baroness @therealslimshady-1 @unnisumi @aoi-targaryen @psychoffin @lauratang @austinswhitewolf @bloodyziggy

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #feyd smut #writers on tumblr #fanfic #writing #these destined ends

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mmogurl · 20 days ago

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Last to Fall Chapter 3 - Dark On Me

18+ | 2.9k | Aegon II Targaryen X Female Dragonseed Reader | Unresponsive Aegon | half sister reader - you're a princess now! Fastest elevation in class ever! wholesome, fluff, severe injury and burns, mentions of death and other bad things, but still... this whole thing is actually kind of sweet compared to what I usually write.

Ok! This chapter was actually very emotional for me to write. I think sometimes I put my mind too closely into that of my characters, because as I was imagining several parts of this chapter from the reader's perspective, I found myself tearing up. Hopefully that emotion comes across in the work and makes it better.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 On AO3

I've also decided that I'm going to try my best to fit every chapter to a Starset song because the whole Series is based off the title of one (Last to Fall). I'm enjoying the challenge of finding one that suits each theme/ story! They're not all going to be perfectly aligned, but I'll try my best. This one is Starset - Dark on Me I especially like the line - 'But I found in you what was lost in me.. In a world so cold and empty.' Thanks to @zaldritzosrose for headers and I actually made all the gifs myself again! Tags: @coffeebooksrain18, @lexi-anastasia-astra-luna, @meggletoomanyfandoms, @theanbitchless (If you wanna be removed or added from/to the taglist, just let me know)

You hear the horns sound and watch from the balustrade as the procession makes its way through the city up towards the Red Keep. The soldiers return from battle victorious, carting the head of Meleys upon a wagon, but you haven’t seen Sunfyre return yet and nobody will tell you what has become of the king. You’ve heard his mother, Queen Dowager Alicent, mention Aegon in hushed whispers with some council members, but she has not deemed you worthy to share whatever information she has.

Even with the king’s decree elevating your status to that of princess, none will tell you what has happened. You must assume the worst. As the caravan draws closer to the castle, you can see another cart led by two horses. It carries what appears to be a casket covered by many blankets and your heart sinks at the thought of your most dire fears come true.

He cannot be dead. No, no. You won’t accept it.

You rush down to the courtyard, to await the arrival of your king, praying to any gods that might listen that he is still alive. A large contingent of the Kingsguard greet you outside and you feel even more strongly now that your assumption must be true. That Aegon is indeed in that wooden tomb, very likely deceased, but your heart still holds out hope that you’re wrong. The massive gates open to the inner wall of the keep and you watch with despair as the wagon is pulled forward.

As the wooden cart stops, your eyes dart to and fro as men step up to bear the casket forth. You catch the gaze of one of the white cloaks standing near you, and plead with him for answers. “Is he dead?” you whisper, desperate to know the fate of the man who had asked you to be his.

He offers a knowing expression of remorse, but nothing more. You are forced to follow behind as six men carry the king inside, be he dead or alive. You can’t help but wonder where everyone is. Where is his mother? His brother? Where is the small council? Is nobody here to witness the return of the king? You can’t help but to cry quietly as you follow the men of the City Watch and Kingsguard combined with your hung head low.

They carry the massive wooden crate all through the castle, heading upstairs until they enter Maegor’s Holdfast. You pass by Queen Helaena who is standing outside of her chambers, observing the procession with curiosity. You can’t help but wonder if they had kept the truth from her as well. When your eyes lock onto each others, her features twist with curiosity at the sight of your tears, but there is no malice present.

Helaena has never been rude or cruel to you, despite her knowledge of your role in Aegon’s life. She almost seemed grateful that you were able to offer him the companionship that she could not. The queen did not follow further, opting to stay back, likely having a sense that even more tragedy was on the horizon. You didn’t blame her for that, but it didn’t change that you must know. You had to see with your own eyes what had become of your love, Aegon.

As the doors to the king’s chambers opened, your gaze fell upon Alicent standing to the side by the windows. Of course she had known, but chose to leave you in the dark, suffering alone with your doubts and fears. When she saw you, she averted her eyes for a moment, her facade of calm cracking slightly before she steeled herself and offered you a nod. You returned the gesture with a trembling lower lip stepping aside to watch what came next.

They removed the lid of the casket and a whimper escaped your lips as one soldier took Aegon’s sword, Blackfyre, from within and placed it to the side with reverence. The soldiers cleared the room as men dressed in black heaved a dark canvas bag from within the wooden coffer. The sight of this actually made you fall to your knees with grief, finally seeing proof that Aegon was not of this world anymore.

A lamenting wail throbbed through your chest as they placed Aegon’s body on the bed. Your hand clutched the footboard as you fell down on one knee, barely keeping yourself upright. Alicent came to stand beside you, and you barely noticed the presence of the maesters entering through your sobbing.

“Is he alive?” the Queen Dowager asked with a mixture of shock and trepidation. The words stopped your weeping instantly as you pulled yourself up and leaned over the bedframe.

“His Grace, remains with us, for the moment,” Grand Maester Orwyle answered somberly.

You let out whining gasp that makes you sound like a pathetic animal, but you can’t help it. “He was alive? And you carted him through the streets as though he were a corpse!?” You cannot help but cry out as you stare accusingly at Alicent, appalled by the treatment he’d received.

“I didn’t have much say in it,” the Queen Dowager replies looking bewildered as the sight before her seemed to sink in. “They told me.. They thought it would be best that nobody saw the injuries he sustained.”

You stop your outrage, realizing that she likely didn’t know the extent of the damage either. Still, you wish she would have confided in you what little she had known so that you might have better prepared for this.

Orwyle takes an instrument from his medical kit and begins to remove pieces of Aegon’s armor. The more you look, the more you begin to understand what has happened to him. The entire left side of his body, from his head all the way down to his leg, has been scorched by dragonflame. His arm appears to have been dealt the brunt of the damage, where the Valyrian steel has melted into his limb, leaving it a gored tangle of flesh and metal.

A cry threatens to escape your lips once more, but you stifle it. There will be time for sobbing later, but for now you wish to keep yourself preoccupied. “I wish to help,” you say desperately, but everyone is so busy at work that nobody even responds. “Please,” you ask again, your brows furrowed with anguish. “I need to help.”

Alicent offers a glance at one of the maesters assisting Orwyle and from there, a chain reaction of assent occurs, until finally a young man tugs your arm and pulls you to the side.

“You can aid me in making the poultices,” he says softly. You cannot possibly express how grateful you are for the opportunity to stay busy, while attempting to save your king. You offer the Queen Dowager an appreciative look from across the room and return to learning how to prepare the treatment for Aegon.

It is likely a good thing that you are not watching as they remove the king’s armor, for you can hear his ragged breaths and the gasp that startles from Alicent’s mouth in response to it.

“Is my son going to die?” she asks sounding petrified. You do not wish to hear it, but you can’t tune it out either.

“I’m afraid I cannot say,” Orwyle responds quietly, turning his head to regard the Queen Dowager for a moment. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, these next hours are most critical.”

“Of course,” Alicent replies, taking a step back so that she’s no longer interfering with the healers work.

The young maester in training hands you a plate filled with individual leaves of steamed cabbage and notions for you to take it to the bed. “Take these,” he says quietly as a mouse. You don’t hesitate to obey, not wanting to hinder Aegon’s chances for survival.

You hold the tray out, leaning over Aegon’s bed, to an aged maester with a gray beard dressed all in dingy whites. He begins to take one piece at a time, placing the wraps at the bottom of Aegon’s broken leg and working his way up. Your hands shake slightly, but you do your best to stall your trembling so that you might be of use. Stealing a glance down the length of the bed, you see Orwyle sponging charred bits away from Aegon’s once pristine face.

Your heart aches, but you push it deep down. There will be time to grieve later if he dies, but you refuse to give into despair again before that actually happens.

“Someone will have to rule in his stead,” the cold and familiar voice cuts through your thoughts.

You turn to your right and see Aemond standing there, dead center at the foot of Aegon’s bed. He had always seemed dangerous to you, but has never looked this unhinged before. You can’t help but wonder what might have happened at the battle of Rook’s Rest to change his demeanor so drastically. The way he looks at Aegon, it reminds you of a cat playing with a mouse, holding it by the tail and swatting at it.

You can’t help but wonder how he stands there without an ounce of concern for his brother. As your discomfort grows, you decide that you will have to keep an eye on the prince from now on. You swear solemnly to yourself, glaring at Aemond while you do so, that you will keep watch on the king as though your life depended on it. Just in case.

————

It has been a couple of days now and while Aegon has not yet woken, he has not yet passed into the arms of the Stranger either. He’s been cleaned up considerably, and his wounds all tended to. The only remnants of the horror you witnessed when he first arrived in the Red Keep being the charcoal still tinting his cheek and of course all of the burns that lace his left side. His broken leg is propped up to keep the blood from swelling, but otherwise Aegon looks peaceful in his slumber, despite the audible struggle he has breathing. You lay next to Aegon on the bed, unwilling to leave his side for any reason lest he might wake alone without a caring face to welcome him back. Nestled carefully against the side of him that is not horribly burnt, it almost feels comforting to feel his chest rise and fall beside you with a fire crackling in the hearth.

At first, you worried that Aegon might pass at any given moment, but once he was out of imminent danger, it became a waiting game. Inevitably boredom overcame you as the king continued to sleep. You took to cleaning to pass the time. First, washing and scrubbing every nook and cranny of the floor in his chambers despite the objection of everyone that came across your endeavoring to stay sane. You then moved onto dusting and cleaning out the tapestries. It was one of the few times you’d left the king’s chambers since he returned, but you wanted to take everything outside to be aired out, lest there be a dust storm within.

A soft sigh pulls you from your memories and your eyes open to see Alicent sitting at the side of Aegon’s bed. Her hand is clinging to his as she leans slightly onto the bed. You can tell from her expression that this whole situation has been very taxing on her. Within such a short span of time, she’s almost lost her eldest son and king, and been passed over for the regency of the realms in his absence for Aemond. Given the predatory way the new Prince Regent had been staring at Aegon days prior, this is a decision you wholeheartedly disagree with.

As much as you hate to admit it, you’ve grown to appreciate Alicent’s company. At first she seemed annoyed by your presence, but you can only assume that in seeing your dedication to her son, she’s softened towards you. She’s even shared several kind words with you, which felt incredibly awkward, especially when she began referring to you as ‘The Princess,’ a title you are still not accustomed to hearing anyone speak, let alone her.

The Queen Dowager had never acknowledged the decree previously, but then none of the acceptance really matters without Aegon here to share it with. He’d talked of marrying you upon his return and now you wondered if that would ever happen. Your fingers caress softly along his arm, a motion that has become almost involuntarily by now as you huddle to him, hoping that your touch will bring him back.

Alicent stands suddenly, her eyes bleary as she places a hand on her son’s good cheek. She almost looks afraid to get too close, as though admitting the depth of her care for him might somehow make it hurt more to lose him. She nods a soft ‘good night’ to you and goes to leave the room. You watch for a moment as the maester opens the door for her in anticipation, and rest your head back down on the pillow.

And that’s when you hear it, so quiet and coarse that you might have missed it if you had not been right beside him. “Mummy,” he whispers without opening his eyes.

You dart up from the bed with haste, looking at him incredulously, as though he had just risen from the dead. “Queen Dowager!” you cry out, not wishing to disturb him, but needing to get her attention. “Maesters! He spoke!” You realize you are laughing with relief as you call out to the them, brushing the backs of your knuckles upon Aegon’s cheek gently as you coo to him. “She is coming, my love.”

As Alicent rushes back to her son’s bedside, you both share a look of hopeful promise. “What did he say?” she asks, her eyes searching over Aegon as though he might move, and than glancing back to you.

“He said ‘Mummy,’” you answer with a smile, happy to see the look of touched gratitude that appears on her face.

“Oh my sweet son…” she trails off, seemingly unable to put words to how she is feeling. She stands beside him, reaching out with a little more confidence this time. “Mummy’s here,” she offers quietly as the two maesters on duty gather behind her.

Aegon lets out a gravelly sound, his breath hitching as he fights for consciousness.

“We’ll let Grand Maester Orwyle know of this development,” one of the men in white offers. “But if he is soon to be speaking with us, it is good news indeed.”

The Queen Dowager is in high spirits when she is finally ready to leave for the night, so exhausted she can barely keep her eyes open. “Thank you,” she says, looking you in the eyes as she rises from her chair. “You didn’t have to call me back, but I’m glad that you did.”

“Who am I to deny him his mother if that’s who he’s ask for?” you say as though there was no other possible outcome in your mind.

She smiles at you with a warmth she’s never shown you before, nodding slightly. “Will you have them fetch me if he wakes again?” she asks with fondness in her voice.

“Of course,” you reply, settling back into the bed beside Aegon. You are surprised when she walks around to your side of the bed, and proceeds to mother you under the covers.

“If you’re going to spend your nights in here, than the least you can do is keep comfortable,” Alicent says with a hint of jest in her tone.

It is definitely a touch strange as she pulls the blanket up and around you, tucking it underneath you slightly. It’s almost suffocating, but in a nice way. “Good night,” you say, turning on your side towards Aegon. You’ve practically made a nook at his side from the amount of time you’ve spent there by now.

“Sleep well,” Alicent calls as she extinguishes the candles, leaving nothing but the hearth to light the immediate vicinity. She ushers the maesters out of the room, with an authoritative pitch. “Get some rest for the night, my son is in good hands as you can plainly see.”

As the doors close and you’re left in silence, you can’t help but consider how sometimes the worst things in life can really help to bring people together. You’ve also seen tragedy tear relationships apart, but when something beautiful can blossom from the ashes of destruction, it almost feels like everything is going to be alright again. Like Aegon is going to wake up and get out of his bed and move on with his life. And when he does, he’ll find himself rousing to a world in which his mother might feel a little more comfortable showing her thanks for his company.

You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply of his scent. Despite all of the medicinal herbs and the lingering remnants of carbon, you can still smell him. You press a tender kiss on his neck, right below his ear, humming softly as you taste him on your lips.

Whispering softly, you beseech him with kindness, “I love you, Aegon.” You run the tip of your nose against his jawline, savoring the feel of him. “I’ll wait for you… As long as it takes. Just come back to me.”

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zevrra · 2 months ago

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forgive me—

tags: 18(+) only!, mdni, nsfw, suggestive content, fem!reader, nanami kento(jjk), sorta priest au, smut, short & sweet

creator notes: this isn’t really a fic or anything just some thoughts i couldn’t get OUT of my head the last few days! the nanami brainrot is taking over >:3

priest!nanami who can’t stop thinking about you. who took a vow of celibacy only to end up with dreams of you every night. dreams about the way your body must look without any clothes. what it would feel like to kiss you. how your skin would feel beneath his rough hands. how would you taste on his tongue. can’t get the thought of what your pussy must feel like when he finally slips himself inside. twitching, leaking, groaning, as he buries his cock inside of you.

wakes up every morning with soaked pajamas.

priest!nanami who touches himself through his pants while in the confession booth next to you. he begs god to forgive him and his sins but he can’t stop. listening to the sound of your voice is enough for him. makes it even harder to hold back when he knows you’re speaking about him. he’s needy, a total mess, palming himself as he imagines entering your side of the confession booth and finally getting a taste of the forbidden. and you want him to do it so bad but he never does. clarity hits him after you leave and he comes down from his sensitive high, locks himself in his room to pray for the rest of the day.

priest!nanami when he finally is presented with the chance to make you his he doesn’t even think twice. he’s pulling you into his room, kissing you with so much passion and energy because he fears you might just be another dream. let’s you have your way with him as long as he gets just a taste, one taste, it’s all he’s begging for. eats you out like it might be his last meal on this earth. doesn’t stop until his chin is soaking wet and you can hardly stand. holds you up by your ass with your legs wrapped around his waist so he can fuck you, right then and there. and when he finally does get to fuck you, it’s better than heaven could ever be. he’s rutting, desperate, bottoming out inside of you because he can’t hold back anymore. from his lips he whimpers how he loves you over and over again.

priest!nanami who ends up solely devoted to you. gives up his priesthood just to be with you. you are his goddess and nothing can get in the way of you two ever again.

#zevrra zevrra!#mdni #18+ mdni #add a lil spice 🌶️#jjk #nanami kento #nanami smut #jjk nanami #jujustu kaisen #nanami x fem!reader #priest!nanami #i couldn’t resist #it’s just SO GOOD

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save-the-villainous-cat · 9 months ago

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It took them quite a lot of time to get up to the rooftop.

In all honesty, the villain didn’t know what they were doing. They acted like a child, irrational and aimless, as tears gathered in their eyes over and over again. As they gasped for air and couldn’t hold back desperate pleas.

Considering that they were dragging the hero along with them, they were, in fact, feeling like they had gone insane. The tears wouldn’t stop and no matter how hard their legs shook, the villain didn’t stop either.

Once they had reached the door they let the hero sit against the wall and then, with all the strength the villain had left in them, they threw themselves against the door. It opened with an unpleasant sound, shaking them as if it reached their bones as pain exploded in their shoulder. Soon enough, the cold air hit them and the villain continued to drag the hero outside.

It was still dark but that would change soon. Outside, they let the hero rest against the door. They took off their own cape and put it around the hero’s shoulders, trying to cover every body part of them.

Soon enough, they sat down next to them, their breath heavy, their heart even heavier.

“Just a couple of minutes,” the villain said. They looked at the horizon and then back at the battered hero who bled out of their nose and ears. “You think you can hold on a little longer?”

They took the hero’s hand but the hero didn’t speak. They gave the villain a tired smile and their eyes moved when they were studying the villain’s face.

The villain feared the hero’s last words had already been spoken. A raspy “please.” The villain didn’t know if the hero was capable of speaking anymore or if they didn’t have the energy to do so.

“Do you remember when we first met? You almost sliced me in half.” The hero kept staring at them with their exhausted eyes and the villain leaned a little more against them. “I was so angry. God, I used to be so angry.”

All of it came at once: the tears, the desperation, the despair. The villain didn’t know what was worse. They threw their hands around the hero and pulled them close.

“It…it should’ve been me—” they cried, leaving tears that mixed with blood on the hero’s skin. “You weren’t even supposed to be here.”

They hoped they didn’t imagine it. A soft grip around their fingers. The villain looked at them, their unresponsive hero who had traded their life to save the villain’s. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t just.

They took it as response. As an attempt of comfort.

“Please forgive me,” the villain said. They brushed some hair out of the hero’s face. “You do not deserve this, you don’t…”

They looked up at the sky and there, slowly but steadily, the sun rose above the horizon. The sunrise dipped the sky into different reds and oranges, making the city look mystical and strange. As if it wasn’t the origin of their suffering. As if this city hadn’t just taken their beloved hero.

The villain allowed themselves to take in a deep breath.

They looked at the hero who watched the sunrise, despite being exhausted, who let their head rest on the villain’s shoulder, who was still fighting so hard.

And then, very gently, the hero mumbled the villain’s name. Not their alias, not their surname but the name their mother had given to them. It sounded strange coming out of their mouth with their broken voice and their mouth full of blood.

Nothing else, just the villain’s name in the softest tone possible.

The villain looked at them but the hero only stared at the sunrise. After a few minutes, the villain worked up the courage to check their pulse and breathing. The hero had asked them specifically not to do CPR in such a situation.

Thus, all the villain could do was sit there with the hero’s body and pray some higher being would give the villain a suitable punishment for all their failures.

#felt emo today sry #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #angst

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cobrabobra · 2 years ago

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Dating Daryl headcanons:

as much as I love to imagine Daryl showering his partner with affection, giving you kisses and telling you he loves you, I think he's not the type of person to do so

I think he shows his love for you through spending time with you, providing for you, being there for you

I think he rarely says he loves you, he shows it through his actions, not words. He says it after a near death experience or before it.

Daryl looked into your eyes, deseprate and sad, he thought he will never see you again.

They picked him up to shove him into the truck, they wanted to take him to the Sanctuary, to break you two apart.

"Daryl" you only managed to rasp out, you didn't have any strength left in your body, not after seeing Glenn and Abraham die, not after seeing him hurt, not after being defeated, no, completely destroyed by Negan.

You wanted to lounge out, to tear him from their arms, not let them take him away. But you couldn't, they'd kill you, kill him, if you tried. Only thing you could do is cry and stare at him, pray to God that nothing bad will happen to him.

"I love you" he said, desperate to keep looking into your eyes, desperate to stay with you, forever.

I feel he isn't really into touch either, he's been touched in only the wrong ways all he's life, so he's afraid to be touched and to touch.

Of course he does touch you, but it takes time to get into his head that he won't hurt you. You can expect little, soft touches, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear.

I think he'd appreciate if you'd try to contain yourself and not touch him a lot either. Every one of us wants to shower this man with love and affection, but I think that'd just overwhelm him. He'd like touches like, your head on his shoulder sitting near a fire, getting his hair out of his face, gently massaging his neck.

Although I think he'd enjoy an occasional, playful smack on the ass. He'd glare at you, act like he's mad, maybe call you stupid, but deep in his heart he'd enjoy this, that silly little interactions between you two.

When it comes to kissing, there's some, but not a lot and they're either soft, delicate kisses, like he's a kid kissing his mama on the cheek, kisses that show his appreciation of every single thing you're doing for him, there are awkward but cute kisses, like he's a teenager kissing his pillow imagining kissing his crush and of course there are rough, passionate kisses you two share during sex.

Does he take you on dates? Yes, of course. Are those traditional dates? Hell no. He takes you hunting. He's teaching you how to track, how to be quiet and not scare your pray, how to be a part of the forest. He keeps you close to him, your hands brushing against each other as you creep through the woods. And then you get to sit by the fire, eat your dinner, your head on his shoulder. You also ride his bike with him, sitting behind, your hands holding onto his hips, wind in your hair, warmth of his body seeping through. That's what dates are to him, spending quality time with each other.

He's extremely protective, he's lost so much people already, he's not losing you. Not to a walker, not to another person, not to anything. Whenever you hurt yourself, whether it's a small nick, a cut from choping vegetables or a broken limb, he panics. He doesn't show it that much, but in his head he sees all the possibilities of what could happen next. If you're bedridden, he will not leave your side even if a herd was passing by or somebody held a gun to his head. If there was a situation where you and a couple other people were in danger, he'd sacrifice someone if that's what it takes to get you out of there safe and sound.

If somebody hits on you, he'll be quick to react. He probably wouldn't be the type to threaten somebody because they tried to flirt with you. He'd probably do everything to spend as much time with you as he can, to show the other person that you much rather spend time with him than with them. He wouldn't tell you but he'd feel insecure and in need of reasurance that he's the one you want, that nobody else matters.

He'd want to have a family with you, not sure about kids, but you, Daryl and Dog would make a great family, kids or not.

He wouldn't know how to propose, he's not good with words nor being romantic. He'd like it to be romantic but that's probably not gonna happen.

"Hey, you want it?" Daryl raised his hand, a ring between his fingers, looking at you with his puppy eyes. His heart pounding like crazy in his chest, begging God that you'd say yes.

"Ye-yeah" you said, shocked at his actions, you hadn't been expecting that. A big smile on your face as you took the ring in your hands. "Thanks, Dixon"

"No problem, Dixon"

For Daryl love isn't butterflies and fireworks, it's the calmness and peace he feels when you're around, it's the quality time spent with you, it's the family you two build. That's love for Daryl.

Happy Valentine's Day!

#twd x you #daryl x you #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x male reader #daryl dixon x reader #twd x reader #daryl dixon headcanon

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mustainegf · 2 months ago

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OK. SO.

You edge Kirk b4 he goes on stage, and when he's soloing, the guitar rubs on his still hard cock and he comes from rutting into his guitar, but no one notices cuz his guitar covers it and that's how he usually looks when he's soloing😭😭

some picture references for u... 🐺🦐🦎⛸️🎏

Kenne I swear to god you eat with every req

𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐓 ¹⁹⁹³

I stand in the midst of her eventual assault on my poor person, feeling the tidal waves of pleasure soak through every cell and fiber of my body while her velvet smooth hands dance across my pulsating member, teasing me mercilessly to slowly bring me to the edge.

Her touches send rattles through my bones. It makes me squirm under her fingers. My stomach is a bundle of knots, knowing I'll be performing for thousands of screaming fans in a few minutes, but all I can think about is the image of her hand wrapped around my pulsating cock.

A low moan escapes my lips as my hips instinctively buck against her palm. My breath stops as she leans down, taking my length into her warm mouth. She sucks softly at first, then picks up the pace, her tongue gliding around my sensitive head.

It's almost unbearable. I clench onto the shitty couch beneath me, my muscles strained, as waves of pleasure crash over me. With every stroke of her tongue, shocks shoot straight into the core of my being. I'm so close, yet she just won't stop teasing me, knowing when to stop just at the last second.

Just as I'm about to cum, she pulls away with a jerk, so that I give a desperate little pant, begging for more, but she just whispers, "Not yet," the wicked glint in her eye. "Save it for later." With which she stands up and gives me a sultry smile. "Break a leg out there, baby." She blows me a kiss before sashaying to the door, the swaying of her hips seductive.

"Baby, what?! C'mon. you can't be serious. I was so close..." I beg. But she just giggles, shaking her head as she walks out of the room. Left behind, I groan in frustration, my cock still throbbing with heat and need. I slip my hand down to my length, giving myself a few slow strokes to ease the pounding ache.

As I prepare to go on stage, the only thing that crosses my mind is just how good it felt when she touched me. I fiddle with my guitar strap, trying to conceal the bulge that's obvious through my denim.

When we reach the stage, the crowd blares in cheers and claps. There are several thousand faces looking up toward us, awaiting an exceptional performance by us. James, Jason, and Lars were already in position, their instruments at the ready.

But it's just my mind that can't seem to take Flight, but all I can think about is her. The way her fingers shoot across my skin, slippery with my excess pre-cum that she always teased me for. I shift uncomfortably, adjusting my guitar strap once again, praying nobody notices the tent of a bulge in my pants.

I glance over to the other guys as if to ask if they're all thinking about their girl waiting backstage. But then the music reaches out and grabs me, forcing me to switch gears. The opening chords or Creeping Death drop from the air, and in a heartbeat, it's all gone. Now there's only the music that counts.

I play, and my mind draws back to earlier, her hand stroking me off. I can imagine her lips wrapped around me once more, sucking me deep into her throat. The mere thought sends a run of cold shivers down my legs. I miss the chord for a moment.

Damn it! Concentrate, Kirk! I yell at myself in my head. It's just not that simple when all I can really think about is how great she'd made me feel earlier.

The show goes on, and despite my drifting thoughts, I manage to keep my shit together. I play through the pain, the pleasure, the anticipation, and the longing. Each strum of my guitar strings feels like another stroke against my needy cock.

Finally, my solo arrives, and I take one last deep breath, centering myself before launching into the song. As I start playing along, I subtly grind my hips against my guitar to use the instrument for some much-needed relief.

I can almost visualize her backstage, her eyes wide with desire, watching me squirm against my guitar. The image sends me over all the more, carrying me further and higher into the echelons of musical greatness.

My fingers glide fret to fret, pulling out those notes. Beads of sweat begin falling down my face as the adrenaline courses through my veins.

A particularly strong set of chord progressions sends a buzz of ecstasy rippling through me. My hips buck involuntarily, grinding harder against the guitar as I battle to keep control. I know I'm close. I can feel the pressure building, my climax near.

And then, in one swift movement, the guitar slips as i hike it up to my knee for better access for the solo, rubbing against my straining erection just right. The friction proves to be too much to bear, and with a muffled cry, I come apart. Hot spurts of cum coat the inside of my briefs, soaking the fabric. My mouth is wide, eyes clenched I can barely even think straight.

The crowd erupts in wild cheers as I conclude my solo. I just stand there, breathing heavily, my heart racing in my chest, hardly able to move, still returning, covered in sweat. I cannot believe I just came in front of 40,000 people. It takes me a while to collect myself mid-concert until I eventually just did my best to forget the uncomfortable stickiness in my tight black jeans.

Finally, after what felt like years yet still just a few seconds from the same breath, the gig meets its end, and I trudge off stage, wiping the sweat off my face. I find a quiet corner, leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath. It is then that I notice the wet spot spreading across my pants. Fuck, did she really make me cum that hard?

Just then, she's beside me, an impish grin on her face. "Looks like someone had a little accident out there," she teases, brushing her fingers against the damp fabric. "You, missy, are in trouble," I say severely to her, already hungry for payback.

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