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fabled-fiction · 2 years ago

Note

Maybe a Hobie Brown x Mabel-Pines-Type!Reader? Older obviously, with just like, her personality and fashion sense? A Chaotic Sunshine meets Chaotic Rebel type thing.

If not interested, just ignore. But I look forward to whatever you write!

Starstruck (Hobie Brown x Fem!Sunshine!Reader)

Summary: You’re Jess Drew’s gal in the chair (in training), and when you have to make a quick trip the spider society you happen to catch a certain punk’s eye.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: MINOR SPIDERMAN ACROSS THE SPIDERVERSE SPOILERS, use of (Y/N)

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations!! I had alot of fun writing this!

EARTH-1618

KINGS, NEW YORK CITY

Your desk was more glitter than wood at this point.

It was hard to tell where the stickers stopped and where the wood of your desk started.

Especially now, as you squeezed glue on top of whatever artpiece you were currently working on. An array of different paint tubes and what looked like glitter bombs were spread about your work area, dangerously close to what looked like very expensive monitors and pcs. Though it was kind of hard to tell based on all the string worms and star stickers pasted on any surface that wasn’t a screen.

The project, which could only be identified as an oversized button pin upon closer inspection, was coming together nicely. Atleast in your eyes.

It read “BEST SPIDER” with a cute doddle of a spider surrounded by loads of blue, yellow, and red glitter. Currently you were putting your finishing touches on it by attaching color coordinated ribbons to the bottom ruffles.

The craftsmanship alone of it was indeed impressive, you just needed to look past the blinding reflectiveness of it.

It was for your mentor, Spiderwoman.

Who had taken you under her wing for the past two years, “training” you to be the best. Well, best in the sense of “gal in the chair”. At first it didn't make a whole lot of sense to you, but neither did the world you were thrown into. She apparently saw something in you from all the way across the multiverse.

The rest was history.

“(Y-)..(Y/N)...(Y/N)!”

The glue bottle currently in your hands spun in the air, a chaotically beautiful cascade of glue spewing in the air and (thankfully) somehow none of it landed on you. Slowly turning your head, you gave a small wave as you saw said mentor on the screen staring down at you.

“Jess! Hey…did you..did you try calling my watch?”

“What do you think?”

Spinning your chair across the room, you snatched your multiversal watch and flicked the screen on.

You did in fact have about five missed calls from her. You could feel her iced stare from across the room, hell from across dimensions.

“But it was getting in the way of my creative liberties!”

“I don’t care! As the second half of a spider person you need to be available 24/7! Your future spider will need to be able to rely on you.”

Slipping the watch onto your wrist, you shot yourself back over to your desk and smiled widely at her. She knew that whatever scolding she gave you would only have about a few moments effect. Sure the message would stick but she always had that nagging feeling in the back of her mind of how long it truly stuck.

“Well, You have me on the horn now! What's up? Who do I need to aid with my technological wonders? My sleuthing skills? I'm ready to Sherlock it up!”

After a few more long blank faced seconds, Jess reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“We actually need you here. Our resident Spider who usually deals with all of our technological deals is having some connectivity issues.”

Your heart stopped for a moment, but only for a moment before you were shooting out of your seat and whooping. Jumping around your room, you threw your fist in the air before a sudden realization dawned upon you mid air.

It was almost comical how you seemed to pause mid jump.

“Oh my god…I have to change. I can't show up to Spider Society looking like this!”

“(Y/N) there's no time! Grab your bag and get here now.”

Standing in shock, you huffed as you watched your computer screen clip off.

She was crazy if she thought you weren’t at least gonna put on some body glitter.

“Jess said to meet her here…do you think she got lost?”

Hobie shrugged, shoving his hands into his vest pockets. His fingers found themselves fiddling with whatever computer chip or part he had nabbed as he leaned against what could be considered a front desk.

“You know ‘er best. She usually punctual?”

Gwen looked up from her watch with an exasperated look. That told Hobie all he needed to know as he leaned his head back with a sigh.

“Listen! I've never met her in person! She’s one of Jess’s other trainees! I just know she's not a spider, and that despite having worked with Jess for two plus years she's never stepped foot in Spider Society!”

“She’s a chair?”

Pinching her nose, Gwen nodded. “Yea. A pretty good one too. She is a bit…eccentric though. And loud…I think she blew my eardrum out one time. I had tinnitus for like a week...”

“So she’s got some vocals on ‘er aye?”

“Thats all you picked up on? C’mon Hobie help me look for anyone who looks lost we’re supposed to chaperon h-”

Usually the portals that opened here were the usual semi-chaotic reality altering ones. But for some reason the one that just opened in front of them was nothing of the sort. No..this one opened with a loud tear; Everything and everyone in the vicinity was enveloped in a neon pink hue.

It was hard to tell who came stumbling out of the portal, as Hobie feared that if he moved his hand he would temporarily blind himself. But as the portal closed, and everything returned to its normal color palette, he finally dared to move his hand.

Maybe he shouldn’t have moved his hand.

Cause he was only met with a very different, blinding sight.

You had just fully stood from what he could only assume was a clumsy entrance. You wore what could only be described as almost every color of the rainbow but someone you pulled it off. There was absolutely no way you could move silently, as you were adorned in a plethora of kandi bracelets, pastel chains and pins. Your hair was adorned in a multitude of clips that matched the ones on your bag.

Was your smile an accessory too? Hobie was sure it was, cause it was blinding him just as much as the body glitter that was spread over your legs and arms were.

His hand slowly reached up to clutch the chest of his jacket, in hopes that it would remind his heart to beat.

It wasn’t until Gwen had elbowed him in the side (hard enough to bruise might he add) that he remembered to breathe.

“Don’t stare, it's rude.”

He didn’t want to look away.

“Hi! Im Gwen…Stacy! We’ve talked a few times over coms?”

You smiled even wider as you grabbed Gwen’s hand and shook it rather violently (or enthusiastically it could have been confused for either). When she removed her hands from your drip it was left brighter than before for only a moment.

“Hi! Its nice to finally put a non-masked face to the name! Im (Y/N). And you are?”

Your sneakers squeaked as you took a sharp turn to face Hobie fully.

“Im Hobie Brown. Quiet the entrance you made.”

He holds his hand out, and is relieved when you shake it for just as long as you did Gwen’s. He watches as it glowed then returned to its normal saturation.

“Yeaaaa. Apparently my Earth is like WAY brighter than most. I would’ve brought sunglasses if I had known that would happen. Anyways…can you show me to the computer lab..hub…wherever this Spider-Byte normally operates?”

Gwen had taken it upon herself to lead the charge, and include a quick run over tour of whatever facility you all happened to pass on the way to the lab.

Everything was so bright, but what amazed you more were the amount of Spider people that were just casually walking about. Either they were coming back from patrol, returning from break or coming for the first time.

You were sure your neck was gonna hurt or have a permanent crook in it from how much you were whipping your head around and turning to take everything in. You weren’t sure when the next time you would be here would be, so you wanted to take it all in.

“And here is where all the computer magic happens! You uh…know what you’ve gotta do from here right?” Gwen awkwardly raised her hands as if to present the lab.

“Yup! Im TECHNICALLY supposed to monitor your guys software and stuff and blah blah blah but I actually connected with Layla on the way here-who is super sweet by the way-and Im actually just gonna fix Spider-Byte’s connectivity issues here so she can get back to it. Y’know since she’s more knowledgeable with everything here. I would probably just mess something up.”

Despite the fact that you spoke about a mile a minute, and it was obvious Gwen was struggling to keep up, Hobie hung onto every word.

You moved like you had been here before despite this being your first time even stepping foot on the premises. You just moved with this sense of self confidence that had the aura of the room commanded by your presence alone. If you hadn’t told them your Earth just naturally saturated Hobie would have just assumed your essence was just too potent that it leaked off you and onto whatever you touched.

You were leagues above him when it came to the coolness factor.

Watching as you moved around the consoles via spinny chair (when did that get there?), each screen popped up and immediately began to run code. Hobie liked to pride himself on being a tech wiz, but this was levels beyond what he knew how to do. Maybe he could learn a thing or two from you.

But as he watched your hands, he noticed…were you TAKING code off the computers too?

Oh, that just brought a smile to his face.

As Gwen wandered over to the other side of the console to watch the miles of code run across the screen, Hobie took the opportunity to have a moment with you on the opposite side of the room.

Right when you went to shoot across him (and might he add it was almost like you had spider like reflexes with how you moved around on this thing), his hand went to grab the back of your chair.

Pulling the chair back, he watched as you rubber banded back into the seat and stood straight up. He leaned over your shoulder to look at the screen in front of you both. His hand reached over to tap a few keys and pull up the results onto just this screen.

Ignoring how his spider senses were shooting down his spine at an all time high with how close he was to you, he looked at you with a smirk.

“Did you just ‘alf inch some of our code?”

“Im sorry?”

Leaning in closer, he pulled the thumb drive out of only this terminal and held it up. Your cheeks turned a dark red in realization to being caught, and you crossed your arm as you started at him.

“You know wha’ I said”

Turning quickly, you pulled ANOTHER flash drive out from your pocket and stuck it into the port. The downloading resumed, and much to Hobie’s surprise you stood and snatched the thumb drive from him.

“First of all, I am part of the ‘’our’’ and second of all…it's none of your business.”

Suddenly multiple of the screens, well practically all of the screens in the room flashed green. With a pat of his shoulder, you rolled over to every computer and pulled out each flashdrive. Hobie counted…12!

He covered his mouth, trying to keep his cool disposition as he watched you quickly shove each one in your bag. You little grifter you…he would definitely have to find out what Earth you were from…

With the push of a button, you turned to them with a smile as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Alrighty! My work here is done…wait..,”

Turning around, you pressed the enter key on the computer behind you only to whip right back around smile as all the screens returned to normal.

You had been here all but twenty minutes and you managed to do solve all of their problems and then some.

“Now Im done! Gwen, you have my contact coordinate. Call me if you need me at all.”

Your eyes raked over Hobie, and you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest as he watched you carefully. The hair on your arms stood when he had leaned over you earlier. You could tell from his punk aesthetic and impressive hair that he was definitely anarchy incarnate…

He intrigued you. You were sure the data files you had picked up from the archives would barely answer every question you had about him.

You would have to push off your paper mache project for tonight…

“It was nice meeting you Hobie! Hope we can meet again sometime. Im like, basically free all the time…Later!”

Signing off with a peace sign, your neon portal opened again and closed in an instant as you fell into it.

“See what I mean, eccentric.”

“I thought she was pretty cool.”

Walking over to where you just stood, Hobie ran his fingers over where you had last touched hoping to catch some of the light leftover.

It was then he noticed you had left behind one of your thumb drives. It was definitely yours, a bright neon yellow covered in white glitter that fell off as he picked it up. His other hand came down to pick up the tag on the string connected to it.

‘Oops! Guess I left behind this VERY important thumb drive. Mind returning it to me? I like really need it for super duper important chair stuff…Earth 1618, Kings, New York City things y'know.

– (Y/N)’

#hobie x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown #spiderpunk x reader #spider punk #x reader #across the spiderverse #oneshot #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #marvel x reader

5K notes · View notes

gutsby · 1 year ago

Text

Walker Bait

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary: An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Warnings: NSFW. Protected p-in-v. Oral (m!receiving). Hatefucking, facefucking, and lots of dirty talk, leaning heavy on the “enemies” in the enemies-to-lovers trope. Mentions of a variety of sex toys and other filthy materials, including a blueberry-flavored condom and a walker wearing nipple clamps. 6.5k words.

“All ya gotta do is suck it.”

You were eye-level with the length of it now, all but staring down the barrel of the gun, so to speak. You wetted your lips, shifted uncomfortably on your knees. Then, almost reluctantly, you looked up at Daryl.

“What if it gets in my mouth?”

“It won’t.”

Daryl gripped the base of it with a sturdy hand and guided it closer to your mouth. You made a face as if to recoil, but Daryl was adamant. Insistent. One more false start and he’d probably just shove the thing down your throat. A man of many virtues he may have been, but patience was not among them.

“If I’d known you’d take this long I would’ve done it myself,” he scoffed.

You had just begun parting your lips to allow him entry, but on hearing this, you forced them shut, frowned, and opened them again just to retort:

“Why don’t you, then?! You wanna suck this shit so bad, be my guest.” You were already wobbling back onto your feet, wiping the dirt off your jeans and watching Daryl’s face turn even redder.

“‘Cause I’m teachin’ you, dipshit,” he snapped, “Can’t even tie yer fuckin’ shoes, but I figured ya maybe could siphon gas this once. My bad.”

And there it was: smug, shitstain Daryl ready to jump down your throat with another show of superiority. You couldn’t track, couldn’t forage, couldn’t hunt, couldn’t suck the gasoline out of a car or even put the hose in your mouth. You were useless in his eyes, and he was never shy to make sure you knew it. He looked you over once and hardly seemed to see you at all—just narrowed his eyes and flung the plastic tube in your direction.

Because Rick and all the rest of them were home, and you were here, scoping out the remnants of a seedy one stoplight town miles away, Daryl felt far more at liberty to act like a dick. He would’ve rather anyone been by his side but you, and he let you know as much, but somehow, in some sick and absurd twist of fate, you had been obliged to tag along. You sensed it was because you were the newest addition to Alexandria. And, quite frankly, because you sucked at every other task you’d been given, sucking gas out of cars was all that was left for you to do.

So easy a walker with a dislodged jaw could’ve done it. But you couldn’t. And Daryl despised you for it.

“Figure it out,” he muttered, turning on his heels to stalk off.

You weren’t sure if it was the irate glint in his eyes or the air of condescension in his tone, but you were floored. He’d made two, maybe three steps in the opposite direction when he felt something strike the black leather on his back. He turned again, dropped his gaze to the ground, and saw the plastic hose at his feet. When he looked back up, you were quick to trail behind, stomping past him without a second glance.

“Suck it yourself, asshole.” And you couldn’t help it; you gave him the finger over your shoulder.

You didn’t need eyes in the back of your head to see the rancid, sullen scowl plastered flat across Daryl’s face. Didn’t need ultrasonic hearing to catch him curse beneath his breath and kick something at his feet. You just kept walking in the other direction and hoped with everything you had he wouldn’t follow.

When you’d made it a ways down the street and Daryl hadn’t bothered to chase after you, you breathed a sigh of relief. Now he could raid the mini mart and loot canned foods to his heart’s content or prove himself useful in fifty other ways, and you could just explore.

From the looks of it, you were at the heart of this defunct podunk town and had virtually every amenity at your fingertips.

A barbershop on your right and a dive bar on your left, two boutiques with their windows all busted in, an unsightly patch of grass that once passed as a park, and one lone Texaco, almost treacherous in the light of day as it stood without a single car stationed at its pumps. “NO WAY OUT” emblazoned on a makeshift placard and half a dozen bodies littering the sidewalk before you.

Nothing quite like that small town Southern charm.

Against your better judgment, you went fishing in your back pocket for a few familiar friends to lift your spirits. First, the near-spent package of Virginia Slims, then the lighter, then your Walkman and headphones. An admittedly lethal combination for any would-be survivor of the apocalypse—limiting your hearing and crippling your lungs was no way to live in a world like this, Carol always warned before she snatched both culprits from your hands—but you didn’t care today. You were most of the way down the street and turning down a side avenue; if any walkers were in the vicinity, you figured you would’ve heard them moaning and groaning and dragging their boney asses behind you long before. By all appearances, you and Daryl were totally alone.

You thumbed one miniature flame into view and brought it close to the cigarette you had clamped between your teeth. Then you deposited the lighter back in your pocket, snapped your headset over your ears, and fiddled with the portable cassette player until the strains of some archaic Molly Hatchet tune went spiraling in your ears—“Bounty Hunter,” by the sounds of it.

You were walking at an easy pace now. Took a left off Main and strolled quietly onto Sheppard Street, careful to dodge every bottle, beer can, and rotting body you could. You took a drag and ogled some of the saddest storefronts you’d ever seen. Windows all blown to bits and insides looking like shit as every place appeared to be looted.

It wasn’t until you’d walked a little longer and made your way past the epicenter of the havoc that you saw any spot worth looking at. Where it seemed every other place for food, clothes, firearms, or frozen yogurt along this stretch of road was ransacked and dilapidated, you noticed one building that wasn’t.

In fact, it stopped you dead in your tracks and warranted a triple take to ensure you were seeing things properly the first time you saw it. Blinking with disbelief in the face of this scorching Georgia heat, came your first, unfathomable, ‘What the fuck?’

Juicy Peach Pleasure Shop—Take a bite inside!

There were some sick, twisted people in this world before the turn, that was for sure.

You made a beeline for the entrance.

Admittedly, you’d seen your fair share of funky ass sex shops in your day, but this one took the cake. All shuttered up and seemingly untouched since the world first went to shit—because who in their right mind was robbing a pocket pussy emporium in the midst of the apocalypse?—the store was in surprisingly pristine condition.

The inside was probably tiny and grimy and crawling with walkers—but it was also now your only hope to make yourself useful to the Alexandria community, you thought.

You quickly came to realize that this store would allow you to supply a truckload of sex toys and offer every adult back home the opportunity at a kinkier recreational outlet. With a stockpile of vibrators, ball gags, and anal beads alike, you could finally show them you were good for something. Maybe even worth keeping around, in spite of your subpar siphoning skills and the fact that you’d scared off nearly every animal Daryl attempted to hunt.

You’d be a Juicy Peach pioneer, and one that was likely to meet with tremendous success, if you could just…get the damn door open.

You gave the handle several violent shakes and thrust your body against the door, to no avail.

The sun’s rays were relentless on your back and already bringing a sheen of sweat to your skin, try as you might to keep your cool. You fooled around a few more seconds with the knob, found it hopelessly stuck in its position, and were about ready to abandon the task altogether when you felt the glass begin to give way. Instead of pushing the door, all you had to do was pull it open.

If you were around anyone else but yourself and the dead, you probably would’ve blushed. Would’ve taken a peek at your surroundings, perhaps lifted one half of your headset off your ears and tried to listen to see if anyone had heard. But no, you forged ahead, as careless and oblivious as you were engrossed in the present song’s guitar solo.

Should you have bothered to do either, you likely would’ve heard a set of feet sprinting in your direction and seen someone reaching for you in a hurry. Would’ve caught a glimpse of the stranger’s left hand before it clamped over your mouth or the right as it closed around your own on the door handle and yanked it back. The next thing you knew, you were being hauled inside and held tight against someone’s body, all but immobile in their grip and struggling to gasp for air.

Then a breath, hot on your ear as the person pulled you closer:

“Herd. Don’t move.”

You tensed in Daryl’s arms and watched the scene unfold before you. Just outside the store’s boarded windows, a super-sized group of geeks began to descend on the street where you’d just been standing. Seeing them shuffle, stumble, groan, and hiss their way down, you shuddered to think you hadn’t heard them at all—and would have been overrun in a minute if Daryl hadn’t intervened just then.

The man’s hand remained glued to your mouth, sensing you might shriek as you watched the horde grow in size.

Slowly, he backed you away from the door and started looking around.

“Daryl, I—” you began in a whisper, turning around to face him.

Before you could continue, a half-rotted corpse rose from the floor a few feet away and started toward you and Daryl. You fought your first inclination to scream, remembering your current predicament, and opted instead for a frantic, furious wave of your arm as you pointed behind Daryl.

The man leveled his crossbow in a blink and had a bolt lodged in the walker’s skull even faster. You watched the body crumple to the ground, just before another one of its companions came rounding the corner.

This time, Daryl slipped his dagger from the sheath on his belt and in a single, swift maneuver, drove the blade through the walker’s temple. You watched with widened, paralyzed eyes as this one, too, dropped fast to the floor. But when it did, you still couldn’t bring yourself to displace your gaze, for something bizarre had snagged your attention.

“What in the everliving fuck is tha’?” Daryl breathed, eyes stuck to the same sight as yours.

That rank, decayed biter had a pair of nipple clamps fastened to its chest.

Just as your mind raced to furnish the man with an answer, Daryl took a sweeping look around the place and scrunched his nose.

“Is this—”

“Daryl, I can explain—”

You watched the anger flare in his eyes as he turned.

“You got us trapped in a sex shop?” Daryl snarled.

Though neither of you were in a position to speak too far above a whisper with the walkers outside, it was painfully obvious that your partner was yearning to yell in your face. In an instant, he got within an inch of it and stood towering over you, seething between gritted teeth:

“Risked our lives for a fuckin’ vibrator?”

“How was I supposed to know?” you whispered back, gesturing wildly to the window behind you.

Daryl’s fingers curled into fists, and for a second it seemed like one was primed to strike the nearest surface, but he stopped. Unclenched his hands and simply glared down at you.

“Ain’t you a peach,” he muttered, low and slow, “Ain’t you a goddamn useless little peach, huh?”

He took off in the other direction, probably in search of a back exit.

You stood and silently scolded yourself for feeling even the slightest inkling of arousal at the last, sarcasm-soaked insult. What the hell was wrong with you?

You hung back another minute or so and weren’t surprised in the least when you heard Daryl groan out loud, coming to find the back door barricaded all the way to the ceiling.

“Sonovabitch!”

Taking one, apprehensive look out the window, you observed the herd hadn’t budged. They were moving and milling about, to be sure, but the bulk of them hadn’t wavered from the shop’s front stoop, leaving you and Daryl prisoners within these four walls.

You flinched when one of the walkers bumped its near-fleshless head against the glass. Silently, warily, you backed away and hoped it wouldn’t stray any further.

At length, none of them did.

Nearly an hour had passed before you could tear yourself away from the window, watching each doe-eyed, groaning monster outside like your life depended on it. Then Daryl came staggering back, all but drenched in sweat and slashed every which way down his arms. He’d been prying whatever stuff he could get from the exit, only to find that the door itself had been boarded up and jammed shut. The herd hadn’t stirred.

Daryl had barely been able to look at you when he demanded you start looking—for batteries, rope, whatever the hell you could find in this “depraved place.” You’d gone searching without another word, and the pair of you had been radio silent ever since. Combing over aisles of porn flicks and cock pumps and pretending like this wasn’t the most uncomfortable thing either of you had ever had to do.

When the opportunity to slip somewhere else first presented itself, you took it.

Toward the back of the store, you found a set of changing rooms. All cluttered with boxes and other junk but nevertheless a potential treasure trove for supplies. You eased your way in.

To your relief, there were only two half-rotted walkers making their rounds amongst the wreckage. You knifed them both and went calmly about your business.

And for awhile, it was just that—business. You were ecstatic to find two pairs of boxcutters, a dozen rolls of tape, and more rope than you knew what to do with. You had loaded your arms chock-full of finds, were just about to step outside to show Daryl, when a clothes rack caught your eye.

You turned your head and stopped to take in the sight.

On a single, flimsy hanger at the center of the shelf, there dangled a baby pink lace lingerie set.

You hadn’t seen anything that tantalizing, lithe, and sheer in a long, long time. You were practically drawn to it, feeling your feet shuffle clumsily in its direction and your arms drop every last item they held. Surely, then, you embodied everything a Victoria’s Secret salesman could’ve dreamed—so singularly focused on that stupid piece of clothing that you were literally stepping over dead bodies to get there.

If Daryl could see you then, he’d probably slap you upside the head.

“This ain’t a fashion show, sweetheart, we got the dead beatin’ down our front door!” You could almost hear him now.

Almost. Any hypothetical harangue from your supply run partner and every other pressing concern, it seemed, was lost on you now. All you knew was lace embroidery and plunging necklines, satin fabrics and fuck-me mesh open gussets.

You were clothed in the garment quicker than you could say, ‘Bad idea.’ You did a spin in the mirror.

A thousand dumb ideas danced before your mind’s eye as you placed your hands on your hips, moved your shoulders in sync, gave your ass a little shake. It was ridiculous, but you just hadn’t thought of yourself that way in so long; it was like you were staring at a brand new reflection. Years in a noxious, nightmarish world like the one you currently inhabited would do that. Turn a person into a bloodless stoic, so focused on the means of survival that they couldn’t even say a simple—

“What the fuck?!”

Your heart leapt into your throat when you saw Daryl’s form appear in the corner of the mirror. You quickly covered your tits and turned back to look at him.

“I-I-I’m sorry, Daryl, I—”

“You off yer fuckin’ rocker or sumn’?” Daryl spat, striding right over to you, “We got a whole pack of walkers champin’ at the bit to get us outside, and yer in here playin’ dress up?!”

Daryl clenched his jaw and shoved the clothes rack to the side, sending it tumbling over the two dead walkers with a crash. You hugged your arms to your chest even tighter.

Just when you opened your mouth to speak again, to try and apologize once more, Daryl shoved a thick, angry finger in your face.

“If you go and get yer dumbass devoured by a dildo-wielding geek, tha’s on you. I ain’t fuckin’ comin’ ta save ya no more.”

Damn if the man didn’t have a way with words, even when he was fuming out the ears.

You glanced down and immediately wished you hadn’t. Or had, sooner. Your blue-eyed nemesis was currently sporting the largest hard-on you thought you’d ever seen.

Daryl looked down too and seemed only to grow in his anger, if that were even possible, as it appeared he was infuriated at the sight below him. Enraged with his own erection.

You almost would’ve found this predicament amusing if you weren’t still afraid Daryl might throw you over his shoulder and feed you to the herd outside. Deciding to play it safe, you kept your mouth shut and stood with your hands clasped in front of you. Eyed the outline of his dick only once. Okay, maybe twice.

When your eyes traveled back up to his face in a nervous gaze, you found that Daryl was glaring at you. A hand hovered uncertainly above his belt buckle.

“Fuck it.” You heard him say under his breath before suddenly reaching for you.

Your whole body tensed in his calloused hands as he shoved you toward the door, gripping your wrists behind your back and thrusting you ahead.

You dug your heels into the floor, uselessly, trying to stop your vicious path past the changing rooms and into the store. Your eyes widened as you saw an even larger horde amassed beyond the front door, and for several, fleeting seconds you seriously thought that Daryl might throw you out there.

“Daryl, please,” you wailed, thrashing against him, “I didn’t mean it, I was being stupid—you don’t have to do this!”

At the center of the store, Daryl stopped. Spun you around shortly to face him.

“What?”

“Don’t feed me to the herd, please, I’m begging you.” Your stomach clenched with fear.

Daryl’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly. If you weren’t so goddamn terrified, you would’ve detected that tiny change was in fact amusement.

“‘M not gon’ feed you to the walkers, girl,” he grunted, all matter-of-fact. Then, just as calmly, “‘M gonna fuck you over this counter.”

Oh.

It seemed your World War Z nightmare-fantasy had taken a pornographic turn. The meaning of his words hardly registered in your brain before he shuttled you off to the cashier’s counter at the front of the store. Before you knew it, you were lying flat on a cold, glass surface and staring straight out into a sea of undead faces a few yards ahead. You swallowed.

You flinched with another grating sensation, this time at your wrists.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Daryl binding your hands together behind your back. Where he had obtained the black BDSM rope in the time it had taken him to bring you here was beyond you.

“Not to be a Debbie Downer here or anything, but isn’t this...kind of…dangerous?” you asked, jerking your head in the direction of the walkers outside the window.

“Don’t care.” Daryl pulled the rope even tighter.

“But they can hear us if they’re right outside.”

From your vantage point, it seemed Daryl was ready to yank your hair and pound you senseless. Instead, he smiled. Gave your ass a light pat.

“Then you’d be wise to keep tha’ pretty mouth of yours shut while I’m fuckin’ ya, sunshine.”

Daryl pressed one quick kiss on your shoulder before bounding off in the other direction. You shimmied helplessly against your restraints as you tried to flip yourself over.

“You’re sick, Dixon. You’re a sick son of a bitch, I hope you know that,” you whisper-shouted after him. You doubt he heard you but had a sneaking suspicion he’d already seen the soaked-through spot between your legs to disprove it even if he had. You pressed your head to the counter and cursed your primal instincts for turning your lower half into an uncomely mess every time a man twice your age said something mean to you.

You would’ve liked to have leaned back—or, rather, forward—and said a big ‘fuck you’ to Molly Hatchet as well for getting you into this bind in the first place, were it not for the sound of Daryl’s footsteps returning.

“Listen, I learned my lesson, Dar. If you could just untie me, we would be a lot better off figuring out a way to escape this place than—”

You yelped as something smacked your ass. It wasn’t Daryl’s hand.

“Ouch!” You strained against the rope once more, only succeeding in wiggling your ass before Daryl’s pleasantly occupied eyes.

“C’mon now, it ain’t tha’ bad, honey. Stuff’s meant to feel good,” he chided. Another strike on your ass check punctuated his words.

He was right; it didn’t really hurt. Just felt strange, all bent over and exposed before him like that. You glanced back and saw the crop in his hands, the smug look on his face, and for a second, you did feel a twinge of pleasure as you imagined him doing much more.

You whimpered when he spanked you again—this time, with the flattened palm of his hand.

“Better?” Daryl quipped, grinning.

The second you nodded your head, you heard the sound of the crop clatter to the floor behind you. Daryl swiftly took your ass in both hands and started kneading the skin. Really digging his fingers into the flesh and sending shockwaves trembling all through your body.

“Rick’s the only reason yer here, y’know,” Daryl said behind you. You yelped when he smacked your ass again, and you curled your toes into the linoleum below.

The man rubbed the spot as soon as he’d struck it, palming your skin like it was the softest, smoothest thing he’d ever felt.

“Thinks you’d be an asset.” Another slap on your rear.

“I told him he don’t know wha’ the fuck he’s talkin’ ‘bout. Said you were ‘bout as useful as a one-legged man in an ass-kickin’ contest.”

You fought back a chuckle. That was pretty good.

And when he spanked your ass another time, the sting didn’t hurt as much. You propped your chin on the surface beneath you, pursed your lips, and actually suppressed the threat of a moan.

“I said ya were a liability,” Daryl continued, “Didn’t know no fuckin’ manners neither.”

At that, you were tempted to speak, almost wanting to defend yourself against his baseless accusations. But Daryl stopped that from happening, as he grabbed a fistful of your hair and arched your back up to meet his face, half-standing.

“I think ya need me ta teach ya some manners, how ‘bout tha’?” he growled in your ear.

If the warmth pooling between your legs couldn’t answer for you, you decided words would have to do. You nodded and said, “Uh-huh.”

Daryl threw you back onto the counter and gave your ass another brutal smack.

“‘Uh-huh’ don’t sound too polite to me, sugar,” he said sharply, cruelly. He didn’t soothe your backside with the pulse of his fingers and stood back from you instead.

“Yes...y-yes sir,” you stammered out, legs trembling underneath you.

Your feet were slightly raised, all but standing on tip-toes to keep your body propped up against the counter, and you were suddenly aware that your cunt was plainly exposed. The open gusset in your lacy attire seemed to have spread even further, swelling with the size of your now-engorged folds and probably displaying yourself to Daryl in all the worst ways.

The man groaned behind you.

You sensed some fabric shuffle, the clink of a belt come undone, and finally a tongue—pressed flat against you and licking a stripe up your oozing heat.

You shuddered forward on the tabletop and let out a lewd-sounding squeal. Your eyes widened at the sight ahead of you as you swore you could’ve seen a walker turn their rotted head in your direction outside. Daryl clamped a hand over your mouth.

“Now tha’s— what we’re not gonna do,” he whispered through gritted teeth, “We’re not gonna make one fuckin’ sound so the geeks out there can stay right where they are. Ya hear me?”

Daryl’s hand moved to your throat and pinched it in a vicious grip when you didn’t answer him.

“Ya hear me?”

You managed one strangled ‘Yes sir’ and left your lips parted as Daryl placed a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on them. He stepped back again.

You heard some other quiet stirrings behind you as Daryl fiddled with something above your back. Frankly, you were already too lust-struck and cum-hungry to care, breathing out in soft, gentle puffs of air as you tried to rein in your reeling mind. You watched the walkers for a minute, tried to ground yourself in the unsavory reality all around you—the precarious position you were currently standing in, as one stray stumble of one of those undead shitheads might veritably mean the end of you and Daryl’s lives as you knew it—and you sighed. Scanned your eyes across the sea of wretched, fleshy heads and wanted to hurl.

At present, Daryl stroked your lower back with the tips of his fingers.

“Y’know, it’s been real tough ta find anything useful here,” he mused aloud, running his touch over your skin and sending a flurry of goosebumps in its path, “Ain’t nothin’ worth keepin’ here, really—‘cept maybe some dirty magazines.”

You internally rolled your eyes. Good for you, Daryl.

Then he lifted his hand and dragged it down a little further, causing you to clench your legs and snag your bottom lip between your teeth.

“But I got curious, see…” Daryl’s forefinger followed the contour of your ass and slid down between your cheeks, traveling lazily ‘til he reached your aching core. He sank that same finger deep between your folds and circled around in your heat, eliciting a strained whimper above as he gathered your juices.

“Daryl—” you whined.

“Don’t interrupt,” Daryl growled, slapping your pussy.

You winced and let out the smallest of moans. Daryl smirked.

“I found some stuff,” he resumed, “Might actually make this little trip worthwhile.”

You panted in your current position, hardly hearing a word he said.

When he lifted something else to your heat, you did quickly sense that his wasn’t any part of his hand, or even his cock. You squirmed in place but didn’t speak.

“Found batteries,” Daryl declared, as though it were the grandest discovery he’d ever made.

“Ya know what batteries are good for, darlin’?” You could almost hear the grin in his voice.

Before you could answer, you felt a fierce pulse at your center. A tremor, a throb, an artificial oscillation.

A vibration.

You moaned.

Daryl twirled the tip of a pink vibrator against your clit and pressed.

So overcome with that raw, potent jolt, you couldn’t help it when you cried, “Fuck, Daryl!”

Daryl didn’t cover your mouth, but he did withdraw the device from your slit for a moment, just to whisper in your ear to shut. the fuck. up. The two of you ogled the swarm of walkers once more and stood in muted suspense. Waiting for one to turn toward the glass.

Not a single set of eyes drifted in your direction.

Bent over you with a buzzing vibrator at your core, Daryl couldn’t deny the rush was...addictive. He pushed the thing a little deeper and smiled when you stifled a moan.

“Ya might’ve been right comin’ all the way out here after all,” Daryl teased, “This shit’s way more fun than suckin’ gas, don’t ya think?”

You buried your face in the glass and wanted to scream when Daryl’s fingers started sliding in and out of your hole.

You were being so good, not making a sound, eyes all but welled up with tears at the pleasure that was coursing through your body. Daryl rubbed your back with his other hand and seemed to be treating you a little gentler now.

“Aw, tha’s my girl,” he said, words ripe with condescension. He traced his palm up the length of your spine and kept fingering you quietly. You barely even noticed that the vibrator was designed to hook inside you, still punishing your clit as it quivered away at the sensitive spot within your walls.

“Who woulda thought all it would take ta shake that disobedience away was a couple’a fingers in yer cunt and a stupid little toy.”

You were far too close to your release to give a shit about his patronizing speech; you bucked your hips against his hand, his front, and gritted your teeth as a tender bubble of pleasure grew deep within your belly. Then, to your surprise, you felt Daryl clasp your fingers while they were still knotted with rope behind you and squeezed them.

“Tha’s a good girl. Cum all over me, make tha’ pussy feel nice f’me, c’mon.”

You followed his command in short order and released all over his hand, humping his fingers and humming through a muffled shriek as you came.

Daryl beamed with pride and hardly had it in him to look away, notwithstanding the growing throng of walkers close ahead of you. He uncurled his fingers, slid them out, and took a nice, long taste of his hand while he watched you writhe underneath him.

“Take it out!” you hissed, thrashing against the vibrator still buzzing within you, “Take it out, take it out, take it out!”

In truth, you’d never felt so fucking good in your life. You surprised yourself when you stood there another couple seconds and came again, clenching repeatedly over the tiny pink toy and groaning into the condensation-dampened glass.

“FUCK!” you screamed, this time with no hint of restraint.

Daryl’s eyes bulged out of his head, and he yanked the thing out of you. Gaze darting to the window in a petrified look.

One walker paused in place and craned its neck with the slowest of motions. It stared blankly at the window before it but didn’t move. Daryl saw its mouth open and close, wheezing something violent, and stared another few seconds before shuffling back to its previous path. Daryl closed his eyes.

“What did I say about—” he started to whisper down to you, but you cut him short,

“We need a safe word or something, Daryl. This is too fuckin’ risky.”

You were right about that. Daryl straightened up and tucked the vibrator in his pocket, before wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“Yeah? How ‘bout ‘Walker Bait’?” he muttered, rubbing his face.

Then he was fumbling with the rope around your wrists and loosening it up. His heart was still thudding in his chest, scared half to death with the narrow miss you’d just had, though he didn’t want you to see it. He turned around as soon as you’d gotten free.

“Fine by me,” you grumbled back.

You watched Daryl disappear down a random aisle and felt obliged to cross your arms over your chest, pivoting back to the walkers with a wary gaze.

And, just when you started to wander back into the recesses of your mind, watching the swarm grow thicker and thicker and starting to doubt you’d ever escape this nightmare, you felt Daryl’s hands on you again. Squeezing your hips and turning you to face him.

“Jump,” he ordered.

You did as he said and locked your legs around his waist, welcomed by the familiar feeling of the counter behind you as Daryl pressed your bodies into it. He half-braced you against it, half-held you in his arms as he fingered something small and delicate beneath you.

Your smile widened at the sight of a condom wrapper being torn in two, and grew even bigger when you caught a glimpse of the rubber itself.

It was bright blue and littered with ridges. You laughed.

“The hell is that, Dixon?” you asked, bringing a hand to your mouth to muffle your amusement.

Daryl gingerly dragged the cobalt-colored condom over his length and made a face.

“Ain’t a single damn rubber here for normal people,” he grunted, “This one’s fuckin’ blueberry flavored.”

At the last, neither of you could contain your laughter as you both stared down at the bizarre blue condom stretching over Daryl’s cock. You scooted forward just a little.

“Never a dull moment with you, is there, Dar?” you said as you pushed his chest lightly. Telling him to step back so you could hop down and sink to the floor in front of him.

Daryl sucked in a breath as you took his shaft in your hands. He slapped a hand on the countertop and squeezed when your tongue darted past your lips.

Surely he couldn’t get a fruit-flavored condom and not expect you to give it a taste.

With the base of his cock between your fingers, you licked a long, wide line up his dick and moaned.

“Doesn’t taste much like blueberries,” you hummed, feigning disappointment as you gazed up at Daryl. He gripped the counter even harder and gritted his teeth to suppress a groan.

Regardless of the unsavory artificial flavor, you took the head of his cock between your lips and sucked. Bobbed your head up and down over his length as though trying to get a real mouthful of those so-called berry juices. You found yourself sorely dissatisfied with the taste but more than compensated for this loss in the form of Daryl’s throaty moans above you. It seemed he was letting loose on the restraints to keep quiet and finally gripping your hair, rutting into your mouth.

“Ah, honey, tha’s’it. Tha’s a good little slut,” he panted as he pushed you further down on his cock.

You tried not to gag when he grazed the back of your throat but couldn’t control the reflex. Daryl groaned even louder above you.

In a second, you were plucked off his bright blue boner and taken back into his arms, then shoved on the surface behind you.

“I ain’ fuckin’ waitin’ no more. Ya done achin’ for daddy’s cock?”

You nodded that you were. You readily accepted Daryl’s lips on your own and his tongue pushed deep in your mouth as he showered you with a string of sloppy kisses. Shifted you in his arms almost viciously, frantically, before bringing you down on his cock.

The second you were fully impaled on him, the two of you groaned. You bucked your hips and he rutted his, bouncing you up and down again and again with no time at all to adjust to his size.

All that could be heard in the deserted store was the sounds of your skin slapping against one another, punctuated every now and then with strangled moans and stifled whimpers. You steadied your hands on either one of his shoulders and stared, deeply, in Daryl’s half-hooded eyes. He panted out a breathy sigh as you clenched around him.

“Tha’s right, girl, fuckin’ take it. Take this fuckin’ cock like it’s yours,” he growled.

“It is mine, Daryl,” you bit back, grinding even harder, “Tell me it’s mine.”

Daryl’s jaw seemed to slacken just a bit, evidently aroused by the sound of you talking so dirty to him. In a blink, he was digging his nails in your sides and saying,

“It’s yours, baby. All fuckin’ yours.”

If someone had told you at the start of the day that this was how your dreaded supply run with Daryl would go, you wouldn’t have believed them. As your once-despised partner drilled you even deeper and caught your lips in a frenzied kiss, you still almost couldn’t comprehend it now. You bounced, and you writhed, and you rolled your desperate hips against him, but how in the fuck did this happen?

The moment Daryl dropped his thumb to your clit, you decided you didn’t care.

Your walls hugged him even tighter as he drew loose circles all over your swollen nub, and your head fell back. Daryl held you even tighter.

“Gonna cum again f’me? Gonna cum all over this cock?” he goaded you as your heels dug deep in his lower back.

All you could do was nod again—bring your lazy, fucked-out gaze back to Daryl and murmur in what hardly felt like words to you at all:

“Y-yes, daddy, yes.”

Daryl smiled at the sound of that word on your lips and thrusted his hips even harder, fucking you fast to build the friction on your sensitive, trembling walls.

That, paired with the flick of his thumb on your clit and the narrowing eyes holding you tight to his gaze—wordlessly coaxing you to cum for him now, make daddy proud—sent your senses spiraling into ecstasy. You released all over Daryl’s fat, throbbing cock and gripped him harder than you ever had before.

Before another scream could escape your lips, Daryl yanked you closer for a kiss and attempted to swallow every sound as his own orgasm surged inside him. You felt the man move both hands to your sides, seize them, and all but crush the bones beneath his fingers as he fucked you hard against the counter. He shot his load in the condom and groaned against your mouth.

Two former enemies, fucked out like a couple of crazed fools, stayed glued in place and blinked back at one other like you hardly understood what had just happened. Grinning nonetheless.

As Daryl leaned in for one last kiss, the pair of you froze—something rapped against the window.

The two of you turned and almost swore you could’ve felt your stomachs fall to the floor.

The herd of walkers outside, seemingly doubled in size, now stood at full attention at the storefront. Every undead, rotted head turned straight to face you.

They looked real fucking hungry.

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon imagine #smut #twd daryl #twd fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon one shot #twd imagine

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nimpnawakproduction · 1 year ago

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The ultimate reference sheets for all of Vash's outfits in Trigun maximum (with commentaries)

IT IS DONE. I'M FREE. Now I can forget all about Trimax and draw Trigun stampede designs only hahaha (just kidding I have things for Trimax on the stove).

Trigun bookclub was an awesome initiative, I loved the manga with my all heart and wanted to honor Nightow's designs ;w; I also wanted to help my fellow artists with references for Vash's clothes because DEAR GOD it's difficult to understand how the hell he dresses himself in the morning. I have a lot of fun dressing and undressing him like a barbie doll. My hyperfixation is completely healthy.

I put a "read more" section to avoid spoilers :) !

The July coat

The very first coat in Trigun chronology and the one he wores during the destruction of July ! There is not a lot of panels to take references but I tried to stay as close as possible to the manga. I don't know what number of prosthesis he had before but let name this one Prosthesis 1.

Scars map

Next, nakey Vash ! There's A LOT of changes between one panel to another. Scars changes places and forms panel to panel and the design evolved from the first chapters of Trigun, the time we see him naked as Eriks and his undressed state while he was a prisoner on the Ark. I drew the scars that appeared more than once or were in clean view in a panel (but really you can do like Nightow and draw as many scars as you want without thinking about consistency, this boy has been in a meat grinder)

After July underclothes

Or the jumpsuit that gave me grey hair. His suit does not make ANY sense, I don't know how the hell he dresses himself in the morning with this. My solution is that it's very long gloves and chaps strapped to a belt. The position and shapes of the belts changes IN EVERY PANEL. Same for his knee guards, sometimes they're here, sometime they cover his shins, sometimes they are tiny..... I gave up in the end and draw them as we see them in the very last panel he wears this suit. But damn he looks good in it.

Also in all of the 13 volumes, there is not a single panel with a clear view of his holster (I checked...) so here is my interpretation.

This is prosthesis n°2, the design is a little different from the first one so I guess Prosthesis 1 got destroyed (this happens a lot).

After July coat

The very first Trigun coat he wears in the manga ! Very simple, very basic, it gives him impossibly wide shoulders but Vash deserves it. The first one is worn Post July until Vash's confrontation against Brilliant Dynamite Neon. The second one is the state of his coat after the sandsteamer incident. He loses his prothesis after his fight against Monev the gale. He meets Wolfwood with only one arm and stays that way while he fights Knives for the first time.

Eriks

I took liberties with colors because there's no colored panels with Vash as Eriks. Yes I drew him without suspenders because he has them for like 5 panels and then Nightow drew him without them for the rest of Eriks arc so I made choices ;w;

I love the fact that Vash choose to wear tight jeans even in his casual outfits, this boy will not let his skin breath. This is now Prosthesis 3 ! It's way less advanced than the ones he wore in the rest of the manga, the other ones seem to replicate skin.

After his years as Eriks

And now the first Maximum coat, he wears it until the famous Yuri hospital arc! Finally an undersuit that makes sense, I love it, too bad Nightow-san decided that I had to suffer and changed it again to add BELTS EVERYWHERE. We only see his legs in this part of the manga so I gave him the same top because I can.

The tubes he has on his waist are filled with bullets, he can connect them to his prosthesis to have a mini machine gun.

We are now at Prosthesis 4 !

Hospitalization on the Home ship

The famous Yuri hospital phase! Vash definitely shared his wardrobe with Wolfwood, you can't tell me otherwise.

The first outfit still shows Prothesis 4 but he keeps it for like 5 minutes and lost it again against Nine-lives. I don't really know if the prothesis comes with the integrated glove or if there's synthetic skin under it but why would he keep the glove on if it's not intergrated?

The second pictures is the different outfits he wears during his convalescence. I took liberties with the colors, I drew this in like 10 minutes, everything seems easy when you don't have to draw BELTS. We are now on Prothesis 5 ! Nightow drew it as a regular arm so I guess Vash wears gloves on top of it??????

Back on the road in pursuit of Knives

He wears this one after his stay at Home, throughout the Dragon's nest ark and until his 2nd fight against Knives.

I liked the design of his jumpsuit until I looked closer at the panels and saw that the design change ON EVERY ONE OF THEM. Knee guard on only one knee? No kneeguards? Two??? WHO KNOWS ??? I tried to make it work but really go wild with this one, even the author does not know how his pant looks.

Still prosthesis 5, BUT UNTIL WHEN?

Prisoner on the Ark

THEY MASSACRED MY BOY. Did they even feed him at least in 7 months? Those pictures are the definition of the drenched kitty cat left under the rain. Give this man a blanket and a therapist.

Bye bye Prothesis 5 ! And see what I mean when I say that his outfit does not make sense????? It comes out in parts????

After his imprisonment on the Ark

The last suit in the manga! He keeps this coat until the end of the story. From this point, only his hair changes (or the color of his coat).

I adore the little angel wing symbol on his left arm, such a cute addition. Too bad it appears in one of the most traumatic event of his life.

Speaking of his jumpsuit...The return of belts.... But at least this outfit stays relatively coherent except for his kneeguards who appear and disappear panel from panel but most of the time he doesn't have any, so no kneeguard it is. Prosthesis 6 hello !

Final battle and end of the story

It hurted to drew those outfits ;w; And working on the design of his coat when he fights Legato made me realize where Orange studio took inspiration to chose the colors for Vash's coat in the final episode of Stampede ! Great job ! I tried to color the same effects as one of the illustrations showing dark Vash but I'm not really good with colors..... He actually radiates energy but with some purple undertones, I took some liberties because those are my drawings I do what I want.

I'm not sure at 100% that he has a tuft of blond hair left when his outfit turns black but his hair is all black at the end of the fight. His prosthesis is destroyed at the end of the fight. He got another one in the final chapter. So 7 prosthesis throughout the story!

#play with vash like a barbie doll #I love reference sheets #took years to do but it helps so much when drawing comics #or writing fics #how the hell do you expect me to show him undress if I don't know how his clothes work #anyway enjoy #vash the stampede #vash #trigun #trigun maximum #a's art

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six-swords · 2 months ago

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Here's a compilation of NSFT Steb and Scar headcanons and their references to real animal biology which I included in my fic:

Steb is trans! His spawning cycle takes six months. At the close of each cycle, his body produces a batch of unfertilized eggs. Usually, he's able to release them and go about his day, but this time, they needed a little extra encouragement, so Scar coming inside him basically tricks his body into thinking his eggs have been fertilized and convinces his body to expel said "fertilized" eggs faster.

The genital papilla is a small tube that many teleost fish expel sperm or eggs out of. I took some creative liberties and made it like a small cylindrical flap (think giant clit that lays back towards the anus) over his front hole, but he does release his eggs from his hole, not the papilla. His papilla also lifts when very aroused. This is reference to how some fish's papilla are only visible during reproduction.

He has anal fins that function sort of like the human vulva's lips. Fish also have anal fins that can either shield their anus and urogenital opening. Some male fish have even evolved anal fins that form a sort of faux penis which they use to penetrate the females of their species.

Fish have many mucous membranes in their skin. They secrete a protective slime layer that protects the fish against pathogens, etc. For Steb, he secretes when he's in a heightened state such as nervous or aroused. For example, he doesn't cry, but his skin does start sliming.

His jaw gills are very sensitive. Stimulation to his gills feels like a combination between being kissed and bit on the neck for him.

Steb's internal canal leads directly into his internal egg sac. His canal is also ribbed, meaning it has multiple rings of flexible cartilage which expand when he's aroused. This isn't a reference to fish biology. I just thought it'd be a fun addition and make him a little extra alien.

Steb blushes magenta-ish because his blood is red, but his skin is blue-green.

Scar has a huge cock with a heart-shaped tip, based on the serotine bat. In male serotine bats, the penis' length is 22% of his entire body length. Scar isn't quite that big, or Steb probably would've died via impalement on giant bat cock.

Some bats have notable hairs (not literal hairs, but hair-like structures) on their tongues that work like a conveyor belt which draws nectar into their mouths. Many bats also have long tongues, so they can easily access the nectar of flowers. Scar, likewise, uses his long, textured tongue to draw Steb's eggs into his mouth ;)

Scar instinctively wants to bite Steb's neck after breeding him because that's what his biology dictates. He holds back though and just lightly closes his teeth around Steb's neck instead, but who knows what might happen next time?

#steb #scar #steb arcane #scar arcane #steb x scar #batfish #arcane #nsft #smut #trans!steb #writing #this is like mildly insane but i hope this reaches my fellow freaks

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little-miss-bioweapon121 · 7 days ago

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Which other Primarchs do you think would accept a splice baby like Samael as their own child?

I love Samael, he’s a great idea.

OOOOOOOO THIS IS A GOOD QUESTION!!!!

Okay so on the one hand every creative writing class I’ve ever taken has told me one very important rule: The answer is never “no”.

Basically means that nothing is ever impossible for a character there’s just always more steps and obstacles to get to the outcome. (And that makes for a very good story!)

But on the other hand just based off of what little I’ve read, without the characterization I’ve taken on the primarchs I think realistically every primarch would’ve destroyed a splice clone like Samael. Especially given the threat level one would technically represent as a xeno weapon. (Even Sanguinius the way I wrote him was supposed to kill Samael)

But that’s boring.

So here’s a list of every primarch reacting to a splice clone baby (according to my interpretations of what a primarch is!)

Cw: Transhumanism, description of corpses, implied child death, death

Lion El’Jonson: He knew to expect xeno technology, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The battleship had been long abandoned, fuel tank damaged and engines beyond repair as his tech priests had noted, so it was only a small squadron he brought with him to investigate. Dust, rot, and abandoned stations were the only thing to greet their path. With his men occupied on the ships databases Lionel took the liberty to explore the rest of the large space. The technology was different but the uses were obvious, this was an abandoned lab. Tubes of dark murky liquid lined the walls and what little remained of their previous inhabitants floated in disgusting red-green clouds of rotted mass.

Only one tube was free of the rotting green liquid, the crack in the glass and drying green residue on the ground spoke volumes to its fate, and peeking inside Lionel felt his hearts squeeze in sympathy at the tiny emaciated form within. Wait. It still breathed. Lionel wrenched the tube open without hesitation and was immediately greeted by the foul smell of old human waste and the cloying remnants of the mysterious fluid, but beneath that was the faint buttery sweet scent of newborn.

His newborn.

With a level of panic Lionel had never once known he scoops the child, ‘his child’ his mind frantically wails, into his arms and calls for his men. Only later in the safety of his own ship with the baby stabilized by the apothecary would he even begin to question the origins of his child.

II: Took his baby and fled to escape paying Xeno child support.

Fulgrim: He hadn’t actually meant to find a child. Really he hadn’t meant to find anything at all. He and his highest ranking sons had been invited to one of the recently conquered imperial planets for a diplomatic visit. A few days of wining and dining while treaties were signed and supply lines were established. Really this was all Roboutes area of expertise, but Fulgrim was nothing if not an adaptable man so off he went. Truly, genuinely, the snooping was supposed to be superficial. The second night of their seven day stay had seen the nobles a little more eager on the drinks than anticipated so the next mornings activities had been canceled in favor of rest. Fulgrim certainly wasn’t complaining. He took the opportunity instead to admire the architecture of the mansion, a royal palace prior to imperial conquering, and explore some of the areas not used for the dinners.

Discovering the hidden lab had been an accident. Entering the hidden lab, slightly less so. Rows of cages and annotated diagrams filled the space, but what alarmed Fulgrim the most was the crib in the corner of the room. Fulgrim stared into the crib. A tiny purple-eyed baby stared back. He didn’t hesitate to pick up the child as soon as it reached for him, how could he? A million thoughts ran through his mind analyzing the situation and the child itself. But it all came screeching to a halt as soon as the scent hit his nose. Fulgrim hugged the child closer practically burying his nose into their hair as one bone-deep truth resonated through him like the growling of a great beast.

His baby smelled too much like that disgusting ex-king, and not nearly enough like him.

He’d have time later to contemplate when and where a planet like this had gotten their hands on his DNA. But for now he plastered his scent on every inch of his child as he made his way back to the ship.

Perturabo: His troubles started like many of his troubles usually start. Immediately after the conquering of a planet. He’d brought back a veritable mountain of technology from a recently conquered Aeldari planet to analyze and deconstruct. The xeno technology had proven difficult to overcome and he was eager to learn all of its weaknesses. Walking through the maze of crates yet to be unpacked Perturabo noted with flat dissatisfaction that a green liquid had begun to leak from the corner of the smallest one. He’d be sure to scold his astartes on proper handling of packages at a later date, but for now he had a turret to analyze.

In truth, the troubles didn’t start until a few days later. The items in his workshop were counted and placed to perfection, so it was blatantly clear to him that someone had been moving his things around. He was certain it was neither a serf nor a servo-skull as he was familiar with the noises and scents that both left behind, and the scent that was slowly becoming more common in his workspace was far softer than either. Days later, finally fed up with the constant displacement and the maddening scent, Perturabo took it upon himself to track the intruder down.

The search had him tracking whatever it was all through his workshop. Beneath tables, under crates, and through tunnels in supplies he never would have noticed before; every second he spent tracking this thing painted a more vivid image in his mind of what it could be. Small, clumsy, and most definitely human. Finally he finds a fresh trail, the scent soft and familiar in a way the he cannot yet place, and tracks it all the way to a secluded corner where he left a pile of discarded tarps and covers. The head of fuzzy hair and bright curious eyes make it blatantly clear what his intruder was.

A baby.

And with a certainty that came from something instinctual and more powerful than anything he had ever experienced before he knew that this baby was his.

Jaghatai Khan: His men had caught wind of the Drukhari plot long before he had, and with an efficiency that rivaled Jaghatai himself in speed they handled the problem. Or at least, they handled the initial problem. Because the secondary problem that arose was something far more nefarious.

The clone was adorable.

His men could not bring themselves to strike down the tiny infant regardless of its status as a Drukhari made weapon. Upon arrival to their home world the matron serfs had taken one look at the baby, seen its lack of dress in such a cold season, and had promptly taken it from the clueless white scars and swaddled it in the warmest furs they could find. While half of the white scars went to protest the acquisition of their baby the other half made the responsible decision of going to warn Jaghatai of the newest member to the tribe.

And of course this all culminated in every grandmother, mother, aunt, and son cooing over the infant clone of their primarch. Jaghatai had steeled himself to be the voice of reason and logic in this very trying time and approached the group. The child was the outcome of a Drukhari plot after all and they needed to act swiftly.

But, well, the child was very adorable. All rosy cheeks and swaddled to perfection. And oh those big sparkling eyes were just begging for affection. Maybe just a quick cuddle wouldn’t hurt. And, well, while he’s at it he wonders if the baby still has the newborn scent, it is after all very young, just one quick sniff won’t-

Oh warp damn it.

Leman Russ: Leman found the puppy fair and square and he was not giving it back thank you very much! The Eldar biomancer that his sons had dragged out from her hidden laboratory must have been desperate if she was resorting to ‘politely asking for the return of her project’ while in the midst of capture. Leman would have been more offended if he didn’t find her claims utterly hilarious.

The puppy looked like him, smelled like him, and acted like him. Clearly, the puppy belonged to him. Every time he brought that up the Eldar’s face gained another shade of nervous palor. Now Leman was not an idiot, despite what some of his brothers would claim, and he could connect the very clearly drawn lines in the logic here. Somehow, some way, the pup actually was his. A silent side eye had two of his sons breaking off to gather data from the lab while Leman continued to make the captured scientist sweat.

Really it was cruel to play with his prey like this, his wolf mother had taught him better than that, but he couldn’t help it. A little bit of vengeance before justice was never a terrible thing, and besides, the peals of laughter his newest son let out every time the captive squeaked was well worth it.

Rogal Dorn: He knew without a shadow of a doubt that the child was his. Really it was embarrassingly obvious. The siege had been more than successful and going in to pick off the stragglers resulted in the situation at hand. The Drukhari biomancers nervously staring down the barrels of his astartes blasters after being ratted out by the screaming of one of their own creations.

A child, or as was more immediately noticed by Rogals instincts, his child.

Oh they had certainly tried to claim the child was theirs, had certainly put their best pleading act in to it, but more than the simple fact that this was his child there was one driving force behind his stalwart decision to claim the tiny thing.

He’d sooner die than let these filthy xeno’s have one of his own blood.

Cradling the child to his chest Rogal sent a silent signal to his men to continue with their destruction of the facility. The biomancers had finally seen the futility in their pitiful attempts at persuasion and Rogal rightfully rewarded them with death. Allowing his men to continue their efforts he returned to the ship with his newly acquired son, there was much planning and preparation to do for his arrival after all.

Konrad Curze: The Drukhari were idiots if they thought they could keep this hidden from him. Even without his premonitions their plots and movements were painfully obvious. Sitting in the shadows of the pipes and wires that covered the makeshift lab Konrad stared down at the biomancers that scurried and fretted about the space. Anticipation and a rare flicker of joy fluttered in his chest as his eyes locked on the green incubation tube. So close.

Over and over he had seen the dreams. So familiar yet so strikingly different. The dead biomancers and the destroyed lab at the forefront of his mind but more importantly the one figure he was most eager to meet. His baby. At first the dreams had seen the child grow to kill him, a weapon in its own right, but very quickly they had changed. Dead biomancers, destroyed lab, and the baby blinking up at him from his arms all gummy smiles and shining black eyes.

A son, his son, would be born today. And his instincts sang with the rightness of it all. His claws worried grooves in the pipes as he heard the sound of his astartes approaching, no doubt following the trail the Drukhari left from their ship, and he settled further into the shadows with a vicious smile.

Dead biomancers. Destroyed lab. And one very happy baby.

He couldn’t wait to finally meet him.

Sanguinius: Ch1, Ch2, Ch3, Ch4

Ferrus Manus: Ferrus would be remiss to say he found the child because quite bluntly the child found him. On their way to aid an ally in a nearby sector their battle ship was rammed into by an Aeldari ship. He hesitated to call it a battle ship as the size of it was so small that the damage of its ramming had been confined to a single training room. No eldar survivors remained in the aftermath so, Commanding his men to continue on course to their allies, Ferrus took the brunt of the work in fixing the damage. Deeming his own hands faster and more well equipped than his men at the time he saw no need for aid.

The eldar ship groaned and screeched with every movement. And as he worked his way into scrapping the ship and sealing the hull he ignored many of the smaller sounds the ship released.

Laying on his front Ferrus felt his way through a narrow opening, gauging the integrity of the section, when he felt something gnawing on his other hand. Well, felt was a strong word, he noticed his hand moving without his input and turned his to head reveal the culprit. A baby, old enough to crawl, was teething on his arm. The child now sensing it had his attention crawled up directly to his face and sniffed at Ferrus curiously. Ferrus, having never dealt with children before, hesitantly sniffed back in response. Oddly enough it smelled like him and something strange in the back of his brain was very pleased by this.

But he…didn’t know how to handle this. So doing what he knew to do best Ferrus gently secured the baby into the groove of his gorget, a problem to be focused on afterwards, and returned to repairing the ship. He’d ask Fulgrim what to do about it later, he was sure to know.

XI: Escaping Child Support 2: The Squeakquel

Angron: For the first time in his life he found something stronger than the Nails. Another conquered planet, another bloody battle, another slaughter by his hands, but this one was different. He stared down into the wrecked incubation capsule with an awe and clarity that had not been afforded to him in quite some time. His instincts had latched onto the scent of the newborn with a viciousness and potency that surprised even himself.

The baby was tiny, smaller than his fist, and so young it could not yet open its eyes but he found the grip it had on his hearts was stronger than any foe he had ever faced. He reached a single hand into the tube with a gentleness he had never before experienced. As the baby’s fist closed around his finger, a strong grip but so weak compared to his blood stained hands, he felt his breath leave his lungs as though by a physical blow.

The screeching of the nails was drowned out by one repeating piece of unquestionable knowledge.

This was his child, his baby, his son.

Roboute Guilliman: This strange encounter felt like it was spiraling out of control very quickly. When he and his sons had received a message from an Aeldari ship the reaction had, rightfully, been intense trepidation. But the vague message of ‘returning that which he had lost’ had prompted Roboute to allow them onboard. An emissary group of three Eldar had boarded, two guards and an important looking woman holding a child, and Roboute had assumed it was all a strange roundabout way of showing they were not a threat.

Until the lady had promptly handed him the child and proclaimed for the entire ship that she was returning what was rightfully his.

The shouts and chaos that came from his men were nothing short of unbecoming, but Roboute himself could certainly not judge. Any coherent thought or denial that came to mind was destroyed because yes this was most definitely his child. The wide blue eyes, the curly blonde hair, and the scent that matched his so closely left no room for doubt. But the problem was that Roboute had no recollection of actually ever creating said child. Sensing the confusion the Lady, Yvraine as she introduced herself, clarified that the child had been saved from a Drukhari lab in the sector. Her group having noticed both the resemblance of the child to Roboute and the movements of his ship in this sector had assumed that he was searching for his missing child.

Evidently not the case.

So after multiple quick explanations, and one incredibly awkward truce later, Roboute Guilliman had officially aquired an infant son.

Mortarion: When his sons had returned from battle he had not expected them to return with an extra passenger. A child, Small and pale and so very like him, had been recovered from the clutches of a Xeno biomancer. And his sons with all the blessings of their fathers geneseed immediately recognized a baby brother.

A small part of Mortarion had hoped the child would be a fluke, a false positive that he could write off or avoid, but the truth of the matter was simply unavoidable. The child was his, and that strange pull at the back of his mind was absolutely letting him know.

The child itself was inexplicably drawn to Mortarion reaching with tiny hands whenever he was near. Even days after it first arrived its fascination with the Primarch was unending. Mortarion himself held back on his affection for the little one because he was worried, afraid even, of what he could do to them. Mortarion himself was so much larger, so much stronger, so much more resilient than them and a hundred concerns crossed his mind in an instant. What if he was not careful enough? What If he squeezed too hard? What If he moved them too fast? What if the toxins he had become accustomed to would hurt-

Oh, there’s a baby in his arms.

The Astartes had apparently tired of the child’s pitiful whines and passed them to Mortarion before promptly leaving.

….

Well the child wasn’t dead, in fact they seemed to be quite content, so Mortarion would simply continue to hold them. Exactly like this. And not move an inch. At. All.

He had this parenting thing down pretty well in his opinion.

Magnus the Red: He knew of his son long before the reports of Drukhari experiments reached his legion. How could he not? The tiny nascent soul, no more defined than the bubbles of a lava lamp, had begun to follow him every time he visited the immaterium with a burbling joy that only a child could produce.

The tiny thing resonated with him, soul of his soul, in a harmony known only to Magnus. A beloved companion in his pursuits through the warp. But as news of the Drukhari plot reached him, as the pieces of the mystery finally fell into place, Magnus finally realized what had been so blatantly presented to him all this time.

A son was being born.

Somewhere there was a child of his blood and Magnus would be damned if he did not find them. Locating his son within the material plane had been laughably easy, such a young soul unburdened by knowledge easily led him back to its mortal form, and finally seeing what his son would be born into caused Magnu’s blood to boil. Cold calculating machinery, the impassive embrace of an incubation tube, and a Drukhari biomancer swearing vengeance on the imperium. Commanding all his sons to join him in battle had certainly brought questions, especially from his father and brothers, but their suspicions were nothing in the eyes of Magnus for there was something far more important currently awaiting his arrival.

Magnus would retrieve his son, and no one would stand in his way.

Horus Lupercal: Horus could not bring himself to strike down the child. His Father had instructed upon him the conquering of a planet; the destruction of another xeno threat. Every last enemy slain and defeated as was His decree. But here he stood and for once he hesitated. Every other mutant and squalling failure had been slain but here was a final perfect specimen. Something like him and the indescribable thing within him knew it.

Blood of his blood, flesh of his flesh, a soul that would no doubt match his own.

A son.

He cradled the small thing with an awe and joy that he had rarely ever felt in his life. His Father was bound to understand. How could he not? He had created him and his brothers much the same way this child had been created. Son of His Son. He was bound to understand. The planet conquered and the threat destroyed Horus returned to his ship to share with his legion this momentous occasion.

Lorgar Aurelian: The child was a sign. A sign of fortune and favor a sign of hope and prosperity. But more than that it was a gift. A child of his blood, of his flesh and soul, was clear proof that his preaching was the will of his Father. The child, born in a lab and through biomancy of human and Drukhari genome, born so like him that the pattern had to be by design and not mere coincidence, had been brought to him by his sons. Each and every one of them could sense the connection the child held to Lorgar, and by extension his Father, and knew without a shadow of a doubt the importance the little one would hold.

The future of the Legion of their people’s faith and salvation all coalesced to one divine sign.

A mind to be molded, a child to be guided, a prized lamb in the flock.

Lorgar would not squander such a wonderful gift.

Vulkan: The Drukhari were looking for something. At least that was the conclusion that Vulkan and his sons had come to. The third strike team in as many months to be destroyed attempting to enter Nocturnes atmosphere. A curious persistence, and one that most certainly had his sons and his people on high alert. As a preemptive measure many of the more remote cities had begun to move their people to the old bunkers used in the time of the Dusk Wraiths. Vulkan, with a day to spare, was helping move one such city. Lost in thought as he watched his people Vulkan startled when something small latched onto his leg.

Looking down he was greeted by the delighted gummy smile of a baby. Vulkan felt his hearts melt at the adorable sight but a more pressing concern nagged at his mind. Who’s child was this? The bright red eyes meant the child was not a baseline, the child of one of his sons then? A rare occurrence but not unheard of. With a great level of concern for the child Vulkan spent the better part of the day looking for its parents.

It was late at night, the child comfortably asleep in his arms, when Vulkan finally came to a discomforting conclusion. The child had no parents. Not a single one of his sons had reported a missing child, no city was missing one that matched the child’s description, and no one had come forth to claim it. Looking down at its peacefully sleeping face Vulkan could only feel tired concern squeeze his hearts.

Well.

If no one would claim the child, then he supposed the child would be his. Something deep and curling in the back of his mind was terribly pleased by this, how curious. Much later, after all was settled, his sons would come to learn that the Drukhari were in fact searching for his newest child. A clone created by their biomancers, their reasons unknown and no doubt nefarious. But it mattered little. Vulkan knew with the certainty and rage of the great salamanders of nocturne that anyone who sought to take his son would meet death at his hands.

Corvus Corax: He knew what he would find, but it did not make the surrealism of the moment any less potent. This particular band of Drukhari had been in a vicious cycle of battle with Corvus and his legion. A seemingly unending back and forth with far too many innocents caught in the crossfire. This planet, its major cities captured and enslaved, would be the final resting place of these filthy xeno’s. And the Drukhari seemed to be of a similar mindset for they too had started to scheme. Corvus knew. He knew of their plot, knew of the traitorous serf that allowed it to progress, knew of what had been created. But it did not prepare him for this moment.

The biomancers walked past him without a second glance. Taking measurements, moving vials, doing their best to understand what had happpened. Their words meant nothing to Corvus drowned out as his world narrowed to a single point. A child. A baby. He knew to expect a clone, knew to expect a weapon, but his mind could not correlate the two. Something deeper and more powerful than the shock of the moment had latched on the scent of the newborn.

It smelled like him.

The baby blinked up at him, squinted really, and reached for him with little coos and burbles. Corvus reached out to the child and could not form a coherent thought distracted by how Its hand was smaller even than his finger.

Too small.

Too slow.

Failure.

The words, the intent, of the biomancers finally broke through the fog of his mind and Corvus felt a blinding rage. They would all perish here and now, this he would make sure of. Corvus stood amidst the aftermath of his rage, the unrecognizable gore of the biomancers and their foul creations, with his infant son cradled to his chest; a soft rare smile as he looked down upon his sleeping face. His sons had received his message, were no doubt already well into their liberation efforts, and would soon report victory.

And when the enemy was finally slain. When all traces of these foul slavers and their perverse creations were eradicated from the planet. Corvus would rejoice with his legion the arrival of their youngest brother.

Alpharius-Omegon: No one actually knows how the child got there. Oh certainly some claim they do: ridiculous ideas like the child being a xeno splice clone or the love child of the Primarch and a warp demon. But no one actually knows how the child got to be there. In fact most people aren’t even quite sure the child belongs to the Primarch at all. But the only thing anyone can seem to agree on is that there is absolutely a child in the Alpha legion base. Could it belong to a serf? Possibly. Do the legionnaires pay far too much attention to the child for that to be the case? Oh absolutely. But the child is there. Sometimes. Maybe? Debatable.

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missarchive · 18 days ago

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Okay, here's a fun plot! Hannibal x reader who has never travelled in a day of her life. Like all she's ever done is road trips and such. So when he wants to make plans to visit Italy again (I can imagine he likes revisiting his roots for reflection and just enjoying the art), it's a really daunting thing for her. Alternatively, he books the flight without telling her, maybe he knows about her lack of experience, maybe he does not, wink wink. And he can get that ego boost of helping a sweet S/O on her first trip.

Bonus points of the reader is scared of flying AHAHAHHAH

Thanks you!!!

I am also deathly scared of flying 😖 poor poor reader

cw; fear of flying, literally nothing else just fluff, hannibal being a gentleman

You loved Hannibal. You really did. But when he slid the sleek black folder across the breakfast table, his words silky and precise, you felt your stomach plummet as though you were already 30,000 feet in the air.

"I’ve taken the liberty of arranging a short reprieve in Florence for us," he said, his dark eyes locking onto yours with the satisfaction of a man who had just executed a perfect plan.

You blinked down at the itinerary, your pulse quickening as the words “First Class – Florence” stared back at you. First class or not, this was a flight. An international flight. Your palms began to sweat.

“Hannibal…” you started, unsure how to voice the jumble of fear and hesitation swirling in your mind. “I—I’ve never flown before. I’ve never even been out of the country.”

His brow quirked, the faintest sign of surprise in his otherwise serene expression. “Is that so?” His voice was laced with intrigue, but there was no mockery, no condescension.

You nodded, looking down at your lap. “I’ve only ever done road trips. The thought of flying… it’s just…” You trailed off, hoping he’d understand without needing further explanation.

He rose from his chair, moving to your side with a grace that only Hannibal could manage. His hand settled lightly on your shoulder, his touch as reassuring as it was firm. “My dear, it seems I shall have the distinct privilege of introducing you to the skies. Fear is natural, but you needn’t face it alone.”

His words were warm, soothing. But as much as you trusted him, the idea of hurtling through the air in a metal tube still made your chest tighten.

When the day arrived, you were a bundle of nerves. Hannibal, ever the epitome of calm, had everything prepared. He handled the check-in process with ease, and before you knew it, you were settled into the plush first-class seat, the hum of the engines already making your pulse race.

“I’ve taken the liberty of requesting chamomile tea for you,” Hannibal said, handing you a steaming cup. “It’s quite effective in soothing the nerves.”

You took it with a grateful, albeit shaky, smile. He leaned in closer, his voice low and intimate. “Remember, this is merely the beginning of a journey. Allow yourself to savor the experience. Focus on the discovery, not the apprehension.”

You nodded, clutching the tea like a lifeline. But as the engines roared to life and the plane began to ascend, panic bubbled in your chest. Your hand gripped the armrest until Hannibal’s found it, his fingers curling around yours with steady reassurance.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your knuckles. “You are safe.”

You focused on his voice, his presence anchoring you as the plane leveled out. Slowly, the tightness in your chest eased, and you dared to look out the window. The sight of clouds stretching endlessly across the sky was oddly calming.

“You’re doing beautifully,” Hannibal said, his tone tinged with pride.

The first glimpse of Florence took your breath away. Hannibal guided you through the city with the ease of someone deeply familiar with its every corner. He pointed out hidden frescoes and whispered stories of the Medici family as you wandered through cobblestone streets.

At the Uffizi Gallery, he lingered beside Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, his gaze reverent. “Do you see how her form embodies both vulnerability and power?” he asked, his hand lightly brushing your back. "She's much like you."

You nodded, the awe in your chest mirrored in his. For the first time, you understood why he loved this city.

As the days passed, your fear of flying became a distant memory, replaced by the wonder of experiencing a world so different from your own. Hannibal reveled in your transformation, his pride evident in the small smiles he gave when you tried a new dish or eagerly asked him about a piece of art.

On your final evening, you turned to him as the sun set over the Arno River, painting the city in gold. “Thank you,” you said softly. “For everything. For bringing me here. For being patient with me.”

His gaze softened, and he took your hand in his. “It is I who should thank you, my dear. It is a rare gift to guide someone through their first steps into a larger world. And I am honoured to be the one by your side.”

#missarchive #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #hannibal smut #hannibal nbc x reader #hannibal lecter x reader

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skeptical-lynx · 10 months ago

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bg3 Dune AU

Astarion: House Atreides. Vapula: Bene Gesserit

I had the vision and made a wip right after my tutorial about Astarion’s ear/cheekbone alignment. cause the first strokes I made ended at his nose and reminded me of Dune right away.

I wanted to give Astarion fremen robes, but his look spoke ‘royal’ to me, and with all my love for house Atreides, I just had to draw him in something black, but still with tube [forgive me my artistic liberty]. Vapula is a wizard, so Bene Gesserit sits just right

HQ on twt:

https://x.com/skeptical_lynx/status/1773700388979355705?s=46&t=EuBiJuFrpmM7JiLiuDbaCA

#baldurs gate 3 #dune movie #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #baldur’s gate 3 #tav #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #astarion #baldur’s gate tav #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #my tav #tavstarion #dune #bg3 oc #vapula

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antifainternational · 1 year ago

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Since youre antifascist, how about you give us a definition of fascism? What exactly makes someone a fascist? (and in case you use terms such as left-wing or right-wing be sure to define them too)

Guess it's been a while since a clever Anon challenged us to define fascism, huh? Right, let's get into it: Via the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum:

Yale professor Jason Stanley:

“Fascism is a creation of race hatred and its politically organized expression.” - Willhelm Reich, The Mass Psychology of Fascism (1933).

“Fascism is capitalism plus murder.” - Upton Sinclair

“Repression by brute force is always a confession of the inability to make use of the better weapons of the intellect — better because they alone give promise of final success. This is the fundamental error from which Fascism suffers and which will ultimately cause its downfall…that its foreign policy, based as it is on the avowed principle of force in international relations, cannot fail to give rise to an endless series of wars that must destroy all of modern civilization requires no further discussion. To maintain and further raise our present level of economic development, peace among nations must be assured. But they cannot live together in peace if the basic tenet of the ideology by which they are governed is the belief that one’s own nation can secure its place in the community of nations by force alone. ” - Ludwig von Mises, Liberalism: A Socio-Economic Exposition (1927).

“Spent most of the day reading fascisti leaflets. They certainly have turned the whole country into an army. From cradle to grave one is cast in the mould of fascismo and there can be no escape … It is certainly a socialist experiment in that it destroys individuality. It destroys liberty.” - Harold Nicolson, The Harold Nicolson Diaries : 1919-1964 (2004).

“The liberty of a democracy is not safe if the people tolerated the growth of private power to a point where it becomes stronger than the democratic state itself. That in its essence is fascism: ownership of government by an individual, by a group, or any controlling private power.” - Franklin D. Roosevelt

“A fascist is one whose lust for money or power is combined with such an intensity of intolerance toward those of other races, parties, classes, religions, cultures, regions or nations as to make him ruthless in his use of deceit or violence to attain his ends….If we define an American fascist as one who in case of conflict puts money and power ahead of human beings, then there are undoubtedly several million fascists in the United States.” - Henry A. Wallace

“Fascism is the cult of organised murder, invented by the arch-enemies of society. It tends to destroy civilization and revert man to his most barbarous state. Mussolini and Hitler might well be called the devils of an age, for they are playing hell with civilization.” - Marcus Garvey, Authors take Sides on the Spanish War, 1937 Philosophy Tube's breakdown of the elements of fascism is very thorough and recommended if you're not the reading type. But do you read books? We hope so if you're looking to engage in political discussion about anything. Here are some books that tackle the definition of fascism, in whole or in part, that we would recommend to you (check/order from your local library!) Mark Bray's highly-accessible Antifa: The Anti-Fascist Handbook is a great starting point for this topic.

Columbia history professor Robert O. Paxton's excellent book The Anatomy of Fascism goes into this in great detail.

There's also Umberto Eco's The Eternal Fascist

or his "practical list for identifying fascists" as well as Hannah Arendt's seminal The Origins of Totalitarianism

We hope you weren't looking for a simple answer to the complex question of "what is fascism?" Anon, just as we hope you're up to taking our challenge of checking out all of the above so you're curiosity is satisfied and you're well-versed on the topic.

#antifa #fascism #defining fascism

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castielsprostate · 3 months ago

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VENOM 3 SPOILERS AHEAD!!! and veryyyy unorganized thoughts below the cuttt!!!

first of all. OH MY GOD. genuinely this was a beautifully executed storyline, with the most bitter, heartwrenching ending. tom hardy when i fucking GET YOU!!!!!!!!!!

okay. im in actual, real life tears over this movie. venom saved eddie's life within, what? 3 days of knowing him? a week tops? and venom brought eddie back from the fucking dead!!!!!!! DESPITE KNOWING!!!!!!!!! WHAT WOULD HAPPEN!!!!!! despite knowing he would trigger the codex, venom still saved eddie's fucking life! which is especially interesting considering the symbiote in mulligan, which i am assuming was in him for a WHILE, left him to die (fair!) at the end of the second movie! venom saved eddie's life. without a second thought.

also this definitely was a love story between eddie and venom. they literally had their break up arc in the second movie(!) and this tied a beautiful, bitter end to their very tragic story. venom saying, to eddie, what martin said. "until we meet again", genuine tears in my eyes. it showed venom's humanity, everything he learned, from eddie and others. to me, personally, venom is still with eddie. they're living symbiotically, with eddie on one side of the door and venom on the other. nierka(??? i totally butchered that lmao). eddie saying i will never forget you buddy while looking at lady liberty. GOD. eddie isn't alone anymore! eddie won't EVER be alone!!!!!!!!!! despite what everyone told him!!!!!!!!! eddie has venom, maybe not physically right now, but he still has a part of him!!!!!!!! they're both free. they're both. GAH.

also there still is a bit of venom left. in a tiny test tube, at the bottom of area 55. don't think i forgot about that!!!!! he's still there, they never showed us that it actually got destroyed. and EYE believe that venom found eddie, after they blew up. and it somehow, in some marvel magic sparkles way reset the codex. they still have each other, until the end!!!!! TILL DEATH DO THEY PART!!!!!!!!!!!!!

genuinely, the writers cared. tom hardy cared!!!!!!! i don't know how many people he had to keep under gunshot to get this, but he gave us a beautiful trilogy about love and friendship and humanity and finding each other. the queerness of it all, the found family (except the chickens. how DARE eddie give the chickens away. for that alone he should've died).

eddie saying he was born with it [the weird arms] also just. god it added another layer didn't it? also what actually happened to that guy. like. he got his bar destroyed, and then he got fucking tazed lmao??? what did they do to him????? also the WAY that in the "sacred timeline" the bartender looked all cleaned up and put together despite the fucking snap 💀💀💀💀 and how the bar was nicer. the disney filter!!!!!!!!!

that also left a very veryyy clear way for them to bring eddie!venom back but in the MCU, because they didn't show the TVA resetting the timeline! venom saying eddie would've made a great father. well. you had carnage and i think it's best you don't try again huh.

i missed anne, but i think that her not being there was. good? it was good. she and eddie truly loved each other as friends and whilst i hoped they'd at least have a phone call or a singular scene together, i do get why they didn't! she moved on with her life, and it was time for eddie to move on with his. her telling venom to keep him safe at the end of the second movie. and he did! he gave his own life for eddie's, he kept his promise. i just. GOD. venom keeping eddie alive as the symbiotehunters kept coming and coming and coming. keeping eddie from looking back, and healing him one. last. time. HE DIDN'T EVEN NEED TO SAY I LOVE YOU!!!!! EDDIE JUST KNEW!!!!!!! EDDIE!!!!!! KNEW!!!!!!!!!!!

eddie saying "but i need him". it had me bawling. BAWLING. but i need him. oh eddie. EDDIE. 😭😭😭😭😭 anne said he was too afraid of commitment and yet. AND YET. he was willing to DIE for an alien!!!!!! and to then say he needs him. god.

was the movie a bit retconn-y? maybe. did they use this as a segway for more movies with different characters? absolutely lmao. was it an ad for crocs? yes that too. but i think that this was a good end. they won't drag it out, they won't destroy a good comic for more money (for now). the song choices were also OUTSTANDING. the symbiotes coming together to save eddie and venom, because they knew!!!!! THEY KNEW!!!!!!!! eddie nor venom sparing a second look at sexy ladies!!!!!!!!!!! the dancing with mrs chen!!!!!!!! GAH

to me, right now, eddie and venom are sitting on a beach, toes in the sand, finally sipping the bloody mary that venom didn't get to drink at the beginning with miss chen on one side, anne and dan enjoying the ocean, and agent mulligan on the other side. alive, happy, together. and the bartender. he's there too. for funsies.

#sjonnie.text #venom 3 #venom spoilers #venom #venom 3 spoilers #movie analysis #if anyone DARES to say this movie was queerbait i will personally rip your head off

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kurishiri · 6 months ago

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n.4 . . . “ the dangerous promise between the hunter and the intelligent yakuza ”

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or may contain creative liberties for characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost or claim these as your own!

— thanks again to @ndoandou and @drachonia for helping me look over the jude lines!

— cw: blood and injury, smoking.

Jude: Speed up n’ get stitchin’ ya quack of a doctor.

The man named Jude was stabbed pretty badly, and was nearly killed. That was how reckless he was on a normal basis.

Every time he stumbled in the clinic, I would take him in, treating him in secret.

Roger: It’s not every day I run into people who have made so many enemies in their life. Well, show me your stomach.

R: Ohh, you managed to dodge it pretty well this time too. It won’t be too hard to suture. You have my praises.

Jude: Ah? The hell are ya doin’, stickin’ a needle in me n’ takin’ my blood?

Roger: It’s needed for the treatment. I thought that was obvious?

Jude: Ya damn quack, don’t go takin’ my blood if yer gonna dilly dally like that!

J: Ya braindead or somethin’? My blood’s already spillin’ from my stomach, now yer drainin’ me dry.

(...Tch, he found me out. Well, at least I can have the blood I already drew out.)

Roger: I get that you’re Cursed, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re Cursed by a fairytale if you’re just cursed with a sharp tongue.

R: Ah, as I thought, Ellis is the only good kid around here, being such a kind person and all.

Jude: Yer eyes must’ve gotten worse, ‘cause I think ya mean man’s clearly got a screw loose.

Roger: Okay, I get it, I won’t take Ellis away from you. Though honestly, I could use an assistant.

Jude: Ow—!

J: Oy, ya wanna get drowned? Don’t go stabbin’ people with needles without a warnin’ ya quack!

Roger: Yeah, I make it a rule of mine to not listen to someone who can’t quit smoking a single cigarette.

Jude normally kept a pack of cigarettes in his pockets, and no matter how many times I told him to stop, he didn’t even try.

(I heard that he had problems in his bronchial tube, so that’s why he came to see my dad, but was all that a lie?)

But, my doubts would be flipped over on a certain night.

Jude: ...Gegh—*cough* ...Hah—

Roger: Was that an asthma attack...

Ellis: I went to collect some debts, but there in the basement, there was tobacco smoke everywhere…

Jude: …Ah, bloody hell…

(So my dad wasn’t wrong about Jude in his medical records?)

Roger: Jude, I’m gonna make you feel better as soon as possible tonight.

I had given Jude some medicine a bit on the stronger side, and so by the time he awoke, it was the next morning.

Roger: Awake now? …Ah, looks like your breathing has stabilized too.

Because of some side effect of the medicine, somewhere in his gaze seemed a bit hollow.

Jude: What of Ellis…

Roger: Said he was gonna finish up some stuff for work at your company.

R: He figured you’d be worried about that when you woke up. Ellis really is a good right-hand man.

Jude: …Hah… that stuff’s the bottom line.

Roger: Hey, Jude. You really should quit smoking.

R: As far as I can see, you don’t seem to be smoking because you like to do it. In which case it’s better to just not smoke at all.

R: And if you’re doing this because of your work…

Jude: It ain’t just my work.

Roger: ………?

Jude: The smell when I smoke reminds me of that stuffy ass room.

J: All the smoke n’ the fumes, n’ the gloom in the air would make me cough up a lung.

From within those hollow eyes I could clearly sense loathing.

Jude: …Every time I remember that, it makes me bloody seethe to the stomach.

J: N’ that’s when I thought…

J: All the ones who looked down on me, n’ the ones who tried to look down on me…

J: …Ain’t no way I’ll kick the bucket ‘til I make every last one o’ those shits fall to the pits of Hell.

Then, one night, I chanced upon Jude by his lonesome on a street corner.

While holding a cigarette in his mouth, he was gazing up at the moon with a vacant look.

Such a look was reminiscent of having given up on something, just like that…

If anger and loathing was the fire that Jude needed to live, and smoking was that fuel—

Roger: …Jude. I will always be against smoking.

R: But in the end, you can do what you want, and how you want. That’s all up to you.

R: Ahh, and also—

R: If you’re about to die again, then I promise I will save you. If you’re willing to pay a steep price in turn, that is.

Jude: Don’t go throwin’ the words “I promise” around so willy nilly.

J: If I end up suddenly droppin’ dead ‘cause yer a quack, I’m gonna have Ellis kill ya.

Roger: You got yourself a deal. If that happens, we can enjoy a drink in Hell, the two of us.

Jude: …Hah, now that one’s for the birds.

J: Somethin’ like yer favorite beer probably ain’t gonna be down in a place like that.

—— Present time ——

(…I just keep thinking about the old times today.)

Scattered about before my eyes were the medical records of the Crown members.

Their ways of living and personalities were all over the place, but there was one thing they all had in common.

And that was the fact they all were Cursed with a “tragic fate” they could never escape from.

I sucked in a breath unconsciously.

(At this rate, they can’t die with a smile on their faces.)

(And maybe, if they weren’t Cursed, they could be living more freely than they do now.)

Roger: Jeez, since when did I feel such things? It’s not like me.

——is what I said, when footsteps sounded outside the door.

They resembled the steps of a puppy, and they seemed to be in a hurry.

(It’s Kate.)

Before I heard the knock, I called out to her.

Roger: You can come in.

Kate: Roger, there’s trouble…

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deanswhiskey · 1 year ago

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𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 - 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐥

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

summary; you and castiel build a gingerbread house together

wc; 825

warnings; none :)

authors note; short little fiction for my first cas fic 🫶

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

“i do not understand the purpose of this.” castiel said holding two walls of the gingerbread house you two were building.

your concentration broke from castiels monotonous voice. “cas, baby, there’s no purpose it’s just for fun.” you resumed icing the corners together.

earlier today, you were out running errands for the bunker, which included grocery shopping.

you stopped by the small little christmas section just to browse. you had already decorated with what little you had. what caught your eye was the display of various gingerbread houses. you hadn’t done one of those since you were little. grabbing the standard house, you thought it’d be a fun idea to build with cas.

when you arrived home, you called cas from the kitchen.

no matter how long you know cas, him flying in anywhere always gave a scare of some kind. “what is it, dear?” he said.

“look what i bought us!” you sang out, holding up the gingerbread house box. castiel only furrowed his bored and tilted his head, not understanding what that is. “it’s a gingerbread house! you get all these pieces of a house made out of gingerbread and you stick them together with icing and decorate with candy!”

cas took the box from your hands and inspected it. he opened the box and dumped out its contents onto the kitchen table and picked up the small tube of icing it came with. “don’t worry, i bought more icing; these things never come with enough.”

there were also gingerbread dough packaged up near the house kits. you hoped to make a little tiny version of you and cas; maybe sam and dream too if you had enough.

“c’mon, let’s get working!” you said, which led you to right now.

“why use stale cookies to make a house? why not cardboard? or wood?”

you sighed, removing yourself from the house. you set the icing down and took a heavy glass and propped it on the inside of the walls so it could rest and cas could take his hands off.

you gently took his hands in your, “honey, it’s just a silly little tradition around the holidays,” you giggled, “it’s supposed to be fun. it stays up just like any decoration.” cas starts to understand, he smiles. “okay?” cas just nods. you reach up and give him a kiss on the cheek. he loved how gentle your kisses were, wether it be on the cheek or on the lips.

the two of you finished the house. it was beautifully messy. castiel took the liberty of decorating the side of the house.

he didn’t necessarily understand how to use a piping bag at first but he got the hang of it. he also loved the gumdrops, even stealing a few.

you giggled when he had accidentally wiped some icing on his cheek. you reached up and licked the little bit off; castiels cheeks flushed pink, not expecting that, at all.

“i have an idea!”

“what is it, pretty,” cas said

you blushed at the nickname before continuing. “we should make each other out of gingerbread people, i’ll make you and you make me!”

castiel nodded and smiled at the idea. you grabbed the dough and you and castiel began the roll out separate pieces. you took the cookie cutter and you each cut out like gingerbread people. there was enough left so you decided to make wing for castiel, sam, and dean.

the cookies went into the oven for a bit before you took them out. they had to cool off so you and castiel sat down and finish what little candy was left. you introduced the idea of tossing something his way and catching it in his mouth; castiel had gotten really good at it.

the cookies cool and you began frosting. you separated the icing so you can use it different colors. the both of you worked very hard on creating little gingerbread versions of you; and sam and dean.

when you finished, you presented them to each other. castiel smiled at his frosted wings. castiel had made little gingerbread you wear your favorite shirt.

after presenting them, you had put it on display, making your gingerbread people hold hands. sam and dean were set up too, on the opposite side of you two.

you took a step back and admired your messy little gingerbread house, it was perfect. castiel took his hand in your and smiled at the house too. you glanced up at him, “shall we go set it up?” castiel nodded, kissing the top of you head before grabbed the tray it was on.

the two of you headed to the living room and the two of you decided to set it on top of mantle.

“can we do this every year? can it be our tradition?” castiel looked down at you.

“of course, cas.” you smiled.

the two of you stood and admired your little family of gingerbread.

⛥ ⛥ ⛥

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #castiel x reader #castiel #castiel fluff #castiel fanfiction #castiel fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fluff #supernatural imagine #castiel imagine

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you-cant-fuck-megaman · 9 months ago

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when commando man starts going commando, this does not mean he's going to drop trou. he's not wearing trunks, he's wearing tanks.

it means he's going to shoot things. with bullets. from his guns. of which he has multiple.

what the fuck did you think those tubes on his arms were? plus-plus-plus-plus-sized onaholes designed to simulate coitus with the goddamn Statue of Liberty?

if your plan for the evening was to go "MY CUNTRY 'TIS OF WEEEEEEEE(iner) unzips dick" then i've got bad news for you, chief

#megaman #mega man #mm10 #commando man #commandoman

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hotchfiles · 1 year ago

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second. damn your love.

pairing: james x fem!reader.

content warnings: james being kind of an ass, cheating on lily, lily will be probably shit talked (i luv her i'm very sorry !), mistress!reader, uhhh cursing, not totally AU but like... canon divergent i would say. probably hurt/no comfort unless i switch the ending but--

worth mentioning: reader insert with no use of names or “y/n”. paragraphs completely in italic are flashbacks. pro quidditch player!james. muggle born!reader.

word count: 2,2k

chapter 2

For some reason unknown to you, it hadn't taken James as long as usual to give you any sign that he still remembered your existence after being with you. Surprisingly, on the same day after dropping you off at home and rushing to be with his girlfriend, he sent you a message through his patronus (much too recklessly as you lived in a majorly muggle neighbourhood), apologizing for what had happened.

Normally, you would believe his words, and then become disappointed. However, after what happened, you didn't believe anything he said, you knew he wasn't sorry and you knew you probably wouldn't be seeing him for a while.

All you felt like doing was laying down, still feeling completely shaken, disappointed, angry... Betrayed, and it took you a while to stop crying, you couldn't believe how easy it was to manipulate you, two days together and you actually started to think things were changing.

Ingenuity or just the hard truth: It was easier to let yourself believe it.

Luckily, or not, you still had your commitment to your responsibilities, if not your pride, you would try to maintain that instead, so the best decision was to get yourself together as best as you could the next day and go to work.

Even though you lived mostly among muggles, a decision you had made long before graduating Hogwarts, you still ended up in a Ministry job, an obliviator. Not the most glamorous, and a lot of times you thought about getting a muggle job, but years went on and you got comfortable with it. Sometimes being able to forget is the best option there is.

So got yourself together you did, the best as you could included showing up office ready and giving off the obvious energy that you did not want to be perturbed, especially after taking the tube half an hour later than you normally would, too loud, too full, it was probably one of the few times over the last years you wished you could just apparate in front of the right phone cabin. But an obliviator risking wizarding secrecy would be too much of an hypocrisy.

You made sure you wouldn't be making any field work, taking the liberty to be shut in your office filling paperwork and crying, as any mature woman would if they were in your shoes: Exhausted from hating yourself because you knew you were an excellent witch, a strong-willed independent woman and still, every time James Potter smiled at you, you felt nothing but weakness.

And there it was, the weakness as soon as you left the Ministry building and felt his gaze upon you, simply leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his face completely relaxed.

Your hands went straight to your eyes, reminding yourself of their appearance, you looked up at the sky for a few seconds and wondered if there was a god, because it didn't matter how much you begged either Merlin or Godric, you still didn't get one single moment of peace.

"Were you crying?" he asked straight away, without even explaining why he was there. You shook your head denying it and found refuge for eyes on your feet. "You're a terrible liar."

"I don't think you know me that well anymore," you sighed and tried your best to look at him firmly. "No car today?"

"I don't indulge on those very often, apparition is still a thing, you know?" You tried your very best not to roll your eyes at the arrogance he displayed, favoring instead the idea that he had the car for the weekend to please you. "You ignored my patronus, I feel like you probably didn't even check your mail, my poor owl working over time for nothing, and you're the only witch I know who doesn't have a bloody fireplace. Kinda got worried that you were mad at me." His lips formed the pout you knew so well, and you had to bite you lips to prevent yourself from smiling.

"Not having the fireplace goes hand in hand with the anti-apparition charm on my apartment." You shrugged, it was a way to avoid unwanted guests, so he pretended to be the upmost offended by that. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the reasons why you were angry with him. "We need to talk."

"We can do that in your apartment. Let's talk there." He nodded, and you agreed. It wasn't something to discuss so close to where you worked, for sure. He offered his arm so you would apparate together and you ignored it completely, stretching your arm to the street to get a minicab to stop for you both.

"I'm not risking magic exposure and being fired because you rarely indulge on cars, Potter." Weirdly enough he doesn't try to convince you otherwise, getting on the backseat with you.

On the way he told you he had been waiting for you for at least forty minutes, which you weren't sure was even true, but on any other day you would've swooned over, but his true intentions showing up came to light so quickly, you couldn't. James kept touching your thigh with his right hand slowly, teasingly, and a pantsuit was never as helpful as then, because of it you could ignore his touches or at least pretend to ignore it.

Despite the touches, James maintained a casual conversation with you, talking about trivialities from his day, like forgetting to take his vitamin supplement in the morning and running less that afternoon so he could get home in time to take a shower and pick you up. At least that was the term he used, even though you were in a cab.

You enjoyed having conversations like that with him, knowing how his day had been and how he felt about the team, the training sessions... It brought a sense of normality, as if you were just an ordinary couple talking about everything or just friends talking about your lives. But at that moment, you couldn't enjoy it the way you normally would due to what still lingered on your mind from the previous night, not to mention the fact that the words coming out of his mouth sounded innocent, but his eyes and hands overflowed with nothing but.

You felt like you were under torture, the rational part of your brain competing with your emotional part, which was shaken by any touch from James, any scraps of attention. You even felt relief when you arrived at your building, especially because there were other people in the elevator, preventing him from grabbing you there and making you forget everything you so wanted to tell him. But it didn't last long. As soon as you reached your floor, you were grabbed from behind, his hands firm on your waist while his lips roamed your neck.

"James, we need to talk," you repeated what said before, freeing yourself from his arms and walking towards the door. You unlocked it with a silent charm and left the door open for him to enter next.

"Talk about what?" You heard the question, but his tone showed no interest in talking. In fact, he pulls you by the arm and pushes you against the nearest wall, trapping you with his arms. you lost your breath for a few seconds due to the proximity. "We can talk later," James whispers in your ear, brushing his lips softly against yours, one of his hands touching your waist under your blouse. You almost lose it, but finds the strength to get out of his embrace and leave to the kitchen.

"I want to talk about us," you said seriously, resolute in your decision to give him an ultimatum, tired of being the mistress, but you couldn't deny that after his teasing, you just wanted to wrap your legs around his waist and hear him say your name in between moans.

"Brilliant, let's talk," James begins, slowly moving closer to you. "But we could just go to your room and enjoy our time in a more pleasurable way."

You feel his hands again grabbing you around the waist, and his lips brushed lightly against your ear as he detailed all the other pleasurable things he could be doing to you.

You give up, defeated, letting out a grunt and pulling him to you, starting a desperate kiss as he takes off your pantsuit and leads you stumbling back to your bed.

It was late at night, almost two in the morning, when the noise woke you up, almost frightened as you had no idea what it could be at that time. your first instinct was to obviously grab your wand and go to the living room, ready to disarm or worse if it was an intruder, but you noticed that it someone knocking frantically on your door.

"Who is it?" you asked loud and clear, assuming it was a stranger trying to pull some kind of scam, you've heard of cases like that happening around the muggle neighbourhoods, the knocking then stopped and you thought you had scared away whoever was there, but you were wrong.

"It's me…" The voice was familiar, but you doubted it was who the voice reminded you of, so you waited for more before you decided or not to open it. "James." You froze and held you breath, but still denying mentally that it could be him.

"James? Need to be more specific."

"Don't remember me anymore?" It was him, surely. James Potter. You hadn't seen him since the turn of the previous year, but truthfully, you hadn't really spoken to him in years, you couldn't even imagine how in hell had he found your address. "Potter."

"What you doing here?" You open the door, giving him the space he needed to enter and smelling the alcohol invading your apartment. "It's two in the morning."

"Not sure…" He seemed a bit disoriented, obviously because of the alcohol, but he wasn't about to fall over drunk and you mentally thanked him for that. "Was in a pub having a few, but they closed…Kept thinking about you and here I am."

A shiver ran through your whole body and you cussed yourself, it was pathetic how he could still cause such a thing so many years after your relationship, after your last kiss, unfortunately you had never really managed to forget him, but instead you hid him deep in your memories, that way you wouldn't have to deal with your true feelings for him when you saw each other at a mutual friend's house or anything of the sort.

But still, you did to this day found yourself thinking about him at times, but that didn't help you understand why he would be there at such a time, or why he would be thinking about you when in fact the only reason you had left his life was because of him, because if he wasn't such a dick, you might still be in a relationship today, or at least be best friends like you used to be.

"Know what…" Even though you haven't responded to anything he's said before, he sits down on your sofa awkwardly and you feel completely uncomfortable with the situation, crossing your arms, unable to move more than that. "I'm such a twat." James lets out a weak laugh of discontent. "Letting you go that day… Mum told me what happened, but I still didn't look for you." It was amazing how he could form sentences almost perfectly even though he stank of alcohol miles away.

"James, what do you want?" you sigh, still not understanding anything that's going on. He simply gets up and walks towards you, making you instinctively move away until you reach the end of the line, one of the walls of the living room. "Potter?"

"I want things between us to go back to normal." His perfume takes you over as he gets closer, replacing the smell of firewhiskey, and you try not to get dizzy. "Just want you." Panic is your first reaction as his lips come close to yours and you push him away.

"You have a girlfriend." You look into his eyes, being as serious as possible without showing how tempted you were, making exaggerated gestures with your hands to show him how wrong it was.

"Shh, forget it, just f'now. I'll fix it, swear I'll fix everything." You soften at his words and sigh, you're probably losing your mind but still you walk towards him with your arms open for a hug and he immediately finds himself taking the chance.

"Missed you." Your voice nothing but a whisper and James nods in response, stroking your hair.

The affectionate embrace evolves quickly into a quiet kiss that becomes more and more desperate and before you know it, you're both on the sofa, blending into one.

You woke up the next day feeling partially satisfied, but guilt consumed you entirely, you had slept with a committed guy, what kind of woman were you? And not only that… What would James and you be from then on?

"Bloody hell." And there you were, waking up after given in to James' charms again, just like the first time, just like every time after that, it was frustrating how much power he held over you, you couldn't take it anymore, you were done.

tag: @xcinnamonmalfoyx

#lari writes sometimes #marauders imagine #james potter scenario #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james x reader #james x you #james x y/n #marauders x reader #marauders x you

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