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witchysfics · 1 year ago

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Paint me

author's note : This is unedited.

Gale asks Tav to paint runes on him for a magical experiment. Fluff, and little bit risqué, if you squint.

The ink was slippery and cold as you plunged your fingers into its seemingly unending darkness. The substance quickly slid down your fingers has you hurriedly rushed over to your "canvas".

Gale sat in front of you, his back towards you. Top half bare so you may be able to paint the magic runes onto his skin. The muscles in his back stiffened ever so slightly as you made contact, beginning the first rune.

Gale had come to you for a favor, a rather.... intimate one, he described it. Your task was to paint magic runes onto his body so that he may better attune to the magic he wished to learn of. It seemed simple enough, you watched him these past days struggle with concentrating on spells in this particular study. He could use a little help it seemed.

Being a magic wielder yourself you were able to understand the concept, of course all of this was just theory, but who where you to turn away an opportunity to uncover more about the use of magic?

Maybe this magical body paint would work and you could use it more in the future. It could come in handy when you need to attune to spells without any notice to the individuals around you. Even small spells could be written onto skin and used as quick reactions against a foe.

Gale was quick to complain about the temperature of the ink as you dragged your finger along his shoulder blade. He shivered, peering over his shoulder at you, "Must it be so cold? Couldn't you have picked a different medium?" He whined, "One less.... frigid?"

You picked your eyes up from your work to look into his. He looked teasing, eyes squinted from the small smile he directed toward you, You huffed drawing your attention back to the work before you, "Squid's ink is a good conductor for magical properties. My theory is that it will help you feel the momentum of the magic through each rune as you cast." Gazing at your finger tips, "You're not the only one suffering, my fingers will be stained for days now."

"Stained?!" Gale cried. "You've ruined my beautiful body with inky stains?" He half joked, his face turning into mock anger.

"You're being dramatic, you asked for my help." You retaliated, "You said you trusted my judgment as one who "worked within the Weave.""

"Seems I was wrong to put my trust in you then." Gale's words were harsh, but the playful tone in his voice told otherwise. You gently turned his face away so he was looking forward again and he chuckles.

"If you keep distracting me this cold ink will only stay on for longer."

"Your fingertips will keep me warm enough any how."

"Gale."

"Right sorry, distractions."

Your face warmed at his comment. Gale was not shy at all when it came to comments like that, but you could never tell if his words were just his Gale nature or if they were laced with more. Your poor heart couldn't take it. This task might as well be torture. How could he ask this of you when you harbored such great feelings for him?

Your fingers traced down the expanse of his back once more, painting the final rows of inky runes.

You clapped, signaling you finished your work. Gale turned, looking into the mirror off to the side of him to get a better look at the runes on his back.

"Marvelous!" He exclaimed.

You let out a breath as you began packing away the ink, having mixed feelings about ending this intimate painting.

Just as you were to begin the journey back to your tent Gale called out to you.

"Where are you going? We aren't finished."

You turned looking back at him with a confused expression.

"There's more my dear." He said flipping the page of his book, showing you the other half of the runes.

You cocked a brow at him, "And where is the rest meant to go? There is no more room on your back."

He cleared his throat, looking nervous? His voice was soft when he spoke, "On the front half."

"Oh" was all you breathed out in realization.

You slowly made your way back to your original spot while he watched you patiently. He sat on his knees, this time facing you. You were able to see how much broader Gale was then you when his back faced you, but now? He towered over you now too, if you were to lower your head he would be unable to see your face. You were thankful for this as you opened the bottle of squid's ink and balanced it on your lap.

Looking back up at him you flashed you a nervous smile yet cheesy smile.

He's adorable.

Glancing down to his chest you were able to see the imprint of his unfortunate past with magic. You'd never seen it so clearly before. The twisting lines that curled up his neck was all that you had been able to see till now. Seeing the tattoo that once caused him great pain, now calmed, felt so meaningful it pulled at your heart. How long had a gazed at this mark and felt nothing but remorse and heartbrokenness? Does he still feel that way now even with his new "control" over it?

You bit your lip, lost in thought. Gale noticed your lingering eyes. Gently taking your hand in his he placed it on mark softly. Your eyes meet briefly as he gave you anxious but encouraging smile. Your featherlight fingers traced it, ink free and memorizing its pattern. He let out a soft noise, shuttering under your touch. Was it from the softness of your touches or from the vulnerability of the moment neither he nor yourself were sure.

He sighed dreamily, watching you. "You don't have to worry about it impeding on the runes. You should be able to paint over it just fine." He chuckled, "its a mer regrettable tattoo now." He joked but you knew he would never be able to see it that way.

Your brow furrowed, "I'm sorry."

"Don't frown love, this is the mark of the weapon that ends the dreaded absolute!"

"It won't come to that." you say firmly. "I won't let it come to that."

He doesn't say anything in response, but when you look up and see him quickly wipe one of his eyes you decide you don't need an answer.

The space between you grows comfortbly quite as you begin your painting once again.

You feel his eyes as you paint across his chest and you can't help but to feel like a squirming mess under his gaze.

"You know you can stop watching me like a teacher watches their apprentice. I'm able to handle a few simple ruins." You say in a matter-a-fact tone.

He hums. "I know. You have proven to me that you are very capable."

"Then you don't need to stare so intensely."

"That is not the reason I stare anyway."

"Why do you stare then?"

He pauses when you stop to look up at him. "Is it so wrong to watch beauty as they work?" His eyes gleam of something awaiting your response.

You have no response for him, unfortunately. Well, not a verbal one at least, as your jaw hangs slack and finger stops mid swipe. You blink rapidly and clear your throat trying to recompose yourself. Eyes averted from his you attempt to recover the rune you just scribbled out, you squeak, "You- your.... What did I say about being a distraction Gale?"

He threw his head back with laugher and you could only assume you gave him the response he was looking for.

You finish the last rune while he continues to laugh. You gaze up at him again while his head remains back, laughing, his throat on full display.

The air around him becomes filled with a different type of tension as you take this opportunity to begin the runes that were meant to be painted on his neck.

His boisterous laughing comes to a small choke when you place your inky index and middle finger on his throat and pull them down. He gulps visually and lets out a strained moan. Your fingers continue down his throat and end at the expanse of his sternum.

He looks down at you still with his head back, his mouth ajar as your voice fills his ears.

"Oh, don't become distracted Gale. I'm nearly finished." You say, your voice like velvet. While he stammers for a response you dip both of your hands in the ink, preparing for the final part of the spell

He attempts to say something else, but whatever it was is cut off by a dreamy sigh as you place both your inky hands on his face and drag your fingers down the sides of his neck while your thumbs drag down the front of his throat. You connect the inky lines to the runes toward the middle of his chest.

You prop yourself onto your knees so you tower above him. He watches you eyes unblinking and unable to look away as you place your index finger on his lips. Drawing a line down his chin and connecting it to the stripes on his throat. The final inky blob of the rune.

His eyes, half lidded with want? Desire? His face dark red from, nervousness? Arousal?

You don't get a good enough moment to look before you pick up you squid's ink and remove yourself from your flustered "canvas".

"Let me know how the spell goes Gale!" You say to him as you turn to leave. "Oh and please let me know if ever need my connection with the Weave again for your... experiments."

footnote : This is my first bg3 fic! and this is a new blog. Requests are open and I will have rules soon but for now just request without reading them since I don't have them up yet. Pretty please request cause my head is empty lol. Thanks! - Witchy

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 months ago

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Chapter 35

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Threats of violence; Allusions to child abuse

A/N: Finally. This took forever and I’m ashamed of that. If you’re still here, thank you so much for sticking it out with me. 🩵

The disquiet pumping into your heart like blood was suffocating. It coated the muscle, froze it. It was foreboding, the feeling of knowing the ending of a film but going into the theater regardless as if you could inspire a change in the script.

This was no film.

There was no script.

Daryl stood at the edge of the trees, his crossbow at his side, his eyes a blue inferno of rage and terror. You could only imagine what he was thinking. No, you didn’t need to imagine. You knew exactly what it looked like.

“Daryl, this isn’t what you—” Carol began.

“No.” He shook his head, the word spat with such venom that you flinched. “Get away from ‘er.” The air around him held a certain danger, one just as volatile as the warehouse. For the first time—even after all the instances you’d fought with him, the roads you’d seen him travel to protect the group—you genuinely feared him, what he might do.

“If you’d just let—” You tried, your voice trembling.

“Said get away from ‘er!” When his fist tightened around the stock of the crossbow, you gasped, eyes wide. Surely he would never.

But if he did, it was no secret that he would not miss.

“Okay!” You yelped, your hands leaving your screaming daughter to be held up placatingly. “Okay, just let me explain.” Your partner—if you could even call him that at the moment—huffed and shook his head.

“Y’ain’t wanted nothin’ to do with ‘er for days. Never thought ya’d try an’—” His expression soured further, pained and panicked. The gray light from the overcast sky caught the shine in his eyes, a promise of rain. Then he was stomping forward, slinging his crossbow onto his back, forcing you to scramble backward and away from Birdie. When he scooped her up and held her tightly—protectively—against his chest, your tears began anew.

“It isn’t like that! Carol was just—”

“Don’t wanna hear it.” Each step he took backward elicited a sharp pang in your chest, his large hands shielding your own child from you. “Y’stay away from ‘er. Both’a ya!”

“Daryl, you can’t—” You stumbled to your feet, breathing in a forceful sob when he sheltered Birdie closer and twisted his body to keep you at a distance. “Please!”

“Better yet,” he paused and shook his head, his eyes so full of emotion, you couldn’t possibly pinpoint just one. “M’leavin’. We’re leavin’.” He spun on one foot and stalked away with you following as fast as your legs could possibly carry you.

“No! No, no, no! Wait!” When you grabbed his arm, he wrenched himself free with a growl.

“Don’t touch me!” He roared as if he didn’t care how many dangers he could attract. Birdie wailed against his chest. Breathing hard through his nose, he continued to put more distance between you. “Don’t wanna hurtcha. Even after this.” He jerked his chin toward where you had previously sat—where Carol still stood with both hands covering her mouth. “But I will. Ya stay away from us.”

And then he was gone, disappearing just as the others came running in from the opposite side, Birdie’s cries continued—a devastating symphony with no conductor—until she stopped or was simply too far away for your ears to keep hold. “No.” You whispered. “No! Daryl, come back!” You felt arms encircle you, Lori’s swollen stomach pressing against you. “Come back.” Your voice had lowered to a splintering whimper as you bowed forward, Lori following you despite the strain it caused.

“We’ll get them back.” Lori couldn’t possibly be apprised of what Daryl had seen, what you had been trying to accomplish. So she held you, whispering reassurances as you cried, guilt and anguish weighing so heavily on your heart that it felt as if it may fall through your ribcage and onto the cold ground.

Eventually, you sat alone, knees drawn to your chest with your arms wrapped around them. You wanted to run after him, find him and explain yourself. You wanted your daughter in your arms. If he would only listen then he would at least know you meant Birdie no harm. You were desperate for safety, for your baby and your family.

“Hey.”

You didn’t turn toward Maggie’s voice, your eyes reddened and hard as if you could summon Daryl back through the brush through sheer force of will alone. You wouldn’t be placated, refused to be pacified. Your fiance had taken your child off into the wilderness alone because of your actions. Carol could try and take all the blame that she wanted but it changed nothing. Daryl and Birdie were gone and it was your fault.

“I should have waited.” You sniffed, tightening your arms around your knees. The front of your sweater was damp, your bra saturated with breastmilk. Birdie must have been hungry by then. “Should have talked to him.” The tips of your fingers swiped angrily below your right eye. “I knew what he’d say—what he’d think—” Shaking your head, you smiled ruefully. “What you all must think.”

“No one’s passing any judgment here.” At some point, Maggie had sat down beside you and mimicked your pose. “Carol’s a survivor, Y/N. She had her reasons for what she did and what she was ready to teach you. Sophia lived because of that very thing.”

The name was a stridulent reminder of what could so easily happen to any child. It was true that Daryl would never allow it. He’d die first, of that you were certain. Nothing and no one would harm your little girl while he breathed. Still, he was only a man, flesh and blood. He could die out there and then Birdie would be lost as well.

“I was so stupid!” You lamented. Forehead lightly meeting your knees, you tangled your fingers into your unkempt hair and tugged. The pain was grounding but did little to drive the images from your mind of what could be happening as you sat idle.

Red.

The sharp inhale as you straightened startled Maggie halfway to her feet, but you were standing first.

“I have to go. I have to find them.” A single step was blocked by the eldest Greene daughter, her hands up. She was treating you like a cornered, cowering animal. You didn’t care for it. “Move.”

“I wasn’t supposed to say—”

Well, nothing good could ever follow those words. Her eyes danced nervously, flitting from you to someone behind you. You knew T-Dog was there. Your senses may have been dulled by distress but they weren’t entirely absent. “Are you gonna make me guess?”

“Carol and Glenn already went after them.”

You blinked. “What?” It was no question that Carol loved you. She loved you, your daughter, and she loved Daryl. To go without you meant she thought it was all her fault. You couldn’t stand by and let her take the blame that solely fell onto your shoulders. “When did they leave?”

“Maybe an hour ago. They wanted to get them back before dark.”

Your stomach twisted. Daryl and Birdie, alone in the woods—at night. It was bad enough to imagine them there with the sun high above, but in the dark? He could handle himself but how would he be able to keep them safe when Birdie needed something, when she would hardly stop crying for no reason at all. What had he been thinking?

That you were trying to kill your own baby.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “Okay.” Your acquiescence only seemed to fuel Maggie’s worry, her glances dismissing T-Dog but summoning Lori in his place.

“He’ll come back.” She soothed. Her gloved fingers felt odd in your hair but you allowed the comforting gesture. “He just didn’t understand and you know how he can be when he doesn’t understand.” You did know. He was quick to anger. It was something he had actively been working on and showing progress. Throw Birdie into the mix, however, and all bets were off.

“How can you be so sure?” You asked, plopping back down onto the cold leaves. “Even if he does, he’ll never see me the same.” The mere thought pierced your heart. You could only take a deep breath when you felt the cracks spiderwebbing out from the proverbial wound. “It’ll be over.”

Lori said nothing, her fingers combing through your hair. She had to agree that there was no other plausible outcome. Anything you and Daryl had built would come to an end, back to struggling in finding a way to co-parent with that awkward tension dangling between the two of you.

“You should get some rest.”

You were exhausted. Your body was sitting heavily with red rimmed eyes glued to the trees lining the border of the clearing. “I can’t sleep.” Your chin quivered, try as you might to contain your emotions. “I need my baby. I need to know she’s safe.” Your voice cracked, quiet as it was. I need them both.

“At least lie down.” Maggie urged, leaning down from beside Lori to squeeze your shoulders. “I promise to come get you the minute they get back.

If they come back.

“When.” She affirmed, holding your gaze when you twisted to regard her questioningly. Had you said that outloud? “When they get back.” Rubbing your lips together before capturing the bottom one between your teeth, you nodded, too exhausted to argue.

“You win.” You grunted, levering to your feet. Turning toward camp, you cast a lingering glance at the trees. Please, come back.

“What were you thinking?

“I was tryin’ to keep ‘er safe!”

“By going off alone with her! You could have been killed. She could have been killed!”

Your eyes snapped open, your feet carrying you toward the ruckus before you had even commanded your body to stand. Daryl was standing in front of Lori and Rick, Birdie—hidden in her blanket, her cries muffled—held against his chest. His crossbow was lying next to his feet. Their voices were raised, the argument escalating with each subsequent word.

Your lip quivered, the need to hold your baby pulling violently at your chest. Still, you dared not step closer. Not yet. Daryl hadn’t noticed you. His face was red, the veins and tendons bulging in his neck. Carol was just beyond him, sitting on the ground with her face in her hands. Maggie and Beth were on either side of her.

Licking your lips, you took a step forward. Your hunter’s skill unimportant in that moment, you didn’t notice the twig on the ground until it snapped beneath your boot.

Daryl’s gaze jerked toward you, his eyes narrowing and fingers tightening their hold on the bundle he cradled. His jaw ticked, but he said nothing. Rick stepped back and pulled his wife along with him, whispering something when she tensed beneath his touch.

“Daryl?” Your voice cracked, a lone tear escaping to travel down and drip from your jaw. “Daryl, please, just—”

The anger faded from his expression when a tiny hand escaped the blanket. “She’s hungry.” He rasped. Holding your breath, you waited, your heart pounding in your ears. When he took that first step toward you, you felt the tension melt from your muscles and all but ran to him, extricating Birdie from his hold.

“Hi, baby girl.” Her cries quieted but didn’t stop, her tiny form wriggling against you as you held her. “Hungry, huh?” You sniffed, no longer even attempting to stifle your tears. Her weight was a comforting, tiny burden that almost felt foreign even though only hours had passed.

Not moving an inch, you plopped right down where you stood, placing her across your folded legs while you shed your jacket and sweater, leaving only your bra. Modesty and cold be damned, you needed to nurse your baby, needed to know you could do something right for her. She latched eagerly, tiny fingers flexing against the curve of your breast.

“There we go.” Your voice was a wobbling whisper, your body rocking as you watched that perfect little face. “Mommy’s sorry. Mommy’s so sorry.” A shadow fell over you as you stroked her cheek, a soft fabric coming to rest across your shoulders. “I didn’t—I would never—”

Daryl crouched in front of you, expression stoic, and adjusted the poncho, covering both you and Birdie. Leaning forward onto one knee, he gathered your discarded clothing. “I’ll just, uh—I’ma give these to Carol.”

“Daryl, I—”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, purposefully avoiding your gaze. “Just—don’t.” His jaw shifted back and forth, a sure sign that he was grinding the inside of his lip between his teeth. He looked tired, haggard even. His eyes were red-rimmed, tear tracks on his cheeks. The archer’s knees cracked as he stood, turning away from you.

Carol was watching from where she sat, her eyes following Daryl as he approached. You couldn’t hear what was said between them but she nodded and accepted the clothing he offered. He didn’t look at you while he gathered his crossbow and disappeared back into the trees.

You waited, as you had been all day, but he didn’t reemerge. There was no time to dwell as Birdie released your nipple with a wet pop, working up to a good cry. “Okay, okay, little one.” You soothed, moving her to your shoulder beneath the poncho. It took barely two pats before she burped, the warmth of spit-up rolling down your bare back. “I missed you too.” You chuckled.

“How is she?” Carol was crouching not unlike Daryl had been, digging through a bag for a cloth to use for the mess. “Just take care of her. I’ll get you cleaned up.” You inhaled, deep and shaky, looking back toward the little bump beneath the poncho as you switched her over to your other breast.

“I think she’s okay. Blanket’s a little dirty but it’s not slathered in walker guts so I’d count that as a win.” There was a comfortable silence while Birdie nursed, her tiny breaths and gulps making Daryl’s absence bearable for the moment.

“He’s going hunting.”

You felt the cold air breathe against your skin, goosebumps rising and spreading. “Oh.” You voiced blandly, not really sure what sentiment to attach to the word. Were you relieved? Anxious? Sad?

“I told him.” She continued, dabbing at your back though the wetness was all but gone. You supposed the movement of her hand was somehow centering. “I explained.” You silently nodded, smiling when Birdie wrapped her teeny hand around your finger. “I think he at least understands it wasn’t malicious—that we weren’t trying to hurt her.”

Even if he did understand that much, his scars told a story. A sad tale of abuse that you would never comprehend. It was sure to play a heavy role in how he felt about what he had seen.

“Do you think he’ll forgive us?” Me?

“I—don’t know.”

Another nod. It was all you could emotionally afford to spare. You were wrung out, the relief of having Birdie in your arms proving to be a formidable force in defiance of your resiliency. Once the baby had finished and burped, you passed her to Carol—listening to the woman beg for forgiveness in hushed tones and gentle kisses to a small fist—and redressed.

If you never before believed in miracles—aside from the one now resting in a sheaf of blankets next to you—you did now. Birdie slept, not a single peep of discontent. It was as if whatever ailed her had completely vanished. You could only pray she remained so comfortable.

With your daughter under your arm, you could only think of Daryl as weariness gradually dragged you from the waking world and into a dreamless oblivion.

Please still love me when I wake up.

#murda writes #daryl dixon #blood ties #the walking dead #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon angst #dad!daryl dixon #dad!daryl

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thespiritofaconductor · 8 days ago

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Welcome Aboard to the Remains of Battle Subway!

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- Greetings, this is an ask blog to my pokepasta AU of Ingo (and Emmet) — The Conductor’s Spirit. This is NOT going to be a free all-out interaction ask blog, there will be a couple of rules to follow before stepping in to the station. Viewer discretion is advised—as this blog contains slight gore. the art ref at the bottom and the explanation to the lore (on ingo) can be your advisory.

- They are simple.

Blankshippers can indeed interact, but do not mention anything about that ship or anything related to it.

NSFW DO NOT INTERACT!

Please try to ask questions — and reasonable asks worth for me to answer. Yes you are allowed to ask and speak to Emmet (The Cries of the White Twin), too. [But make it known who the ask goes to-ingo or emmet] You are allowed to interact with touch—like hugs. NOTHING inappropriate. You can also send reaction images as long as they are family friendly. (Swears are allowed, I don’t mind. Slurs too.)

Please do not be mean to Ingo, Emmet, and/or Hilbert.

I include Hilbert simply because I am collabing with my friend, @paperyfox , or known as: @ask-the-burned-trainer in terms of this blog.

As I mentioned before, inappropriate topics aren’t allowed. I suppose I’ll let NSFW interact as long as they keep their mouths closed about that interest. Just try not to make the user(s) uncomfortable.

You get the idea. Follow the rules, safe driving! Follow the schedules. Everyone SMILE! Check safety. Everyone’s ready! Aim for victory! All Aboard!

Viewer discretion is advised.

“On a normal day of work, I was off on the tracks fixing the switch stand lever, until I heard an oncoming train horn coming in my direction. I didn’t think much of it, until it was too late. Just as I near the completion of the switch, I seen lights, rushing at me full speed ahead. I heard my brother, Emmet, call out to me and get me to step aside, but to my inconvenience, I didn’t listen and focused on the tracks and switch. Those lights appeared to be a train, and just as I tried to get out of the way, it has already collided with me… The last thing I heard was Emmet’s sobs and pleas, and the sound of destruction.”

“By the time I woke up, I was in a hospital room. Nobody was around… I was at least expecting to see Emmet there waiting for me to arise… I made my way through the corridors to reach the station again. …The station looked in very bad shape. As if nobody has been taking care of it throughout my absence. Everything was still functioning, pretty finely, actually.”

“I made it down to the tunnels—the tracks. And the sight I saw certainly was… something. Something to cause a panic. I spotted a derailment, ashes of the tunnel walls and remains of the burnt down. I went to investigate.. But all was hell. There was a lead to Gear station. I went through. …Gear station appears to have blown up. The train did also.”

“Further investigation, I spotted Emmet. Emmet looked… Very distraught. He didn’t even look at me. He was just covered in ashes, drenched in tears, still sobbing today. I waited, I went towards a mirror I saw. I took a good look at my body… And it was frantic. My own eyes widened, in question of what had happened here. There was a large gap inside of my stomach, revealing my ribs… Bloody tears stuck underneath my sockets, and everything else was simply just … Torn apart. Now my question was: Did that train come in impact with me?”

“I went back to Emmet, to see if he could tell me something about this. Although… He didn’t respond. I was scared to if he even would face me without a shout or more fearful panic sobs. But, He didn’t even hear me. He felt my hand, though, thats for sure. He tried to look for what touched him… But he looked right through me. that’s when it all clicked. I was dead. I was indeed hit. …If only I listened to first time.”

REFS (he gash will look better the more asks i get and the more art i put up—i sorts rushed these pieces)

#pokemon creepypasta #pokepasta #ingo #warden ingo #battle subway #gear station #the spirit of a conductor #the cries of the white conductor #the cries of a conductor #emmet #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #submas #subway bosses #subway master emmet #subway master ingo

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bellsartblog · 4 months ago

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Sept-ingo day 21: ice with hnk!submas twins from @diamagneticcoordinationcomplex's series, Crystal Conductors.

this is a bit different from what the scene was in the fic but :"))) i love their whole series very much XDDD the twins' interactions were sweet and the way they chose to solve the problem of going home from hisui left me surprised when i first read it :))) and i think i cried a bit when they finally did it :")))

and if you wonder why ice is related to them, i recommend you read the fic to find out :)))

#submas #emmet #ingo #sept ingo #sept-ingo #month of ingo #subway boss ingo #subway master ingo #subway boss emmet #subway master emmet #pokemon ingo #pokemon emmet #subway bosses #submas au

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remembrancer-of-heresy · 7 months ago

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Emperor's Children have a sex drive

Boom! This is canon. It took me to read a lot of literature and write down all the hints, but it was worth it.

Here we go ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

First of all, we need to start with Julius Kaeseron, who experienced sexual attraction to Bequa, and later to the demonette. Fun fact. In my native language, because of the translation, not only Julius appreciated the delights of the composer, but also Lucius, lol.

JULIUS WATCHED WITH barely contained excitement as the blue haired composer crossed the stage and descended into the orchestra pit to take her place on her conductor’s podium. Dressed in a scandalously translucent dress of gold and crimson, the gossamer thin material hung with precious stones that glittered like stars. The cut of her dress plunged from her shoulders to her pelvis, the swell of her breasts and the hairlessness of her flesh clearly visible beneath. ‘Magnificent!’ cried Fulgrim, clapping furiously with the audience at Bequa’s appearance, and Julius was amazed to see tears in his eyes. Julius nodded, and though he had no real memory of feminine splendour or any frame of reference against which to compare her, the composer’s curves and obvious womanhood stole away his breath. Julius had felt such stirrings of emotion when he gazed upon his primarch, heard a particularly inspiring piece of music or went into battle, but to feel his senses aroused by a mortal woman was a new experience for him.

Bequa Kynska thrashed like a lunatic atop her conductor’s podium, jabbing and slashing the air with her baton, her hair a wild comet of blue as it whipped around her head. Julius tore his eyes from the magnificent sight of her and looked out over the audience to witness its reaction to this sublime, raucous music.

And yes, in all of these examples, you can see that Julius doesn't just find the girl and the demonette beautiful. He notes that he was delighted by femininity. Moreover, he even calls it seductive. Seductive. Not the most commonly used word in the Space Marine vocabulary.

Julius had never seen anything so simultaneously beautiful and repellent, a naked female creature that evoked both a potent loathing, and a perverse sensuality that gnawed at the pit of his stomach. Hair like needle horns swept back from her oval face, with its green, saucer-like eyes, fanged mouth and luscious lips. Her body was sculpted perfection, lithe and sensuous, but with only a single breast, and her skin was loathsomely tattooed and pierced. Each of her arms terminated in a long crab-like claw of glistening red chitin and moist flesh. Despite the lethal claws, the creature was disturbingly seductive, and Julius felt moved in a way he had not been since he had been elevated to the ranks of the Astartes. She moved with languid, cat-like grace, her every movement redolent with sexuality and the promise of dark pleasures and excesses unknown to the minds of mortal men. Julius ached to taste them.

And here you can see that the space marines did not yet know how to unleash their emotions. How to have pleasure other ways than battle:

The Astartes too were swept up in the surging power generated by the Maraviglia. Blood was spilled as the emotions of the Astartes were overloaded with sensational excess, and were vented in the only way men bred as warriors knew how. An orgy of killing spread from the stage, blood running in rivers as the power of the music thundered through La Venice.

But they learn quickly and start trying a lot of different things. This can be clearly seen in "Reflection Is Cracked". And yes, there is even a special place for more intimate things:

"Which was not to say that the observation deck went unused. Those who imbibed the toxically hallucinogenic cocktails brewed by Apothecary Fabius found enlightenment in its infinite vistas, and many indulged their freshly awakened carnal hungers with vicarious feasts of flesh and blades. Discarded bodies and torn heaps of broken glass lay strewn throughout the bay, and the occasional moan issued from a jumbled pile of clothing and leather restraints."

The same story mentions that they had fun with prisoners on one of the planets for several days. At first, one company abused the slaves, later handing them over to another.

During the Siege of Terra, the Emperor's Children also tortured mortals. Moreover, it is not specified exactly how. If this were ordinary literature, then “more direct and crude enjoyment” could be perceived as a, ahem, dubious agreement. But since Warhammer 40k is here, use your imagination.

Simple pleasures had given way to complex debaucheries. While their allies fought and died the Emperor’s Children slaughtered more than a million people and rendered them down to create endless varieties of drugs and stimulants. Countless thousands more died to give the Emperor’s Children more direct, if cruder, enjoyment.

How exactly did they have fun? Not specified. But I think that everything was there. And yes, this is an important point.

In Angel Exterminatus, Julius even emphasizes that they began to experience pleasure in EVERYTHING. They began to look for pleasure in all things.

The Lords of Profligacy had lifted the suffocating veils of the mundane from their eyes and shown them unlimited worlds of sensation and indulgence. Undreamed vistas of excess in all things: noise, music, bloodshed, hedonism, torture, violence, adoration and most of all, worship. Every second not spent indulging desires declared taboo in an earlier age was a waste of life, and Julius Kaesoron had long since declared that no act of indulgence would remain beyond his grasp.

And yes, sexual attraction is a matter for every person. While most Space Marines will be attracted to ladies, some will look at men. Yes, I can nitpick, but c'mon, just read this passage:

Lonomia Ruen detached himself from the advance, and Lucius cursed. Since the death of Bastarnae Abranxe, Ruen had transferred his cultish adoration to Lucius. For a while it had been an interesting diversion to have a slavish devotee, but Lucius was already tiring of the man’s desperate need. ‘Your body is a wonder,’ said Ruen.

In the first book about Fabius Bile, a lot is described about how the Emperor's Children have fun on the ship:

The observation deck had become a place of contemplation and experimentation for the masters of the Quarzhazat. A place to indulge in pleasures of body and mind. Slaves bearing immense narcotic generators staggered to and fro, filling the air with a pleasant fug. Emperor’s Children sat on marble benches looted from Imperial temples and eldar crone worlds, or lounged on cushions made from the flayed hides of prisoners, speaking softly to one another of past debaucheries and future ecstasies. They wagered on gladiatorial bouts, watching as unlucky crewmembers gutted each other with rusty blades or, in some cases,hands and teeth. Elsewhere, the crude gutter-poetry of lost Nostromo warred with ear-splitting songs culled from the manufactorums of Chemos and Cthonia. The more artistically inclined among them painted obscene murals on the wall and deck. Armour was peeled away from flesh, so that brands could be applied, or the bite of a tattooist’s needle.

And here we see this:

In the shadows, more intimate entertainments were being enjoyed, to judge by the screams of slave and Space Marines alike. The smell of blood and worse was strong on the air.

Moreover, their leader clearly loves his daemonettes too much. These are the interesting hints you can find in books.

The Radiant seemed to enjoy these occasional slaughters, and openly encouraged them, when he wasn’t leading a hunt or consorting with his Neverborn courtesans.

Oleander really distinguished himself, since apparently he started an affair with Fabius' daughter Melusine:

Oleander, it crackled. It has been so long, my love... come to me... come... He took a halting step forward, despite himself. Desire surged up in him, rising wild. His limbs trembled with need and his brain sparked with longing. A face swelled in his mind’s eye, inhuman and beautiful and terrible in that beauty, teased into the open by the electricfingers stroking his soul. He had danced to this rhythm before, however, and he recognised a lie when he heard one. He forced himself to stop, though his every instinct begged that he go forward. ‘No,’ he croaked. ‘No, I know her febrile stink, and you are not her,’ Oleander said. ‘She would not ask – she would demand.’

In the short story "A More Perfect Union" by Richard McCormick it's implied that some Emperor's Children are having sex (or something like sex). And not only with slaves but with each other.

Xantine to Euphoros:

'It has boon some time since you made your way to my bed chamber, my lord,' he said, draping a purple cloak around his naked body and drawing himself up to standing height with a predator's grace.

Euphoros to Xantine:

'I was worried, I hear pillow talk from from souls who tell me you are lost to your ...'* he looked at the empty containers. 'To your predilections.'

In the book Pariah, the simply amazing character Teke the Smiling appears. And yes, he not only notices the beauty of Beta and Judika, but also wants to “have fun” with the girl. He calls her "sweet" many times as if in mockery. And jokes that she should take her friend on board as "plaything".

‘My, but you’re beautiful,’ Teke said to me, regarding me intently. ‘As beautiful as the boy. Those eyes, that mouth. The hard absence of soul. It’s such a shame he’s been spoiled.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you, Bequin,’ he said. He paused. ‘Well, of course, I do. Very much. Right up to the unthinkable point where it becomes a pleasure for both of us. But I can’t. I’m not allowed to. You’re too valuable.’

‘You have provided us with it. Within just hours of knowing you, Bequin… sweet Mamzel Bequin… you have already performed an extraordinary service for us.’

‘Oh, he likes you, doesn’t he?’ said Teke, smiling at the Curst. ‘Do you want to bring him too, as your plaything?’

And I like how in the sequel the two girls talk about Teke.

‘I don’t have to imagine,’ she said. ‘I’ve met them. A brief encounter with the one named Teke. Thankfully, I was well warded. It was hard to tell what he wanted more – to kill me, or copulate with me.’ ‘Both, I should think. At the same time.’

Also worth mentioning is Telemachon, who was infatuated with Nefertari. Mostly due to the fact that she is a Drukhari. And he wanted to kill her for the Dark Prince. Is there any sexual connotation here? Well:

‘My angel. My lovely angel, you know nothing of what you speak. You’ve spent a lifetime running from the Youngest God. But he loves you, sweetling. He adores you and all of your kind. I can hear him sing each time you breathe. And one day, when you leave your flesh behind, you will be his. A concubine of spirit and shadow, claimed by your true love at last.’

Telemachon closed his eyes, breathing in her breath, drinking her every exhalation. Being near her was rapture. ‘Let me touch you,’ he said, shuddering. ‘Just let me touch you once.’

‘You live in defiance of his hunger, lovely angel... Let me taste you. Let me bleed you. Let me kill you. Please. Please. Please.’

Telemachon’s hunger for her was still a palpable thing, an aura that invisibly stained the air around him. He was imagining the salty richness of her blood on his tongue, and the thought made him shiver.

I want her, came the swordsman’s wish, as clear as if he’d spoken it aloud. He did not send the words to me, but his murderous desire was fierce enough that I couldn’t help but sense his thoughts.

A feather. A single black feather. I tore it from the fine golden chain that bound it to the pistol grip and crushed it in my hand. ‘Is this from her wings?’ I demanded. ‘But of course.’ ‘You diseased creature. Stalking her. Watching her.’ ‘And more.’ The onyx of his eyes flashed with reflected light. Telemachon was smiling. His facemask didn’t change, but I sensed whatever was left of his face behind the silver twisting in mirth.

And I really like that the Thousand Sons Space Marine stubbornly says that he doesn’t need Nefertari. That she is simply his property and she has no value to him in the Black Legion. Also he when Telemachon speaks of Nefertari:

I will end him. My mind inferred the tigrus-lynx’s violent eagerness as words, though as ever no words were spoken.

‘Do you value your life so little?’ I asked him, surprising myself with my own honesty. ‘This hunger for her will be the death of you.’

And the Chaosites have clearly expanded their vocubular. Just imagine what the Space Marines said smt like that during the Great Crusade:

‘Prey,’ the wych hissed again, echoed crudely by her sisters. ‘Oh no,’ Lucius grinned. ‘You are quite mistaken, my lovelies. I am not being hunted by you. It is you who are being hunted by me.’

Even Abaddon knows how to speak with ladys even if they are eldar which is really funny:

‘The Maiden of Commorragh,’ he greeted her.

‘They are gone.’ Nefertari broke in, still wearing her smile. ‘Their bodies hang in my Aerie if you wish to introduce yourself to them the way you have to others.’ Abaddon snorted in amused resignation. ‘What a wretched little darling you are, alien. And what of Falkus? Where is he, Khayon?’

I also found two interesting comments on reddit, but alas, I could not find exact references in the books. I'm still a human being and this is a Tumblr post, not a dissertation:

The Emperor's Children are quite possessive of the Daemons of Slaanesh. Fighting honour duels for a kiss of a daemonette or to catch the eye of a Keeper of Secrets. They showered even the least of Dark Prince's daemons with affections and gifts. It is because of this they are jealous of the Word Bearers like Saqqara who needed none of that to be beloved by daemons.

And another one:

The bile series straight up has the ec doing kinky shit only just off screen and one of the things Fabius gets accused of when he's setting up his new men is that he's just making a harem for himself.

I also like reddit about Fulgrim because it's true:

I’m pretty sure there is a pretty blatant scene in Slaves to Darkness that shows Fulgrim’s interest in EVERY excess and sex is part of the equation. It’s like a bunch of cultists and demons in the Webway essentially worshipping Slaanesh by experiencing excess including sex, gluttony, etc. Fulgrim is taking part, but it’s not exactly clear what he is taking part in. He’s a demon prince by this point obviously.

He was the only primarch who was married. He can lie himself that he didn't really loved his adoptive parents and wives but can't lie me:

Fulgrim sat back. ‘I was betrothed, once,’ he continued idly. ‘Several times, actually. Political marriages, of course. Made to seal binding agreements, or open negotiations with certain executive dynasties.’ Pyke didn’t reply. His tone had become sombre. A rare thing, for Fulgrim. The Phoenician seemed to always be smiling, laughing at some joke only he understood. But now, he seemed tired. He rubbed his face. ‘I outlived them all, one way or another.’ ‘Did you love them?’ Fulgrim smiled slowly. ‘Some. I think. At first. After a time, I stopped. Love was a weakness I could ill afford in those days. A billion lives rested on my shoulders, and any hesitation on my part would have doomed them all irrevocably.’ He laughed softly. ‘Or so I told myself then.’ ‘And now?’ ‘Now, I know it would have. There is no room for weakness in this galaxy. No room for imperfection.’

And do you know why this is a lie? Because after Fulgrim become a daemon prince, he immediately got N'kari as his consort:

Fulgrim reached the dais and flowed up its side. The bloated thing squirmed in greeting, uncoiling its bulk and twining it around Fulgrim as he embraced it. The thing purred up at the daemon primarch, baring its teeth. Fulgrim ran a hand over its hair. ‘There, N’kari, my delight… We will have bliss again once this is done with, but he is family, and that means I should listen to what he says, hmm? At least a little.' N’kari… It was not its true name – that was a thing that would have broken reality to speak – but in the realm of the warp it was like a signature drawn in atrocity. Layak had glimpsed it and heard it at the edge of bloody visions, but never seen it before. Now it sat before him. N’kari… Eater of Delight, the Son of Ruin, the Daughter of Delight, one of the Six Courtesans of the Dark Prince. Fulgrim settled next to the exalted daemon, their snake bodies intertwining with a sigh, then turned his gaze back on Lorgar.

Fulgrim squirmed, a hand running through N’kari’s hair, while another picked a wet, red fruit from a silver platter and held it out to the bloated daemon. Layak noticed that the exalted daemon’s face was a warped echo of Fulgrim’s own, a fattened parody of the daemon primarch’s primarch’s soul-breaking perfection. N’kari ate the fruit and licked Fulgrim’s fingers.

‘Which war is this, brother dear?’ said Fulgrim, running a finger over N’kari’s cheek.

Fulgrim snarled as soon as Layak willed him speech. ‘I will take your soul and–’ ‘Your consort has already issued the necessary threats.'

N’kari walked to Fulgrim’s side, its bull-headed form shrinking and thinning until it was a slender figure wrapped in red silk, its skin the colour of a shark’s belly, its eyes black orbs. A delicate crest of bone and skin ran down the centre of its scalp. ‘Where the Prince of the Princes goes, so go I,’ it said, its voice a melody that promised bliss and suffering. ‘I am bound to this and to him. As you command him, so shall I follow your will.

By the way let's not forget the words of my man Tyrell, Renegade Lord of Arden IX (Codex: Chaos Space Marines (8th Edition, pg. 52):

Take care, lest your protests grow tiresome. I have asked for so little! Anyone would think that I have asked you to sacrifice yourselves and your sons! And yet, in Slaanesh's boundless and pleasing mercy, I have asked only for your daughters. Surely you would not deny me my small enjoyments?

And I don't care what fandom thinks about my beloved Ian Watson. I don't like he's other space marines. But his Children of Emperor are great:

Were the screaming tethered female prisoners hallucinating while abominations were perpetrated slowly and perversely upon their flesh? A few tormentors had shed items of armour, exposing grotesquely mutated rampant groins, their organs of pleasure bifurcated and more, with squinting eyes sprouting from them, and with drooling lips. Others had no need to shed armour. Chaos Spawn had materialized: wolf-sized creatures with legs of spiders and bodies of imps, with questing tentacles and phallic tubes. Jaq himself almost believed that he was hallucinating. A snake-like umbilical cord connected these spawn to the swollen groin-guards of their master – who stood back, roaring and whinnying with delight, as they guided the spawn in the ravishing of their captives, soaking up the sensations of these roving external members. Corralling other hysterical captives were beastmen slaves armed with serrated axes. A Chaos Tech-Marine monitored these slaves. His armour was studded with spikes. Each shoulder pauldron was in the shape of giant clutching fingers. He wore a nightmare helmet shaped like a horse’s head, eyes glowing red. One of the shaggy beastmen drooled and dropped his axe. The beastman reached out a paw to caress a particularly voluptuous captive. Immediately the Tech-Marine adjusted a control-box strapped to his forearm. The disobedient beastman’s metal collar exploded, severing his head. The head fell. It bounced and rolled amidst the captives even as the beastman’s body was tottering.

I almost forgot to add that in the book Renegades: Lord of Excess Xantine emphasizes that he is fascinated by love. He liked to kill, torture and just look at lovers. So much so that he was delighted with the way his personal daemonette of Slaanesh hugged him. The usual hug after sex, something personal and more sensual.

Later, he warms up to Cecile, a psyker, but not enough to not use her as a navigator. Although the book mentions that he didn't want to know whether she sighed in surprise or pain when he loaded the helmet on her.

He also called one woman, whom he had picked up a long time ago (she interested him because she laughed when she learned that she had become with the inhabitants of the world, who kicked her out of the city, calling her a witch) a muse.

So...

It is clear that, first of all, the Emperor's Children derive pleasure from murder and torture. But still this is not enough. Some may have their own personal obsession. For example, Lucius' fencing. A Space Marine was mentioned who sought satisfaction in the spiritual realm rather than the material. They may love music, food, or take drugs. Including fucking. It's just not their main goal.

So everyone who is against “sex among space marines” can relax. Yes, there is sex drive, but this is just one of the pleasures. Besides, only the Emperor's Children have this thing… at least I haven't found any other Space Marines yet. But judging by my excellent analysis, if I try, who knows.

#emperor's children #fulgrim #lucius the eternal #julius kaesoron #fabius bile #warhammer 40k #wh40k

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wizard-on-whales · 5 months ago

Text

Devils Dance

(NSFW)

You're a violinist for the San Francisco Symphony, excited to work with your favorite band, but when you can't get a part right during rehearsals you hid away only to be found by the singer himself

Warnings: Smut, Unprotected sex, praising and degrading, semi-public, pet names

Word count: 2.6k

✭-----------------------------✭

Nothing had been going right today. First your alarm didn't go off on time which meant you were almost late for rehearsals, then when you finally got there you bumped into someone and they spilled their coffee all over you, and now you couldn't find your sheet music. You were digging through your violin case and folders, looking for it, but it was nowhere to be found. You let out a silent groan, frustrating already starting to spill out of you even though it was only 10 AM. You leaned over to the second chair violinist and asked if she had an extra copy of the music and finally luck was on your side because she did. She handed it over and you set it on your stand, getting to work practicing the familiar tunes.

Although you were a huge Metallica fan and had spent the last several days practicing and studying the sheet music there was one part that you could not get right. And sitting here practicing it in front of the whole orchestra and your favorite band was not helping your already terrible day. Several times now the conductor has had to stop and restart the entire song because of your mistakes, and as it happened again you couldn't help the tears falling from your eyes. You wasted no time before running out of the room, the hot streams of frustration and embarrassment trailing down your cheeks. You found a corner to hide in, setting your violin down in front of you. You wanted to throw it, smash it to pieces, but you held back.

You brought your knees up to your chest, dropping your head into them as you cried. You were sure your spot as first chair violin would be ruined after this. Another sob left your body as you curled further into yourself, wanting nothing more than to go home. You didn't hear the footsteps approaching you as you wiped your runny makeup off of your face. The hand that was gently placed on your shoulder made you jump and turn. Standing there was none other than James Hetfield himself, the man you have had a massive crush on for years. Your cheeks heat up, your heart racing in your chest as you quickly try to compose yourself.

“You alright?” He asked kindly, picking your violin up off the floor and moving it so that he could sit next to you. He sits the stringed instrument on his lap, plucking the strings slightly as he awaits your answer.

“Yeah, just…just a bad day,” You stutter, trying to smooth out your now wrinkled skirt. You tried to think of something else to say but god he smelled good and it was the only thing you could think about. Just the size of him and the feeling of his shoulder pressed against yours made your brain go blank. He was not a small man that was for sure, his broad shoulders and chest strained against the tight button up he wore and you were convinced if he made one wrong move a button would fly off.

“I noticed that. You sound great though, that part you can't get down seems real tough so I don't blame you,” His words seem genuine as he looks over at you. His fingers continue to fiddle with your violin and just as he grabs a tuning peg, his instincts telling him to turn it, you panic. You grab his hand to make him stop and he quickly pulls it away, noticing your worry.

“Sorry, I guess I wasn't thinking. They probably aren't like guitars are they,” He chuckles awkwardly, placing his hands off to his sides instead of the instrument.

“It's okay, same concept just a little harder,” You reassure him, your panic temporarily making you forget that you were upset.

“Play something,” He says, picking it up and handing it over to you. You stare at him in disbelief for a second before slowly taking the violin from him. You sit up a little straighter, positioning the instrument on your shoulder before taking the bow and placing it against the strings. You glance at him for a second and he gives you a nod. You take a breath before playing a song, deciding to play a version of Fade to Black that you composed yourself. It was a song you had prayed would be part of the album but unfortunately it wasn't. He watched intently as you played, a smile splayed across his features, and something else in his eyes that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You tried to avoid his gaze as you played but it was hard, his eyes were intense, drawing you in with interest and beauty. As you finished playing the intro to the song you removed your violin from your shoulder and awkwardly set it back down on the floor next to you.

“That was great! We should have added it to the setlist. Are you a fan then?” His praises cause you to blush, not expecting him to be so sincere. And the smile on his face as he spoke made you want to trip and fall right into his arms.

“Yeah..I've been a huge fan for years. I had posters of you all over my walls when I was a teenager and in college,” You admit shyly to him, trying to laugh it off so he didn't think you were weird. He chuckles slightly, his gaze still burning a hole through you. You catch his eyes flick down towards your chest for just a second before looking back towards your face. His tongue swipes over his lips and you finally realize what that look behind his eyes is. You feel as if he could devour you with just one look, ripping your clothes off with his stare.

“Oh yeah? What type of posters? Just me or the whole band?” His voice seemed to have gotten deeper somehow. You wiped your sweaty palms against your skirt, looking away from him for a second, but his gaze didn't falter.

“Well..it was mostly just you. I had one above my bed that I loved,” You swore he could hear your heart beating against your chest with how fast it was pounding.

“Really? You ever touch yourself to it?” He asked the question so casually that it almost didn't register in your brain. Your voice gets caught in your throat as your face burns red. He smiles wider, your reaction telling him everything he needs to know.

“Did you look up at it with your legs spread wishing I was really there?” He comes closer, resting his hands on the floor on either side of your legs. You lean back a little as you feel his breath on your face, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

“C'mon baby girl, use your words. Did you?” He leans further forward, causing you to lean away again. You were resting on your elbows, looking up at him at this point. You bit your lip slightly, unable to speak so you just nod your head thinking of all the times your fingers worked themselves against your sensitive parts, the image of him in your head. You had always imagined what it would be like, what he'd smell like, what he looked like under his clothes but you never imagined it would actually happen. Now you were laying underneath him, his lips grazing your neck, his cologne invading your nostrils.

“Yeah? Fuck yourself with your fingers trying to imagine they were my dick instead?” His voice was raspy and quiet in your ear. By now his body was resting fully against yours, pinning you to the floor. You could feel his boner pressed against your leg. His hand slid under the edge of your skirt making you shiver, his calloused fingers grazing the skin as they trailed up your leg.

“Someone might see us,” You whimper, glancing away from him and up and down the long, empty hallway you were in the middle of.

“You'd like that wouldn't you? Solid proof that you got to fuck me for real,” A moan slips out of your mouth just by his words alone. The feeling of his warm and heavy body pressing you to the cold, hard floor made you ache between your legs. His hand trails even further up your thigh reaching the band of your panties. His fingers slowly graze you through the fabric causing your hips to jerk.

“God you're already soaked princess, I can feel it through these little panties,” You bit your lip at the words he's whispering in your ear and the feeling of his fingers slowly rubbing you. His lips finally press against your neck making you let out a moan. He nips the skin gently, making sure to not leave any marks that would be visible. You moved your hands from the floor and placed them firmly against his chest, feeling his strong pecs through the thin fabric of his dress shirt. You feel him smile against your neck as your hands wonder curiously over his chest, memorizing everything you can, hoping it isn't just a dream.

“I'm all yours, baby,” He whispers in your ear again while his finger slips your panties to the side to feel you further. You quietly whine, gripping his shirt as he slides one of his fingers into you. James hungrily connects his lips to yours, getting lost in the taste of you. His tongue pushes into your mouth, feeling every inch of you it can as it dances with yours. His finger slowly move in and out of your gummy walls, the wetness between your legs gradually increasing. He pulls his finger out, pushing two in, causing you to moan louder against his lips. You turn your head to the side, making his sloppy kisses stop.

“James please,” You cry out, his pace was painfully slow, making you beg for more. You didn't have to say anything else before he pulled his dripping fingers out of you and got to work on his belt. He unbuckled it, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. You brought your hands up to your chest and unbuttoned your coffee stained shirt, exposing your breasts to him. Lucky for him you had forgotten to put a bra on with the rush of the morning. A groan slips from him as he watches you squeeze the soft flesh. He pushes his jeans down just enough for his cock to slip out, holding the thing like a trophy in his hands. He gives you a smirk as he watches you drool over his size. You wanted to curse him for being right, all those times you stared up at that poster, your legs spread, wishing it was his dick in you instead of your fingers. Now it was actually happening and you were too drunk on the taste of him to be nervous. He pushed your legs further apart and situated himself between them, his tip grazing your entrance.

“You ready for all your dirty little fantasies to come true,” He grins with a whisper, his face dangerously close to yours. He grips your hips tightly as he drives himself into your wet walls. You throw your head back, wanting to scream in pleasure but only a quiet moan escapes.

“Gonna have to be quiet unless you want an audience,” James grunts into your ear before biting the skin. He jerks his hips, the size of him stretching you more than you had ever been, almost splitting you in two. You clutch his shoulders tightly, trying to hold on as he starts pounding into you. His body had you pinned down, making it hard to move but you couldn't care less. You grab the collar of his shirt, quickly unbuttoning the top buttons as he continues to thrust into you. His necklace falls out of his shirt, dangling in your face. You grab the back of his neck and pull him closer, connecting your lips with his exposed collarbone. He gladly lets you puppet him, groaning as you suck on the sensitive skin. He removes one of his hands from your hips before placing it above your head, supporting himself as he pushes deeper into your walls. You bite down harder, muffling your whines against his skin. You wrap your legs tightly around his waist, your heels digging into the top of his ass.

“Mmmfuck.. Harder,” You moan, pulling him even closer. The cold metal from his necklace grazes against the exposed skin on your chest, making you shiver.

“I knew you'd be…fuck…dirty from the second I saw you,” He groans, pushing harder into you. His thrusts were deep enough you could feel him in your stomach. Everything in your body tingled, craving every bit of him.

“Thought you were being subtle, staring at me, but I knew this is what you wanted…wasn't it?” James leans down and kisses your breasts, biting your nipple harshly, making you squeal.

“Yeah…this is what..what I wanted,” James abruptly stops his movements and pulls out of you. You give him a puzzled look, having no time to react to him flipping you over with ease. He delivers a harsh smack against your ass, a moan slipping from your lips before he plunged himself into you again. Your hands grip at nothing against the floor as he pins your wrists together. His hips harshly smack against your ass, the sounds seeming to echo down the long empty hall. You weren't sure if you cared about anyone walking in on you anymore. He was right again, you'd like it if someone watched him fuck you like his life depended on it.

“Fucking hell,” He grits through his teeth. Your walls contract around him, drawing a groan from him. You could feel yourself getting close, the feeling of his thick cock, dragging against your tight walls at this angle was overwhelming. You didn't care if anyone heard your moans at this point, you were no longer holding back as his name spills from your mouth. Your sounds encourage him to push harder, his movements getting sloppy.

“I'm gonna cum,” You whine, the feeling washing over you, about to spill out. He grips you tighter, his cock twitching inside you.

“Yeah? Cum all over my cock, baby, do it,” His filthy words encourage you to let go. You swore it was the most intense orgasm you had ever had. You wanted to scream but nothing but a strangled whine came out. Your ears rang and your vision got blurry as you rode through your high, James hips still desperately snapping against your ass, chasing his own orgasm. His movements slowed as you felt his sticky cum coat your walls. He stayed inside you for a few seconds longer, pumping everything he could out of his cock before peeling himself out of you. Thick strands of his cum followed, getting on your legs and skirt, causing him to groan. He grabbed your panties that were only pushed to the side and snapped them back against your sensitive pussy, causing you to moan.

“They're probably looking for us,” James speaks, flipping you over onto your back. He keeps your legs wrapped around his waist, his eyes watching as his cum seeps out of you and soaks your panties.

“Mhmm.. probably,” You say quietly, your brain not able to think of much in your fucked out state. He grins at the sight of you, grabbing your arm and pulling a sharpie out of his pocket. He writes something on your arm before shoving the marker back into his pocket.

“Let's do this again sometime, yeah?” He leaves you with one last kiss, pinching your nipple, before shoving himself back into his pants and standing up, leaving you on the floor. You glance at your arm as he walks away, seeing his phone number sprawled across your forearm. You smile to yourself, wondering how the hell you got yourself into this situation, praying it wasn't just a dream.

✭-----------------------------✭

#james hetfield x reader #james hetfield smut #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield #metallica x reader #metallica smut #metallica fanfiction #metallica #papa het

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i-literally-cant-with-this · 1 year ago

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A/N ::: You guys remember that thing I wrote the other day saying I didn't have an explanation for it? Well, I don't have one for this either. But I nearly cried when I wrote the last line. Deadass real tears. Almost.

C/W ::: Stupid sweet. Dad!Katsuki (27 yrs old, married to F.reader).

WC ::: Less than 530

Thinking about Katsuki hanging out in the living room with his baby after she had a bad dream.

It's 1:19 in the morning and he's awakened by the sound of his baby girl crying. You had begun to shuffle in your sleep at the sounds she was making, but he got up first, careful not to disturb you (like that would ever disturb you).

He quietly padded his way down the hallway to her dimly lit room and he peeked through the open crack in the door to see if she was ok before he walked in. She'd apparently heard someone coming to her because she stopped fussing just long enough for him to open the door the rest of the way and walk in to her.

His voice was calm, low and gravelly. But soft. A kind of softness that he reserves only for his little girl.

"Hey stinker, whats'a matter? Y'have a bad dream or somethin'? C'mere, ohhh yes, shh shh shh shh shh. Come on, up ya go. Wanna go for a walk with me, hah? Let's go. Jus' you 'n me. Let's hit the road, hah, Jack?" He picks her up without any effort at all. Her little 17 pound body is no match for the great Katsuki Bakugou. Though regardless - and because - of how small she is, he holds her closer than anything else in the whole world.

He holds her tightly with one arm and puts the other one on the handrail to make his way down the stairs, talking to her the whole way. "So, what'd ya dream 'bout? Yer mama runnin' outta milk?" She coos and smiles at him. He laughs, too, but he knows, realistically, there's no way in hell she could know what he's saying to her. But that won't stop him from telling everyone at the agency that his baby is a certified genius.

"Yeah, that'd be scary as hell. But really, when'r ya gonna start talkin', hah? I need someone normal to talk to sometimes. And," he senses you behind him and stops talking. Turning around, he sees you standing behind the couch, smiling, with your hand over your heart. "B'tween you 'n me? Your mama is a full-time passenger on the crazy train. She might even be the conductor one of these days." He winks at you and waves you off with his hand to go back bed. "I got 'er. 'L be up soon, ma."

You nod and hover for just a second to brush her soft little blonde hairs from her forehead. You kiss him on the cheek and walk back to bed.

He swipes the hair you brushed back to the way it was and gives her a long kiss on the crown on her head, sneaking a sniff of that baby smell. She smells like a combination of you and him: Vanilla and burnt honey.

"See what'm sayin'? Yer ma don't know how to do hair t' save her life. Tch. Bah! I love her anyway." The baby began to fuss a little again. "Hey! I didn't say I loved 'er more than you, baby boom.

@arlerts-angel @viburnt @darkstarlight82

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mivalyn · 2 months ago

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⋆ ★ Daddy´s Girl ★ ⋆

18+, mdni!

John Price x fem! reader

Cw: age play, oral sex, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

!Requests are open!

Word count: 1,127

The late afternoon sun bleeds through the gap in the curtains, casting long shadows across the rumpled sheets and highlighting the dust motes dancing in the golden light. Price watches you with those piercing blue eyes that always seem to see right through you, to the core of your desires. At 39, his rugged handsomeness is a potent mix of danger and allure, a stark contrast to your own Y/A years and the carefully constructed facade of independence you maintain outside this room. The chemistry between you is a volatile cocktail, a potent blend of dominance and submission that leaves you breathless, trembling on the precipice of something primal and untamed.

The lazy Sunday morning has long since bled into a feverish afternoon. Your white cotton sundress lies discarded on the floor, a testament to the escalating passion, a casualty of his relentless pursuit. He's in boxers, the dark fabric a stark contrast to the pale skin of his thighs, hinting at the raw power coiled beneath the surface. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken promises, a tangible tension that vibrates between your bodies. He leans closer, that predatory glint in his eyes deepening, a hunter savoring the chase. "Come here, little one," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through your very core.

You obey instinctively, your own desires overriding any lingering vestiges of caution. You crawl towards him, your body humming with a primal hunger that has consumed you since the moment you first met his gaze. His kiss is not gentle; it’s a demanding conquest, his tongue a forceful invader, exploring every hidden crevice of your mouth, leaving you breathless and disoriented. The taste of him -coffee, sweat, and something uniquely masculine and utterly intoxicating - lingers on your tongue, a potent reminder of his complete and utter dominance. He trails kisses down your neck, each touch leaving a fiery trail, his teeth playfully nipping, drawing ragged moans from your lips. The line between pleasure and pain blurs, the exquisite agony fueling your desire.

His hands, calloused and strong, cup your breasts, his touch both tender and bruising. He takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, the pressure sending jolts of pure, unadulterated pleasure through you, arching your back uncontrollably. He alternates between gentle sucking and sharp nips, teasing your senses to the brink of unbearable ecstasy. He moves lower, his breath hot on your skin, his lips tracing a fiery path down your abdomen, leaving you trembling in anticipation.

He reaches your mound, his gaze unwavering as he parts your legs, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of your lips. "Such a beautiful pussy, little one," he breathes, the words a compliment and a claim of ownership, sending a shiver down your spine. He wastes no time, plunging in with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity.

His tongue is a masterful instrument, a skilled conductor leading your body to the precipice of orgasm. He licks and sucks your clitoris with a rhythm that resonates deep within you, a rhythm that builds slowly, deliberately, then explodes into an untamed frenzy, driving you to the very edge of sanity. You arch your back, your fingers digging into his hair as you grind against his face, desperate for release, your moans turning into raw cries of pleasure. His fingers join his mouth, probing, teasing, then penetrating, two, then three, a rhythmic invasion that complements the exquisite torment of his tongue. The world shrinks, focusing on the pulsing intensity, the pressure building until you explode, your name a desperate plea as a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washes over you, shattering your senses, leaving you weak and trembling.

He looks up, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. "Good girl," he murmurs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the taste of you lingering on his skin. He kisses you again, a deep, possessive kiss, letting you taste the exquisite flavor of your own surrender on his lips. The taste is both sweet and bitter, the culmination of pleasure and submission.

"I want you inside me, Daddy," you whisper, the words a desperate confession, a surrender to his overwhelming power. He needs no further encouragement. He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against your already slick flesh, the anticipation driving you to the edge of madness. He slides inside, easily, smoothly, filling you completely.

He begins to move slowly, deeply, his eyes never leaving yours. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, wanting him deeper, needing him to fill every inch of you. The pace increases, the rhythm building, the pleasure escalating to a point of unbearable intensity. His grunts mingle with your cries as you move together in a primal dance of lust and surrender, a dance as old as time itself. The air fills with the sounds of your combined pleasure, a symphony of moans, gasps and grunts.

"Come for me, little one," he growls, his voice rough with desire. The command is both exhilarating and terrifying, a perfect encapsulation of the power dynamic that defines your relationship. You meet his gaze, your body arching, your muscles clenching as the orgasm rushes over you again, this time fueled by his presence inside you, his power over you. Your pussy clamps around him, holding him captive as the waves of pleasure crash over you. He follows soon after, groaning as his own release floods you, a hot torrent of pleasure that leaves you spent and trembling.

You lie entwined, your bodies slick with sweat and passion, breathless and spent. He pulls out slowly, then rolls over, pulling you into his arms. His cock, still heavy and warm, rests against your inner thigh. The warmth is comforting, a tangible reminder of your shared intimacy, a constant reminder of his power and your willing submission. You don't want to move, don't want to let go. The lingering scent of sex, sweat, and his unique musk fills the air, a potent reminder of the raw, untamed passion you have just shared.

"I love you, Daddy," you whisper, the words escaping from deep within your soul, a testament to the profound connection you share, a connection born of lust, dominance, and a deep, undeniable surrender. He kisses the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

"I love you too, little one," he replies, his voice soft yet powerful, his words a promise whispered in the quiet aftermath of your storm. And in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of your passion, you know this is more than just sex; it's a complete surrender, a profound devotion to a man who owns you, body and soul.

#call of duty #cod fanfic #cod smut #18+ mdni #task force 141 #john price #captain john price #price cod #price x reader #john price x reader #john price smut #john price x you

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