x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Been obsessed with the game What in Hell is Bad? lately, the men are so fine. 😩😩😩

I only have Beezlebub and Leviathan so far but they're my favorites.

*NSFW and blood below:

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Behind Locked Doors and Darkened Corridors

Chapter 3: In this Cold, Lonely Tower, There was Only You

Pairing: General Targg/Wulf

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,030

Notes: Chapter 2 here -> https://www.tumblr.com/x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x/785758182186385408/behind-locked-doors-and-darkened-corridors?source=share

The room was quiet, lit only by thin streams of moonlight that painted the cracked, stone floors in shades of grey. The only sound that permeated the space was the soft whistling of wind beyond the walls and the rustling of fabric as the General turned in his rest.

A songbird called melodiously in the distance, and all seemed to be asleep.

Suddenly, the peace was shattered when the dense oak door creaked open, its rusty hinges squealing in protest.

Targg jolted to attention. Any remaining drowsiness evaporated as he prepared to deliver a scathing reprimand for whichever moron decided to barge into his quarters unannounced.

But then he recognized the silhouette standing in his doorway, bathed in dull, orange flames. The edges of his untamed hair were tinged gold, flickering with the glow of mounted torches in the hallway. He stalked forward with the fluid grace of a carnivore on the prowl, regal and unafraid, boots a mere whisper against the ground.

It was Wulf.

“My Lord, it is well past midnight.” Targg tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. “Should you not be resting? You have several meetings with the Eastern lords early morrow-”

Wulf surged forward, shoving him back onto the bed with surprising strength. Before he could move, Wulf was halfway on top of him, straddling his hips with one leg, their lips colliding in a clash of teeth and spit. He let out a noise of surprise, only to be met with a tongue plunging down his throat. Wulf had miscalculated the distance in the dark and Targg could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. His bottom lip had been split, making him grunt in pain. Undeterred, Wulf continued his assault, one fist clenched so tightly in his tunic it nearly ripped. The kiss, if it could even be called that, was sloppy at best as Wulf probed his General’s mouth with uncharacteristic passion. He ground down against the hard form below, and Targg could feel Wulf’s arousal against the planes of his abdomen. The weight kept him pinned to the mattress, shock still muddling his brain as Wulf continued his rather messy exploration.

Finally, Targg managed to wedge an arm between them and push him away, unlatching his mouth with an audible squelch. In all their surreptitious rendezvouses they had never once kissed, and Targg had maintained a professional if not somewhat detached demeanor in his conduct. Well, as much objectivity one could muster when giving his Lord a handjob. For perhaps the first time in his extensive career, Targg was completely at a loss for what to do.

“Sire?”

Wulf stared down at him in the gloom, the light reflected off his brown irises and transformed them into something almost ethereal. He was nothing like the conflicted young man from the night Targg had first found him, restless and confused all those weeks ago. The confusion was still present, yes, but now it was dampened by a newfound curiosity and fervor.

He wanted more.

“You know, Targg,” there was almost a playful lilt to his voice, one that Targg had never heard before and it immediately set him on edge. “I’ve been selfish.”

The scar above his left eye seemed darker, giving him a predatory look that won him so much favor among the cutthroats and discontent.

“How so?” Targg was genuinely bewildered now.

“All this time,” Wulf drew a hand roughly down his chest and stomach, “you’ve been neglecting yourself.” He stopped right above Targg’s groin, the pressure of his hand insistent against the contours of his muscles. “And I didn’t even notice.”

Treacherously, Targg felt his body respond to Wulf’s touch, heat pooling low in his stomach and the beginnings of an erection rising in his braies. Wulf smiled, flashing sharp white canines.

“Does it ache, Targg?” Wulf reached beneath the blanket and cupped him, surprising the General with his boldness.

“Is that really of importance?” Targg asked warily, struggling to maintain his composure as his instincts refused to comply with his mind’s command. So long had it been since he felt another’s touch in this manner that he could scarcely contain the concupiscence which lay dormant. They had already been gallivanting in dangerous territory before, but this seemed rather audacious even for Wulf.

“Of course it’s important.” Wulf blinked. “Otherwise I would not be here.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” Wulf countered. “I have known for a while. And now I have come for it.” He shifted deliberately, brushing against the bulge beneath the coverings and making Targg hiss.

“This is unwise my Lord. I urge you to rethink…this particular request.” Targg tried to reason with him but was only met by cold laughter.

“You’re the one who started all of this, and now you wish to deny me?” Wulf clamped his legs tighter around his hips, effectively pinning him in place though Targg was surely strong enough to throw him off.

But he didn’t.

“You’ve already seen me, felt me, taken what no one else has. Now I want the same.” He continued his merciless teasing, dragging his palm across the length of Targg’s cock.

“I’m not your plaything,” he growled, stilling Wulf’s wrist—not really to stop him, but more out of instinct. There was no real force behind it. They both knew Wulf would do as he pleased, and Targg would let him.  

“No,” Wulf agreed, voice low with predaceous intent. “You’re not. But you’re mine.”

That made Targg pause.

“You don’t get to hoard me, Targg. To take my rage, my body, my need, and leave with your back turned and cock hard beneath that ridiculous tabard.”

His tone was hushed but fierce, like the wind just before an impending storm. “You think this is about duty. That I crawl to you because I don’t have a whore to spill myself into.” He leaned close, allowing Targg to take his entire mass beneath him. “But we both know that’s not true. I want you Targg, all of you, even if it’s selfish. Especially if it is.”

Targg stared up at him, stunned by the confession, and even more so the brazen truth behind it. Wulf wasn’t pleading. He was claiming, staking something that had been festering since the night that started all of this, when he had finally allowed himself to come undone.

Wulf licked his lips, savoring the last traces of blood where it was cut by teeth. His own, mingled with his ever-loyal General’s. He’d fought for him, he’d bled for him, and now he’d come for him.

It tasted like pure sin.

Then, more impudent than before, he forced his hand through the waistband of Targg’s breeches, grabbing him fully. Targg groaned, the sound drawn from somewhere deep inside him and Wulf smirked.

“Does it ache?” He repeated, vindictive and mocking. “Or do you enjoy denying yourself until it feels like penance?”

Targg’s response was lost in a sharp intake as Wulf’s thumb rubbed slow circles over the sensitive skin of his shaft.

“You touched me,” Wulf whispered. “Again and again. You forced me to bare my soul to you and then walked away like it was nothing.”

Targg grunted as Wulf squeezed him more firmly, relentless and punishing. He bucked once despite himself, betraying the fraying control he still frantically clung to. Torn between pulling away or moving closer, all he could do was lay there and take it, the same way Wulf had. This was his retribution.  

“And now,” Wulf went on, persistent, needling. He hoped it hurt. “I’m going to take what I’m owed.”

He shoved the blankets down to Targg’s knees, exposing the older man’s lower half to the unforgiving, late autumn chill. Wulf wasted no time, shuffling backward just enough to free Targg’s erection from his pants. It jutted in the air like a lighthouse among the ocean, fully hardened and throbbing from Wulf’s voraciousness.

He paused upon its revelation, as it was the first time he had seen another man’s penis so intimately. As royalty he was always granted his own private spaces, a luxury afforded to few in his father’s stronghold and even fewer in war. Thus he was generally unaccustomed in the affairs of other men and rather sheltered in nudity beyond accidental glimpses, upon which he never lingered. His proud nature, however, gave him a resilience against the awkwardness that most virgins were wont to experience in his place.

He observed it with the same intensity he displayed when mapping foreign territory for a siege. It was girthier than he had expected and textured with an intricate map of raised veins, darker than his own, and drooping with its own weight. Fitting, in its own way, for a lifelong veteran who knew little defeat. When Targg made no move to stop him, he grasped it in the middle and felt a brief spasm pass through his General’s body. It felt hot in his hand, the skin nearly feverish against his palm and pulsing madly.

Hypocrite, Wulf admonished. He gave it a terse jerk, watching in fascination as Targg’s face contorted in reluctant indulgence. Without preamble, Wulf freed his own cock and lined it up against Targg’s, moaning as their searing fleshes met.

“My Lord-”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Wulf barked. He dug his fingers into Targg’s pelvis, making the older man wince. “You don’t get to talk. You lectured me on patience, on surrender, when you’ve been keeping this from me.” He rocked his hips experimentally, each thrust sending jolts of pleasure shooting up his spine.

There was only so much a man could take, and Targg had reached his limit minutes ago. He grabbed Wulf’s hips, temporarily halting his desperate pistoning and flipped him to the side so that they lay facing each other on the bed. He reached over Wulf’s dazed form to retrieve a bottle of oil from the nightstand, uncorking it and lathering the liquid over one hand.

Before Wulf could question him, Targg had enclosed one large fist around both of their shafts and began pumping them in earnest. The words rattled and died in Wulf’s throat as he gasped at the sensation, hand inadvertently flying to curl around Targg’s.

Wulf drew nearer, the head of his cock catching just beneath the other’s crown with every maddening thrust. They rutted against each other like animals in heat, causing the bed to creak clamorously as they moved in tandem. Their legs tangled within the sheets, breaths mingled in a way that seemed inappropriately sensuous.

He buried his face into the crook of Targg’s neck, teeth grazing at the junction of his shoulder before clamping down. The iron taste of blood flooded his mouth, and Targg’s steady rhythm faltered as he shuddered in agony. But Wulf refused to release him, anchoring himself to his General like a man possessed.

His actions weren’t borne of affection or reprisal, but of ownership. He sucked on the wound, reveling in the sound of Targg’s pained groaning. His grip fluttered, loosening around them, but Wulf held him steadfast.

The minutes ticked by sluggishly, excruciatingly, blood pouring in tune with each heartbeat.

“Tell me, Targg,” Wulf finally relinquished his hold, watching with satisfaction as a faint tremor of relief passed through him. “Did you get off later, after you helped me? Did you go back to your room and wrap this fist around yourself like some pent-up stableboy?”

“No,” Targg ground out, his hand tightening around their cocks.

Wulf sneered disbelievingly, and if it had been anyone else he would have deemed them a liar. “Maybe you should have.”

Honorable as always, his General. It sickened him sometimes, when all he wanted to do was strip him naked and cleave him open to show the world what he truly was, because in the endall men bled the same.

“You think of me as mad,” Wulf spat. “That I am nothing but an empty king without a crown, crazed with lust over a bitch I can’t have. You think yourself better.”

“No.” Targg replied breathlessly. “I never have, otherwise I would not have followed you here.”

Wulf’s eyes gleamed with something feral, his head roiling with emotions too turbulent to untangle. So he didn’t, and instead smashed their mouths together once more. Targg could taste the greed in his kiss and sighed against him, tilting his head to allow Wulf to slot their lips properly. While he was no great kisser Wulf was clumsy in comparison, though he made up for it in his vigor. Before long a tongue prodded against his lips, and when Targg did not immediately respond Wulf grabbed him by his short hair and yanked backward as if trying to pry him open.

It didn’t do so much in the way of granting him access, though the message was clear.

Obey.

Before Wulf could demonstrate any more of his sadistic tendencies Targg complied, not keen on losing further blood or hair to his ill-tempered Lord. A needy tongue emerged to tangle with his, tasting of honeyed mead and something else he couldn’t name. Wulf seemed hellbent on asserting his dominance, though for what purpose Targg was unsure. He fought with him for a few moments, treating his General’s mouth like a battlefield to be conquered before growing bored and continuing his probing. Eventually, the need for air overwhelmed him and he was forced to pull away. Wulf seemed almost displeased at the loss of contact, though he was soon distracted as Targg rolled his hips against him with more force than before. His composure, such as it ever was, had deteriorated entirely. Gone was the tyrant of Isengard, driver of armies and scourge of the land, leaving in its place a man in his barest form.

Wulf’s motions grew frantic, squirming and pressing closer, trying to fuck his own need into the space between them. He was dizzy with delirium, perspiration matting his wavy, brown locks to his face and neck. Targg wasn’t faring much better; his hair was mussed from where Wulf had grabbed it and blood streaked down his collar. His cream-colored sleepshirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to the ridges of muscle that flexed and jumped under the stress of Wulf’s rearing.

Their foreheads pressed together, an unbearable heat building between their arching bodies. Targg’s grip shifted, tighter now, faster, the cords of his arm taut as they hurled towards the precipice of completion. Wulf mewled something incomprehensible, drool pooling beneath his jaw.

“Ah-Targg, I can’t-” His eyes were glassy, unfocused, pleasure slurring his words as his balls contracted before his inevitable release.

“Then don’t hold back,” Targg graveled. “Give in.”

And Wulf did.

He came with a roar, his cum spurting across both their chests and stomachs in a blinding rush of ecstasy. The sound he made was between a sob and a curse—nails scraping against Targg’s biceps in what will surely leave reddened claw marks. Targg followed soon after, groaning coarsely as the final friction tipped him over the edge. His seed mixed with Wulf’s, thick and hot between their drained bodies. Wulf was soon pawing at his hand, whimpering from the overstimulation and Targg let go of their flagging cocks.

And for a good long time neither of them moved, basking in the afterglow with just the heady scent of sex and the rise and fall of their chests. Silence settled like dust over the room. Wulf’s cheek was turned towards the sheets, skin glossy in the moonlight. His eyelids fluttered, curtained by feathered lashes that made him look deceptively angelic. He looked beautiful and for once, content, and Targg thought what a pity it had been that fate had carved such lines and frowns into a face like that.

For a while it appeared as if Wulf was just going to pass out in his General’s bed, but then he woke with a small jolt as if forcing himself to alertness. His lips parted, but no barbed remark came. Still sex-drunk, Targg registered.

He wiped his hand on the sheets, realizing with distaste that he would have to change them before going back to sleep. His entire body ached, no thanks to a certain overenthusiastic brat. He was going to be the death of him, that boy.

“Are you satisfied now, my Lord?” Targg asked, more dry than resentful.

“Yes,” Wulf’s eyes narrowed, though not with anger. Something else flickered in their depths, and Targg knew it was far from over. “For now.”

He stood from the bed, tucking himself back into his pants on unstable legs and scrubbed his tunic clean with Targg’s tattered washcloth. His movements were sluggish but calculated, as if trudging from a particularly exhaustive dream into the waking world. He glanced back once at his General, then without a word, he made his way to the door and left. 

Targg exhaled and rolled onto his back, a little nonplussed from Wulf’s abrupt departure. Their combined fluids were beginning to dry on him and the sheets, making the absence of Wulf’s warmth all the more stark.

The mood swings on that lad…

Perhaps a lesson in regulation, and much more importantly, moderation, was due.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts threatening to fog up his mind before they kept him up until dawn. He had more urgent matters to worry about after all. The bed was a disaster, with furs and quilts spilling onto the floor, most damp and in some places torn by Wulf’s overzealous hands. And the gash upon the hollow of his neck would likely suppurate without proper treatment.

But he couldn’t find the strength to move just yet. His whole frame felt as if he had endured a particularly vigorous military campaign and then a thorough trampling by a herd of wild horses.

The endurance of youth, he scoffed. Now more than anything he was beginning to feel his age.

His shoulder twinged and his lips still stung, though the bleeding had long since stopped.

Wulf would be back. But that was a problem for another day.  

Now to do something about the mess in his bed…

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Behind Locked Doors and Darkened Corridors

Chapter 2: Innocence Won’t Keep You - Surrender to the Red Head

Pairing: General Targg/Wulf

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3,342

Notes: Chapter 1 here -> https://www.tumblr.com/x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x/779463099488059392/behind-locked-doors-and-darkened-corridors?source=share

Two days had passed since that fateful encounter, and Targg had yet to see an opportunity.

Wulf had predictably pretended as though nothing had occurred, though Targg could sense something akin to wariness whenever he was near. To ease his nerves and preserve his dignity, Targg kept his silence on the matter but continued to observe.

If Wulf gave him any signal to back off, he would without protest. But after mentoring the boy for basically his entire life, Targg had become excellent at reading his moods and thoughts.

Wulf’s demeanor remained the same, aside from a subtle edge of distraction—or maybe confusion—beneath his usual sour attitude.

It was almost like the pressure of restraint had been released when he had shoved Targg against the wall, but now he was too scared or hesitant to ask for what he really wanted. So it was up to Targg to take the lead, again.

He was starting to grow impatient by the third day, but poor fortune had him out in the field all morning and afternoon for multiple patrols and then a council. His lieutenants were having difficulty negotiating with a particularly rowdy band of Variags and his presence had been requested.  

By the time he returned to base the torches and braziers had been lit, and a carpet of small, silver stars had dotted the receding blueness.  

Though he hadn’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours, he was never one to shirk his responsibilities and went to find Lord Wulf for his evening report. His more…personal mission had been all but forgotten in the chaos of the afternoon, and he couldn’t help longing for the sparse comfort of his own room. The two guards nodded respectfully as he passed, and he began up the winding staircase to the war chamber where Wulf could normally be found.

To his slight dismay, however, it was empty and he began to search the adjacent rooms to no avail. Wulf was absent from his standard haunts at this time of evening, and none of the patrolling warriors seemed to know of his whereabouts.

Targg was beginning to grow progressively annoyed, his stomach twisting in a hunger that was becoming difficult to ignore. After nearly another ten minutes of fruitless investigation, there was only one other place Wulf could possibly be.

His quarters, though unlikely unless he decided to turn in for an early night. Nevertheless, considering his previous behavior, Targg supposed he should expect the unexpected.

But he could not foresee what would come next.

When he came upon the heavy iron door and knocked, there was no response from within. After a few minutes he called out and was met only with the continued hush that filled the hall like a shroud. Carefully, Targg cracked open the door which was locked improperly and looked in to see the hunched form of Wulf over his table. A gentle breeze curled around the room through the parted window, from which the distant sounds of the encampment traveled in muted clangs and shouts. So that was why Wulf hadn’t heard him.

“Sire.” Wulf jolted when he felt Targg’s hand upon his shoulder, despite his conscious effort to make sure his footsteps were audible to the young Lord. The quill snapped between his fingers. Targg startled at the look on his face when he swirled around in his chair; a thin sheen of moisture covered his skin and strands of damp hair were plastered to his face despite the cool autumn draught. His pupils were dilated and his brows were knitted together as if in distress.

A surge of concern overtook the General, and without thinking he was reaching for his face to evaluate his temperature. Wulf twisted away as if he was contagious and Targg frowned, perplexed by his evasive nature.

“What are you doing?” Wulf’s voice was unsteady, his attention flitting between Targg’s face and outstretched hand.

Targg ignored his question. “What ails you my Lord? Is there anything you require from me?”

Wulf looked more like a trapped animal than any man or ruler at that moment, jaw working as if chewing on his next words which never came. Targg moved closer, glancing at the table to find the parchment sprawled across it blank. Wulf flinched again, turning slightly as if trying to conceal something in his lap from Targg’s probing look, but all that did was draw his attention towards it in his foolishness.

There it was, in all its glory, straining against the confines of Wulf’s trousers. A sizable tent protruded like a rising mountain from between his legs, so rigid that it was probably painful. Targg fought to keep his expression neutral as Wulf tried to shield it with his hand to no avail. He reminded Targg of some red-faced teenager attempting to hide a boner from a sudden intruder in his chambers. He let out a quiet sigh at Wulf’s skittish behavior and straightened his spine, rising to his full height and giving the lad some space. Now was his chance.

“My Lord.” Wulf snapped around to glower at him but Targg could see the question in his eyes, buried deep beneath all the wrath. He held his glare steadily. “Perhaps I could be of assistance.”

“What?” Wulf spat the word like an accusation. “Have you lost your wretched mind? I don’t need your help!”

 Curious, considering Targg had never specified the “assistance” he could provide. At least Wulf had forgone the song and dance of making his advisor spell it out for him, meaning his resistance was already crumbling.

He was trembling now, from humiliation or indignation Targg couldn’t tell. It was all false outrage he knew, or misdirected at best. There was no point in pretending as if Targg couldn’t see the longing clawing and writhing like rats inside of him. It’d eat him alive, eventually.

Wulf was pinned back against his chair with a heavy hand as Targg pressed his advantage. He glared at the fingers digging into his tunic as if trying to break them through sheer force of will. “There’s no need to maintain false pretenses, sire. There’s no one here except me.”

Wulf huffed loudly through his nose, still stubbornly refusing to look at his General. When he offered no reply, Targg continued, ignoring the angry attempt at dislodging his hold. “When you came to me three nights ago-”

“Whatever you thought happened,” Wulf interrupted, venom in his voice. “Is nothing but some invention of your mind. Have you gone senile, old man? You imagine things.”

Targg had endured as much abuse as he could withstand then, and before Wulf could stop him his hand was already at his groin, palming roughly at his arousal. Wulf made a strangled noise, jumping in his seat but Targg persisted.

“Is this my imagination then?” He gripped him harshly through his trousers, giving a measured upward stroke that made Wulf gasp.  

“G-get your damn ah hands off me!” Wulf stuttered, fighting back another groan as Targg swiped a forefinger over his weeping head. Even through the thick layers he could feel a wet spot forming. It appeared that despite his success at such an early age, Wulf was incredibly inexperienced in the needs of manhood, more so than Targg had even thought. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn if Wulf had never even bothered to take himself in hand, too proud to even acknowledge or satiate the primitive desires of his body.

“If you really wanted me to stop,” Targg breathed, “then you would have already pushed me off.”

Wulf didn’t dignify him with a response, instead growling in frustration and jolting once again as Targg drew his hand across his length, clutching him tight enough to feel the accompanying twitch of his cock.

His resistance was flimsy and they both knew it.  

 “Ah!” Wulf couldn’t suppress a moan as Targg swiveled his wrist and rubbed the sensitive area of his frenulum. His trousers were becoming increasingly soaked with his own fluid, making him blush with embarrassment.

“Just relax,” Targg murmured, still stroking him.

“How can I?” Wulf spat. “When you’re touching me like this. We’re both men, this is disgraceful-”

“Do you plan on announcing it at morning muster?” Targg stopped, and for a brief moment a conflicted look flitted across the young Lord’s handsome face before being replaced by his customary scowl.

“No but-”

“But what my Lord? Would you have me watch you stew and rage in your frustration until all your alliances have been driven away? When the issue could be resolved so easily?” He gave a hard squeeze, making Wulf cry out. His hand came to rest on Targg’s forearm, flexing around his leather bracers. “There has already been talk of insubordination spreading through Isengard.”

“Then punish the traitors accordingly.” Wulf rasped.

“Did you not just order the execution of two lieutenants from the Wildmen tribes five days prior? Who were later proven to be innocent?”

Wulf said nothing and loured at the table as if it was the scourge to all his problems.

 “So,” Targg continued. “Let me ease this burden for you. Do you not trust me?”

Wulf still refused to look at him, but Targg could sense that his defiance was slowly dissolving. And he was never one to squander an opening that was as hard-won as this one.

“Take it out.” Targg commanded, ceasing his movements.

“What?” Wulf stared at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Take it out.” He repeated firmer this time, gesturing at his loins. “This will make it easier. Unless you prefer for me to do it for you.”

He hesitated for a few seconds, during which Targg could nearly see the gears turning and grinding in his head, before wordlessly obeying.

Shakily, he unlaced his breeches and tugged down the front just enough to release his throbbing erection. It bounced against his stomach, a light shiver wracking through his muscles as the chilly night air caressed his burning skin. The tip was flushed a vivid red, glistening in the dim light with smeared precum.

Wulf swallowed audibly, averting his gaze from Targg’s scrutiny.

It was a shame really, for having kept such a formidable weapon hidden for this long. He was well endowed by anyone’s standard, as is common for men of Dunlendish descent, but there was also a virile beauty to it. It was long and thick, the weight of which Targg had already felt through his pants. There was a delicious curve to his shaft and a prominent vein pulsating at the underside, desperate to be touched and worshipped.

Targg was certain that if Wulf had approached any commonfolk for a quick lay, he would have found great success and many suitors, even if his strong build, rugged features, and station as Freca’s heir were disregarded. His manic obsession with the King’s daughter, perhaps the only woman who would refuse him, seemed even more myopic considering this insight.

Wulf began to grow impatient, worrying the fabric of his breeches with fidgeting fingers, and Targg supposed it would be cruel to make the lad wait any longer. Carefully, he reached over to trace two digits along his member, the first touch against bare skin making Wulf flinch violently. He came to clutch at the table, white-knuckling the wood with gritted teeth as if to cage whatever noises might escape. Targg clicked his tongue, chiding him gently. So restrained, even now with his General’s hand on his cock.

“H-hurry up,” Wulf growled, though it was more of a plea. His dark, greasy hair fell in curtains around his reddened face. “Unless you plan on tormenting me all night.”

Targg inclined his head, though his Lord couldn’t see it, and fisted him at the base in one smooth motion. The velvety skin felt hot against his palm, silken against the rough callouses he’d acquired from decades of swordplay. Wulf squirmed, subconsciously trying to flee though his body yearned for more. Targg held him solidly in place.

Wulf inhaled sharply, throwing his head back against the chair as Targg settled into a slow, punishing rhythm.

Soon more precum began to gather at his swollen tip, and on the next upstroke Targg swiped a thumb against his slit, adding to the slickness coating his shaft. An embarrassing whimper managed to slip through his lips, quickly swallowed and suppressed. Targg was determined to draw much more than that out of his liege before the night was over, that much he was certain of.

The wet, sensual sound of skin against skin permeated the room, drowning out the ambient noise of the war camp as Targg pumped him steadily.

His hips rose to meet Targg’s motions, his thrusts erratic but eager as he grunted through clenched teeth.

It was not long before Wulf began to pant, his pounding heartbeat echoing against Targg’s fingers. More than a decade’s worth of want, all culminated in this one night. Tension thrummed through his whole body, clouding his mind in a haze of lust and craving.

“Mngh….please,” Wulf begged. His right hand sought purchase, finding it in his General’s black cape and clinging onto it like a lifeline.

Targg obliged, understanding what he was asking for and quickened his pace.

Sweat began to bead at his brow, not from exertion but more from the concentration of carefully cataloging each reaction Wulf made for future reference.

This was a new experience as much for Targg as it was for Wulf. He had never one to overindulge in the pleasures of the flesh, not that he wasn’t well-versed enough, but had never ventured for the company of another man. When in the presence of other soldiers for most of his waking hours, one wasn’t so much inclined for their company in private moments as well.

But from the expression on Wulf’s face, it seemed he was doing more than an adequate job at it.

“I-I can’t last much longer.” Wulf choked out between shuddering breaths. His cock throbbed fiercely in Targg’s grip. It was almost too much.

Heat coiled low in his abdomen, the raw need overwhelming in its intensity.

“It’s alright, sire. You can let go.” Targg encouraged as Wulf screwed his eyes shut. His thighs trembled as he hurled towards his first orgasm, liquid fire coursing through his veins and setting every nerve ending alight with pleasure.

He came with a shout as his climax ripped through him, the force of which sent his whole body into violent spasms. Targg jerked him through it, murmuring words of praise and reassurance as Wulf continued to cum for what seemed like minutes. Thick ropes of semen painted his chest and stomach, staining the dark cloth with splatters of white.

He collapsed forward, face buried in one arm as he fought back the tears threatening to spill over as the euphoria began to recede. Targg let go of the softening cock, standing back to watch as Wulf lay panting against the table. The room had fallen quiet once again, the still air punctuated by the sound of Wulf’s ragged exhales.

Targg went to go look for a cleaning cloth, and having found one in the nearby drawers wiped his hand of Wulf’s release and went back to his Lord, who lay spent over the wooden surface. Wulf didn’t turn to look at him, and he jostled as Targg bent down to press the towel against his exposed penis.

“W-what are you doing?” Wulf asked, and Targg was pleased to hear that the previous bitterness had fled his tone.

“Let’s get you cleaned up and into bed,” he replied. “It’s nearly midnight.”

Wulf made a noncommittal noise but didn’t push him away, so Targg continued with his task. Wulf had spilled so much onto himself that Targg made a mental note to have a servant wash his garments immediately before it stained. He sighed softly and shook his head, chastising himself for allowing Wulf to spiral to this point.

Unwittingly, Wulf once again began to stir under Targg’s attention, though he ignored it this time. He didn’t want to overwhelm him and now that he was done, the hunger had returned with a fury. Besides he could tell Wulf was beginning to grow drowsy, his head drooping as he leaned against a palm and watched Targg through half-lidded, unfocused eyes.

“Come.” Targg helped him up after wiping away the worst of the mess and gently steered him towards his bed in the corner of the room. His legs felt wobbly and boneless, and he nearly fell when he first stood before Targg caught him. He left him by the pallet and returned to the table.

“What about you?” Wulf sounded almost disappointed, as if he had half-expected his General to stay though they both knew he couldn’t.

“I still have duties to attend to,” Targg replied. “I’ll have a servant collect your linens at dawn.”

Wulf conceded, dismissing him and turning to undress. Targg moved to organize the maps and quills on the table which had fallen into disarray from Wulf’s earlier thrashing and made his way to the door.

At the threshold, Targg stopped, the door slightly ajar before him. Light from the hallway poured in from the thin opening, illuminating the white fur of his cape and setting it ablaze.

“My Lord.” Wulf looked up, and Targg didn’t require a response to know he was listening now.

“If you find yourself in need of my…assistance again, you needn’t hesitate to ask.”

With that Targg left, closing the door with a finality that seemed resoundingly loud in Wulf’s chambers.

Outside, he stood for a moment, gathering his wits and listening for any approaching footsteps. It was now that he realized he was hard beneath his tabard, achingly so as he had been too preoccupied with Wulf to notice. He sighed, mentally willing it to go down before pursuing the kitchen in hope of any leftovers.

This night really was shaping up to be rather bothersome.

***

It wasn’t long before Wulf sought him out to make well on his promise.

He was insatiable, demanding his attentions at least three to four times a week. But Targg was more than willing to oblige, as Wulf’s recklessness had greatly diminished and he was no longer snappy and petulant with his men. He had returned to the cunning, inspiring leader of armies that had united the displaced people of Rohan’s reign against them. The mood in the encampment had greatly improved as well, and progress continued to march onward at a steady pace.

Nonetheless, it was clear that despite Wulf’s reforms, he was just as hot-blooded as before but in a very different sense. Targg never needed a direct command, so in tune with his Lord as he was that he normally knew whenever Wulf required an outlet for release. And he never once denied him, knowing that Wulf was still unlikely to seek out other suitable partners.

Sometimes he would crowd his General against the wall of the corridor and drag him to a secluded alcove for a quick handjob, which were Targg’s least favorite locations, though Wulf either did not care or was too horny to be worried about some soldier interrupting them. Fortunately, they had never been discovered, though Targg was beginning to feel like a hormonal adolescent sneaking around to meet a secret lover. More than once Wulf had startled him in his own room, forcing him to abandon whatever he was working on to attend to him. It had gotten to the point that Targg had begun carrying handkerchiefs in his belt for the messes Wulf made during their meetings.

If anyone noticed a change between their High Lord and his most faithful General, they never remarked on it.

And in this manner they continued on in secret for the next few weeks, though looking back on it Targg supposed it was absurd for him to assume that Wulf would be content with their arrangement now that he had experienced the carnal intimacy of manhood.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

The Collector's House Floorplans

Hey everyone, sorry the floor plans took so long, I was finishing up my semester at graduate school for electrical/computer engineering and then got sick for most of last week. If you like my work, check out some of my writing! I'm currently focused on writing for The War of the Rohirrim.

Anyways, here they are! They were originally 36x28 inches so I really had to crunch them down to fit on here. If you want the full images just DM so I can send them to you.

The images were from @hong--zhi--zhu's post here and I got the idea from @darklylucid!

Feel free to repost/reshare, whatever you want, you don't have to ask! Also let me know if I should make any changes!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Sorry for the delay everyone! I'm finishing up my last week for this semester at grad school so I'm pretty swamped. I'll have the finals up at the end of next week or earlier!

I present to everyone, basic floorplans (drafts) of Asa's house!!!

Spent at least 10 hours in the last 2 days doing this...I feel like I'm back in architecture school. 🥲 (DO NOT recommend)

Based on my experience, architects who design and build their own houses make really weird buildings, which is why this one looks so odd. I had to piece together the remodel pictures and the old pictures, and they messed with a LOT during the remodel-mostly on the interior. I'm about 90% sure the 1st floor is accurate, and only about 50% for the second floor. 3rd floor seems to just be a real big open space/furnished attic. I didn't include the basement since it's unfinished but if you want it let me know!

Any suggestions/comments welcome! This is just a super rough draft so I can figure out where everything is. After the designs are finalized I'll clean it up and publish the final versions as soon as possible. I'll also put some extra information on the house for all you writers out there. 😉

I'll give about a week for suggestions before I start on the final versions!

Based on @darklylucid's post: https://www.tumblr.com/darklylucid/661264820091355136/what-i-wouldnt-give-for-a-basic-floor-plan?source=share

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

I present to everyone, basic floorplans (drafts) of Asa's house!!!

Spent at least 10 hours in the last 2 days doing this...I feel like I'm back in architecture school. 🥲 (DO NOT recommend)

Based on my experience, architects who design and build their own houses make really weird buildings, which is why this one looks so odd. I had to piece together the remodel pictures and the old pictures, and they messed with a LOT during the remodel-mostly on the interior. I'm about 90% sure the 1st floor is accurate, and only about 50% for the second floor. 3rd floor seems to just be a real big open space/furnished attic. I didn't include the basement since it's unfinished but if you want it let me know!

Any suggestions/comments welcome! This is just a super rough draft so I can figure out where everything is. After the designs are finalized I'll clean it up and publish the final versions as soon as possible. I'll also put some extra information on the house for all you writers out there. 😉

I'll give about a week for suggestions before I start on the final versions!

Based on @darklylucid's post: https://www.tumblr.com/darklylucid/661264820091355136/what-i-wouldnt-give-for-a-basic-floor-plan?source=share

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Behind Locked Doors and Darkened Corridors

Chapter 1: Just a Man

Pairing: General Targg/Wulf

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,420

Summary: Five years after Freca’s untimely demise, Wulf finds himself in a predicament. A sticky one. The tower was dark and cold, and he was alone save for one man. The night his ever-loyal General had found him, he was a mess. And since that encounter they had established a routine, one never spoken or acknowledged. When Wulf called he came, in more ways than one.

Notes: No smut in this chapter, tags might be updated as I go along.

Scrolls and candelabras clattered to the ground, swept off the heavy oak table by an arm trembling with fury. The sharp jumble of noise was amplified by the sleek stone walls of the Orthanc tower, loud in the sudden hush of the room.

General Targg stood wordlessly at the edge of the chamber, his broad back against the wall and strategically out of sight. And in front of him was Wulf, raging at one of the Dunlending captains who had come back empty-handed from an unsuccessful incursion. From the torrent of colorful language pouring from his Lord, one would have thought the man spat on his father’s grave and then his mother’s. The lines on the old General’s face gradually deepened as he watched Wulf nearly throttle the poor man before sending him fleeing the room like his pants had been set alight.

This uncharacteristic behavior from the normally composed young Wulf had been escalating at an alarming rate as of late, and frankly, it was quite unbecoming for the future King of Rohan. The men would talk, they were talking already, and that would cause dissent. Targg could feel the growing tensions in camp, the weight of it settling over him like a heavy bearskin coat.

Whatever was going on with Wulf, it needed to be resolved. And rather swiftly, Targg supposed, before he caused a mutiny and the whole thing would go up in flames.

But for once the stoic General didn’t know what to do. These minor setbacks, if they could even be called that, were normal and very much expected. Not every venture would return supplies, gold, or slaves, the same way not every endeavor would yield success. That could only be the foolish fantasy of some inexperienced, blue-blooded boy who knew nothing of the world, and Wulf should know much more than just something. Or so Targg had thought.

And it wasn’t just this one incident, he knew, and had heard from his lieutenants in suppressed whispers when Wulf was not around to overhear.

From the consistency of his morning porridge to the volume of the guards’ voices, there always seemed to be some issue or another for Wulf to pick at these past few weeks, though everything had been going relatively smoothly according to their plans. There should have been nothing for him to scowl at, especially considering their recent securement of fealty from another sizeable tribe from Northern Dunland.

He watched as Wulf spat out a dismissal to the two sentries by the door, who seemed more than eager to leave, and sat down in his chair with a barely repressed sigh. The lines of his shoulders were tense like a bowstring pulled taunt and Targg felt a surge of pity for the boy, who had lost his father and his home, and now carried the weight of command. But it left as quickly as it had come; this was no time to indulge in the conduct of a spoiled brat who had never been taken to the knee.

So he took a step forward, towards the hunched form of his Lord. Wulf seemed oblivious to him, as if he’d forgotten Targg was there. His suspicions were confirmed when Wulf startled at the sound of his voice, swirling around to fix him with a stare that was almost wary.

“Sire, perhaps it would be wise to curb your anger in front of the men,” Targg began carefully, conscious of keeping his tone measured and even. “I understand that you’ve-”

“You understand nothing!” Wulf cut him off, and Targg had to restrain himself from retorting when all he wanted to do was grab him by the shoulders and shake him until whatever lunacy that had overcome the damn fool had fallen away.

“If these halfwits cannot complete simple tasks, then what use do I have of them?” Wulf continued, and Targg could sense that he was teetering on the verge of another outburst, though he had yet to direct his anger at the General. But with the way this conversation was going, it was only a matter of time.

“Yes…” Targg agreed evenly, though there was an undercurrent of tension in his tone. “However, I believe it may be beneficial to take a more…subtle approach when it comes to their failures.”

Wulf’s glare could’ve withered roses. “You, of all people, wish for me to be more gentle?”

“I was not implying-”

“Have you grown mad, or incompetent?” The irony was not lost on Targg. His fingers twitched against his sides with the effort of maintaining decorum. Though Freca for all his shortcomings could often be stubborn or calloused, not once did he speak to his advisor in this way. There was still much for Wulf to learn, Targg realized. For one thing, not driving his entire army into madness with him.   

“Have patience my Lord,” Targg placated. “These matters take time. I can personally lead the next raid if it would settle your mind.”

“Time? Have I not waited long enough?” Wulf snarled. “Five years, Targg. Five long years while we toil here in this barren wasteland, that bastard King grows fat and content in his throne.”

“We are not ready.” Targg stated flatly, patience fraying at the edges. “And we will not be ready for some time yet.”

Something in Wulf snapped. He leapt from his chair, the speed of which surprising even the General as Wulf forced him back into the wall with a vicious shove. Targg barely managed to keep his head from cracking painfully against the stone, his hand reflexively going to his blade before he was able to stop himself. A look of shock crossed his features, breaking the usual fortitude that masked his face.

Wulf crowded against him, pressing him into the wall with his weight though Targg could have easily broken free. His body stiffened at the feeling, and once again he was at a loss for what to do. Wulf had never been keen on physical contact, especially when it came to other men, and the only time they normally touched was to exchange blows during training nearly a decade ago. But now Wulf was nearly plastered to him, in what he initially assumed to be an assertion of dominance. At this distance, he could feel Wulf’s hot breath against his neck, the scent of ale and his lunchtime meal washing over him. It was intimate in a way that seemed improper for the situation.

One of Wulf’s hands was twisted in his white fur cape, as if to keep him trapped there or perhaps to ground himself.

“I cannot wait much longer.” Wulf rasped, and Targg looked down at him in confusion. Wulf had waited as patiently as any man could for five years, a trait Targg liked to think had rubbed off from him. So why was he now reacting explosively?

“Can you not understand, Targg?” Wulf’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet and as he shifted, Targg could feel an unexpected hardness pressing against his hip. A firmness that was definitely not his sword.

Then it all clicked, and the realization hit him like a charging Mûmakil.

Targg now recognized that the fury that had overtaken his Lord had not been borne of the expectedly slow progress or by the pressure of exile and vengeance, but something more primal, more carnal.

He felt a fool for not seeing it earlier, though he still couldn’t help the lingering sense of irritation at Wulf’s prolonged bad behavior. He was still a man, after all.

But there were no females anywhere near this dark place, and as far as Targg could guess Wulf was not particularly interested in any of the males outside, half of which were of no beauty or wit at all. For a brief moment Targg wondered if he should have brought some concubines or women from the pillaged settlements, but they were not worth the trouble of keeping and far too much of a distraction. And besides the red-headed princess, Wulf had shown no interest in anyone to the extent of Targg’s memory.

Until now.

Though Targg doubted that it was him in particular that Wulf was…attracted to, when laid out bluntly. At more than double Wulf’s age, he was sure that the handsome prince had much more vivacious partners to court, though he didn’t consider himself unappealing as a suitor. He simply didn’t dwell on these sorts of affairs, and even less did he anticipate being the one to have to do something about it.

In hindsight, Targg should have been able to predict such an outcome. But the secrecy and scheming of the last few years have overshadowed what he had forgotten as human instinct. Wulf was twenty-five now and had never taken a lover to ease the burden of manhood. That he was certain of, as he and Wulf spend most of their days in the general proximity of each other. (Willingly or unwillingly.)

So it was unsurprising, when viewed from this new perspective, that Wulf would approach him in this regard. Though it was unclear whether the Lord himself knew what he was even asking, no, pleading for.

It was evident to Targg, however, that there could be nothing to be done on this subject matter, from outside the boundary of the stronghold at least. But perhaps from within…

Well, at least there were far worse Lords to serve. Wulf was for all his faults, very striking in both the face (which was pretty in a rugged sort of way) and body. If his father had come to him in such a manner, he supposed he would be far less predisposed to accommodate his needs.

Wulf was still quivering imperceptibly against him. Something sharp dug into his back, pointed enough to be felt through the layers of hide and cotton. This position was really becoming uncomfortable now.

Hesitantly, Targg raised his hands to grab Wulf by the biceps, still stunned into silence at this bizarre turn of events. He needed to broach this topic delicately, before Wulf wreaked more havoc in camp.

“My Lord…” he began, but Wulf jolted away as if burned, broken from whatever stupor that had driven him into the unwitting arms of his General.

He whisked away, a blanket of dark hair falling like a curtain across the side of his face, shielding him from whatever embarrassment or clarity that might have overtaken him. He turned away from Targg, white-knuckling the table as if battling some internal struggle.

“I would like the be alone now,” Wulf muttered, so quietly Targg could scarcely hear him.

His lips parted as he sought the words fitting to soothe his Lord, but found that no words came. Instead, all he could do was straighten out his cloak, which still had the vague imprint of Wulf’s tensity and make his way to the door.

He hesitated for but a second, as if contemplating what to do before ultimately leaving, his absence engulfing the place with an oppressive stillness.

Wulf remained at the desk, back still rigid as he silently willed the evidence of his arousal to go down.

In the hallway, the role of the impassive commander was once again at the front.  

Targg trudged away from the room, nodding stolidly at the passing soldiers who greeted him. But a thousand thoughts flitted through his head, a whirlstorm of confusion and lucidity that warred with each other like rabid dogs, and none of it was satisfactory.

He wanted to punch a wall.

Targg stopped as he came upon a small alcove, facing the window in a pretense of measured contemplation.

He allowed himself a deep exhale when the corridor was empty, staring out the splintered glass but not quite looking at anything.

This whole operation had grown complex in ways no one had foreseen, and every choice that presented itself to him seemed beyond the decades of combat expertise which shaped his counsel.

A horde of foreign invaders? Predictable.

Roaming bandits and half-cocked mercenaries? Elementary.

But this? This was something else entirely.

The thought of relieving the young Lord of his…issue was not something that disgusted him as he would have originally presumed.

Isengard was not known for its hospitality, and understandably companionship was lonely in the cold, black tower. And something had awoken in Targg that he thought long dead, for at least a decennium. Of course, like most of the other warriors grinding away outside, he had grown accustomed to the comfort of his own hand, on nights which grew too bitter or too demanding. (For some, Targg knew, it was not enough and they would creep off to do unsavory things in the dark. But it was not his business and he would say nothing as long as they fulfilled their duties.)

Traitorously, the warmth of Wulf’s solid body against his still lingered, bleeding through his armor and stirring a primitive desire inside him. It was highly inappropriate and not to mention unwise, but Wulf had already burned that bridge for him.

How he hated this turmoil, but was helpless against it. It strangled the words in his throat and made it hard to think. It was almost as if Wulf had passed some of his mania over to him in that brief confrontation, and if he was feeling frustrated after just a few minutes of contact, then whatever Wulf was experiencing must have been torturous.

His reflection frowned back at him, mute, distant, and unhelpful.

This place really had taken its toll on everybody, uncaring whether the victims wore crowns or rags.

Moreover, he didn’t even know how to convince Wulf to allow his help. He was much too proud, and from the display earlier, likely conflicted by his own urges. For a man who’d already tasted blood and death on the battlefield, he was astonishingly naïve in some ways of the world.

There was no choice but to improvise, and cautiously, lest he push Wulf further away. This uncertainty was what bothered him the most.

Soon, the distinct sounds of footsteps and conversation floated closer from down the passage, forcing him out of his reprieve.

He sighed, turning away from the window and schooling his features back into neutrality. At this point he’d much rather face down a furious Snow Troll than deal with the mess Wulf had dragged him into, but alas.  

Regardless of whatever may come, however, Targg knew something needed to change and quickly, before they both lost their heads.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Just for tonight, General. (And we'll kill them all tomorrow.)

Pairing: General Targg/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,307

Summary: The night before the siege, tensions run high. If you were going to be dragged down with the sinking ship by Wulf, you might as well f*ck his General. Last night, last (one-night) stand.

There was a subtle desperation in his movements as he shoved you against the intricate wooden table, the edge digging painfully into the small of your back. But you paid it no attention. The commotion outside had largely petered into the occasional shout and flurry of footsteps, amplified by the layers of trodden ice. It could barely penetrate through the durable fabric of the tent, grander than all except Wulf’s. You were grateful for it, otherwise it would’ve been hard for you to meet him under these circumstances. And quite honestly, it was more than a little shocking for you to find yourself in this situation, as you and all the others had assumed that a man like General Targg had no interest in anything but war. After all, while the other soldiers had leered and propositioned you, he never did. (Though he was well within his rights as Wulf’s direct confidant and the highest member of his army.)

But the weight of tomorrow was too heavy, and the unspoken words left hanging in the air like daggered icicles trembling overhead. You knew, and he knew better than you, that there was no certainty on the battlefield. To see another tomorrow is promised to no warrior. Death didn’t discriminate between the strong and the weak. And even though he never spoke a word against his Lord, you knew of his doubts. The Hornburg was filled with nothing but refugees balancing on the edge of starvation. A victory over Edoras in shambles was no victory at all. But better not to dwell on what you could not change. That was what you were here for, wasn’t it?

And so you wrapped your legs around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. His armor dug into your body but you welcomed the discomfort, which dulled your thoughts and kept you grounded. A large, calloused hand came to rest on your back, pinning you against him as if you’d run away. Arching against him, your fingers came to drift through his short, white hair. It was still cold with the melting snow and just as white. Your hand slipped, nails looking for purchase and finding none. Instead, it came to rest on the fur cloak over his right shoulder, which under different circumstances you would have found to be comical in its representation of his hair.

General Targg was a man of few words, and since you both had returned to his tent he had said nothing. The only sound that permeated through the quiet of the space had been your own labored panting and the few noises that managed to slip through your lips. But what you were doing, and going to do needed no words.

With his head nestled between the junction of your jaw and shoulder, you could feel the pent-up frustration and anticipation through each hot breath. His sparse beard scraped deliciously against your skin, reminding you of the tall, dry grass that carpeted Dunland. He was almost aggressive, with one hand kneading your hip and teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh as if testing where to bite. As he trailed upwards, you took the opportunity to bury your face against his corded neck, inhaling the scent of fire and smoke, of old wood and patinaed leather. And beneath it all, something you couldn’t name that was distinctly him.

He didn’t give you long to dwell on it however, as he sunk his teeth in the supple flesh beneath the edge of your jaw. A whimper of pain escaped your lips, and he kissed the spot as gently as he had been rough. You wanted to chastise him for marking you in a place you couldn’t easily shelter, but as he trailed a jagged line of bruising kisses down your neck you found that you didn’t really give a damn.

A dull, persistent pressure was building in your core, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could care to wait. Even through all the layers of coarse linen and hide you could feel an insistent bulge pressed between your legs. Your brow was beginning to grow damp despite the chill that lingered in the stale air, and emboldened by the unusually disheveled look on the General’s face as he pulled back, you ground against him. He clenched his jaw, swallowing the sliver of a groan that threatened to break free.

Adorable, you thought, almost mockingly. Even now, so disciplined, so restrained. 

You wanted so badly to break him, take him apart piece by piece and plunge your hands into that broad chest to mangle his heart. To peel back the layers of flesh and see what was hidden inside that he so carefully guarded. Or maybe, it was already empty, drained by his “High Lord” and the boy he helped raise, leaving him nothing but a fierce, hollow loyalty to a broken man.

Oh well, you grinned and tugged him back, meshing your mouths together in a sloppy kiss. He devoured you like a starving man, and soon his tongue was prodding impatiently against your lips, asking, no, demanding entry. You were in no state to deny him, anyway. Smirking, you let him through, and the wet length of his tongue was immediately tangled with yours, leaving you panting and dripping. Soon, it seemed to grow bored, and plunged further into your mouth as if searching for answers that you couldn’t give.

You leaned back maintaining the kiss, dragging his formidable weight over you. Your shoulder blades pressed into the table and something clattered to the ground. Weathered fingers threaded through yours, banishing the remaining wintry sting from your palms and you could almost imagine that he could have loved you in another life. But alas, fate was fickle, and if tonight was the last night you spent on this earth you would be glad it was spent with him.

A wave of sadness or longing-you weren’t sure which, perhaps both, flooded through you with such raw intensity that you quivered in his grasp. Subconsciously he responded, kissing you harder until you were so breathless there was nothing but the feeling of his tongue, his mouth, and only him.

Eventually, excruciatingly, your lungs shrieked in protest and you were forced to withdraw with some reluctance, leaving the General to chase after you, a string of saliva connecting you to him. Dark eyes fluttered open to observe you, and tenderly he wiped the drool from the edge of your lips with a thumb. A small, sad smile crossed his face, and in the dim lighting he looked even older, even wearier. You blinked, unable to stand the look on his face, the same pain mirrored in the fragile windows of your soul.

Slowly, you reached up to grasp his neck, drawing him closer until your cheek rested against his. And from where you couldn’t see, he closed his eyes, breathing in your soothing scent until he felt grounded again. It had been so long since…but the physical deprivation had never bothered him, or so he thought. But with your supple, welcoming form in his arms, the human instinct to be close and to embrace reared its head with a vengeance.

You couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t wait much longer as the seconds ticked by until your time with him would inevitably end. The sun, you knew, was creeping by sluggishly through the darkness and the clouds, but inside the thin, canvas enclosure time was precious. Who knew if you would get another chance, if there’d even be another chance.

And so you turned to him, pressing your swollen lips against the shell of his ear, and whispered, “Don’t you think you’ve made me wait long enough, General?”

He pulled back to stare at you with those hooded, impenetrable eyes, and you felt exposed beneath his gaze.

“Targg,” he breathed, and you tilted your head inquisitively. “It’s just Targg.”

“Alright, Targg,” you tested his name, quite enjoying the way it sounded without the stilted title. He twitched against your hip. Interesting.

“The night’s not getting any younger, so-” you hooked three fingers in his collar and yanked him forward, savoring the flicker of shock that flashed for but a second across his handsome face. “Why don’t you hurry up and fuck me already?”

He scoffed and didn’t say anything more, but immediately straightened so he could start undoing the many clasps across his torso. You sat up, watching transfixed as he discarded his cloaks, then the woven gray hides, and finally the blue and white tunic underneath. He was well-built especially considering his age, though you never once doubted the power that lay slumbering in Wulf’s greatest general. But now that he stood in front of you like this, half-bare and framed in amber by the braziers, he seemed more like a fairytale come to life.

Faded, silver scars marred his skin, some crisscrossing across his chest and others dipping below his pants, where a prominent tent strained against the cloth. A light dusting of hair, the same color as his scruff, spread across his pectorals but he was otherwise barren. You reached out, aching to touch him and he obliged, stepping forward so you could trace the lines of his muscles and scars. In return, he began unbuckling the thick layers of wool and fur encasing your body. You envied his resistance to the howling winds and punishing snow; his chest felt pleasantly warm under your hands and oh so inviting.

You shivered as he removed your undershirt, a sudden flood of shyness causing you to shrink back from his scrutiny. He huffed out a laugh and you glared at him scandalized, as if he was enjoying your suffering.

“What’s so funny?” You did your best to appear put off, though you doubted he bought your little act of rebellion.

After all this, still bashful? Targg thought bemusedly.

He extended a hand, cradling your head and you turned away petulantly. “It’s nothing. Don’t shy away from me, my dear. You’re beautiful.”

A blush of red tainted your cheeks, and for the first time tonight you didn’t have a witty comeback, something to dispel your own nervousness for the future. His hand moved southward, caressing your neck and then your collarbones until it reached your heaving breasts. He waited for your confirmation, and upon a quick nod he moved to fondle the perky mounds. Hooking your leg around his ass, you tugged him forward until he was nestled comfortably between your thighs.

You bit back a whine as he rolled a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, the coarseness of the digits creating a delightful friction that only served to stoke the inferno in your lower half. With eyes squeezed shut, you missed the way he diligently monitored your reactions, a habit long ingrained in him as a commander with decades of experience. As they teetered on the edge of war, there was never a more radiant woman than you to a man so deprived.

His tongue curled around your hardened nipple, and you felt the graze of his teeth against it making you keen. Now panting, you laid a hand on the back of his neck, not nearly demanding but enough to spur him on. You felt the uptick of his lips against your skin and canted your hips in retaliation, a poor imitation of his teasing. Was there no limit to his patience?

After lavishing the same amount of attention on your other breast, he continued to trail downwards, leaving a burst of heat wherever he touched. Unknowingly, you held your breath as he finally, after agonizing seconds, reached the last layer shielding your dignity. Now leaning on your elbows, you watched with bated suspense as he discarded your belt, and then your pants and dampened underwear with one motion.

The air hit you in an icy blast, but he didn’t give you time to shy away again as he swiped a finger through your slick folds. You jolted at the sensation, legs clenching involuntarily around his hips.

He stroked your thigh, silently willing you to relax as he circled your opening with careful fingers. The same fingers, you knew, that were stained with the blood of his Lords’ enemies, saints and sinners alike. His other hand came to rest on your leg, the weight pressing you down lightly, palm burning. He squeezed once in warning before plunging one thick finger inside of you. A gasp was torn from your throat as he gave a few experimental pumps, meticulously cataloging each reaction he extracted from your body. Calm, calculating, as if you were a war to conquer, your pleasure his victory.

By the second finger you were squirming as if you had been skewered, biting your hand to muffle your cries. He curled them up, relentlessly attacking that sensitive spot inside you and you couldn’t hold back your voice anymore.

“P-please Targg,” your breath came in ragged puffs, “I need you.”

“In time, little one.” Something in his tone told you that he wasn’t in a particular hurry, and you wanted to spit and scream at him.

Damn teasing bastard!

What you’d give to make him beg, for once. But you knew the chances of prying any kind of beseechment out of his mouth were as likely as being able to yank a tooth out of a bear without being mauled.

He added a third finger-the final you hoped, already at your limit-and began rubbing your clit in measured, circular motions. This time you couldn’t hold back your moans, fingernails scraping against the table as you writhed against him. Just as you were teetering on the edge of bliss, he stopped, withdrawing his fingers and leaving you clenching at air.

The look on your face was thunderous.

“Targg, with all due respect, I swear to God if-”

He stopped you before you could begin spewing threats at various parts of his anatomy with a sudden sharp tug, bringing you back to the edge of the table.

“What-” You quieted as he began unbuckling his gray trousers, shucking them and his briefs to his knees and exposing his throbbing length.

“Look what you do to me,” he growled, his cock bobbing in the air. He moved closer and you gulped, mouth watering at the sheer girth of it. The muscles in his pelvis were tense as if restraining the last bit of his composure, or perhaps from the weight of the erection. It was sizable like the rest of him, with an enticing curve that made a new wetness leak from your aching hole. A vein pulsed prominently on the underside of his shaft, and you wanted to trace it with your tongue if you hadn’t been so sure that the sun would rise and steal your time away.

Perhaps if you lived through this…

“Come on now Targg, you must be aching…” you purred, reaching for his hand. The muted light from the sputtering fires highlighted his skin, giving it an ephemeral, golden glow. Shadows danced across each well-defined ridge and plane, some of which you explored but far too much untouched.

He grunted noncommittally but allowed you to take his hand, coaxing him closer until the head of cock was pressed against your dripping slit. You shuddered, trepidation and excitement warring in your brain. You’ve never taken anyone as big as him, but like hell if you’d back down from a challenge, especially one as tantalizing as this.

“If you want to stop, this is your last chance.” You laced your fingers through his, gazing into those dark unfathomable depths. Something akin to doubt glistened in his eyes, as if he was afraid that you would run away and abandon him for someone less burdened, less tainted.

“Targg.” This time your voice was unflinching, absolute. Brimming with a love that didn’t flicker in a landscape of winter and death, and perhaps the only love that existed outside of the impenetrable fortress. “I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life, now and for whatever time I have left.”

This time he smiled, a soft, rare, fleeting beauty that you desperately committed to your memory.

“If you’re sure then, sweet one.” His voice was uncharacteristically serene, as if this war and all the ones of his past were nothing but bad dreams to be forgotten. “You can have all of this foolish, old man.”

You wanted to protest, to reassure him that it wasn’t his fault, but then he rubbed himself against you, the drag of his flesh sending electric sparks up your spine and coating his member in your juices.

With a deep sigh, he sheathed himself inside you with a single thrust that felt as if it would cleave you in two.

“Ah Targg!” You couldn’t help the tears that sprung to your eyes as he caressed your lower stomach, waiting for you to adjust with flexing fingers. Sharp bolts of pain flashed through you, making it hard to think.

“Just relax,” he rumbled. “I won’t hurt you, my dear.”

Slowly, achingly, the discomfort faded, replaced by a snug warmth.

“I’m alright,” you whispered, reverent to the feeling of being so complete. ��You can move now.”

Targg wasted no time in setting a rapid pace, the table creaking in protest at the force of his thrusts. Back arching, you hauled him in for a kiss, pouring into him all your love and rage and fear. His arms caged you in, so you could see nor smell nor feel nothing except him. Just for this moment he wasn’t a general anymore, but merely a man. And he was yours.

Your body instinctively aligned to his, matching his motions as your nails dug into the back of his hands. He greedily devoured your moans and whimpers, drinking in the sight of your face twisted in ecstasy.

“I can’t hold back any longer,” he groaned, sweat beading at his brow.

“Then don’t.” And you kissed him again.

He buried his head in your neck, redoubling his efforts until you were nothing but a mewling mess beneath him. The lewd sound of skin against skin filled the space, mingling with the masculine sound of his grunts and your incoherent pleading.

In a moment of opportunity, you latched your teeth into the straining muscle of his left shoulder and bit down hard. He hissed and you felt him swell inside you, pushing against the limits of your tight walls. The iron taste of blood flooded your tongue, but you made no move to let him go. He released your hands and you wrapped them around his neck, pressing your breasts against his chest.

After a few moments you withdrew, leaving deep, red imprints of your teeth above his collarbone. If luck would have it, perhaps it would scar.

Satisfied, you bucked upwards, meeting him head-on. You clawed at his back as he continued to pound into you, leaving thin, scarlet lines to match your bitemark. It would be a miracle from Valar if you could walk tomorrow.

You kept him as close as you could with your legs around his waist, but they were growing weak with each violent thrust. Every nerve in your body was alight, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

“Please Targg,” you whimpered shakily. “I-I need…”

So attuned to your body by now that he immediately reached down between your entangled forms to search for that small nub at the crest of your labia. He pressed a finger next to it, hovering so close that you wanted to cry.

“Tell me what you need,” he murmured next to your ear.

“Touch me, please!” A howl was building up in your throat. “I need you!”

“As you wish.”

He attacked your clit relentlessly until the mounting pressure in your cunt finally reached its crescendo, and you came wailing his name for everyone to hear. Waves of pleasure crashed over you again and again as he fucked you through your orgasm. The world spun in swirls of black and white, the canvas ceiling disappearing as you were helpless to the turbulent tides of pleasure.

The rhythm of his thrusts stuttered and became frantic as he followed you, chasing after his own climax with an urgency reawakened.

“Oh Targg.” Breathlessly, you moved to cup his face, watching in rapture as he closed his eyes and yielded to your touch. “Come for me.”

And he did, with a groan that sounded as if it had been dredged up from his very soul and spilled his seed inside you. He gave a few more pumps until you had milked every last drop from him, the torrid sounds of your lovemaking dwindling down and a blanket of satiated bliss settling over your spent figures.

You lay for a few moments, reveling in the precious, fugitive peace that radiated from your bodies like an invisible beacon. Utterly spent, Targg collapsed on you, a thin sheen of sweat coating his frame and mixing with yours.

All too soon however, the bitter cold reached towards you with artic tendrils, and you were acutely aware of the dying embers that signaled the cessation of the night.

“Targg…” You couldn’t vocalize it, didn’t want it to end.

He understood, and with great reluctance withdrew, making you wince and blush as a few pearly drops of your combined fluids streamed down your thigh.

“Are you alright?” He offered you a hand, helping you to a sitting position. You nodded wordlessly, not trusting your voice that mere moments ago had been chanting his name like a frenzied prayer. Your face flushed again as more essence leaked out, soiling his table. He didn’t seem to mind and made no comment as he went to get you a towel.

As you wiped yourself off, he began to get dressed, methodically layering each piece of armor until all traces of your fervor were hidden beneath. The portcullis of that lonely, impassable fortress slid shut with an inaudible certainty once more.

Now trembling from the frosty air, you made to do the same. But the moment your feet touched the ground your knees buckled, and if it wasn’t for his honed reflexes you would have faceplanted unceremoniously into the floor.

You muttered a shaky thanks and reached for your discarded clothes, brushing off the dust and dirt. Your sex twinged with stinging blades of pain, though it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. He kept a hand on your arm, waiting patiently for you to finish dressing before he spoke again.

“You should get some sleep. I still have some work to do, and the sun will emerge in a few hours.” It was as clear of a dismissal as any, and you had to fight back the pang of sorrow that shot through your heart. It was just a one-night stand, so why did it hurt you so?

But you couldn’t show weakness, not now and least of all in front of him. He was right, there was an army to lead and battles to be won.

You bowed, unable to meet his eyes and began limping towards the exit before he suddenly caught you by the arm again.

He leaned down, breath ghosting against your hair. “Stay away from the front lines. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He paused for a moment, as if contemplating his next words. “Perhaps we can resume this later. If you’d like, of course.”

You fought back a smile and turned to him, planting a chaste kiss on his jaw before hurrying out the tent flap in a wobbly gait. You feared that you wouldn’t be able to tear yourself away from him otherwise.

Targg watched you go, an unfamiliar fondness taking ahold of him.

But life was full of unfulfilled promises.

***

You watched in horror as Wulf turned to his own General and stabbed him with that wicked dagger. The air felt as if it had been punched out of your lungs, time standing still in the moment. Your legs moved before your brain could register what had happened, rushing towards him through the throng of charging men.

Wulf had left him to die, and he had collapsed to his knees and then the ground, which, freshly green was soon to be red.

You cradled his head, your sobs soundless as he stared up at you with those dark eyes that you loved so much. They were glassy with agony and dismay and betrayal, but as they focused on your face they cleared.

The voices around you faded, the drumming of thousands of boots and the clanging of metal muted. He couldn’t speak, throat clogged with too much blood and you knew that it was all over.

He knew, too.

So you didn’t cry, wanting to see his face clearly while it still drew rattling breath, weakening by the second.

Death was coming, riding high on a black steed pulling shattered dreams and trampled hearts.

Using the last remnants of the once legendary strength that remained, he brushed his fingers over your cheek, reassuring. Loving. Final.

And there you held him, until his eyes could see you no more.

***

The war was over. Wulf was dead. Rohan was restored. Spring has come.

But among all of this, your heart lay barren and bleeding, missing the other half that had been so callously torn from your chest.

White flowers dotted the grass beneath which he was buried.

Sometimes, when the wind whistled just right, you could almost feel him, gliding against your cheeks and caressing your body. A bear watched you just beyond the forest, its dark eyes so familiar yet so distant. It reminded you of a man you once knew.

You smiled a sad smile and sat down at the edge of the flowers, fondly remembering the great General Targg.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Might have gone a bit crazy the other day and went through the entire movie and took screenshots of General Targg every time he was on the screen...

It totaled over 200 pictures-I love this man so much. 😭

Anyways, here's my favorites.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Saw The War of the Rohirrim a while ago but I've been obsessed with General Targg for a while, so I edited these into computer backgrounds. (Screen size: 1920 x 1200)

I took screenshots from the movie, extended them in Photoshop, and added the PNG logos in Illustrator. Blank ones are also attached, enjoy!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Goku Black x Reader: Forbidden Fruit (Chapter 23: Return of the Past)

Sorry for the long hiatus guys, I've been busy with my Master's program but more will come soon! Unfortunately, my younger self didn't have the foresight to make summaries for each chapter, so I apologize if this chapter and the later ones seem a bit disconnected from the previous chapters. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were woken by the distant tweeting of a sparrow outside of your window, almost as if it was chastising you for sleeping in for so long. But your comforter seemed to swallow you whole, keeping you trapped within the confines of its warmth.

Groaning, you pulled the blankets over your face, blocking out the pale rays of sunshine that conspired with the birds to force you out of bed. You turned to your side, burying your face into the pillow and stretching your arms out before they hit something warm and solid.

You didn’t think much of it until the large lump began to move.

Your eyes shot open and you let out an embarrassing squeak as you were met with the amused black eyes of your lover.

“When did you get here?” You scooted away from him, scandalized.

“Last night? You even woke up and talked to me before falling asleep again.” Black chuckled.

“I did? What did I say?”

“Not telling,” Black rumbled at your flushed face. God you hope you didn’t say something stupid.

You sighed exasperatedly, fighting back the urge to roll your eyes at him. You couldn’t even stay mad at him, not when he looked like that.

It was the first time you had woken up next to him in a proper bed, you realized. During the few times you had slept together, he was always the first awake, composed and stoic. Like a God.

It felt almost intrusive, like you were witnessing something you weren’t supposed to.

And as you gazed at him, the only thing you could think about was how damn attractive he always looked, even in these early hours of the morning.

He was shirtless, his toned chest more defined than ever as he leaned against the headboard with a lazy smile on his face. With one strong arm slung over his torso, you couldn't help but follow the curve of his biceps down to his forearms.

"Stop staring," Black teased, his eyes flicking down to where your gaze had been fixed.

“I wasn't staring," you protested, but it was a lame excuse. Heat flooded every vein, a red color blooming in your cheeks once again.

Black laughed, a deep timber that sent shivers down your spine. “Sure you weren't," he said, before reaching out to pull you towards him. It seemed like he was in a particularly good mood today, not that you were complaining.

All you could do was enjoy the warmth of his embrace, safe and distant from the broken world that they had set on fire.

But then like persistent pests buzzing in endless circles around your head, the familiar pangs of guilt began to rise up in your throat, tasting of sour deception. Stiffening, your muscles tense involuntarily as if pulled taunt by the cruel hand of fate, berating you for the choice of him above all others.

Sensing your discomfort, the arms around your back tightened, quickly banishing the somber thoughts that began clouding your mind.

“You're thinking too loudly," Black murmurs, soft lips brushing your ear. "I can practically hear your mind whirring away. Such a busy little thing."

“Some of us have consciences, you know." You aim for a snippy tone but it comes out breathless, your body already responding to his closeness. Damn him.

“Mmm, overrated." He trails a hand down your side, calloused fingertips igniting sparks beneath your skin. “I can think of much more…pleasurable uses for that yapping mouth of yours."

You try to hold onto the threads of your guilt, your horror at what he's done. But you know the anger was misdirected and weakening, as if becoming a God had stripped away what little humanity you had left. And somehow, you found that you didn’t particularly mind. His darkness calls to something inside you, something primal and fierce, something that was freeing in ways your old self would have sneered at.

Submission was bliss.

“You're incorrigible," you mutter, but you're already pressing closer in his arms, quickly getting lost in the smoldering heat of his gaze.

“You love it." His mouth finds yours, hot and demanding, tongue delving deep. You moan into the kiss, hands fisting in his hair. He moved to press his weight on top of you, heart beating loudly in his broad chest that seemed to dance in rhythm of your own.

The world can wait a little longer. Here, now, there is only him - his touch, his taste, the wicked promises in his eyes. Everything else fades away, distant and unimportant.

Your surrender is sweet. His victory, sweeter still.

***

A cold wind howls through the desolate city streets, whipping dust and ash into swirling gray eddies. Zamasu stands alone amidst the ruins, a cruel smile playing about his lips as he surveys his handiwork. The stench of death hangs heavy in the air, smothering and all-encompassing.

The charred bodies of the remaining survivors, some whole and some not, littered the ground in still, dark lumps. The hideout had caved in, brought down in a storm of chi blasts and the people inside scattered like rats into the waiting maw of a lazy cat. Their dying screams had formed the orchestra closing his glorious performance, but it wasn’t finished yet. Not until he had heard the gargled screams of every last repugnant mortal to every sully this universe, and there were still two left.

Trunks and Mai were crouched behind a crumbling wall, hearts pounding. Blood seeped between his fingers from a jagged gash despite the stained cloth pressed hard against his side. Each breath sends agony lancing through him but he grits his teeth, refusing to make a sound.

Mai's eyes are wide and haunted in her dirt-streaked face. Tears carved white paths through the grime, mingling with crimson trails of blood as it dripped down her chin. “He's coming," she whispers, voice trembling. “Trunks, you have to go now. Leave me."

“No." He shakes his head vehemently. “I won't leave you. We’ll stay together until the end."

The adrenaline that had once streamed through their veins was rapidly fading. “You're hurt. You can't fight him like this."

“I'll die before I abandon you." Trunks' jaw sets in a stubborn line, cerulean eyes blazing. The pain made him light-headed but he pushes it down. He has to stay strong for the last one he could protect.

Zamasu's footsteps echo in the eerie quiet, drawing closer. Each one tolls like a death knell, ominous and impending. Mai huddles into Trunks' side, shaking. He wraps an arm around her, holding her close.

“How touching," Zamasu sneers as he rounds the corner. “The last pathetic remnants of a failed species, clinging to each other as the end draws near."

Trunks bares his teeth in a snarl. "You'll pay for this, Zamasu. I swear it."

“Bold words from a halfbreed whelp bleeding out in the dirt." Zamasu takes a step forward, power gathering around his hands. “Your suffering is at an end. Rejoice, for I shall grant you the blessing of a quick death."

Mai buries her face in Trunks' chest, a sob tearing from her throat. Blazing anger and despair war within him. Is this truly how it ends? Everything they fought for, everyone they lost – all for nothing?

They close their eyes as Zamasu raises his hand, blinding white light building in his palm. In that suspended moment, Trunks sends up a desperate prayer to which no Gods are left to hear.

Then the light flares, searing red through his eyelids. Mai's hold tightens convulsively. Trunks waits for the devastating impact, for the oblivion of death.

But it never comes.

A thunderous crash splits the air, shaking the ground beneath them. Two familiar auras flare, reigniting the extinguished ember of hope inside the injured fighter. Trunks' eyes fly open just in time to see two blazing lights slam into Zamasu, sending the mad god hurtling back in a maelstrom of shattered stone and earth.

“Goku! Father!" Trunks cries out, his voice breaking on a cry of pure relief.

The two Saiyans stand before them, haloed in the shining sapphire light of their Super Saiyan Blue forms. Goku glances back, his usually cheerful face set in lines of grim determination.

“Sorry we're late," he says, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. “We brought back up this time." Trunks stared, relieved though confused. Other than his father and Goku, he could sense no one else nearby.

Vegeta scoffs, never taking his eyes off the settling dust where Zamasu fell. “Enough prattle, Kakarot. We have a false god to dethrone."

In the cabin, your brow furrows as a sudden tension thrums through Black's frame. He sits up abruptly, his gaze distant and unfocused.

“What is it?" you ask, reaching out to touch his arm. "What's wrong?"

Black blinks, seeming to come back to himself. He looks down at you, a strange smile playing about his lips.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, little one," he murmurs, his fingers trailing along your cheek. “Just a minor annoyance that will soon be dealt with."

Your frown deepens. “Don't give me that. I can practically taste the power in the air. Something's happening out there, isn't it? And I’ll bet Zamasu is involved."

Black's smile widens, edged with a hint of cold anticipation. “Perhaps. But as I said, it's nothing for you to worry about. All is as it should be."

He leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that's somehow both tender and possessive. Despite the heat of his touch, a chill runs through you.

Black breaks the kiss abruptly, his eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light.

“I must go," he says, already moving away from you. “Zamasu is waiting."

“Wait!" you call after him, scrambling out of bed. “I'm coming with you."

He pauses, looking back at you with a raised eyebrow. ‘There's no need. This is a matter for us gods, not you."

Anger flashes through you, hot and bright. “I’m not just some plaything you can abandon whenever you want," you snap, reaching for your shirt. “And in case you've forgotten, I'm not exactly mortal anymore either."

Black chuckles, a low, alluring sound that sends shivers down your spine. “No, I suppose you're not," he muses. “Very well then. But do try to keep up, won't you?"

And then he's gone, vanishing in an instant before you can retort. That bastard left you! You curse under your breath, yanking on your clothes with jerky, furious movements.

Damn him. Damn his arrogance, his condescension, his infuriating ability to get under your skin.

You storm out of the cabin, reaching out with your newfound senses to track Black's energy. It's not hard - his power is a beacon, a shadowy star pulsing on the horizon. Zamasu is with him, their energies intertwined in a way that makes your stomach twist with jealousy. But you suppose that was just your human side rearing its ugly head again. You really hated that green goblin.

You take off, your feet flying over the uneven ground. The forest blurs around you, a smear of yellow and brown and dappled sunlight. You barely notice, too focused on the growing sense of power ahead.

It's like nothing you've ever felt before. Goku and Vegeta's energies burn bright and fierce, clashing against the cold, unyielding might of Black and Zamasu. The very air seems to tremble with it, charged with raw testosterone and power.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a nervous excitement surging through your veins. The Saiyans would know immediately what you had done and what you had given up.

For better or worse, your fate is bound to these battling gods and the fragmented world they've created. All you can do is keep running, chasing the storm on the horizon, and pray you're strong enough to weather what comes next.

You put on a final burst of speed, your heart in your throat, and burst out onto the battlefield just as a massive explosion rocks the earth beneath your feet. You stumble, catching yourself on a split boulder, and look up to see a tableau of raw power and primal fury. Goku and Vegeta stand on one side, their hair glowing a brilliant blue, their faces twisted in a righteous rage. Black and Zamasu face them, haloed in shimmering violet, their expressions a mix of contempt and exhilaration.

“Ah, my rose," Black calls out, his voice carrying over the tumult. “You've arrived just in time for the final act."

Goku's head snaps toward you, his eyes widening in shock. “Y/n? What are you doing here? Get away, it's not safe!"

Vegeta just scoffs, his gaze never leaving Black. “If she's foolish enough to consort with these abominations, then there’s nothing else we can do."

Zamasu laughs, the sound ringing with malicious glee. “You still don't understand, do you? She's chosen her side. Chosen to ascend beyond your petty mortal concerns."

Black extends a hand toward you, his eyes gleaming with possessive pride. “Come, my love. Take your place at my side, as is your right. Together, we will cleanse this world and forge a new one from the ashes."

You hesitate, torn between the pull of his words and the pleading looks from Goku and Trunks. You didn’t know how much it would sting until the ones you had betrayed were standing right in front of you.

Goku sees your hesitation and takes a step forward, his hand outstretched. “Y/n, please. I know you're confused right now, but this isn't you. You're a good person. You can still come with us."

Vegeta snarls, his fists clenching. “Enough talk! If she won't see reason then just ignore her. We have more important things to worry about."

Black's eyes narrow, his posture shifting subtly as he prepares to strike. “You're right, mortal. Enough talk indeed. It's time we finished this, once and for all."

The air glimmers around him as he gathers his power, the ground trembling beneath his feet. Zamasu takes up position at his side, a cruel smirk playing about his lips.

Electricity crackles through the air as Black and Zamasu surge with godly chi, their auras flaring to life in a blaze of deep purple and shimmering white. Goku and Vegeta tense, their own power rising to meet the challenge, vivid cobalt and fiery gold.

“Y/n, come back to us! Please!" Trunks shouts, desperation straining his voice. “You don't have to do this! We can still fix this, together!"

Tears sting your eyes as you shake your head mutely, the words lodging in your throat. You turn away from him, unable to face your friend.

Black's laughter rings out, cold and mocking. “You really don't understand, do you mutt? She's mine now, body and soul. A deity, just like us. And together, we will cleanse this planet of your mortal filth."

Mai flinches at his words, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. “What have you done to her?" she whispers.

You can feel their gazes burning into you, the weight of their shock and revulsion pressing down like a physical force. They couldn’t understand, they wouldn’t.

The thought brings a sudden surge of anger, hot and bitter in your veins. How dare they judge you? They have no idea what you've been through, the choices you've had to make. Black is the only one who truly understands you now.

As if sensing your thoughts, he reaches out to you through your bond, his presence wrapping around your mind like a comforting shroud. That's right, my love, he purrs enticingly. They will never accept you now. But I will. I always will.

But you didn’t respond, instead staring mutely at the ground.

Black glances at you, eyes narrowed. He jerked his head, motioning for you to get out of the way. Obediently, numbly, you moved away from their blast radius, waiting for the inevitable beginning of the end.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Hey, I have a question When can we expect the next chapter of the Goku Black fanfic? I love your writing and just can't wait! 💕

So sorry I just saw this, I'm not sure yet but I am definitely planning on finishing the story, it will just take a long time! Thank you for your patience!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

I really love your goku black story. Are you going to continue it? Please, take your time though, no need to rush

Oh shoot I just saw this sorry, I'm not sure how long this has been in my inbox but yes I plan on continuing it, very slowly most likely but I'm absolutely determined to finish it!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Muscle Heads: Ohma x Raian

Chapter 5: Meat Gazer

Raian had a bad habit. Well, he had a lot of bad habits but this one bothered Ohma the most. Not that he wasn’t used to seeing naked men of course, but like most of the other Kengan fighters he wasn’t particularly pleased when another man decided to stare at his dick when he was trying to take a piss. 

Unfortunately for him, Raian was a meat gazer. Not in a sexual way (most of the time), but he just really liked to fuck with people and through experience found that this was one of the most effective ways.

(Via military terms: A piss test observer to make sure you aren’t faking clean piss on a piss test, but often times they’re just trying to look at your dick because they like it. -VETTV)

Kure Raian was not beyond voyeurism. Frankly, nothing was beyond him. If it was nasty he was probably into it, with very few exceptions.

Rihito had already been an unfortunate victim.

When asked, the beefhead will vehemently deny that anything happened that fateful day in the Kengan tournament, but he could still feel Raian’s cold ass hands on his dick every now and then when he had to go to a public urinal. 

He had also developed a habit of fugitively looking over his shoulder every time he heard footsteps behind him in the bathroom. 

The first time Ohma had experienced it was on an early Spring morning shortly after he had moved into the Kure residence. 

He had still been woozy and exhausted from all the drugs they had pumped into his system for his heart surgery and was unusually mellowed, so the lapse in awareness wasn’t all his fault. 

The bright light of the bathroom burned his eyes, forcing him to squint and look away. The door was cracked open. A mistake he wouldn’t soon forget.

His fingers worked at the drawstring of his shorts, abnormally clumsy. Groaning, he turned off the lights after letting his shorts fall to his ankles, eyes hurting from the light. The only sliver of illumination came from the entrance.

Sighing, he felt his bladder slowly deflating as he began relieving himself.

Then he sensed it.

A dark, malicious presence, and a warm weight on his shoulder. Something rough and firm wrapped around his dick. 

Ohma’s eyes shot open, his reflection gazing back at him in shock through the mirror.

He wasn’t alone.

The low light was enough to highlight spiky, light-blond hair and broad, rolling shoulders. 

For a long second Ohma stood still, muscles tense like a spring on the verge of action as his brain struggled to catch up to his body. Black, glinting eyes flitted quickly from his cock to his face, then back to his still-pissing appendage. 

He was so casual about it that Ohma felt his brain short-circuiting. Is this bastard really…

A raspy chuckle finally broke him out of his stupor, and the static energy that had been festering inside him boiled over like a volcano. He flung his arm back, twisting his body as he tried to shove Raian off only to feel an intense tugging pain in his groin that made him groan through tightly clenched teeth. 

Raian hadn’t let go, and when Ohma tried bucking him off he had kept his death grip on his dick. Hissing, he did his best to pry Raian’s cold, clammy fingers off without accidentally clawing the now pulsating flesh. Whether it was from pain or pleasure he didn’t know and didn’t care to find out.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you shithead?!” Ohma roared, shoving the cackling devil to the ground and stomping on his chest. He felt a shred of satisfaction as Raian wheezed, though he seemed thoroughly unaffected by the blow. 

“Jus’ investigating,” Raian sneered up at him, shoving his leg off. 

Ohma barely had a chance to open his mouth before Raian barreled into him and out the door, laughing hysterically as if he just told the funniest joke he had ever heard. His head thudded painfully against the tile and the sound of clay splitting echoed in his ears. 

The door to the bathroom hung precariously on its broken hinges, and Ohma was helpless to do anything except lay staring at the ceiling in shock. His heart rate was elevated in a way that was vaguely worrying, but right now that was frankly the last thing on his mind. 

He was gonna pound that bastard straight to hell in the morning, but for now, he needed to find some ice for his dick.

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Dirty: Stabbington Brothers/Reader [SMUT]

There were no works for these hunks under this category so I had to do it.

Basically they f*ck you so good they ruin all other men for you.

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It was hot, almost unbearably so. You weren’t exactly sure how you had ended up in this position. Everything before this seemed foggy, as if you were looking through a wall of water that swished and swirled away any semblance of thought the moment you tried to focus. But you suppose it didn’t really matter now anyways.

All that mattered was them.

You couldn’t see much through your half-lidded eyes except the muscular, clothed back of one brother bent over you, his open mouth pressed against your collarbone. A shock of bright red hair rubbed against your neck and bare chest, you supposed it was the ones with sideburns. Huge hands groped your breasts and you could feel another pair inching closer to your waistband as a second tongue lapped greedily at the sensitive spot behind your ear. That must be the one with the eyepatch.

You didn’t know their names or care to find out. Everyone around these parts knew who they were, dubbing them “Sideburns” and “Patchy” (stupid nicknames, you thought), though none were brave enough to say it to their faces. You didn’t want to become the last guy they pummeled when he had pried too hard.

Aliases here were more common than not.

They didn’t know your name either, but they never asked. You supposed they were just here for a good fuck and you were more than happy to oblige, perhaps a little too happily thanks to the persuasion of the beer you had been guzzling like no tomorrow before they had arrived at the tavern.

It had been hard to miss them as they hulked through the doorway, more than a head taller and wider than everyone else who had scrambled out of their path. Everyone knew not to get in the way of the Stabbington Brothers.

There were other women in the tavern, albeit just a few, it was dangerous after all. But no, they headed straight for you and that in itself was both flattering and terrifying. They sat one on each side, so close you could feel the heat rolling off them in waves as if they had just gotten here from vigorously stomping someone’s head in, which was a high possibility. And then the one they called Sideburns had leaned in close, a devious grin stretching across his face and the scent of sweat and something that smelled like sheer testosterone filling your senses like a drug. He whispered something in your ear and suddenly you were far less interested in the pint clutched in your hand.

In your haze, you hadn’t noticed that the beer had suddenly been relieved of you until his brother took a drink and slid it across the table to Sideburns. He downed the rest of it in one gulp and you wanted to protest ‘Hey I paid for that’, but then he stood and you felt Patchy nudge you off your chair with one hand against your waist. ‘Never mind.’

They had led you swaying lightly on your feet to a dingy motel nearby but you didn’t mind. Everything felt hot and the clothes against your body had suddenly grown tight and scratchy against your burning skin.

The rest was history from there.

They had quickly stripped you out of your shirt and once again you wanted to protest that it wasn’t fair that they remained dressed but that thought had quickly died in your throat as they had tackled you on the bed.

“Looks like you’re getting a little distracted there,” the voice in front of you growled. Narrowed blue eyes pierced through you and it sent a bolt of heat coiling in your core. It was so intense your legs trembled, and you were sure that you would shatter if that restless energy wasn’t taken care of soon. Sideburns seemed to be able to read your mind as he turned his gaze off you, simpering at his brother over your shoulder.

They didn’t speak, but you could almost hear them communicating. It was probably some freaky twin shit but at this point you didn’t care if they barked at each other as long as they hurried the fuck up.

“Hey,” you whispered sultrily, placing a gentle hand on the broad chest in front of you. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one topless.”

Sideburns looked down at you, the smirk growing wider on his face. He tutted and kissed your knuckles almost teasingly. “Impatient are we, sweetheart?”

You heard Patchy huff softly, his chest pressed impossibly close against your back. Something big and deliciously hard twitched against your lower back, and to your embarrassment it sent a flood of wet warmth straight between your legs.

“Whatever you want princess,” Sideburns rumbled, yanking off his shirt and all the straps with it in one fluid motion. Behind you, fabric rustled as Patchy also took off his pullover and discarded it on the floor.

Numerous white scars crisscrossed along the massive torso in front of you, and you found that you wanted to trace them all with your tongue. Sideburns seemed to be able to read your mind as he grabbed your wrist in his hand and placed it on his obliques.

“You can touch as much as you want, sweetheart.” He came closer, forcing you back into the man behind you as you reclined on his chest. His skin was boiling, and the air felt almost suffocating in the best way.

Slowly, you traced a lengthy scar from his pec to hip, dragging your nails lightly against his skin as you did so. Goosebumps followed your fingertips as you explored the muscles bulging underneath your palms. Entranced, you watched as it flexed with every breath, and he seemed to enjoy the attention as he let out a pleased rumble that almost seemed like a purr.

A light ginger trail peaked out from the edge of his pants, leading straight down to the hidden erection straining against his pants. Gawking at the size, you felt a rush of fear and exhilaration course through your body, excitement soaking your underwear even further.

Is it even gonna fit?

You were snapped out of your trance as a sudden calloused finger brushed against your clit; you hadn’t even realized Patchy’s hand had slipped under your waistband. You let out a (undignified) yelp, glaring at Sideburns as he uttered a deep chuckle.

“P-Patchy what are you-oh!” He plunged his finger further, pinching and sliding against your sensitive folds as you bit back moans of ecstasy. You could feel his lips curling against your shoulder as he peered over you.

“W-wait you can’t just-” Sideburns cut you off before you could finish, sealing his mouth over yours and suckling on your lower lip. He tasted like whiskey and something else so intoxicating you couldn’t name, something so him.

“Just shut up and enjoy it,” Sideburns grumbled against your mouth before ramming his tongue in. In his eagerness he pressed down on top of you, using his weight to push you into Patchy who began nipping at the tender junction of your neck and shoulders. You were sure there were going to be bruises there in the morning, but you didn’t give a damn.

Let the whole world see your sins if only this night could last forever.

His tongue swirled against yours, fighting for dominance though you were more than happy to give it to him. You supposed it was just in their natures as men, after all. You liked it rough either way.

Like a starved animal, he devoured your mouth before you finally had to pull away to breathe. “Just give me a second,” you wheezed, keeping him away from you with a hand on his chest. Eyes glinting, he licked his lips and you briefly wondered what else it could do.

It was almost too much.

The thick finger circling your leaking hole abruptly plunged in, drawing out a squeal that Sideburns interrupted as he returned to kiss you. You didn’t have a chance to adjust before Patchy set a brutal pace, quickly adding another one that made it feel as if you were going to be ripped apart. It was a miracle if you managed to survive the night.

Someone began tugging your pants down and you instinctively lifted your hips to let them. Sideburns pulled away once you were completely bare, turning greedy eyes down to your gushing slit. You felt a rush of embarrassment as he watched his brother finger you, but it quickly evaporated when he lowered himself onto his stomach so he could leave love bites against your inner thighs, gradually moving closer to where you wanted him the most but staying just shy enough away from it.

A swift pang of pleasure distracted you just enough from the hot mouth biting at your thigh as the calloused digit inside of you suddenly brushed against your sweet spot. You gasped loudly and writhed as he immediately added another finger, attacking that same place over and over again until your vision swam.

“Ah Patchy please!”

Your entire body tensed, every tendon and fiber of your being straining before the inevitable release, which never came. It felt so foreignly empty as he denied you your orgasm by withdrawing his fingers, your entire body descending from the high in one fell swoop.

“What the hell?!” You snapped, frustration dancing at the edge of your eyes.

“Can’t have you cumming yet can we now, sweetheart,” Sideburns cooed mockingly, kissing at the edge of your now-empty hole.

‘Fucking sadist’, you thought grumpily, but you couldn’t stay mad at him as he pressed the flat of his tongue against your entrance. He gave a few long, teasing strokes, gazing up at you with a mischievous gleam in his eye as you squirmed in his brother’s arms.

“Please,” you moaned, tangling your fingers in his hair. It was surprisingly soft to the touch, but you didn’t get a chance to dwell on it as he flicked your clit with the wet muscle.

“God just fuck me already!” You pleaded, clutching at Patchy’s arms which were preoccupied with kneading your breasts.

“Impatient now are we?” Sideburns growled playfully and stroked your thigh with a large hand.

“Think she’s ready?” Sideburns raised himself up on his arms and looked over your shoulder. You didn’t hear a response, but Patchy must have given some indication for him to go ahead because he grabbed your hips and started raising you onto your knees until you were on all fours.

Heat thrummed through your body, making you feel almost drunk with anticipation.

“Open,” Sideburns commanded, grabbing your chin and slipping his thumb through between your lips. You wrapped your lips around the digit, sucking and lapping at it as if challenging him. You felt the bed shift behind you, and a pressure against your hip as the other twin held you in place. The dull head of Patchy’s cock pressed against your entrance and you whined, trying to rock back but you couldn’t with both of them gripping you so firmly.

Their presence felt oppressive; they were too big for the room and frankly any other room they walked into, and normally you’d be scared or nervous or anything else but horny. But right now with Sideburns’ dick hovering over you, the shaft curving towards his toned stomach with a prominent vein pulsating at the underside, you couldn’t give less of a damn about who they were or what they did as long as they fucked you so good you couldn’t walk for days.

They had both been ridiculously tall before, but now as your hands and knees they towered over you like it was their right.

Sideburns gave his aching cock a few long pulls, savoring the look of hunger on your face. With one hand clutching your hair, he pulled you closer until your lips were mere millimeters from the pink head of his arousal.

The second you spent suspended in reality seemed to draw on for an eternity, agonizingly slow as if they were trying to make you beg. The whispers of a demand stood on the edge of your tongue when they suddenly both thrust forward at the exact same time, synchronized perfectly with each other as if through some bizarre twin telepathy.

You gagged around the hot length ramming down your throat as Patchy slid in with one fluid movement, the stretch burning uncomfortably as you moaned. He held still for a few seconds waiting for you to adjust to his size, and you could feel him flexing his fingers in impatience against your waist.

Sideburns moved slowly, fucking into your mouth with a self-satisfied smirk as if he had all the time in the world. As the pain began to subside, you wriggled your hips in small circles, hearing a throaty grunt from behind you.

“You’re gonna take it all, slut.” Sideburns rumbled, pushing in deeper. Your jaw ached, but there was no way in hell you were gonna back down now.

You hummed around the erection in your mouth, feeling it jolt from the vibrations. Sideburns looked up, nodding to his brother who immediately began setting a merciless pace, the force of his thrusts pushing you forward. Sideburns moved to match his speed, the thick length hitting the back of your throat with every motion. You struggled to breathe through your nose, drool dripping down your chin as the salty precum mingled with your spit.

Pleasure blossomed inside of you as Patchy switched up the angle, targeting your g-spot with laser precision. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin filled the room, punctured by your needy cries as your fingers twisted in the covers.

They were too big to fully sheath themselves inside you, but they did their damn best to try. A large hand moved to cup your swinging breast, holding up your weight effortlessly. Sideburns’ other hand came to twist and tug at your hair, yanking in a way that hurt so good.

The hands around your waist clamped down hard, sure to leave bruises there in the morning. You heard Sideburns let out a gravelly groan as his speed picked up, could see the way his muscular legs tensed in anticipation.

Behind you Patchy did the same, balls smacking against you with every driving plunge. Heat and tension curled inside of you as you climbed towards your mounting climax.

Your eyes screwed shut and you panted around the member in your mouth, hands scrambling for purchase on the bed. Every muscle in your body seemed to throb in rhythm with their cocks, a muffled whimper slipping through your lips.

“Nah sweetheart”, Sideburns’ hand came to cradle your cheek. “I want you to look at me when you come.”

His form was blurry through the glaze over your watery eyes, a mass of muscle and something so raw that it tipped you right over the edge.

You clenched hard around Patchy’s dick, hearing him snarl in response as his flow began to stutter. Sideburns moved to grip your face with both hands, driving into you so hard it had you seeing black. Your head swam as the universe seemed to shrink down to just this dirty lodge room, just the three of you as your entire body shuddered violently with your release.

Juices dripped down the back of your legs, smearing with Patchy’s sweat as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your bones felt rubbery, body still trembling from the aftershock of the most intense climax of your life but they weren’t done yet.

They held you up, fingers slipping against your damp skin and with one final thrust they ejaculated at the same time. Sideburns came with a roar, the beefy tendons in his neck straining as he threw his head back. Dull fingernails dug into the tender skin of your hips, drawing blood to the surface and you winced, unable to move away.

Hot seed shot down your throat and you weren’t quite able to swallow it all, the volume simply too much. It trickled down your chin, making a mess out of your front as Sideburns’ pace began to slow. Another load filled your abused cunt as Patchy slammed his hips flush with your ass, quaking against you as he came.

The room was silent save for the sound of your collective panting, breaths mingling in the balmy air. With quiet exhales, they both pulled out of you, and without their support your arms finally gave out and sent you tumbling into the mattress.

You felt completely spent, body drained of every last drop and your mind utterly empty. With your eyes closed, you could hear them shifting around you. The thought of them just leaving you here after they got what they wanted caused an uncomfortable twinge in your heart, but you pushed it down.

This was all that this was supposed to be, anyways. Just a quick fuck and that was it.

Sad or not, you were far too tired to think about it. Your eyes had already fallen shut and without the heat of their bodies the room was growing cold. Shivering, you clawed blindly for the blankets when out of the blue something warm touched your inner thigh.

You squealed in shock, shooting up to glare at Patchy kneeling on the bed next to you. He shot you a questioning look, holding a wet cloth to your leg.

“What? Too cold?” Sideburns chuckled, drawing your attention to him. He was holding a wash basin, steaming rising from the porcelain lip.

“N-no I just thought that you guys…never mind.” You flopped back down, closing your eyes again. You didn’t fight when Patchy spread your legs, wiping away the drying mess.

Sideburns placed the bowl on the nightstand with a quiet thump, scooping you up bridal style while Patchy yanked off the soiled quilts. His chest was delightfully warm, moving slowly with each deep breath.

They pulled the blankets over you when they were done changing the bed sheets, crawling in after extinguishing the lanterns. It was a tight fit, but they managed to make it work with you sandwiched between them. Long, heavy limbs tangled with yours, the weight comforting to your worn body.

The room was old and worn and the stained mattress was rickety and stiff, but right now it felt like heaven on earth.

Burly arms came to wrap around your torso, you weren’t sure whose it was or if it both of theirs but you didn’t care. They were both completely naked now, having abandoned their remaining clothes. The heat emanating from their bodies quickly warmed up the blankets and you let out a content sigh, wriggling in to tuck your head under the chin in front of you.

A hand stroked your arm gingerly, rubbing small, soothing patterns against your skin. They fit so perfectly against you, as if you were made to be there.

“Next time you guys are taking turns or something,” you muttered sleepily. “You assholes almost impaled me to death.”

“There’s gonna be a next time?” You could feel Sideburns’ cocky grin against your hair.

A faint blush colored your cheeks, but thankfully it was lost to the welcoming darkness. “You know where to find me.”

“Damn right we do.”

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Finally House of Wax merch!!!

Go get Vinny before he leaves!

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Let's start our strip challenge, first picture!!! 🫶🫶🫶

I look forward to your likes and reposts!