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phantomskeep · 4 months ago

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The Early Bird Gets The Worm - Chapter 2

The Early Bird Gets The Worm

Chapter 2 - A Bird, a Babe, and a Butler All Walk Into a Cave

Written by @agent-sushi-fbi & myself uwu

Read it on AO3 here!

Masterpost | Chapter One | Chapter Three

When Danny had first ventured into the darkened alleyways of this dirty city, he didn’t expect to run into some weirdo in a skin-tight black and blue suit. Fellow dumpster divers? Yeah, sure. He figured that fighting off a family of possums was normal when scrounging around for any scrap of something to fill his stomach.

He didn’t even know where he ended up honestly. Danny got a headache anytime he thought too hard about the details of where he was or how he got there or even who he was. He knew his name was Danny. He knew he was small (he had looked in a mirror, thank you, but it felt wrong somehow, like a funhouse mirror upside down) and he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to be small. But thinking about stuff like that hurt a lot–kind of like a metal fist bashing into his skull.

Danny wasn’t really sure how he knows what that feels like, yet he was sure that was the best comparison.

What he certainly wasn’t expecting at tonight's garbage dump feast was being kidnapped by a vigilante. Was it really kidnapping though if he kind of went along willingly out of pure curiosity?

Although, man, was he glad (not that he'd ever admit it out loud) that this random vigilante decided to kidnap him tonight. After Nightwing had bundled Danny up onto his motorcycle once their meet-up with Batman was done and peeled out of the inner city of Gotham, the bird-themed hero brought him to a hidden entrance in the hills that led to a literal cave. He had watched when they pulled up as a reinforced steel panel lifted into the rocks above their head, leaving a gaping maw that Nightwing just zoomed into. Lights activated with motion sensors as they sped into a huge room that was full to the brim with gadgets and computers that lit up at their arrival. Danny could only stare in awe of how awesome and improbable it all seemed.

Seriously, how crazy were these Fruit Loops?

The man had started explaining some boring stuff about the cave when they arrived, but the massive freaking T-rex had immediately caught Danny’s eye and he stopped paying attention to Nightwing. It was like a switch was flipped, his cautious suspicion he’d been holding onto was thrown out the window, and now all that he could think about was flying himself up to the giant dinosaur and touching it. Danny was sure if you looked at his face at that moment, there was no other thought behind his eyes beyond must touch right freaking now.

Nightwing must have sensed the gremlin energy pouring off of him because next thing Danny knew, the collar of his jacket was being grabbed before he could move from his spot at the entrance. He pouted up at the man, demanding with his eyes that Nightwing let go so he could play on the dinosaur like he was a kid. But wait, maybe he should say because he’s a kid? He is a kid right, being all small? But he still wasn’t sure if that was correct. He mentally shrugged and thought: Eh, who cares? All Danny could see was shiny scales glinting in the fluorescent lights lining the cave.

And Danny? Danny was but a simple man (boy…maybe a crow?). He sees a shiny thing and must have the shiny thing.

“Danny, don't even think about it,” Nightwing intoned. He gripped Danny's jacket a little tighter and pulled him closer to the man's side. He totally did not pout at being squished into the vigilante. One hundred percent, no siree. No pouting here.

“Think about what? What are you thinking that I'm thinking?” Danny shrugged, acting casual while his eyes flitted back and forth between the vigilante and dinosaur. “There's no thoughts going on up here, I can promise you that.” He knocked on the side of his head to prove his point, but Nightwing looked unimpressed.

“Master Nightwing, I presume you brought this child back to the cave for medical attention?” Danny's nose bunched in confusion as he heard another, older and British, voice enter the chat. He turned his head around, looking for the source and spotted an older guy in a butler outfit paired with a mask, much like Nightwing’s, appear around the corner.

“Agent A! Good timing!” Nightwing jovially responded, yanking Danny around like he weighed nothing (shut up, he was a BIG MAN!) and presented him like a scrungly, dumpster-infested gift to Agent A. Danny crossed his arms and attempted to sit criss-cross while hovering in the air in response. He hoped it showed both men how displeased he was being carried around like a kitten.

Agent A only raised a single eyebrow, humming as he set down the tray he had been holding on a nearby table. Danny felt a little awkward at the look, like the man was able to be disappointed in him for nearly trying to be a brat and was waiting for Danny himself to realize it.

“Hmm, well Master Nightwing, would you be so kind as to introduce the young Mister to me?” Agent A's attention (thankfully) shifted to Nightwing and Danny huffed a near silent breath in relief.

Danny shifted uneasily, eyeing the new person. “How do I know you’re not some sort of government spy trying to steal my spleen?”

Nightwing let out a tired sigh, patting Danny’s greasy hair with his free hand. “This is Danny, he’s in need of some medical attention like you said. Starting with an attitude adjustment, I think.”

The young boy spluttered, smacking away Nightwing’s gloved hands. His feet dropped to the ground as he glared up at the vigilante who had finally decided to let him go. “I am perfectly fine, thank you very much! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so what kind of attitude should I have in the first place?”

“You came with me willingly!” Nightwing cried out, throwing his arms over his head in exasperation.

“You bribed me with sandwiches! I see no sandwiches here!” Danny rebutted, tilting his chin up and moving around like he was towering over Nightwing (he decided it was best to ignore his current height).

“Danny, you’ll get your sandwiches after Agent A and I check you over--”

“You’re a dirty liar and I hope you know that I will haunt you in your nightmares.” He squinted his eyes at Nightwing and Danny made a mental promise to himself to follow through with the threat…whether he knew how to do it or not. He would figure it out though if he didn't get the food he was supposed to be shoving in his mouth right about now.

Nightwing just sighed, bringing a hand up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Okay, kiddo. Whatever you say, I'm too tired to argue.” Danny pumped a little fist in the air at his win.

A small cough caught the quarreling black-haired duo’s attention. They both shifted their gazes back to where Agent A was watching them bicker. Danny resolutely ignored how they acted in sync and shifted a few inches away.

“If it may please you, Mister Danny, while Nightwing gets you set up in the medical bay I can make you a few simple sandwiches.” The older man turned a pointed look towards the youngest present. “Are there any allergies or preferences that I should be aware of?” When Danny shook his head negatively, Agent A turned to leave for…wherever he had spawned from before.

“Thank you, A.” The vigilante called to his retreating back before starting to herd Danny over to a well-lit corner of the literal freaking cave with actual bats. He still couldn’t get over it.

Danny glared up at Nightwing, eyebrows scrunched in a face of pure childish pout. “I would like to state that I am doing this under heavy protest.”

“Duly noted.”

The medical bay was stocked full of random bits and bobs of probably important looking equipment. From IV lines to a full x-ray machine, Danny had to take a moment and question just how loaded these guys must be to have this stuff at the ready. None of this looked second-hand or even well-used to his untrained eyes, though he couldn't remember if he really had much of a reference for this stuff. As he was ushered onto a cot, Danny couldn’t help the shiver of fear involuntarily creeping up his spine as he sat down.

Watching Nightwing move around brought a thin feeling of panic racing through his veins. The sterile smell, brightly unadorned walls, and the constant hum of devices plugged into every outlet. There was a mayo cart near the end of the cot he sat on, not much on it but Danny couldn’t tear his eyes away from the larger-than-they-should be tweezers and the forceps peeking out from under the sheet covering it.

“Alright, Danno, we’re just gonna check you over real quick,” Nightwing told him, bustling around the small space comfortably. Danny felt like he couldn't breathe at the nickname for some reason he couldn’t recall. But that wasn't right? Because he was pretty sure he didn't have to breathe, which is wrong because a human should be breathing, right? He raised a shaky hand to his chest and yep, it was definitely not moving. Danny had stopped breathing at some point without realizing and it wasn’t affecting him, which was weird. But he still hadn't stopped watching the gleaming silver taunting him as though the instruments would start moving on their own towards him. So, he couldn’t bring himself to care about his own unnaturalness. “Now, I'm not the one with a history of medical care and knowledge. I know more than most. but I’ve only got enough in this old noggin for some basic first aid. Agent A will be the one actually looking you over in a bit.”

Nightwing continued to chatter on, but Danny couldn't bring himself to focus on his words until the man stepped in front of the instruments, blocking them from Danny’s line of sight. He sucked in a sharp breath for the first time in minutes, but Nightwing didn’t act like he heard him as he reached over to remove Danny's jacket.

“Now, real quick I'm just going to do a surface check,” Nightwing rubbed Danny’s hands between his own rapidly. “Jeez kid, you're like an ice cube! We'll get you some warm clothes after we make sure you don't have any injuries. I'm gonna look for any bruises or cuts or anything broken so I can bring it to A's attention. Okay?”

Danny didn't respond. His eyes had started scanning the room and landed on a tiny centrifuge on the counter a few feet away. It looked off, it wasn't spinning at least, but the sight of it caused questions to blur in his mind. Were they going to take his blood? Why would they do that? Lots of reasons he knew, but couldn't name a single one. Why couldn’t he think of them? Would anything happen if they did take his blood? Why was he worried? Was there something that Danny should know, should remember, that he just couldn't? It was important, it had to be important! They were important, they were terrifying, they were his everything, they were his end–!

He felt his mind screech to a sudden halt, narrowing in on the blinking red light of the power button. The centrifuge just taunted him innocently as his mind panicked. Danny felt his chest going up and down, but his lungs still felt empty while his heart beat so fast he could feel it in his throat. He could hear his own heart beating.

What if he was some kind of monster behind his memories? What if Nightwing and Batman arrested him, handed him over to someone? No, no, no! He couldn't let them! He couldn't go back, not to that place or to them--they hurt him, there was no way he'd go back! Danny refused to be sent back to the—!

Suddenly his thoughts stopped. Danny felt light-headed, all of his questions still swimming in his mind, but not as loud. He felt…calmer, but not at the same time? Who was he thinking of? What was he about to remember?

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there? It's not normal for you to be so quiet.” A voice spoke next to him, low and anxious but Danny's mind didn't really register it was Nightwing. He just sat there, his limbs heavy and eyelids sinking in exhaustion. He's not sure why he's suddenly so tired, but he felt his mind drift to the thought of flying through the skies with a blue shape holding onto him tightly–laughter chasing them in the wind.

********************************

To say Dick was panicking would be an understatement…He was absolutely losing his shit. One minute, Danny was perfectly fine (if a little bit nervous) but the next he was dissociating and hyperventilating! But without the very important part where he breathes! His little chest was moving up and down rapidly, but there didn't seem to be any air coming in or out of the boy.

“Danny? Danny, bud, you alright there?” Dick smiled, hoping it was a bit comforting. “It's not like you to be so quiet.” He spoke in hushed tones, but hoped that his goading brought the boy back to his former spunk for even a moment and snap him out of his altered mental state. When he got no response out of it though, which worried Dick even more.

When Danny’s eyes had rolled back into his head and he passed out, just as Dick was reaching out for him? He felt his heart stop. But when Dick barely managed to catch the small boy before he fell off the cot? That was the final straw. He quickly cradled Danny in his arms and faced the main portion of the cave.

“Agent A! I need your help, come quick!”

A hurrying of footsteps alerted him to Alfred arriving, but after calling out for assistance, Dick's eyes never left Danny’s face. There was a clatter as Alfred hastily dropped the sandwich tray he had been carrying onto the counter, the older man stopping next to Dick with a distraught expression. “What has happened here?”

“I don’t know, one second he seemed fine and then he just stopped talking!” Dick reached a hand up to gently cradle Danny’s small face, turning his head up to look at his pseudo-grandfather. “I tried asking him a question and he just passed out all of a sudden.”

With a quick nod, Alfred took Danny from his arms and laid him down on his side. Dick couldn’t help but notice just how small the boy looked laying on the adult sized cot. His breathing was short and shallow–nothing like how it was supposed to be when someone was sleeping restfully.

“Get the oximeter set up on him, lad. We’ll need to take his temperature and get a baseline.” With a determined nod, the young man set off to do just that. As he clipped the small, child-sized plastic equipment Bruce kept in the med bay for whatever reason, Dick couldn’t help but run through what had happened prior to him absconding with Danny to the top of Wayne Tower. Did he notice anything wrong with the kid besides the obvious? Did Danny act like he was protecting a wound of any kind while they spoke? He had no idea, but he sure was some detective for not noticing. Dick scoffed at his own thoughts and rushed back to Alfred.

“Was there anything that might have happened to cause any kind of head injury to the young lad?” Alfred questioned as he slipped a thermometer under the unconscious boy’s tongue. He held it there, never looking away from his patient as he questioned Dick. “Any symptoms of a fever or cough that may indicate he is sick or suffering from an underlying issue?”

Dick shook his head, impatiently waiting for the oximeter to give him something. When it continued to show nothing, he felt his heart sink. “Not anything I was there for. The kid was dumpster diving when I found him…looking for food.” He closed his eyes, trying to recall what exactly had happened earlier that night. “He kept swaying around when I got close to him though, like he was exhausted or something but trying not to show it.”

Alfred hummed, pulling the thermometer from Danny’s mouth as it beeped a cheery tune. “His temperature is not where it should be, but not out of the question with the weather and how thinly he is dressed.” The butler gave a sharp nod, depositing the used thermometer off to the side and moving towards the blood draw station. “We’ll need to perform a blood panel on Mister Danny, it’s a very high possibility that his blood sugar is low, as well.”

Dick felt his shoulders deflate, glancing helplessly between the kid he knew he was getting attached way too fast to and his grandfather. “And what if his blood sugar isn't the problem we're having here? What if something else is going on?”

Alfred's eyes softened a little around the edges, his steps a little less hurried, though still confident nonetheless. “Then that is simply one diagnosis we will be able to remove from the realm of possibility. Now, please help me get Mister Danny cleaned up a bit. I daresay, we cannot have the child catching an infection from the street grime finding its way into an injection site.”

“Got it–okay.” Dick pushed his shaking hands to still as he hurried over to one of the cabinets alongside the walls. He opened the drawer housing the many rags they use in these types of situations, a box of alcohol wipes, and a small bucket he filled with water at the sink to take over to Danny’s bedside. Setting them all on the nearby mayo cart, he started gently scrubbing away the thick layer of filth coating the young boy’s arm until the skin turned near pink. Doing his best to not think about just what was happening, the vigilante cleaned up the young boy with Bat-trained efficiency.

“He’s ready,” Dick announced as he swiped an alcohol wipe repeatedly over the now-cleaned flesh. Alfred hummed as the older man wrapped a latex band around Danny’s upper arm, watching as the young boy’s veins slowly thickened with blood swelling. With a gentle precision, Alfred prodded around before reaching a hand out to press lightly above the tourniquet. Instinctively, Dick passed over a needle and syringe to him, keeping the empty tiger tubes in his palm until Alfred asked for them.

Just as the cool metal of the needle began to poke into Danny’s veins, the boy’s fist snapped out, almost knocking the empty tubes out of Dick’s hands. They were shocked enough by the response–both men startled more than they expected–that Dick found himself taking a half step back and Alfred was pulling the needle away from Danny's arm to ensure he didn't poke the boy in the wrong spot by accident.

“Danny?” Dick called out, his surprise hurriedly making way for relief. “Oh my, Danny! You scared me–” Snarling greeted his approach and instantly stopped Dick in his tracks. His arms were held up in an aborted hug as he watched Danny inch upwards and lean forward so his weight was supported by his wrists. It couldn't have been comfortable, but Dick wasn't sure if Danny even realized as his eyes remained tightly shut–lines appearing around them that made him seem so much older than his young age was.

Danny’s noises intensified when Alfred began to move again, the needle still held tightly within his right hand. Although they didn't open during all of this, Danny's eyes were trained on the gleaming silver as though it personally offended him. Dick’s gaze flitted between the two others for a moment before he had an idea.

Lowering himself a little so he wasn't too tall in this moment, settling into a crouched position that put him eye level with Danny, Dick took a deep breath. “Alfie, I need you to take a step back for me.”

The old butler raised a brow and did not move, keeping his eyes on Danny with continuous aborted attempts to reach the child. “Master Dick, I do not know what you are planning–”

“Sorry Alf, I just need you to trust me,” he held a hand out, interrupting the butler and accepting his consequences for later. “I've got an idea, but I need you to step back a little first.”

Alfred tsked in disapproval, but did as Dick asked and the young man watched as a little bit of tension left Danny's face. “Okay okay, now I need you to slowly lower the hand that’s holding the needle.”

“Now, really Master Dick.” Alfred didn't complain, but he made his displeasure known. “This young man is now my patient, so I must treat him. Would you please allow me?”

Dick resisted the urge to sigh. He felt like right now was not the best time to be arguing, it could only lead to Danny running from them, from him. Dick didn't know how he knew that probability, but he felt it in his very bones. Every second they wasted, he knew that it would lead to Danny running as fast as his small legs would take him.

“Alfred, please, I'm asking you to trust me right now,” he begged. Waving a hand at Danny’s current state as though to prove his point. “There's something happening, and I think that we need to follow Danny's lead here. If I know grunts and growls from B, then this is an angry or scared one. We have to step back, ok?”

Alfred glanced away from Danny long enough to stare into Dick's eyes and sigh under his breath (Dick didn't actually hear the noise, but he knew it happened). But without argument, he moved his arm down slowly, never letting go of the needle–but rather just removing it from Danny's direct line of sight. The snarls didn't completely disappear, but they lowered enough in volume that he could almost say the kid sounded like an old fridge humming to life for the first time in years.

Turning to the (obviously freaked out) child in front of him, Dick put on his best showman's smile for him. “Danno, it's okay, no one will hurt you.” There was no response, not that Dick thought there would be. “No one will ever touch you again without your okay on it, is that alright?”

A blank stare was the only reply Dick received, making his worry increase. He did his best to not show it, his smile steady and sure as he kept gently talking to the scared boy in front of him. “What’s got you all worked up? Must not like needles, huh, bud?” With the utmost caution, Dick slowly reached out a hand. When Danny’s snarling continued as before without raising in volume, the vigilante kept creeping closer and closer. “Needles are pretty scary. I used to hate getting shots, y’know? Batman would have to bribe me with ice cream to get me to do it.” Dick dropped his voice to a stage whisper as he gently touched Danny’s shaking arm. “He still has to bribe me, even if I’m not scared anymore. It gets me free ice cream, how could I say no to that?”

Alfred chuckled despite himself at Dick's words, no doubt remembering all the times he had to quell Dick's tantrums when he had to get all of his vaccinations after moving in. “It is true, Mister Danny. Master Nightwing was quite the rambunctious child and the main aggressor in Batman's multitude of gray hairs coming in early.”

Dick frowned at Alfred. He wasn't that bad growing up! But before he could protest his angelic childhood nature, he heard a quiet snort. Whipping his head back around from where he was about to defend himself to Alfred, Dick watched as the lines on Danny's face receded a bit and there was a tiny quirk to his lips.

Deciding sometimes it's better to join them than try and beat them, Dick moved forward. “Oh yeah, for sure, I was a total monster! There was this one time where Batman told me I couldn't go on patrol with him after I kept playing with Poison Ivy's plants,” Dick started in a hushed whisper, as though he were telling a secret. Danny leaned forward, his eyes still closed but not as tightly and he thought he could almost make out a sliver of color from them. “Well, I couldn't stand for that, of course! I was all of eight-years-old and totally knew better than Batman himself, so I went out anyway but in the opposite direction of his patrol. I figured if he didn't see me, he wouldn't know.” Dick shrugged casually, leaning back a bit with a faux-cocky smirk.

“How, pray tell, did that end up working out for you, Master Nightwing?” Alfred was smirking. That was never a good sign for any of them.

Dick looked away from the old butler, keeping Danny in his peripheral as he muttered. “I slipped on some ice that Mr Freeze had left on the ground and slid into the middle of traffic. Batman got a call from Gordon about ‘an extra traffic light the city didn't authorize’ and told him to come get me.” Dick pouted remembering how Bab's’ Dad kept chuckling at him the whole time Bruce gave him a silent lecture on the police station roof. “I was grounded from everything, not just patrol, for a month. A whole month!”

A small huff of laughter caught Dick’s attention, and he could see Danny’s shoulders lower from their tense position. Dick gave a quick glance over him, checking for anything wrong, and just seeing that the little boy was much more relaxed. Within seconds his little head was lolling around like it weighed more than he could handle. Dick jumped up and grabbed hold of Danny's shoulders before he could slump over and fall off the cot. With the same amount of caution one would use to approach a rabid dog, Dick slowly laid the once again unconscious child back down. He stayed still for a few tense moments, waiting for Danny to react negatively at the change in position. When there was no aggressive movement, he breathed a sigh of relief. Turning his head to face Alfred, he spoke in a hushed tone. “Maybe we don’t draw the kid’s blood just yet.”

“Master Nightwing, we need to find out what’s wrong with the young lad.” The old butler set the needle down on a nearby table, locking covered eyes with Dick’s own. “It could be something that needs immediate treatment.”

“Is there any way we could get that information without drawing a panicked child’s blood?” Dick hissed.

Eyes narrowing in displeasure, Alfred spoke with a sharp tone. “Master Nightwing, it would do you well to remember the manners Batman and I taught you.”

Dick sheepishly looked at the ground, mumbling out an apology. “But, A, c’mon. He clearly doesn’t like needles for some reason. Why don’t we just wake him up, or do some tests that don’t involve drawing his blood?”

Alfred twisted his lips in a way only the man himself could, eyes trained on Dick who was anxiously rubbing his hands together, waiting for an answer. When Bruce wasn't here, Alfred was in charge. (Aw, who was he kidding? Alfred was always in charge, but when Bruce isn't here the arguments are a lot easier).

“As you wish, I will view Mister Danny's current status without the transfer of biological tissue of any kind,” Alfred agreed easily, moving past Dick to properly dispose of the needle he had opened. “But I tell you this now sir, if there is an underlying health issue then I won't be able to do anything if his condition worsens in this situation. So I suggest coming up with an idea for when the young sir awakens.”

Dick nodded while feeling like groaning in misery. He barely knew the kid–how was he supposed to act as a health surrogate for this tiny child right now? The vigilante put his hands on his hips as he watched Alfred work, removing Danny's dirty outer clothing. Alfred’s facade broke for a second as he made a face at the two filthy, thin jackets covering the boy’s still covered arm and the ripped flannel around his waist. The old butler methodically cleaned every part of Danny's arms and face that were covered in dirt, and Dick watched in awe as the most adorable freckles appeared on his round baby cheeks. He needed to squish them and coo at the little boy right that second, having to use every ounce of Bat-trained restraint to not coddle the tiny human.

“Nightwing,” Dick took in a sharp breath, instinctually standing up straight. He hadn’t been expecting Bruce to be back to the Cave so soon, normally the man would stay out as late as possible on patrol. “Report, now.” Bruce's voice garnered no argument, a tone demanding answers. Dick knew that he probably had some kind of traumatic response reasoning or whatever for needing to know literally everything for a sense of control. But Dick had a traumatic response to fight at every turn when being spoken down to.

“Not now B, if you can’t tell there’s something going right now we’re a bit busy with,” Dick grit his teeth as he responded, unable to tear his eyes away from the laceration on the back of Danny’s left arm that Alfred had just uncovered. What could have made that? A kitchen knife perhaps? Dick wanted to get a closer look, but he knew he’d just be in Alfred’s way right now. “So if you could kindly fuck off until later, that would be great.”

“Language, young sir,” Alfred admonished him absently.

Dick felt his cheeks heat up, but didn’t move from his position in the doorway where he was watching everything that happened. He didn’t want Bruce coming close to Danny. “Sorry A, my bad.”

“Nightwing,” Bruce–no, Batman–intoned. Dick wanted to ignore the man. God, did he want to just flat out pretend he wasn’t there and focus on this tiny bundle of cuteness that filled him with a strong urge to protect said bundle from any and all harm.

But Batman was someone that couldn’t be easily ignored.

“What part of ‘not now’ do you not understand?” The younger vigilante quipped, trying to play the part of happy-go-lucky-Dick-Grayson everyone always seemed to expect from him. It was exhausting most of the time these days, but somehow easier to just fall into his assigned role than live with the anger brewing in his chest bit by bit.

“I don't have time for your remarks, Nightwing,” Batman scolded. At this point in his life, Dick can tell Bruce's frowns apart as well as he could the grunts. This was an ‘you are lucky you're my kid, otherwise I'd sock you in the jaw’ kind of frown. He didn't earn those too often, surprisingly. “You let an underaged civilian into the Cave without consulting me first. Explain your actions, now.”

Dick’s lips curled, snarling at Batman. “What I did was bring a scared, hurt little boy to a place that I knew would give him half-decent medical attention. It’s better than dropping him off at, I don’t know, Ma Gunn’s?” With an ugly type of satisfaction, he watched as the blow hit its mark. He could read Batman’s body language well enough by now to see the half-hidden wince, the slightest uptick of his shoulders. Hopefully it was enough to make Batman be Bruce for half a minute so they could have an actual conversation, rather than a screaming match.

“You're out of line, Nightwing,” Batman frowned, the creases in his mask deepening as he stalked towards Dick. A dark feeling wormed its way through Dick's chest. It was an awful thing that made him feel like a shit son for being cruel to the man who raised him, but also felt glad he could inflict just a little suffering back at Bruce for his emotionally constipated actions over the years. Dick felt sick at the words that just came out of him. “I suggest you stop now, and let me move past you.”

Dick jutted out his chin, shifting on his feet to broaden his stance and better block off the entry to the medical bay. “Absolutely not.”

The two stared each other down for a moment. Dick didn't move from his post, crossing his arms defiantly as Bruce tried to stand up to his annoyingly taller height in an act of intimidation. Too bad for him, it stopped working after the last time he betrayed Dick's trust, right before he abandoned the mantle of Robin that he had built.

“Nightwing, that was not a request but an order. Move now.” Bruce made to shoulder his way around Dick, but the younger’s lithe form moved to block him.

“I don’t care. I’m not letting you take a kid–who just fainted–out of this cave! He needs medical attention and Alfred’s the best of the best.” Dick argued defiantly. Maybe a little childishly too, if he had to admit it. Dick knew that Danny would do well to be treated properly in a hospital, but after what he witnessed in that room with hardly the basics in medical care? He wasn't letting that kid anywhere near a hospital without his consent right now.

“Alfred, while skilled, is not comparable to a trained doctor who can treat this child and get them the help he needs.” Bruce put his hand on Dick's shoulder and he roughly shoved it off, feeling the skin burn despite layers of kevlar and spandex separating them. “You are acting irrationally right now–”

“I don’t care, Bruce!” Dick shouted, shaking with a barely-contained rage. He felt his chest burning with it, unable to hold the words in and since there were no younger siblings or small children around (and awake), so he didn't stop them. “I don’t care that Alfred’s not a trained doctor. I don’t care that you’re so against this! What I care about is the fact that this little kid trusted me enough to bring him here, to get him help, when he very clearly does not trust anybody!” Dick moved, getting up in Bruce’s face as he went on his tangent. He was so fired up, he couldn't even notice Bruce's dominos widening in shock. “You should know better than anyone what it’s like to have a kid dropped right in front of you and know that you need to help! Hell, how many orphans have come through here, again?”

Dick huffed loudly, his breaths causing a slight mist in the damp cave as he watched Bruce process his words for a moment. The man barely moved the whole time Dick was ranting and he was honestly shocked he got out what he did without Bruce shutting him up. Or Alfred complaining about how they were disturbing his patient.

“Exactly, Dick,” Bruce agreed. But his voice was low and dangerous, the tone he saved for when he was incredibly angry. Dick only ever heard it when the man was facing Joker or The Riddler after their antics affected large groups of people and led to deaths. “I have seen multiple orphans walk through this manor and through this cave. I have watched as you were consumed by rage and tried to avenge your family with your small hands, still growing as you filled these halls with so much sorrow it couldn't fit in a tiny body.” Bruce's fists clenched at his sides. “I watched as you followed in my footsteps, becoming Robin and channeling your anger before just leaving everything behind. I couldn't stop you.”

Bruce jutted his chin out, the vein in his neck popping as he remembered Dick's younger years. “I watched as…as Jason, so filled with hatred and rage entered the manor. He hid his food and tried to protect himself even when no one was coming after him, and then he took over Robin. He was the happiest I had seen him in those days,” Bruce's voice quieted some, but the steel in his tone grew sharper. “Then I watched as he died. He died because he was Robin, because I took him in.”

Bruce pointed at Dick suddenly, and the accusatory finger felt so strong he took a step back in surprise. “Tim was not one I expected, and I tried to push him away for his own good. He'd have been better off not being Robin for his own sake. Even a life lived like his could have become better than the one he has now, risking his life on the streets when he could be at home developing film or skateboarding with friends. A normal life, without the mission,” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dick, I know what it's like to see an orphan child and want to help them, of course I do. But sometimes, even with good intentions, there are people who want to help but in hindsight probably shouldn't. They could end up making the child's life even worse, completely without trying.”

The guilt that Dick had been feeling washed out in a seething tsunami of fury. All throughout Bruce’s speech, the acrobat felt regretful over what he said to Bruce. Maybe the man actually understood how fucked up his relationships with his kids were? He was mentally debating how to apologize to him for what was said and move forward, maybe turn this into an actual conversation for once. Yet, Bruce's words at the end gave him pause. He made some points Dick could find himself agreeing to in other circumstances, but to say that he shouldn’t be around Danny? Because he would make the kid’s life worse? That's just catastrophizing and projecting his own guilt onto Dick!

“I want you to think about how old you were when you took me in, Bruce.” Dick said, slowly and clearly as he stalked closer to his father-figure. “You were only twenty-two. Fresh out of traveling the world, leaving behind all your responsibilities to start out on your own quest to avenge your parents. To lead a one-man crusade against all the bad things this screwed up city has to offer.” The younger man glared up at Bruce, hoping that he was communicating just how royally pissed off he was. “I’m two years older than you were. I have a full-time job as well as having a normal life outside of the suit. I have decent relationships with my co-workers and I have not only successfully led teams, but I have been fighting towards The Mission for most of my life. I have friends inside and out of being a vigilante who would be more than happy to help me if I asked them to. And, unlike someone I know, I would actually ask.”

Dick shook his head bitterly. He felt the insane urge to laugh right now, but none of this was funny. He knew that.

“I know I can take Danny under my wing and raise him well. I have a great example of what not to do, after all. But, what happened to the one kid you ever bothered to actually adopt, Bruce? Where is he now? Would you say that being under your care made his life even worse?” They both knew he was talking about himself, but Dick wanted Bruce to say the words he was always afraid to admit out loud about their relationship.

Dick felt a sick sort of satisfaction still though at seeing Bruce's shoulders shake minutely. There was not a lot that could rattle the man, but bringing up the mistakes he made raising his kids would always do it--you just had to know what signs to look for. If Jason had been here for this, or even Tim, they probably would have tried to stop their fight before it got to this point. His brothers never enjoyed being around him and Bruce at times like these, but it still made him feel awful in a way to speak to Bruce like this. But he was so upset at the situation he couldn't bring himself to care.

He barely managed to dodge the swing Bruce tossed his way, ducking down to his haunches as the man pushed his weight forwards. Sliding around his legs, Dick hooked himself around Bruce's ankle to bring the bigger vigilante down, but Bruce only stumbled a bit. Dick tumbled a few feet away and popped back up, lowering himself into a half-crouched stance in case Bruce came towards him again. But he didn't, Bruce just stood in the entry of the doorway, huffing like an angry bull as he whipped his cowl off and turned burning blue eyes onto Dick.

He peeked around the man's wide shoulders at Alfred, who stood in the background like a sentinel over Danny's quiet form resting on the bed. Somehow the kid was still asleep through all of the noise. If he weren't facing Bruce, Dick would laugh at the sight of the kid’s slack jaw and an ever growing puddle of drool under his chin.

“You have no right to talk about situations you don't understand, Dick,” Bruce ground out, his voice gravelly with the emotions he never let out. “The choices I made were–”

“Really shitty?” Dick quipped as he rose from his crouch. “Because, yes. They were, I agree.”

“They were the best choices I could make at the time,” Bruce corrected, lines deepening on his face and aging the man even more. “I was young and I had a child dropped into my lap–”

“More like yoinked from the cops, but go on.” Dick shrugged at the man, body language loose but his nerves were shot now that he was further from Danny. “Keep digging that hole B, maybe soon it'll be big enough to fit you.”

“Nightwing, stop this now–” Bruce started to lecture. But the step backwards he made caused Dick to snap. He was too close to Danny and Dick was too far. He had to protect!

“No! This isn't Batman and Nightwing time B,” Dick began marching forward, fists trembling in front of him with each step. “This is Dick and Bruce, man and ward time. You and I are talking, it is not you giving me orders!”

Stopping in front of his father-figure, Dick looked him dead in the eyes. Blue met blue. Frown met frown. He stood up to Batman who was keeping him from the child his heart had already claimed.

“So how about we talk, old man?”

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manic-poetry-lover · 19 days ago

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I watch it on the screen, eyes enchanted and mouth agape.

The image of the body on the ground fills me with such strange elation, what is this feeling?

Like a clawing in my abdomen. Crackling.

I watch the woman with glittering garnish dangling from her ears and around her throat, decorating her succulent fingers, as she proclaims what a heinous thing this was. How she can’t understand the shooter’s motive.

I am puzzled, shooter’s motive? Surely she is not that big of a fool? Surely there is more meat in her skull than that?

I watch the papers plastered to the poles, offering $10,000 for information, I shiver in the thin coat of wishes as I read. I ponder how many dinners I could purchase with money like that. I lick the ink from the tree’s corpse, hoping it tastes like frosting. It tastes like stale.

There is an urge. An urge to bite, to gnaw, to chew, to swallow. I feel this urge to squeeze it between my fingers and drink the juices that fall, like oranges that trickle sparkling sugars, need only a peeling.

And I look at the face of the shooter, and his face is like mine. He buys a granola bar to satiate something inside him. I would bury a knife in a man’s chest for something to eat right now.

The need grows inside me, like an animal. It is feral and evil and dauntless. It will bite and crunch on anything it can wrap its jaws around. I feel it begin to ache.

And I see a man, brought on a silver tray with wheels and an Aston Martin logo, proclaim what a heinous act this was. His tie tugged right around his throat, the color of saucey red.

And I see another man, between his meaty fingers is a Arturo Fuente cigar that circles his body and smokes his fleshy exterior. And he cries out how the jokes are not funny, blowing out another cloud to finely dry age his insides.

And I see a woman with arms so delicate, the heaviest thing she’s ever lifted was shopping bags and investment portfolios. Her muscles are tender like veal and her skin glows with cosmetic butteriness as she denounces those of us who made t shirts to afford rent that quarter.

The crackling louder now. It growls. I stumble and fall, faint and dizzy. Like my insides will cave in only in mere moments and I will lick up the debris for hopes of feeling even just slightly less hungry-

Yes… *Hunger*. That is what I feel.

I am hungry, and as I look at my neighbor, I see his sunken in cheeks. I see his withered hands, and I see his teeth sharp and pointed.

I look at my friend, I see her half lidded eyes trained on the fatty rolls of their necks. I see her smelling herbs and spices to pair with pork.

I look in the mirror and I see a ghost. I see ribs and dull flesh, and I lick my lips as I stare at the poster.

I am hungry, I say.

They will be angry, tell us it is our fault. To work harder. Work longer. To invent using imagination as tools and debt as material. To form using dust as building blocks and air as our assets.

My neighbor, my friend, and I glance at one another. The world around us glance between hungry faces and starving bellies. We smile, having found our dinner.

And when we have them pinned to the butchering block, they will ask why we blame them.

And we will say, with licked lips-

Are you shocked that our mouths begin to water?

When you went and fattened yourself for the slaughter?

#deny defend depose #united healthcare

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vilebird · 7 months ago

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FUNERAL AFTER A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

a painting of a pale sky and bright blue sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented the right way. - Day, by Frederick Judd Waugh

"and the man looks me in the eyes and he points to the blue-orange vault over heaven's gates and he says the face of everyone you miss is up there and i know i know i can't see them but i know" - And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes, by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

"i've cut myself off. i can feel the place / where i used to be attached. it's raw, as when you grate / your finger. it's a shredded mess / of images. it hurts." The Door, by Margaret Atwood

"i found you / i found the door / but when i stepped through / there was no floor" I want you, by Mitski

a still from a video of a bright setting sun against a dark orange sky and dark blue sea, with the caption "don't cry" - The Green Ray (1986)

"i feel dead. / i feel as if i were the residue of a stranger's life" - The Lost Pilot, by James Tate

"the shuddering moan of blood, a song to calm the sacrificial, the loss across the river. the way a dying animal will look at you is seared into me. we tie together and all over again." - i cant remember what this one is sorru

"i am feeling numb. it's a curious feeling, and i get it all the time. my attention to the world around me disappears, and something starts to hum inside my head. far off, voices try to bump up against me, but i repel them. my ears fill up with water and i focus on the humming inside my head. / i am inside my skull. it is a little cave, and i curl up inside it. below it, my body hovers, unattached." - Madness: A Bipolar Life, by Marya Hornbacher.

"-though we're dry and waiting. part of me died here so another could go on. the body i raised-" - When They Say you Can't Go Home Again What They Mean is You Where Never There, by Marty McConnell

text: "there'll always be a few things / maybe several things/ that you're gonna find / really difficult to forgive" image: a black silhouette of a minotaur sitting on top of a pale pillar rising out of a pale maze, looking out at an orange sunset over an empty desert beyond the walls of its maze. the text is black letters on white pasted in strips over top. - Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats and Minotauro by Jordi Garriga Mora. collage put together by @scatterghosts

"i know there are things i haven't survived." - Lord of the Butterflies, by Andrea Gibson

"it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge. who did you come back for?" - White is for Witching, by Helen Oyeyemi

a painting of a bright white bird on a background split between dark blue and black - Promised Land (2013), by Michael Creese

"and with or without your support, i will continue / what im trying to say is you never know what you've been through / til you pause and cough it out" - Cough It Out by The Frontbottoms

"painting all the mirrors black / i won't see you staring back / i'm getting lost forever / searching in the broken glass / trying to ignore the past / and put myself together" - Mirrors by 8 Graves

"saint calvin told me not to worry about you / but he's got his own things to deal with / there's really just one thing we have in common: / neither of us will be missed" - Saint Bernard by Lincoln

"so many bright lights to cast a shadow / but can i speak? / well, is it hard understanding / that i'm incomplete?" - Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

"being in a completely normal nonthreatening scenario & environment and thinking 'i have GOT to get the fuck out of here' with the intensity of some trapped neurotic prey animal" - tumblr post by user @greelin

"but you know me / what can't i conjure into hysteria / and longing? / any place is a funeral as soon as i get there. / of course i'm the disaster / but you're the one foolish enough / to learn my name." - The Next Time We Talk on Facebook, by Clementine von Radics

"if your wounds are still open, trust / they are the doors to an answer, / and walk through." - You Better Be Lightning, by Andrea Gibson

text: "what a tremendous thing to learn from" image: black text on white strips across a blue-orange gradient - i forgot this one too sory

"when the body remembers, it bucks wildly / when we try to heal, the phantom smell returns / while in the shower, you break down / while you wash your body you realise it is not your body / and at the same time, it is the only body you have" - Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head, by Warsan Shire

"that was the thing. you never got used to it, the idea of somebody being gone. just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking." - The Truth About Forever, by Sarah Dessen

"the spirit is so hurt / it don't know the / body / it / looks in / the mirror / and asks, who is it?" - On/My/Aging, by Carolyn Marie Rodgers

"could we sit together in new bodies, shoulder to tender / shoulder, / the lovely and the thorned, the bitter and the failed, / the grave to the left of us, the sea to the right?" - 8, Always a Rose, by Li-Young Lee

"the fact of the matter is / you survived, / it's what you do. / death and you / walk side by side / all sigh and scythe / you stay alive. / and you have the right / but struggle to believe. / you're still allowed / to be alive. / it feels inappropriate." - It's What You Do, by Lena Oleanderson @lena-oleanderson

a painting of a bright orange sky at sunset, sun nowhere to be seen, over a pale sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented upside down. - Night, by by Frederick Judd Waugh

#webweaving #webweave #web weaving #poems #spilled ink #collage #litstack #axed title: i cant tell if surviving was the better option #wtf else did i tag this shit

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luffington · 7 months ago

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Hello!! Hope you’re having a wonderful day!! I wanted to request something uwu

I’m currently obsessed with Bartolomeo, I was wondering if you could write something for him. Like him talking about how beautiful and wonderful is lover is to the strawhats and of course Sanji has to be the jealous one and be like “you have a girlfriend? please who would date you?”

And suddenly reader appears and smacks the shit out of Sanji uwu

// could the reader be a female gothic girl pls 👉🏻👈🏻

➤ pairing: bartolomeo x reader

➤ word count: 602

➤ warnings: none

hiii i'm sorry i took so long to get to this! barto is so silly i love him too <3 i did bullet points instead of a full story i hope that's okay!

(also this seems like a sanji hit piece i'm so sorry)

Bartolomeo always goes over the top with his dedication to someone so he's fucking OBSESSED with you. Sure, he's not the most classically romantic boyfriend ever, but he makes up for it with how much raw love he has for you.

But you need to accept very early on in your relationship that the Straw Hats are his number one priority. He obviously loves you too (in a very different way) but Luffy always comes first.

Most of the time you think his fixation on them is pretty cute - a feared and vicious pirate who goes soft for a tiny reindeer. You haven't met the crew in person yet, but from the stories Barto tells you about them, it seems like they take advantage of his kindness sometimes. He doesn't see it that way, though, and brushes off your concern.

The next time he sees the Straw Hats, he excitedly tells them about you - not to brag (bc who is he to brag to his idols?) but to combine his two favorite things. He adores you all so much so of course he should include you!

That man can ramble for HOURS so he starts by explaining how you met in way too much detail (Luffy falls asleep two minutes into the story) and then expresses how beautiful and perfect and incredible you are.

Sanji ignores Barto until he starts describing your physical appearance, and then he sees red. There's absolutely no way a creep like him could pull a girl as gorgeous as he claims you are. He accuses Barto of making up a fake girlfriend to impress them, or at the very least, greatly exaggerating what you look like.

You're lurking nearby, enchanted by the way your boyfriend describes you but not wanting to interrupt his time with his idols. Of course Sanji's comments infuriate you.

You wait to see if he would finally defend himself, but unsurprisingly, he immediately caves to Sanji. He insists that you're real as gently as he can, trying his hardest to appease the cook. He couldn't live with himself if a Straw Hat was angry at him.

That's when you finally step in and smack Sanji on the back of his head, hard enough to almost knock the cigarette out of his mouth. Barto's eyes pop out of his skull and he fucking screams, shocked that you would dare to hurt someone as strong and incredible as him.

(But he's secretly very happy that you get Sanji to stop harassing him and fuck does he love you.)

Sanji whips his head around, ready to curse out whoever the fuck smacked him but he immediately stops. Absolutely horrified that he was ready to kick the shit out of a beautiful woman.

The blonde was about to embarrass himself with dumb pickup lines, but you rush over to Barto and cling to his arm, calling him 'honey' and nuzzling against his shoulder.

"This is, uh, who I was talking about," your boyfriend says shyly, with bright red cheeks and a dreamy expression. Sanji's face immediately falls and Luffy bursts into laughter.

Luffy-senpai likes you!! He can finally breathe again and he returns your affection by throwing his arms around you and pulling you into a tight hug.

Later that night, when you're back on his ship and lying in his shared bed, he confesses that sometimes he also thinks you're not real. He doesn't deserve the love of someone as wonderful as you.

So you smack him this time and tell him to get out of his head, stop being so corny and cuddle you already.

#somehow writing fluff is more embarrassing than writing smut #request #pinejayy #mine #my fics #bartolomeo x reader #bartolomeo imagine #bartolomeo #one piece imagine #one piece x reader

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envy-of-the-apple · 10 months ago

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Oh my god I’m obsessed with all your fics, I think my two favorites are the jjk!naga and ms. Moon. I would love it so much if you made a fanfic of the naga!satosugu x reader on ao3(with rizz). Speaking of those two goofballs I have some questions😋🎀

STW:

So how did Satoru and Suguru act when reader didn’t understand their language and only spoken a language they never heard before (English)?

How does Satoru and Suguru act when reader disappears randomly (trying to escape). Do they just like instantly know or do they think she’s doing something else?

NSFW:

How tf does it even work, do they just give her some venom and hope for the best orrr is it one man at a time😈

How’s the aftercare?

Those are just 4 (I think) questions I came up with at 3 am and I’ll probably have more so thank for making that juicy fanfic bc now I can’t get it out of my head😭

ahhhh thank you!!!!!!onto answering your questions:

It does take them a while to figure out that you are speaking a different language. I think at first they'd be like 'oh, so the squishy little thing is kinda stupid' then, they realize that you don't have the right parts to mimic what they're saying. Eventually, they start out with basics, repeating the stuff you seem to say a lot. I think the first time Satoru manages to repeat 'hello' you get really giddy and excited and so will he and his willingless to learn just increases exponentially after that. Suguru will follow in suit, not wanting his mate to be the only person to make you laugh.

Once the language barrier starts to fade and they start actively calling you theirs, you'd obviously reject their claim because they are two giant snake men and you wanna go home. They obviously won't like that and are just like 'well if you dont want us, the least we can do is keep you with us forever, right?'. After that, you'd be strictly kept in the cave. Eventually, you'd be able to go back outside again, once they've gotten it into your skull that you are never leaving.

im not answering the nsfw part cuz idk how it works either LMAO but for the venom, they learn pretty quickly that they have to be careful with it. The first time, you were bitten was by Suguru (see pt2). He was already careful, giving you less than half than what he gives Satoru but you were still out cold for days. I do think that your reaction will scare them out of using it for a couple more weeks but eventually, they'll start giving you doses if you start lashing out too much. I think Suguru would be more responsible with the dosage, never really giving in unless you start doing something that will put you in danger. Satoru would be more than happy to bite you at any small grievance. They definitely get into fights about that, but even Suguru admits that you are cute when you're loopy and dozing peacefully in their arms.

#yandere #yandere jjk #dark gojo satoru #dark content #dark jjk #yandere gojo satoru #naga au #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #top of the food chain

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theredofoctober · 9 months ago

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Runt: an Omni-Man x Gender Neutral Reader Darkfic

TW: noncon, violence, blood, humiliation/verbal degredation

Synopsis: Reader's mother, the superhero Firebright, has gone into hiding. Omni-Man brutally interrogates Reader as to her whereabouts.

Reader is a Young Adult, Gender Neutral, appearance not specified

Read after the cut

✂️ ✂️ ✂️

"Where is your mother?"

There is something wrong with Omni-Man, frigidity in the barrens of his pale eyes. He stands at the door like an omen of shadows to come, his bulk filling its narrow confines immovably.

You gaze up at him, and the ice of his derision glares back.

“I asked you a question,” says Omni-Man. “Where is Firebright?”

His air of perpetual and mildly pompous congeniality has fallen away from him, perhaps had never truly been.

He's a stranger, now, come to your house with some hard purpose.

"My Mom?" you repeat, faintly. "She's out cleaning up after some crime, I think. I don't really know."

A lie, which you had promised you’d keep, come what may.

Your mother, a heroine of fire-wielding prowess, has informed you that she must go into hiding, from who or what threat she wouldn't say. You’d believed—without knowing its source—in that danger.

Now Omni-Man is at your door, and you think again of your mother's hands, how they had trembled. How thin she’d looked, and how afraid.

"I'm sorry, Nolan," you mumble. "I don't know when Mom’ll be back. She didn’t tell me."

"I don't believe that's true," says Omni-Man, and he steps forward, extending an arm to prevent you from closing the door against him. "I need you to tell me where she is immediately."

His face is handsome and severe, the jaw like a pane of white glass. The tension in it speaks of unshed violence and disdain, of loathing kept like a spider in an upturned jar, poised on release.

Fear draws you down in its dizzying pulse, and suddenly you're quite glad that your mother kept her location from you, that you can’t spit it out even under duress.

"I have no idea, really, I don’t," you say, and Omni-Man steers you back across the living room, his cloak whisking the backs of his thighs like a wind of blood. "Nolan, please. I swear I can't help you. What’s happening right now?"

You’re up against a wall, vulnerable and so very human. Unlike your parents, you’ve never developed powers of any kind to protect you or those you love, and Omni-Man knows it.

He’s been good friends with your mother since you were young, and has long comforted her with the suggestion that your abilities might one day arise. You’ve been no more a threat to this man than a moth to the devil, and yet you’d never once feared him, till now.

"Ellen must have given you some way to contact her," says Omni-Man, his mouth a joyless line beneath his moustache. "Call her immediately. Stop wasting my time with your blabber."

"I don't understand,” you say, avoiding the order. “Is something wrong?"

A gloved fist strikes the wall above your head, shaking down fragments of plaster upon you. Thinking how simply your skull might have bowed into a cave of bone beneath such pressure you cry out, a sound entirely too feeble to be called a scream.

Omni-Man looms over you, his eyes the blue of long dead flesh.

"Stop asking questions about things that have nothing to do with you. Either you hand Firebright over, or I show you what happens to those that get in my way."

There is, in a drawer in the house, a remote you could press, for the times in which your mother is otherwise unreachable. You could go to it, call her back from whatever bunker protects her from harm.

But as Omni-Man's stare bores through your anguished expression you understand, with a chilling clarity, that he means to kill your mother, and that only your stance against him preserves her life.

Gulping, you say, "Whatever you think my Mom did, she couldn't have done it. You know her, you're her friend, Nolan—"

Omni-Man’s fist grinds into the wall, his arm cutting through it to the shoulder.

"Don't use my name as though you mean anything to me, you pathetic, powerless runt. Look at the way you turned out: a snivelling weakling, not even a spark at your fingertips. No wonder your father left. You’re a disgrace to him and your mother. I'd be ashamed to have you as my child.”

Only shock halts the tears that burn behind your eyes, a wounded magma.

"Please don't say that to me,” you whisper. “I— I've always looked up to you. I love you, Nolan."

For a moment you think you see a flash of the old, kind feeling across Omni-Man’s chiselled features.

Almost at once it dies away.

"Too bad,” he says. “I don't love you, brat. Now tell me how to find your mother before I rip you into pieces."

Putting your hands on Omni-Man’s chest, you gaze up at him with beseeching eyes.

"Nolan, Nolan, tell me what happened. I’ll help you figure it out. Whatever it is, I know Mom had nothing to do with it."

Something of your gentle touch, your cringing innocence, provokes him.

"Alright,” snaps Omni-Man. “You had your chance."

In a spurt of nauseating speed he drags you upstairs by a sudden grip on your throat, your breath smacked from your lungs as you hit your bed and roll across it, head over heels, like a fallen acrobat.

Omni-Man looks about him, scoffing at your room’s dated, childish decor, the tattered stuffed animals still poised in glassy-eyed rows on your dresser.

"No wonder you don't have any powers,” he sneers. “You're stunted in every way."

His hand makes a lariat of your shirt collar, briefly throttling you until your feet kick out in twitching throes. Then he rends the cloth down the middle, repeating the act on your lower garments before you’ve enough air to protest.

You’re so stunned that you don’t think to cover yourself, only stare, jaws parted, hot from cheek to toe with shame, with horror.

A beating was the furthest you’d expected from the interrogation: the intent behind the night cliffs of eyes upon you seems, even now, quite impossible, an absurdity plucked from some sticky summer dream.

"No,” you say— you speak in a low, flat sort of murmur, as you’d address a beloved dog that turns and shows its teeth. “Omni-Man, please, please, you're like family. You can't do this to me.”

"Of course I can,” he snaps. “And I'm going to do it over and over until you tell me where Firebright is. Daily, if I have to. I'll break you down until you're no better than a drooling animal. Not that you're so far from that now."

A devastated moan spills from your tight throat as Omni-Man leans over you, his pale suit straining across his bulk. He pauses with his face close to yours, every vein in his eyes standing out like streaks of flame.

"Now, talk,” he says. “I don’t want to waste any more time here than I have to.”

Tears make glazed glass of your cheeks as you turn your face aside, unable to look at him any longer.

"This isn't like you, Nolan."

Omni-Man’s mouth is a razor’s wound across his white teeth when he answers.

"This is more me than you'll ever know."

He pins you to the bed with an abrupt and frightening strength, opening the groin of his suit with his other hand to jerk the flesh that rises through it.

"What about Debbie?" you blurt out, and Omni-Man stills, a red glove closed over the throbbing evidence of his anger.

"Don't talk about my wife!" he barks. “You’re not worthy.”

Your eyes return to his face, drawn to its savage rictus in wretched fascination. How long has Omni-Man—the husband, the father, the friend—been so twisted with this private hatred for you?

Interpreting the question from your fearful look, he answers, his hand still at work on his cock.

"I always knew you had an embarrassing crush on me. Following me around every event with puppy dog eyes, always asking if there was anything you could do for me. Degrading yourself at every turn. Laughable.

“And I ignored you. Debbie made jokes about you. Even then I knew you were just a fragile, weak-willed child, craving the adoration your father never gave you."

"Stop it,” you say, inching back across the bed on the heels of your palms. “Stop it!"

A hand traps your ankle, snatching you back under the colossus of your new enemy. His body is a cage of rigid musculature, even the smallest tendon able to kill.

"You brought this on yourself by defying me,” says Omni-Man. “Did you think I'd just walk away when you refused me information? Take pity on you?"

"Nolan—"

He cuts you off with a blow that near claims your sight in its ferocity.

"You whine like an infant. Why didn’t you ever grow up?”

You’re still attempting to process the pain across your eye socket as Omni-Man forces your legs apart around him, handling the joints with scornful disregard of their mortal delicacy.

“Where is Firebright?” asks Omni-Man again, and you can only shake your head, mumbling in a breathless stream of false denial.

“I don’t know, I don’t remember where she said she was going—”

Omni-Man’s lip curls in bald disbelief.

“Oh, sure. Well, let’s see how much you remember now.”

Your attacker opens you to him with rough, clothed fingers, tearing tight flesh ajar up to the knuckles, three of them deep. He draws them in and out of your hole like a blade across a whetstone, watching you flail and gibber beneath his merciless use with a stern and unflinching malice.

Then, as you scream Omni-Man’s name in abandoned repetition, he rallies his member to its furthest solidity and runs you through, all agony and annihilation, and you think as he does it that you may well die of his rage.

The floorboards moan with his rutting, its obscenity a crime of war. This is as much a degradation of Earth’s piteous race as a whole as of your person, your naked flesh symbolic of that which many alien societies covet to rule or else destroy.

That any human being has borne this and lived seems miraculous, yet you know it has been done and enjoyed for Debbie Grayson to stand by him. To love him.

You cry out, aware as you do so that you’ll only invite further pain.

“Really,” mocks Omni-Man. “I’m barely trying to hurt you. If I did, I'd rip you in half.”

In a jolt of violence he drags you up against a wall, the friction skimming a leaf of skin from your back as he stabs deeper in. Your breath comes in asthmatic chokes, punched from your chest by the very force of his fucking.

Some wet stream warms your thigh, of what matter you don’t care to know.

“Give me the name of your mother’s location or I keep on going,” says Omni-Man. “You’re already bleeding. Your feeble body surely can’t take much more.”

His cock is a farrier’s tool, cutting with its every wrenching motion. Its length and girth alone would make you weep, but it is his wielding of it that is a thing of horror to you.

You feel Omni-Man’s hands shut about your wrists, testing the fragility of the bone.

“Aren’t you even going to fight me?” he taunts. “Go on. Show me what you’ve got in you, if anything at all.”

Closing your eyes, you try with all the force of strength and concentration in you to summon the flame you’ve long envied in your mother, and have never once achieved.

There is nothing, nothing, still, only an icicle of sweat down your brow.

Omni-Man laughs shortly, pulling you further up across the wall in another volley of thrusts.

“Just as I thought,” he comments. “Wasted genes.”

As he lets go of your arms you throw one of them forward in a weak strike across your attacker’s cheek. A mite star of fire bolts from your palm, and you yelp in both fear and surprise at the sight of it, at the thought of retribution to come.

Omni-Man rubs his face, which remains, as expected, quite unmarked.

“Is that it?” he asks. “You’re barely warm.”

“I’m not a superhero,” you cry out, as he returns to his mean handling of your body. “I’m just a human, okay? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

The blue eyes, once so lovely to you, roll in disgust.

“Of course there is. You could have been so much more. Take a look at yourself.”

Omni-Man flies you to your floor-length mirror, yanking your head back so that you might see yourself split apart on his atrocity.

How small you look, a flailing rag against the beast's taut muscle. His cock works in and out of you with the efficiency of some extra-terrestrial vehicle on a jaunt that will not end.

The sound of it is slick, explicit.

“You’re lucky that this is what I’m doing to you when I’m capable of so much worse," says Omni-Man, watching you arrogantly in your reflection.

“This is wrong,” you insist. “This isn’t you, Nolan.”

“I’m a Viltrumite,” snaps Omni-Man, and he flattens you to the bed again with a force that snaps the frame beneath it. “This is what my people are. You should be on your knees, thanking me for sparing your life.”

He turns you onto your belly, snarling as he stabs through your form from behind.

“This is the last time I’ll ask before I really injure you,” he says. “Where's Firebright?”

Only the lasting thought that you must save your mother from something more awful than this prevents you from delivering his answer.

Omni-Man grips you by the throat until your eyes stream and your pain barks from between your lips in a coughing spume of blood.

In frantic hope you turn one hand backwards, thinking to strap his hips in a band of fire.

“You think you can hurt me?” asks Omni-Man, squeezing your forearm until you sob and relent. “I don’t feel a thing. This is more humiliating than if you were entirely without powers. What use are you to your planet?”

“Nolan,” you croak. “I’m begging you to stop this.”

Somewhere in the catastrophe of sensation there is the start of pleasure, your body’s weary attempt to salve its bullied entrance. You lie quite stiff and still, praying that in doing so you won’t provoke that last ruination into being.

“You know how to end this,” says Omni-Man. “But perhaps this is what you prefer: to be shown your place by your superior. If I’d done this a year ago you would have presented yourself to me, ready and willing to be of use.”

To your despair his hand ventures to your tortured sex and makes full display of his knowledge. His strokes are coarse, efficient, in time to his cock’s quick barbarity. You smell cologne, and the fabric of his suit, and hair oil; your nose, your throat, is full of him.

Perhaps your soul will absorb his evil too, through osmosis.

Clenching your teeth across your tongue you steer back the piteous little whines his taunting abuse of your weakness brings.

“Part of you is still willing, I see,” Omni-Man comments. “Let’s see how long it can hold out against me.”

You cry, and hiss, and squeeze shut your fists until the stench of smoke greys the air between you. Still your orgasm is wrenched out on hand and cock like an eldritch birth, another plundered reward for his collection.

“Barely a minute,” jeers Omni-Man. “And all that mess. How humiliating.”

He ponders, hips grinding against yours with the approaching threat of his own end.

One of his fists arcs back your skull, forcing your tear-raw eyes to his again. What was handsome in him now seems only the frightful visage of a warlord, all pillage and pursuit of valour.

“I’m responsible for you finally developing your abilities,” says Omni-Man. “Why don’t you thank me for it?”

You stare up at him in terror and distress, your tongue swollen to near uselessness at the roof of your mouth. Omni-Man’s hand slams beneath your chin, pinching some nerve there until your vision blisters into an abomination of light.

Through blood-stringed teeth you answer.

“Thank you, Omni-Man.”

“You’re welcome, runt,” he leers, and with a gloved palm against your gut he flattens you to him, having you feel every pulse of his triumphant finish within you.

He holds you there for some time, your bare, bloody back staining the white of his suit and complimenting the red. You daren’t roll out from under him, remain, panting shallowly, adhered to your attacker by his spend.

His moustached lips scuff the back of your neck, more threatening than intimate.

“I’ll find Firebright,” he says, “whether you tell me where she is or not. But next time I drop by I expect you to be more talkative. Do you understand?”

---

Tagging @hewwokitti3 so you can find this 😇

Part 2 is now up

#omni man fic #omni man x reader #omni man #tw noncon #tw violence #tw blood #verbal degradation #darkfic #nolan grayson x reader #nolan grayson

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ataliagold · 6 months ago

Text

He Loves My Heart Shaped Sunglasses

For @astrangersummer week 11 prompt 'sunglasses.' Title from Every Man Has His Wish by Lana Del Ray.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: G

W/C: 939

Tags: Established Steddie, Steve has migraines, comfort, fluff, Eddie takes care of Steve, summer, Steve and Robin are soulmates

Summary: Steve's at a barbeque with his friends when he's hit with the painful consequences of too much sun.

___

Steve dreads summer, sometimes.

While there are parts of it he loves – long days by the pool with Robin and Eddie, the light hanging around for longer in the evenings but softer than the harsh light of midday, the kids biking everywhere so he didn’t have to chauffeur them around every damn day – he also hates other aspects of it.

The heat, for example, when it rises above pleasant into just uncomfortable and makes his head start to throb.

The noise of kids shrieking, of dogs barking at the park, of grills sizzling and music blasting from somewhere in the neighbourhood as everyone seemed to take advantage of the warmer weather all at once – it all added to the pain building behind his eyes.

But it was the bright sunlight that caused him the most grief sometimes, that made him squint and wince until pain lanced in his skull. Sunglasses helped a bit but he’d left them behind today - had only realized when he’d been most of the way here and he hadn’t wanted to turn around, hadn’t wanted to be late and worry Eddie because he could get through one damn day without them, right?

Now, he’s leant over the bench in the Munsons’ new and improved trailer, trying to let the coolness of the surface leach into his skin. He’s tempted to press his face to it too, try to stop the migraine building behind his eyes in its tracks.

He knows it won’t work.

Gripping the edge of the bench tight enough to make his fingers ache, he grinds his teeth, frustrated. Up until this point he’d been ok, had really thought he was going to get through this day without a migraine, but the temperature had climbed steadily after noon and that had been it.

Wayne’s grilling outside. Hopper is out there, the Byers and Max too, Eddie and Robin sipping drinks, the latter fanning herself with a book. Steve wishes he were out there too, wishes he could just sit outside and enjoy the summer without being crippled by the agony in his head again.

Footsteps behind him.

A warm hand on his waist, thumb slipping up under his t shirt and brushing over his hip.

“Sweetheart, you ok?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve huffs softly in response.

“Head hurts,” he manages, squeezing his eyes shut.

Eddie kisses the back of his neck gently. “You wanna lie down for a bit?” he whispers.

“No,” Steve grumbles, because he wants to be with his friends, wants to enjoy the day like everyone else.

Eddie waits, hums softly.

Steve caves. “Yes,” he mutters.

“Come on.” Eddie takes his hand, leads him down the narrow hallway into the bedroom that smelt vaguely of cigarette smoke and weed and Eddie.

Steve flops onto the bed, burrows immediately into familiar pillows, lets Eddie slip his shoes off and maneuver the t shirt from his back.

“I’ll be back,” he says, brushing gentle fingertips down Steve’s back before padding out of the room.

When he returns, it’s with water and the meds Steve always kept at the trailer, helping Steve swallow them down before tugging the curtain closed.

Steve sleeps for a short time, head throbbing dully when the painkillers blissfully kick in. He awakes feeling a little better, the migraine having been nipped in the bud before it could reach its peak.

He pads back down the hallway, rubbing at bleary eyes, heading towards the sound of soft laughter outside. The voices fall a little quieter when he steps sheepishly out the door, Eddie standing to guide him carefully to a chair.

“Sorry guys,” Steve croaks as he takes a seat.

Wayne waves his tongs in the air. “No problem, son. There’s plenty of food left over, you want somethin’? I can heat it back up for ya.”

Steve considers for a moment, judges the state of his still slightly-nauseous gut, and shakes his head. “Maybe in a little bit?” he settles on.

Robin’s sprawled out on the porch next to Max’s chair, and she smiles dopily at Steve.

“Dingus!” she slurs, and Steve shoots Eddie a side-eyed look. His boyfriend grins back at him.

Yeah, Robin’s a little drunk.

“Hey Robs,” Steve replies, giving her a tiny wave.

“Where’s your sunglasses?” Robin sits up, blinking slowly at him.

“Left them at home.”

She scuttles to her feet. “Borrow mine!” she announces, taking them off her head.

“Oh, that’s ok,” Steve says quickly, taking in the sight of the sunglasses now in her hand, the bold cherry-red heart-shaped frames surrounding large lenses. “You might need them.”

Robin scoffs. “Not as much as you. Take them.”

She holds them out, wiggling her hand at him.

“It’s fine, Robs.”

Robin slaps them into his hand firmly. “Take them.”

Steve swallows. Not one to argue with his tipsy and determined soulmate, Steve sighs and puts the sunglasses on.

Max erupts into laughter; even with her reduced eyesight she can’t miss the brightly-coloured accessory. Robin rounds on her, hissing something, but the seriousness is taken out of her words by the way she stumbles back to her seat again.

At least they were helping to reduce the light, Steve figures, leaning back in his chair and letting his eyes slip shut again. The warmth on his shoulders was nice, the conversation starting back up around him but at a low level, everyone present keeping their voices down for his sake.

Eddie scooches closer to him. Steve cracks an eye open, glancing at him.

___

“Like what you see?” he murmurs.

Eddie cackles, leans in close, and plants a kiss on his cheek. “Always, Stevie.”

#a stranger summer #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

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vampire-matcha · 10 months ago

Text

Another Kind of Pleasure (Gaz x Ghost)

I caved. Here's Ghost sounding Gaz.

Warnings: sounding (duh), BDSM themes, dom/sub dynamics, sadism/masichism, bondage

---

"Will it hurt?" Kyle asked, a slight tremble in his voice. His chest rose and fell with heavy, steady breaths. His arms were spread out on either side of him tied to the bedposts as he reclined against the headboard, pillows behind his back to add support. Ghost glanced up at him through his mask where he knelt on the bed between Kyle's spread legs.

"That's the whole point, Kyle." He had forgone his skull mask and donned a plain black balaclava with a slit over the mouth. No need to scare the poor boy more than necessary with a death-mask, he was already nervous enough. He slowly pumped Kyle's length, hand and cock both heavily smothered in lube. It wasn't enough stimulation to get Kyle off, just enough to keep him nice and hard for his Lieutenant. "But it'll feel good, too." Ghost's eyes flicked back down to the cock in his hand.

Gaz's dick was as pretty as the rest of him. Dark tan, long, and pleasantly thick; uncut, but when he grew to full hardness, the foreskin pulled itself back to reveal a plump, dark red cockhead. Ghost rubbed his thumb over it, admiring the slit in the center of it, pushing the tip of his lubricated finger just slightly into it, making the man below him grunt. The corner of his lip twitched upward at the sound.

"You trust me, Kyle?" Ghost asked

"Yes, sir," Kyle answered with out even a second of hesitation. He trusted his lieutenant with his very life, of course he trusted him with his pleasure as well. Kyle's eyes dropped to Ghost's cock, then, each man studying the other.

If Gaz was big, then Ghost was huge. Ghost's cock was hard as a rock, but it couldn't stand straight up due to the sheer weight of the thing, instead drooping slightly between hs thighs. The girth alone was enough to make Gaz dizzy, and he was sure the length would reach his stomach once he was inside. The skin of the shaft was mildly darker than the rest of Ghost's pale skin, and the head was a lovely bright pink, almost magenta, partly hidden by the uncut skin. And, best of all, it was pierced. Nine lovely silver rungs of a Jacob's Laddar lined the underside, and at the crown was a Prince Albert hoop.

It was clear that Ghost was no stranger to pain-as-pleasure, but Gaz was still new to the concept of masochism, at least to this degree. He was a fan of nails scratching down his back and deep bite marks on his shoulder, he'd even been slapped a handful of times and was surprised at his own enjoyment.

But when he'd seen his Liutenant's pierced cock in the showers one day, his curiosity peaked. Ghost caught him staring, and the conversation started. Gaz had all sorts of questions, and Ghost had as many answers and more. When Ghost, under his breath, lest anyone else overhear, asked Kyle if he'd like his help with exploring this side of him, Kyle had to hold himself back from cumming in his pants.

The two of them arranged for a weekend together and Ghost met Kyle at his flat with a suitcase full of wonderful toys and instruments. The first day they had started easy, a bit of impact play with paddles and floggers that left Kyle's ass and thighs raw. Now on day two, each time Kyle's hips shifted from Ghost's touches, his tender skin chafed against the sheets below him, and Gaz found that the sensation only excited him more.

"You've done this before, right?" Kyle asked. His voice was low and gravelly, thick with restraint as his breath hitched from Ghost prodding at his cock slit again.

"Yes, several times. On myself and someone else." Ghost looked up at Gaz again and, upon seeing the trepidation on his face, leaned over him and kissed him through the horizontal slit in the mask. "If you don't like it, then we'll stop and try something else. Just say the word. Alright?" Gaz took a deep, quivering breath to steady himself.

"Alright," he answered. And with that, Ghost pulled back and picked up the silver instrument beside him, rubbing his lubricated hand over it, coating it thoroughly in the slippery substance.

The sounding rod was long and narrow, as long as Gaz's cock and then a little more. It was ridged, resembling a string of beads, but it was all one piece, straight and rigid. It was only a few millimeters in diameter and very smooth. Ghost held it up to Gaz's face for him to observe. At the very end was the shape of a skull.

"How fitting," Gaz joked with a shiver, trying to lighten his own mood. Ghost huffed lightly through his nose.

"Are you ready?" Ghost asked, rubbing circles around Gaz's tight cock hole.

Gaz's eyes were fixated on his own dick, and with one last deep, calming breath, he swallowed and said, "Yes, Sir." Ghost moved slowly, positioning the blunt tip of the rod at Gaz's opening, and then pushed. Gaz let out a loud, shuddering moan at the new sensation. It truly was like nothing he'd ever felt. It stung, it burned, it stretched him out, but it was so delicious he knew right away he'd become addicted to this feeling. The soft, squishy flesh of his head popped back up from the tension of the sounding rod as his dick swallowed up the first bead.

Neither Gaz nor Ghost could tear their eyes away from the way each little bead popped into Gaz's cock. About halfway inside him, it became too much for Gaz and he threw his head back, chest heaving with short, sharp breaths.

"Hey," Ghost interrupted gently but firmly, stopping his penetration of Gaz's cock. "Don't hold your breath. Come on, look at me, Kyle." The younger man opened his eyes wide and stared down at him.

"Hurts," was all he could say.

"I know. Just breath through it. Come on." Ghost took a deep breath and Kyle followed. "There you go. Again." They repeated twice more, and on the last exhale, Ghost resumed pushing the rod inside, making Gaz moan loudly, the sound barreling out of his chest. "Almost there, just a couple inches to go."

"It's- it's too- it's too much-"

"You can take it, Kyle. This is the hardest part. You can take it just breathe." And finally, the last couple beads disappeared inside Gaz as he let out a shout. He stared down at his throbbing, twitching dick, the little metal skull bobbing in the center of it.

For a moment they both stared at the rod perfectly inside. Fuck, Kyle could feel it going all the way down to his balls. It was a stretch like no other. The burn made his thighs shake, and he came to the realization that he loved it. He met Ghost's eyes and his lips twitched.

"Fuck," he moaned.

"You like that, Kyle?"

"Fuck... yes sir..." Kyle's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. Then, Ghost tapped the end of the rod, and the sound Kyle made sounded more like he'd been punched in the gut. The muscles of his arms bulged as he pulled on the restraints. "Lieutenant!" He cried. Ghost only smiled and did it again, then held it in place with one hand as the other started stoking up and down. His thumb pressed against the underside of Kyle's cock, feeling through the skin each bump and divot of the rod inside.

"You feel that, Kyle?" He asked, but Kyle could only moan in response, already out of his mind at the feelings his Lieutenant gave him. Ghost moved his hand tightly, painfully up and down the length, and Kyle writhed and yanked on the ropes around his wrists. But not once did he ever ask to stop.

Ghost started to move the rod in and out of Kyle's cock hole, and was pleased at the tears that began to roll down Kyle's pretty cheeks. His plush lips were parted, his jaw dropped in a mix of pain and mindless pleasure, his misty eyes focused on how Ghost's hands worked the rod in and out, fucking his urethra with it. He did this for some time, until Kyle was just about to cum, and then he pushed the rod all the way in again, and removed his hands completely.

"Please, please, lieutenant, please let me cum, please," Kyle bumbled out, begging, pleading for release.

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle, you'll take what I give you," Ghost said, not quite snapping, but not quite gentle either.

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Kyle quickly responded to his Commanding Officer.

Ghost left Kyle's cock untouched for a moment, letting him stew in the pain and discomfort, and he finally touched his own cock. He had neglected himself the whole night, letting himself hang hard and throbbing in anticipation. Now, though, he stroked himself with his lubed-up hand, adding a few more drops for extra measure. Kyle moaned at the sight and sound of his Lieutenant touching himself.

When he found himself thoroughly lubricated, he reached down to spread Gaz's ass cheeks, grabbing a handful of the plush fat, and then pushing his slippery fingers inside. Gaz moaned loudly at the intrusion, at being penetrated at both ends. Ghost fingered him open quickly, but still left his hole fairly tight. He wanted it to burn when he finally shoved his girth inside the man below him.

Ghost shuffled forward on his knees and brought Kyle's ass onto his lap. He lined the tip of his cock up with Kyle's other hole and made sure to lock eyes with him.

"You ready for this?" He asked him.

"Yes, fuck, yes sir- ruin me, sir!" And then Ghost pushed in. Gaz's eyes rolled back in his head with every pop-pop-pop of Ghosts piercings catching on the rim of his ass. Ghost set a hard rhythm, and the angle had his pierced tip hitting Gaz's prostate each time. The poor man's whole body was shaking in pleasure.

Ghost grabbed hold of Kyle's dick when he noticed the rod rising out of it, and shoved it back in to a scream from Kyle's lips. The man below him babbled nonsense, please for release, for more, to slow down, none of it making any sense. Kyle was completely out of his mind on pleasure.

And then he felt the wave about to crash. He looked up at the Ghost who hammered into him with wild, terrified eyes, and then looked down at his own dick. And when it hit, he could only watch as his cock swelled with the cum trapped inside. His ears rang, he couldn't even hear his own strangled yell. Finally, Ghost pulled the rod out and let Gaz's cum escape. The sticky white fluid erupted from his stretched hole, coating both their abdomens.

Ghost shuddered as his own orgasm approached, watching as Gaz convulsed and then went limp. With a few more rough thrusts, he emptied himself into Gaz's asshole. Both holes were thoroughly abused at the end. Ghost caught his breath as he softened inside Kyle.

"Sergeant, how copy?" He asked from above. Slowly, Kyle opened his pretty brown eyes, and when he answered, his voice sounded thin and exhausted.

"Solid, sir."

"Are you sure about that?" Ghost asked, picking up Kyle's soft dick, making him flinch.

"Very funny, sir," he mumbled.

Finally, Ghost pulled out and got to work untying Gaz from the bed. He had warm, damp towels ready and waiting to wipe them both off while they waited for the tub to fill.

"Need me to carry you, or do you think you can make it?"

"Huh?" Kyle wondered, laying boneless and brainless on the bed. Ghost decided to carry him. He let Gaz lay in the hot bath as he changed the sheets and got him water to drink. He finally removed the mask as he settled into the water behind him.

After they were washed and dried, they lay in the clean bed, Kyle's head resting on Simon's shoulder.

"So..." Kyle said, sleep heavy in his voice, "What do you have planned for tomorrow?"

---

This was very much inspired but @/HotSatans sounding art on Twitter, but I changed the ship from Ghoap to Ghaz to make my own story. I definitely totally did not have a sounding kink already...

@greatstormcat enjoy pookie

#kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #ghaz #gaz x ghost #gaz smut #ghost smut #kyle gaz garrick smut #simon ghost riley smut

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