#had to stop himself to give only one answer to some of the questions 😌

[rickybaby]

‣ Max holds the 100% reply rate to a middle-of-the-night text from him. And most probably George would text back as well

‣ Lando most likely to leave him on read

‣ Nico Hulkenberg would hate to be stuck with Daniel in a lift. Like no shit

‣ Witty banter: Lando. And also Fernando (whatever has been going awn there since testing)

‣ Jack is apparently the one who changed his phone number recently. And definitely not him ‼️

‣ Most likely to get along with his parents: apparently Lando with his Dad (even though it must be noted the answer is based purely on more recent teammates)

[thatsthewrongwallcraig]

Something completely unhinged with Euronymous please 😭 like the reader riding and overstimulating him until he's crying and his orgasms are dry 🥺

Safe a horse, ride your black metal boytoy 🤠

Deathcrush

Summary: Looks like Euronymous gets really sensitive when overstimulated.

Pairing: Euronymous x fem!Reader

Word Count: ~1.1k

Content Warnings: Trve Kvlt Smvt 18+!, Bondage, Unprotected P In V, Overstimulation, Crying, Begging, Affectionate Degradation, Wax Play, Forced Orgasm, Implied Aftercare

A/N: Time to piss off some elitist, gatekeeping edgelords 😌🫡

Disclaimer - I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not writing about the real Øystein Aarseth. I am writing about the fictionalized version of Euronymus portrayed by sexyman Rory Culkin, please and thank you!

Tagging the gender neutral hoe squad:

@crypticsewerslut @quicksilversg1rl @alalalaaallaaalaaa @star-milk-tea @milsthouqhts @roryculkinsbf @roryculkinsgf @spookyorchid @arch1viste @whoareyoi @angelsanarchy @b4sementgrl

"Ma'am, stop, please! Please, I'm begging you! I can't…", Euronymous whimpered into the candle-lit bedroom, "It's too much, please!"

His wrists pushed and pulled against black rope that you had used to carefully tie him up against the head of the bed frame.

The rope most certainly added a nice, aesthetic touch to the view in front of you. His pale, nearly chalk-white skin against the black forming a contrast pleasing to the eye as you sat on top of him, his achingly hard cock buried deep inside of you as you rolled your hips against his crotch.

"Oh, I think you can take more, sweety.", You didn't stop in your movements as you smiled down on him, droplets of sweat covering his forehead and his eyes practically pleading unto you, "You've been so good for me so far and you don't want to upset me, do you, Euronymous?"

"No, of course not, Ma'am. But.." His raspy voice broke as you clenched down around him, making him twitch involuntarily.

"But what, baby, huh? Use your words." You teased with slightly arched brows.

"It's too much, please. I just need a little break, pretty please!" He pressed out of trembling lips.

"A little break, hm? Is my little fucktoy feeling sore? Worn out from Ma'am riding you all night long, yeah?" For a few thrusts, you picked up the pace, waiting for him to answer.

"Yeah, yes, fuck, Ma'am, please! Just a little break!" He mewled, almost unable to form a coherent sentence.

"Okay, granted. A small, little break you shall have…" With that you halted in your movements, a devilish grin spreading across your face, because you'd certainly give him his break but only on your conditions.

"Thank you, thank you so much, Ma'am." Euronymous gasped, his chest heaving up and down with every raggedy breath.

"Of course, baby. What kind of Ma'am would I be if I wasn't listening and taking good care of my property, hm?", You let the palm of your hand wander over his defined chest, nails scratching softly, playfully, "You know I really like your chest, don't you? It's so pretty but I think we could make it even more beautiful."

Withholding a laugh, you watched his brows furrow in confusion, his facial expression turning from sheer overstimulation to questioning.

"C-could we?" He looked at you with widening eyes.

"Oh, yeah! Let's just take this candle right here…", You leaned to the side to grab one of the many candles from the nightstand and let it hoover above his chest, "And let's add some color to that nice, soft skin of yours."

With a carefully watching gaze, you tilted the red candle gently until little drops of melted wax tripped over the edge right onto his chest.

Euronymous hissed upon impact, the liquid turning back into a solid on his skin.

"Oh, that's pretty! You know, I'm feeling a bit inspired right now…" You grinned to yourself as you slowly started to drip the wax in the rough shape of an upside down pentagram onto him.

With each droplet he squirmed and squealed underneath you, actively moving himself inside of you again.

"That's not fair…" Euronymous whined, his eyes fluttering shut as the pain from the hot wax and the ongoing overstimulation triggered every nerve to fire.

"You're moving now, baby. I'm just giving you that break you wanted to have so bad." Your tone saccharine-sweet as you talked down on him like that.

"No, no, you're making me!" He sniffled, the first hot, few tears of helplessness gathering at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, no, I don't think so. That's your needy cock thrusting into me right now and deep down you know that you just need to cum for me again." You taunted him in a soft tone.

"N-no!", His voice was sore and shaky as you continued to drip wax onto his chest, "I can't…I can't cum again, please."

"Nuh-uh.", You shushed, "We both know that you can, babe."

After you finished your burgundy red work of art on his body, you placed the candle back onto the nightstand. Resting on top of him, your cunt provocatively clenching and throbbing around his cock, you attentively watched heavy tears roll down the sides of his face as an avalanche of gibberish spilled out of his mouth.

"No, no, please, no. I can't do this, no, please. I'm so sore, Ma'am, please. I can't cum again, please. There's nothing left, I-" He sobbed under his breath as you picked up the pace again, rolling and rocking your hips against his lap, his cock thrusting into you in languid strokes.

"But why are you so fucking hard for me then, huh? Filling me up like the good fucktoy you are." It left your mouth in a low moan, as the tip of his cock stroked and nudged against that sensitive spot inside of you.

"I don't know, I don't…I can't…" Euronymous' voice cracked again, his entire body turning rigid beneath you.

"See? Just let go…cum for me, babe." You encouraged, trying to push him over the threshold for the 4th time tonight.

"It feels so good but hurts…" He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth in a whiny groan, surrendering to you milking him dry yet again.

With a guttural cry, he arched his back from the mattress, his cock pulsing and twitching inside of you as you pulled another orgasm from him. Moaning and whining, he squirmed, pushing against the restraints until you slowly stopped moving.

"I'm so proud of you, babe.", You leaned down to press a long kiss to his quivering lips "I love my perfect, little fucktoy so much. I'm going to untie you now and you'll get all the praise you deserve!"

[thespiderlingandthetinman]

👀👀 just read your answer to my question and I'm excited to send a prompt 😌 StarkerFestivals is having a starkercest Winter Bingo so I randomly picked one and got Somnophilia. So somnophilia and starkercest 😈

WAAAH I’m sorry this took so long!! But THANK YOU for this prompt I loved writing every moment 😩❤️‍🔥

Warning: Dubious consent -> full consent, daddy kink, incest

Word Count: 4,328

It’s no secret how much Tony loves his boy, his only son from a once successful marriage. Peter was his pride and joy, especially after he’d won full custody over him years prior. Peter was 18 now and Tony had realized a few things as he’d watched his son grow. Tony supposed it was a mixture of being single and practically celibate for so long, having been focused solely on caring for Peter and giving him the best life he could. Spending so much of his time with his son had turned his innocent, fatherly love into something of a monster, something like infatuation and lust when he looked at his beautiful pale skin and dark brown eyes. Tony had had the pleasure of watching Peter grow into himself, watching as his voice dropped and his muscles grew in, as the goofy preteen turned into a mature young adult.

Tony had never intended to let those feelings be known, not to anyone, especially not Peter. He also never intended to act upon those feelings. That’s why he found himself in a precarious position, pressed up against his son’s backside in a hotel bed. They were halfway through a road trip to the Grand Canyon, resting for the night before they spent the whole day driving and sightseeing. Tony had internally cursed the front desk lady when she informed them that the only room available had just one bed. It’s not like he didn’t trust himself to sleep next to Peter, but the separation sure helped.

Tony had been fine up until their actual bedtime. He’d put himself a respectable distance from Peter and closed his eyes tight, hoping if he fell asleep fast enough he could forego the fantasies that usually plagued him before bed. He was wrong, dead wrong, because Peter seemed to have some ideas of his own, completely oblivious to the way his own father desired him. Tony hadn’t realized how weak he was. He couldn’t believe all it took was sharing a bed to get him to throw all of his morals out the window.

Peter was blissfully unaware of Tony’s feelings, full of genuine love for his dad. He loved how close they were and loved how spoiled Tony kept him. It wasn’t surprising when the younger boy scooted his butt back against his dad, wanting to feel his warmth behind him on such a cold night. “So cold in here,” he muttered, already sleepy as he pulled the sheets up to his chin. To Peter, this kind of affection was normal, never did he think the simple act of love meant something completely different for his dad.

Tony’s teeth sunk into his bottom lip to prevent any noises from escaping him. Peter had no idea what he was doing to him. Tony wanted to be a good man, ached to be better than he was, but even he was human. He couldn’t help the wonderful, tingly feeling he felt as Peter settled near, ass pressed to his groin. “Goodnight, sweetheart,” Tony said in return, barely stopping himself from snaking an arm around his son’s waist, keeping him even closer. God, Tony felt like such a creep, but he was in heaven, nose pressed into Peter’s hair and bodies meeting warmly. Tony splayed his hand out over Peter’s stomach on top of his shirt, offering even more warmth. His skin flushed when he felt Peter put his hand on top of his, much smaller compared to his. Tony briefly wondered if Peter knew, if he was egging him on purposely. Tony knew that was a ridiculous thought, but it made him feel a little better, the small chance. His nerves were calmed by the sounds of Peter’s deep, even breathing, a sign that he was slowly falling asleep. It was only when he heard the softest snore come from Peter that he relaxed a bit, pressing him tighter against him, already feeling his cock swell against Peter’s ass.

“Pete,” he whispered, testing the waters. Peter didn’t respond. Tony was trying to stall himself from going any further, reminding himself that Peter didn’t want him in the same way, that touching his son while he slept would be one the worse, more illegal, morally dubious things he’s done. Peter’s silence beckoned, though. Tony had no other excuse to be this close to Peter usually, now was his chance to get a taste of his little boy. Tony made sure to go slow as he pressed on, the hand on Peter’s stomach finding the hem of his shirt, gently pushing underneath it so he could feel his bare skin. He made sure to stay there for a while, drawing invisible patterns on his tummy, hyping himself up for his next move. Tony had never been so close to him before, had never gotten to touch such an intimate part of him— it was driving the older man mad. Tony assured himself he’d gone mad long ago, when he first started imagining Peter underneath him. Tony’s mind was running wild with what he could do, how far he could touch before Peter woke up. His fingertips were centimeters from the waistband of Peter’s sweats, he could easily slide his hand down and touch him where he wanted him the most.

It took an embarrassingly small amount of time to decide that that was exactly what he would be doing. Whatever repercussion waited for him after this would be worth it. Tony pressed soft kisses to Peter’s shoulder, soothing the sleeping boy as he finally took the leap, finally pushed his fingers past his sweats and his boxers. Peter still hadn’t stirred, though his breaths did change, which prompted Tony to stop, just inches from Peter’s cock. A minute passed and Peter didn’t move, so Tony proceeded. His fingers wrapped around his cock gingerly, just feeling the weight of it for a moment, closing his eyes momentarily so he could savor the feeling. Tony stroked at an agonizingly slow pace, knowing he needed to do his best to keep Peter asleep.

Peter let out a soft noise in his sleep, something between a hum and a mewl. Tony trailed a few more kisses up his neck, feeling how warm Peter got against him. Peter was almost fully hard in his hand, the older man letting go briefly so he could push his pants down a little lower, slipping it out from its confines. Tony’s fingers trailed up the length to spread the sticky precome that formed at the tip, eliciting another noise from Peter. Tony couldn’t hide his arousal anymore as he pressed his hips forward, grinding against Peter in tandem with his strokes.

It was the feeling of Tony grinding into him that ended waking Peter up, the situation taking a few seconds to settle in his brain. Peter was still groggy as he started to register the fact that someone was touching him. He almost closed his eyes and let the feeling continue, nearly chalking it up to some vivid dream, though it only took him a moment to realize how real it felt, and another second to realize that the only person who could’ve been doing this was his dad. His dad, Peter realized, was currently jacking him off. Peter’s eyes widened and he gasped, trying to pull away and being forced back into his position with an even stronger grip. “D-Dad?” He questioned. “What are you-“ Peter tried to speak, it coming out quite shaky, stopped by the feeling of his dad’s hand going faster. “Stop,” he begged softly, throwing his head back against Tony’s shoulder and moaning again. The horrible thing was, that it felt good. He’d never been touched by someone with such big, calloused hands, never by someone who knew what they were doing. “Dad,” he moaned again, nails digging bluntly into Tony’s arm and trying to push him off.

Tony should’ve stopped at the first signs that Peter was waking up. He should’ve never let himself get this far. Something about the begging did something to him, made him burn with his need. He wouldn’t be stopping until he got what he wanted. “Keep begging,” Tony whispered, breath fanning over his ear.

Peter’s jaw was dropped wide in a silent moan, breathing harshly as Tony went faster. He couldn’t explain the pleasure and the lack of disgust he felt. It was a terrifying and conflicting feeling. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the fist around his cock, especially when he was still coming out of his sleep and struggling to understand what was happening. “Please, please,” he babbled, unintentionally bucking his hips forward to chase the pleasure. He wasn’t sure what he was begging for anymore, didn’t know whether he wanted his dad a million miles away from him or if he wanted him to keep going, to let his own father give him an orgasm. The thought did make Peter’s stomach turn, but the way his dad was making him feel was undeniable.

“Daddy’s hands feel good, don’t they?” Tony asked softly, feeling Peter shiver against him, the younger boy struggling less and less in his grip.

Peter didn’t say anything, flushing deeply and stopping himself from moving so much, so close to coming all over himself. Instead, Peter nodded his head, silently surrendering to his father’s tirade on his body. It was pointless to fight, Peter realized. He couldn’t break away from Tony’s strong grip on him. Peter wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop, anyway. “Gonna make me come,” he said pitifully.

Tony would’ve kept going, but he had so much more planned for his boy, didn’t want to spoil all the fun just yet. He slowed down his hand and fully let go of him, pulling away so he could climb on top of Peter. “Not yet,” Tony murmured, hands gripping Peter’s sweats and boxers and pulling them down all the way, happy that he was letting him do as he pleased. “I’m not your first, am I?” He asked curiously, leaving Peter in his oversized shirt, Tony’s shirt, borrowed from him because he wanted to be cozy. Tony left it on for a reason, just to be able to fantasize about how cute Peter looked in it.

Tears had sprung to Peter’s eyes when Tony let go, so overwhelmed and disappointed that he didn’t get to finish yet. He was sure he looked pathetic as he stared up at his dad, not putting up more of a fight against him. The question made his eyes water a little more. Was he really going to let his father do this? Peter knew his answer already. He was too curious, in too deep with his acceptance of the situation. “N-No,” Peter mumbled. His eyes widened as he watched his dad take his own shirt off and pull down his sweats, revealing his girthy length and muscular torso. “Dad, I don’t- Uh, I don’t know about this,” Peter pleaded, closing his knees a bit, trying to get Tony to ease off. He couldn’t be serious, that thing would break him in half. Peter had never had something so big inside of him.

“What, are you scared?” Tony teased and reached down to stroke himself, already hard and standing at attention, even more turned on by the mixture of fear and curiosity on Peter’s face. “You know I’d never hurt you, Pete. I love you so much,” Tony insisted, using his free hand to gently pry Peter’s legs apart again, scooting up to occupy the space between them.

Peter was speechless, eyes glued to Tony’s hand as he stroked himself, scared at how his dad sounded, so sure of himself. “I know, but…” Peter trailed off, caught off guard when his dad leaned in to kiss him, cutting him off.

Tony pressed their mouths together hotly, obsessed with how pliant Peter had become in just a few minutes. He could feel the way Peter relaxed against him, feeling the younger boy’s hands grabbing his shoulders for leverage. “Who taught you how to kiss like that?” he purred, diving back into another kiss, this time pushing his tongue into Peter’s mouth, languidly gliding against his.

Peter’s cock twitched as he was kissed, mewling against Tony’s mouth. His dad tasted like toothpaste, the one they’d both used right before bed. “Dad,” he whimpered, feeling Tony’s stubbly face rubbing against him as he kissed his neck. “Daddy,” Peter sighed. It felt strange to call him that, something he hadn’t called his dad since he was quite young, but it slipped out before he could help himself.

Tony felt something close to euphoria when Peter called him ‘daddy’, the older man smiling wide. He pulled away slightly, just to stare at the pretty boy beneath him. “Good boy, you learn fast,” He praised, reaching up to nudge his pointer and middle finger against Peter’s lips. Tony had never felt more in love as he watched Peter obediently open his mouth and suck on his fingers, knowing exactly what he wanted without him even asking. “You’re perfect, you know that?” Tony purred.

Peter flushed at the praise, his tongue swirling around his dad’s fingers. It was starting to get to him, the way his dad was talking. It made his heart swell, in a weird way, to witness how much his dad wanted him. He’d never considered doing something like this with Tony, but his dad was making it easy to give in. Peter pulled off of his fingers and tried to catch his breath, preparing himself mentally as Tony’s hand disappeared between them, finding his entrance and rubbing the spit around the tight ring of muscle, making Peter jolt in surprise. It wasn’t his first time, but it was his first time with someone like Tony. His dad was rugged and handsome, knew exactly what he wanted and how to get it, too smart for his own good. He found comfort in the fact, knowing that he’d be well taken care of, even if this was sprung on him. “I don’t think you’ll fit,” Peter said shakily, eyebrows furrowing as he felt Tony press a finger into him, trying to relax.

Tony looked up at Peter and leaned down to kiss his cheek, curling his finger as it slid into him, pushing it in and out of him. “You don’t think so?” Tony asked with a smirk, already working on getting his second finger inside of him. “Daddy will make it fit, then.”

The promise sent a shiver down Peter’s spine, just imagining how it would feel to get filled up by him. He would never admit to him that it turned him on, hearing that kind of talk. Peter let out a soft moan as his dad scissored his fingers in and out of him, the younger boy relaxing against the bed sheets as he got used to the feeling. “Did you take me on this trip just to do this?” Peter asked suddenly, eyes closing as he felt Tony push in a third finger. “You could’ve just-“ Peter paused when he felt his dad press against his sweet spot, angling his hips to try and recreate the feeling. “Could’ve just asked me,” he insisted.

“No, it wasn’t a part of the plan,” Tony admitted. He knew he’d tapped into something wonderful when Peter chased his hand with his hips, the older man curling his fingers again and pressing up into that bundle of nerves. “You wouldn’t have said yes,” Tony refuted, raising a brow and increasing his pace just slightly, glancing down to see how much precome Peter was leaking, ruining his favorite band shirt. “Had to show you, or you’d never agree.”

Peter couldn’t concentrate on what his dad was saying, being brought so close to an orgasm yet again. “Not many people are into the idea of fucking their dads,” he whined, looking up at Tony pleadingly, hoping he’d let him come this time.

“But you are now, right?” Tony asked with a soft chuckle, kissing Peter again, his heart racing as Peter kissed back. Tony made sure to slow his pace before pulling his fingers out, spitting in his hand to lube himself up. “And it’ll be the best you’ve ever had,” Tony promised.

Peter pulled away from the kiss feeling a renewed sense of clarity, knowing in his heart of hearts that his dad was right. Of course, he would’ve never agreed to this, but he saw the light now. He could see how much his dad truly cared, how much he wanted to love him, all of him. “Be gentle, daddy,” Peter muttered softly, biting his lip harshly as Tony rubbed the tip against his entrance. Peter felt like he was short-circuiting as Tony pushed into him. The stretch felt impossible, and the pace was even slower. “Fuck, dad,” he huffed, arching up into him as he tried to accommodate him.

Tony had a hand on Peter’s hip to keep him steady, while the other guided his cock, doing quite a good job at keeping his cool for how turned on he was. This was the stuff of dreams, he’d never thought he’d get to have Peter like this. “Language,” Tony scolded playfully, getting himself about halfway in before he paused to give Peter time to adjust. “You feel so good, Peter, so tight for me,” he sighed, the hand on his hip moving up under his son’s shirt so he could feel the soft, sculpted muscles.

Peter tried hard to regulate his breathing, one hand gripping the sheets tightly and the other wrapped around Tony’s wrist, the one that was touching him all over, digging his nails into him so he wouldn’t go so fast. Peter finally mustered up the courage to look up at his dad’s face, looking at him with such an intensity that Peter almost had to break eye contact, but he persevered, bringing his hand up to cup his dad’s stubbly cheek. He pulled him down for another deep kiss and only pulled away to say, “Fuck me,” defying Tony’s earlier insistence about his language.

Tony knew, after hearing Peter talk to him like that, he would never be satisfied. How could he be? Peter was his everything, he’d never get enough. It was just too good. Tony obliged before he could respond in words by moving his grip to the backs of Peter’s thighs, pushing his legs forward so his feet could rest on his shoulders. Tony knew this angle would drive his little boy crazy. The older man’s hips pulled back, before snapping forward, setting a harsh pace, one that made sweet little sounds escape Peter with each thrust.

Tony was right about him being the best he would ever have, Peter’s whole body was on fire as his dad started to fuck him, really fuck him, offering no mercy or empathy, forcing his small, lithe body to take him over and over. “Daddy,” he squeaked, voice shaky with the rhythm of his thrusts. He could feel Tony hitting his sweet spot over and over, making it quite difficult to contain himself. Peter tried to grab the sheets beneath them to keep himself in place, the power of the thrusts moving him slightly up the bed.

Tony concentrated hard on keeping a steady pace, soft grunts escaping him at the feeling of Peter’s walls squeezing around him, inviting him in. Peter looked so beautiful with his dick inside of him, an image of bliss and love and struggle. “Come on, don’t be shy, Petey, let everyone know who you belong to,” Tony growled. He loved every noise that came out of him and wanted so much more, wanted for Peter to scream and declare his devotion to him.

Peter felt like his brain was mush, not able to form coherent thoughts, clouded completely with pleasure and small spikes of pain that only made him more sensitive. “Daddy- I belong to daddy,” he babbled, throwing his head back when he felt the coil in his tummy start to tighten already. If Peter was being completely honest, he didn’t want Tony to ever stop, to prolong the amazing feeling inside him, but he’d been denied two orgasms already. He knew he wouldn’t last long doing this. “Would you be mad at me if I came, daddy?” He asked softly, turning up the sweetness for Tony, which he knew he would like.

The question made Tony wonder if he could make Peter come more than once. He supposed it was the kind thing to do, to assure his son that no, he wouldn’t be mad, especially after being so mean and preventing his earlier orgasms. “No, baby. You can come,” he said with a smile. “I’ll have to reward you for asking first,” Tony praised.

Peter felt a wave of relief hit him when he got his dad’s permission to come. “Gonna ruin your shirt, I’m sorry,” he huffed out, mere moments before the younger boy was tensing and shooting long strands of come up his chest, spattering all up his shirt and the band logo on it. “Fuck,” he moaned, looking down at the mess he’d made and then up at Tony. His dad didn’t stop even as his orgasm rushed through him, making him sensitive to the stimulation. Peter had never pushed himself past one orgasm before.

Tony was slightly obsessed with the poetry of it all, making Peter come while wearing one of his shirts. “I love you,” he declared as he watched, feeling Peter’s thighs shake as he kept pounding into him, lewd noises coming from between them. “Love you like this, love you so much.” Tony couldn’t help himself, he had to say the truth and admit how in love he felt.

Peter arched up as he was fucked into oblivion, only being brought back to Earth by Tony’s genuine words. It made his heart beat fast in anticipation, in fear, in happiness. Peter didn’t know what that meant for them, loving each other in this way. He didn’t dwell on the thought, mostly because his dad’s noises were increasing in frequency, getting louder, signaling his own end was coming soon. “Gonna come inside me?” He asked breathlessly. Peter had only ever fantasized about someone coming inside of him, but the idea of having his dad be his first made his body flush and his entrance squeeze around Tony in excitement.

The question only made Tony want to reach his end faster. He didn’t think Peter would actually let him come inside of him, but by the looks of it, that’s what he wanted. He could see it on his face how excited he was at the prospect of him filling him up. His son was a slut, a shameless one, and he loved that fact. “You want my load, huh?” Tony egged on. “Ask nicely, and maybe I’ll give it to you.”

“Please, come inside me, daddy,” Peter begged. “I’ve been good, haven’t I?” He countered, hoping his dad could find the humor in it and give him what he wanted.

“You have, Petey, so good for me,” Tony groaned. It only took him a few more thrusts before his hips stuttered, pushing all the way into him just to spew his load inside of him, ensuring that not one drop escaped.

The feeling of Tony filling him up had Peter letting out another soft moan, feeling impossibly warm. Peter felt like his dad had officially marked his territory with the simple act of coming inside of him. Peter knew he was ruined for anyone else, especially as he lay against the covers breathing harshly, feeling Tony’s come slowly leaking out of him. “Dad,” he whined. “I feel so sticky,” Peter huffed, watching Tony move his legs back onto the bed, not pulling out yet.

Tony was still catching his breath, shaky and spent as he tried not to slump over on Peter. He knew he needed to be good and clean Peter up. “You look so pretty,” Tony sighed and stared down at the mess they had made, slowly, and reluctantly, pulling out of him. “Almost want to keep you exactly like this,” he smirked, leaning down to kiss Peter one last time before climbing off the bed, going to slip his pajama pants back on so he could begin Peter’s well-deserved aftercare.

Peter felt pathetic as he laid on the bed, limbs feeling like jelly while he watched his dad move around the room. “So dirty,” he huffed, the blush returning to his cheeks when his dad gave him a look. “Can we shower?” He asked sweetly, not making any love to get off the bed. Peter was hoping his dad would be merciful and do all the work for him to spare his poor, sore backside.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Tony agreed and went back to scoop Peter into his arms, the younger boy latching onto him like a koala. “I think we should sleep in tomorrow, what do you think?” He asked softly, setting Peter down on the sink counter so he could start running the shower.

“Depends,” Peter responded softly. He couldn’t help but wince as he sat on the hard surface, but he didn’t complain. He knew his dad knew best. “Are you going to fuck me in the shower, too?” Peter asked boldly, a smirk in place on his soft features, loving the surprised look on Tony’s face. Peter was at the age where his libido was high and his recovery time was low, so he just had to ask.

Tony was taken aback by the question, but he would always hold firm that whatever Peter wanted, Peter would get. “You read my mind,” Tony hummed, playing along with his son’s desires easily.

Tony and Peter didn’t end up making it to the Grand Canyon the next day, but their day in couldn’t have been more eventful.

[gutterspeak]

For Luthais:

21. Why do they get up in the morning? 

27. What causes them to feel dread? 

31. Who are they the most glad to have met? 

thank you dujour!!! 🥺💕

21. Why do they get up in the morning?

pure spite mostly 😌 just kidding... unless?

I think he can be a spite-driven individual at times but... this is probably a question he asks himself a lot too! he's pretty directionless before he gets super locked into aeon mode which gives him a more of a target to aim at. becoming knight commander was practically his worst nightmare and he resents every second of it, but he still gives everything of himself to do a good job anyway - he may hate it but he doesn't have a lot of options other than to give up and lose or actually try to win... and brother. he's gonna win no matter the cost

so really it's his fear of failure and inadequacy that pushes him forward. deep down he just wants stability and some peace and damn quiet, I think he has a distant hope that someday he might be able to find it...

if only he hadn't knowingly chose his own doom every step of the way 😔

27. What causes them to feel dread?

oh so many things. he's mister anxiety disorder. it might be quicker to list what doesn't make him feel dread!!

he has an established phobia of locusts (and other swarming insects). he's afraid of dogs too

act 1 to early/mid act 3 or so he's crippled by self doubt by every decision he makes. and it's not really that he gains much confidence in himself so much as the aeon brain makes it clear which is the Right and Correct path to take

and then, of course, back to his fear of failing - both himself and the people he cares about. he lost his brother and his wife because of what he sees as a personal failure to prevent their deaths, and this time so much else rests on his shoulders too that there's no wiggle room for fuck ups. it's a heavy weight he bears alone most of the time, which makes the paralyzing terror of it all that much worse

31. Who are they most glad to have met?

AHH this is a hard one, for me at least. I think his answer would be his late wife, Iolanthe... even though she was murdered horribly and that scarred him forever. he's still glad to have met her and never ever stops loving her, he's a wife guy first and a human being second!!!!! (well. half-elf. but you know what I mean LOL)

there's other characters from his backstory that I don't think I've mentioned before, but they had a big impact on him too... his mentor at the monastery, Lucio, was one. he was the physician for the abbey and taught Luthais a lot of what he knows now about anatomy, alchemy, and botany. he also had a childhood friend named Freyth'rai (or just Frey) who was an aquatic half-elf who lived in Acisazi - Luthais' family would vacation near there during the summers and Frey made his awful childhood just a little more bearable... and also gave him his long-lasting love of the sea :]

[shady-scripter]

Bonds of a Lineage

Part 1: Just like Old Times

Part 3 of Separated, They Fall

Here we go again😌

This wasn’t the first time he’d been locked up. And part of him felt like it wouldn’t be his last. It wasn’t hard to break out last time, maybe this time would be easier.

But then again, he’s not nearly as nimble as he used to be. Time sighed and rubbed his temple to soothe his incoming migraine.

He remembered having to prove himself to the Gerudo so many years ago in a prison. It was, weirdly, a fonder memory. Time hummed, trying to see only hours instead of years into the past.

He was playing card games with Wind when the first drop of rain fell. It seeped through his three of diamonds. Wind was quick to put his deck away, muttering about how easily they could get ruined.

That was when the fire went out. Sounds of discontent echoed through the camp. He’d be lying if he said that he wasn’t a part of those sounds.

Wars had told everyone to bundle up as best as they could to avoid sickness, but they weren’t armed correctly for rainy nights. Time wanted to mention finding a cave just in case the rain lasts all night.

But then the portal came, it’s purple and black swirling almost putting him in a trance. For something that could be so cruel, created by something horrid, it looked to be god sent.

They packed up their things and got into pairs. While pairing, Wild came to Time with a question about Lon Lon Milk, which he was happy to answer. They paired with each other and were the first ones to step through the portal.

Then, black. And now he was here, behind bars.

Was it just him? Was it just him and the Champion? Or were all of his boys locked up in this prison?

Well, it didn’t matter. He was going to get out of here soon and reunite his boys. Then they were going to kill whatever thing decided to rig the portal.

And that was when the clicks started. The acute taps of those pointed shoes that his Zelda had to wear even though it mentally pained her. Heels.

Her humming soon followed the clicks of her heels until she came to an abrupt stop at the other side of his bars. She turned to face him, her gaze as sharp as a cat’s.

They met eyes for only a second before one of her pale eyebrows raised. “Are you that little guy?” Her head turned along with her stupid looking hat that appeared to be like dog ears. Except that it had a mask that mimicked a hawk’s face. “Those marks look far too familiar to be a coincidence.”

Her tanned skin clashed with her white hair. The purples and reds of her clothes complemented her skin rather than her hair, yet the tattoos that ran down her leg fought against her skin in favor of her hair. Her entire appearance was at war with one another.

“Cia,” her name left a metallic taste in his mouth. Memories of grass and pavement covered in crimson. Memories of white glowing eyes that stamped their mark on his face shined behind his eyes.

Her smile didn't ease his senses. “It is you, small fry.”

“You should be dead.”

“Higher powers are at play here boy,” She hummed. “They seemed to have taken a liking to me.” She twirled, motioning to the rest of the hall that Time couldn’t see. “To give me such a beautiful abode, there must be some favoritism there, don’t you think?”

Time stood only to realize that his wrists were chained. They let him reach the bars before they truly restrained him.

His face stood inches from her own, his blind eye open as he gave her the worst glare he could muster. She looked him up and down with a hum.

“You know, I thought the other one was you at first.” Cia looked away. “But I just couldn’t start to imagine you with long hair!” She faked a gag.

Long hair?

“What a cute little thing he is,” she tapped her chin. “But those scars are nasty.” She shook her head and leaned on the bars.

Time gritted his teeth, his mind buzzing.

The Champion is here. She has the Champion.

Fury rushed through his bones as he stared at her smirk. A smirk he thought he had forgotten, dragged to the front of his mind.

She sent him one last look before she walked the way she came, her heels echoing softer and softer as seconds passed.

He let out a long sigh that sounded more like a groan. He went back to the wall his chains were connected to and slid down the wall.

His plan had to start now.

And it did. He waited and he watched without a wink of sleep. Who was on patrol at what time? What patrolled? What weapon did it have? All of this smushed into his brain until he knew what would give him a more certain success.

He waited for his “dinner”, the lizalfos unlocked his cell with a key Time eyed intently. Then it set down his food. As it turned its back to him, he pounced.

He closed his hand over the monster’s muzzle and snapped its neck in a second. He rushed for the keys, trying every single one until his chains let out a small clink. Time took the dagger it hid behind its back then set the chains down steadily and shed his white overtunic. He wiggled the monster into his shirt and closed the chains around its wrists before he bolted out of the cell, closing it behind him.

He pulled his discarded hair tie from his pocket and closed the keys around each other tightly so as to make as little noise as possible.

The Champion.

He looked around every corner, and heard every step. He even thought of shedding his boots, but he couldn’t leave them just lying around. He’d get caught faster.

He knew his blind eye was open, he felt it move in its socket in time with his good eye.

He took to snapping necks. It was a silent killer. The dagger was the last resort, and, so far, he didn’t have to use it. He hoped that it never came to that.

He retreated as he got a glimpse of something around the corner. I speck of bright blue. He put his hand on his dagger and slightly leaned around the corner once more.

The lizal guard that was there seconds ago was on the ground. Laying it on the ground was the bright blue he had seen. A tunic so familiar.

Relief shuttered down his spine and he rounded the corner. Eyes that nearly glowed blue snapped up to his figure with an intensity he’d never seen the Champion have. Not even when he was raining arrows on the battlefield.

The Champion’s eyes switched almost immediately. The boy’s eyes softened as he sighed. Time saw the tension unwind from his shoulders.

Time chuckled lowly, jogging up to the Champion who was slowly rising from the ground. “Come,” he whispered.

This corridor seemed to be shaped in a J formation. Wild came from the hook, Time came from the right top line and needed to cross to the left.

The second the two heroes rounded the next corner, a loud blare shouted throughout the hideout.

“Aw shit,” Wild whispered. Time grabbed Wild’s hand and started sprinting. Wild was able to keep up but it was still more like Time was dragging him. “Old Man, we can’t panic!”

“I’m not.” Yes, his heart was beating way faster than it should be, but he wasn’t acting on his panic. That, he knew. “Do you know where the closest guard was that was behind you?”

“He should’ve been ten minutes away, but it hasn’t been that long!” Wild spoke through gritted teeth.

“We need to find our stuff. After that, we’re really on crunch time. If we-“ Time slowed his motions to speed walking. Talking was echoing down the corridor, the noise coming from the brightest lit room Time had seen this entire time. Most likely lit by lamps, not torches.

They stopped at the opening to the room. “-boy has caused me enough trouble all of those years ago. For one, I think Ghirahim’s idea is perfect for this!” Time could recognize her voice until the day he died. “Find them, and bring them to me.” Cia stomped the heel of her shoe down “Now.”

Whoever she was talking to skittered away. Seconds ticked by before the alarm abruptly stopped with an irritated groan and the clicking of heels grew distant, leaving in the same direction the monster soldier did.

Time let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding before peeking around the corner.

The glare of his armor was the first thing to catch his eye. Then his sword.

“Our stuff…?” Wild voiced Time’s thoughts.

“It feels like a trap,” Time groaned.

Wild hummed. “Like bananas.”

Time knew Wild couldn’t see his confused face, but Time didn’t ask.

“What do we do?” Wild whispered.

From what Time could see, there was no one and nothing in the room. But on the other end of the room, no doubt where Cia stormed off to, was another hall that turned, making this a C like hall. They were cornered no matter where they went.

How did they know that some wolfos weren’t following their smell down the halls? They couldn’t turn around. But how would they know if Cia herself hadn’t stopped short of that corner, waiting for them to take the bait. What if she knew that they were behind this corner now?

“We get our weapons and your slate, leave extra things then we see how bad the fight will be. We have little choice. Champion.” Time turned back to Wild, trying his best to muster up a smile. “Maybe we’ll be lucky and we’re somewhere in your Hyrule. With that, we could just teleport out of here. Hold hope.” Though, his hope was slowly digging into the ground.

Wild nodded with his own small smile. “Well, even if Hylia does prove that she hates us,” Time huffed a quick laugh, “at least I won’t die alone.”

“I’d rather you not die at all. The Rancher’s gonna want his rascal back.” Time ruffled Wild’s already messy hair.

“And the Rancher’s gonna want his grandpa back.” Wild put his hands on his hips though his smile showed his crooked teeth.

Time hung his head down, shaking his head with a smile. Thinking about the situation at hand, his smile straightened. “Let’s go.” Wild’s own smile dropped and he sprinted into the room, rummaging through the items. Time was thankful that he didn’t have to tell the boy to be quick but quiet.

Time hefted his sword, the weight a comfort to his unrest soul. His eyes scanned the room, waiting for the cursed sorceress to waltz around the corner. “Champion?” Time asked.

“She hates us,” Wild responded, angrily tapping at his slate.

Time’s heart dropped. “Put the rest of my stuff in the slate. We need to move quickly.” Time got a hum in reply. Soon, Wild was beside Time, a glowing blue bladed sword in his hand and a long shield with a dark version of the Hylian crest embedded into its design.

The two rounded the corner and weaved through a few more halls, slicing down monsters quickly.

With one more round corner, they were face-to-face with crimson eyes and pale white hair. Her eyes were wide as she let out a squeak. “You-!” She waved her hand out.

With another step, the two were falling.

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

WIP Wednesday Things I'm Working On Thursday

It's still Thursday for some of y'all so I'm not calling it 'fuck it Friday', I can still make it 😅

I didn't think I had anything to share this week but then I remembered I have multiple secret projects going, and I only shared a bit from one of them after I did that poll before! So this is the beginning of a different secret project. It's a new fic in the OPCU - a prequel of Mingjue moving to Montana and getting the ranch 😌 (it's...significantly sadder than the main OPCU fics, but it will get better!!)

--//--

The answer to the question, ‘Why Montana?’ that Nie Mingjue has gotten fond of giving is, “Why the fuck not?”

Not that he’s given many people the opportunity to ask it. Of course Huaisang knows, and Zonghui since he’s taking over the company. And he couldn’t just disappear without telling Xichen, either; if anyone outside of his family deserves to know where he’s gone it’s his childhood best friend.

He’s dying, is the thing, and the thought of doing it in his apartment in New York City — where everyone who’s ever known him can watch — is so viscerally disgusting to him that he can’t stand it. Well – couldn’t stand it, past tense.

Before his latest heart attack, he’d never really thought twice about Montana. It’s a state, he knows where it is on the map, and that’s about it. He’s heard before that it’s nicknamed ‘Big Sky Country’, and when he’d woken up in the hospital again, when he’d been told that the rest of his life can really only be measured in months if he’s lucky, he’d thought well. Why not go see it? He can die under the uncaring eyes of dingy skyscrapers and the people in his life taking turns to cry or tiptoe around him, or he can die under more open sky than he’s ever seen in his life, somewhere no one will ever have to watch it happen.

The choice that seemed to baffle everyone else had been perfectly clear and easy to him.

He’d stayed in New York long enough to get his affairs in order, at least, and to get it in writing that Huaisang wouldn’t want for anything so long as the company is still up and running, and to say goodbye to Xichen who doesn’t deserve to have to take care of a dying man on top of everything his uncle expects from him. It had actually all been easier than anticipated, except the part where Xichen had clearly been heartbroken and trying desperately to hide it, and Huaisang hasn’t stopped crying for weeks.

But that’s exactly the problem — if he had stayed in New York, it would only have dragged the process out that much longer, it would only hurt them that much more. It’s better like this, he tells himself as he gets off the bus in the middle of nowhere. It’s better to give them a clean break, to let them start grieving now, so that by the time they hear that he’s actually gone it hopefully won’t hit quite so hard.

Mingjue grabs his duffel from the storage under the bus, pulls a few bags out for the other passengers as well when they seem to be struggling with the weight of them, and doesn’t stop on his way through the little one-room bus station to get out onto the street.

Well, they were certainly right — that’s a pretty damn big sky. It seems to stretch on forever, the low buildings that line the street doing very little to block it from view. Mingjue steps to the side of the door and leans against the brick wall of the station, his head tilted back and his eyes squinted nearly shut against the bright sun, the bright blue — so much to take in, especially after so long spent cooped up on the bus.

It almost feels close enough to touch. He doesn’t try, of course, he’s not stupid and he doesn’t want to be That Guy reaching up to touch empty air in the middle of town. But it’s novel, to look no higher than two or three stories maximum and suddenly there it is, fluffy white clouds and blue that’s never been blotted out by smog and steam and the general miasma of too many people all crammed together like sardines in a can.

He takes a deep breath in and it smells like dirt and the breeze and sun-warmed green things growing. This is definitely better, he thinks. If he has to die at least he can do it in the middle of so many things living.

[softguarnere]

The Freudian Slip (Part 2/2)

Part (2/2) - you can call me names if you call me up

Joe Liebgott x reader

A/N: You guys ever mishear a song lyric and center a fic idea around it, only to realize later that you've been singing it wrong for months? Yeah, that's me with "3 Nights" by Dominic Fike. I could have sworn the lyrics were "you can call me names if you call me yours", so at this point, we're just gonna have to commit to it, because this fic took me way too long to finish to change it now lol. (This is written for the fictional depiction from the show -- no disrespect to the real life veterans!) Also thank you to all the lovely tumblr friends who helped with ideas for this fic or offered encouragement 😌 I'm honestly so honored that people reached out to tell me they were excited for part 2💕🕊️

Warnings: depictions of war, language

Things have been different since that day in the foxhole. But you can't find the words the express why it feels that way. Or at least, you can't until Liebgott swipes some Hershey Bars from Luz and tosses one to you.

"He's acting so weird," you confide in Luz, who shoots you a mildly annoyed look when you rip open the wrapper and take a bite. The radioman sighs as he readies himself for the patrol. You roll your eyes, gently knocking your foot against his leg. "I'm sorry I got one of the chocolate bars. You can have half if you want."

Luz laughs, but it's not his usual upbeat chuckle. "No, (Y/N). It's just that he was right."

"Who?"

"Liebgott."

"Well I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day. What was he right about?"

"You." George gives you his full attention. He looks exasperated. "You really haven't picked up on any of his hints." When you raise your eyebrows in question, he sighs again. "(Y/N), are you telling me that you really haven't realized that Liebgott has feelings for you?"

The next bite of chocolate almost lodges itself in your throat as you take a surprised inhale. Carefully, you finish chewing it, wrapping up the rest of the Hershey Bar for later before you ask, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Luz curses softly under his breath. "I can't believe it."

"George, I don't even know what you're talking about. Liebgott hates me." I don't hate you, he had said back in the foxhole that day. "Okay, he doesn't like me very much. That's why he's so mean to me."

Except for recently, when he's suddenly been so different around you. While you've still been tossing teasing remarks his way and trying to ignore the affection you've developed for him through the course of the war, Joe has suddenly stopped his teasing, instead settling for always making sure that you have a K Ration before anyone else, or that you're okay after any sort of run-in with the Germans.

But what does that mean?

Almost as if he can hear your thoughts, Luz provides an answer. "You guys were always sort of hard on each other. But then when he realized that he had feelings for you --"

"How would you know?"

"Because he told me," Luz deadpans. "After Bastogne and Foy and everything, we got to talking one day, and he said that after what you said he realized that he liked you. I told him I didn't know how you felt, but that maybe if he changed how he acted around you, you would catch on."

More questions swirl through your mind at a million miles an hour. You manage to catch onto a few of the more coherent ones. "You mean you knew? And you didn't tell me?"

"He came to me because I'm your friend. I thought that you would catch on and you guys would work it out. I didn't know it would get dragged out like this!"

"And what do you mean, 'after what I said'?" Nothing particularly interesting had happened in the foxhole. Liebgott had established that he didn't completely despise you, you had acted perfectly normal considering that you were stuck with your crush for a whole day, and then he had let you rest. There was hardly any conversation, all things considered.

George's eyebrows scrunch together as he thinks. "Something you called him. Sweetheart, or something. But in German."

"Liebling," you translate automatically.

It feels as if ice water has just been dropped over your head, chilling your spine and then settling in the pit of your stomach. Oh no. Liebling. Liebgott. What did you do?

Before you can even start to think that maybe calling the man you've secretly been in love with Darling isn't as bad as you might think, Luz's mouth falls into a capital O. The icy water in your stomach churns. "I've messed up."

Instead of grinding to a halt, the world around you continues on. Luz even begins readying his gear again. But you need time to think.

"What do I do?"

"Well that depends," your friend says. "How do you feel about Liebgott?" He shoots you a quizzical sideways glance. When you bite your lip, you suddenly have his full attention again. "Oh shit. So you do like him back." There's no question in his voice -- it's a statement of fact.

The very fact you had hoped to keep hidden. The fact that you somehow revealed to the person you were trying to hide it from.

"You're not going on the patrol, and neither is he," Luz points out gently. "Maybe . . ."

. . . you can talk to him while everyone else is away, he doesn't finish, but for the first time in forever, you manage to take a hint.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth while you think. "Yeah. Maybe."

--

By some stroke of luck – good or bad, you have yet to figure out – you get paired up with Liebgott to man one of the machine guns on the American side of the river. Not the most appropriate time to have a conversation about your feelings towards each other. But then again, there’s a war going on. If not now, when? Something else will always come up. There could always be some other excuse not to talk to him, and then you would just put it off forever. No time like the present.

If only you could find the right words . . . like you had back in the foxhole, when it had been an accident.

“Something wrong?” Liebgott asks as you set up the machine gun. Down below the building, everyone who will be crossing the river is starting to group up, getting final orders before they head out.

“Just thinking. I’m glad it’s not us.” It’s only half a lie. You are glad that you’re not going to be in a tiny boat on a cold river. But it’s not necessarily the thought at the forefront of your mind.

Liebgott nods. “Yeah, well, they didn’t need three translators. High time that Webster pulled his weight around here, after four months in that hospital.”

There’s something about the way he says it that makes you suspect he had something to do with the last-minute notice that you wouldn’t be crossing the river. “Did you do something?”

“Technically, Webster came to the decision on his own. After I pointed out that his German is just as good as ours.”

Just as good as ours. Huh. In the past, he was never willing to put the two of you on par with each other. In your chest, your heart fumbles and it feels like tripping over your own feet when you run.

“Thank you.”

“For what? I didn’t do anything.”

“No, but . . .” Damnit, where are the words when you need them? You huff a sigh. “I’ve been thinking. About when you got hit in the neck in Holland.”

His eyebrows disappear beneath the brim of his helmet as he raises them. “And why is that?”

Your throat goes dry. A second before, you had convinced yourself that there was no time like the present. And now that it’s here . . . You’ve been less nervous in high-stress combat situations.

“That was when I realized how I felt about you,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush before you can hold them back. “That was when I realized that I like you.”

Cool, confident Liebgott is good at keeping his face neutral when he wants to. It’s one of the things that you’ve picked up on from watching him, one of those little things about him that you’ve come to adore just because it’s part of what makes him him. For a split second, he freezes. Being so close to him, you can’t miss it. His face starts to go neutral, but the side of his mouth twitches upwards a bit.

“(Y/N), if you’re fuckin’ with me . . .”

“I’m not.”

He laughs louder than someone trying to set up in a stealthy position probably should. It’s not his usual laugh; its half relieved, half confused. “You called me Liebling, but kept pestering me like it was any other day.”

“You used to poke fun at me all the time!”

“Yeah, used to. Then I realized why I was doing it. I thought you would have figured it all out.” He smirks. “I kind of miss giving you a hard time, though. Calling you names and challenging you.”

“Well, you could call me names if you call me yours.” You both blink, taking in what you’ve said. His careful expression cracks to reveal a smile.

“You called me Liebling,” Liebgott remembers. For the first time – or actually, the first time that you’ve noticed – he looks at you with a soft expression as he fondly takes you in instead of sizing you up for competition. “So how does that fit into this?”

“To be fair, I don’t remember saying it,” you admit. You rush on before he can look disappointed, “A Freudian slip; I was worn out and kind of excited about being a foxhole with you.”

He gives you one of his goofier smiles. “Well if I had known that at the time . . .”

You roll your eyes. “Oh yeah. What an experience that would have been.”

“Still . . .” He steps around the machine gun, closing the distance between you. “Do you want me to call you mine? Even if I tease you sometimes?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” Liebgott’s smile is bright enough to light up the night and give away your position. “But what if I call you Darling instead?”

Keeping your eyes on him, you reach out and find his hand, intertwining your fingers together; it makes it feel official, somehow. “Then I would like that very much.” You squeeze his hand. It’s surprisingly soft, like his heart, which he has chosen to expose part of to you. “And what should I call you?”

“Anything you want. As long as you call me yours.”

[your-nanas-house]

Hi! Are you doing anything for Jerome? I was watching Derry Girls again and I was thinking of the bit when Orla lends David a lighter and says ‘I don’t smoke I just like melting stuff’ and it reminded me of the bus scene in Gotham, would you maybe write something where the reader is on the bus as like idk school photographer or something and offers him her lighter if he lets her off the bus? Y’know and he’d probably think it was funny bc she obviously doesn’t give a crap about her peers at all. If you want, thank for reading and I loooove your work! I’d be so deprived of Jerome stuff without you xxx

Awww that makes me so happy! ❤️ Here it is 😌

My personal photographer

Pairing: Jerome Valeska X Photographer!Reader

Warnings: angst, fire, Jerome season 2, kidnapping

Words: 507

Summary: in the request

Note: Sorry for the mistakes and the English. (everyone is of age)

..................................................................................

That day when Y/n Y/l/n had agreed to get on the cheerleaders' bus to go to the game and take some pictures for the school since she had been noticed as a photographer by one of her teachers who had pointed it out to the principal, she had never expected to come face to face, after being handcuffed and sprayed with gasoline, with what was one of the wanted escaped patients from Arkham Asylum.

The ginger had asked only one question to the cheerleaders not seriously expecting an answer from them but was pleasantly surprised when Y/n's mouth opened to answer "I have a lighter but I'll give it to you if you let me out of the bus" at that point Jerome, the escaped patient, walked over to where she was sitting and leaned against the seat to get a better look at her "smoker? " she slightly shrugged thinking "some times but I use it to melt things for my photos..or to be able to photograph the fire, I like to photograph the fire less sit in it and die... if you know what I mean..." there was a noise of approval from him before asking her one more question "no heroine plan to save everyone? " she shook her head "none, they can burn for me" a guttural laugh came out of the throat of the ginger who continued to laugh for a while before walking out and yelling at another patient to free Y/n from the chains, the girl stood up trying not to be touched by the cannibal and walked out with a small jump after accepting Jerome's hand who helped her get out of the bus, it took a moment for him to decide to let go of her and he stood observing her until she found the lighter handing it to him "get some curiosities off me, doll" murmured the boy before lighting it to see if it really worked "bullied at school? " there was no answer from her and Jerome nodded slowly "I like you, there's something different about you....I see you're a photographer" he played with the camera before she lightly hit his hand murmuring a yes "maybe you could be my personal photographer, I wouldn't mind posing as a model, doll face."

The GCPD stepped in causing Jerome to be distracted from his conversation and leave the lighter to another guy before he grabbed Y/n off guard and ran toward the fire truck, holding her tightly against his chest as he held himself and laughed insanely while banging the tube against the vehicle; he stopped as soon as they were far enough away and turned toward Y/n who was holding herself quite terrified "so? What do you say? I'd make a great model wouldn't I? dollface" the girl nodded quickly, agreeing to take pictures of him if he assured her that she would not die from being run over or from a fall since they were still outside the truck.

Taglist:

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