#i know it's a bit of an unorthodox take on the prompt

[strang3lov3]

Downpour

Jack offers you a ride home, pulls over to wait out the storm, and fucks you. (4k)

Tags - smut, fingering, oral (f! receiving) hand jobs, unprotected piv, infidelity (Jack is married still), dirty talk, pet names (darling, sweetie, sweetheart, dear), unspecified age gap, kissing, finger sucking, bit of comeplay/come eating, reader has a bush but is otherwise undescribed #bushnation, Jack is all sweet and tender but kinda pervy too, i've headcannoned that mr. delroy is a man who comes a lot. like just so much come. references to late night with the devil but this fic can be understood without watching the movie, I write car sex uniquely in that I am not bound by physics or logic or any bullshit like that. So it’s like a Mary Poppins bag in there. Lots of room for fucking. No, don’t ask questions. Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Fic Help - @noxturnalpascal thanks for your help sweetheart ♡ i love you forever A/N - the David Dastmalchian brain worms infected me months ago and have not let me rest, so here’s this. Car sex with an older and married Jack Delroy.

I feel a little nervous about writing Jack, as I feel with all characters that are new to me. It takes me some time to find my groove. Kind comments would be appreciated 💕 maybe a prompt or two in the inbox for me to play around with if you wanna see more of him 🙏

  As Night Owls comes to a close for the evening, and laughter and chatter begin to fade out, you busy yourself tidying up your station. Cleaning your makeup brushes, packing away your supplies for the weekend. You watch the television in your room and see Jack waving goodbye, shaking audience members’ hands. He’s so handsome tonight. He’s handsome every night.

You’ve been working as a makeup artist on Night Owls for about a year now. It’s a job you kind of stumbled your way into. You had won a raffle ticket to watch Night Owls live show. You were so excited to go and yet you don’t even remember who the guest was that night. You went alone, and found yourself charmed by the show’s host, Jack Delroy. While on commercial break, while the television crew changed the set, you noticed Jack glancing at you as you touched up your makeup, fidgeting and tapping his foot. You offered him a kind smile, and he approached you. 

“Jack Delroy,” he said, holding out his hand. You took it, and he kissed the backs of your fingertips. Starstruck, you giggled and gave him your name, tripping over the syllables. “Beautiful name, darling.”

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy.” 

Jack held your hand longer than what was appropriate. Realizing this, he quickly dropped it. “So, I apologize, but I'm about to be very forward. Gosh, this is very embarrassing,” he laughed awkwardly, then scratched the back of his neck. “I get a little oily in the face. The lights, you know. You wouldn’t happen to have like, a…” he trailed off, stuttering as he tried to find the right words.

You smiled and held up a finger, then dug through your makeup bag for some Mary Kay Beauty Blotter sheets your friend had given you. “Here.” You held the pack sheets out for the handsome talk show host. “Would these help?”

Jack took the sheets from you and inspected them. 

“And this,” you added, handing him your mirror compact. “You just press one of the sheets against your skin.” 

Jack grinned kindly, then took one of the small sheets and pressed it on his forehead and his long, gorgeous nose. “You are a lifesaver,” he said. “There. This is much better. I’m almost as pretty as you now, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed and you looked down at your lap to hide your smile. 

“Apologies, I’ve been told I'm a chronic flirt.” 

“I don’t really mind,” you told him softly.

Jack pressed his lips together in a smile and nodded, then sat in the empty seat next to you. “Alright,” he said, “This is an odd question,  but I’d like to toss it out there anyway because you seem to know what you’re doing with this kind of stuff. We’re short a makeup artist here at Night Owls. It’s unorthodox, I know, but you wouldn’t happen to be interested in–”

You gasp. “I’d love to. Yes.”

“--Being our makeup artist,” Jack finished, chuckling at your excitement. 

“Sorry, I just - oh god, I’d really love to,” you gushed. Jack opened his mouth to speak further, but was called back to set. 

“Stick around after the show, will you?” Jack winked.

“I will, Mr. Delroy.” 

And that’s how it happened. The job was simple: A little powder here, moisturizer there, hairspray to seal it all off. Nothing complicated, and it paid well. Lots of perks and advantages, like meeting TV stars and music artists. You consider yourself lucky. 

Perhaps your favorite part of the job is getting Jack ready for his shows. You’re no stranger to his handsomeness, but it’s special to experience it the way you do. To wash his face, moisturize it, paint a little makeup on his skin - as if he even needs it. “Make sure you cover up my crows feet, please, darling,” Jack said, pointing to his perceived flaws in the mirror. “Gosh, I’m getting so old. Don’t get old.” 

“Noted,” you told him. 

“And my hair, could you use a bit of that makeup to cover up my grays? They look so much worse on the screen.” 

Your heart broke a little. He’s always asked you to cover his wrinkles, but covering his grays was new. You hate doing it. That’s your least favorite part of the job. 

“Oh, but they don’t look so bad, Mr. Delroy.” You combed your fingers through his hair, inspecting the silvery strands he complained about. They look so beautiful against the inky black rest of his hair.

“Jack,” he corrected. “Just Jack. Who says they don’t look so bad?”

“I um…” you hummed, nervously messing with his hair. “Just fans, some of your fans kind of like it.” 

“Do they, now?” Jack teased, his eyebrow cocked. He laughed at your bashfulness as you stuttered something in defense. So shy, so sweet.

Jack loves you all the same. He loves the special affection he gets from you as you get him ready each night, he loves getting to peek down your shirt. But he plays the gentlemanly act well, never going further than a little harmless flirting. It’s fun to make you squirm, tease you for your little crush on him. He’s not oblivious to it. 

When the Night Owls theme finally ends and the studio lights go out, you get a phone call at your station. You hold the receiver up to your ear. “Hello?” 

“It’s Shar,” the voice says. Sharon is your roommate, and also your ride to and from work most nights. She drops you off at the studio before her shift, then picks you up after the show ends each night. Tonight, however, she’s at a party. “I met this guy, and I wanna go home with him. So that means…” Sharon doesn’t finish the sentence. She sounds guilty. 

“But you’re my ride, Shar,” you complain. “And they’re saying it’ll rain. What am I gonna do?”

“I promise I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? Don’t be mad. You’re not mad.” 

“Sharon,” you groan. 

Sharon says your name. “Just listen - he’s so fucking hot, seriously. He’s like a movie star.”

“A movie star, huh?” 

“Don’t judge. Like you wouldn’t fuck Jack Delroy if you could. You know what, why don’t you ask him for a ride?” Sharon teases.

“No way, not happening. He’s married, and his wife is sick. Absolutely not.” 

“Pussy.” Sharon pauses. “If you really don’t have another way home, I’ll come get you.” 

“No, no. It’s fine. I can take the bus, I guess. But you owe me.”

“I do owe you,” Sharon says, “I owe you so much. I love you. Bye. Be safe.” 

“You be safe,” you quip. “Condoms.” 

Honestly, you’re not mad. Is it an inconvenience, sure. But Sharon works hard and deserves a nice night, and she’s right - you’d fuck your movie - television - star crush if you could too. You’ve taken the bus before, and it’s usually empty this time of night. It’ll be fine. 

You grab your purse, pull your knit cardigan over your torso and walk out of the studio, down the hall, then take the elevator down to the lobby. Through light rain, you walk down the street until you’re at a bus station, then sit down on the bench. A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, causing you to shiver and pull your cardigan tighter around your body as you wait for the bus. 

At least you don’t have to wait for long, though. Headlights approach, and the vehicle slows down. Except, it’s not the bus you were expecting. It’s a cerulean ‘74 Buick Electra, Jack’s car. He pulls over and leans across the seat to crank the window down. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

“Waiting for the bus,” you yell. Rain’s starting to come down harder, now, soaking your clothes. Jack makes a face and motions for you to get into his car. You wave him off, “It’s okay. It shouldn’t be much longer.” 

“Nonsense! Get in the car.” 

“It’s really okay, Mr. Delroy.”

Jack rolls his eyes. He gets out of his car and rounds the front of it, then takes your hand and pulls you up from the bench. “I’m not asking. I am telling you, as your boss, to get in my car.” 

Jack opens the passenger door and ushers you inside, then shuts your door and gets into the driver’s seat. “It’s supposed to be the storm of the century out there, and you’re gonna let it blow you right away. Crazy girl.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Delroy,” you murmur sheepishly. 

Jack puts the car into first gear and takes off. “What’ve I told you about calling me Mr. Delroy? Jack, sweetie. Just Jack.” 

“I’m sorry, M- Jack.”

“Too sweet for your own good, you know that? Always so polite. Where am I taking you, sweetheart?”

“It’s a little bit far. You’re just gonna take this road for a while,” you instruct. “And then I’ll tell you where to turn. I’m not in the city proper.”

“Must be nice,” Jack replies. “Quiet.” 

You shrug. “Sometimes. Not usually. My roommate is kind of noisy.” 

Jack chuckles. “The roommate days, gosh. I don’t miss those a bit.” He pauses, thinks of something to say to fill the silence. “You don’t usually take the bus, do you?”

“Not usually, no,” you answer. “My roommate gives me a ride most of the time. But she ditched me tonight, so…” 

“That’s a real shame.” 

The rain starts to pick up a little more. Jack squints and at the road and increases the speed of his windshield wipers. He tries talking to you, but you can’t hear him over the drumming of rain against his car. Thunder booms, the drumming becomes louder and the windshield is nearly impossible to see out of. Jack has slowed the car down to a crawl, but when hail begins to fall from the sky, he pulls over. He shifts his car into neutral, then pulls the emergency brake to keep the car from rolling. Jack leans in close so you can hear him, “We’re just gonna wait out the storm, okay? It’s not safe to keep driving.” 

“Yeah, that seems smart,” you agree. You’re thankful Jack showed up when he did, and that he’s keeping you safe in his car. If you listen closely, you can hear the faint sound of music playing on his stereo. You still feel a little nervous, though. Maybe it’s the storm, or the jitters of being alone with Jack - older, married, handsome Jack. You shiver in your wet cardigan. 

“You’re cold,” Jack says. He tugs on your sweater, “Let’s get this off of you, huh? Not gonna let you catch a cold on my watch.” He peels the sweater off of you entirely, then lays it in his backseat. “And look, watch this–” Jack presses a button on his dashboard, a little orange light glows beneath the tiny image of a seat. Within a few seconds, the leather underneath you begins to warm. “Neat, huh? That should warm you up nicely.”

You still look cold, it’s evident in the way you hold yourself. Shoulders curled inward, hands clasped together. Jack thinks about holding you close, using his body to warm yours, but decides against it. You want it too, but you’ll never initiate touch. 

You look out of the raindrop-covered window at the creepy woods off to the side, the trees illuminated by the lightning. Jack sees the worry on your face reflected on the glass. “Everything alright, sweetie?”

“It’s just the woods,” you answer. “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I’ve heard about…I don’t know. Scary stuff happens there.”

“Like what?”

“Satanic rituals or something. The occult, that kind of stuff. I’ve heard about it on TV.”  

Jack lies to assure you, “It’s all make-belive,” he says, pushing down his own memories of The Grove. The sickly sweet smell of decaying leaves, sticks and branches crunching beneath his feet. The cold, metallic cup against his lips, that awful taste of whatever it is he drank. “But don’t look at the woods. Just look over here, right at me.” Jack turns your face toward his, then taps your nose. “There’s that beautiful smile.” 

You grin even wider. You know it’s just his nature, that it’s his job to be charming and likable, charismatic and sweet. It makes you feel so special and seen nonetheless. 

Jack smiles too. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” He admires the details in your face for a minute, your perfect nose, sparkling eyes, your pretty lips. His eyes travel lower, tracing the endlessly beautiful curves of your body - breasts, waist, hips, thighs. There’s a rip up high on your nylons, just below your ridden-up skirt. He furrows his brows and touches your bare skin with his finger, “What happened here?”

“Oh.” You touch the tear with your finger, just a hair away from Jack’s. “My cat, Felix. He ripped my tights.” 

“Sounds like Felix is a real troublemaker, huh?”

“Oh, he can be,” you giggle quietly. “But I love him anyway.” 

Jack keeps his finger on the hole in your nylons, now drawing lines back and forth over your thighs with the rest of his fingers. Little goosebumps erupt on your skin in their wake. “You’re still so cold, darling. What am I gonna do with you?” Another shrug, another shy smile. “Come here,” Jack whispers. He wraps his strong hands around your legs and pulls you across the seat so that your legs are lying across his, and your torso curled into his own. Fuck, he smells good. His cologne is musky and spicy and masculine. You’re so close, Jack can feel your heart pounding nervously. But he says nothing about it, doesn’t want to embarrass you. Instead, Jack just gazes at you warmly, still tracing patterns on your leg. “You’re such a gorgeous girl, have I ever told you that?”  He pushes a bit of your hair behind your ear, sending tingles down your neck and spine.

“Jack,” you whisper, elongating his name. “Stop it.”

“I’m serious, darling. If only I were a younger man…If I hadn’t married…” He moves his hand from your ear to your mouth, pulling down on your bottom lip with his thumb. God, you’re so soft. Desire is building within Jack, taking control over his sensibilities. And you, too young and enchanted by Jack fucking Delroy to listen to any inhibitions in your head telling you that you should stop this.

 Jack pushes his thumb past your lips and you suck on it gently, so gently, the blunt little edges of your teeth tickling his fleshy skin. Arousal quickly builds in Jack, the sensation overwhelming him and bubbling over. He pulls his thumb from your mouth and holds your cheeks in both of his hands, inching closer to you bit by bit. Jack licks his lips, he’s about to do it. Finally, he does. Jack closes the gap between you by pressing his lips against yours, kissing you softly. He’s relaxed and controlled, but the way you kiss him is desperate and a little tentative. In time and with encouragement from Jack, how he squeezes you and growls against your lips, you find your confidence. You kiss him fervently, tasting him, savoring the softness of his tongue. 

Jack takes your hand and presses it against his warm bulge. You gasp, “But your wife–”

“Shh, quiet. She’s not here, now is she?” 

“N-no,” you stutter.

“No. It’s just us. You-” Jack unzips his pants and pulls his rock-hard cock out of his boxers. He spits into your palm and has you hold his length, then closes his hand around yours. “-And me.” 

With your hand under Jack’s, he pumps his cock. “Oh, that’s good. You’re my good girl,” he breathes. 

Jack grips his cock tighter and kisses you again. “Oh, Jack,” you moan. Jack helps you to stroke him from base to tip, your pinky finger brushing against that patch of coarse hair at his pelvis, thumb rubbing over his weeping head. 

“Just like this, darling. All the way up, all the way down. Just like this. You’re doing so well.” 

Jack twitches in your hand as you feel every thick vein and ridge on his cock. He urges you to pump him faster and at the same time, touches you. He gropes your breasts first, breasts he’s dreamed of touching since he first laid eyes on you. He unbuttons your blouse and slides his hand beneath your bra to squeeze your flesh, tease your nipples. Jack relishes in your body, how supple, soft, warm and wanting you are. You touch him like you love him and Christ, Jack can’t wait to bury himself inside you. Feel that warm, wet embrace of a young woman’s cunt. 

“Do you let other men touch you like this, sweetheart?” Jack asks, unzipping your skirt and shoving his hand down the front of your nylons. He toys with the arousal-dampened hair that’s spattered on your mound, then slips his fingers past your lips. “Older men, huh? Married men?” 

“N-no, Jack. Just you. Only you.”

“Do you like being touched like this?” You stutter out a frantic, breathy ‘yes’. “Dirty girl. It’s always girls like you.” 

Jack circles your clit with his fingertips, then presses two fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. “Distracted, are we?” he murmurs as your hand that strokes his cock slows to a still, so focused on how Jack pleasures you that you forget about his needs.

 “H - what?” Jack chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze to remind you. “Oh, I’m s - sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” God, you are such a precious girl, and Jack is a lucky man. He breaks away from you just for a moment to undress himself, shoving his pants down his thighs and unbuttoning his dress shirt. Once bare, Jack turns to you and finds that little tear in your nylons again, then rips the hole wider up the garment. He yanks the nylons and your panties off of your legs and puts them with the rest of his discarded clothes, tucking them away for later. He removes your skirt next, followed by your bra and your blouse. You breathe heavily as Jack takes in your naked form, even more beautiful than he pictured. He needs you now, needs to taste you.

Jack pushes you gently onto your back, laying you out across the bench seat before sinking to his knees on the floor of his Buick. He wraps his strong forearms around your still rain-cold thighs and pulls you close, close enough so that you can feel his hot breaths on your slick pussy. Jack could eat you alive right now.

He spits on your pussy, then rubs your folds with his fingers, paying special attention to your clit. He spreads your lips wide and admires your shiny, glistening center. “My, look at this mess,” Jack marvels, admiring your creamy arousal. He tastes you then, pressing a soft kiss against your core. Jack inhales deeply, taking in your scent, feeling your hair against his shaven face. His tongue darts from between his lips and he licks you up and down, dipping his tongue inside you. 

“Jack, oh my - yes,” you gasp, your hands tugging on his graying strands of black hair. Jack slowly licks a long stripe up your seam with his tongue flat against you, all the way from your asshole to clit. “Jack.”

The mess he’s reduced you to. All broken moans, desperate, needy cries of his name. Jack smiles against your cunt and continues licking and lapping at the sensitive part of you. He traces your folds, sucking them between his lips. He draws circles around your clit with the tip of his tongue next, driving you wild. “You like this, darling, don’t you? You like having this pretty pussy eaten?”

All you can do is nod. Jack closes his lips around your clit and sucks, causing you to clamp your thighs around his head and pull his hair tightly between your fingers. Jack forces you apart so that all you can do is take it, all that relentless, smoldering pleasure. 

Jack intensifies it all by pushing a finger inside you and curling it, stroking that sensitive part of you. Within seconds you’re coming, rocking your hips against his face as you ride out your high. 

There’s barely a comedown. Jack crawls over your body, one foot planted on the floor of the car and the other kneeling on the seat. He reaches behind the front seat for his suit jacket and bunches it up, then fits it between your head and the passenger door. “Don’t want your pretty little head to get hurt is all,” Jack says. 

He holds his cock between his thumb and his forefinger before he lines up with your entrance. His cock is big, perfectly lengthy and girthy. You tense up a bit as he fits his cockhead inside of you, “Easy, darling. Take it all for me,” he coos. 

You inhale deeply, and on your exhale Jack pushes himself inside of you in full. “Ohhh,” you moan. It’s such a tight fit, he fills you so fully. The aching burn of the stretch takes time to dissipate as Jack rubs your hip. After a moment, Jack pulls out of you, then inches his way back in. Your face previously scrunched in pain is now relaxed, soft little noises of pleasure escaping your lips. “That’s it, good girl,” Jack says. “Wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

Jack laces his fingers between yours and uses his other hand to brace himself on the back of the car seat. Jack begins thrusting, not quite fucking you gently. It builds quickly, the pace both harder and faster. Jack rocks his hips into you at that perfect angle to have you writhing on his cock, the head of it kissing the most sensitive place inside of you over and over. You bury your face into him, the hair on his chest tickling your face. 

“Fuck,” Jack grunts, fucking you deeper. He knows he should be more gentle than this, but he can’t be helped. He loses himself inside of you, growling like an animal as he fucks his cock into you. You’re squirming beneath him, muscles tensing against his as you begin to cry, overwhelmed by it all. “Such a filthy fucking girl, crying on my cock. You’re okay, sweetie.” 

Jack rolls his hips quickly and fluidly so that his pubic bone is grinding against your mound, the friction inching you closer and closer to a second release, but it isn’t quite enough. You rock your hips to match Jack’s thrusts, needing more against your clit. “M-More please, Jack,” you beg. “I wanna come, Jack, make me come again.”

While still fucking you, Jack spits onto two of his fingertips, then fits his hand between your bodies. He finds your sensitive bud and rubs it, using the momentum of his thrusts to bring you to climax once more. “Come for me, sweetheart. Give - fucking give it to me.”

Jack rounds your clit with his fingers, putting harder pressure against it. In moments, you’re coming for him again, this orgasm more intense than the last. Your moans are louder, more frantic. Your face scrunches in pleasure as you pulse around Jack’s cock, urging his own release along. “Good girl, good fucking girl.”

 Jack growls into your ear as he spills into you, milking himself entirely. He fills you with his come, so warm inside you, the throbbing of his cock so pleasurable and satisfying. Dampened with sweat, Jack presses his forehead against yours as he fucks you through his orgasm, then slows to a still. He hisses a little when he pulls out of your cunt, his spend dripping from your hole onto the leather. Jack collects this mess with his finger, then pushes the digit into your mouth as he catches his breath.

It’s all quiet, save for a few scattered raindrops and the sound of you and Jack both catching your breath. Jack breaks the silence. “Well hey, how about that. The storm passed, huh? Was really something, too. I’m glad we pulled over,” Jack laughs nervously. He helps you dress yourself as best as he can, then haphazardly dresses himself too. You smile a little, and Jack touches your face. “You alright, darling?”

“I’m okay,” you answer, still a little tearful. Jack smiles sympathetically and pulls you into his side, then shifts his car into gear. 

“Well, let’s get you home, then.” 

-

TY for reading! Comments, reblogs, all of that good stuff would be so appreciated ♡

[daydreamgoddess14]

Complaints Procedure

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

Literally just 1.5k of pure filth. Sorry, not sorry?! 😅Taken from this prompt.

Inspired by this image:

~~~~~

You knew to avoid the locker room immediately before and after matches. The less than stellar performance of the team during the season had seemingly made everyone angry - even Sam was down. Jamie Tartt continued to annoy and degrade everyone who so much as glanced at him, and the so-called Captain looked about ready to throw in the towel. Getting rid of George Cartrick may have been a wise decision, but his replacement was certainly unorthodox. You had your work cut out for you in HR, it was like babysitting 2 year olds - they all still bit, kicked, and scratched. Seeing you always gave them the initiative to put complaints in, complaints that you had to be seen to legitimately deal with, even if dealing with it meant sitting the idiots involved down and giving them a telling off. You had never told off Roy Kent, though. The man terrified and turned you on in equal measure.

Just the low timbre of his voice made your heart pound and flooded your body with want. Training was long over, so you figured you were safe to take some paperwork down to Ted Lasso's office. Your heels clicked on the concrete as you made your way through the maze of rooms. Wage slips for the folks in the ticket office, holiday forms for the staff in the medical and treatment areas, and the weekly update on player relations that Ted had asked you to draft. Who was fighting with who, who had you had to threaten with suspension, and who you'd just had to give an arse kicking to. As you turn to leave Ted’s office, Roy is coming back in from the showers. With just a towel gripped in his hand. You look literally anywhere else. The ceiling tiles become particularly interesting. 

"Oi, what you doing in here?"

"Just dropping some paperwork off, no need to be rude."

"Sorry, just… thought I was alone, that's all." You drag your eyes from the ceiling to his, drawing an invisible line across his nose so you do not look any lower. "See something you like?" He teases, as if he knows it's taking all your will to not look at his chest or the towel. 

"Definitely not. I'm done now, I'll leave you to it." 

 

You're sure you must hold your breath on the walk from the locker room to your office because as soon as you shut the door, it all comes out in a whoooosh. As good-looking as he is, you can't stand his arrogance, dominance, and anger issues. You knew it was nothing new in football or in work at all, really. You'd seen every layer of the food chain, and it was always the top of the tree who thought they were gods gift. You knew he could be kind and thoughtful. You'd seen it for yourself with the younger, less experienced players and with fans too. It was definitely a certain calibre of person who set him off - the Jamie Tartts and George Cartricks of the world. You're still leaning against your office door when you feel and hear it knock. When it begins to open against your back, you have to jump out of the way so it can swing open. Fully clothed, Roy is on the other side. 

"Do I scare you?" He asked, frowning. 

"Course you don't scare me, I'm not a sodding child." You roll your eyes. "Did you need something?" 

"I might need to put in a complaint." You arch an eyebrow at him, 

"Really? Go on?" He took a step closer to you, so you take a step back. 

"I saw the way you looked at me downstairs -" you scoffed, 

"I did not look at you at all. I actively didn't look at you," you start, angry until you see the smirk. "Oh fuck off, did you come up here just for a laugh? I've got enough to deal with picking up 

after Jamie Tartt since he can't stop making everyone miserable." He holds up his hands in surrender. 

"Alright, alright, just a joke," he laughs a little. "You wanted to look though." 

"You are just like the other idiots. So full of your own self importance, you all think everyone wants you." He narrows his eyes and takes another step towards you.

"At the risk of sounding like any of those pricks, tell me you don't?"

"What makes you think-"

"Humour me." He looks at you like he might devour you at any moment, his eyes dark with just a hint of mirth. He knows what you think about when you see him. You feel your breath quicken, and the urge to press your thighs together is desperate, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of being right. Before he can catch you in a lie, he forces you to take one final step back against your desk and leans down to capture your mouth in a messy, obscene kiss. 

 

The shock of it makes you gasp, giving him access to deepen the kiss. Your hands grip at his shoulders to keep him close, trying to get him even closer if it's possible. He leans you back against your desk, the edge of it digging into the back of your thighs while his hands are trying to touch as much of you as possible. By leaning back on the desk, he can kiss along your jawline. It would be impossible now to make out that you don't want him, your greedy hands roam up his arms and into his hair and the sighs and moans he's pulling from you with just a kiss are insane. The length of his body presses against the length of yours and you feel him hard against your hip. Feeling how much he wants you only makes you need him more. Your hand brushes across the front of his jeans, making him jerk to meet it. He breaks the kiss and watches you breathlessly as you move to undo the button in the waistband. You can tell he's about to ask if you're sure, so you place a soft kiss to his lips,

"I want you to fuck me," you tell him quietly. There is still just a hint of hesitation in your voice, but it's more a fear that he'll reject you than anything else. 

"Fucking hell." He sighs into you. He grips your hips and turns you to face the desk, you rest on your forearms. He has your skirt rucked up around your waist in no time at all and nudges your feet a little further apart. You don't have the time or inclination to feel embarrassed or to consider something more meaningful. The singular thought in your mind is having him inside you. You hear the tear of a condom wrapper and feel him at your core. His hand cups you first, wanting to check that you're ready. "You're so fucking wet," he mutters almost proudly. He gives your hip a little squeeze of warning and pushes inside you. 

"God, Roy yesss," you hiss as he fills you completely. Fully seated, he pauses just a minute to reach down and sweep your hair to one side so he can kiss your neck, "please, Roy-" you push back against him, desperate for more. He takes the hint and pounds into you over and over. He’s hitting exactly where you need him with each thrust, and it's enough to have you believing in some sort of deity. You can feel the pressure building and you're so close to the edge it's overwhelming. "I'm so close, please daddy-" the words tumble from you, unfiltered and unexpectedly - that is a brand new one for you, and when you feel his pace slow just slightly, you're terrified that you've repelled him. He moans low in his chest and redoubles his efforts, unyielding, until you come hard, crying out his name. 

"Say it again," he whispers against your ear, his body draped over your back. His hand reaches around to rub circles over your clit and you're so sensitive that the payback is almost immediate and you can feel another orgasm building. 

"Fuck, make me come again daddy," you beg. He does exactly that within seconds of you asking, his own release coming at the same time. He holds your hips while your legs shake, his forehead resting on the center of your back. He slips out of you and disposes of the condom before turning you gently to rest you back against the desk. You keep your head down, chin to chest, mortified at what's just happened until his nose nudges against yours and he kisses you softly. 

"Holy fucking shit, I should threaten to complain again, that was insane," he breathes, still holding your hips and trying to get you to look up at him. 

"I shouldn’t ha-"

"No, don't do that. You're definitely going to say it again," he chuckles against you, "I fucking promise you'll say it again." 

 

FIN

[somereaderinblue]

Deadmeat Rem AU

We've seen Twin Swap AUs & recently, I've thrown my own hat (re: Purple Hyacinth AU) into the loop. However, upon rereading @lost-technology's Survivor's Guilt fic & going through our dms, I propose a more unorthodox role swap prompt:

AU where Vash & Rem swap places.

Vash is a Plant engineer who became a SEEDS navigator after losing Alex (he can be Vash's bf or relative in this AU). He's there when Tesla is born & has to live on after her (murder) death (which was his fault, he should've been better, should've done more, fought harder, they were gifted an angel & they slaughtered her). He's the goofy dad who's there through the twin's formative years, desperately trying to be better because he knows his best isn't & never will be enough.

And okay, I'm spitballing a bit here, but imagine: how would this impact Rem? The poignancy of her character comes from her role as much as her personality. In canon, she seemed to be an only child, so how would having Nai as an older brother affect her? How would she handle the Humanoid Typhoon's role? We, as the audience have only known canon!Rem through the 1 year Vash spent with her & snippets of her past, so how would her 150 year life span go?

Or if you want to shake things up further, maybe Nai & Tesla swap roles too. Maybe Nai is the one born first. A boy Plant who could produce metallic material, a weapon at worst & a tool at best. They name him Knives so no one forgets that & Vash nicknames him Nai to say 'no, I do NOT agree with that!'.

Thus, Tesla (maybe with electricity powers??) is the one who decides to end humanity because god forbid women commit crimes /j. Is this is also lowkey inspired by @shelternmberone's Roleswap AU? Yes. GIVE US MORE VILLAIN TESLA AUS!

If you want to go another mile: maybe Luida & Brad take Meryl & Milly/Roberto's places as Ship 3's residents & investigative reporters/insurance agents respectively.

Anyways, what I'm trying to say is, the sky's the limit rlly, which is the whole point of AUs like this.

[serenescribe]

hi hi Ell 👋 I wanted to send a prompt, so i hope youll find this one nice to think about :)

So we know in canon that Lilia trained Silver and Sebek while they were kids, and that his training was a bit unorthodox to say the least. We also know that Silver thinks the world of his father, that he feels indebted to him for life and that he'd give anything to repay that debt. With those facts I offer you a beloved scenario of mine where Lilia trains Silver and takes it too far but doesn't realise it until its too late.

Maybe he's making him spar, maybe he's asking him to do some insane physical effort, whatever it is he's determined to have Silver execute it perfectly. And Silver is tired, because he's like 12, he's been doing this since dawn and he barely ate any of the lunch his father made him (lets face it it wouldve been worse if he ate it). At this point his body is screaming at him to just stop and rest but he refuses to back down before he gives his father what he wants. The issue is that since he's not feeling his best, he's actually doing worse than he was at the beginning and Lilia of course notices. And maybe its the fact that this setting is similar to the one he was in back when he trained recruits as a general, or maybe he got frustrated that he couldnt manage to get him to do better but Lilia decides to try a different approach to motivate his son. He gets mean; taunting and berating Silver for not making any progress, telling him that maybe they should just stop his training altogether if this is the best he can do. But instead of getting fired up and angry like Lilia expected, like his recruits used to do, Silver completely breaks down. He slumps on the ground in front of him weeping, begging for just one more chance and promising he can do better. The mental and physical exhaustion weighs heavily on him and he swears he won't be a burden in future sessions, swears that he'll train day and night if need be to improve but he pleads his father not to give up on him. And Lilia, completely caught off guard by the situation, has to figure out how the hell to comfort his son and convince him that he didnt mean any of the words he spoke

hope you have a fun time writing bye bye!! 🌟

the way this prompt broke my heart when it first hit my inbox :') but at least it's hurt/comfort for once rather than flat out angst...? i hope i did it justice!

(also thank you to lacky my beloved for helping me with some dialogue bc oh my god writing mean dialogue killed me ;;; sobs)

Clang!

The sound of sword against sword reverberates through the air, accompanied by the haggard, weary sound of someone panting. Lilia narrows his eyes, his sword still outstretched, pressed against that of his opponent — his son, Silver, who is also his student.

Silver’s chest expands and contracts, lips parted as he sucks in another deep breath. The practice blade in his hand trembles before finally, he gives in. The sword drops to the ground below with a clatter.

“I yield,” Silver says, voice strained, dropping to his knees. He raises his arms, conceding in defeat.

But all Lilia can think, staring at his son before him, is that this is not good enough.

He knows what Silver is capable of, has been training his son by his own hands for the past few years. Silver shows plenty of promise, and it is up to Lilia to hone that potential to a perfect sheen, be it physical training or weaponry, such as the sword fights they practise so often. Lessons on survival, giving him tasks to complete in the elements. Things that Silver takes to like a duck to water, obediently heeding Lilia’s every word, carrying out his instructions with ease.

So to witness him concede so easily, dropping to the ground, averting his gaze as his body trembles?

Lilia is disappointed.

In a way, it reminds him of his days as the general during the wars he’d fought. There had been many a soldier who had not taken his instructions seriously, always putting in the bare minimum until he whipped them into shape. All he had to do was set his cold, calculating eyes on them, lips spouting cruel, judgemental words, before they’d be roaring to go. Pride is one of the things that the fair folk value deeply, after all, and back then, the many recruits under his command had not taken kindly to Lilia’s implications that they were as useful as the dirt under his heels.

And so Lilia opens his mouth, and says:

“If this is the best you can muster, then why bother?”

Silver stiffens.

“I’m disappointed, Silver. I’ve seen peasants with no training do better than this.” Lilia’s lips thin, a hand resting on his hip, practice sword still hanging from his other hand. “If you cannot even master the basics, how do you expect to get any better? No, better yet, how do you possibly expect to guard Malleus as his knight if this is the best you can do?”

Lilia’s eyes narrow as he drops into a crouch, arms folded across his knees as he meets his son’s wide eyes.

“I didn’t teach you to be this awful,” Lilia utters, voice entirely flat. “If this is the way you’re treating your training, then perhaps we ought to stop it altogether.” He curls his lip. “Is that not what you’d prefer, given your demeanour?”

Rising from the ground, Lilia holds out his sword, pointing the tip of the blunted blade towards his son’s crouching form.

“I shall allow you one last chance,” he breathes. “Pick up your sword, Silver. Get up now.”

Silver doesn’t respond.

Lilia clenches his teeth. “Pick it up!”

It is only then, when Silver uncurls himself to reach for the discarded blade at the side with trembling hands, that Lilia falters. He watches through widening eyes as Silver raises his head and, instead of the fiery enthusiasm and determination he saw so often in so many of his old soldiers, there is a watery desperation wavering in those big, auroral eyes. Silver’s lips tremble, his movements sluggish, and as he shoves himself onto his feet, Lilia realises—

Silver isn’t being lazy. He’s swaying from side to side, almost stumbling over his own feet, shaking uncontrollably as he raises his blade to meet Lilia’s own.

Oh, he realises, spotting something glistening along those rounded cheeks. Silver is crying.

In that instant, any trace of General Vanrouge, feared and renowned amidst those of the Valley, vanishes, dissipating in the blink of an eye. Left in its place is only Lilia Vanrouge, father of one.

His sword drops to the ground with a clatter. Lilia surges forward, any thoughts of training pushed squarely out of his mind as he wraps his hands around Silver’s shoulders, staring at him with his heart rattling against his chest. Shit, Lilia thinks. He’s well and truly fucked up now, hasn’t he?

“Silver,” Lilia starts, struggling for the words. What can he possibly say here? He reaches up, wipes away a stray tear that rolls down his son’s cheek. “Silver, you— you can drop your sword now.”

“No!” The outburst startles him, Silver’s usually quiet disposition interrupted by the force of his refusal. Silver all but collapses, pulling Lilia down with him; his knees buckle, and he hits the ground with a painful thud. Silver’s free hand reaches up to wipe at his tears to no avail. “I-I can do it! I can fight—”

“You can’t, Silver—”

“P-Please, just—” Hanging his head, Silver sobs brokenly, and it shatters something within Lilia. How had he not noticed all along, how absolutely exhausted Silver was? “J-Just give me one more chance,” his son begs, shaking his head. The grip on his sword loosens, causing the weapon to clatter to the ground. “I swear, I’ll train day and night to improve, I w-won’t be a burden anymore, please—”

“Silver,” Lilia repeats, voice firm, fingers curling tight around his son’s shoulders. He— he’s taken completely aback, caught off guard; he’d expected something akin to the fiery resolution of the soldiers of the past, not… not this.

Silver is twelve, a tiny part of Lilia remembers. His heart seizes again, a reminder that perhaps this time, he had gone way too far. Silver is young, and for Lilia to have treated him the way he would have treated a grown fae…

He’s not the general anymore. There’s no need for him to train Silver to such rigid standards.

Slowly, Lilia leans forward, wrapping his arms around Silver’s back. He pulls the sobbing boy against his chest, murmuring soft words under his breath in a bid to reassure him. And for a while, that’s all they do — Lilia, holding his son in his arms, ignoring the ache in his knees as he rubs Silver’s back gently, and Silver, who blubbers apologies and pleads for leniency until his begging collapses into crying, and he buries his head in the fabric of Lilia’s sweat-stained shirt.

Eventually, when Silver’s cries peter out into a sniffling silence, Lilia pulls away from him. He reaches out to cup his cheek, thumbing at the tearstained skin with a sad smile across his lips. “How do you feel now, dear?”

Silver bites his lip, eyes flicking away. He sniffles, before he mumbles, “I… I’m okay now, Father. I can fight.”

“I think we’ve had enough sparring for today, actually,” Lilia sighs wearily. When he sees the way Silver stiffens at his words, he adds, “That is a decision made on my account, not yours. I am not disappointed in you, Silver. Far from it; I am only disappointed in myself for not noticing how exhausted you are… far more than usual, anyway.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise,” Lilia chides, though his tone is light. He exhales. “I think we should perhaps clean up for the day. And then I’ll see to dinner, hm?”

“I’ll help you!” Silver blurts out, a little shakily, and Lilia smiles. Even after everything, Silver is still so willing to help… Truly, Lilia would not have faulted him at all if he would have liked to take some time to himself, especially after he so carelessly spouted such cruel words towards his son.

As Lilia rises to his feet, holding out a hand to help his son up, Silver meets his eyes. He hiccups. “So… you’re not mad at me…?”

“I am not,” Lilia assures, leaning in to pull the boy into another hug. “And…” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I am truly sorry, Silver, for pushing you that far. I should not have said what I did.”

And from the way Silver relaxes in his hold, pulling away to give him a small smile, Lilia knows that this will be enough, for now.

[hetalianskywalker]

Day 21: Get On With It

Pairing: Siren Hunter x Doctor Reader

Summary: An enchanted ship gets annoyed when you and Hunter take too long to get together.

Author’s Note: My graduation ceremony exhausted me so sorry if this is a bit disjointed.

Warnings: flipping off a sibling, but that’s it.

Word Count: 1190

Prompt: We’re a crew of five now. One immortal, one siren, one stormseer, and one messer. No one knows what I’m here for, but when the ship wants to hire you, its very difficult to say no.

Prompt 3038 by deepwaterwritingprompts

You think you're going crazy when you first hear it: the calling. You're working on the Negotiator as a doctor and while this is all fairly new to you, you’re enjoying the work. The Mer clones of the 212th are kind and General Kenobi is a joy to work with. Even if you and Commander Cody have to drag him to the medical bay for treatment sometimes.

When a small black ship pulls up beside the Negotiator, you don’t think much of it. Apparently Commander Cody needed the unorthodox help of a special forces squad of Mer clones. The call starts as a whisper that you can barely make out. Eventually you can hear it crystal clear throughout the day. It’s an invitation to come aboard to work.

As it becomes more insistent, you follow it to the negotiator’s railing and stare down at the Marauder. It was definitely the source of the strange voice. As you look down, it then becomes clear why the voice is becoming more insistent; they are preparing to leave.

“So are you going to go?” The General asks, coming up beside you. You had forgotten Jedi can hear callings not meant for them. “Enchanted ships are picky about inviting people aboard and it usually means your fate is tied to the ship. At least for a time.”

“I- I am I allowed to?” You ask softly. You want to go, but honestly you’re afraid. Messing with any kind of magic outside everyday enchanted items is something you have long avoided.

“I can sign the documents to transfer you.” Kenobi states simply. “It’s genuinely your choice to heed the call or not.”

“So you’re who the Marauder has been summoning.” You flinch in surprise and watch the General cover a smirk with his hand. Tech suddenly appears next to you and begins firing questions. You don’t mind and want to learn more about the ship that keeps calling you, but you glare at General Kenobi for not giving you prior warning he was coming over. He just smiles at you and goes on his way.

We’re a crew of five now. One immortal, one siren, one stormseer, and one messer. No one knows what you’re here for, but when the ship wants to hire you, it's very difficult to say no. Tech handles most of the medical care so you feel a bit redundant, but enjoy getting to know each crew member.

Since joining, you no longer hear the ship speak, but hearing Tech translate the creaks and moans keeps life interesting. Gonky is a very sweet turtle familiar and he’ll often come sit with you to sunbathe.

Tech, the messer, is constantly taking care of the ship and gathering new details on every island you all visit. You find that, while he is perfectly capable of physically stealing knowledge from enchanted documents, seeking knowledge in general just fascinates him. You find yourself enjoying going down random ash rabbit holes with him.

Wrecker surprises you by being the stormseer, just as able to read the ocean’s weather as he could a crew mate’s heart. You more than enjoy goofing around with the black powder expert, but also him being there when you needed a shoulder to lean on.

Crosshair is the immortal. You see him make impossible shots with a bow, sniping enemies from far away. Every once in a while, he walks away from a fight with a wound for a corpse. He just smirks at you and heads to Tech for help.

Lastly, there’s Hunter, the siren. His enhanced senses and distracting song have gotten you and the rest of the squad out of more trouble than you can count. He’s the one you have slowly, but surely gotten the closest with.

You lean over the Marauder's railing late one night. Your mind spiraling down a dark hole about why you’re even here. You aren’t of any help. The squad was doing just fine before you arrived and you hadn’t majorly changed anything. Perhaps the ship chose wrong.

You are so deep in thought you don’t see Hunter’s black and red fin in the water. There is a soft tune in the air that you don’t really hear. It just makes your shoulders relax and promises there is a purpose to you being here. Hunter grows worried when he sees one of his less intrusive songs doesn’t help. He then hops out of the water over the opposite railing, returning to human form.

‘What could be stressing you so much that your heart was beating that fast?” Hunter quietly thinks to himself as he sets his helmet to the side and takes the spot next to you.

“You’re spiraling.” You blink back to reality to see Hunter standing next to you. Your next words die on your tongue as you see his face illuminated by the moonlight. Your eyes linger on the tattoo before quickly looking back out at the still water. He chuckles softly; the flirting had slowly increased over time in any quiet moment the two of you got together. These were rare.

“I’m fine.” You mutter trying to wave him off though you were smiling nonetheless. He arches an eyebrow and you sigh. “Maybe not perfectly fine. I just can’t sleep.”

It’s quiet for a moment before the ship creaks like it wants something specific to happen. You both look around confused before searching the deck for something wrong, but find nothing.

“What do you think that was about?” You ask as you turn back to him. Hunter shrugs, but seems to glare down at the deck in retaliation for interrupting the moment. It’s your turn to laugh and he turns his attention back to you, making him smile.

“Sweetheart, I…” Hunter pauses and you watch his Adam’s apple move with his gulp. “I could help with that if you want.”

“Yes, how?” The ship seems to get irritated and you feel the deck bend underneath your feet. Unable to keep balance, you crash headfirst into Hunter and he wraps his arms tightly around you. You stare at one another; both your faces darkening with a blush.

“The Marauder says to get on with it!” Tech’s voice breaks through the night, making you both jump. Hunter curses under his breath before kissing you. You let out a surprised squeak before melting into it, wrapping your arms around his neck. It was a long kiss and full of months of longing.

Once you pull apart, he flips Tech off as said brother headed inside; your whole body shakes with laughter. Hunter turns his attention back to you and your stomach somersaults at the contently happy look on his face.

“Do you want company?” Hunter asks, leaning his forehead against your own. You peck the corner of his mouth as your fingers play with his hair. Suddenly you're hit with the thought that maybe this was why the Marauder had hired you. You quickly realize you’re not upset if that’s true. If this was your fate, you would more than happily meet it with open arms.

“If it’s you, pretty boy. Always.”

[beatlesgrl]

Take My Breath Away

I saw this prompt “You’re possessed by a demon. You quickly realize he’s never done this before.” on my Facebook and I can’t get this out of my head so here. Also like. It’s clearly not finished and I’m pretty sure I won’t get a chance to so here for my fellow Sterek lovers.

Derek Hale knew his luck was low, but waking up to an extra voice in his head that was definitely not his, he knew that it must be practically non-existent.

“Hello?” He murmured, still fighting the urge to fall back asleep. 

The voice stopped talking to itself, and in his head he felt it freaking out. 

Hard to imagine why it was freaking out when it was in Derek’s mind but whatever he just wanted to know what was going on. 

“Ummm...” The voice said, “I’m here to...take...your...soul?” 

The voice sounded distinctly male, and unsure. The threat of taking Derek’s soul didn’t stop him from saying back, “You sound pretty confident there.”

“...Are you sassing a demon right now?” The voice said back, clear aghast in its voice, “Most people who I possess are scared at the very least, at the very most terrified and crying by this point.” 

Derek rolled his eyes and turned to his side, “As long as you don’t wake me back up I don’t care.”

He fell asleep before he could hear a response. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

So here’s why Derek’s luck was so...well bad. 

His first girlfriend, Paige, was killed after she was bitten by an Alpha, and Derek had to help her die so she wouldn’t be in pain. 

His second girlfriend, Kate, tricked him into loving her, only to burn his house down and killing his family.

His third girlfriend, Jennifer, used her magic to blind him by love to kill the remainder of his family, Cora and Laura, and was starting on his pack before they all got wise and killed her instead. 

And his pack that he had built after becoming Alpha...well they didn’t notice that he wasn’t doing ok. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 The demon in Derek’s head was clearly new to this possession thing. It almost made Derek feel bad for it. 

He was making bacon, and he felt it try to take over Derek’s limbs, claiming that Derek was burning the bacon and it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t even cook it properly. The problem was, Derek was able to fight it every time it even tried. 

That made it furious. 

“God damnit, Derek, I have a name, I’ve told you to call me Stiles.”

And he refused to call hi-it by its name. It was a demon, it didn’t need his sympathy.

And he burnt the bacon just to spite this thing in his brain. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

“Hey Derek, turn the channel, I fucking hate Gordon Ramsey.”

Derek didn’t really like him either, but he turned up the volume anyways.

The voice scoffed in his head, “C’mon dude, cut me some slack, I can’t change it myself.” As if to prove it, it picked up Derek’s arm, only for Derek to push it down with his other hand.

He still wasn’t that great at controlling him. 

“You could just leave then you wouldn’t have to watch this show.” Derek said back.

He felt it roll its eyes somehow, “I told you, I’m here for your soul. Work with me here, can’t go back without it.”

“And I told you,” Derek said back, “You will be here for a while if you have that attitude.” 

The voice sighed, “Look, I know my methods are...unorthodox...but I’m ne-pretty sure its effective so-”

Derek laughed, “Pretty sure it isn’t considering you can’t even fully possess my body.” 

The voice murmured under its breath, the words “alpha” and “jackass” prominent words in his complaints.

Derek bit back a smile and changed the channel. Not even spite could keep him watching Ramsey. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Soon, though, Derek had to admit it was...kinda nice to have someone to always talk to. 

His pack was always gone, doing who knows what. He knew that Erica and Boyd worked at the local drive-in, and it helped that they had heightened senses so they could sense the troublemakers and get them out of there quickly. Isaac worked with Deaton at the vet clinic, and was trailing after Scott most of the time. And Scott...the beta that got away. He currently had a psudo-pack with the Argents (which no.) and Kira, his current girlfriend. Isaac kept acting like he was going to join which...Derek wasn’t going to think about.

The constant voice in his head made him feel better.

“Sooooooooo...” The voice in his head said one day as Derek was reading a book, “Where is your pack anyways?” 

Derek turned the page, ignoring him. 

“Cause I’m not gonna lie,” it continued, “I thought as an Alpha wolf, you’d see your pack more often.”

Derek kept reading. He promised himself if he finished that chapter before dinner he would reward himself with Indian takeout rather than Chinese takeout, which is what he normally got. 

He felt it poke Derek. How he wasn’t sure, he couldn’t feel an actual poke, but he felt it with his brain, “Hey I’m talking to you sourwolf, least you can do is respond.” 

“You’re the one in my brain,” Derek replied, about to turn the page, “Can’t you access those memories by yourself?” 

There was a pause, and Derek felt the worst headache suddenly explode right behind his eyes. His vision went white, and he felt himself start to growl and his claws piercing his book. 

“Stiles!” He found himself shouting. He dropped his book and grabbed the sides of his head, “Stiles stop!” 

As soon as it came, it left, and he felt guilty vibes coming from...Stiles. 

“I’m so sorry!” Stiles exclaimed, “I didn’t realize it would cause that much pain!” 

Derek brought his hands down, but he could tell he was definitely still wolfie, “No shit, what the fuck.” He saw blood on his hands, and he could tell that his face had claw marks because he could feel the skin stitching itself together. Like he was trying to claw out his own brain. 

More guilt poured out of Stiles, and now he even felt sadness, “I’m so sorry.” 

Derek growled and picked up his book to examine the damage. Clawed completely though, and Derek couldn’t even open the book without hearing ripping and tears. He resigned himself to not knowing the ending until he can get a new book.

He felt Stiles pouting, and then his presence was gone. Like he decided to hide. 

Derek sighed and went to go take a shower.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Later that day, as Derek was ordering his Indian food (hey the book got ruined that means he finished his chapter. Plus he was traumatized, sue him), when he heard the doorbell ring.

Now Stiles wasn’t lying when he was talking about his pack and not seeing them. They almost never came over to his house. He bought it a couple years ago when his sisters were still alive, and there was plenty of room for all of them to move in and then some. Back when he had hope he wouldn’t be a fuck up and have a strong pack. It backed up into the preserve, he had no neighbors, and it was filled with natural light.

And they’ve only been there twice since he moved in, one of those times was when he was unconscious after fighting a wendingo. 

So to hear his doorbell out out here made him suspicious, but as he went to answer, he grew more suspicious when he saw a delivery guy holding out something for him. It looked like a rectangular shaped item wrapped in brown paper.

“Hello?” Derek asked, but the delivery guy just shook his head and shoved the package into Derek’s hands before walking away. 

He looked down at the package and shrugged. Using his claws, he sliced open the paper. What it uncovered was the book he had ruined earlier. He examined the book to try to find a clue as to where it came from, and he found it on a hastily written note on the inside cover. 

‘Hey, sorry about the book. Hopefully this helps. Stiles’ 

Derek had noticed that Stiles was still quiet, but he didn’t think much of it before. Now, though, it made him feel kind of lonely. 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Stiles was back, though, the next morning, when Derek woke up. He felt the hesitation, like Stiles didn’t feel invited. 

Because Derek doesn’t do well with feelings, he just grunted and fell back asleep. 

Stiles must’ve gotten the message, though, because when Derek got up later that day, Stiles was back to his ramble-y self. 

Derek hid his relieved smile.

[2baddiesfanfics]

Let Destiny Decide (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Kafka x Himeko

Tags: Angst, Exes, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering

Summary:

In this prequel chapter, we take a step back to the past, peering into how Kafka and Himeko became so much more than coworkers.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 2: Just Stay

Never in a million years did Kafka imagine this was where she’d end up. She’d spent a good chunk of her life running from, well, everything. Who would have thought a stranger – one she had plowed into, no less – would be the first to see a glimmer of potential in her and give her a chance?

It had all seemed a little too perfect. Kafka had always written off the concept of fate or destiny as utter bullshit. The stuff of fairy tales and daydreams. A way to cope with how fucked up the present was.

Until she met Himeko. Even as she listened to her chastise her reckless actions, she couldn’t focus on the words coming out of her mouth. She was dumbstruck by her beauty. The way her golden eyes shown with genuine concern disguised as irritation. Brought back to reality by the fiery-haired woman’s extended hand, she suddenly had the feeling that if she took it, the trajectory of her life would change in unimaginable ways.

For once in her life, she was right.

As the two hopped from planet to planet, Kafka went from being excited to take on missions with her to being legitimately frightened. She was tough. She was used to manipulating and faking her way through every possible scenario that could be thrown at her. What she didn’t know how to handle were these very real feelings starting to emerge. Himeko was essentially her boss and the reason she was no longer scrounging around for a place to rest her head at night.

And she had fallen in love with her. God, she hated that word. There had been a time when she might have believed in the concept. But she had been burned far too many times. Now the term carried a connotation that made bile start to rise in her throat.

As if someone like her would ever feel that way about someone like me. I’m lucky she even bothered to take a gamble and bring me on. As long as I can call the Express my home, I’ll live with being nothing more than a coworker.

Or so she thought.

They’d recently picked up a gig on a planet famous for its high-end clientele and luxurious nightclubs. It was a messy job with more than a few close calls. In the end, they had made it through unscathed – mostly. At first, Himeko had railed at her.

Goddammit, Kafka! We had him right there and you almost let him get away!

Listen here, princess. If we had done it your way, he WOULD have gotten away. Look, I know my ways may be a bit…unorthodox, but we got the job done. No harm, no foul. You should be thanking me, really.

Himeko scoffed and practically ran to her room. Kafka figured this was yet another one of her melodramatic acts to prompt her to apologize for her behavior. And as always, she’d refuse to give in. She knew things would soon blow over and they’d be back to business as usual. An hour went by, and sure enough, she heard the cabin door open. The sight that greeted her threatened to break her emotionless façade.

She emerged from her room in an extremely tight scarlet dress that barely made it mid-thigh. Kafka had seen her dressed up before for client meetings, but this was certainly not what she normally wore for those situations. She chose her next words carefully.

“Job’s over. What’s the occasion?”

“Occasion? We’re on a planet renowned for its party scene. I think I’ve earned a drink or two. I’ll be back later. Or tomorrow. I suppose it’ll depend on how the night goes. Say goodnight to Pom Pom for me.”

Kafka felt the blood drain from her face. Calm the fuck down. She’s doing this shit on purpose. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

“I see. Have fun.”

“Oh, I plan on it. Bye now. And Kafka? Don’t wait up for me.”

————————-

The beat of the music thrummed through Kafka’s entire body as she sauntered past the bouncer and straight to the bar. Flashing lights ricocheted off the sequins of her midnight black dress. Heads turned, but she couldn’t care less.

“What can I get you, miss?” The bartender shouted over the heavy bass.

“Whisky. The hardest you’ve got,” she commanded.

He nodded, poured, and traded the glass for her credits. She took a sip, the amber liquor scorching the back of her throat. Scanning the crowd, her eyes shifted from one end of the packed dancefloor to the other. Himeko was here. She knew she was. For work purposes, they tracked their respective locations on their phones in case one got into a pinch and needed to be located quickly and quietly.

Finally, her gaze locked on to that which it sought. How could she miss that hair, red as the glass of merlot she had in her hand, the other wrapped around the waist of some unknown woman as they writhed together to the pulse of the song. If she gripped her now-empty tumbler any harder, it would shatter in her hand. Her vision had blurred slightly and she had to focus her steps as she trod to the spot in front of the DJ.

Grabbing her shoulder, Himeko turned and her eyes widened in sudden recognition. The woman she had been dancing with took one look at Kafka and could tell it would be in her best interest to find another partner.

“What are you doing here? I don’t believe I gave you an invitation,” she yelled into her ear.

“You know what I’m doing here. Don’t play dumb and quit fucking with me,” Kafka shouted back.

“I just came here to blow off some steam. Fuck off,” Himeko sneered.

“I can see that. Was she the one who bought you that drink?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I don’t see why it matters to you.”

Snatching the glass from her hand, Kafka knocked back the liquid that remained. Grabbing Himeko’s hips, she pulled her against her violently. Her breath hot in her ear, she said, “Let me tell you why it matters. I know you like pushing my buttons, but I’m not a monster. I have feelings, just like you. You came here deliberately to make me jealous. I don’t think that’s playing fair.” Her lips were so close Himeko could feel them against her skin.

The woman leaned into Kafka’s embrace as they swayed to the rhythm. “And since when have you ever played fair, Kafka? Why do you think I get so upset when you pull stupid shit like you did today, hmmm? You’re a smart woman. You can figure it out.”

Spinning her around so Himeko’s back was flush against her chest, she made sure she could hear her reply. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”

The woman turned her head, pressing her scarlet-stained lips hard against Kafka’s. Was it seconds? Minutes? Neither could tell. Kafka only regained her ability to think when she felt herself hit a wall. Twirling their bodies, she pinned Himeko against it. The people around them were far too occupied with their own good time to interrupt theirs.

Finally, Himeko pulled away, ducking under the other woman’s arms. “Now. I’m going to go get that drink I was sipping on until someone decided it was theirs. It tastes much better out of a clean glass than off your filthy lips,” she spat out before heading back to the bar.

Kafka stood dumbstruck, bracing herself with her hands against the wall. What the hell just happened? Spinning around to try and catch a glimpse of her, she watched as yet another woman approached Himeko at the bar. The room spun and fire shot through her veins as she witnessed her place her hand gently on the lady’s arm. Although she couldn’t hear it over the cacophony of sound, she could tell Himeko was laughing daintily at whatever stupid fucking thing this bitch must have told her.

Kafka’s fingers hovered involuntarily against her lips, the sensation of Himeko’s on hers still weighing heavy. The object of her desire glanced back toward her as she watched her process all that had transpired in a matter of minutes. Collecting herself, Kafka tread over and inserted herself between Himeko and this stranger.

“So, you just decide to make out with me and then walk away? Is that really how you want to remember our first kiss?” Kafka asked with her signature sarcasm.

Himeko rolled her eyes. “Are you really that dense, or can you not see I’m in the middle of something here?” She knew she was getting to her. The leader of the Astral Express could scheme with the best of them. The two hadn’t traveled together for very long, but it was long enough for her to know exactly how to get into her head.

Kafka sneered at the unknown encroacher standing next to her, a deep-seated rage blazing in her gaze. “Leave,” she commanded. The interloper didn’t need to be asked twice as she scurried off as fast as her high-heels could carry her.

Chugging down what remained in her glass, she gave her a stern look. “What do you want, Kafka? You want me to tell you that kiss meant something? Or would you rather hear about how I think about you when I’m alone in my room?”

Kafka knew they were both buzzed at a minimum, but despite this could tell what she had just admitted was not a mere slip of the tongue. A low growl hitched in her throat at her words.

“Or that it irritates me when you break the very explicit rules I set on our missions, but won’t allow yourself to break the rules between us?”

Before she could retaliate, Himeko grabbed her by the hand and led her to the dance floor once more. “Since you’ve scared away my partners tonight, you’re taking their place.”

She pressed her body against Kafka’s, grinding against her as the music drowned out their thoughts. Unsure how to respond, she let Himeko lead, grabbing her by the waist to keep herself steady. There was no way she’d be able to form a coherent thought having her ass rub against her crotch like this anyway. Might as well enjoy it.

As soon as the DJ ended his set, Himeko grabbed Kafka’s wrist and practically sprinted to the exit. Their ears rang from intense volume and adrenaline, preventing them from discussing the matter further.

Himeko had already planned to not return to the Astral Express that night and reserved a hotel room - not to fuck a stranger, but to have a discreet place to sleep off the inevitable hangover. Once behind closed doors, she could no longer control herself. She lunged toward Kafka, her tongue seeking the warm wetness of her mouth.

Trying to catch her breath, Kafka pulled back. “Princess…are you sure about this?” She wanted this more than anything but didn’t want to take advantage of the situation.

“Did I not just tell you how it upsets me that you won’t break the rules between us? Of course I’m sure. Now shut up and fuck me,” Himeko demanded as she stripped out of her dress. Kafka quickly followed suit.

Pushing her down onto the bed, Himeko moved to straddle her. “Gods how I’ve dreamed of this,” Himeko whispered as she peppered kisses across Kafka’s chest.

“Why didn’t you just say so? You’re such a go-getter, I figured you more for the ‘take what I want’ type,” Kafka groaned in response.

Himeko peered up at her with lust-filled eyes. Kissing up to her neck she stopped to lick and suck at the tender flesh before biting down.

“Fuck! I suppose I deserved that.”

“Well…you did just tell me to take what I want,” she responded cheekily.

“Ah, I see you’re a bratty princess,” Kafka teased.

Himeko massaged Kafka’s breasts, causing her to moan into her mouth. Her other hand snaked between her lover’s thighs, her index finger easily gliding between her soaking wet folds.

She smirked as she brought her finger back up to her line of sight to inspect it. “For someone who talks a big game, it sure doesn’t take much to get you ready, hmm?”

“What was it you said to me before? Oh yes. Shut up and fuck me,” Kafka ground out.

Himeko continued to collect her arousal before inserting a single digit into her. Slowly thrusting in and out, she allowed her to adjust to the welcome intrusion.

“Ah…princess…you have no idea…how long I’ve wanted this,” Kafka heaved.

Moving her fingers faster, Himeko replied, “You’ll have to show me how bad you want me after I make you come.”

Kafka’s hips bucked in time, her senses going haywire at the feeling of the other woman’s lips on her neck and her fingers pinching and pulling her nipple. Himeko felt her walls contracting around her, and, knowing she was close, used her thumb to stroke her clit.

“Ohhhhhhh, Himeko!!” She shouted in ecstasy as she hit her peak, her hands gripping the sheets beneath them. The leader of the Astral Express kissed her bare shoulder tenderly, trying to convey through actions what her words could not yet communicate.

“Mmmm…I was right to be jealous. Anyone who gets that treatment besides me is now on my hit list.”

Himeko glared at her, and she held up her hands in surrender, smirking.

“Kidding! Kidding. But I do hope I can make you feel the same way.” Her eyes shown with a look that felt dangerous - and Himeko was ready to find out why.

“Let’s see if you can make me not regret taking you home instead of that gorgeous blonde I was dancing with earlier.”

Kafka snarled and pounced on her, her hand grabbing her by the sides of her neck. “My, my. I know you love to rile me up, but I’ll make you regret toying with me like that.” She dove forward, their mouths crashing against each other.

Himeko felt Kafka’s canines sink into her bottom lip and she could no longer put up a strong resistance. Her hand slid around the back of her head pulling her in deeper, harder. Kafka smiled as the other woman moaned into her mouth. This would be easier than she thought.

Her lips traveled across her neck as she moved down her body. Resting between the curve of her breasts, she alternated between gentle kisses and rough nibbles, relishing the noisy reactions she received. Himeko’s fingers were threaded through her hair, pulling and tugging in a wordless plea for more.

Kafka had always admired her physique. She was lovely, with a body that reminded her of those statues of ancient Greek goddesses. Having now experienced the way her naked skin felt under her lips, tongue, and fingers, she didn’t think she’d ever be able to live without it.

Without even having to ask, Himeko voluntarily spread her legs as if beckoning her to taste. Kafka positioned herself at her entrance, teasing her ever so softly with the tip of her tongue.

“Gods…Kafka…fuck…” she whined, too proud to beg for more. She could feel the woman chuckle against her, the vibration shooting directly to her clit. Not wanting to taunt her even more, she started with long, languid licks as she luxuriated in this taste she had longed to experience. For someone who drank coffee like it was her job, her flavor was unusually sweet. I could get used to this, Kafka thought.

She stroked the sensitive bud with her tongue, listening to Himeko’s groans hit a crescendo.

“That’s right, baby. Let me hear how good I make you feel,” she ordered as she inserted a pair of fingers, pumping in time with the strokes of her tongue.

“Ahhhhhh Kafkaaaaaa! I-I’m…” the last word was lost as she let out a primal cry of pleasure, her thighs squeezing Kafka’s head to keep her in place.

Removing her fingers from her, she licked them clean as Himeko watched hungrily. She could swear her already flushed cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red.

“Fucking delicious,” Kafka muttered before plopping down beside her. Worn out from the emotional rollercoaster they had both ridden that night, they shared a yawn as they fought to keep their eyes open.

“Himeko…about tonight…where-“

The woman interrupted her with another kiss. Resting her forehead on hers, her tired eyes pleaded for silence.

“Kafka, please. Not tonight. Let’s not complicate it. We’ll have all the time in the world to discuss it tomorrow. For now, just…stay.”

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 14 || 874 Words || Read on Ao3 —

“I didn’t need your help back there,” the woman bites as she passes him, leading her horse through an alleyway. Her cheeks are red when James catches up with her, and he can see the tension in her jaw, the way her green eyes sparkle with determination as she tucks strands of rich copper hair back beneath the safety of her riding hood.

He bristles at this. “My apologies, miss,” he replies with exasperation, palms open as he gestures in the direction of the fray they’d just escaped. “I must have mistakenly assumed that with three of the King’s guards after you and no weapon on your person that you may have been in need of someone interceding.”

“Why did you do it?”

“What?”

“You said it yourself, three of the King’s guards are after me, why do you not see me as a threat?” Her eyes flash. “Is it because of my sex?”

James is silent. She’s quick to anger, and he’s trying to figure how best to admit that it wasn’t what she assumed, but it was how he was struck by the glimpse of fear he had seen when the guards had blocked the exits of the town square.

It doesn’t seem a wise confession.

“I can’t quite explain it,” James answers instead, head slightly shaking as he takes a careful step towards where she checks the security of the bags on her horse. When she turns around, he notices they’re closer than he realized as a surprised breath reaches his ears, her eyes gone a little wide. “You just seemed like someone who needed an escape.”

It’s the woman’s turn to be silent as her eyes continue to stare into his, and James doesn’t know  what’s going through her mind, her face remaining unreadable. 

“Where will you go?” he asks, and her brows furrow at the question.

“Away.”

“Away? Do you not have a destination?”

She turns around, breaking their lingering gaze as she continues to fuss over her animal. “My destination is wherever I please, and none of your business.”

“I don’t—Will you be alright? I don’t know how it sits with my conscience letting you go away with no plans or way to defend yourself.”

“I don’t need saving or protecting. I’m not the damsel in distress to your gallant knight.” She insists, and James finds himself struck as she easily pulls herself onto her horse, stroking its chestnut mane as she contemplates her next words. “If it eases your conscience, you can join me.”

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that. Her eyes are fixated on her horse, not on him, and he thinks it might be a sliver of vulnerability cracking through her aloof exterior. James doesn’t know if she’s being facetious or if it’s a genuine offer, but he feels a strange pull that sees him stepping a little closer to the horse.

“Alright.”

“What?”

“I said alright. I’ll join you.” He appraises her, brows raising. “Unless you didn’t mean it.”

She stares back, a sigh finally escaping through her lips before her hands tighten on the reins of the horse. “Very well. Come along.”

James blinks a couple of times, still a bit in shock from this whole exchange, before approaching. He strokes the animal’s mane, placing a hand securely on the back of its neck for leverage.

“What are you doing?”

Her sharp voice is muddied by a slight hint of amusement, and James looks up at where she sits with confusion. “I’m…coming with you?”

“This is my horse.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t lead my horse.” The woman jerks her head behind her, signaling his place in all of this. “You’re behind me.”

He feels the heat rush to his face as the situation settles. Balking at the idea of it—knowing it means he’d have to wrap his arms around her for balance and feeling a traitorous stirring within—he tries to make her see his dilemma. “But that’s…” improper, he wants to say, but realizes how foolish that would sound in the midst of all these hurried, unorthodox plans.

“If you have a problem with it, you can stay.”

“No, no…I’ll…” he gestures to the horse as he moves to mount behind her, sucking in a breath at the warmth of her body so close to his, arms carefully wrapping around her waist. She stills at his touch and he panics, looking for a way to bridge this awkward moment as the ludicrousness of what they’re doing settles in. “I’m James, by the way. James Potter.”

“Evans,” she offers in response with a glance over her shoulder, and though he notes the absence of a first name, he doesn’t pry. 

Instead, he lets out a chuckle. “Evans? Any relation to the King?”

The few seconds of silence weigh heavy on him, somehow saying more than her words ever could. His stomach knots with the implication, and he tries to convince himself that he’s just on edge.

“Of course not. That’s ridiculous.”

And without wasting another moment, her heels dig into the side of the horse and they’re off—all thoughts of a runaway princess disappearing from his mind as his arms tighten around her in hopes of not falling.

[light-lanterne]

Hi! Idk if you're into it, but can I request some Byler and vivisection please? Look it up if you don't know what it is, I get the feeling it's right up your alley

hello ! thanks for the ask ~! a lovely mutual (rori) has been sharing stuff about it here and there so i know what it is, don't worry :]

anyway, you'll forgive the uninspiring scenario and the massive departure from your prompt, but i'm a little dry on creativity these past couple days so this is the only thing i could come up with. i hope it's enough:

tw // abundant, vivid, semi-anatomically-correct descriptions of gore - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ☽ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - a short offering @boycattj, @byelerss, @catboy-cabin, @cosmobrain00, @dark-quill, @conanssummerchild, @fenixashes, @fluffyfangirl, @foodiewithdahoodie, @holyvirgilscriptures, @hyperfixationcentralsvoid, @rotisseries, @wheelersboy, @yearninginblue.

s5 scenario where byler are trapped by themselves in the upside down. they are lost, tired, they've been fighting quite a lot and they just want to find somewhere safe to spend the night and recover a little bit of their strength.

luck, however, isn't on their side and they get mauled by a pack of demogorgons. they manage to outrun most of them via trickery and deception; they even manage to kill a couple.

but it's not enough and, just when they think they're finally safe, a lone beast follows their tracks and finds their hiding spot, attacking and ripping to shreds the belly of one of them before the other is able to do anything and neutralise the threat via bashing them in the head with a bat.

so, the demogorgon is dead and the one who killed it (could be either mike or will) takes a moment to recover his breath, then turns around and notices just how bad the other is doing so he rushes to his side. kneels by him. of course, he quickly realises the blood loss is almost too much and starts to crack under the pressure of what's happening, but he keeps trying and even manages to stop most of the bleeding with one hand...

...but then shock sets in and the heart stops, and the one still awake —who again, only has one hand available since they're still trying to stop the bleeding with the other— is forced to take a rather unorthodox approach towards saving the other's life.

if it's mike, it's because of his unyielding determination and stubborn resolution to not let vecna win after everything that's happened. if it's will, it's because of his love for mike and maybe because he's lost a little bit of sanity throughout the last few months of their struggle, with the constant nightmares and taunting vecna's been subjecting him to non-stop.

whoever it is, he's a little deranged over the situation and thus, he doesn't hesitate to stick his hand inside the tear —careful not to be too forceful in an effort to keep the guts intact—, then slides it under the sternum and pushes past the liver, stomach and diaphragm and reaches towards the heart, erratic spasms from the lungs a clear indicator of how quickly the other's condition is deteriorating and how urgent the situation is.

so he keeps going. and at first, the fingertips barely touch the muscle, the blood is slippery and makes it so the heart keeps moving further into the ribcage, and it's a rather awkward angle so he has to consistently rearrange the position of his hand. but then he figures it out, pushes a little bit deeper —closer—, and finally manages to get a firm hold onto the heart and squeezes.

gently, softly. he has no idea what he's doing but he's determined and he's already in so deep (literally) so he's not going to stop.

thus, he massages the heart and tries to make the blood flow from one chamber into the other —just like mr. clarke showed them in biology class—, then maybe even moves their position a little so he can attempt to give some rather-ineffective mouth-to-mouth, barely any air making it past the throat due to the atrocious angle, yet enough air entering the lungs to inflate them a little and pushing them closer to the hand that's still in there.

little by little, for several minutes, he keeps struggling to reanimate the heart and get it back in working order until, finally, the demogorgon's poor victim takes a deep, tortured breath and the heart beats a couple times on its own, its rhythm slow and uneven but at least it's there.

moreover, there are yells in the distance and they've been there for a while, but the boys were a little busy to notice and it is only now that they realise it's their party and thus, help is on the way and everything is going to be fine and it is! the others arrive promptly and help the unfortunate teenagers through their conundrum, then a few weeks go past and the upside down is out of their lives so everything should go back to normal soon.

and for the most part, that's exactly what happens. life is not quite what it used to be before the gates opened —much less before will was even taken—, but slowly, the anxiety and nightmares the entire party now suffers start decreasing as time goes by and it's probably only going to be a couple years before they can all feel a sense of peace and calm at long last.

but during the quiet nights, when they're completely alone in their bedrooms with nothing but their own thoughts as companions, mike and will keep thinking back to that moment. to when one of them had to do something so odd to save his life.

for the receiver, it's a little confusing since it's all a blur, the strange, phantom sensation of having a hand around his cardiac muscle somehow entwining with the endorphin rush produced by the delusional daydreams he was having at that moment, on the brink of death, when the pain of what his body was going through was no longer being registered in his tired brain, and thus, the pressure of a foreign object in his chest somehow being logged in his mind as something that felt nice.

for the giver, however, it's all much clearer. much more vivid. if he focusses enough, he can still feel the warmth of the blood and smooth innards against his palm, all over his skin and under his nails; the pressure of the viscera pushing against his fingers, the space tight and clearly not meant to house any more mass, yet squishy and malleable and able to make enough room for the slim hand; the blood inside the heart moving from one side to the other, the sensation not too different from that of playing around with a water balloon...

...the bizarre feeling of the lungs expanding and breathing in life at the very end, his hand suddenly trapped and unable to move by the increased volume, almost as if the inside of his loved one's body was trying to hold him and keep him there, unmoving for just a little bit longer, nestled between some of the most important organs in the entire human body (the very organs he'd just reanimated and essentially returned life to with his very breath and gentle force).

so he lays in bed, hand extended towards the ceiling, the light from outside his window illuminating his fingers, and he pictures how they looked back when he finally pulled out to give room for the others to finish saving the other's life.

he pictures his hand covered in crimson blood, the likes of which was too quick to get cold upon being in contact with the air, then sighs in melancholy as he chases after the memory of the wonderful heat and pressure he'll unfortunately never get to feel again.

- the end -

(now that this is done, i must ask,,, is vivisection a weird kink ? >.< not shaming in the slightest (and this isn't technically vivisection so it's not even right), but i was writing the last couple paragraphs when it hit me that not everyone is an aroace ex-med student like yours truly so i was just going with the vibes while it is entirely possible that anon had a different angle when sending their request x.x oh well, it's done. thanks for the ask, for reading, and for letting me write weird stuff !! have a lovely day / night ~)

[inscrutable-shadow]

Whumptober 2023 Day 6 - Opening Act

@whumptober-archive

Alt Prompt - Lab Rat

In at the wire, amirite? And a form experiment? During Whumptober? Less likely than you'd think! I can't put a readmore in a chat format I am so sorry hopefully the new post shortening feature is sufficient ;-;

I don't feel comfy deciding how much of the Doc's backstory is canon to FCD right now so have a new banner, I guess. They should be about nineteen here, and this is one of their first subjects. Have them being horrifying for a bit lol.

contains: gore, medical experimentation, medical malpractice, lab whump

also available on ao3!

Partial audio recording recovered from raid of former Astra Group research facility. Subject has been identified from accompanying documents as subject 003-CV. [rustling sounds, as if the recording device is being worn around the DOCTOR’s neck. their voice is louder than 003’s because of the resonance.] 003: W-What are you going to do to me? DOCTOR: (brightly) Mm, well, I was thinking, given your broad shoulders and larger than average chest cavity, that you would be an excellent subject for my experiments regarding the integration of a secondary pulmonary system into a living human. I believe I have found a pair that will quite fit you.[sound like velcro pulling and leather stretching] DOCTOR: Ah, take care when you pull at the restraints! They are quite secure. I would not want you to injure yourself. 003: Extra lungs? What do I need extra lungs for? DOCTOR: Just think of the applications! You could hold your breath for twice as long. With some additional modifications, perhaps even breathe in and out at the same time. Much more efficient. Though, well, you are unlikely to do either. I am not arrogant enough to assume that my first attempt at this procedure will be that successful. 003: So I’m going to die? DOCTOR: Like as not, yes.  003: Didn’t you take an oath or something? Do no harm? DOCTOR: Me? Oh, certainly not! Even if I were in the habit of making promises I did not intend to keep, my education was… unorthodox. Not that I truly mind spinning public falsehoods, but life is easier when you keep those to a minimum, I think. [the clinking of metal tools] DOCTOR: Plus, I believe those sorts of ethical quibbles only hold the art of medicine back. To truly drive progress forward, we must be willing to do what was previously held to be impossible. 003: Wait! Er, why are you doing this? Surely there’s some other way to- DOCTOR: Ah, I see. You are working with a faulty premise. I am not some young, idealistic doctor blinded to ethics by their drive to seek the truth. On the contrary, I do this because I love it! [DOCTOR laughs] DOCTOR: Slicing through skin, pulling apart sinew, grinding through bone, I find it all absolutely delightful. Hold still a minute, quick pinch coming… 003: (slurred) What… what’d you give me? DOCTOR: That should numb the pain and prevent you from moving. It is a little experimental thing I have been working on. We shall see if it works, no? 003: Please… no… DOCTOR: Hush, love. The less you talk, the less it will hurt. [slicing sounds. 003 screams.] DOCTOR: (gleefully) Oops. I lied. [more slicing sounds. 003 continues to wail and moan.] DOCTOR: (giggling) Pardon me a moment. Need to… step away to compose myself… Ah, this is incredible! [their voice is muffled, as if pressing a hand over their surgical mask. the laughter’s volume is unchanged.] 003: You’re insane! DOCTOR: (still laughing) Oh, certainly! Glad to see you understand! [more giggles and a few deep breaths, then the slicing sounds resume.] DOCTOR: Oh, this is my favourite part. [the whirring of a bone saw. the DOCTOR hums a folk tune, possibly ‘Daisy Daisy’. 003 screams louder than previously, but is cut off. recording ends.]

taglist: @athenswrites, @i-eat-worlds, @demondamage you seem invested in doc stuff so idk if you want to be tagged? just let me know!

[fruchtfleisch-art]

microfic prompt: blood :D

Blood :D

Kirashino microfic #1/?: Blood

On Thursdays, Shinobu dresses up, takes the train into town, and meets a serial killer for lunch.

It sounds dramatic boiled down to base facts, like she’s his accomplice, or a future victim. It’s not hard to imagine the police report. Mrs. Kawajiri met the suspect at 1317 hours at his place of work. The suspect lured her to a secondary location, where he then…

Well, she’s not exactly sure how he does it. Or why. Would it be better or worse, knowing all the grisly details?

Today, their secondary location is a gravel trail running parallel to the beach, the sky above them achingly bright and blue. Breakers pound against the coastline and recede with a hiss, water sluicing through sand and pebbles, leaving skeins of foam in a yellow-white tangle on the shore.

They hold hands as they walk, companionably silent. Kira’s wearing a new cologne, a smoky jasmine scent. Shinobu tries to remember what Kosaku used to smell like and finds herself unable to muster more than a passing interest, as insubstantial as seafoam. What does it matter? Her husband is gone now, spirited away by the same power that let the killer at her side take his face and his fingerprints and his wife. Good riddance.

Kira seems content with Kosaku’s appearance, his job, his role in their family, but he’s sloughed the rest like snakeskin. He hums when he’s happy, talks to himself when he thinks he’s alone. He obsesses over details and gets irritable when the world fails to conform to his perilously high standards. He has expensive, occasionally unorthodox tastes. When they get lunch, he always finds something interesting for dessert. Peach and ginger galette. Lemon cake with pistachio and cardamom. Vanilla ice cream dusted with espresso powder, speckled with black pepper, drizzled with balsamic vinegar.

“I’ve come to appreciate a little novelty in my life,” he’d said when she asked, the underlying message clear as a bell and substantially sweeter.

That’s something the police report would definitely leave out. His sweetness.

Today they’re having strawberry and basil jamupan, one each. Kira catches a dribble of jam before it can fall into her lap.

“Careful, dear,” he says. “We don’t want to make a mess, do we?”

An image rises in Shinobu’s mind as she brings her hand to her mouth and licks syrupy, savory filling off her fingers, Kira’s eyes on her like a physical weight. She remembers waking up from a hazy nightmare, stumbling downstairs still half-asleep. Opening the fridge for a bottle of water, acrid yellow light snapping on as the door swings wide. A severed human hand on the top shelf, next to a box of takeout.

A severed human hand. Thick, jellied clots of blood drooling from the stump, oozing past crushed shards of carpal bones and strips of muscle. Darker bits of blood flecking the shelf and interior wall, drying to scab consistency. The fingers stiffly curled, the nails immaculately groomed but bearing the bruise-purple pallor of death. A hand in her fridge.

It was gone in the morning, almost like she had dreamed it. Kira had come home from work with flowers and kisses and Shinobu had ignored the bulge in his suit jacket pocket, turned the tv off when a news bulletin started about a new missing person case.

“No,” she tells Kira, “I don’t.”

Better or worse? Hard to say.

[gatalentan]

14!

Abbott Elementary Prompts || 14. Most emotional scene:

Of course you would send me this one you little shit (affectionate).

This one is unbelievably easy for me, and I suspect will be a pretty common answer. The dyslexia scene from Readathon. A lot of it has been said about it, much more eloquently than I could, but for me - and I'm going to be very real here for a moment - here's why:

I think, for anyone who has a learning disability, this scene hit like a ton of bricks. For so many of us, especially that are a bit older and there wasn't the understanding there is now, or that live in areas that just don't have the funding for special educational infrastructure to give us the extra care we needed, this scene was a kind of wish fulfilment. A Miss Honey in Matilda kind of moment. An "I see you, and what you experience is ok". I'm on the spectrum, and if just one of my teachers - any adult in my life, in truth - had helped me realise that my learning difficulties were something to work with, not fix or punish me for, I think maybe my educational trajectory would have gone a little differently. But I never had an opportunity like that. I had good teachers, but they didn't have the training. That was something I had to figure out how to adapt all on my own. I think that's common for many people. But adaptations and support is out there, and this scene is a reminder to anyone viewing that, whether it's their own disabilities or someone else in your life. That it's ok to have to use different strategies to reach the same goal. It doesn't make you any lesser. What you're going through matters.

Mel's a beloved character, and she puts a human face on having a learning difficulty, something that has very little representation in tv and movies, in a way that isn't patronising or othering, because this isn't a character you can other as a viewer because of the way she's built. Melissa's tough as nails, it's her defining characteristic. They took one of the strongest characters, someone who takes absolutely no shit from anyone, and not only gave us a deeper understanding of one of many reasons to explain the way she is the way she is, but put a completely new lens on how we've seen her teaching be at times more unorthodox or strange. Gave an example of learning disability as a lived experience, not just as a theoretical type of oppression. Her and Ava are both similar in this regard (with different obstacles): both in their roles in the cast as the comic relief, approaching stuff/saying outlandish things that make other characters pause, but that humour comes from somewhere. It's a compensation, it's a deflection, it's drawing attention away from the soft parts. It's adapting to an environment that didn't make life easy for you. So by giving these interesting depths of backstory to two characters who, normally, you can relax around, as a viewer - because both Lisa and Janelle are stand-up comedians, and the skill of a natural comic is that when they have the mic, you know you're in safe hands and can relax - it disarms you. It makes you go oh. It softens their otherwise very spiky edges. It's fantastic framing. It's great writing and characterisation. The book scene in Readathon is such a fantastic example of how full of heart this show is, while otherwise being light-hearted and easy to watch. This scene made me cry, and it's really important.

[thehypotensivegrad]

The Adviser (19/45) | Bechloe Mafia AU

In this War, What is Truth? Chapter Preview - Read the rest at ao3

Aubrey wasn't exactly sure what she was expecting when Beca said it was time to do things her way. Technically speaking, they were already doing that. She wondered briefly if it meant that the gloves were coming off, if the childish schemes and pranks, the unorthodox way of doing things, were about to end. But no, Beca still had her drawn lines. She just expanded them.

"They deserve a lifetime of misery, after all," Beca had said when she had explained her plan the night after they found the victim's family.

The police insistence on barely investigating and chalking things up to suicide was highly suspicious. Beca was convinced they've been paid off, and quite possibly they too were paid off back when Chloe was arrested. If anything, they've probably been on Babel's payroll for a while. Aubrey couldn't help but agree.

Lilly came back with info after a bit of digging. The two detectives in charge of the case had been living a rather lavish lifestyle, at least compared to other police detectives. Beca figured they were probably being paid cash in secret, because their banking records showed no anomalies. Still, they were spending more than what they earn, even when they took into account their respective spouse's income.

Chloe did some of her own sly digging. She was fueled with a new desire for taking down her former law firm. She reached out to her old co-workers, trying to figure out who was getting fed up or frustrated with how things were being ran. She hit jackpot with Jack, a lawyer who entered the firm the same year she did. Jack did a lot of impressions during company parties. Apparently, the Kommissar had taken a liking to them and he has been turned into her personal jester, making impressions whenever she wanted.

Jack was instrumental to their current revenge plot. Chloe invited him for coffee. As pre-planned, Aubrey arrived soon after, after Chloe and Jack had gotten the pleasantries out of the way. Basically, if Chloe sensed that Jack would crack and inadvertently help them, Aubrey would arrive, and Beca soon after, to make a deal. Aubrey was going to appeal to his morality, and Beca was going to deliver him an offer he can't refuse, because, as Beca said, everyone had a price, and Chloe knew that Jack dreamed to be part of the legal team of a multi-national company. If he didn't, then Chloe would subtly text Aubrey to make a change of plans and it would be Lilly convincing Jack to help them while on his way home.

Thankfully Jack was so done with everything at DSM that he sang like a canary and spilled tea.

He hated how they were basically doing grunt work. He didn't know of the more nefarious – or rather, under-the-table politicking – that was going on with the firm until the Kommissar dialed it up to a thousand.

Aubrey didn't even have a chance to butt-in with her impassioned speech of why Jack should help them. She didn't need to. He fessed up that Kommissar had sent him to pay police detectives for some recent cover up without being prompted to. He wasn't sure what it was about, just that he needed to make the deliveries for the payment twice at the abandoned 7 story parking lot of the old, also abandoned, mall that Aubrey, Beca, and Chloe had once upon a time used as well.

Jack was still going on and on about his plight when Beca arrived.

And Beca being Beca, managed to smoothly take over the one-sided conversation. "You know, I have a friend in Lamborghini saying something about an opening in their legal team. Someone willing to move to Milan."

That was all Beca needed to say for Jack to be all ears.

Aubrey would be lying if she said she wasn't at all impressed.

Which brought them back to the old abandoned mall. On the seventh floor of the parking garage, to be specific.

They set up a sting operation wherein Jack made the drop and the detectives came to pick up the dough. Emily was ready to snap photos for proof before being sent home, Aubrey reasoned, she didn't need to be involved with what happened next.

What happened next was that Lilly knocked the two detectives out, and Beca had Justin and Tommy tie them onto two swivel chairs separately. Their legs were tied in such a way so that their feet could barely reach the ground. The chairs were also raised up to maximum height to help do so. Afterwards, the two chairs were tied together, back-to-back, and they were carried up towards the seventh floor where the old barricades that surrounded the enclosure of the parking garage had worn out. They were placed a few meters away from the now open ledge.

Beca always dressed in black when she meant business, at least, that's what Aubrey had observed. She had worn an all-black suit ensemble, paired with sleek black oxfords, and her long brown hair tied back. Aubrey watched her as Beca stood in front of the detectives, waiting for them to wake up, once again fiddling with the lid of her lighter. The sound it made Aubrey soon associated with Beca's scheming. That and her personal brand of justice.

She stood a few feet away from Beca, arms crossed. To her right was Chloe who looked deep at thought. Aubrey could tell she was still upset by Babel and DSM's latest schemes. She would worry more about how things are taking a toll on Chloe if her best friend didn't have Beca by her side. The two of them had still been living together, despite Chloe receiving a call recently that the work being done to her home was completed. Whether Beca knew or not, Aubrey wasn't sure. What she did know for certain was that Beca Bella cared a lot about Chloe. She could anticipate the redhead's needs beforehand, always three ready with a cup of coffee, or water, or snack, and anything else that Chloe needed, especially during the last few days they've been working together to give Babel what's coming for them.

Beca smirked and stopped fiddling with the lighter once the two detectives stirred awake and started trying to free themselves.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you," Beca then said.

"This is illegal!" cried one of the detectives.

"This is insane!" cried the other.

"What's illegal and insane is two officers accepting bribes to cover up a murder and present it as a suicide," Aubrey chastised. She couldn't help it.

"You have no proof!" the older of the two detectives said.

"Oh, we do," Beca then replied calmly. "We have all the info we need about your extra-curricular activities." Beca sighed and placed her hands in her pockets, before walking towards the two detectives. She placed a foot on top of one of the swivel chairs. "If you die here, we can pin it all on a exchange gone wrong. You're names forever besmirched by your corruption," she then said before kicking the chair lightly towards the open edge of the seventh floor.

As soon as the chair started moving, the detectives panicked and tried their best to stop their tracks. But when their chairs started shaking, almost toppling over in their efforts, they stopped and prayed they don't reach the edge. They did not.

"A seven-story drop would be fatal, I believe," Aubrey then commented and marched towards them and gave the chair a light kick, making them barely move a few inches closer.

"They were, in a way, accessory to the crime of murder, it wouldn't be hard to believe that whoever they helped would have done them in too," Chloe then said, moving towards the detectives and giving their chairs a hefty kick that sent them speeding to one side, stopping a few feet of the edge of the building.

"You're not really going to kill us, are you?" the younger of the two detectives asked, fear clearly evident in his tone. "P-please, I have a wife. He has a wife too, a-and kids, please, please, don't kill us."

Beca walked towards them and placed a foot on one of the hand rests. If she gave it her all in the next kick, Aubrey surmised that she would send them careening towards their doom.

But instead of giving a kick, Beca started applying pressure in the chair, rocking it back and forth. Before stopping. "How about I make you a deal?" Beca then asked. "You answer our questions, and you'll be free. Fair?"

"Y-yes," they both replied and gulped.

"Who hired you?" Beca asked. "We already know it's Babel and DSM, but I want to know who gave the order. Who's on top?"

"We don't know that, w-we just got a call from the Kommissar. She handles all the business. Before it would be Pietro who called us," the older detective replied.

"Y-yeah, and we only get instructions, we don't ask why," the younger detective then said.

"Who killed them then?" Chloe asked, with barely concealed contempt in her tone. "Were you the hired killers too? Or do you not know who you are covering up for?"

"Hangers, their called. A gang, real bad rap sheet," the older detective said. "We were instructed to clean up their mess and how, but we weren't asked to kill anyone."

Chloe huffed and marched towards where Beca stood, she raised one of her legs with force, about to kick the chair. Aubrey panicked a little, and was about to rush to stop her, but in the end she didn't.

Mostly because she didn't have too.

"Chloe," Beca said, her tone so soft. She gave her a look before shaking her head.

Chloe huffed again and put her foot down. "I wasn't going to go all in," she mumbled.

Beca chuckled. "Don't wear your heart on your sleeve," she then said. "Your enemies will exploit it, you know."

Chloe huffed once more before walking back to Aubrey. She seemed a whole lot calmer after that exchange.

"And piece of advice," Beca then added towards the detective. "You may think you're above it all, because you wear a badge as your shield. But that badge doesn't stop monsters like me from exacting justice on people like you. What goes around comes around, and you can never beat someone who's not afraid of death in this dangerous game you're playing."

Beca took her foot of the seat and turned around. She signaled for them to walk away, and so they did.

"Hey! Are you not gonna set us free? We delivered our end of the deal!" the older detective shouted.

Beca stopped on her tracks and raised two fingers, before bringing it down to one. "What deal? You had no other options. You were never in the position to make any bargains. Be thankful you keep your lives," she said before raising her second finger again. "I'm sure, you can free yourselves if you try really hard. We said we'll let you keep your lives, not free you. Understand the terms of your agreement before signing onto them."

Beca smirked and then turned to leave again. The younger of the two detectives cried out this time, "How about our money?" he asked but Beca made no attempt to stop.

Chloe shook her head. "We decided to donate it to a better cause," she said before following Beca.

Aubrey bid the two farewell, her mind onto the next phase of their mission. "Hopefully we don't meet again, detectives."

She caught up to Beca, thinking about the Hangers. She has indeed heard of the gang. If they were to use them to nail Babo down, that would mean they were up against really dangerous enemies. They had to prepare. Besides, from what Aubrey has heard of them, some members were also officers in the police department. She assumed she could rule out the other two who cracked so easily under their intimidation tactics.

This also meant they would have to further push the boundaries of what they were willing to do if they were going to make them crack.

Aubrey had a lot to prepare for.

"You could be a consigliere, you know?" Beca commented. Aubrey hadn't realized that the two of them ended up matching their pace, letting Chloe lead the way back to Beca's car.

"I assume that's a compliment?" Aubrey then asked.

"Make of it what you will," Beca replied with a smirk.

"Just make sure no one dies in the same room as the person who will be covering up for you," Aubrey retorted.

"At this point, death will be a mercy, an escape," Beca commented before she sighed. "The only time any of them will die is after they've suffered in agony, that much I can promise. But if I can help it, let's take away all they hold precious and bring them to justice."

Beca picked up her pace after that, leaving Aubrey alone with her thoughts. Beca's words echoing in her mind.

She wondered if it would ever be truly possible to do just what Beca promised without any one dying in the end?

[galactic-senator-amidala]

hello! mun speaking :D

"i am not afraid to use unorthodox means to prove my point"

before we get started, there’s some things that are going to be pointed out here (plz read they are very important):

if you’d like to ask padme or the mun anything, use my ask box! it is open for those specific reasons! just make sure to clarify if you are asking padme or mun

if youd like to rp but dont know if ill say yes, just dm me! they are open for those reasons lol

im pretty much cool with everything as long as it doesnt involve any nsfw stuff (gore & stuff is fine, im referring to smut)

my time schedule is wack so there will be days where i am radio silent. please dont think i am ignoring you, im probs just so busy i dropped dead (id recommend priv msging me to be safe)

my main blog is @flowered-bicycles so if youd like to see how i am like out of rp, go there lol

mun goes by soka but will usually be referred to as “amidala’s (or padme’s) mun. mun also uses she/her

as hard as i will try to be like padme’s canon self, i might end up throwing a bit of myself in the rp as well. if something seems ooc, please let me know but dont be harsh about it

parentheses or // are used when mun is speaking

roleplay is either used in 3rd person or 1st person. if you have a preference you’d like me to use, dont be shy and let me know

extra and disclaimer! - this is strictly an rp blog (yes i may act and speak and react like padme, but i am no way actually her. i am in no way affiliated with star wars! (unless you count being a fan as affiliated) so this is completely fanmade! feel free (much encouraged) to like, reblog, or send/asks and make comments! the ask box has anon on as well, so if you are too shy to use your user, anon is on just for you! if you wish, giving an emoji for me to recognize you by would be greatly appreciated! you can leave comments and ill try to reply to them. i dont think my submissions are open, but if youd like to submit something then ill open them!

BLOG RULES

you may use “potty mouth” when rping in character, but please keep it pretty strictly to star wars cursing (kriff, kark, etc)

padme is straight and will be canonically shipped with anakin (cuz they are married, duhh) but if you wish to do a “non-canonical”/au where padme is shipped with your character (or is not straight), please dm me and we will work it out

keep this a SFW blog! (which means no smut!! violence / gore are accepted tho so be warned)

keep the asks respectful please

uncomfortable topics will be blatantly ignored

dont godmod.

have fun!

about padme

galactic senator

canonically married to anakin skywalker

unofficially became ahsoka’s aunt

isn't afraid to use aggressive negotiations

will sweet talk you to get what she wants

friends & foes

canon

anakin skywalker - open slot

ahsoka tano - open slot

satine kryze - @arandomnerdsrp358

obi-wan kenobi - open slot

oc

(name of character) - user

PROMPT LIST! (and quotes)

here is a list of prompts that will help structure an rp (if you want to make a structured rp) or help get the rp flowing/started:

extra!: prompts and quotes can be requested together! for ex. : “can i request prompt a. with quote 6?” (or vice versa)

quotes:

1. “why did you do it? tell me”

2. “you know im always here for you, right?”

3. “let me take care of you”

4. “i thought id never see you again…”

5. “we need to get you to a hospital!”

6. “blood? why are you bleeding!?”

7. “sleep at my place tonight”

8. “you know you are my one and only”

9. “im in love with you, idiot (or di’kut)

10. “sh, stop fussing. let me braid your hair”

11. “if you steal the blankets, im going to put my cold feet on you.”

prompts:

a. it’s a mission and we got separated from the group. we are on an unknown planet and dont have any signal to comm the rest of the group. we have to try to make our way back to the ship with only each other and the things we have with us.

b. no one knows when it started, but suddenly people have started receiving red ribbons tied to their pinky and the red trails off to their soulmate. not everyone has a soulmate but we are some of the lucky few who have one. follow the roleplay as we go on a journey to follow the trail and meet eachother, and then live life together as soulmates.

c. a diplomatic mission gone wrong when a terrible virus breaks out in the planet. with the ship pulled to pieces and we are stranded on the planet, how will we survive and rebuild the ship to get off world and warn the other planets?

d. it’s a diplomatic mission to bring a planet to the side of the republic, but something goes wrong. dooku has brought his army to stop the planet from joining the republic and we get caught in the crossfire! negotiations are made and dooku has proposed a challenge for us to complete. if successfully completed, the planet may host a republic base. if lost, the planet goes to the separatists.

!! accepting additional quotes / prompts !!

[ruiningwritingprompts]

Some Submission Rules/ other stuff

This blog's name does not intend that I'm out to get people who run writing prompt blogs 😭. I love writing, and I love reading the reblogs from people who take the prompt seriously, y'all are super creative! I just intend to "ruin" the prompt by answering it in an unorthodox way. I liked doing it on my main for a bit, and thought hey, I should just run a separate blog so I can do it more.

I'm obviously not going to answer prompts that are mean-spirited. No homophobia, transphobia, racism, xenophobia, etc. on this blog, period.

I'm willing to answer some stranger prompts for the laughs, but nothing NSFW.

No fandom related prompts, I live under a rock and I'd feel bad for not writing a prompt if its for a fandom I don't know.

I feel like I have to reiterate, this blog is titled "ruining" writing prompts, this is for humor, there is no bad or wrong way to write, I just like answering the prompts un-conventionally and being a bit of a goofball.

[trust-my-glorious-purpose]

When Brock walked into the debriefing room, Alexander Pierce regarded him with a quick once over above the rim of his glasses, striking blue eyes following Brock’s movement. The room itself was decorated in a style somewhere between a small conference room and an interrogation room. The table in the center sat two chairs, one awaiting Rumlow and the other occupied by Pierce. “I appreciate you being so prompt, Commander. I know you were… occupied, but I needed to speak with you quite urgently about our guest.” The man did not fail to notice that Rumlow was sporting freshly bleeding wounds (which he had had the pleasure of watching Loki inflict via the cameras in his cell). “Please, sit.” He gestured to the empty chair and waited for a moment, they both knew his words were less of a suggestion and more of a command. If Brock knew what was good for him, he’d sit. “While your previous actions were highly unorthodox and could have seriously compromised our goals, they did happen to bring us a promising new asset and for that I wanted to give you my thanks and extend an opportunity.” Pierce’s talk of thanks and opportunity sounded less than genuine, more of a show of power over Brock than anything. “We want to train him, that much power on our side could open up new doors for Hydra. Now, where you come in is quite a crucial role. I see Loki’s managed to take a stab at you, but that moment you had with him just a bit ago. We can use that. I’m assigning you as his handler effective immediately. You’ll help oversee his training and keep him in line with our program.”

"They don't know you're awake yet. Stay down."

Loki had briefly started to sit up, but the harshly growled whisper to stay down kept him in his place. He was all for keeping himself alive and safe and if this man's tone was anything to go off of, it would serve him well to listen. His green eyes were focused intensely on the man next to him, "Who is 'they' and why are you helping me?" He asked, voice barely above a whisper to avoid arousing the attention of the other people in the room.

@kingcrossbones