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eggcats · 6 months ago

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I got distracted thinking about Housewife Vox, and if I had Vox's powers, I'd have blown out the city's power grid. So this is a completely self-indulgent (with some nsfw-ish near the end) fic offshoot of that post.

The other post you can choose to be one-sided, but this RadioStatic is reciprocated here. You were warned.

There's like, quite literally over 3k words here, and none of the (mild) nsfw-ish stuff doesn't even start until we hit 2k. Oops.

Alastor isn't completely unaware he's essentially kidnapped someone to live with him, in a way that could be misconstrued as a partner. He's been in hell for about 20 years, and before that, he lived in areas no one would exactly call....normal to typical white picket fence Americana. He's not completely ignorant of how it looks.

However, he's never been really good at noticing when other people have Those Kinds of feelings towards himself. (He doesn't feel those things, and so he doesn't even notice any supposed signals being sent). It's not even always intentional, it just never occurs to him that someone could (or would) be interested in him in such a way.

And so. He doesn't realize how Vox feels towards him. Not until he invites him to Cannibal Town to meet his beloved Rosie, and Vox can barely bring himself to be his typical charming self.

The tea is awkward, and Alastor is a little upset that, apparently, Vox is only okay with his cannibalism when it's not in his face - but isn't willing to accept it when he can't ignore it. Alastor is aware that his tastes are a little alarming to most of hell's population, but he thought Vox accepted it in him. (Perhaps he only made him dinner when it was venison because he could ignore the rest of it? Alastor assumed he usually prepared his sinner meat simply because he was the one bringing it in, but perhaps he was mistaken.)

It's not until the next time he visits his dear friend and he laments the issue when he discovers the truth. (He adores his Rosie, but the laughter she did in his face for his confusion he could have lived without. If he was any less of a gentleman, he would have mocked her snorting, but alas, his mother raised him better than that).

So now Alastor has to consider the fact that Vox himself is also aware of the strange dynamic they are living under and is apparently very interested in keeping it. (Even to the point of trying to scare off potential competition, an idea that is so laughable that he can't help but chuckle a bit.)

If that's the case, then he will simply continue on as normal. If he mentions him and Rosie simply being extremely close but neither having any romantic interest in the other before the next time he invites Vox to Cannibal Town, there's nothing more to it. (Vox's expression after doesn't do anything to him, nor is he pleasantly surprised how non-judgemental his picture box is when he isn't attempting to stake a non-contested claim. He also pointedly ignores any looks Rosie might be throwing him behind Vox's back.)

Alastor, therefore, believes himself to have resolved this "issue."

Vox, however, doesn't realize how blatant his affections are and is somehow convinced he's keeping them hidden. Vox, while enjoying PRETENDING to be a housewife to an attractive (cannibalistic, violent...oh, those teeth...) man, is terrified of accidentally crossing a line he's not aware of. He knows Alastor is okay with how they're currently operating, because Alastor is the one who created it. But, he hasn't shown any interest in anything MORE, and so Vox feels like he must content himself with just that - fantasies.

(If he sometimes imagines being swept off his feet when Alastor gets home and ravished on "their" marriage bed, well, that's between him and the walls).

Or it would be, if Alastor wasn't Alastor.

See. Alastor has a great deal of affection for Vox, but he's aware that they are in hell and that no one is here by accident. He doesn't LIKE the idea that Vox may simply be using his own interest for an advantage over him when he's vulnerable, but Alastor can't deny the very distinct possibility.

Even excepting that issue, Vox himself did not land in hell with the same right-out-the-gate power, and as it stands, any of Alastor's enemies would surely target Vox as a weakness of his. While certainly his picture box isn't completely as helpless as he likes to pretend, the idea of anyone even attempting to stake any kind of claim on him makes Alastor want to bite something.

So whenever he leaves, he uses his shadows to observe what Vox does on his own in Alastor's living space. He doesn't tell Vox this for a magnitude of reasons - wanting to see how he operates when he thinks he's alone, as well as Alastor having the ability to self-reflect enough to know his possessive ownership of things he considers HIS isn't something most others are okay with when that comes to other people.

(Alastor will find out later that Vox is absolutely more than okay with Alastor considering him his and very much LIKES his possessive attitude).

And for the most part, Vox doesn't do anything of note. Alastor has his shadows keep watch on him, but to allow Vox his privacy, he doesn't actually have them report directly or watch through them - unless his shadows believe something is relevant for him to see. So for a few weeks, his shadows presence around Vox when he is away is more of a security measure than anything else.

But eventually, they pick up on something strange. It's not a lot at a time, but it seems like Vox has taken it upon himself to steal small amounts of money from him. Alastor tries to negate this by simply inviting Vox shopping along with him and allowing him to choose whatever he wants to purchase. Alastor has even suggested Vox going shopping with his money on his own (while being protected from the shadows, of course) but even that was rejected.

Alastor can't understand any of it. He would understand if Vox was looking for some kind of escape from living with him, but the one (and only) time Alastor suggested Vox having his own place to live, Vox looked like he had shot his beloved pet in front of him. (Alastor is ignoring how pleased he is by this response. He didn't WANT his Vox to leave, but he refuses to be a similar man to his father and force him to. He enjoys treating Vox as if he belongs to him, but he wants Vox to want the leash - and not force it upon him).

Perhaps he simply enjoys theft. There are worse sins in hell, and it's not like Alastor is HIDING his money from him. The money would have undoubtedly been spent on his picture box regardless, so he doesn't mind as long as it brings him pleasure. To each their own.

Except one day after Alastor leaves, so does Vox. Which isn't completely unheard of, but him taking the stolen cash IS enough of a deviation from normal that his shadows alert him about it.

So Alastor follows him, determined to understand how the mind of his picture box works (so he can take care of him better so he'll never leave). And Vox goes clothes shopping, which wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary, except he (very poorly, his dear Vox is many things, but unnoticeable is not one of them) sneaks into the women's section and selects one, very simple, 1950s style dress.

Alastor wonders if he finally figured out the issue. For some reason, his Vox wants to wear women's clothing but isn't comfortable letting HIM know that. His dislike of both purchasing such items with Alastor (as well as simply shopping when Alastor would be aware he is, and expect to see what was purchased) makes sense to him.

This is easily solved. The idea that Alastor would CARE what clothing his picture box wants to wear is laughable - cannibalism is fine, but a dress is too far? Ridiculous.

He knows Vox has not been in hell for very long, so perhaps he hasn't yet realized that such societal taboos are generally accepted, considering the large magnitude of sins the rest of the population has committed. Not to mention that even while he was alive, he knew a great deal of people who regularly cross-dressed (such people were generally rejected by society enough to not care about anything society rejected about HIM).

Alastor is a little personally upset that his picture box believes HIMSELF to be someone who would be upset by something so minor, but perhaps they simply haven't lived together long enough. Regardless, now Alastor has a solution to this theft issue, and then he can purchase as many clothes, in whichever styles, for his dear. And perhaps he'll come to him the next time he wishes for something of his own.

Issue number two, resolved.

Sort of.

Vox has been planning this outing for months. He's been meticulous about only taking small amounts of money at a time to avoid detection. Vox is fairly certain Alastor doesn't suspect a thing - or else why would he continue to let his money be unguarded around him or take him on shopping trips and buying whatever he happens to look at for more than a few seconds.

Surely, if Alastor noticed the small amounts of change going missing every so often, he'd kick Vox out. (The time Alastor suggested he find his own place, he's certain his heart stopped for the second time. Luckily, before he could say anything incriminating about how much he WANTED to live with Alastor, he changed his mind about removing Vox from his life).

He knows it's a big risk, but a part of him NEEDS to fully embrace this fantasy of being a housewife. It's all he can think about.

(He might have convinced himself that if he can have one (1) singular self-indulgent fantasy to his heart's content on a day he knows Alastor will be gone, maybe he can put this behind him and stop wishing for more than he can have. It's one thing to pretend to be his housewife, but he knows it will never happen - if he can just get it out of his system, maybe he can Stop This Nonsense).

The entire walk to the clothing store Vox feels like he's being watched. Which he KNOWS is ridiculous - the only time anyone ever pays him any attention is when he's next to Alastor - but the feeling persists. It makes him even more anxious about this purchase than he already is (but he's committed at this point so he can't quit now).

Vox selects a fairly modest dress in a style that he had seen any number of women wearing when he was alive. (He tries to ignore how he has to make sure it buttons up due to his head. He's only insecure about it when he thinks about it, so if he ignores it, he can pretend he looks like anyone else).

He makes it back home to Alastor's place with plenty of time before he's due to be back, and so he wastes no time in changing.

When Vox returns home, Alastor fully intended on leaving his shadow and no longer observing him. The only thing he wanted to make sure was that he returned before Vox had the chance to change out of his dress, so Alastor could show what a good mate how little he cared about such frivolous things and perhaps be permitted to help him select such clothing on his next outing.

However, Vox's sudden utterance of his name was certainly unexpected. Alastor almost left his shadows, certain (somehow) he had been caught and spotted, and planned on how to explain his observation in a way that Didn't alarm his partner.

Except. Nothing about whatever else Vox is doing seems to indicate that he knows Alastor is watching. Vox seems to be having an internal conversation with some imaginary version of himself, as he seems to be responding to words that no one (and certainly not Alastor) is saying. This is a unique development that Alastor did not anticipate, and he is not entirely certain how to continue from here. Certainly, Vox is under the assumption that he is alone now, but everything else he is doing indicates that on some level he is pretending Alastor is also with him.

Surely the correct thing to do would be to watch to make sure he has not missed anything with Vox’s recent behavior towards himself.

Nothing catches Alastor quite off guard more than when Vox suddenly tosses himself onto his own bed, with a breathy “Oh, Alastor!” accompanying it. This is certainly something the real Alastor has never done, and he is currently uncertain why the sudden imitation is being performed.

Until Vox begins to touch himself (while continuing to say his name) and suddenly Alastor realizes what is going on.

Oh. That’s. Unexpected.

Is this the reason for the dress purchase? Or are they unrelated? Certainly Vox has never done quite so intimate things while saying his name before, as there is no way his shadows would NOT inform him of such activity. Does the dress arouse him in this way, or-?

Oh. Vox seems to have purchased the appropriate panties for such an outfit as well. Alastor has quite a good view now, and can see just how excited his picture box is with this apparent fantasy. He hasn’t removed any clothes yet, but considering his breathy whines and moans this is not a deterrent in the least (perhaps it enhances the sensation)?

This is quite the new development and Alastor isn’t quite certain what would be the most appropriate course of action. Certainly, despite his words saying otherwise, Vox is very unaware of just what show he is putting on for Alastor. Typically the correct course of action would be to leave him his own privacy.

But for whatever reason Alastor cannot turn his eyes away.

Alastor knows himself, and his wants and desires and has never felt the desire or need to do such carnal actions, such as those being performed in his name. However, it never occurred to him how pleasing it could be to hear his name being spoken in such needy tones. He knows he quite enjoys it when those he is tearing apart are begging for mercy, but it never occurred to him that he might enjoy the same things in a dramatically different context.

Alastor watches as Vox raises his dress, and begins to touch himself through his panties. Despite being clothed, he can see everything quite clearly and watches as Vox becomes more and more aroused. It’s not until a breathy “Alastor, please!” is uttered that Vox finally shoves down his panties and takes himself properly in his hand. It’s….quite a captivating sight.

He watches as Vox becomes more and more excited, his mouth open as he pants, little digital hearts visible in his eyes, and a constant array of gasps and moans of his name being sung into the air above him. It’s more entrancing than anything he has ever seen before, and Alastor can understand wanting someone to desire you if this is how it looks to be worshiped.

Alastor will purchase him the entire clothing store if this is his response to such clothing. So help him, Vox will never wear pants again if he can help it.

It doesn’t take long for Vox to bring himself to completion, with a crescendo of Alastor’s name that he will save in his microphone for all of eternity, lest he dare forget the beauty of it. Alastor has not seen anything more divine than Vox with his back arched, crying his name, as he finishes all over himself with just the imagination of Alastor being there.

Vox will never be allowed to utter another name from his mouth in such a way or Alastor will rip their spine out of their mouth for even daring to attempt it. Vox belongs to him, and he will never make those noises or put on a show for anyone other than Alastor (even if he has to chain his soul to himself to prevent it).

Alastor watches as Vox recovers, panting and coming down from his euphoria, and considers his next move. He is…unsure…how to broach such a topic to him, as this is nowhere near his specialty and such actions typically do not arouse much interest in him.

He had plans for providing Vox the dresses and other clothing he desired, but bringing up these specific desires has never before been something he has ever wanted. (But oh, how he now wants). It’s a unique experience to want to watch as Vox takes himself apart for him (wanting to take him apart himself) but not simply just wanting it as seemingly others do.

However, he is broken from his reverie by the noise of crying, and not the delicious version that he was just privy to. No, these are tears born of heartbreak and Alastor is both confused and alarmed by their appearance. Surely this type of self-pleasure is supposed to be pleasurable to the one doing it, or else why would anyone ever do such a thing?

Why is his beautiful noisy picture box upset and who does he have to gut to prevent it from ever happening again?

He watches as Vox hugs himself on his bed and mumbles something that sounds alarmingly like “Stupid, like he’d ever want something that looks like you….” and Alastor is leaving his shadows before he even realizes he’s doing it. Before Vox notices he’s no longer alone, Alastor has wrapped his arms around him and holds him tight.

(Vox might have yelped in surprise and accidentally shocked Alastor in his charming way where he can’t control his electrical impulses. Alastor responds with his own pleasing radio waves to relax his current until it returns to normal).

It seems to take a second for Vox to realize that Alastor being present means that he must have in some way witnessed his previous actions (and can certainly see not only him in a dress, but one that is very clearly wrecked in one very specific way). It is always so fascinating to watch how emotions play out on the face of his picture box, and this is no exception. However, before Vox can once again send himself down into the pit of self-loathing, Alastor hums a tune and rubs his own cheek against Vox’s.

“I must know. Was this a response to the dress or myself?”

“Wh-what?!”

“Regardless, I will purchase whatever dresses you desire if this is the result. My only requirement is that you allow me to be present next time.”

“H-how…?! What? Uh….I mean….you’re not…mad?”

“Why on earth would I be upset? Unless of course you meant to do this in a way where you would refuse my participation or observations, in which case I will lock you away until you change your mind.”

“You-you WANT to be involved? But you’ve never-?”

“Oh certainly! While I’ve never desired such things for myself, watching you desire them is certainly an experience I would like to have! You are such a fascinating creature, darling, and I must keep such things all to myself.”

“Can….can I kiss you?”

While doing such actions has never been something Alastor has had much interest in, doing them with Vox and watching his responses to them is quite another story. Left to his own devices, he would never desire such things nor wish to do any of them - but looking into the shy and hopeful eyes of his delightful picture box changes his perspective quite a bit. He has the most entertaining and pleasing responses to quite literally anything Alastor does to him, and it is quite enthralling the effect he has on the other.

He will be holding onto him for as long as he can, digging his claws into Vox so deeply that he will not ever be able to even imagine an afterlife without Alastor present.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin vox #radiostatic #staticradio #staticlovetune #i think thats the reciprocal one #help ive fallen in 2sided radiostatic and i cant get up #fic #mine #be nice to me ive never actually written anything more than a fic prompt #but this wont leave my head so i have to write it or perish #also vox crossdresses a bit here bc housewife vox is too hot of a image to contain itself #wow i wrote a lot of words #watch as Alastor becomes more and more possessive as this goes on lmao #he witnessed vox pleasure himself to him once and was immediately like i will destroy anyone who even thinks of you like this you are MINE #Housewife Vox AU

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thunderroseses · 1 month ago

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Uh, I might have gotten to hyper focussed on The dark Side of the Moon lol

Anyways enjoy, this is the longest fanfic I’ve written! Very fun :D

The Dark side of the moon had always been something to be hidden like he was a disgrace among men, never worth the slightest whisper of his name beside the venomous words of Luna when he even bothered being awake during Luna's few break from watching over Earth, when their body became to tired after slaving away to make sure their orbit was intact and Earth's tilt was just right, he wasn't worth having a name of his very own or even an identity beside Luna's dark side always destined to face away from their planet until the very end.

He would never get to shear the joy that sparks in their core as Luna watches Earth's inhabitants go about they're day life, he'd never get to feel the love they so willingly give back to their moon for watching over them all those years, thanking the Moon full heartily for stabilizing their seas and for keeping them safe as they dance under the moon filled sky, many Earthlings have loved Luna for billions of years and well continue loving him for billions more, while Earth and him never get the same respect, Earth can keep Luna (for the most part anyways) in the dark of the Earthlings true statistic nature, it's him who has to hear Earth's soft whimpers long after Luna has fallen asleep, all while not being able to do a dame thing about it.

He can only slowly orbit as he listen to their planet weep and cry in pain after so many years of abuse, Earth's illusion of grander and endless self-worth being stripped away as soon as the others rest, when there's no one left to judge him for his tears as they could never understand the sharp, piercing pain Earth feels on a never ending basis, his body becoming numb to the pain as the wars continue on and as his very own materials being use to rip apart his surface pice by pice by the selfish men thinking of their own wellbeing instead of the Earthling they so mercilessly killed.

no other planet could have been begin to understand how it feels, not even Mars who had a Earthling base be set up on his surface, as it's only one compared to billions, none of them knew how it felt to be nothing more then a secret side of someone else, forced to watch as other's live the life you always wanted, to be loved and cherish by few but with their love being stronger then hundreds others, being able to feel their planets arms around you rest on their chest, his soft voice singing lolling you into deep sleep, with no care in the world other then the vibrating as they speak to you quietly.

Instead he was delegated to being a bystanders in his own body, forced to listen as Earth kisses Luna's face and whispers how much he loves his 'only' moon, being completely unaware of another just waiting to be heard, as he scream for anyone to notice him just for once, is that really so hard to ask for? He just wants to be hear, just wants to be loved much like Luna is, as said moon begin to make friends outside of Earth, he wishes for nothing more then to be able to experience the same life as Luna has, as he gets to talk with the other moons and joke around with the rocky planet as they play card games or as his surface burns, hot at their planet teasing Luna about his 'small' crush on Titan, he wishes more the anything then to experience the same things! To go through the small yet meaningful moments of being alive, of being able to live instead of being trapped in a body he could barely even consider his own, he wishes to be something more then a shadow in someone else's life forever delegated to be hidden away, never to be seen by anyone.

———————————————————————

It was any other night as he drifted slowly around Earth, looking up at shining stars littering the sky around them, it was probably the only benefits of being awake, instead of trapped away in Luna's mind, he would really watch them for hours on end, never getting bored of the same old sight, it was truly beautiful after seeing nothingness for so many orbits, until Luna decided to give up control for once, and he was grateful for it even if it was just for his other side's benefit, he didn't care, as long as he got to see the stars again, just as he began to get comfortable a voice broke the silences.

"Luna? Are you still up?" Their planet asked as he looked up at them, rubbing gently at his eyes. He could feel their body grow tense as he felt Earth's eye stay focused on them, never looking away even for a second.

"I know you're awake Luna, there's no point in pretending you're not." Earth continues letting out a small huff of air as his natural satellite remains silent.

His throat grew tight as panic set in, their planet had never noticed him move during the night before, why now?! Was the change in tides that noticeable as he went off their usual path? "Ugh! Luna, come on! Why are you ignoring me?!" The worry begin to turn into frustrated as the moon refused to answer him, his voice growing louder as he spoke, he could feel the Earth moving closer to them, his core ached with worry, Earth was never meant to find out about him, Luna made sure of that and would be furious if his secret got out, he needed to wake Luna up and fast! But before he could a warm hand grab harshly onto his arm, unintentionally burning him after so many years of no celestial contact.

"please Luna just talk to me! It's fine if you're upset! But we both promise to tell each other our issues instead of bottling them up!" He could hear the desperation in their planet's voice as the moon remained quiet, only after touching 'Luna' could Earth feel the moon's body begin to shake as fear developed his core, he didn't know what to do! What could he do? Luna wasn't waking up and their planet wouldn't let them escape now.

"..."

Silence filled the air as neither spoke, Earth's grip only grew tighter as worry over took any anger he might have had, a quite "Luna?" Escaped his lips, barely audible in the cold night sky, there was no other sound around them beside the soft snores of Mars near by, "are you okay?" He finished, his planet's voice was soft and loving, like nothing he had ever done heard before, at lest not directed at him, his body only shock more as emotion started to swell in his stomach bagging to be free but instead coming out as small tears dripping down his face, unsure how to act after so long of being relegated into the shadows. "OMG, LUNA!" Earth shouted barely being able to catch the small moon before his knees gave out completely, slowly lowering both of them to the floor as Earth hugged the celestial being as it cries rippled through it's body holding tightly onto his planet's hoodie as his tears wet the soft fabric "shh it's okay, everything is going to be okay" Earth now whispered gently in his ear tucking their silver hair behind it as he did, the planet's other hand rubbing the small circles onto his back, trying desperately to calm the small moon now holding onto him for dear life.

"I-I-I'm not L-Luna!" The small moon cried out digging his face deeper into the planet's hoodie as he did, he could feel Earth's hands stop it's rubbing motion and his breathing growing thin against his ear as he pulled away. He could only let out another loud cry as he feared for what's to come, why did he have to say anything? He could have just stayed quiet and let the Earth sing him to sleep just like he heard their planet do too Luna all those times before!

"Uhhh, w-what?" He could hear the confusion in Earth's voice as he spoke. Feeling the tears wetting his hoodie as the small Moon cried harder into his chest, their fingers griping harshly onto the fabric still refusing to let go, Earth cleared his throat with a cough before he tried speaking again "what do you mean? Bring his other hand originally in his hair down to wrap the small moon into a warm hug, he could help but lean into it no matter how overstimulated it was for him.

"I- (hic)" the small moon began before a small hiccup interrupted him "I...I-I'm n-no-not Lu-na" his voice was rough after so many years of not speaking to anyone but Luna, making his vocal cords striated and hard to use. "I-I'm h-h-is d-da-ark s-side" even after he finish Earth didn't push him away like he had feared, didn't yell and scream at him like Luna made him believe after so many years to listening to Luna's mind making up every possible out come of Earth finding out about him. Instead the habitual planet arm tighten around him, letting him cry into his chest as he resumed rubbing small circles into his back.

But Earth didn't let the silence continue for long before as countless questions began to pop up in his mind "If you're Luna's dark side how come I never heard of you before" their planet asked trying to keep his voice a levelled and quiet as possible as to not scare the small moon again, "how come this is the first time I've meet you?"

"Be-because L-lu-Luna didn't want you too, neither of us did..." he answered, his voice thick as he spoke, turning his head slightly to breath in the cold space 'air' filling his lungs with the fresh air, his brain relax as he stoped suffocating himself with Earth's hoodie.

Earth's brows lowered as he looked down on the small satellite in his lap, listening to their soft breath as they start to calm down, "Why didn't you want to meet me?" He asked, letting the small moon take their time to answer as he continued to rub his back gently.

"Luna didn't want you to hate us for being wired, because we sheared a body, he didn't want me to scare you from randomly showing up one day ..." his mouth felt dry as he spoke, his voice wavering as he finished, he could feel Earth's warm hands move gently to underneath his chin as he lifted his head to look straight into the moon's eyes.

"Oh, Moonlight, I could never hate you, either of you!" Earth said his eyes were soft and loving just like his voice, making the smaller's core melt like sweet honey in hot tea, as their planet's hands move again to cup either side of the moon's face wiping away any remaining tears off his cheeks, "And how could I ever be scared of such a cute face!" Earth's caring voice made him want to cry all over again as relief floods to his core, as all the guilt and hatred he had being lifted off his shoulders, shoving his face into Earth hoodie, before small tears escaped his closed eyes as HIS planet returned to rub his back gently as the shock of the moon's sudden movement wore off, instead Earth quietly hummed to his satellite, a smile etched into his face, as he looked up at the stars above them, his mind wondering as he thought about his moons, "do you have a name? Earth asked before he was able to stop himself "like Luna" he continued his core aches at the moon freezing in his arms.

A quiet "No." was his only answer as the moon fingers traced down the planet's hoodie, enjoying the soft fabric against his skin and the short distraction from the sinking feeling settling in his stomach, he never like thinking about his lack of a name.

"Would you like one?" Earth asked his voice filled with sorrow, as he tried to comfort the small moon in his arms.

"Y-y-you'd do that for me!" His eyes sparkled in the sun's light looking up at the planet, his hands gripping onto hoodie.

"Of course! but now to find the perfect name…" Earth Earth said, his face became neutral as he lend back making the moon prop himself up on his arms, as Earth let his head fall back in deep thought, letting out a small hum as he mind wonder over all the name his Earthlings have called his little moons from the billions of years they've roamed his surface, but none stuck out as he mouthed each one, until he remembered the perfect choice, the Ancient Greek equivalent of Luna's own name, meaning Light, brightness and gleam and while the small moon doesn't shine in the Earthling sky like Luna dose, he eyes sure as hell do, almost bright then the stars around them.

"I got it! The small moon's face lit up as Earth spoke hanging on every word that comes out of him mouth, "you shall be called Selene! A name only for the most worthy of Moon!" Earth boated dramatically his head up into the air, crossing one arm around his chest and another resting onto Selene's shoulder almost like he was crowning the moon with a highly esteemed title (and it was in Selene's mind at lest) only stoping his dramatic performance as a poorly muffled laugh filed the air from the small moon, a smile evident in his face, Selene looked away after meeting the planet’s gazes, slightly embarrassed by Earth seeing them laugh so openly, his core never felt so full…

Earth couldn’t help the small smile from reaching own face, he never knew just how much of himself was missing before he met Selene, any upset he felt at the two moons for hiding Selene for so long, were almost forgiven the moment he saw the small moon’s face light up with joy as he laughed at Earth’s performance, probably the first time in a very long time (Earth’s core ached at the thought but that was a issue for another Lunar Orbit) instead he kept quiet enjoying the moon’s presence before his impulse kicked in, leaning down to press a soft kiss onto Selene’s forehead making the moon freeze in place, as Earth wrapped his arms around the moon, pulling him close as Selene melted into his chest as the world wind of a day began to eat away at his remaining energy, slowly getting lolled to sleep as he felt Earth chest softly rise and fall, the planet running his fingers throw Selene’s hair, said moon let his eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

#solarballs #solarhumans #solarballs planets #solarballs earth #solarballs headcanon #luna solarballs #solarballs luna #solarballs dark side of the moon #selene solarballs #solarballs Selene #solarballs fandom #solarballs fanfic #Dark side of the moon’s name is selene because I can’t #god dammit #ma hahaha no one can stop me now!#I’ve never written so much fluff before #this turned out so much fluffier then I might it too #which is kinda funny since the other fic I’m work one WHICH IS MEANT TO BE FLUFF! turn into straight angst before I corrected myself #lol #I was meant to get ahead on my homework today… and the assignment due in three days that I have no idea what I’m supposed to do #but oh well! I wrote a fanfic which is even better!#right?#TvT #dark side of the moon had a breakdown Lmao #same buddy #same #I wonder if that had anything to do with this?

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eltheabberation · 1 month ago

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Day 12: AU

No no no no no it wasn’t supposed to happen like this-

Behold, one of the billion and one self-indulgent aus I have. I spent like 10 hours experiencing severe art block and watching House MD while trying to figure out what the fuck to draw but I managed to get this out and I actually like it :>

#my rambles #my art #seidou takizawa #tokyo ghoul #ghoultober #lmao I’ve drawn three seidous in a row #anyway the concept for this au is uh #natural one-eyed ghoul seidou who worked for aogiri as a mole but ended up getting attached to the people he worked with #yes it’s random but I made this up to fuel my bedtime scenarios I never meant to actually make anything for it #and then I got bored in class and now I have 4.5k words of fic written for it #why can I only write a lot when it’s for hyper-self-indulgent aus istg

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spider-mancan · 2 years ago

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Starker fuck or die

This is insane. The entire day has been one dumpster fire after another. Peter fell asleep on top of a building still in costume with his textbook spread open on his lap to the sound of a phone call. The resulting jolt of unfortunate awareness nearly sent his school books down onto the pavement — instead they just have a stain from the webbing and an extremely damaged spine. Peter answered the phone but was more interested in mourning his rental deposit than whatever threat was causing the Avengers to assemble.

Then he heard the words Sex Demon come out of Captain America’s mouth and it was all downhill from there. Forlorn, Peter agreed to set his studying aside and come help out, because, really, when was he going to have another opportunity to sit in a room while Steve Rogers tried to talk about a Sex Demon in the debrief?

It wasn’t nearly as fun as Peter expected. They’d called him in because he was difficult to hit and had the benefit of both long- and short-range fighting, but some of the others weren’t so lucky. By the time he arrived, Black Widow had already been removed by Hawkeye, leaving Second Hawkeye looking very purple (“nice new uniform, Kate!”) and incredibly perplexed. Steve was mostly alright, but whatever was causing problems was not reacting well to the serum.

Causing problems, of course, meant making people extremely Down to Fuck extremely quickly.

“This is hilarious,” Peter says, swinging around the rafters. The warehouse they’re in has already been trashed, light leaking in through the roof and scaffolding collapsed in heaps on the concrete floor. “There is so much porn about this. At least two. Not that I know for sure.”

Tony comes over the comm. “I did hear Sex Pollen Sluts Go Nuts got excellent reviews.”

No one thinks this is funny at all, but Peter is too busy twisting out of harm’s way to feel bad about laughing.

It’s not a Sex Demon, which Peter finds incredibly disappointing. It’s just a man who believes in the power of the aphrodisiac, or something, and developed yadda yadda whatever he’s trying to get blackmail of the world’s most influential people blah blah super awkward and gross and his sex blaster doesn’t even look cool at all.

None of this is the particularly insane part.

The insane part happens about two seconds after Tony manages to topple Mr. Sex Demon over the railing and onto the ground, where the pressurized canisters on his back give way to the unforgiving asphalt and explode into a green haze so dense Peter can barely see the brilliant blue glow of the arc reactor in Tony’s chest.

“Mr. Stark!” Peter yells into the comm, without a response, and he’s swinging over to assess the damage when Captain barks orders for him to stay out of the way.

The Iron Man suit is already vacuuming up the fumes to remove the contaminant from the air, but Tony hadn’t been wearing one of his space safe suits which means there’s no internal oxygen supply, which means he’s also been contaminated. Regardless, the two men come into view and Tony just waves. “FRIDAY gives the all clear.” His voice sounds strained.

Peter drops down just behind. “Mr. Stark!”

“Spider-Man,” Steve calls, jogging over. “It’s best not to get to close—”

Peter is about to ask what Steve could possibly mean when he feels heavy hands grip his shoulders. The Iron Man gauntlets are heavy — in the armor Tony weighs nearly 400 pounds — and Peter winces. “Mr. Stark?”

He isn’t afraid — Natasha hadn’t been dangerous. She’d stood stock still for a moment, called for assistance, and immediately removed herself. Over the phone, Captain America had run through the symptoms of the spores, but Peter can’t remember all of that now. He vaguely remembers a loss of inhibition, some kind of animalistic behavior, and an increase in body temperature to dangerous levels over time.

“Tony,” Steve says warningly.

Iron Man’s faceplate lifts up and Tony is sweating, gritting his teeth. “I know, Cap.” His hands tighten, shaking, enough that Peter grabs one and flexes his fingers, debating whether to pry it off. “I’m trying.” Deep breath.

“Get away from the kid, Tony.” Steve pulls out his firearm and Peter is about to laugh, it’s insane, Tony would never hurt him. Touching Peter isn’t something Tony isn’t allowed to do. But when Peter goes to laugh Tony still looks so serious, so stony, almost sick. Deranged, even. Just a little.

“Mr. Stark?” Peter frowns and Tony’s eyes flutter closed, tight.

“Don’t call me that, right now, kid.”

Kate hops down from her perch in the rafters, awkwardly adjusting the quiver on her back. “I’m just gonna, uh, go.” She gestures over her shoulder to the door, which Tony blasted off the hinges not half an hour ago. “I’ll find a broom or something. Or just leave.”

Steve nods, mouth tight. His gaze doesn’t leave Tony where he’s hunched over Peter like a bad shadow, but his finger stays still on the trigger. Waiting. Not moving one way or the other.

Peter knows how these sorts of things go; if something can go wrong, it will. He runs through the data he can grapes through the confusion, tapping into Tony’s suit. Tony had been exposed to nearly twenty times the recommended dosage. Peter pulls his vitals through Karen and tries not to balk at Tony’s heart rate or internal temperature. Hot. Tony could fry an egg on his chest soon. “We need to get you out of the suit.” Peter reaches for one of the latches.

“Leave it,” Tony grunts. He’s bitten his lip so hard there’s blood in the corner of his mouth. “Better.” His hands haven’t moved, like he can’t move them, like he’s a statue. Peter is going anywhere without forcing himself free. “Better for you.”

“For me?” Peter demands. His hands are already on the gauntlet, but he freezes, struck silly by the sheer nerve. Tony is overloading and he thinks he should stay in the suit for Peter’s sake?

“I’m calling Fury.” Steve brings one hand up to his ear, gun still level. His eyes don’t leave Tony the entire time, even when he backs away slightly and starts to argue on the private channel.

Peter’s fingers tap a nervous rhythm on Tony’s armor. “Karen says you’re spiking really fast, sir,” he says at a whisper. This isn’t good for Tony’s heart, still weak, or his nervous system, which has been run ragged.

“I’m fine,” Tony chokes out through clenched teeth. His skin looks terribly gray, haggard, even. “I am really reliving some of my old glory days right now, but I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah. Drugs.” Peter laughs nervously. Tony’s eyes are blown, the warm brown consumed by darkness, and his gaze is heavy on Peter. The gauntlet moves now, pulling up the hem of Peter’s mask until Peter feels metal against his pulse point. “Mr. Stark?”

Tony groans.

Peter is a good kid, but he’s not a saint. He’s seen the Tony Stark sex tapes, even the ones that Tony didn’t know were being recorded. He’d been through his own moral beratement when he opened it the first time, but he’d done it several times since because they’re something about Tony that Peter can’t get enough of. And Peter has heard that groan a million times. It’s not like his enemy just punched me into a wall groan, or his this meeting could have been an email groan. It’s the groan he makes when he opens someone up with his cock for the first time. The eyes rolling back, hips stuttering kind of groan.

Peter is suddenly very hard in his jock strap. Terrible. Terrible news.

Karen is a welcome distraction in the form of more terrible news. “Mr. Stark!” The vitals displaying on Peter’s HUD are approaching dangerous levels, especially for an older, unenhanced human. “Your heart rate. It’s crazy!”

Tony is sweating, mouth open in the face of the rising temperatures, and Peter starts to frantically start prying at the mechanisms that hold the armor together. Tony makes no move to assist. “Leave it.”

“You’re in a metal can and you’re already over 100F,” Peter tells him, as if Tony didn’t know. “You’re going to—”

He doesn’t hear Steve barking at him to stop. It doesn't strike him that it’s a bad idea until it’s too late.

Peter manages to get his nails under the ridge of the chest plate and release it, pulling back, and then suddenly he’s falling. Tony has miraculously changed his mind about the suit and decided to abandon it entirely, stepping out and using the momentum of Peter’s scrambling until they both fall prone on the ground. There’s a poof of dust as they clatter onto the warehouse floor, tangled together.

Steve looks over at them sharply and is yelling orders Peter can’t quite hear because he is too busy trying to place the way Tony is smothering him with his body. Even through Peter’s suit he feels the heat radiating off of Tony’s skin, so sweaty he’s almost slick. He smells like hard work and expensive cologne. Peter is bewildered, and he puts his hands on Tony’s chest to push him away only to freeze when he feels Tony pull up mask and lick a thick line from his collar to his ear.

“Mr. Stark, I don’t—” Tony gets a hand between them, pushing the release on Peter’s suit until it’s loose around his body and Peter turns his head to look at Steve. “Captain, I didn’t think it was supposed to be, ah, oh.” He shudders when Tony sucks Peter’s ear into his mouth. “Mr. Stark, please. We need to get you to medical.”

“No time,” Tony mumbles against Peter’s throat. He’s cupping Peter’s groin through the suit while the other hand pulls the mask off completely. “Want you bad. God, I can’t even think. Look at you.”

“Tony.” Steve takes the safety off, conversation over the communicator set aside, and gets closer. He doesn’t want to shoot. That much is obvious — if he was going to, he would have already done it. “I said get off the kid.”

“He’s mine, Capsicle,” Tony growls. He winds his hands around Peter’s back until their chest to chest, and Peter feel the rabbiting heartbeat until it’s hard to separate whose is whose. “Get your own!” There’s the tell-tale fire up of the propulser on Tony’s palm, and then there’s a stare down between Iron Man and Captain America with a shivering Spider-Man sandwiched between.

Steve looks away first.

Peter feels a bit wild, wide-eyed, confused. Flushed and hot and not attractive at all, but Tony is near-tearing the suit off of his body and Peter is so shocked he’s barely fighting it. Cold air hits his sweaty skin where Tony is pulling it down at the neck and it feels like an electric shock. “Mr. Stark, seriously. You need to—oh.” There’s a rough hand on his cock. “Oh, my god.”

Tony has both hands on Peter again, like he’s going to reach into Peter’s chest and start pulling him apart, but the Iron Man suit is in sentry mode now; Peter hears the thunk of the boots on the ground even as he’s writhing, trying to focus past the sound of his own insane breathing. He blinks and then there is red and gold staring down the barrel of Steve’s gun.

“Need you, kid,” Tony growls in his ear, pulling down the length of him through his underwear. This was not on Peter’s bingo card for the day. “Feel like I’ll die without you.”

Maybe you will, Peter thinks hysterically.

Steve could stop this, but the gun is slowly falling lower until it’s pointed at the concrete. “Peter,” he starts, “if you give me the word, I’ll remove him and take him to quarantine until we find a willing partner.”

“Partner?” The puzzle pieces are falling into place but there has to be another picture because the one in Peter’s head isn’t making any sense. “I thought this just made you horny!”

“It sure does,” Tony mutters. He doesn’t spare Peter’s underthings nearly the same respect as the suit, but he tears Peter’s t-shirt off at the neck and spreads it open like a child opening a Christmas present. Hands splay flat over sweaty skin, feeling Peter’s rapid breathing. “I’m going to ruin you, kid.” Like he can’t hear a single thing.

“I’m not—oh, god.” Tony is heavy on top of him and his cock is hard in his sweats, thick where it’s digging into Peter’s hip. Tony readjusts and grinds them together, hard enough that Peter scrambles for purchase against Tony’s back. “Cap, I don’t know what to do. What do I do?”

Tony rakes his nails down Peter’s bare chest, catching on Peter’s nipples with a satisfied smirk.

“What do you want to do?” Steve asks slowly.

Tony has such a high fever and his heart rate is dangerous and he looks at Peter and says, “you want to be a good boy for me, don’t you?” and Peter is so fucked. He’s both literally and figuratively fucked.

Like a flash of lightning, Peter remembers the call earlier: if Tony doesn’t come inside someone, he’ll overheat until he’s either cooked inside or dies from a heart attack. It had sounded kind of funny at the time, only half-paying attention.

Despite having a god among men standing not twenty feet away — oh, god, Captain America can totally see Peter’s boner right now — Tony doesn’t look away from Peter for a single moment if he can help it. Years of the revolving door love interests have made Tony extremely good with his hands. He’s often joked about it, about how good he is in bed, but Peter never actually thought he’d feel the way Tony smoothes hands over skin or bites bruises cherry red and it’s just a whole lot more than Peter expected to happen.

“I—I…oh, god.” Tony licks a line from Peter’s navel up to his chest and latches on to one of Peter’s nipples with his teeth. “I’m, I’m willing. I just—”

“Are you sure?” Steve says firmly, like Peter might be able to think straight with Tony all over him like every unfortunate wet dream he’s had since the seventh grade.

“If you don’t leave right now,” Tony says with a growl, “you’re going to get quite the show, Cap.” His eyes look clouded over, and he sits back heavy on Peter’s cock and just looks at the mess he’s made. Peter’s suit is hanging haphazardly around his hips and his shirt is ruined and his skin is bright pink. The cold wind through the holes in the walls brushes past, too cool on the spit-slick on Peter’s chest and he shudders.

“I’m okay,” Peter chants, and he lets himself reach out and touch for the first time. It’s tentative, fingertips across the scarring on Tony’s chest. “Like, what the fuck, but also I’ll be okay.”

If anyone understands that, it’s Steve, who is flushed almost as red as Peter and pivots. “I’ll guard the perimeter.”

With a grin, Tony rolls his hips so fluidly Peter whines high in his throat. “Kind of wanted to put on a show.” His cock is so hard, rutting into the dips of Peter’s stomach. “Bet he’ll watch. He just doesn’t want to admit how good you look. My perfect boy.” He grabs both sides of Peter’s head, fingers tangling in his hair so hard Peter can’t look anywhere but straight ahead.

Peter presses his hands flat. “Mr. Stark, I…” He closes his eyes tight. “What do I do? This is crazy.” Not last week Tony had been helping Peter with relationship advice, how to get a girl’s attention, clapped him on the shoulder and called him champ like he was going to take Peter to the baseball game later. “You’re…”

The first time Tony kisses him, Peter’s brain doesn’t care about the drugged nature of it. It’s everything he wants, everything he thought it would be in his wildest dreams. It’s possessive, almost bruising, like Tony is boiling over and he’s going to fill Peter up with it. Teeth nips at Peter’s bottom lip until he makes the smallest sound, a little desperate. What? That’s Mr. Stark’s tongue in his mouth.

Tony’s hands slip down under the waistband of Peter’s until he touches hair and Peter writhes, knees clanking together, trying to hide himself even though Tony groans again like he’s found nirvana. His nails rake up the sensitive skin near Peter’s groin. “So soft and beautiful.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder, hips still rutting in a sinful rhythm. “Knew you would be.”

“Are you sure about—ah, about this, Mr, Stark?” Peter tries. His tongue is so thick in his mouth. He can hardly process anything. Beyond Tony is the dingy gray walls of the warehouse, the open space, anyone could walk in and they’d see Tony pinning Peter down with his body. Tony has never looked at him this way; not that Peter hasn’t tried. “You’re…you’re going to hate me later.” He covers his face with his hands, feels the heat on his cheeks.

When he turned seventeen he’d pushed his luck. He touched more, took more. Kissed Tony on the cheek goodbye until he was daring enough to slip, catch just the corner of Tony’s mouth. Peter remembers it, it’s was Monday, rainy, because he’ll never forget the way Tony had looked at him after. Terrified. Disgusted, even. Of Peter. Of Peter kissing him.

Right now, Tony needs more than a sidestep kiss and pat on the shoulder. He needs a hole, something to fuck into, something to take apart piece by piece, and he’s already let Peter know he wasn’t interested in that with him. Peter’s brain is spinning, the reality of the situation started to seep in through the cracks of his shock, and he wonders if he’s being an opportunist by taking Tony’s wandering hands in stride.

“Oh, darling.” Tony leans in and presses a wet kiss to Peter’s shoulder. “I could never hate you.”

The sound of the zipper fills up the whole room. The space is public, with the open floor and windows and sun streaming down, but it’s quiet, save the police sirens outside. Tens of people, probably, just a flimsy wall away while Tony Stark gets his cock out with a groan.

It’s thick, uncut, slightly to the left, and nestled in a thick and well-groomed swath of dark hair. Peter knew all that from the videos, the tapes he keeps on his phone for the lonely nights, but that’s just an old image of Tony. Right now, Tony is on his knees above Peter and he grins, circling his cock with his fingers so Peter can watch it twitch. He’s still a bit gray, he looks sick, and his hair is slick against his neck. Peter has always liked that, when it curls there, but Peter can’t look away from the curls around Tony’s cock right now because he’s just a man and his mouth is watering.

“You’re going to be the best thing I’ve ever felt,” Tony says through that wicked grin, eyes dazed — mind far away, probably, since the fight has left him. He leans over, lets his cock drag over Peter’s stomach. Peter feels pre-come in a smooth line and it makes him whimper. “I’ve fucked royalty, the most powerful people in the world, the most beautiful, but I know you’re going to feel the best.”

He kisses Peter then, when Peter opens his mouth and moans at the idea. He brings one thick hand up to Peter’s neck and just holds him, all threat but no pressure, and opens up Peter’s kisses with the flat of his tongue until Peter is weak and loose on the floor. Those fingers pull his mouth down, slip in and feel his tongue slide under the fingertips, and Tony doesn’t have to tell Peter to suck because this has happened in Peter’s head at least twenty five times.

Tony tastes like metal and lotion and salt. He presses on Peter’s tongue until Peter drools around his fingers, grinding his cock into Peter’s hip and rolling his thigh up between Peter’s legs. “Knew you’d melt for me, sugar in the rain, just like that.”

Peter thinks his eyes might roll back in his head. Is he the one that got caught in the sex pollen nightmare? He feels giddy, almost drunk, and he lets more drool come out of his mouth and slick up Tony’s fingers. He knows where they’re going.

Tony is less single-minded than Peter would have thought, because he’s slow to pull his fingers away and he’s slow to lift up Peter’s leg and he spends an awed moment just looking, which borders on being too much. Peter can feel his ass clench when Tony runs a thumb over the pucker, and his legs tighten around Tony’s hips.

“Just, uh…” Peter wipes his mouth and hides his face in his elbow. “You can start, just…whatever you need.”

Tony presses in gently with the pad of his thumb at the same time he tugs Peter’s arm away from his face, just in time to see Peter’s expression slip into something feral. “Need to see you.” Tony bites into the meat of Peter’s shoulder and laves at it with his tongue. His goatee scrapes across Peter’s skin so good, and Peter curls up until his arms are curling over Tony’s head, hovering, unsure whether to bring him closer or pull him away. “My good boy.”

“Mr. Stark.” Peter presses Tony into his shoulders, another bite, and Tony slips a spit-slick finger inside quick and easy. “Oh, god, I didn’t think—I never thought—”

That’s a lie. Peter thought about it a lot, the way Tony might work him open. Tony’s fingers curl smoothly against Peter’s walls, one to two and then three, a little dry but Peter doesn’t mind when it hurts a little because sometimes soft and sweet feels dull. Sometimes he wants someone to rip him open and make him cry and if Tony is going to do it right now, under threat of death—

“Think about you all the time,” Tony croons heavily against Peter’s skin. He pulls away, purposeful, and Peter blinks. He wonders hysterically if the fog melted away, no more sex magic or whatever it is that’s making Tony want to destroy him, but Tony just draws closer until he can slap his cock around Peter’s swollen mouth. “Get me wet. I’ll make you stop thinking for good.”

Peter groans, an open invitation. This is insane. He shouldn’t enjoy this because Mr. Stark is drugged into wanting him and it’s a huge breach of trust and privacy but Peter scrambled up onto his elbows so Tony can feed him his dick, thick and perfect. He grabs Tony’s hip so hard he thinks there might be bruises but Tony fucks a little harder into his mouth, smooth.

There isn’t a lot of time for sex in his line of work, he’s busy, he’s pining over a man who doesn’t want him, not for real, but Peter isn’t too good to get on his knees in the back of a club and swallow someone down. He knows what he’s doing, throat opening up until the head of Tony’s cock hits the back of his throat. He hums. He loves this. He loves sucking people off, makes his head floaty and easy, and he’s got his eyes closed just to revel in it. He lets drool pool in his mouth again, knows it’s going to make his life easier.

Tony’s thumb wipes a tear off Peter’s cheek, and it’s only then that Peter opens his eyes and finds his lashes damp, stuck together, watery. “There’s my boy.” It’s so fond. “Don’t cry. You’re doing so well.”

Peter’s hips fuck up into the air and he pulls off, suckling at the head before letting it rest gently on his bottom lip. “I’m good. I’m good, Mr. Stark.” He feels Tony twitch against his mouth. It’s incredible.

It’s nothing compared to Tony rolling him over on his side, the obscene way Tony hikes up one of Peter’s legs and spits in Peter’s hole and feeds Peter the head of his cock so fast it burns a little, the way Peter kind of likes but won’t admit. It hurts and then his body knows it like this and everything evens out and Tony growls when he thrusts fully into Peter. His skin slaps hard against Peter’s hips, rocking Peter with a surprised cry further across the dusty ground. Tony just smoothes his hand over Peter’s hip, under the knee, and rocks into him. He bites feral at Peter’s neck and shoulders like he’s here to take and claim, like he’s going to want to see the shape of himself on Peter later.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, I’m, ah, oh, please.” Tony brushes up against his prostate and Peter jolts forward, bracing himself with his free hand on the ground to stop from being fucked flat into the floor. “Oh, please. It’s good. It’s good, it’s good.”

Peter isn’t sure Tony can hear anything anymore, but he takes his hand off Peter’s knee and wraps it around Peter’s throat, pulling him back so their bodies are flush and rocking hard and tight into Peter’s body. It’s hard to remember this is just drugs, this is just another day on the job getting fucked by the unrequited love of his life, when Tony watching the way Peter’s eyes roll back so closely. When Tony kisses Peter he tastes like blood but feels like gold, wrapping Peter up tighter. Peter couldn’t leave if he wanted to. He doesn’t want to. He’ll never want to.

“You take me so good, kid,” Tony says against Peter’s jaw, kisses wetly at the skin there. “Thought about this, about opening you up in the lab.”

“Ngh.” Peter is beyond speech, just like Tony promised, but his hand flies back to dig nails into Tony’s hip. His cock aches, dribbling precome onto the dirty floor and the tangle of his ruined clothes.

“It’s bend you over and slip inside and you’d just—fucking—let me.” He thrusts hard into Peter’s hole, punctuation, and the sound Peter makes is ungodly. “Thought about it when you glued yourself to the wall, just ripping your clothes off—mmm.” A slow roll Peter can feel in his toes. “Find you already open and dripping because I know you fuck yourself sometimes before you come in. FRIDAY can tell.”

Tony isn’t squeezing his throat but Peter can’t breathe.

There are a million and one first hand accounts of Tony Stark’s stroke, but Peter doesn’t think any of them compare to the real thing. On the ground, in the warehouse, while Captain America tries to stop New York’s Finest from throwing open the door and seeing Peter pinned here in the dirt, spread open—

“That’s it,” Tony whispers, gravel. He scratches down Peter’s chest and wraps his hand around Peter’s cock. “You’re so good. Go on. Make a mess. Daddy will clean it up for you.”

It’s deep in Peter’s stomach, rolls up until it burns in his chest and chokes him. His hips cant back, trying to take more of Tony, more more more of something that isn’t here, out here in the open. Everyone knows they’re doing this right now. Fuck. Tony’s suit is still there; FRIDAY is recording all of this, the way Peter shudders and writhes and comes and comes and comes all over Tony’s fist.

He falls flat on his stomach, Tony’s hand still pumping lightly until Peter is pushing back against Tony’s thrusts just trying to get away from the sensitivity.

“That’s it, that’s it.” Kisses all over his neck, his throat, his cheeks. “Let me take care of you. Almost there, so good. So perfect.”

There’s no condom. That’s the last thought Peter has, as Tony comes thick and hot in Peter’s ass and grunts, bites one more time. No condom. Very messy. It’s fine, probably, since Tony said he’d clean it up.

The adrenalin drop hits, empty, and Peter fades away into something deeper than sleep with his cheek pressed into the cold ground and Tony pulling out of his body, wet and sloppy.

#alright so this got away from me #obviously #i'm gonna add a little ending onto this and then post to ao3 because this is just a whole fic #starker #sex pollen #fuck or die #i did my best i've never written anything very exciting smut wise before lmao #asks #tntp #dub con #this is fine #im on fire it's fine

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onlyjellyillputinmybelly · 4 months ago

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Youre telling me that these bitches made perhaps the most pansexual characters ever and NONE OF YOU ARE MAKING THEM HAVE SEX??? OR KISS?? OR NOTHIN?? COME ON YALL GET ON IT

#Specifically written about never stop blowing up and the fact that every d20 fic is fucking jace x porter when theres so much fuckn potentia #THESE BITCHES WERE BUILT FOR T4T #COME ONNNN #also WRITE MORE WLW SHIT PLEEEAASEEE #dimension 20 #never stop blowing up #shoutout kingskin for being the pansexual ever #Im talking to you fanfic writers i need to read shit about these bitches lmao #And dont be mad at me abt aroace erasure i am aroace and i dont care i need these bitches to have absolutely hardcore sex #For my entertainment specifically

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lupins-hehim-pussy · 5 months ago

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I wanna know ur Fontaine msq criticisms 👁️👁️👂I’m all ears

I'm not sure if you wanted me to talk about this secretly or publicly but! Here I go!

The TLDR: Fontaine MSQ aestheticised prison, poverty, child abuse, the justice system/court and didn't properly address any of it.

Focalors/Furina has way too much of a sympathetic angle for a dictator who's lets people drown with her inaction.

Neuvillette feels Bad for sentencing some people to death/prison, but that's it. He's one of the most powerful people in Fontaine. If he felt like there are systemic injustices, I.E sending an abused Child to prison, he should be the first person to DO something about it, not just cry and be sad so the audience can be like aw, that's complex character writing isn't it? No it's not! And guilt doesn't absolve you!!!!!!! (These are stuff we deal with in OTCOJ read my fic now /j)

Meropide has children in it, both Sentenced there (Wriothesley) and BORN THERE (Lanoire), and this is just a quirk of the place. Not only that, Meropide accepts prisoners of all genders and crimes. There are abusers and abuse victims in one place. Do you know how bad that is? How much potential for crimes to happen in a place like that— oh wait, Meropide isn't under Fontaine's jurisdiction. If you are assaulted as an inmate it literally means nothing to the court.

Wriothesley had no qualifications when he took over. Depending on how long he lived on the streets, how old he was when he killed his parents, how old he was when he was first taken in by the orphanage, etc, the man might never have more than 4–5 years of formal education. Sigewinne probably had to teach him how to write reports. And do Meropide's spreadsheets. Edit because I forgot to elaborate on this one: This isn't a point brought up anywhere, which is bad, because when poverty and incarceration robs you of a proper education (and the rights to vote in many places too, too, by the way), it reduces your prospects for jobs, reduces many people's ability to get a home etc etc. Wriothesley was just, narratively, Given his position.

Meropide is an industrialized prison, and they portray this as a good thing. Prisoners are paid in coupons for their labour, and this is also portrayed as a good thing.

The One-Meal-A-Day reform was something Paimon gushed about being so great of a perk, that people might want to go to jail for food (could be interesting and reflective of systemic poverty if MHY had brains, but they don't, so I was just Pissed because essentially all Paimon wanted to say was "Prison isn't so bad, but still don't go to prison guys! Prison labour is really hard!"). By the way, in most real-world prisons they are obligated to feed you three meals a day. Because that's how much food a human needs. MHY went with one meal just so they can say "if you want to eat more, you have to work." And then the welfare meal is a goddamn gacha. So imagine you're a starving child who's too weak to work in the fucking robot assembly line, and you wander up for your first meal in 24 hours, only to luck in with a shit one. I'd kill myself.

They wrote Wriothesley, who's a victim of the system, into a guy who's say shit like "I'm the Duke I can do whatever I want" for a cool moment where he choke-slams an inmate (I know he was a bad guy. But also, in copaganda when cops are violent/disregarding protocols, they are always only portrayed to do that against bad guys, so what does our critical thinking tells us about this one?) They wrote Wriothesley, who was an inmate of a prison so bad, so notorious that it is the literal boogeyman of Fontaine, that has a legal (???) fighting pit, with an administrator who abuses his position to be unreasonable, to willingly stay in the place and become an Administrator who would choke-slam an inmate while saying a cool line about how he has the power to do whatever he wants. They wrote him, the guy who had to be fed on the streets by melusines, to think one-meal-a-day was a good enough reform (while he spends god-knows how much on his boat). This wasn't a victim-turns-into-abuser narrative either, they want all this to be seen as positive character growth.

And then, the final kicker is, they gloss over his entire abuse. You can only read about these shit in his profile, which most people don't because they don't Have Him or doesn't care to unlock it/read it online, and they jammed his entire backstory into a flaccid info-dump at the end of his character story quest. This man isn't Allowed to feel abused and neglected and show any reaction to it within the narrative of Fontaine itself, because if they actually Gave Weight to what happened to him, they'd have to confront THE FUCKING JUSTICE SYSTEM they had NO PLANS on criticising. I don't think they ever explicitly said the fucking Crime-Theatre nonsense was Bad either.

I could go on, but this is already so long. But yeah, I hope this gave you an idea.

#and then. and im putting my most controversial opinion in the tags bc im scared lmao. but like... then... you have the fans..... doing......#the same fucking thing.#the amount of times I have seen Wriothesley used as just a side prop for Neuvillette to feel bad about shit. While Wriothesley is just.....#portrayed as having the inner peace and acceptance of a fucking monk. I was shocked when I read some fics I swear #they really said this man has no trauma at all! the stuff in his past? he's over it!#i hate that passivity when writing victims. like ok if One is written like that #sure. but MHY write all their victims like this #I mean look at fucking Lanoire #and Neuvillette sentenced him to prison after he killed his parents who were never confronted by the law. That's canon.#that's more canon than WRLT itself.#why weren't they confronted? did wriothesley try to talk to someone about it? why did he feel like killing them is his only option ?????#at least have there be some sort of conflict and friction there. How does Wriothesley feel about the court and Neuvillette when #this is the literal system that allowed all that shit to happen to him in the first place???#are you Sure he won't be at least a little wary? the fact that some people think he's Grateful to Neuvillette or even idolises him is crazy #because the man literally subjected him to prison. and if you want to portray his prison life as easy breezy and trauma free #you undermine his entire shitty little 'prison reform' narrative #and if you think he'd be completely 100% accepting of the justice system. Then why the fuck would he kill his parents himself #don't you see that the whole 'I'll accept whatever sentence in order to kill my parents' thing in itself is an act of defying the system #and I Hate #this idea. about being some of the most powerful men in the nation. and yet they can't fucking TRY to set up a better system or smth #i can't believe I read a fic where leaving starving street kids croissants is the most they (the characters and the writer) want to do #like. what the fuck. the whole point of that scene is just to make neuvillette feel bad and be like aw......... poor people exist.... OK???#this is literally how MHY would portray him though.... tbf..... This is what ppl would argue as 'in character'#I just think the character they're in is bad.#I will say I'm giving the fic a lot of grief. there's more to the scene than that. and. ultimately.....#fanfic is (saying this through gritted teeth) ........ recreational....................and free........... in the end.................#i dont think this is reflective of the writer. I do think it is reflective of the way the canon material (genshin impact)#presents in the audience who consumes it. most fans only want these guys to fuck anyway. not think about systemic injustices #canon doesn't make it about the systemic injustices either so why should we. the aesthetic of slums and prisons are just there for fun guys #IM JUST CRAZY OK. I SHOULDNT EVEN BE HERE THIS IS NOT FOR ME . I DONT CARE THAT MUCH FOR PEOPLE FUCKING AND I CARE TOO MUCH

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