#save me from the worm thoughts pleas

[ryeryetheferalkid]

his tooth gap is everything to me.

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxi.ii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: nsfw

a/n: happy birthday to our one and only joh. enjoy the fluff while it lasts because next chapter, i'm coming at you with some angst 😈

pt. xxi.ii, horned poppy

“I’m trying to give all that I can.”

I felt a myriad of pebbles jabbing into my side beneath the blanket. But I didn’t mind, not with John’s body pressed up against mine after so long apart. We were wrapped in the picnic blanket; bellies full, skin chilled from the sea air.

I nuzzled my face into John’s neck, unable to get enough of his scent. Beneath the fresh twist of aftershave was his smell, a smell completely eluding description. Specific to him. No inhale was quite enough, like some sort of despicable drug meant to be my undoing.

“Mm…” John hummed from his half-waking state.

I felt the vibrations through his neck against my lips and pressed a kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Are you happy?” he said through a voice sticky from wine and berries.

“Of course,” I said and slid my hands around his waist, his shirt already completely mussed in my hands. I pulled the fabric aside, let my hands graze his skin. “Are you?” I asked, digging my nails in slightly.

I detected the beginnings of a whimper at the very back of his throat. Distant, maybe even hopeful. “I was in desperate need of some estrogen,” he replied.

With a laugh, I wormed myself closer, if that were even possible. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Julia…”

“Why do you always say that? ‘Julia…’ like I’ve done something bad?”

John craned his head back so our eyes could meet. “Well, would you say that this is something a good girl would do?”

Good girl. A thrall of nerves rumbled in my mouth.

His lips brushed the corner of my mouth. “Pressed up against me…”

“Under a blanket,” I added pointedly, not daring to draw away.

“In broad daylight,” he corrected then snatched my lips into a kiss.

I laughed into his mouth. Deep, throaty. “You shouldn’t be surprised, at this point,” I offered as I slid my hands to his belly and wriggled my fingers into the waistband of his slacks.

A breath hiccupped out of his mouth. “I didn’t say I was surprised. Not at all.”

“Mm, I’m predictable?” I pouted as I undid the button on his trousers.

“I didn’t say that with – ha –” John’s cadence jumped when I pushed my hand into the crotch of his pants, fondling him over his underwear.

“Then what is it?” I said, a playful plea. “I’m not surprising and I’m not predictable, so what am I?”

John hardened as my hand passed over him again and again. My center began to throb for him. “You’re Julia. Which is the best thing you could be.”

My heart leapt. John was the devil and I knew it. Anything from his lips was molten sugar. He knew I’d devour it and let my teeth rot.

And I adored him. Even more than that. I was falling in love with him. Before that thought could burble out of my mouth in some trembling, tender sigh, I captured his mouth with mine and kissed. Kissed, kissed, kissed. Thoughtless lips. Thoughtless fucking heart.

I pulled the blanket further over the both of us for good measure before shifting his pants downward. My bare palm connected with his hardened cock, eliciting a wordless hiss from his mouth.

There wasn’t much room to maneuver, but the intent was clear: get him between my legs as fast as possible and keep him there as long as possible to feel like forever. Remember each and every ridge and curve of him buried inside. Capture the moment so that I could survive until his future return.

We shifted back and forth, hips trying to catch, until we found the appropriate angle for the head of his member to dip inside me.

John let out a breath through his nose like an angry bull, the air skimming my neck. “Here? Really?”

“When are you going back?” I asked, nonsequiting.

His response was stolen as I moved my hips forward, taking him slightly deeper.

The stretch felt new again. I gripped his shirt and took pause as my body adjusted to the beginning of fullness.

“Morning,” John finally responded, word strangled in his throat. “I’ll leave…in the morning.”

A smile graced my lips, genuine, from the bottom of my heart. The girls would get to see him, however brief.

“Christ, Julia, you want me to talk sense right now and I’m halfway in the…” John pressed his forehead to my shoulder and groaned.

“Has it really been so long that you’re this desperate?”

“I used to get it every night, if you’ve forgotten.”

I laughed, biting at his chin. “You’re saying I’ve been spoiling you.”

John’s hand rustled under the cover, gripped my ass. “Please, Julia.”

“No one’s stopping you.”

Shifting his pelvis, John slid inside me, inch by inch, deeper and deeper, until there was no way we could be closer. His intake of breath was as if for the first time, a dormant god awakened by a thoughtless mortal.

He clung to me, quiet desperation. Unmoving. “Feel so good,” he sighed into my ear.

From somewhere down the beach came the chortling of some seabirds. I pulled the blanket tighter around us, so tight there would be no room to thrust or undulate. All that existed amidst the blanket was one body with two beating hearts and a familiar arousal. No need to consummate, no need to rush. In fact, it was a feeling I wanted to live in forever.

Not just a feeling. Wanted him to live in me forever. A piece. Just a little.

I scared myself with the very thought.

Love is a laughable little word. Love is an emotion that belongs to children, adults, and animals indiscriminately. Between friends, family members, between humans and nature, between children and their most treasured teddy bears.

But life…the possibility of building a life even creating a life. That is proprietary to one particular kind of relationship.

I dug my fingernails into his back, eyes widening at the thought of something I couldn’t deny I wanted. “John…” my voice cracked.

John gripped me back. “What, Julia? What, love?”

I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t say it. Because what would I say? That I loved him? Wanted him in more beyond the secret of a blanket? Wanted the girls to know?

Wanted a future?

I couldn’t say any of that.

Tears streamed down my face. I buried my face into his shoulder and squeezed myself around him. “Need you to come,” I finally choked out. “Need to feel you.”

And when he whispered my name again in my ear, I knew he’d give me what I wanted.

Under the blanket, our friction grew. Micromotions and clenching muscles, panting breaths, until it was utterly clear John couldn’t hold out much longer.

A single moment, a pinpoint of clarity. The sky expanding, shafts of light through the gray clouds, shuffling waves on the shore.

That could be enough, couldn’t it?

“Oh, god,” John murmured in a strangled tone before releasing inside. He spread one hand against my lower back, heaving breaths to try and catch up to himself.

I hummed with satisfaction. No need for an orgasm on my part, not after what happened in the Rolls.

Just having him close.

Like this.

Mine.

“Why do you feel so good? Always?” John kissed me. “Always,” he repeated, nudging his nose with mine.

If he noticed the remnants of my tears, he said nothing.

“I don’t know what to do about you, Julia.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

John slid one arm free from the blanket and cupped the back of my head. Forehead pressed against mine. I listened to him breathe until he gained the courage to say what he wanted to. “I don’t know, I…I want you to know I care for you.”

I tilted my mouth toward his, needy for a kiss.

“I’m trying to give all that I can.”

I could read between the words. The subtle admission.

I want to. I'm trying. But I can't. Yet.

All this had started with him needing a nanny. Then needing a lover. Baby steps.

Except children…when they take their steps they already know they want to run. If they run too soon, they’ll fall.

Were we about to run? Or had we already started?

And when were we going to fall face first in the mud, muck everything up?

Only time would tell.

“I know you are, darling,” I whispered. “You’ve given me so much.”

John smiled with a solemn satisfaction which I stole off his face with a kiss.

“Now, stop being so dower when you’re inside me, hm? You’re going to create a Pavlovian response that my fanny makes you all serious, now –”

That knocked him into a laugh, changing the tenor of the conversation to the better.

I let myself smile again. It’s your birthday, Julia. Let it be happy.

Time slipped through our fingers quicker than quick and before we knew it, we had to be back on the road to Crowborough. The ride back was quiet except for the crinkling radio. I remained glued to John’s side the whole way back, the kerchief around my neck, the flowers desperate for water on the seat beside me.

Once we turned down Warren Lane, there was a natural parting between the two of us as I slid back into my seat, knowing that the girls were already home, thanks to Annie fetching them from school. No need to add to further confusion or to corner us into naming something that didn’t yet want to be named.

And thank goodness we did; the moment we pulled up, the girls rushed out in their school uniforms and nearly bum rushed the car. Of course, it was for John, as it always should be. “Wait, wait, wait,” I cried out, holding my hand out toward them, “for the car to stop!”

The easy dandy John Paul Jones brought the car to a stop and leapt out of the car toward the children, almost like his adoring public. I wondered how it compared to the screams of his fans. However, if I had learned John at all in the short time we’d known one another, I’d say anything with the band held no candle to this.

“You’ve all grown! I’ll be a dwarf soon!” he said as he embraced them, fake tears in his voice.

“It’s been two weeks!” Tamara rightly pointed out in her matter-of-fact way.

As I stepped out of the car, basking in the scene, I was surprised when Jacinda wriggled out of John’s arms and came tripping toward me, catching herself at my waist. I tripped back against the car door, laughing. “Cin, what on earth!”

“Are you having a good birthday?” she asked, grinning up at me.

For a split second, I detected a knowingness in her eyes. I shook it off, gave her a tight squeeze. “It’s been a perfect birthday. Now let’s go inside.”

She giggled. “Yes, let’s.”

I raised an eyebrow. Something was afoot.

“Julia!” Kiera scrambled over and grabbed my hand. “You look older!”

“Oh! Thanks,” I said dryly, ignoring John’s snickering.

Annie appeared in the doorway. “Now, what have I said about leaving the door open? Inside, the lot of you!”

No one argued and, once inside, I was directed straight to the kitchen, Kiera pressing on my hindquarters without mercy. “Come look, come look, come look!”

“Tamara! Her eyes!” Jacinda directed.

Tamara tucked her hands over my eyes; I nearly had to take pause at how much that one gesture made me realize how she’d grown since March. “What are you up to?!” I exclaimed.

“Easy now, careful with the birthday girl,” Annie squawked.

After nearly being run into the doorframe, the girls got me into the kitchen without injury.

“Three, two, one…open!” Jacinda announced.

Tamara’s hands lifted, revealing a beautiful triple decker cake with white cream and bright red strawberries between each layer. Evidently homemade and with a childlike touch of strawberries slices placed together in hearts on the top.

“Surprise!” Kiera yelped, jumping out from behind me and grinning her big, somewhat toothless grin. “Your favorite!”

I gasped, “You remembered!” I should have known all the nagging last week about favorite sweets would have been for something like this.

“Happy birthday, dear,” Annie said, tapping my shoulder. “From the girls.”

I eyed Annie with a subtle shake of my head. “First a picnic and now this, It’s too much, it’s…”

“Do you want a slice?” Kiera asked, climbing up on a stool to stick her finger in the cream.

John swept in, gripping the littlest under her armpits and yanking her back from the cake. “After dinner, love.”

“Can’t we start with dessert instead?” Jacinda asked helplessly.

“Please, Daddy, we’ve been working on it for hours and Annie didn’t even let us lick the bowl,” Tamara complained.

John and I laughed, especially when Annie cocked her shoulder and added, “That’s my gratuity and they knew that.”

“Well, what do you think, John?” I asked, threading my fingers through Tamara’s hair, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. “Dessert first wouldn’t hurt just once, hm?”

The girls all shot up on their tiptoes, repeating “please” over and over in an effort to appease their father. And John relished making them wait on the edge for his answer. “If that’s what the birthday girl wants.”

The celebration that followed was momentous. We all gathered around the table with a plate of cake and delighted in fresh cream and zippy strawberries, almost bypassing the ritual of “Happy Birthday” and “make a wish”. Amidst all the chatting and laughter, cake was nearly polished off and there was no room for dinner much to Annie’s grumbling chagrin.

From time to time, I noticed John appraising the white lilies in their vase. Compared to the wildflowers, they were more flamboyant. Still, though, uglier.

I made a note to offer them to Annie to take home and revel in herself. I only needed flowers from one man.

“Julia, is this the best birthday ever?” Kiera asked, coming over to my seat and pushing her way onto my lap.

I hugged her close, peering over her head at John across the table who was the last of us to still have cake on his plate, his fork awaiting his mouth with another bite. “Oh, absolutely. The best ever,” I said. “Thanks to you girls. And Annie. And your father.”

John looked away then, cheeks turning bright red.

“We’re sort of like your best friends, right?” Kiera went on, her legs swinging back and forth over me.

“Better than best,” I replied. Meaning it.

Kiera simply smiled and dropped her head on my shoulder.

It was all falling into place. So easy. So simple.

“Can we look at the book now?”

We all glanced over to the doorway where Jacinda stood with the yellow photo album. The same they’d looked at on Tamara’s birthday.

Tamara rolled her eyes, “Julia isn’t in the book, Cindy.”

Jacinda pulled the album closer to her chest. “I know, but we always look at the book.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t want to invite myself into a family tradition, but didn’t want to break Jacinda’s heart.

Clearing his throat, John finally spoke, “Tamara’s right, Julia isn’t in the book.”

Jacinda’s brow pinched in distress.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t look at it, though,” he added with a soft smile.

“What will Julia look at if there aren’t pictures of her in it?” Kiera asked.

I shook my head. She was sounding just like my little brother, Anson, the apple of everyone’s eye at all times, even if he had to force it. “I’m happy to look at all your pictures, it doesn’t matter if I’m in them.”

Tamara twisted her lips to the side. “But it’s your birthday.”

“Tell you what,” John announced, patting his mouth off with his napkin and tossing it down before pushing himself to his feet. “I’ve got an idea. Give me two minutes.”

Jacinda set the book down in front of me with a proud smile. “These are where we keep the best pictures.”

“And we look at it on every birthday,” Kiera added.

“It’s just because Daddy likes to embarrass us with our baby pictures,” Tamara grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

I laughed. “Oh, I’d love to see that.”

“Julia…” she moaned.

John returned right quick with a Polaroid camera in his hand. “Alright, girls, gather together around Julia would you?”

My heart plummeted. “I am in no shape for a picture, John.”

“Oh, nonsense, you look beautiful,” he uttered while checking the cartridge for film.

I tried not to gasp in delight as the girls crowded me. Kiera on my knee, Jacinda leaning on my shoulder, and Tamara at the back of my chair. 

“We haven’t taken a picture in forever,” Kiera said with delight.

“Because you’re missing your teeth,” Tamara jabbed.

Kiera lifted her chin, grit her teeth, and stuck her tongue through one of the gaping holes toward Tamara. Appropriately, Tamara squealed in disgust.

I playfully thwacked each of them. “Girls, please, we’re about to take a picture. Be pleasant, hm?”

With a few final checks and a swipe of my thumb across the corner of Jacinda’s mouth, we were ready. John poised himself behind the camera and counted down as we all smiled.

“Three…two…”

“My cheeks hurt, Daddy,” Kiera complained through clenched teeth.

I laughed as the flash went off.

A few minutes later, John opened the book to the very last page and slid the developed picture beneath the clear plastic. Kiera smiling maniacally with me caught in a blurry mid-laugh with Jacinda and Tamara. On the white frame, he’d written, “Julia’s First Birthday”.

I blinked in confusion for a moment.

“First? Julia’s older than one,” Jacinda said with a furrowed brow.

John settled into the chair beside mine and folded his hands on the table. “First of many birthdays with Julia, I hope.”

I smiled as our eyes met.

“I hope so too,” Kiera said, looping her arms around my neck. “How old are you, anyway?”

I grunted. “Old.”

“Oh hush,” Annie scolded from the sink where she was scraping off dishes.

“Now, Julia’s in the book, which means we’ve got to start at the beginning,” John said, turning the album back to the very first page.

The beginning. The beginning of their family. Not mine. Or was it? Now that I existed between the pages, a moment in time pressed between his three daughters who I loved dearly, did that mean I could claim the Baldwins as my own?

I glanced down at a wedding photograph. A young John and Mo. So young together. My contentment didn’t shrivel at the sight though my insides drooped.

“That’s Mummy and Daddy when they got married,” Jacinda explained to me.

“It rained the whole day,” Tamara added as she took a seat, emphasis on the word “whole”, the hallmark of being told the story many times and learning the exact cadence in which it was told.

“Did it really?” I asked.

Jacinda nodded. “But Mummy always says – said it’s very good luck for it to rain on your wedding day.”

“Is that true, Daddy?” Kiera prodded.

I held my breath, feeling the eternity it took for John to answer. The slow curl of his lips and the difficulty he had raising his gaze to look at his girls. I was ready to turn the page, to tell them to move it along and not worry about his answer, when he inhaled and puffed his chest with pride, his eyes regarding each of his daughters.

“Oh yes, girls. It’s fantastic luck.”

My heart quadrupled in size when he then looked at me.

Because somehow, despite all the pain that brought him to this moment, our paths crossing was perhaps a stroke of luck.

After all, there’s no sunshine without the rain.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @digitcc, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking, @callmethehunter (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

[novankenn]

Unnatural (v1-7)

(Chapter List)

MATURE CONTENT WARNING : This story deals with some disturbing themes. Check the tags. IF any of these are triggers for you or will disturb you... then DO NOT READ!!

Rolling her lips, she smeared the blood upon them, and then leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss upon Jaune’s forehead.

/==/ 

Samuel Falleaf, formerly Arc, lay on his simple bunk. The dim lights in the corridor causing the bars of his cell to cast long shadows. He lay on his back and grumbled. In his mind, cursing his bitch of a wife, and his little slut of a daughter for his current situation. This was all their fault… never giving him a chance to explain.

“Fuck.” He grumbled as he rolled over, to face the wall. His right arm tucked under his head. He knew he will never be free, that bitch’s brother having piled so many charges against him that his public defender basically advised that he take the plea deal. “Fucking twats.”

Squirming a bit to get more comfortable, he prepared to try and get some sleep. Being in protective custody was a pain. He was safe from the other inmates, but what little freedoms he did have, were further restricted for his protection.

“It’s all their fa…” his voice choked off when a malicious and very ominous feeling filled the cell. Rolling over, he snapped to sitting as a short red haired girl stepped out of the corner. She was too young for him, but he could easily see that she would blossom into a fine piece of ass.

“Good evening… father.” the voice was soft, but with a dangerous, sinister and malicious undertone. “Mother sends her regards.”

“What? Who?”

“Your daughter… Saphron.” 

“So I gave the slut a brat,” he laughed darkly, not even caring that the girl before him had blood-red hair, “Too bad it was another bitch.”

“Wrong…” Samuel was confused and then grew shocked and severely creeped out as the girl before him, shifted to becoming a young boy with blond hair, before once again shifting back to that of a young red-headed girl.

“So…so… URK!” Samuel’s comment was choked off as the barely four foot tall figure in the blink of an eye had his jaw clasped in a vice-like grip, preventing him from properly talking.

“Save your breath… you’re going to need it…” a malicious smile crossed the almost pure white features, revealing shark-like teeth. Samuel’s fear spiked, and he began to struggle, striking out at the tiny figure… to no effect. “I’ve come to give you mother’s regards…”

With a sickening crack, followed by a muted howl of agony, Samuel’s jaw was crushed, snapping bones like toothpicks. He was pulled from his bunk and tossed against the far wall. He whimpered, tears of pain freely falling from his eyes. Samuel was yanked to his knees and had his back arched by a steel like grip on his hair, only to squirm and wraith as five distinct points of penetration ripped up his back.

Wet warmth soaked the back of his shirt, but he had no chance to register the true extent of the damage as his head was slammed against the cinder block wall of his cell. His vision swam, and he felt more warmth flowing down the side of his face, and filling his right ear. The searing pain of five gouges ripping across the back of his shoulders, caused him to mewl in agony through his destroyed jaw. As he fell forward, in a crumpled heap, Once again his head was yanked back up by his hair.

“Now, now father… I thought you were so much tougher than this.” the malicious voice entered his brain like a worm, eating at his sanity as repeatedly five dagger like points punched through the flesh of his back. “I’ve perforated your liver, your intestines, and your kidneys… but I’m not finished yet. So be strong… show me how big and tough you are.”

[crimsonblackrose]

This episode has opened like one of those youtuber videos where they do their routine and it’s a whole bunch of like sounds of them opening things and clicking things as they go about the start of their day but if they were a woodworker. 🤣 Tape measure  sounds ✔ Slapping wood down sounds ✔ Buzz saw sounds ✔ Tape measure closing sound ✔ Just waiting for the welcome to my channel opening. 😅 It’s just interesting to see how these things are older than I thought they were.

That was not what I thought they were building. And this is a Control is in danger episode. Uh oh.

They had to pick him up and drag him over there. I’ve never seen Mr. McCall treated that way. Wait a second is that Control’s scarf from teh last episode!?

It’s not, but it is similar. I got excited.

This is such an interesting set up. Everyone gets their own green lamp.

Omg first season call back. Interesting. He’s also been in the company 29 years...so Scott’s whole life I presume.

Sassy McCall. I’m not ready for the clips they showed where Control gets put in danger. Prosecutor: What was in teh envelope that Control gave you? Robert: It was a mail-order for a dozen new bowties. I had just discovered a secret source. 🤣🤣🤣🤣 Robert: I refuse to tell you anything until I  know what I’m being tried for. Prosectuor: Nothing, the person being tried is over there.

What’s he charged with? Treason! But against the USA? Nope. Against the company, and they think it’s the same thing. Great. Don’t pit these husbands against each other. Whatever will Mickey do? Someone give this man an envelope with money and ticket to Bermuda.

Prosecutor: What is your relationship with this man? Robert: I could tell you, but it’d be totally beyond your comprehension.  (WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!) The way they’re saying “Friends” and “friendship” and then going through clips of the series of all the times Control has gone out of his way to rescue or save Robert. This is a clip-esq episode but it’s done very well, because it’s like you’ve probably forgotten all the times Control has shown up to save Robert. 🤣🤣🤣🤣 I forgot when he broke Robert out of jail he said “Don’t call me I’m going to Bermuda”. followed by “You bloody hate bermuda”...which means every single time he buys a person a ticket somewhere he’s always sending them to his least favorite place. Who does that Control? Who?

The face of a man whose just realized he’s there to witness them put his best friend to death.

Omg so the prosecutor is one of Mr. McCall’s friends and the head of the tribunal just said “Proceed but keep in mind that if Control is found guilty that Mr. McCall will be charged with the same crime.” And his face fell and he’s faltering. Just a little.

Omg no not their son. Don’t pit their son with a plea bargain against his dad’s. Mickey nooo. Also dramatic much why are you wearing all black? He’s probably thinking you two old fools why do you always get me up and out of bed at such awful hours for such awful things? We’ve gone over a half hour into this trial and Control didn’t have a defense. Robert asked why and guess whose now Control’s defense much to his own surprise and dismay? You guessed it. Robert. 🤣

So kid what’s your opinion on what your work dad’s have been up to?

Opened a can of worms by asking an opinion and putting Robert on defense. He loves to rant.

“What are you doing? Why are you letting yourself be a sacrifical lamb?” Judge: You’re out of order. Robert: YOU ARE OUT OF ORDER JUDGE! EVERYONE ELSE IS OUT OF ORDER

I can’t tell whether Control is regretting his decision, all of them, mostly McCall related or if he’s enjoying this.

“Robert, defend me, don’t destroy me, hmm?”

I feel like Robert is in a law drama and this guy is a professor giving a lecture.

Okay, that’s fun.

Look at these two.

[once-was-muses]

anonymous | Collared

Collared! + Atrocitus for Walker >8)

More often than not, a summons from his master means there is blood soon to be spilled. A squadron of lesser Lanterns to give simple commands to, and later discipline those that inevitably fail or disobey. While he is mildly entertained by the pleas for mercy from the very same lips that curse him for their leader's favoritism, this babysitting is a duty he wishes he was exempt from. He could accomplish far more of his master's wishes without sniveling idiots to eat up his attention.

And yet, when he flies to Atrocitus' living quarters, he encounters no one on his way. Upon entering through the great door, he finds not a soul waiting within- save for his master, waiting at the remarkably stainless table (who can truly say how much violence it has seen) with something held in his claws. Bro'Dee does not need instruction to approach the table, the first Red Lantern, sitting on his knees before him, gaze fixed on the floor until he's told otherwise. He can't help the slight twitch in his head-tail; carrying out orders of destruction and torture are far easier for him than accepting the intermittent rewards Atrocitus takes it upon himself to dispense.

Rather than utilizing words, the Corps Leader directs Bro'Dee with a curled claw under his chin, lifting his eyes to meet his. It takes great effort not to blink when met with those empty burning whites, the pointed claw just a little effort away from piercing his scales, conjuring deep purple droplets to the surface. The rough pad of a thumb against the ruined flesh around his missing eye makes his spine ache, straightening as much as he'll let it without recoiling from the simple yet intense contact.

Making an appreciative growl, his master orders, "remove your cloak."

Not allowing the electric apprehension to invade his expression, Bro'Dee obeys, his fingers reaching up to undo the clasps on the flowing crimson garment. Starting at his shoulders, the fabric made of hard light gradually disintegrates into small scarlet sparks, revealing the armor covering his thin yet powerful frame. The thought that such a lanky worm could become his greatest Lantern is one Atrocitus would have scoffed at if he hadn't witnessed his strength and rage firsthand. A rage born from so similar a place as his own. If the once holy man knew just what led to his home sector's destruction, there's no doubt in Atrocitus' mind that he'd join him in hunting the Guardians to a fiery extinction.

But such a reveal will have to wait. Until Bro'Dee has mastered his rage, until he's entirely molded in Atrocitus' will. Until they're truly one in the same.

Opening his other hand, red fingers moving to reveal what they hold, Atrocitus wordlessly presents the item to his servant. His second in command. The remaining large, dark eye widens at the simple collar resting in Atrocitus' palm- a deep, almost black leather, a simple chain clasp and a loop in the front. Devoid of any other features. It doesn't need any identifiers, the only two beings that need to know what it means do. Besides, the brand on Walker's chest is enough of a statement.

Managing to pull his eye from the collar and back to Atrocitus' subtly expectant expression, Bro'Dee asks, "master?"

"Allow me to put this on you." Though it's a simple demand at the surface, neither are willing to acknowledge the weight of the seven words. And what's beneath them.

Hesitating for just a second- searching the stony face for anything- Bro'Dee obeys once again, raising his chin further to fully bare his neck. Large hands work with deceptive care, pulling the leather against his scales, positioning the metal loop between sharp collarbones, rejoining the clasps at the back of Bro'Dee's neck. He doesn't miss the small shudder, the tensing in his shoulders as the material touches the closed slits of gills there, his abrasive fingers agitating the sensitive area. He makes no effort to avoid it.

Leaning back again, Atrocitus takes in the dark band around Bro'Dee's neck, darker than even his breastplate and making his silver scales look ghostly pale. An apt comparison; he's a spector of a world left to die, revived by the rage he allowed him to harness. Tethered to Atrocitus, in more ways than one. How could he ever forget now?

A tentative motion, closely watched, Bro'Dee touches the leather collar, the unexpected smoothness of the fabric still bewildering him. But it's the easiest portion of this engagement for his mind to process, so he clings to it in the moment. He never once breaks the eye contact, doesn't dare, still able to see that waiting look in his master's stark eyes.

Sliding his fingers down, resting them on his breastplate- directly above the symbol burned into his chest- Bro'Dee softly says, "...thank you, master."

[mrskurono]

Getou $75 slot fee??

A gamble....will it pay off?

$75 for the curse user and you won...curse sex with Getou!

tags: fem!Reader, brain worm!Getou, manga spoilers ish, noncon, bondage, drug mention, curse/demon/monsterfucking, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, creampie

->Check out the other slot boys and girls <-

The union of curse and human had, intrigued, the age old being.

New vessel. New tools at their disposal. And a new precious idea to test out on an unsuspecting human.

Suguru bent down in front of your tear stained face and offered the same charming smile he had before his death.

But this time it wasn’t him who was smiling back at you.

“It’s my newest idea, made possible only by the wonderful workings of Mahito.” Suguru stayed knelt in front of you, “Perhaps, this is the key to humans and curses finally being one.”

“Suguru please-” Your voice cracked in your plea, “Please I know you’re in there. Suguru you can’t do this what about-”

“Are you still trying to reason your way out of this?” Suguru tapped the stitching on his forehead, “I’d save your strength for something else love. He isn’t helping you in this little porject.”

Before another attempt to grapple with the curse in your long gone lover’s body. Suguru snapped his fingers. A low creak of a door behind you. One you couldn’t exactly see from the position you were bound in. 

Strapped over a breeding bench like a common animal. Only your head could move to show you the horror of the mutilated body coming your way. Worse than that, were the drooling cock between it’s legs as it approached. Fear deepening in your gut. Renewing your struggle to be free. As futile as that was.

Suguru stayed knelt before you with that same endearing smile on the strangers face. Even as the monster mounted you. Sloppy, uncoordinated and erratic thrusts. Missing it’s mark half a dozen times as it prodded at your cunt lips. Slipped against your clit. Even grazed your ass. All before one chance of the draw it was able to bury itself deep inside your cunt.

Prepared for the pain of being penetrated, you screamed when it’s weight came down on your back and waited for the searing burn as it ripped your cunt. Inside, that never came. Replaced with a hip shuddering reaction the second the curse drove it’s cock deep against your cervix.

“Ahh, so the manipulation did work on you too...” Suguru tapped his bottom lip, “You’re wet as can be and taking it. This might work.”

Breathing made difficult by the weight of the curse on your back. And it’s insistent pounding away at your sopping cunt right in front of him. You couldn’t fathom any words. Instead your mouth just hung loosely open with drool dripping from your lips as your half lidded eyes followed Suguru’s form up as he stood.

“Oh, looks like you’ll be receiving your first gift.” He smiled. Unaware what he meant until it suddenly happened.

The warmth in your body put to the test when the monster slammed itself deeper into you. Undoubtedly feeling it in your belly as it rutted its cock against your cervix. Feeling like you were going to be split in half on this wretched bench you were strapped to. All of that to be washed away though with the first spurt of inhumanly hot cum to be deposited inside you.

Very much unlike a human though. When the ropes of cum overfilled your cunt and left your pussy dripping and drooling the messy mixture around the monster’s cock. The thrusts didn’t stop. Carrying on with their frantic power right through it’s first orgasm. Making your mind and body fuzzier by the second as it continued fucking you right through it all.

“I’ll come back in a few.” Suguru smiled down at his work. Human and curse. Just as he had always hoped it would be even if the sight was of his host’s only lover being violated by a creature only thought up in nightmares. He was brimming with pride over his work, “Make sure to me good use of that seed. Or we’ll have as many breeding sessions as it takes to create my world.”

[equestrianwritingsstuff]

The arrogant, ruthless Supervillain, who was always so vicious and condescending, defeated, broken, and too delirious to do anything but beg when the hero finds them... that is my fave trope.

Same, mine as well.

I didn't think this was an ask to write, so if it isn't, I'm sorry, but I had a really good idea for this.

Astronaut

@shydragonrider @the-sky-writes

Warnings: delirium, fever, captivity, space chase, bombing, panic attack, vomit, wounds, partial nudity (non sexual), past torture

*not edited*b

~

Hero sat Supervillain on a seat and buckled him in, mindful of where his injuries were in relation to the belt. He groaned in pain and protest, throwing his head backwards in a hoarse sob.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Hero said quickly, momentarily cupping his cheek before rushing to the controls of her rocket. It was a intricate thing with too many different buttons, levers, and colors to make sense of. Still, she knew exactly what to do. She rammed the aircraft into flying mode and switched on autopilot, taking a split second to navigate a safe path through the infinite cosmos.

She returned to Supervillain's side and looked into his pale, unfocused face. He breathed heavily between wails and sniffles, not making eye contact with his savior. His fingers naturally curled and clenched as his sides as mucus gurgled in his chest. Tears sprang from his eyes.

Hero had found him, in a space ship, beaten brutally and deliriously crying in his agony. After breaking him out of the small chest that his captors called "his room", he had started to beg incoherently. He made no sense whatsoever, babbling on and on about random things. Then he would scream suddenly and sporadically, clawing aimlessly at Hero's chest.

He was awake, but not there and was vividly still trapped in whatever fantasy he imagined himself into.

So Hero carried him out, kicking and knocking out many of Vigilante's underlings- they were weak and not very well trained, in their defenses.

When she finally set him in that seat and buckled his writhing form in, she was somewhat exhausted and sweaty herself. But she knew that she had to drive her rocket away as fast as possible and take care of the bleeding man who was currently slumped in a seat at the verge of falling unconscious.

Hero ran a hand through his grimey, blood coated hair with a sigh and gently unbuckled him. She pulled off his shirt, watching as his arms limply fell to the sides as if he lost all muscle mass.

Immediately, he doubled over, body curling to a seemingly natural position for him. It made Hero's heart wrench- he had been in that box, a box hardly the size of a dog crate, for so long that even unconscious his body was conditioned to react.

Hero straightened him back up to examine the injuries. His ribs were heavily bruised and jutting out in various areas. His torso was covered in welts and old cuts, many infected, as if he was whipped. A lot. Those would need antibiotic cream, probably some draining-

The ship jerked suddenly to the side, throwing her off balanced. Instinctively, she strapped the buckles over the supervillain's chest, and ran to the controls. Every alarm was blaring red and screeching. She glanced over at the computerized pixels that made up a small replica of her ship- the rear side seemed to be hit by something. Nothing was critically damaged, but it still meant that something hit her.

A flaming, green ball of something whizzed past the corner of Hero's eyes. She stiffened, heart beginning to race. They were being bombed.

Hero took the rocket out of autopilot and turned on the cameras. Looking at the small, live recording in front of her, she saw Vigilante's ship chasing after her's. The sharp pointed nose and wide wings made it look daunting, but Hero knew that was all design.

It wasn't fast, though it had decent aim. All Hero had to do was get out of there as fast as possible.

Hero made a sharp turn, jostling Supervillain around. He groaned loudly, but Hero didn't have the time to comfort him.

Another bomb raced past her.

Hero started zig zagging, desperate to rid herself of the lethal balls of fire. They were incessant, one after the other after the other.

"Please don't hurt me!" Supervillain suddenly screamed. Hero glanced behind her to see him cowering in his seat, panting. However, in that split second of distraction, she was rocked sideways again.

Hero focused back on her mission and steered the rocket to the left. The bomb she evaded smacked right into a neaby asteroid, causing it to burst into peices.

"Please!" Supervillain hollered, thrashing against the seatbelt. His heavy breathing turned shallow, but Hero had bigger things to worry about.

Not only was she dodging flying fireballs, but know she had asteroid debris clocking in at one hundred miles per hour. She flew past them with professional precision.

"N-no," Supervillain whimpered, now smacking his head into the headrest of his seat. Hero risked a glance. His face was noticeably even paler, blanched to the point of white, as his fingers trembled. His dazed eyes darted around like a fly, buzzing here and there, taking in everything.

And everything was overwhelming him.

"Supervillain," Hero called, watching her camera. "You need to calm down buddy, okay? No one is going to hurt you anymore." If you would shut up and let me concentrate...

"N-not not... t'day pleas," Supervillain slurred, head dangling limply in fatigue and exhaustion before he picked it back up again, crying loudly.

"Shh," Hero tried to shush him, but failed. He wiggled like a worm as his voice locked itself in an endless current of screams.

A bomb flew by overhead, missing Hero by only five feet. She groaned and focused back on the black abyss she was traveling through, illuminated by the celestial bodies floating about. Supervillain's episode woule have to be ignored, for the sake of both of them.

The ship was suddenly deathly quiet.

However Hero did not realize that the cause of the supervillain's sudden silence was because he was hyperventilating, choking on his own breathing. She was zoned into the camera, watching the coming fireballs intently.

Supervillain watched her, trying his hardest to calm his rapid breathing and heartbeat. The world was growing out of focus... he couldn't breathe... couldn't breathe.

He felt like he was going to throw up. Oh gosh he was. The world tossed and turned in front of his eyes, pivoting forward and sideways.

"H-hero," he moaned, nausea thick in his voice.

She didn't reply.

Supervillain vomitted all over the floor, finally able to draw in a shaky breath. He gasped for air, to satisfy his burning lungs that didn't possess it for so long.

Only, he started sobbing again. It wasn't intentional, of course it wasn't. Crying was for the weak and he wasn't weak. Or was he? Because he was crying now? He was weak wasn't he?

These thoughts sent Supervillain back into another panic attack. His chest seized threateningly, but he did not thrash like before. He just allowed the cloud to wash over him.

When Hero finally escapes the bombardment, she idled the engine down in a bade to save fuel and ran over to her new ward. He was half-asleep, eyes halfway closed as his body breathed for him- air rushing into his body in large gulps.

"Supervillain? Supervillain? Hey, hey." Hero tapped Supervillain's cheek. "Wake up for me, will you? You're hyperventilating. Breathe, bud, breathe."

Supervillain slowly took a breath in before falling against his savior's shoulder, sniffling.

[anoray]

May the Fourth Be With You

Oh, how I wish I could post a completed chapter for Spectre One Rises, but as that’s not yet possible, I hope this segment serves as a small offering on this special SW day!

The story had left off with Ezra hanging in the air courtesy of a peeved Force entity. This first awesome serpent-dragon artwork was found on https://www.deviantart.com/phoenixfireclaws  The second one I can’t seem to locate the creator. If I could mix these two together and add lots of eyes, it would provide an inkling of what has Ezra by the neck. :)

SPECTRE ONE RISES - CHAPTER 9 (Title forthcoming):

Ezra / Oroboros 2

Ezra thrashed wildly to escape the serpent-dragon’s chokehold, but it was as if the planet itself held him within its angry fist.

“Let him go!” Kanan yelled upward. “Ezra’s a Jedi!”

“Look in the Force!” Ahsoka jabbed her staff at Oroboros like an admonishing finger. “The one you seek vengeance on is dead!”

The Great Guardian flicked his forked tongue at her dismissively.

MY DESECRETOR WAS TOO CONSUMED BY HATRED AND FEAR TO LEAVE ANYTHING FOR DEATH TO TAKE.

The words thudded through Ezra’s mind like metal-heavy footsteps. Maul got chopped in half and lived. What if Palpatine was only hiding?

Ezra gagged as the Force grip on his neck clamped his windpipe shut. His pulse pounded in his ears, almost drowning out the shouts from below.

“Stop hurting him!” Kanan cried out, his hand raised in a plea. “Ezra’s not your enemy!

Oroboros hissed and steam swirled dangerously close to Ezra.

“Listen to us!” Ahsoka struck the butt of her staff against the rocky platform. “A terrible danger threatens our Galaxy and we need your help!”

Black spots danced at the edges of Ezra’s vision while his blockaded lungs burned for air.  His head flopped forward like a broken trooper doll and the ground seemed to stretch even further away from his dangling feet. Ezra shut his eyes to blot out the dizzying sight only to find two pinpricks of red piercing the darkness. The Son’s voice slithered through his fading consciousness and sent his heart hammering into overdrive.

Make this conceited, bloated worm pay for its insolence. It exists only to do our bidding!

The unnatural chill that prickled Ezra’s skin jolted a retort out of his oxygen-deprived brain. Easy for you to say--you’re not the one who can’t breathe!

He was rewarded with an impatient scoff.

Stop sniveling and let go. There can be no Middle without the Dark. Die in the worm’s grip now and everyone you love will perish.

The warning wove through Ezra’s fragmenting awareness. He’s right. The mission will fail if I’m dead. But if he let go, the Son could flow through him--and crush Oroboros into submission. And wasn’t letting go the exact lesson that Kanan and Ahsoka kept teaching him over and over? Ezra could use it now to save himself. To save the Galaxy.

Yes, Ezra Bridger. You are wise to trust me.

Ezra abruptly recoiled as the echo of a voice he’d first heard on Malachor vibrated through every cell of his failing body.

“You were wise to trust me.” Maul had coaxed and lulled Ezra into obedience with silken praise—all a ploy to steal the Sith Temple’s power and a new apprentice for himself. The scheme had failed thanks to Kanan and Ahsoka’s heroics, but the aftermath of Maul’s treachery had lingered like a poisonous fog that refused to lift.

No! I won’t let Kanan and Ahsoka down again!

Ezra gathered the last of his coherent thoughts and flung them at the Son as if they were grenades. You sense the future--you saw Oroboros attacking me because of your Darkness! And you’re using it to take me over before I need you!

Screeeeech!

The unmistakable cry of a convor pierced its way through Ezra’s muffled hearing and the sullen pinpricks of the Son’s eyes abruptly vanished.

“Morai!” Ahsoka’s call rang out with joy.

The chokehold on Ezra’s throat faltered slightly and he sucked in a ragged breath. It gave him just enough strength to open his eyes to a miraculous sight.

Morai soared out of the sky, her green and white feathers gleaming despite the sun’s weak light. The convor screeched again and dove directly between Ezra and Oroboros to perch gracefully on Ahsoka’s outstretched hand.

“It’s so good to see you again,” Ahsoka greeted their unexpected visitor with a smile. Kanan shifted closer to the duo, offering up a grateful nod of welcome.

Morai wrapped her flexible tail around Ahsoka’s forearm, then tilted her sharp gaze up to Ezra and Oroboros with an expectant screech.

Oroboros’s razor teeth rasped alarmingly before he released the Force grip on Ezra’s throat. Ezra immediately treated his starved lungs to deep gulps of air, no longer caring that it smelled worse than a hangar full of rotten eggs.

Keeping Ezra suspended in the air, the Great Guardian undulated his glistening coils closer to Ahsoka. He dipped his head in front of Morai in a respectful bow and twin curls of steam hissed from his nostrils.

MESSENGER OF THE ASHLA, YOUR PRESENCE IS A WELCOME HONOR.

Morai fluffed her feathers and hooted back a regal reply. Oroboros swiveled several clusters of his eyes toward Ezra and curled his lips in disdain.

THE SAME CANNOT BE SAID FOR THE BOGAN WHEN HE HIDES HIS FACE AND INTENT.

Ezra let out a startled yelp as Oroboros lunged upward and began sniffing him over with unnerving vigor.

ARE YOU HIS MASK… OR HIS PUPPET?

“I’m Ezra Bridger! Nobody controls me!” Ezra fired back just before his body started rotating like a skewered tip-yip beneath one of the enormous, relentless nostrils. Ezra tried to dodge the feelers dangling from the serpent-dragon’s scaly lips and failed miserably. I am so glad Sabine isn’t here to see this.

A flash of reflected light caught Ezra’s eye, and he tilted his head to see Zippy zigzagging cautiously toward the scene. Braruz’s other two holorecorder droids emerged from their own hiding spots among the steaming terraces to tag behind. Alarm bells went off in Ezra’s brain in a jarring reminder that Thrawn was on his way. And the Nihilum won’t be far behind.

“Hey!” Kanan bellowed from below, clearly on the same wavelength. “If you don’t step it up, Ezra will be the last of your problems!”

Oroboros froze Ezra in mid-turn to impale Kanan with a seething glare that even Hera couldn’t match.

Uh oh.

Whoooooosh! Ezra’s stomach lurched as air swept past him in a vortex that was sucked into the Great Guardian’s nostrils, then the massive jaws gaped open to blast out a jet of superheated steam. Ezra’s heart staggered back into beating when the deadly spray overshot Kanan and struck the incoming holodroids instead. The trio melted to slag instantly.

Ezra tried to swallow while the pitiful remains splashed into the prismatic pool, but his abused throat wouldn’t cooperate. Maybe I should’ve taken the Son up on his offer.

Oroboros snapped his teeth together in satisfaction—then divebombed directly at Kanan.

Ezra could only flail uselessly while Kanan sprang toward the peninsula that led away from the rocky platform. Oroboros dropped a translucent coil to block his retreat, snaking his head toward Kanan with a scornful flick of his tongue.

YOU DARE TO DECLARE YOURSELF THE GUARDIAN OF LOTHAL?

Kanan stopped short, his eyebrows snagged somewhere between surprise and alarm. Before his hand reached the hilt of his lightsaber, Morai flapped her wings and screeched.

“Kanan!” Ahsoka locked eyes with him and lowered her staff in a calming gesture. “The Jedi archives say that duality with a planetary guardian is very rare.” She gestured toward Morai, then back at Kanan. “Please let Oroboros confirm your bond is real.”

Kanan exhaled a wary breath and let his fingers drift away from his weapon. “Fine.”

As if we can stop him. Ezra felt like he was floating in a cloud made of pins and needles while the nearest of the serpent-dragon’s flaring nostrils inhaled Kanan’s scent from head to toe as if determined to find incriminating evidence.

“Hey!” Kanan snapped when Oroboros swayed his head to repeat the process with his other nostril. “That’s enough.” He shoved his way out of the dangling feelers like they were beaded cantina curtains.

Oroboros tucked his frill along his neck and studied Kanan with severe disapproval.

A GUARDIAN’S INCARNATION IS A MORTAL SCAFFOLD. NOT A PET TO BE INDULGED.

Kanan crossed his arms over his chest and glowered right back at Oroboros. Ezra frowned in the moment of tense silence, wishing he could hear Dume’s response for himself. Whatever the giant Loth-wolf answered, it made Oroboros rear back his head with a snort.

I ACKNOWLEDGE YOU, DUME OF LOTHAL…

Several rows of the serpent-dragon’s eyes narrowed into crescents as he peered at Kanan through the steam wafting from his nostrils.

BUT YOUR REQUEST TO OPEN SOROR’SEPTI CANNOT BE HONORED UNLESS THESE MORTALS PROVE THEMSELVES WORTHY.

“What?” Ezra blurted out. “How are we supposed to do that?” The Son’s words replayed in his ears, fanning his frustration into anger.

It exists only to do our bidding!

The Great Guardian’s molten-red gaze snapped toward Ezra just before he was Force-propelled downward. Ezra landed dangerously close to the edge of the rocky platform and Kanan grabbed his arm to keep him from stumbling into the scalding water.

Ezra shot Oroboros a reproachful glare only to receive an unsettling, razor-toothed smile in return. The frill on the serpent-dragon’s neck rippled up to encircle the back of his head like an iridescent crown.

HOW INDEED?

....to be continued....

[blazingparker]

What’s Up, Danger? (Chapter 2)

The response to this fic has been absolutely incredible, and I am so pleased to give you chapter 2 of What’s Up, Danger? Chapter 3 is on its way, and I can’t wait to share it with you all! :)

read it on ao3!

---

“What’s up, Peter?”

Peter’s name on Tony’s lips was one of the sweetest sounds he’d ever heard, and he couldn’t help but smile even wider. He shifted his weight to one hand, slumping even farther against the strong arms helping him stay upright as he waved his now-free hand dismissively.

“Not much. Followed by the Avengers. Swinging. Got stabbed.” Peter counted off the events of the night on his fingers and looked up at the man practically holding him up at this point. Tony just scoffed and shook his head.

“You wanna save the one-liners for when you’re not bleeding out on a rooftop in Queens?” Peter’s brow furrowed and he looked up at Tony.

“Where’s the fun in that?” He asked, eliciting a sharp laugh from the man. “Besides, I’m not bleeding out anymore.”

“Well, you’re not fixed either. C’mon, we gotta get you to the medbay.” A flash of panic went through Peter and he tried to push Tony’s hands away and get up, feeling his heart rate increase.

“I think the fuck not!” He yelled, ignoring Tony’s quiet pleas with him to stop moving, stop aggravating his stab wound.

“Okay, okay. No medbay. Peter. No medbay.” Peter stopped struggling at the assurance, looking back up at Tony. He was met with an open, honest expression and almost felt bad for trying to shove Tony away.

“I’m not going anywhere near the Avengers.” His voice was steely, leaving no room for questioning. He didn’t really think it was an unfair demand, given that they’d been hunting him down for weeks, trying to unmask him and eventually taking a shot at him.

“I’m an Avenger,” Tony retorted, a smirk making its way onto that beautiful face. God, Parker, shut the fuck up.

“But you’re Tony,” Peter reasoned before flushing brightly and looking away. What did I literally say about shutting the fuck up oh my god this is why we can’t have nice things-

“I’m flattered, Peter.” A shy glance to the billionaire’s face told Peter he really did mean it. “But I’m also dead serious about getting you fixed up properly. I’m not letting you swing home like this, you could tear it open and then we’re right back to square one.” There were a few moments of silence, each man trying to think of the best way to move forward. Peter bit his lip, looking down at the ground.

“I have a first-aid kit at home,” Peter mumbled softly, and Tony just stared at him incredulously. Peter could understand why - he’d spent weeks avoiding the Avengers and now in the span of five minutes he’d given Tony his name and invited him to his apartment.

“You mean to tell me every time you get hurt, you bandage yourself up?” Tony asked, sounding almost...sad? Maybe he wasn’t staring at Peter that way for the reasons he’d thought.

“Yeah? I don’t exactly have a multi-million dollar tower with a functioning medbay,” Peter said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Tony. “I have a shitty apartment with a broken radiator and a first-aid kit that runs out faster than I can afford to replenish it.” Tony swore rather creatively under his breath, and Peter found himself smiling again. Was it possible that Tony actually cared?

“Not anymore, you don’t.” Before Peter could question what Tony meant, he was being bundled into those strong arms and leaning against the chest of the Iron Man armor. “Point me in the direction of your place.” As the armor carried them into the air, Peter gave Tony directions until they landed on the fire escape of a run-down apartment building in Queens. He hurriedly threw his mask back on before opening the window and crawling in. Tony stepped out of the armor and through the window, leaving the suit on sentry mode.

“Jeez, you weren’t kidding about the radiator,” Tony remarked as he straightened up. The apartment was just as chilly as the December air outside. “That suit can’t be very good at keeping you warm, either.” Peter scoffed as he took the mask off again, rolling his eyes.

“Do you make a habit of insulting the people who call you for help, or is that special treatment reserved for me?” He quipped. He tried to take a step towards the bathroom, but his knees buckled and Tony rushed to support his weight.

“All for you, Pete,” Tony said with a wink, and Peter very pointedly ignored the blush that it brought to his cheeks. They slowly made their way to the bathroom, where the young man pointed out where the first aid kit sat under the sink.

“If you could just bend down and grab it, I’ll stitch myself up,” Peter said with a soft groan as he leaned against the wall. His eyes closed for just a second, but when they opened he found he’d earned another incredulous stare from Tony. “What?”

“You are not stitching yourself up. I got this, I’m going to help. Just-you can trust me. Okay, Peter?” The vigilante just looked at Tony for a moment before nodding.

“I know that,” he murmured, surprising even himself at the admission. Tony blinked in shock before smiling - all soft and sweet in a way Peter hadn’t seen before. Usually that expression was more snark and arrogance, and he felt privileged to see what seemed to be the real Tony Stark.

“Good.” Tony swiped the first aid kit from under the sink and guided Peter to the couch in the small living space that was barely separated from the kitchen. “Just-take off that costume so I can get a good look at this, yeah?” Peter blushed but stripped off the hoodie of his makeshift suit, revealing pale skin and smooth muscles. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn he saw something flicker in Tony’s gaze. Something like hunger.

“I’m gonna lay down before I pass out,” Peter grumbled as he settled on the couch, laying back so Tony could see the wound. He hissed softly as fingers gently poked and prodded, each of his sounds of pain met with a hushed apology from the surprisingly sweet billionaire.

“I’m gonna stitch this up, you got any painkillers?” Tony asked, rummaging through the first aid kit. Peter just laughed, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I picked up the meds that work with enhanced metabolisms on my way home from class. I get them over at Superheroes-R-Us. Just go ahead and stitch it - that’s what I always do.” Tony looked a little ill at the suggestion but got to work anyway. With each stitch, Peter grimaced and Tony ran a hand through his curls - another act that surprised and confused him but he wasn’t complaining. He loved when people played with his hair, and it helped distract him from the pain in his side. After a few moments of silence, he decided to finally ask about what Tony had said back on the rooftop.

“Hey, what did you mean? When you said ‘not anymore’?” He asked, and Tony briefly glanced at him before going back to the stitches.

“I’m gonna take care of it. The broken radiator, the bare first-aid kit. The shitty pajamas you call a suit.” Before Peter could protest, he held up a hand. “I know you don’t want to be an Avenger. I get that. Just-it’ll ease my conscience if I know you aren’t struggling so much when all you’re trying to do is look out for the little guy, okay?”

A beat of silence. Tony looked up to find Peter just staring at him, with something like adoration in his eyes. A hand wrapped in fingerless gloves found its way to the one holding gauze to Peter’s side.

“Thank you, Tony,” Peter whispered, still looking at him like he’d promised to rearrange the stars outside his window. Tony coughed, glancing away.

“It’s just a suit and some medical supplies. It’s not a big deal,” he insisted, trying to pass it off as he finished stitching Peter’s wound and sat back.

“It is. It’s a big deal to me,” Peter said, sitting up and tentatively placing a hand on Tony’s knee. “No one-no one knows about me. About this.” He gestured to the mask now lying discarded on the table with his hoodie. “No one knows enough to check in on me. To make sure I’m okay. So just-” Peter swallowed when his voice threatened to break. “Don’t say you caring about how I’m doing isn’t a big deal, because to me...it’s the biggest deal.”

Tony looked over at the injured man on the couch, and Peter felt something like fear worm its way into his chest. Tony was about to reject the notion that he cared and leave, he was sure of it. This is why you need to shut the fuck up-

“I care about you way more than a first aid kit or a radiator could ever express,” Tony blurted out. “I don’t-I don’t know where it came from. But every night, I wait and wait for your phone call and all I want is to hear your voice and know you’re okay. If something happened to you..” he trailed off, just looking at Peter like he was really taking him in.

“Tony?” Peter asked softly when it had been a few moments and nothing else had come from the man sitting next to him. He rubbed his knee and shifted a little closer, trying to convey without words he wanted to hear everything Tony wanted to say.

What he didn’t expect was the descent of gentle, chapped lips. A hand working its way into his hair and another resting on his cheek. The press of another warm chest against his own. Peter made a soft sound and leaned into the kiss, one hand reaching up to clutch Tony’s shirt. He never wanted this to end, but the need for air grew imperative and he was forced to pull away. Their foreheads pressed together, noses nudging each other as the two men caught their breath with matching smiles on their faces. Tony is the first one to speak.

“Well, I can say with confidence that this was not what I expected to get out of that phone call.” At Peter’s fearful expression, he ran a soothing hand down his side. “I’m not complaining,” he murmurs. Peter relaxes into him, sighing in relief. For once, his inability to shut up had done him a favor rather than hurt him.

“Yeah, me neither.” Peter huffed out a laugh and winced when it tugged at his stitches in a painful way. He tried to hide it, but Tony was too observant for that.

“You need rest. Let me take you to bed, okay?” Tony suggested, and Peter nodded.

“Just-help me up?” He asked, embarrassed at needing the help but also unwilling to potentially tear open the stitches Tony had just done.

“Of course,” Tony said with that signature smirk, and Peter opened his mouth to ask what that look was for when he was whisked off the couch and into Tony’s arms. A rather undignified squeak left his mouth, and he rested his head against Tony’s shoulder with a blush.

“What? I helped you up,” Tony teased as he carried Peter to the bedroom. There was a mound of blankets on the bed, and he moved them aside so he could lay them both down. “What’s with the blanket fort?”

“I told you the radiator is broken, and I can’t thermoregulate. I get really cold at night. Hence, blankets,” Peter explained as he tugged the blankets over them. Seeing the look of shock on Tony’s face, he hesitated. “Did you-not want to stay?” He asked with a blush.

“Of course I do,” Tony said immediately. “I just didn’t think I’d be welcome.” Peter didn’t dignify that with a response, just wrapping them both up in the blankets so they would be warm during the night. His movements grew slow as sleep crept up on him and a yawn left his lips.

“‘M sleepy,” he mumbled, feeling Tony chuckle as he was cuddled against that strong chest again.

“Go to sleep, Danger. I got you.” With those words, Peter gave into the exhaustion and drifted off, hand still clutching Tony’s shirt.

When Peter woke in the morning, he was absolutely roasting. Throwing the blankets off, he realized Tony was gone and he quickly walked out to the living area to see if he was there. The billionaire was gone, but what was left in its place made Peter’s heart flutter and brought a smile to his face.

A fixed radiator and a stocked first-aid kit.

---

After that, Tony and Peter found whatever excuses they could to meet up at Peter’s apartment. First, it was a new suit to replace the “slashed-up onesie” that Spider-Man was infamous for. It was clearly well-made, but subtle enough that it didn’t scream Stark Tech to everyone who looked at it.

Then, it was a bottle of painkillers Tony had engineered specifically for Peter. They actually took the pain away and allowed him to rest comfortably after a bad night. For the first time, he got loopy after taking one too many. Tony had teased him about the resulting phone call for a few days until Peter threatened to never take the pills again.

A few more weeks had gone by since that first evening at Peter’s apartment, and things were good. The Avengers still caught up with him regularly, but hearing Tony’s voice or cuddling in his arms after each encounter made Peter feel so much better. His life wasn’t a constant mess anymore, now that he had someone who understood what he was going through and could provide support. Peter had repeatedly insisted Tony shouldn’t worry about him so much, that he didn’t want to be a burden, but was consistently met with the same assurances that Tony adored him, adored their relationship and wouldn’t change it for the world.

Tonight was shaping up to be the same, with a phone call to Tony and maybe a chance for them to meet up, eat some pizza, and relax. Peter had just finished up stopping an ATM robbery, and had paused to catch his breath before swinging home.

Of course, things couldn’t be that easy, though. As he stood on the rooftop, chest heaving, his spider sense flared briefly. Before he could discern why, he felt a prick in the side of his neck. Confused, he reached a hand up and plucked a dart from his skin. He just stared at it, not understanding as his vision started to swim and staying upright became increasingly difficult.

The last thing he saw before he slipped into unconsciousness was a flash of red, white, and blue.

[peachyproserpina]

Hello love!

I would like to request:

"Do you still think of me sometimes?"

Here it is! Sorry for such a delay! My worms we're sleeping for a second there.

"Do you still think of me sometimes?"

Paterson x Fem!Reader

TW: angst, crying, drinking, confessions of love, angst, angst angst, alcohol mention

He knows better, he always knows better than to be picking up the phone at the back of Shades, he never did this with Laura, never got drunk enough to stumble. He goes to twist the ring on his left hand and when he finds nothing but a tan line and baby soft skin he almost thinks he's going to be sick. Not because of the drink but because Laura is never far from his mind, the years they were together and the routine they were in are so ingrained into his mind he still can’t give it up.

He’s shilling out quarters from the bottom of his jacket, he drops one when he goes to put it into the phone and he doesn’t bother to pick it up, too focused on dialing your number, wanting to hear your voice. He dials it by heart, he doesn’t know Laura’s number, he didn’t even need to before, all he had was the home phone. She didn’t bother to tell him her new one when she signed the papers and skipped town with that guitar, that guitar he bought her. He wishes he went with her sometimes, left all this behind and followed her wherever she ended up. He’s brought out of his musings by the sound of your sleepy voice on the other line.

“Hello?” It’s mumbled and filled with sleep and it makes Paterson choke. He misses you, you’ve been here for him since you stumbled into his life. That one rainy day on the bus, changed his whole axis. Paterson is breathing heavy on the line, not saying anything, still drunkenly swimming through his thoughts.

“If you don’t say something I’m going to hang up soon.” You don’t know why you picked up the phone in the first place, you definitely don’t know why you did when you didn’t recognize the number calling. You’ve heard rumors about those perverts that call random people and jerk off to their confusion. You are wide awake now. The thought of someone violating you like that makes your skin crawl.

“I’m hanging up you creep.” You try to be forceful with your words, anxiety running wild through your veins, it’s not Paterson chokes out a slurred plea for you to not hang up the phone that you are able to take a whole breath. Recognizing his voice, you don’t know where he could be, you can tell he’s drunk, it's almost like you can smell the beer and whiskey through the phone. He’s not at home because you have that number saved despite the fact you should have blocked it ages ago.

“I miss you, so fucking much.” it’s a statement, it makes your heart flutter despite the fact that you don’t know if he really means it.

“Paterson- where” you’re cut off with a sob and your heart breaks for him.

“Do you still think of me sometimes honey? Do you still think about me like how I think about you?” Paterson is trying to keep it as much together as he can, he fucking knows this is wrong. Calling you in the middle of the night to cry, the rational part of his brain is screaming at him to stop, hang up, let you sleep. But Paterson won't, he misses you, misses you, you, her. Laura. Paterson can hear you sign deep and heavy on the other line and he knows just the way your chest would heave with the movement. Knows that you're probably have a hand on your forehead, rubbing in between your eyebrows, biting your lip. He chokes on another sob and you want to hang up then, leave him to wallow.

But you love him, and you do think about him. You won’t tell him as much tonight. Not when he is like this, when you know he won’t even hear your words. When he’s just using you as a piece of comfort, a distraction when he’s still stuck on her. You sigh again, trying not to cry yourself.

“Pat. Where are you?” You’re making your way out of bed, pulling on a jacket over your nightie set to go rescue him and make sure he gets home safe.

“I love you, you know that right?” He’s still slurring but the confession makes you freeze in your tracks, heart beating so wildly, you’ve waited since the moment you saw him for that confession. “Laura, I love you so much.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, those 6 little words, you hang up on him then and there. You’re fighting back tears when you dial Shades, you thank your stars when Doc answers, you let him know Paterson is out drunk in the back of the bar, figuring the only place that probably had a payphone for him to use was there. Doc thanks you and tells you to go back to sleep, he’ll make sure Pat gets home safe.

You hang up the phone and the sob you’ve been keeping down bubbles up, a loud cry that makes your cat perk up and make it’s way over to you. A cry that comes from being in love with your best friend for years, ever since you moved here for that job. A wail of your heart breaking because you know no matter how many times he says it, he;s always going to love her more.

Yes, you do think of Paterson, more than sometimes. Closer to all the time. It breaks your heart a little more each time.

[dramaqueeenamby]

𝐑𝐄𝐃 ⧼𝑏. 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑠⧽

A/N: It’s almost a new year! Figured I’d finish this one off with a bang. Literally. Okay, I’ll shut up. Also, I’ve never written Bucky before, so I apologize in advance for the massacre and disrespect of his characterization. 

Summary: ❝You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.❞

Warnings: Smut with a bit of plot. Sorta. Mostly, just smut. Vaginal penetration. Oral (female receiving). Light Dom themes (specifically, choking). Blink and you miss it cockwarming.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3K

RED

You don’t even know his name.

Don’t know where he’s from, who his people are, where he lays his head at night. None of it. Actually, the last one is a lie. You know it’s not here, in this town of less than 1,000 where the only people of color, including yourself, can be counted on one hand.

It’s not ideal, but when wanting to become consumed by a blanket of invisibility and needing to erase your existence from the greater world, you do what you have to do.

You still remember the first time he walked in, the baseball cap and glasses told a story you knew all too well.

Privacy. It was all he wanted, and you’d give him that, along with any alcoholic beverage he wanted. And, he wanted a lot.

You’d once commented that his liver had to be nonexistent and asked just how long he’d been drinking, because no matter how much he consumed, he remained coherent enough to leave a kind tip and close his tab. He said nothing.

He was a man of few words, when in public, at least.

You liked that as well. Maybe it was because he recognized that you had a job to do, or perhaps he detected that look in your eyes. It was that same look that he had, that plea for solitude.

You had a feeling that you weren’t the only one who could be in a room full of people and still feel all alone. You lived by that. So did he.

Interactions and meetings outside of the shabby bar commenced through the most generic of circumstance. It was a copy and paste situation. A rowdy, drunk customer became too intoxicated to remain inside the establishment. You calmly asked him to leave, security was preoccupied with another violent drunk, and next thing you knew, he’d grabbed you by your forearm. His grip was relentless but so was your dedication to break free. Unfortunately, mental fortitude didn’t outweigh physical capability.

He’d shoved you into the a nearby table, sending you onto the floor, your head and side loud with its throbbing. Your eyes shut as the pain coursed. However, seconds later, your attacker was outside, flat on his ass, unconscious.

That was the first time he saved you, and it was all it took for you two to progress into something more. You couldn’t say intimacy. For you, intimacy meant feelings, and feelings were nonexistent here.

This was an arrangement, a source of release.

It was mutually beneficial.

You both received something from the other, an ironic arrangement considering you had a feeling he, like you, had little else to give.

The first time occurred in your car, in the back seat. He was big—in more ways than one—so it wasn’t ideal, but he’d stated that he received a ride, so he had nowhere to offer. You certainly weren’t bringing him back to your apartment. Stranger danger and the fact that it was rundown.

So, that left your vehicle, which again, wasn’t the best place, but it wasn’t the worst. And at least you got to be on top, one of your favorite positions

The time after that, despite your initial protest, happened in the storage closet in the back of the bar. He’d shifted an old keg to block the door before he promptly placed you up and ate you out.

You’d received head before, but this was something different. You’d never had a man leave you as delirious and feeble with just his mouth alone. Hell, most of the time, you had to instruct more than a professor.

The more you thought about it, the more you regretted not charging tuition.

Especially considering most failed every time.

Not him. No, it was as though he knew exactly what you wanted, and he gave off the impression that he wanted it too.

You’d allowed him to lower you to the ground, hands on your hips as he kept you upright and stabilized. For good reason, your legs were bowling balls, and you needed time to find your equilibrium.

However, when you finally came to and attempted to fall to your knees, he stopped you.

You looked up, not saying a word, your furrowed eyes conveying confusion. What man refused head?

You waited for an explanation. He offered none, bringing you back to your feet as he moved the keg and left you alone, confused and still very much on a high from your orgasm.

And sure, at first, you berated yourself for letting a stranger go down on you. You didn’t know his sexual history, but to be fair, he didn’t know yours either. You were both reckless, but with the mind-blowing pleasure he caused you, you weren’t exactly stressing over longterm implications.

You didn’t see him for a few weeks after that, and as much as you hated to admit that you missed him, you did. Mostly because the sex was addictive, but also because every time he came around, you could just see that something was off.

Something ate at him, but whatever it was, you’d never know. And it was better that way. Converging demons never ended well for anyone. Two fucked up people doing more than just fucking and leaving would benefit no one and harm everything.

That sexual tryst also occurred in your vehicle, but the two of you were more creative that time around. You played around with different positions, testing your both your flexibility and comfortability.

You finally told him your name.

He was mid-stroke when you blurted it out, his pace slowing as his eyes met yours. You swallowed and repeated it, louder. On the second round, he used it, quietly mumbling it into the sheen of sweat on your neck, but you heard it, and he knew it. That was all that mattered.

He didn’t tell you his.

That was a few weeks ago, and no matter how busy you get, your head still turns every time the welcome bell chimes. You know better than to eagerly await for a stranger who you’ve fucked on several occasions and know nothing else about. It’s stupid, but in the litany of stupid decisions you’ve made over the years, this ranks pretty low.

And that’s saying something.

Exactly one month since your last sexual tryst, as you dig in your purse for your keys while walking to your car, you look up, key between your index and middle finger when you jump upon hearing your name.

Spinning around with the key lifted high, ready to be used in a defensive manner, your heart rate settles when you see it’s him. He’s leaning back against the brick, arms tucked in his pocket.

Closing your eyes, you place your hand over your chest and scold him. “Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me—“

“Your place.”

A couple of things cross your mind in that moment, the main one being that this bastard is insane. You don’t know shit about him, except for the fact that his stroke game is impeccable and his tongue is the 8th world wonder. Other than that, he is a complete stranger.

Him knowing where you work is one thing, him knowing and visiting where you lay your head at night is another.

There are some lines that you just cannot cross, and this one is bolded, italicized, underlined, and in red.

You can’t.

—

The door shuts, forcing the cheap wall key holder that you’d picked up from the local goodwill to shudder against the peeling wallpaper. In the distance, you can hear something else fall, no doubt breaking, but none of that pulls you off of him.

You moan into his mouth as he pushes you against the wall, his tongue dancing with yours. His hands move to your ass, tugging you into his crotch. You moan again, eyes fluttering sporadically.

How the hell you went from telling him to fuck off to having him minutes away from fucking you is beyond you. It’s also above you now.

Just how he’ll be in five minutes.

“Bedroom,” you murmur against his lip, waiting for him to loosen his grip. His shirt is scrunched in your hand as you lead him to your bedroom. It doesn’t take long, your one bedroom, one bathroom apartment can be explored in its entirety in less than five minutes.

You’re thankful that evening approaches and the light dims by the minute. Just as shining a light into your life would ward off any buyers, so would the light into your apartment.

He tosses you on the bed, and in seconds, you’re on your knees, helping him to pull his shirt off. Naturally, your hands roam his chest. As lighting has technically never been in abundance during the sex, you’re only able to feel areas of his skin that are raised. Scars. They tell a story. His story.

One you’ll never be told.

His hands are against your shoulders before you’re flat on your bed. He pulls your legs from underneath you and spreads them. Your fingers grasp at the button of your jeans as you unbutton them. Lifting your hips, you move quickly to slide them off, but he’s already ahead of you. They’re already tossed to the floor.

You sit up and remove your shirt when he once again shoves you back.

Looking down your body, you realize he’s already nude, dick rigid and leaking precum. Stomach coiling with anticipation, you lick your lips and close your eyes when he grabs you by your hips and tugs you down the bed.

“Fuck.” Your back once again arched off the full sized mattress as he grabbed your thighs, holding you against his mouth. Your hands grasped at the wall behind you, nails scraping as his tongue danced against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Once thing you’d learned was that he was a man of limited patience, when he wanted something, he wanted it now. Immediate gratification was his dominant preference, and you had zero complaints, because right about now, you wanted the same thing.

Your body wormed as a natural reaction towards his tongue exploring every bit of your pussy. Your clit attracted him the most, but he was generous in the regards that nothing was left untouched. He sucked with skill and hunger and something else you couldn’t pinpoint.

Eyes rolling in the back of your head, however, there wasn’t much you could focus on expect for the man between your legs, even if you tried.

At times, you became too frisky for him, and he’d move one hand to your core, holding you steady. His strength was inhuman. You hated when he did that, though, because your stomach would cave as your insides twisted. It was impossible not to shift away from him, especially when he expertly circled his tongue around your nub.

You could have sworn you felt him spelling something, perhaps your name, maybe even his.

Again, questions you’d never receive answers to.

You weren’t certain, but you got the feeling that he was motivated to continue to push you based on how your body responded to him. And every tryst had shown that you responded almost perfectly to the slightest of his touches. Everything he did wound you up, he got off to that. Maybe that’s why he never wanted you to reciprocate what you did for him, no matter how badly you wanted to.

He preferred to please, not be pleased.

Stars filtered the vision of your ceiling, and even those became blurred and grainy as that familiar feeling bubbled from the deepest part of you and exploded in a majestic display of pants, moans, and breathy profanities.

You were barely coherent as he trailed sticky kisses up your body, past your pupa, over your tummy, both breast, and finally, your mouth. Tasting yourself and him, you brought your hands to his cheeks holding him. You wanted to savor every second of this. He returned your passion, never breaking the kiss as he lined himself at your slick entrance.

You knew the question of readiness was nearing, and quite frankly, you weren’t for it. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

Lifting your hips to speed up his entry, you nearly screamed when he slammed into you. You weren’t expecting it, but holy fuck, you loved it. You weren’t prepared for the rapid and consistent snapping of his hips into yours or the way his hands pinned yours down above your head, but you cherished it.

You felt every inch of him, every ridge of his dick, his balls slapping against the bottom of your ass. All of it. And you loved every second of this. You missed this. You missed him.

The latter realization took you for surprise as your eyes opened, where you were again surprised to find that he was looking directly at you. He was studying you, searching your face for any sign of pain, discomfort, or even dissatisfaction. He would find none.

He never would.

Your thighs tightened around him, and you saw him grit his teeth, his eyes momentarily shutting as he lowered over you. You tugged against his hold on your wrists, thankful when he released you. Your hands immediately went to his back, pulling him against you, your breast against his broad and muscular chest. Every inch of him was chiseled and defined, and you always felt the strength he possessed barely reaching its peak when you two fucked.

This time was no different.

You waited for the moment where his thrusts slowed just enough for you to switch positions, and when it arose, you wasted no time. He was suddenly under you, with you on top of him. Your hands planted on his chest as you rode him. Unlike his rapid pace, you settled for a slow and meticulous pace, gradually working your way up.

You were confident there was no way that you could match his speed, but that didn’t deter you from trying.

Selfishly, you didn’t bother to search his face for any sign of pleasure, too consumed in your own fantasy. Your hands moved from his chest to the wall as you moved to your toes to access a better angle, one that emitted a prolonged mixture of a moan and a groan.

While he was vocal only in the form of occasional profanities and infrequent breathing patterns, you were determined to let the whole building know that you were getting fucked, and you were getting fucked thoroughly.

A letter from your landlord would surely be awaiting for you in the next couple days.

None of that mattered, though.

You’re not sure how long you go at it, but you recognize what’s coming. And so does he. You’re briefly caught off guard when he sits up and holds you against his chest. Both of your mouth are parted, and he never tears his eyes away from you, even as bliss overcompensates will, and your eyes shut. Your teeth bite into your bottom lip, and you close your mouth to quiet your scream when you reach your climax, as you both reach your release.

As his warm seed spreads insides you and yours coats his bottom half, along with your bedding, your heavy breathing and sluggish body alerts you to just how fast and how hard you two were at it. Completely spent and unwilling to move, you fall on top of him, uncaring of the mess that coats you.

Besides, you expect him to carefully peel you off of him. Instead, you receive the opposite, he brings him arms around you, holding you against him.

Your eyes shut. A few minutes of silence fill the void until he fills it with a proclamation.

“I’m not what you need.”

For some reason, his statement causes you to smile. This is the most verbal he’s ever been with you, and you recognize that. You appreciate it.

You appreciate his honesty.

“And I’m not what you need,” you speak into his slick chest while he rubs circles on the small of your back. “But this is what we need.”

He says nothing.

A few minutes go by when you finally gather the courage to ask what you wanted to ask from the minute you saw him standing outside the bar. “You staying the night?”

He takes a few moments to answer, but it’s long enough for you to regret even asking. And then, he speaks.

“I can.”

His answer takes you by surprise. It’s not a no, and it’s technically not a yes, either. However, you recognize the optional aspect in his voice.

You don’t provide a verbal answer. You simply cradle your face into his neck, sighing at the calming feeling of him still being inside you.  

You know he won’t be there when you open your eyes, and that’s okay. He’s here now, and while you don’t know for certain, but you’re confident that he’ll be back.

And that is what allows you to peacefully close your eyes and succumb to slumber.

[belit0]

Okay hear me out something really really and really dark with indra 🤭 Like you “cheating on him” ( Reader didn’t probally just some weirdo mailman arriving at theyre mountain home asking for stuff and the reader lets him and somehow they make it into the bedroom?? 😭) and indra comes in and it just becomes really dark

"something really really and really dark with Indra..." 

My brain didn't need much more to create something completely bizarre and sickening.

TW: Non-con, kidnapping, blood, s3x with a dead man lmao.

The night was short, too short for your liking. You always get this feeling when Indra is absent when his presence is so far away he is not even perceptible in the scope of your reach.

If your man is with you, you know when the sun goes down the torture begins. Upon meeting him, you never expected such a handsome countenance could carry so much evil inside. And although he claims to want you, at this point you understand all he wants is absolute possession over you, he is not interested in pursuing your love or seeking your adoration.

But of course, whoever fell into the clutches of such a beast, and to make matters worse, voluntarily as you had done, had no way to escape. Who would dare to face the mighty Otsutsuki? He who would make people run in dismay at the mere sound of his name.

Trapped in the depths of an isolated forest, you had given up any hope of ever walking the earth freely years ago. There was no way to evade the surveillance of your partner, who was everywhere with the secrecy of a feline.

If you had the courage to try to run, to scream for help, what awaited on feeling his hands around your neck was even worse than death. He always got what he desired, and the only thing he had craved was you.

It took several frustrating attempts to free yourself that led you to be brutally clamored by him on the forest floor, while his grip left bruises on any part that had contact with your skin. The scene ended grotesquely, as he carried you back home as if nothing had happened. Your bloody form, with clothes torn off and a few bones, were broken by Indra's violence, lay fainting on his arms, time after time.

Eventually, you understood that there would be no point with such an approach when in your last try it all got too much and he decided to break both of your wrists to make you stop resisting. The recovery was long, and when you were back to normal, you decided to succumb to being used every night rather than savaged that way.

But now, as you sat looking out the window, you thought to yourself. Indra had left on a trip weeks ago, and as usual, it was unclear where he was heading. Escaping would be imprudent, for perhaps it was all a test, a made-up situation to see how you would react to such a prolonged absence.

Forgetting the matter, you got up to the kitchen when a loud noise on the outside caught your attention. Resuming your previous position, you watched as a man with long black hair fell to his knees a few feet from the door, dropping to the ground and barely holding himself up with his hands.

There it is, Indra's damned testing.

Rushing away from the window and leaning your back against the wall, you gasped for breath, trying to calm yourself. As sorry as you were for that human being, you knew that your partner would appear at any second and cruelly end his life. He was simply trying to make you take a false step, tempting your big heart and your ample generosity.

Minutes that felt like an eternity passed, as the pleas for help grew lighter and lighter and the volume diminished.

No one was attacking.

The man continued to kneel, trying to reach the house.

Unable to endure, you decided to betray your preemptive alarms and ran out of the house. This person was severely wounded, unable to move or walk on his own. 

A sense of security assaulted you as you helped him in and laid him down on your bed, while you analyzed the wounds and the origin of the blood.

No one was attacking!

It was a tough job to put the man's battered body to rights, but after extensive treatment of his wounds, he was no longer in danger and regained his breath, still lying on Indra's pillow.

And with that, the man grabbed you by the nape of your neck and leaned you over him, causing the lips of the two of you to gently meet. It wasn't like Indra's touches, it wasn't possessive or unwanted, it was romantic, gentle, warm, and beautiful.

"You saved my life and I don't even know your name..."

"No need to exaggerate, gentleman. Had I left you there, you probably would have woken up after a good few minutes, I simply relieved the pain. As for my name... I regret to say that I cannot reveal it."

"A beautiful mystery... in that case, there's no need to know mine either."

The temperature rose, not taking long to exchange tongues, and avoiding to climb on top of him because of the state of his poor body, you lay down on your side of the bed, where Indra had taken you countless times.

Not wanting to let go, you simply let him handle the moment.

After a slight hesitation, he pulled away and looked into your eyes, asking permission to do it again. Licking your lips, it was you who initiated the action this time.

Hands danced everywhere, and clothes were lost with speed. He had you mount him, making it clear he could not exert himself too much due to lack of strength. Not wanting to argue against that logic, you sank on his erect length with a moan, while your eyes closed tightly.

You only opened them when you began to feel your orgasm approach, seeking eye contact for more pleasure. But you were disconcerted to see that his gaze was fixed on a corner of the room, to which your back was turned.

A pleased smile graced his features, not even paying attention to you.

"This way is fine, boss?"

Your blood froze in understanding.

Indra's test.

But what you didn't expect was for the man beneath you to suddenly become completely paralyzed, as a muffled THUD rang through the room and the hot liquid splashed your face and chest, as well as your arms.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a kunai was thrust into his forehead, killing him on the spot. A quick instinct assaulted your muscles as you tried to pull the slain man's limb out of you and run, getting away from your partner and trying to save yourself.

Now, this was the worst situation in the world.

There was no way you were going to pull through this.

But a huge, strong hand grabbed your hair as he noticed your intentions, pulling you down on the man's body and extracting the murder weapon with the other hand.

Tears began to stream down your cheeks as your hands closed over his wrist, futilely trying to make him let go of your hair.

"Unsightly..."

"Disgusting..."

"It only took you a second of my absence to jump on a bastard's cock. I knew you were an insufferable fucker from the way you cry and beg for my touches, but now I see it's your natural way of acting...you're just a whore, aren't you?"

It has been a long time since you realized how your rejections towards his actions were perceived and qualified as wanting, where Indra's reality was completely distorted.

"I...N-N-N..."

You can't get your tongue to move properly to outline his name, trying to defend yourself somehow. Ironic, for that heated muscle had danced shamelessly seconds ago across the man's lips lying beneath you.

"Shut your ungrateful mouth you rotten filthy bitch."

Your face is pressing against the man's neck, being held still by Indra. The blood dripping from the mortal wound on that person's forehead oozed down your features, mingling with your tears.

"Is this what you wanted? It takes a worm-like him to make you realize who you belong to? A damn misfortune that cute little cunt of yours has been desecrated in such a manner."

And as your breathing continued to heave and your body was convulsing in revulsion because the murdered man's limb continued inside you, you didn't notice Indra's weight on your back until it was too late.

"I allowed this hole to remain virgin waiting to be taken when my first son was inside you... The notion of fucking you along with my offspring was wonderful, but as you won't outlive this, I'll give myself the treat I've been depriving of."

You can feel the tip of his cock exert pressure on your ass, and even as a dead man lies beneath you both, filling your pussy, Indra has no trouble getting fully hard and forcing his way into you.

Holding your neck with both hands, his chest is pressed against your back as his waist slams viciously over your form, making you cry out in pain and getting halting pleas for mercy from your lips.

Everything is a nightmare.

Indra is a nightmare.

And even with the dark picture in that room, with your face smeared in The Otsutsuki's latest victim's blood, you hear his breathing pick up pace, grunts coming from deep in his throat as his dick mercilessly works your tight channel.

The man's length beneath your body lost its rigidity, uselessly stuffing you.  

You have no idea how much time elapsed in that assault, for your consciousness shut down a few times and you were forcibly awakened by his slapping.

Eventually, his seed mixes with the blood coming from your not-so-virgin opening. Beastly sounds are heard from behind you as your eyes close in defeat, tears continue to fall unchecked.

And suddenly the last sensation you experience in your life is that of such abuse. 

Accompanied by the sharp cold metal teeth of the kunai that slits your throat and robs you of your last breath.

[poesparakeet-fics]

Here you go, you thirsty beasts.

This one got long so it’s a 2 parter! It’s SFW, so enjoy it at the link or here in the post.

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay & The Mighty Nein, Caduceus Clay & Jester Lavorre, Caduceus Clay & Mollymauk Tealeaf, Caduceus Clay & Yasha Characters: Caduceus Clay, Jester Lavorre, Mollymauk Tealeaf, Yasha (Critical Role), Nott | Veth Brenatto Additional Tags: Tickling, Revenge, Shrinking, wild magic mishaps, safeword, Teasing Summary:

Caduceus has made a habit of tickling some of his companions, be it as a cheer-up, a settle-down or a playful punishment. When a mishap with some wild magic makes his smaller than his friends, a few decide to get a little revenge.

FIC

Caduceus didn’t mind arcane magic most of the time, after all, Caleb used his with great expertise.  But he was getting real tired of wild magic, real fast. 

When Jester had cast her guiding bolt she’d gotten butterflies, for Mother’s sake. He’d tried to heal Fjord and saw everything around him start to stretch and grow. They kept fighting, of course. It wasn’t until the last of the shrieking horrors was lying dead that he realized what had actually happened. 

The world hadn’t grown, he had shrunk. Which was, to be fair, easier to deal with. Still, he was feeling pretty sorry for himself as he sat with his feet dangling from the side of their kitchen table, now only a few inches taller than Veth.

A visiting Shadowhand was peering at Caduceus with a small frown on his face before scratching his head and sighing. 

“Alright. The bad news is, I don’t think we can dispel it. Jester said you tried a restoration spell?”

Caduceus nodded glumly. 

“Well the good news is, it will almost certainly wear off. The spell is using energy to maintain this form in you, it will run out of that energy eventually. But… I cannot tell you how long it will last. Based on the rate of decay I would guess a few days but that is some conjecture on my part.”

Caduceus let out a sigh. 

“Thank you for your help, Essek. I guess I’ll just have to live with my current… uh… change in perspective for the time being.”

“Yes, a good attitude to keep. I’m sure it’s been a long time since you were that small.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess I would have been a baby. Maybe I’ll ask Veth for pointers.”

“I think that all of her advice will involve climbing, Herr Clay. You might need to make your own way.” Caleb chuckled from his seat nearby. He was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He had been watching Caduceus like he was a puzzle, but now he was smiling, having been assured that the situation wasn’t too serious.

“Yeah, you might be right.”

Caduceus hopped off the table, turning to see Caleb smothering a little half smile. Caduceus pointed a finger accusingly.

“You cut that out.”

“I’m very sorry. It’s just… it is very cute.”

…

“Caduceus, can I hug you?”

Yasha had walked through covered in rainwater not ten minutes before, but she’d returned in dry clothes. Caduceus, about halfway through drinking a now comically large mug of tea, looked up to meet her gaze. He could see the little haunt of loneliness in her eyes that sometimes creeped in, even in a house full of lovers.

“Yeah, of course.” 

He put his tea down carefully before hopping off his seat. He started to pass her into the living room, but Yasha sat at the table and pulled him into her lap instead.

“Woah!”

“Sorry!” Yasha rushed out, “I didn’t mean to surprise you! You were lighter than I thought you’d be!”

“It’s OK,” Caduceus assured her, “I’m just not used to being picked up.”

Yasha wrapped him up in her arms. “Is this alright?”

He relaxed as she coiled herself around him, face buried in his soft hair. 

“Yeah. That’s very nice.” Being held so literally felt old and new at the same time.

Yasha nuzzled his head. “I’ve wanted to do this since you shrunk. I love you when you’re big, but it’s so nice to get to squeeze you for once!”

Caduceus chuckled. “It’s nice to be squeezed, honestly.”

“And you’re so cute! I just want to eat you up! Omnomnom!”

Caduceus felt his whole spine twist on instinct when Yasha gnawed playfully at the back of his neck.

“No-ho!” He squeeked, so high pitched that both of them froze in shock. 

“Aw, Caduceus…”

“... It would be really unfair to tickle me. Just because you’re bigger than me now--” He was cut off when he had to press his lips together to smother another peel of laughter.

Yasha grinned with her teeth still pressed against his skin.

“I dunno, you tickle the others plenty.”

“Because they need it!”

“Hehe. I think that’s probably true, but they never get you back because you’re always so scared of hurting them by accident. Isn’t that because you’re bigger than them?”

She blew a raspberry on the side of his neck that made him squeal far too loud. He heard approaching footsteps. 

“No no no nonono!” He squeaked when he realized what they meant.

Jester bounded through the door first, magnetically drawn to any ticklish sounds in her vicinity. She stopped in her tracks when she walked into the kitchen to see a smiling Yasha with a giggling fun-sized firbolg in her lap, now curled in a desperate little ball within her embrace to avoid the fingers pinching at his tummy.

“Oh my goodness, is little Caduceus ticklish?”

“Nohoho!” Caduceus tried to plead or run, but his laughter was blocking the former and a meaty arm was blocking the latter.

“Mmhmm,” Yasha answered with one hand clawing his belly, not even out of breath for the effort she was expanding to thwart his escape, “I think big Caduceus is too, he’s just easier to tickle now.”

Molly and Veth stumbled in behind Jester. Molly had a grin on his face, coming to stand behind her and rest his chin on her shoulder. His eyes narrowed.

“Hey, he’s being real loud, eh?”

“Huh?” Jester answered.

“Well, it seems like he might need to settle down a little.”

“Ooh,” Jester giggled, “I think you’re right Molly!”

Caduceus felt a cold chill splash down his back. Sure, he’d seen this coming, but it didn’t stop the escalation of shivery, giggly panic through his system. And running was not working out for him.

“Well,” Molly purred, “Isn’t it lucky that we have such well established guidelines for getting someone to settle down.”

Caduceus switched gears, climbing further into Yasha’s lap instead and clinging to her shoulders.

“Please! Don’t let them get me!”

“I dunno…” Yasha teased as the tieflings stalked closer.

“No! Yasha, they’ll kill me!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let them kill you. But you do deserve this just a little, don’t you?” Yasha lowered her voice, all but whispering in his velvety ear, “Don’t forget, licorice works for you too.”

Caduceus whimpered. Ok, so did he deserve it? Yes. Probably. A little. Had there been a few times where he’d tickled a tiefling to pieces less because they needed to settle down and more because it was fun? Maybe. Perhaps. A couple of times, tops.

He took a deep breath to try and steel himself, shutting his eyes tight in the hopes that not seeing them coming would somehow save him. Yasha chuckled in his ear, seeming to sense his acceptance of this fate. 

“Heh. OK,” she whispered in his ear.

Fingers as strong as barrel bands gripped his ankles and Yasha stood up. The world spun. Balance upended, Caduceus eye’s shot open to see the devilish forms of his approaching friends as they cheered Yasha on, only upside- down. Yasha was hanging him by his ankles. 

“Don’t be too mean or I’m eating tief toes for dinner, got it? He’s not used to it.”

Molly’s smile became razor sharp and Jester clapped her hands. Caduceus could only hug himself and try to keep his shirt from falling over his head. 

“Not used to getting a taste of his own medicine, you mean? Seems to me that should be corrected.” Molly purred.

"Ah! Can we please talk about this?" Caduceus asked, the tiniest hint of a whine making its way into his usually rumbling voice.

"You can talk all you want, Caduceus!" Jester bent over to put her face next to his. She gave him a teasing wink before planting a sweet little kiss on his cheek.

"Veth?" He asked, looking pleadingly at his fellow (currently) small creature, "Solidarity? Please?"

Veth just laughed at him. "Nah."

"But you're going to help us though, right Veth?" Jester asked, voice full of mischief. "When will you get the chance to tickle Caduceus again?"

"Heh. Nah." The halfling answered, strolling out of the room. "I'm good, thanks." 

"Humph." Jester pouted for a moment, but it quickly morphed into a wicked little smile as she reached out to tickle Caduceus' long velvety ears.

"Ahhahaha- hehe- ha... no... no... MOLLY GET AWAY FROM THERE!"

The other tiefling cackled with glee, pinching Caduceus' knees. The firbolg’s legs pumped on reflex, his body wiggling like a worm on a hook. 

"So loud! You're not settled yet, love, just relax."

"I wahahahas born settled!"

"Oh reeeally? Jester teased him, hands jumping up to poke and pinch at his ribs, effortlessly dodging any attempt he made to block her. "Then why are you so loud and wiggly, huh?"

'B-because you- eeheeheehee! Tiheheheckles!"

"Does it?" Molly taunted, dropping down to Jester's level and fluttering his hands across his belly. 

"Yehehes!"

"Excellent!" Molly cheered, before grabbing the hem of Caduceus' shirt and yanking it down over his head. 

Caduceus squawked, temporarily blinded by the homespun linen that was now tangled around his elbows. He started to fight with it, trying to push it down (up?) again to cover his downy torso, for all the good it was doing. Then he felt a cool pair of lips press against his belly, and he squealed before Jester could even begin.

Ppppbbbbtt

“Aaaaiii! NahahaHAA! STAHAP!”

Caduceus’ pleas fell on deaf ears, Jester only pausing long enough to take a deep breath and giggle to herself before she hit him again. 

"Yes! Wish I could grow a beard just for this, you fuzzy bastard." Molly crowed.

Caduceus whimpered frantically, his shirt somehow transformed into an impossible maze that kept him blinded and defenseless.

An ominous silence was followed by a deadly double attack made Caduceus’ voice crack with the force of his squeal. “AHAaaA! LICORICE!”

The both backed off right away, leaving Caduceus dizzy and catching his breath. Jester started to help him get untangled from his shirt. Molly grinned down at him before taking a deep, threatening breath to make Caduceus shriek in anticipatory panic.

Molly didn’t get a chance to make good. In one more dizzying instant Caduceus was set upright on his feet, watching Yasha chase Molly out of the room. 

“WHAT did I say?”

“C-come on I wasn’t gonna do it! Yasha! Please! He threatens me like that all the-- Nooo!”

Jester chuckled at Caduceus’ dazed expression, pulling him into a cuddle where they stood. 

“You OK Caduceus?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah.”

“That’s good. It was fun to tickle you for a change!”

“Well I’m glad it was fun, because when I’m big again there are going to be consequences.” 

Jester just giggled at him, then tugged him to sit on a chair and put his tea cup back in his hands with a kiss on his cheek.

[moipale]

Scientist’s Curiosity

This fic was written for Ectober Week 2020 Day 2: Bones/Pulse and can be found on AO3 and FFN as well as here!

You can find me on this blog or on my main @faedemon

Maddie is alone when she catches it.

Jack is out of town visiting a convention, and she still hasn’t managed to rope either of the kids into coming out on these little patrols, so it’s just her and the whistle of the empty street that bears witness to Phantom’s fall.

It hasn’t even been weakened by another ghost—it’s been a peaceful night, quiet, and what allows Maddie to bag the ghost boy is nothing more than luck. Luck, and a lapse in judgement on Phantom’s part.

Maybe it’s a good thing Jack isn’t with her—his lumbering, bless him, surely would have given them away by now. But Maddie is quiet, and she creeps into range with a stealth she didn’t realize she could still maintain, well into her forties. The weapon she’d decided to carry for this particular venture is perfect: an electric net-thrower, and Phantom, sitting casually on the edge of a rooftop, its legs dangling off the side, is well within shooting distance.

She readies the gun, looking up at its silhouette. If it were human, she wouldn’t be able to see its facial features this late at night, but the ghostly glow that emanates from its form lights it up like a beacon, and as she steadies her aim, her eyes scour its face, studying it.

Phantom’s facial features are soft. Its body holds that look of someone who’s just about to lose the last of their baby fat, but hasn’t reached that point quite yet. It looks young. Childlike.

It’s really too bad that Maddie knows enough to check Amity’s death records, because no one matching Phantom’s rough age, description, or the name ‘Danny’ has died in Amity Park since its founding.

Ghosts truly are evil creatures, to play the part of a child.

She pulls the trigger, her aim true, and the net flies toward Phantom faster than it can react to. It wraps around the ghost, glomming onto its limbs as the bolas bond themselves to its ectoplasm—a nice touch Jack had thought of, she should really thank him when he gets back—and effectively immobilizes it.

Phantom starts struggling immediately, its eyes going wide as it tries desperately to wriggle out of the net. Maddie has to fight back a titter of amusement when it wiggles its way off the roof, falling the two stories down to the pavement. It can’t fly, either—good to know the power nullification agent in the net works as intended.

She approaches, and Phantom catches sight of her quickly enough. The look in its eyes goes through a peculiar flash of emotions—fear, a pause of confusion where it relaxes slightly, and then fear again, almost like it had forgotten for a moment who she was and what its capture meant.

No matter. Maddie will be able to study all its “emotional” responses up close soon enough.

She’d gone out tonight without the van, which is a shame—she hadn’t been expecting to collect a sample tonight, so she’d wandered a fair distance away from home. It’ll be hell to carry Phantom all the way back. She’s not willing to risk leaving it there to go grab the van, though, so lugging the ghost back it is. At least ectoplasm is fairly light—most of the weight she’s carrying comes from the net.

“Hey,” the ghost says as she hoists it onto her shoulder. “Mo—Maddie, listen, you don’t want to do this. Please put me down.” It pleads, quite pathetically, as she adjusts her grip and starts walking. It’s late at night, so she’s not particularly worried about anyone seeing this little spectacle, but even if they did, she isn’t expecting anyone to stop her. It’s not like she’s carrying around a person.

“Maddie—” it says again, but she interrupts it.

“Ask again and I’ll turn my taser on you and I won’t turn it off,” she warns in a sharp voice.

There’s a beat of silence before it mutters, “Oh, yeah, tase the guy who died from electrocution, that’s nice,” and then falls silent.

Well, that little tidbit has given her an idea for a whole new line of experimentation. The thought puts a little pep in her step, and she starts to walk a bit faster. Phantom seems to sense this, and it starts to wriggle again, trying to worm its way out of her grip. She holds onto it more tightly and continues on.

Fentonworks comes into view about fifteen minutes later, and she darts up the front steps, more giddy than she’s been in a long while. There’s a keypad next to the lock, and she punches in the numbers that will disable the anti-ecto array inside—it wouldn’t do to have her specimen polka-dotted with holes before she can even get it onto the examination table. Once she hears the whine of the machinery powering off, she lets herself in, beelining for the lab.

Normally, if she manages to capture a specimen while Jack’s not around, she’d call him to let him know what she’d picked up and then hold off on examination until he returned. This, though—this is big, and Phantom is a known escape artist. She can’t wait and risk losing it, not even for a phone call.

She deposits Phantom on one of the clearer tables before making quick work of all the junk on the floor, shoving it to the sides or, in the case of more fragile pieces, putting them away where they won’t be touched. After she’s confident the lab is clear enough for her to move around without danger of tripping, she takes the table Phantom is steadily trying to wiggle off of and drags it to the center of the room, directly beneath one of the overhead lights and well within range of any of the tools she may feel necessary to pull out. The fluorescent light above Phantom has the added bonus of partially blinding him, and making her look like little more than an indistinct silhouette.

As convenient as built-in restraints would be, ghosts’ forms are too variable for her and Jack to have ever installed any that would be universally effective, so she goes back to the old tried-and-true: paralytics.

Maddie preps a sterile needle—sterilized more for her benefit than Phantom’s, in case of an accident—and fills it with a concoction she and Jack had developed fairly recently: a paralyzing agent made from a mix of chemicals that would be frankly concerning—if it were meant for humans.

Phantom’s eyes are locked onto the needle as she turns around and approaches the table. It looks almost surprised, and Maddie wonders if it’s only now that the true reality of the situation is dawning on it. If ghosts can even have that kind of emotional realization, anyway. She hasn’t quite determined where the threshold is.

“Hey, what are—what are you doing?” It had stopped talking on the walk back to Fentonworks, but now it starts up again, babbling protests and pleas. “Please, don’t—I have a responsibility, I have to—” Maddie stops listening after a moment, not bothering to even respond.

Phantom begins to wiggle more fiercely, to which Maddie sighs quietly, reaching out to physically hold him down with one arm. It takes a moment, but she manages to slide the needle in just below the elbow, pushing down the plunger without any real regard for how fast she’s injecting. It’s not like it even matters where she inserts the needle—the entirety of Phantom’s body should just be ectoplasm inside; its not like there are any particular veins she’s trying to hit. Its body does give a good illusion of blood vessels from the outside, though. Except, of course, for the fact that they’re green.

After a few seconds, Phantom’s movements slow, and within a minute its fully immobilized, save its eyes, which dart back and forth rapidly. Its thrashing had left it sprawled in an unlikely position, and Maddie has half a mind to leave it like that for the humiliation before her thoughts catch up with her and she realizes how unscientific the impulse is. Pursing her lips, she arranges Phantom’s body to her convenience: on its back, legs and arms extended, both sets of limbs pulled slightly out from the body. She also closes its mouth, which had been hanging open dumbly, but not before spying how humanlike the inside of it looks. She makes a note to examine it more thoroughly later, after she’s gotten the samples she needs.

Seeing Phantom laid out like this, immobile, entirely at her mercy, is far more vindicating than it probably should be. The ghost boy has been the source of so much of the Fentons’ ire, and now she finally, finally has it where she wants it. A lesser scientist would probably take advantage of this situation, but Maddie is a professional. No matter how eager she may be to get her hands on it, she will keep her composure.

Maddie and Jack have had two goals since they first laid eyes on Phantom: to study and understand its obsession and its physiology.

Phantom’s obsession has been a thing of curiosity for them since the beginning. Something in Phantom compels it not only to avoid attacking humans, but also actively try to prevent other ghosts from attacking humans. Maddie has hesitantly labeled the obsession as ‘protection,’ but the notion is a vague one—what, exactly, is it protecting? An individual? A group? Or not a person at all, but the town? Why Amity Park, of all places?

And aside from that, Phantom’s unusual physiology is obvious even when observing it from afar. It’s not like the other ghosts—its ectoplasm is denser and less malleable, it seems to activate powers consciously rather than subconsciously, and its appearance mimics a human’s almost concerningly well. In regards to the latter, Maddie would assume Phantom is a recently-formed ghost, and the human body is not too far of a memory for its form to retrieve and recreate, if not for the research she’s done. Phantom, whatever it is, has appeared as far back as ancient Rome, and has made multiple appearances in the 1600s and in the 20th century.

She meets its eyes again, though she’s sure it can’t tell through the red sheen of her goggles. It watches her, terrified, the slightest hint of resignation creeping in.

She’s always wondered where the line is between mimicking emotions and feeling them. If you can force your heart to race and tears to fall, even if you made it happen, is the adrenaline spike any different? The choked throat?

She’s always wondered why, even when caught or observed alone, the ghosts never stop emoting. Muscle memory? Habit? Truth?

She and Jack had agreed long before now on what samples would be taken, should either of them manage to capture Phantom: five ectoplasm samples at intervals leading toward the core from the extremities, a sample of the core material while active and one while inactive, a piece of the hazmat suit, hair (and nails, should it have them), and anything else of note.

She gets to work immediately, taking up a pair of scissors from one of the nearby tables. This, too, she sterilizes, and then wastes no time in cutting her way down Phantom’s suit, first down the torso and next down each of the limbs, so that the suit falls away from the body, exposing its form beneath. She snips off a sizable chunk of the garment’s chest and stores it in a specimen bag, setting it aside for later examination.

It’s as she moves to begin carving out chunks of ectoplasm that she notices something she really should have noticed far earlier. As the scalpel she’d picked up moves closer to Phantom’s skin, its panicked breathing picks up.

Its breathing.

Maddie slowly turns her head to look down at Phantom, watching its chest rise and fall rapidly, enough so that it would be considered hyperventilation in a person. It watches her back, eyes flicking between her face and her hands, unable to do anything but lie there.

Does it have lungs? she wonders, detached, her scientist’s curiosity getting the best of her as she reaches with one hand to lay her palm flat on the ghost’s chest. If it has lungs, what else does it have?

There’s no reason I can’t dissect it, she reasons, already unable to redirect her thoughts, curiosity burning within her. Just to find out. It’ll only take a little longer than what I’d initially planned.

She was going to remove chunks of Phantom starting at the calf and working her way toward the center of its chest, where the core should be, and the terror it had shown at that prospect was quite acute. It has nothing, however, on the terror that mounts in Phantom’s eyes as her scalpel redirects, moving toward the center of its chest.

Maddie reels herself back in as she does so, stopping herself from making any unplanned incisions. Instead, she carefully puts the scalpel down before moving over to the desk in the corner to retrieve a permanent marker. She uses it to draw careful lines down Phantom’s chest: two branching down from its shoulders, then meeting in the middle and heading straight down the chest. The ‘Y’ of an autopsy.

Phantom is dead, after all.

Before she picks up the scalpel again, out of pure curiosity, she rests her hand flat on its chest once more. She can feel the low hum of its core, as expected—you can feel it in all ghosts, provided you get close enough—but she can also feel something else. Something familiar.

Beneath her palm, through the rubber of her hazmat suit, Maddie swears she can feel the tha-thump of a heartbeat.

Phantom has a pulse.

She looks it in the eye once again, almost trying to memorize the flickers she sees in its gaze. Terror, hysteria, desperation. She feels so strangely detached from them. Maybe a long time ago it might have stirred something in her, some sympathetic belief that perhaps ghosts do have the capacity for feeling, for thinking beyond following the program of their obsession—

but not now. Not this Maddie, who feels a heartbeat beneath her hand in a creature long dead and feels curiosity grip her with a fervor she can’t shake.

She takes up the scalpel and begins to cut.

[omgkalyppso]

The camp was cold, and the hour was late, and still Étoile was distracted by thought, their meditation offering no true rest as the moon travelled across the sky.

They were always gullible, and they knew this came from a secluded upbringing. Their mothers having instilled in them the value of taking people at their word, and treating them with dignity and respect, and this made it hard to manifest skepticism ... self-preservation ... duplicity.

Even so, they felt justified in assuming Astarion was being truthful of his past. His rage palpable at centuries of indignity. It was beyond imaging, and brought into question his every behaviour. How much of who he was, was learned? Was true to how he had grown or had always been? Or to how he wanted to be? Surely asking any of these questions would be inappropriate, contrary to Étoile’s intention, to take Astarion at his word. Whether this behaviour were his current mask or his truth, he’d done nothing to be treated without courtesy.

Étoile thought of his hands, cradling them just so as those fangs had sunk into them, and rolled their head back to either side of their shoulders. They wondered about their own autonomy, and if it were the same. Whether their brain worm was eating away at their thoughts, feeding ridiculous theories on vampiric desire to some unknown brain creature a plane away. Whether they were being influenced, drawn and distorted, to be thinking about him so.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

He turned at the sound of his name, teeth flashing in the firelight. His brow was slanted in the innocence that he seemed to sometimes let slip, intentionally or not, between the layers of pomp and decorum.

“I’m sorry,” Étoile said quickly. “I do not mean to interrupt your rest.”

Astarion brought a fist to the base of his chin, and then the back of two knuckles to the front of his lips, amused. He moved his hand aside to speak, swiping the front of his thumb across his chin as he looked away for a moment, indulging in fantasies of peace and freedom. “If only you were the worst of my problems.”

With a raise and lowering of their eyebrows, Étoile signaled their agreement, letting their gaze be drawn back to the fire so that they were not hounded by Astarion’s cheekbones, or smirk, or brutal, cutting garnet eyes.

“Well?” Astarion prompted, swiping two fingers across his forehead as if to dismiss a flyaway curl, perhaps a single strand that Étoile could not see, and they realized they were looking at him again, already abandoning the safety of distraction.

If Étoile was as bold, or confident, or provocative as their mind seemed to think they were, they might suggest, ‘If I’ve lost my tongue, perhaps you might help me find it?’ But they were not. Not nearly by far.

“I find myself thinking of our problems,” Étoile conceded.

There were many things about Étoile which were extremely elven — their patience, the way they took forever to reach their point in a conversation, their keen measure of attention — but their insistence upon treating their little band as a group, a team, was not one of them.

‘Our problems,’ Astarion was tempted to snort, the prospect that what they were going through was anything but personal, isolating and devastating, should have been a joke. Yet Étoile easily sold him on it, the idea that they were earnest, that they would fight a horde, a hunter, or a vampire lord for him out of a sense of camaraderie in shared-disaster. Was this sense misplaced? Astarion couldn’t guess, whether willingly or no, he could imagine himself easily cutting these ties Étoile sought to bind. All allies had limits in their usefulness, even friends, even family, even lovers.

He imagined Étoile’s need of connection came from their human mother, or perhaps a deep inherent loneliness that those with bleeding hearts often found themselves afflicted with. Few in Faerun felt sympathy the way Étoile seemed to, annoying at times, stopping to save or offer benefit to every poor soul they passed. Astarion might have assumed that these acts of charity could have been influenced by a desire for divine forgiveness or intervention in regards to the looming fate of doom brought on by the mindflayer worms, but knew better now, after time and conversation revealed Étoile for who they were.

Wrapping his hands around his knees, Astarion leaned back to empty air. “Any conclusions worth mentioning? I rather doubt I’m the best to offer comfort, if you’re simply finding yourself distraught with thoughts of oblivion.”

“You don’t need to offer words,” Étoile assured him, and this time Astarion did laugh, too tickled by his companion’s instinct to soothe him for being unable to assuage them, and with his lips still pulled back in a smile of disbelief, Étoile clarified their meaning. “May I sit with you?”

“Come then,” Astarion called, the humor still in his voice, as if it were a thing to be dismissed, and not a danger to the both of them, to be sharing a space with a relative stranger. He exaggerated, laying his hands over his heart, “Bring your head to my bosom that we might will away your fears.”

He watched Étoile rise to their feet, their mollified expression sending some sense of unjust contentment to the pit of his stomach. They were a hulking wall of muscle and honor, a gentle soul of fear and hope, and they were moving to sit behind him so they too could lean back against him, not knowing would touch him; lest the worms were more exacting than Astarion dared to worry.

“Thank you,” Étoile said, their voice a rumble in their chest that flitted through Astarion’s dead heart.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed. “If you feel so indebted as to thank me, what would you do if I sought recompense?”

Étoile tilted their head, long hair tickling Astarion’s bare neck. “A bite?”

Astarion found himself smiling, so readily Étoile had taken to being a prospective source of strength and vigor.

“You really must be less diplomatic if you wish to suffer more frequently of blood loss,” he teased, and Étoile scoffed, an embarrassed and easy laugh that rattled the both of them with the force of it. “We faced a veritable army of enemies today,” Astarion went on, relaxed. “No, I’ve had my fill of blood for the evening … but as for my curiosity? That yet hungers.”

“Oh?” The genuine surprise Étoile had managed in a single syllable was almost insulting, and Astarion wondered whether he’d been too aloof the last time they spoke of personal histories. There had been times in Étoile’s stories of life before the worm where he hadn’t known how to react, and simply hadn’t, or had mocked from the safety of distance and indifference, but he had found himself endeared and fascinated, even before their adventures, Étoile was interesting … alluring. What they lacked in charm, they seemed to substitute with their earnest heart, and the drive to secure the strength they needed to achieve their goals. This must have tempted others, before.

“What would you ask of me?” Étoile prompted, a blush upon their cheeks, worried about how the length of their tales had gotten away from them the last time they and Astarion had spoken.

“Tell me,” Astarion suggested, haltingly, “my dear, of the last lover you left behind?”

A sigh escaped Étoile, a noise of sorrow and regret. Astarion licked his lips, wondering whether, to this, Étoile might object, the prospect of having found a favor beyond their desire to balance every perceived responsibility just as satisfying as receiving an answer.

Goading them, he rolled his shoulders against the expanse of their back. “Surely there must have been someone? More than one? A string of broken hearts behind you?”

“A woman,” Étoile answered quickly, and Astarion blinked in surprise, staring, empty, into the distant forest, ears perked to attention. “A human woman.” They swallowed, nervous and mournful, but when they spoke again their tone was bitter, “It was less disappointing than my first tryst, but still she… Her interest didn’t extend beyond closed doors.”

Astarion’s expression twisted in scorn, having expected something more akin to the joy of youth or a gentle heartbreak. “More's the pity.”

“It was her first time with…”

As Étoile considered their phrasing, Astarion opted to offer a suggestion to ease their tension on the subject. “An elf?”

Étoile chuckled. “That too.”

Astarion pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, smiling about their circumstance. He hearkened them back to the present. “And I say again: Would that you were the worst of my problems.”

When Astarion felt Étoile begin to turn, it was faster than instinct to spin around onto his heel, facing them before they were anywhere close to looking over their shoulder.

Long, tortuous seconds provided the opportunity to pull away, but Astarion found himself still, except the way he heaved with each breath, except for how his heart beat like a man alive … as if it remembered infatuation beyond servitude, desire beyond subjugation.

Étoile smiled at him, and Astarion felt that he could sink into the earth in shame. ‘Bury me now, for I have seen all that creation has to offer, and the Hells are a mercy when compared to the loss of this moment. You will hate me come morning, and so will I.’

“I could be…” Étoile began to suggest, and Astarion huffed in amusement.

“Be a problem?” Astarion chuckled, resting one hand on his thigh to keep balance, and reaching out with his right to rest against Étoile’s collarbone. “Try as you might…” he mocked.

Their first kiss was slower than expected, Étoile twitching throughout the whole of it, as they considered jolting away, afraid they’d overstepped, afraid they’d misinterpret—

“Try harder,” Astarion whispered, allowing his plea to be covered in the grandeur of desire.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with the threat of promise, and whether by supernatural thrall or the splendor of seduction, Étoile only knew they were obliged to try again, and again, and again.

[jackyjango]

Shark Shaped Love

Cherik Week- Day 6: Family AU 

‘That one!' Wanda says, tip-toeing to point at a grey soft toy.

'Are you sure?' Erik asks, and she nods her head sagely; just like she had the last two times.

‘Alright.' Now, Erik doesn't really need to use the controller to move the claw and grab the soft toy from the claw machine, but he doesn't need on-lookers accusing him of cheating with his powers. So he pretends to move the controller around all the while easily moving the metal claw across the glass with his powers and grabbing the grey soft toy.

'Here,' Erik says, picking the toy as it spills into the tray and handing it to Wanda. It's some sort of a fluffy shark with a wide, red mouth trimmed with sharp, white teeth.

Wanda grabs it from his hands with a feral grin. She turns the toy this way and that and her grin turns into an equally feral frown. 'This isn't Nemo,' she says, glaring up at Erik accusingly.

'What?' Erik asks, confused. 'But this is what you asked for.'

'I told you Nemo isn't grey, Wanda.' Peter laughs beside her, and when the thrill of his sister's misfortune fades, he tugs at her hand impatiently-- like he has been for the last ten minutes. 'Come on, let's go look at the cars.'

Still glaring, Wanda shoves the shark into Erik's limp hands with a force unfair from a five-year-old and runs away with her brother to a stall a few feet away from them.

A wave of amusement washes across Erik's mind, and he turns to find Charles barely constraining a chuckle. 

'Are my struggles that amusing?' Erik asks, sighing heavily. 

'Adorable, mostly,' Charles says, still smiling.

Now, Erik doesn't duck his head to hide his flush that takes over his face. He absolutely doesn't. He ducks his head to stare at the damn shark, and the offending shark stares back at him, mouth open widely in a silly grin.

'Right,' Erik says, clearing his suddenly dry throat. He moves to dump the damned shark in a large metal bin which is already full to the brim with discarded toys when Charles' hand darts forward to clutch at his arm so quickly that it leaves Erik reeling in place.

'No!' Charles says, urgently. 'Don't throw it away.' He must have sensed Erik's surprise and confusion, for he soon recovers and says hopefully, 'I'd like to keep it If you don't mind.’

What for? Erik wants to ask, but hey, if Charles wants a shabby shark soft toy, then Erik will bloody well make sure that Charles has a shabby shark soft toy.

'Thank you.' Charles lets out a relieved sigh and hugs the toy close to his chest when Erik hands it over to him. Erik tries not to feel jealous of a damned soft toy. He tries, he really does-- because this is just their first date, after all-- and fails miserably.

Speaking of dates, this isn't what Erik had in mind when he'd asked the twin's elementary teacher out after months spent in each other’s company-- either debating over a chess board or awkwardly trying to flirt. No. He had saved a few week's wages to reserve a table at a fancy restaurant and had promised Kitty a few extra bucks to babysit the kids and take them to the fair. He’d even rented out a suit. But in the end, Kitty had come down with a flu and had cancelled at the last minute. The kids had been too worked up by the idea of going to the fair to listen to his pleas and Charles had been adamant on not wanting to postpone. And so here Erik was, at a fun fair trying to wrangle his children’s whims while fumbling his way with Charles.  

'I'm sorry if this isn't what you had in mind when I asked you out,' Erik says as they make their way to the stall the twins are jumping in front of.

'Oh, no!' Charles smiles brightly, eyes twinkling under the flashy LED lights strung around. 'This is wonderful, Erik.' His smile turns nostalgic and his eyes fond. 'Raven and I had always wanted to go to the fair when we were kids, but alas-' he huffs out a laugh, 'mother thought that it was below us. I-'

'VatiVatiVati,' Peter zooms towards them without warning, cutting Charles short. 'I want that car. Can I have that car?' he asks, pointing at a set of toy cars put out on display. 'CanICanICanI-'

'Fine,' Erik concedes before Peter’s words dissolve into a high speed rant. 'You can have them.'

'I want the silver one and Wanda wants the red one!' 

Erik sighs and lets himself be dragged towards the payment desk.

The night deepens and the wind picks up speed as they make their way through a few stalls and games, Charles and Erik content to stay back and keep an eye on the twins as they run around.

Charles begins worming his way to Erik's side subtly, and taking the hint, Erik risks looping an arm around Charles' shoulder, hesitant at first and then boldly when Charles smiles contentedly.

Ever perceptive, Wanda swirls on her heel and asks with a paint peeling scowl, 'Vati, why are you holding Mr.Charles?'

Erik takes a minute to curse at the nosiness of five-year-olds while Charles crouches down to her level and tells her gently that 'Mr. Charles was feeling cold and Vati was only warming him up.'

Mercifully, she takes his answer without further comment and gets distracted by the prospect of ice cream.

'No. Absolutely no,' Erik says as they stop by a cotton candy stall and the kids turn to him with twin pouts and a litany of 'please Vati's. Because the cheap cotton candy is nothing but sugar and the kids'll get high on a sugar rush by the time they get home and refuse to fall asleep-- not that Peter needs the excuse of a sugar rush to refuse to fall asleep. But then, Charles turns towards him, lower lip protruded in a pout and says mischievously with wide, blue eyes, ‘Please, Vati’, and Erik's protests die a strangled death.

In his branded slacks, expensive shirt and fine-wool cardigan, Charles looks out of place in a small town fair crowded by steel mill workers like Erik. Hell, he looks out of place with Erik himself, who's dressed in a worn plaid shirt, tattered jeans, unkempt hair and shabby beard. But then he looks at Charles, who's laughing brightly with his kids or playing with them or throwing popcorn at each other or beaming warmly when Erik buys them a ghastly looking pink cotton candy that Erik realises that Charles is exactly where he should be. By his side.

Still clutching the shark under one arm, Charles tears a bit of his candy and offers it to Erik. Though he should, Erik doesn't refuse and eats it from Charles' fingers.

Despite all the sugar they'd consumed, the exhaustion of running around wins and the kids begin to fall asleep eventually. Calling it a night, Erik picks up Wanda's sleeping form while Charles picks Peter up, and make their way towards the car.

Erik tucks Wanda in the back seat while Charles gets into the passenger seat with Peter. The tattered engine of his car rattles in protest as Erik starts it, startling Peter out of his sleep.

Charles pulls a confused Peter to his chest, tucks his silver head below his chin and murmurs softly until he goes back to sleep. Erik's heart constricts a little at the sight, and he suppresses the urge to smoothen a hand down his chest.

The drive to Charles' place doesn't take more than fifteen minutes, and all through it, his mother's voice whispers inside Erik’s head, I don't want you to be alone, Erik. 

A trepidation flares in Erik's chest as he walks Charles from the car to his front door.

Erik hasn't done this in more than seven years-- There were very few before Magda and no one after her. He doesn't know how to dress for a date, how to compliment his partner or what he should be doing apart from being his stoic self. What if Erik had somehow managed to sabotage the date? What if he had scared Charles away? What if Charles doesn't want to see him again? These questions repeat on a loop in his mind like a broken record. He must have projected some of it, or Charles must have caught it either way because Charles smiles softly at him as they stop at his door and says, 'Thank you, Erik. I had a lovely night.'

'Charles, I was wondering if you'd like to try dinner some-'  

Erik doesn't get to complete his sentence as Charles closes the distance between them to press a firm kiss against his lips-- a kiss that tastes sickly sweet like cotton candy-- and whispers, 'Yes. I'd like that very much, Erik. I'd like that very much.'

Later that night as Erik gets ready to go to bed, he sends Charles a message wondering why he wanted the shark soft toy.

Well, comes Charles' reply, ever polite, I can't go to bed alone. Or without cuddles. Terrible habit, you see.

The message is accompanied by a selfie of Charles lying in bed in a striped pajama top, hair tousled and smile warm, clutching the shark to his chest.

And this shark reminds me of you.

Erik's heart constricts in his chest once again, and this time, he smooths a hand down it to ease the pain.

'I'm not alone, Mama' Erik whispers to the ceiling, wondering if she's listening. 'And neither is this family.'

-