#sequel to Ghost

[galactic-rhea]

yikes.

I hope you're happy @squad-724 and @helloyesthisisdilophsaurus

[lunisoular]

ghost reunion a bit too early

[charlietheepicwriter7]

H̵̩͋o̸̹͒l̶̢̑ď̸͕ ̵͔͛T̴̲̄h̶͙͋e̶̤͘m̵͍̋ ̷͓̈D̵̯͛o̶̡̅w̵̖̃n̵͝ͅ

Get in the Water AU: Original Post Ruthlessness

Ghosts were physiologically different from humans.

It was something Tucker and Sam didn't understand. They saw Phantom as "Danny with superpowers," not as a fundamentally different being.

Sometimes, Danny didn't understand either.

But his parents did. Utter disregard for the scientific method aside, the Fentons were the ones who learned how inhuman ghosts were: "Just emotions and electricity imprinted on ectoplasm, Danno, nothing to be scared of!" Snapshots of people at the moments of their deaths. The past and the present, incapable of contemplating the future.

And with his duality, Danny struggled to understand either of his halves.

As a human, Danny could move past his nightmare of a childhood, compartmentalize and think to the future, when he was fully healed and his past couldn't hurt him anymore. So when Dora, first elected Queen of the Infinite Realms - long may she reign - asked him to collect all the resurrected humans for a health check and assessment... when he'd noticed Damian Al Ghul-Wanye on the list... He'd thought up a little prank to pull on his long-lost brother. A cruel one, perhaps, but nothing harmful.

As a ghost, Danny couldn't move on. He could never forget that Sam led him to his death, that his parents negligence allowed for the stage to be set, that the lab they loved so much held both his home and his grave. Just as Danny would always be that fourteen year old, caught in that moments, he was still the 7-year-old Danyal Al Ghul who trusted his brother not to hurt him... and ended up poisoned.

Phantom wanted his murderer to suffer.

And Danny, much to his shame, had allowed it.

For a few weeks, Danny managed to ignore it. He'd gone after Damian first, so there were tons of resurrected on his list. He started with the more extreme cases first, like Constantine, but soon enough the next on his list was Ra's Al Ghul.

He'd asked Queen Dora to send someone else, anyone else. That he wouldn't be able to control himself if he saw his grandfather again. Instead of relieving him, she'd given him a knowing look and told him to follow his core's desire.

She never mentions it, but Queen Dora had been a murder victim too.

There was no showmanship, no dramatic reveal. Just Danyal, his grandfather, and the Pit.

Despite all Ra's Al Ghul's power, he was no match for a spirit hellbent on drowning him.

That's what Danny did to his grandfather. He'd thrown up afterwards, once he was human before. But the ghost in him relished the act; he could still feel Grandfather's throat under his hands, pulse fluttering against his palm as Danyal held him down. He struggled and shook as the Lazarus waters filled his lungs, burning away healthy tissue. Fingernails morphed into claws that sliced through the tender skin, blood leaking into the water, and water leaking into the blood.

It took a long time for Grandfather to die. Deep within Danny, next to his core, he knew it was what was deserved. That the murdered finally had justice. He was content with never speaking of it again, a secret between him and the waters.

And now it was going to happen again as Phantom's impulsive mind overtook Fenton's tactical one.

He'd known Damian was looking into him. Knew another confrontation was inevitable, what with two more of his siblings needing their health checks. But as Danny was stalking their mother, searching for the best way to abduct her (she was still his mother after all, he didn't want her dead... yet), Damian and his family confronted her.

Relief washed over him as only a normal amount of rage bubbled up at the sight of Damian, instead of the overwhelming, all-consuming fury he'd felt. Danny laughed at their arguments, at Constantine thinking he could put a living ghost to rest, at his siblings-unmet and his father-unknown, until...

Damian confessed.

His murderer confessed, yet as he continued to speak, to explain, the fury rose in him again. Because it wasn't a betrayal. He'd always thought Damian betrayed him, but no.

Through his own ruthlessness, Damian gave him the only mercy he could manage. And there was only one thing Danyal wanted now.

""̸̲̈́T̶͘͜ä̵̢li̸a̶̬̓ ̴̬̐A̵̛̪l̸̲̚ G̸̛̫h��̺̏u̸̢̚l!̴̳̈́ D̷̩̕o̸͛ͅ ̶̝̍y̴͙͘o̵̙͐u̵̬̓ ̴̤͂k̸̡̑n̵͓̈́o̷͈͝w̷͖͂ ̷͓͑w̴̧̄h̵̲͌o̴̮̔ ̵̼́Ị̷̂ ̷̣̽a̵̳̓m̷̩̓?̷̝͒"̷̧͠"

It was her fault. She was the reason why he was dead, nothing more than a coward who couldn't go against her father for the sake of her children. She abused them, she struck his brother, it was her fault-

"Danyal," she answered. And Danyal grinned, fanged and sharp.

He approached, the waters of his birthplace lovingly brushing against his legs, consoling him the only way they knew how. They whispered revenge into his ears, madness into his heart, just as they had when he'd confronted Damian, when he murdered Grandfather. "You have much to answer for, daughter of the Demon Head," he said, voice echoing around the room.

Unrestrained greed filled her gaze. "You've returned to me, my son."

Danyal laughed, brutal and rough. "I've returned for you, Mother," he corrected. "Don't think this reunion will end well for you."

"You mean to hurt me, Danyal?" she crooned, all false hurt and fake love.

"I mean to kill you."

Genuine anger flashed across her face. "My son would never-"

"Y̵̺̆o̴̩͂u̸͉̕r̷̰͝ ̴͔͝s̵̡̉o̶̡̎ň̵̞ ̶̗̈i̴̘̍s ̸̦̐d̴̯̚ê̶͚á̶̩d̷̻̈́," he snarled, and Damian flinched. He was too close to Talia. "You wanted me dead... for being weak. For having mercy." He stared up at his mother's shocked form. "I killed Grandfather. Tell me, is that ruthless enough for you, Umi?" Talia flinched with just her eyes. He hadn't been allowed to call her Umi since he was three.

Their father stepped forward, the naked distress on his face contrasting with his battle armor. "Danyal," he plead. "You don't have to do this-"

"Stay out of this, Baba." The man's breathing hitched. "This doesn't involve you."

Constantine tried to talk him down next. "It does, kid. A Siren on your level can't stay around for long. It's time for you to rest."

Danyal threw back his head and laughed. "As if you could stop me, exorcist." No more delays. It's time for action. "I will drown you all before you can."

Danyal lunged. And despite his mother's decades as an assassin, she couldn't kill what was already dead.

He held her down by the throat, the attacks from Damian's family bouncing off him. "This is mercy," he cooed as she desperately clawed at his hands. "For me. For Damian. For everyone you will try to hurt in the future. Ruthlessness is the only mercy I can give you now." Her face turned red as she gaped for air and Danyal-

Was thrown back into the water.

Reorienting himself, he found John Constantine standing over his mother, protecting her from him. "̷̪͂E̷̺͐x̷̝̑ŏ̶̺ȑ̴͉c̷̟͘i̸͔̋s̶̮̀t̶̯͝."

And the Pit's water began to rise.

[jasontoddsgaythoughts]

I just think a holiday romcom movie starring these four would heal me a bit

[river-shards]

Sorry, just catted your Ghosts. They can't be turned back from this.

(Click for better quality. Reblogs are appreciated!)

Commissions open!

[farahfriday]

let’s keep it tight boys

[stealingpotatoes]

Omg I saw the dinluke post with them adopting Rey

What if they both just start adopting all our favorite characters

Like every time one goes out on a mission they find someone else to adopt. Luke brings back not just Rey but Finn and Poe as well.

Din just comes back with the entire ghost crew. And Luke is all ‘whatcha got there?’

Din just shrugs and says ‘a smoothie’ whilst the crew of the ghost is just standing there awkwardly behind him. Sabine paints his armor for him.

[nothingbutnowhere]

Paging Doctor Riley!

18+

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x reader

~3.9k words

Tags: 18+ Explicit, medical pelvic examination roleplay, 'virgin' roleplay, reader is mentioned to masturbate with toys frequently, mentioned reader has received previous gynecological care, glove kink, praise kink, fingering, lube, squirting, cunnilingus, tit play, fingers in mouth, unprotected PiV, light manhandling, multiple reader orgasms, reader referred to as 'good girl' with no other gendered language, post sex banter, if I've missed anything that needs mentioning please let me know

Prologue 1 | Prologue 2

It's just a routine exam, you think to yourself, you've done this before, it's going to be fine.

That doesn't stop your heart from pounding in your chest as you sit and wait in the exam room. You're wearing the typical smock with a sheet over your legs for cover, but it's not enough, your nipples are definitely visible through the thin fabric. The cool air of the room peaks goosebumps over your legs and arms.

Two firm knocks rap against the door and you flinch, head snapping towards it.

It opens.

Oh no.

"Good afternoon miss."

He's hot.

"Hi," you squeak.

He's tall, muscles bulging from his white lab coat, carrying himself with perfect posture as he walks over to you.

"Doctor Riley," he says, holding his hand out for you to shake.

His eyes meet yours, deep brown, intense and focused over the blue surgical mask that covers the lower part of his face.

You introduce yourself, thankfully moving on autopilot, as you reach out and shake his hand with as much poise as you can muster. His hand is large, strong and warm, a contrast to your shaky, clammy one. The watch on his wrist probably costs more than your annual paycheck.

Before you're unpinned from his gaze, he looks you over, gaze neutral. He turns to the desk, but it doesn't do much to calm your nerves.

"You're here for a routine exam," he says as he logs in to the computer.

It's not even framed as a question, god this man might kill you. His voice is deep and measured, and clinical.

"Yes."

You try not to stare at his hands that minify the mouse and keyboard as he clicks around, typing a few things.

"Are you currently sexually active?"

The question settles a sense of dread in your tummy. You know it's routine but you hate admitting it, especially now to your hot doctor who now knows you can't get laid. You send a small plea to the universe to quell your embarrassment.

"No. Never."

He doesn't so much as blink, continuing to stare at the screen while he clicks boxes.

"Do you masturbate?"

Well you've never been asked this before. Is it even an appropriate question?? After a second too long you answer.

"Yes."

"How frequently?"

If it's possible to die from embarrassment, well, you'll find out.

"Um, depends."

"Roughly how many times per week?"

There's a joke there, but not one you're brave enough to make. The number is very high and you feel the need to lie, because that kinda makes your lack of sexual activity more embarrassing. But lying to a medical professional seems like a bad idea.

"Five to seven."

He doesn't miss a beat.

"Any specific concerns you have today?"

Yeah embarrassing myself in front of you, you think, though it's too late for that.

"No."

He stands and walks away for a few moments to wash his hands.

This is great, everything is fine. Think of anything else than what's about to happen, literally anything else, just don't think about-

Your efforts fail terribly, as all you can picture, all you can feel is his hands on you, thinking about him thinking about your masturbating. Which he's definitely not, because this is his job! People tell him that all day, surely there's no way he dwells on it. 

You shift on the bed, the cold sweat of anxiety is only making you more miserable. The subtle rub of your thighs sends some... extra sensations up your spine. Oh god, are you already aroused? You hope not. The lube will help disguise it. It's fine, probably. Stimulation is often met with arousal, a concession you can make while ignoring the fact that he hasn't touched you yet.

He returns and you watch as he pulls on the blue nitrile gloves. They fit tightly, requiring an extra tug to situate, and he lets the material snap.

Is he fucking with you? He has to be fucking with you. 

"Lay back, feet up on the bed apart, and move to the edge."

His instructions definitely aren't though. They're firm but not unkind and you don't have to think to follow them. The cool air of the room is uncomfortable on your exposed skin and your knees try and awkwardly close.

"Legs open," he reminds.

They do.

The blanket on your legs prevents you from seeing him as he sits down in front of you, but you're completely exposed to him now.

This whole thing is starting to feel like a fever dream. A dreamy doctor about to feel you up, good lord, you need to get a grip.

"Take deep breaths. Try to relax, it'll make this much easier," he says, voice softer now.

Fuck. You were never good at hiding your emotions, he probably thinks you're just anxious. Honestly that's a better scenario than your current predicament of embarrassed arousal. One, then two deep breaths later, you're mildly more relaxed.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yeah." Sure why not, we don't have all day.

"Good."

You swallow audibly.

"Light touch on the inner thigh, then the vulva. External then internal examination."

You've done this before, it's fine. 

His gloved fingers make gentle contact with your skin, but the small twitch in your leg only pushes into him further. After a moment his they slide down and brush against your pussy.

You stare pointedly up at the ceiling, forcing your diaphragm into slow breaths.

His warm fingers parting your labia have no business being this gentle. The tip of one large finger strokes slow between the inner and outer, on one side then the other. You had no idea you could be so sensitive, and have to grind your teeth to prevent a shiver of pleasure from making your legs shake.

"Healthy tissue, very good," he hums after a few moments.

Your throat is too dry to respond.

He doesn't move on though, continues to feel and stroke and press, avoiding your clit. None of this feels very clinical, but then again your brain is scrambled eggs. The gentle touch feels so good, no one except for you has done this, and even you haven't gone this slow, usually opting to go straight for the kill with fingers or a vibrator on your clit. It's an examination but it feels like... More than that somehow. Adoration.

How bad would it be to just relax into it? It's not a bad thing to enjoy touch, even though this isn't the most opportune time for it.

"That's good, just relax."

His voice is calm and reassuring. See? Not so bad.

He spreads your lips again and runs one finger through your slit. You can feel the tell tale slip confirming your arousal, knocking some sense back into you because you're at the doctor's office! What the hell are you doing, enjoying your pelvic exam, getting off from your doctor who is none the wiser. Well, not anymore. You hope he doesn't say anything.

"Bit of arousal at stimulation. Very common."

You're mortified, frozen to the bed.

"I'm sorry," you say, the only thing you can think to say.

"Nothing to worry about."

"Ok," your voice comes out as a whisper.

You want to believe him. Unfortunately, neither your embarrassment of being caught enjoying a clinical exam nor his reassurance does anything to change the fact that your body is thrumming with warm pleasure.

His hand rests on your lower belly. You expect the internal examination to start now but his thumb strokes the skin above your clit, far too gentle to be doing much examining. One, two passes then his thumb runs over your clit.

A shiver runs though your body uninhibited, and you have to cover your mouth to keep from crying out. The intoxicating ball of pleasure sits heavy in your stomach.

"Very sensitive," he says, though maintaining his clinical composure his voice is definitely lower than it has been

His thumb then presses down right above your clit and pulls the hood back ever so gently.

You're suspended, not breathing, ready for his touch and the ever tightening band in your tummy to snap.

But he gently lowers it back down and removes his hand.

"Perfect. Moving to the internal exam now."

His voice sounds mildly strained. 

Very good. Perfect. 

It wouldn't matter how he sounded when he called you that. Well, technically he was calling your vulva that... Did that make it better or worse?

A cap clicking open and closed recalls your attention.

Internal exam, right. You can handle that. Definitely. No problem. You haven't been thinking about his fingers inside you the whole time, not at all.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Yes."

You sound strained too.

"Touch on the inner thigh."

His fingers are slightly wet with lube but not cold. Once again he slides his fingers down, leaving a little wet trail in their wake. He swipes fingers over your opening, though you probably don't need the lube at all. 

"Two fingers. Let me know if it's uncomfortable."

You feel them start to press against you, he's slow and gentle like before. The initial press just past your lips is fine. But the stretch is too much.

"Wait"

He stops and pulls away immediately.

"It's, um, too much, maybe just... Start with one?"

It's painfully embarrassing to voice. Sure the doctor can stay clinical since this is his job but the innuendo- if you can even call it that, you're literally asking for one finger in your pussy- probably isn't lost on him.

"Of course."

He begins again.

"Touch," he says, hand resting on your thigh for a second longer before moving down.

One finger slides in easier. He's still slow and gentle which only makes it feel more intimate. He slides out, maybe brushing a little more firmly against your g spot than necessary, but you're already swollen around his fingers, it's probably just inevitable.

Two fingers start to push in a little easier. You're taking deep steady breaths, focusing on being relaxed and not clamping down to give more stimulation on your g-spot, grind, and come, like your brain screams to do.

"That's it, nice and easy."

The reassurances makes it worse and you make the mistake of picturing what's happening- two of his thick, gloved fingers glistening with lube and your slick sliding into your wet, swollen pussy, expensive looking watch on his wrist. At the same time he presses past your g-spot which makes you clench involuntarily. Fuck.

"Alright?"

"Yeah," your voice cracks.

To your horror, this time the embarrassment makes the arousal more intense, more urgent. Your brain knows your hand has been shown, it seems to think there's no point in hiding.

"Response to stimulation is normal."

Oh you want to respond alright. You feel every millimeter, during the few moments it takes for his fingers to be fully inserted. It's a pleasant fullness, his fingers reach deeper and are wider than your own. The glove tries to be the barrier that keeps this from being intimate and sexual but it's only backfiring, arousal hot and pulsing inside you.

"Going to place a hand on your lower abdomen and press."

"Ok."

You try to relax, focus on the pleasantness rather than the arousal, but it's difficult with his hand pressing down, moving soft and gentle, glove crinkling and rasping quietly over your skin. After several presses his hand rests fully on your lower stomach, thumb brushing lower and lower, over the sensitive skin above your clit once again. Your brain is buzzing, body scorching, daring him to do it.

His thumb rolls gently over your clit.

You finally allow yourself to moan. If he's going to provide stimulation, you're going to give him a response.

"Fuck," you say, breathless.

He stills but doesn't pull away.

"Want me to stop?"

"No"

His fingers curl into your g-spot, and he finally starts to give proper, firm circles over your clit.

"Gonna- oh my god-" you moan.

Your cunt spasms around his fingers, electricity sparking through your body but it's not nearly enough, barely enough to take the edge off.

"One," he says, but before you can process the implication, his fingers start moving inside you and yeah that's it. Stroking instead of just pressing into your g-spot, other hand continuing to circle on your clit.

After a few moments there's pressure building up behind the tingling of the incoming orgasm. It's coming at you fast, you know it's going to hit hard. You've only heard of this sensation before but it's too late to stop it, too late to try and say anything because by the time you're opening your mouth all you can do is cry out as your toes curl, body releasing the pressure and you feel liquid running down your ass. You've fucking squirted on your doctor, and he's dragging you through the rest of your orgasm with his fingers on your clit. He pulls away when you squirm from overstimulation.

"Good, two," you hear him breathe, voice no longer clinical and professional and the low growl makes your thighs twitch besides his head.

You gasp as you feel his face pressing into your thigh- and to your twisted amalgamation of horror and arousal- it's wet, slicking your thighs with what can only be your own squirt as his lips press slow, messy kisses down, closer and closer to your pussy. Your eyes are closed but you hear him slip off the stool he was sitting on, and feel as he guides your legs over his shoulders, low enough that he's probably kneeling on the ground in front of you. He sighs when you relax and let the solid weight of them rest comfortably. He kneels up and your hips lift up off the bed, partially folding you over. One strong arm wraps around your leg snugly, hand gripping your skin like you'll slip away if he doesn't.

You can surmise what's coming as his lips trail further and further down but could never actually anticipate the feeling of his mouth on you, warm and wet and consuming. Following the same methodology as his fingers, his tongue and lips slowly explore every centimeter of skin, dragging through, over, and between, taking your lips into his mouth and sucking. You moan, eyes squeezing shut, hands gripping your smock for grounding as you resist the urge to push into his mouth. You almost lose it when he circles your clit with the tip of his tongue, flicking over it before pressing his lips to it over and over like a kiss, opening and suckling. You're dazed, obviously never having experienced this before but vaguely think this'll probably be the best you'll ever get.

His tongue slides down, starts to circle your opening, dipping in briefly where your slick and his spit has gathered.

"Taste so fuckin' good," he says, almost to himself, mouth close to your pussy so you feel the vibrations.

"Knew you would the second I saw you. Sweet thing, all for the taking on my exam table."

His words are filthy. You begin to moan but are interrupted by his tongue sliding in.

You gasp, eyes flying open, hands instinctively reaching down, only to meet the blanket resting over his head. There's only a half second hesitation about pulling it off before you do. You're not prepared to see his face, or rather his eyes flicking up to meet yours, tongue buried inside you. The focus and intensity are so different than earlier, maybe a little softer now that he's feeling you, holding you, and pleasuring you, not examining and observing.

His hand clenches tighter into your thigh, pushes his face further into you with a groan, eyes fluttering. You can't help but slide your hand through his hair and encourage him to stay right there, keep doing whatever the fuck he's doing with his tongue that's making you lose control, pant, and grind into his face. His hand reaches up your body to squeeze and play with your tits, smearing slick across your chest.

That's one way to get a breast examination.

It takes several minutes for your orgasm to build this time but he doesn't seem to care, working you steadily and thoroughly. And soon enough you're there, body hot with molten pleasure, you're going to come again,

"Close-!"

But there's an ache that wants more. All caution has been long since thrown to the wind and it doesn't even occur to you to be embarrassed to beg.

"Please, Doctor Riley, want you- fuck."

"Want me to what?"

"Want you to fuck me, please."

His hand slides down back to your clit and rubs firmly until your back is arching and you're nearly suffocating him with your thighs as pleasure rushes though you uninhibited. 

"Good fucking girl, three." 

Finally you drop back, breathing hard, still tingly, vision unfocused. He lifts your legs off of his shoulders and gently settles them back. You look up at him, now unmasked. Some scaring on his face and definitely handsome, to you anyway.

He doesn't put on a show to undress. All you can do is watch as he simply stands, and pulls his cock out.

Wow. He's perfect. Big, which makes sense considering his stature. If the look in his eyes with his face dripping with your slick is any indication you're about to get fucked within an inch of your life.

"Gonna make this nice and comfortable for you yeah?" he says, uncapping and squeezing a generous amount of lube out.

"Ever used anything more than fingers?"

"Yeah, I have toys" you squeak out.

His lips twitch in what you think is an uncharacteristic smile, though it's not friendly. The gleam in his eyes should scare you.

"Specifically?"

"...vibrators and dildos."

"Good girl."

Something absolutely glows inside of you when he says those two words, and you're shameless preening in it. And continues to glow as his hand strokes his cock for a few moments. It could have been an hour with the way you're enraptured by his gloved hand, studying how exactly he strokes, twists his wrist and thumbs over and around the head.

"Hold your legs back behind your knees."

It takes a moment, but you get your jellied legs to comply. Once you're spread he steps closer, hand squeezing your ass as he rubs his cock up and down your slit. You shudder from the overstimulation on your clit and are ready to beg again but he has no intention of toying with you. His thumb presses down on his cock until the head catches on your opening. He stares down at where you meet while beginning to push in. But his eyes catch yours after a moment, he's trying to concentrate on your face but part of his brain is focused elsewhere. You try an experimental squeeze around his cock and he groans, eyes closing for a moment, control slipping. That's probably dangerous but honestly you want him to eat you alive- not that he hasn't already eaten you.

A few more shallow strokes and he's pressed fully into you, not even moving but his thickness alone is able to press against all the good spots inside you.

"Please- I'm ready," you whine, trying and failing to grind against him with your ass so tightly squeezed in his hands.

The first drag of his hips backwards makes you both moan. He starts to roll his hips deep and slow, watching you intensely, but you can barely keep your eyes open on account of them rolling back in your head. Some unknown spot deep inside you pulses, and throbs, and aches as his cock hits it again and again.

"That's it sweetheart, like it nice and deep, yeah?"

You nod enthusiastically, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes.

There's some sort of sounds in the room which you can't place until his hands come off of your ass, and he's shoving two fingers in your open, panting mouth.

You exclaim, or try to, but quickly give into sucking shamelessly and laving your tongue over and between his fingers. The taste of lube isn't the best, but ignorable in favor of remnants of your own slick, his cock.

"Don't mind if you bite," he growls.

He pulls out all the way, then his hips snap forward quickly and firmly, and your teeth scrape his fingers. His cock twitches and you feel precum add to the lube and slick inside you. You're jostled around for a second, his knee coming up on the bed to give him better leverage. And then he really starts to fuck you, pounding you into the mattress, head kissing your cervix at this angle, so fucking deep.

"Good girl, fuck, you must play with a lot of toys, takin' it this good."

You agree nodding your head, mumbling unsuccessfully around his fingers, wishing you could tell him how good this was, so good to just lie back and not have to deal with fucking yourself. Since you can't, you squeeze your cunt as tight as you can around him, causing him to fall on one elbow beside you with a snarled fuck. You're so close now, face directly above yours. It's far too intimate, especially starting into his captivating eyes, pupils blown wide, framed by pretty blonde eyelashes. He slides his fingers out of your mouth and reaches down to play with your clit. You throw your head back as another orgasm threatens to overtake you, but his hand pulls away.

"Not yet"

Your head tilts back and you pout. He's staring at your lips, eyelids heavy.

"Kiss me."

Both of your arms come up, one around his shoulders and the other hand cradles the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips.

It's messy and it's good. Doesn't seem to matter that you have no experience when you're both too fucked out to coordinate anyway. Tongues against lips and teeth, it doesn't matter when he tastes good, kinda like you, but mostly his own.

His hand slips down to your clit again, soft pinches and rolls taking you to the precipice.

"C'mon, come on my cock, give me four, be a good girl"

"Oh- close- oh, fuck!," you gasp, sinking your teeth into his bottom lip to keep from screaming.

You inadvertently pull his hair, which you think is what causes his orgasm, slowing his thrusts, twitching cock spilling into you. The sensation is novel and your pleasure boils over. Your legs spasm, your core clenches, pleasure hits you in waves, whiting out your vision.

...

You come to with Simon nearly crushing you with his weight.

"Si you're squishing me."

"Hm?" he grunts, half asleep already.

"Roll over."

He does roll, but takes you with him and holds you tight, preventing you from extracting yourself from the bed.

"You good?" he asks.

"Yeah," you mumble into his chest.

"Lemme hold you a bit."

"It's sweaty."

"Doctor patient privileges."

"That is not what that means."

His arms only settle heavier on you, now ungloved hand rubbing your back gently.

"Shh, relax with me for a second."

Your breaths sync after a while, the slow exhales calming your hammering heart.

"Did I do good?" he asks quietly.

"Of course you did," you say, snuggling into his chest, "Five stars. Excellent beside manner. Very thorough."

"Only 'cause I had such a lovely patient. Won't be getting any referrals from me though."

"S'fine with me. Love you."

Simon gives you a long kiss on the forehead as if to say, I love you too.

...

More Simon

I do NOT consent for my works, part of my works, or my ideas to be used for ANY form of AI.

A/N: Thanks for reading the first smut I've ever posted!

[auspicioustidings]

Sacrosanct

Summary: Following on from the events of Savage, Simon steals you back.

Words: 3.5k

CW: Smut, Non-con

Please go back and read the blurb from Savage. The same rules apply here, this is a rape fantasy. If that is not your thing do not read it.

It had been a month since you had been taken over the border and you were still sore in places. MacTavish… Johnny. Johnny had been gentle with you as soon as you crossed into his homeland. It was like he was a different person, the Savage gone and replaced by some romantic hero. 

He had bedded you again, but it was with none of the primal brutality he had taken you with that first night. No, he remained true to his word and treated you like a princess. You were fucked slowly and tenderly into furs and downy pillows. He lapped sweetly between your legs while one of his men smiled and fed you bites of food. You recognised him as one from that night, the one whose hand print was almost fully faded from your thigh, but like Johnny his men too were different now. 

It was like you had fallen into a dream. Sometimes you thought perhaps you had crossed into the fae realm, that this was some form of magic. They dressed you in soft but simple fabric in the MacTavish clan colours and it took your breath away any time you thought on it. He was marking you as his, but not how you had expected. This was not how you would mark a conquest or a slave, this was how you would mark family, how you would mark wife.

It was dizzying, his kindness. He bathed you and massaged at your sore muscles. He laughed fondly when you smiled at the puppy he brought into your room. He whispered to you in the middle of the night about names for babies with his finger tracing patterns on your belly. 

You began to think of him as a different man entirely to the one from that night. There was the Savage and then there was just Johnny. And that was terrifying in its own way, because how could you ever know if the former would come back? 

But still, some part of you started to slip into contentment. The horror of what had happened was smothered with sweetness and gentility until it faded away. You didn't think about escaping as you had the first week. There was never any attempt of course, you were not stupid enough to think you could manage it, but you had often daydreamed about it.

It must have been some sort of divine wrath for your sins that it was only when you had settled into some form of comfortable that someone far scarier than the Savage came for you in the dead of night while Johnny was away. 

You woke to a weight on top of you, at first thinking it must be Johnny straddling you in the bed. But when you opened your eyes there was a bright white skull glaring down at you in the gloom. You wanted to scream, but you were scared stiff and even if you had been able to produce a sound his gloved hand had roughly settled over your mouth.

“Hello sweetheart, don't you look cosy in MacTavish's bed.”

Your eyes widened. English, he was English. And while the words were non-threatening, his tone was violent. You felt like your blood had turned to ice under this creature. He snarled at you and got into your face, eyes wild and angry.

“You scream and I'll rip you open, understand?”

You could only nod through the tears and then remain quiet when his hand left your mouth. Even without the warning you didn’t think you would have been able to scream through the fear. You knew with a horrible certainty that this man really would tear you apart if you crossed him. 

“Go back to sleep bitch.”

You didn't even see the pommel of his danger coming as he clocked you in the temple and you blacked out. 

–

Your head felt fuzzy when you came to, like your brain was waterlogged. It took a full minute before you properly got consciousness back, enough that you could feel that your wrists were bound around something above you making your shoulders ache. Someone had dressed you in a fine gown, the kind you would have expected to be wearing after your marriage to gatherings of nobility. There was a dim sort of throb somewhere in your lower half that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

You blinked in the dim light of the chamber you were in. A bedchamber. A regal one. There was a fireplace glowing with embers that was providing some light to see the furnishings. You hazily looked up to figure out where your arms were bound to find they were tired around the poster of a large, plush bed. Even the floor was soft beneath you, an ornate rug cushioning you.

It was all quite beautiful, like something out of your silly girl hood dreams. You tried to calm your heart, perhaps the rough treatment by the man with the skull mask was not indicative of whatever treatment you would face here. After all he had been English, had maybe taken you back across the border. Home you reminded yourself, even if something in you ached to think it. Even if some pathetic little part of you had started to think of Johnny as home even after what he did to you.

You caught movement from the corner of your eye and startled. The skull masked man was sitting in the corner, watching you. It knocked any coherent thought from your mind when he took off the mask and you came face to face with your fiance. He looked far more severe in real life than in his portrait. The artist had lessened the two large scars on his face, had made his eyes softer. When he stood it was staggering how large he was, already incredibly tall but from on the floor seeming monstrous. You quickly put your eyes to the floor, bowing your head with as much respect as you could.

“Lord Riley. I-” you said, trying to think of anything to explain the past month to him and coming up short when he crossed the room and drew his sword, putting the flat of the blade under your chin to force your head to tilt up. 

“Did you know that the man you let fuck you flew the lion rampant when he was last slaughtering my men? A symbol of my country and he thinks to steal it.”

You could not move, could barely breathe without the sharp tip of the sword cutting your throat. You thought you might wind up drooling to avoid swallowing, knowing that it would almost certainly draw blood. You could only look at him as he spoke and looked down at you in disgust.

“Lionesses will try and protect their unborn cubs by letting themselves be mounted by any male in the vicinity to confuse paternity. Reckon if I let you loose you'd go through my soldiers like you went through those Scottish bastards wouldn't you? Let them all spill inside you.”

The tears were spilling down your cheeks as humiliation burned through you. He was wrong, Johnny's men hadn't spilled inside you, but the reality of what had happened seemed worse. They had spilled between your legs to make it more pleasant when their leader took you in the dirt. You wanted to defend yourself, to appeal to him, but he pressed the blade forward and your head met the bed with nowhere to go. The sting was horrible as you felt a trickle of blood run down the column of your throat.

“I'll not have a Scottish bastard running around my halls. My seed is more potent than his could ever hope to be, I'm going to flood his filthy cum out of you.”

You tried to bite out a plea when he moved the blade a hair back, enough that you could at least attempt to explain yourself if you spoke as softly as you could trying not to let your throat move. 

“Please I didn’t- he- I tried to fight,” you said, fighting the sob that would cause more damage to your neck.

He smiled. He smiled and it was the smile of something terrifying, something that had caught you in its snare. 

“You thanked him. He took what was mine and you thanked him for it, isn’t that right sweetheart?”

You felt a flood of fear. Johnny must have released at least one of the English soldiers who had seen what had been done to you. Had seen you drooling and throwing yourself back on to the enemies cock and crying thank yous to him. And had reported every single second of it back to the man above you, your intended husband. You had been caught fully in a lie, because you hadn’t fought, not really. Fear had you out of your mind at the time. It was half way to making you feel out of your mind now. He laughed darkly.

“Is that the expression you wore for him?”

You did sob then and it set off a chain reaction of the sharp of the blade nicking you which caused you to sob harder which did the same again. He looked fascinated with the blood dribbling down your skin, but his reactions were fast. When you got too overwhelmed and tried to look away, a movement that would have wound up slitting your own throat, he threw the blade to the side. The clatter of the metal made you flinch. 

One if his hands was on you then, grabbing your upper arm in a bruising grip to drag you to your feet, the twist of your spine from your hands being bound to the bedpost painful. Once you were on your feet he moved the hand to your hair, pushing until you were hugging the post, face crushed against it in a way you were sure would leave indents of the intricate pattern on the woodwork. 

His other hand went to bunching up your skirts, the coolness on bare skin making you realise with a sickening clarity that you had been put in a dress but with no undergarments. 

“Fucking hell, not only Scottish animals you get wet for is it?” he hissed, as you felt his gloved fingers swipe through your folds.

He brought his hand around then to skirt up your throat and then shoved the gloves fingers in your mouth, leather and blood and arousal swirling in your tongue and making you choke with how aggressively they made a home between your teeth. You felt like an animal having their mouth examined with how he bullied his fingers around inside, seemingly trying to make sure you could taste yourself. He ripped them out and grabbed your face between his thumb and pointer finger, twisted it around to look at him behind you.

“Go ahead, kiss your fiancé like you'd kiss that fucking Savage you've been bedding.”

Oh he scared you well and truly now with how he looked at you. There was the glimmer of a Sacrosanct madness about him, the holy surety that he would claim you body and soul from John MacTavish. You trembled before this force of divine fury, trying to quell it by pushing yourself to kiss him. 

For a moment in time he was the fiancé you had dreamt of. He let you press your lips to his and slowly lapped his tongue at your bottom lip for entrance, languid in his exploration once you permitted it. It struck you straight to your core when you realised he was licking the inside of your mouth to taste what he had forced there with his fingers, the clench of your cunt at the thought a humiliation. When his mouth left yours it was messy, saliva left on your swollen lips. He wrapped his hand around your throat, spreading the blood and seeming fascinated by it before he took the now blood smeared hand and slapped you so hard your ears were ringing. You would have crumpled to the floor if he did not have a leg planted between yours to keep your forced upright. 

“My Lord please, I-I-” you stuttered, not able to find any fight amongst the freeze when he manhandled you back around to be clinging to the bedpost, grabbing your hips and wrenching them back so you were bent over with him behind you. 

“You'll get your proper treatment as my Lady after sweetheart, right now you need to learn your fucking place.” 

Your skirts were fully flipped over your back, a rough palm keeping you bend fully at the waist so the fabric could drape and leave you exposed to him. You hated knowing he could see you were leaking between your legs, your body at odds with your mind. It was a sickly sweet sort of humiliating. You choked a shocked sob when with no ceremony his cock was out and shoved inside you. 

“Too full, t-too fast. Please- unf- please take it out!” you screamed, feeling like he was in your stomach. 

He only tsked, unmoved entirely by how you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to shift away, not able to with his hands holding you still. 

“Don't know what I expected, of course your traitor little cunt wouldn't be tight enough anymore. What was it he said? If you didn't keep your eyes open…”

You were confused about what he meant until he brutally ripped out of you and the hard head of him was rubbing at your arse, catching on the puckered hole. 

“Please please no I'll tear! My Lord, Lord Riley please I didn't mean it” you babbled, trying to claw into the bedpost to pull away but only being rewarded with such a sharp smack to your arse that you knew his handprint would be there for days.

“Y-you can't!” you screeched as he started to push inside you.

The press of him against your hole, the pop as his head finally pushed through the tight ring of muscle, it made your body try to fight against a danger it didn't know what to do with. You couldn't breathe, as if you were underwater and your brain would not allow you to gulp in a breath because it knew it would be lethal. 

You could barely choke in any oxygen at all as he started moving your hips back and forward on him, rocking his hot, hard cock more and more into your arse each time. He would break you surely, he would rip you in half. You could only make choked noises as you were stuffed more and more full. He smacked your arse again at that.

“Quit your bitching whore or next time I won't even do you the courtesy of having my men prep you. Find your fucking manners, say thank you” he said, an arrogant dominance rolling off if him in waves as he gave one particularly cruel thrust that had you crying out a thank you to please him.

“Manners my Lady” he snarled, punctuating his point with another spank that landed directly where you were already tender.

“T-thank you my Lord.”

“There she is, was that so difficult?” he asked with a horrid sweetness, thrusting hard into you again. “Lost all of your grace with that animal, don't worry, I'll fuck it back into you.”

The next thrust he bottomed out with a groan, holding still for a few breaths. It gave you time to try and adjust but it was an impossible task. He was too big, you were too tight, the stretch was too impossible. You were vaguely thankful that the ache you had felt waking up must have been because someone had already been playing with your arse. There was some slide, it wasn't so dry that you were being torn apart but it felt like a close thing. He leaned over you, his huge torso draped over yours. You could feel his sweaty face plastered to yours, the heat of his breath. He only said one word before he straightened back up, an innocent little word. But it terrified you none the less.

“Breathe.”

It was the only warning you got before he pulled out and slammed fully back into you. You felt far more brutalised as he drilled into you slow but incredibly hard in this plush room with the warm glowing embers of a fire and in a beautiful gown than you had being fucked in the dirt in the cold darkness in only your torn chemise.

His pace was torture, not fast enough to keep the pain a consistent thing you could anticipate, not slow enough to allow your insides to adjust to his impossible size. Your brain went fuzzy with every hard and deep piston of his hips. That one word was something you clung to like a prayer. Breathe. He pulled out to the tip. Breathe. He slammed back in all the way to the root. Breathe. He held there and your muscles fluttered around him, seemingly confused as to whether this was an intrusion or welcomed now that his own slick and whatever they had prepared you with while you were knocked out was mixed and making the slide smoother, making each rough thrust squelch loudly. Breathe. The drag of him slowly pulling back out made your cunt clench so hard it was nauseating. Breathe. 

You could never quite fully catch your breath, always just on the edge of feeling like you were suffocating. You suddenly wished he would at least talk to you. Johnny was never able to stop, always saying something filthy in your ear so you could at least focus on that and not hear your own desperate panting, the sticky snap of sweaty skin on sweaty skin. It was painful, a pain that dangled pleasure in front of you, always just out of reach. You were chasing it, pushing back in the hopes that the heavy weight of him would bump against your clit. It only ever served to add the sharp smack of hand on flesh to the noises. 

He did not provide any warning before he sped up, suddenly rutting into you with none of the control he had kept until now. You forgot that word, forgot everything in favour of biting down on the wood of the bedpost to stop from screaming your throat raw. 

And then you saw stars as his throbbing cock was pulled out of your arse and in your cunt finally instead, deep. He pushed your hips until you were standing straight, his cock spearing up into you deeper than you thought possible. He brought a hand round to play roughly with your clit.

“Milk me.”

There was no room for refusal as you came, bearing down on him hard. The scalding heat of his seed spilling into you felt like some twisted form of divine justice for what you had done, how you had begun to feel about the Savage. There was so much of it, a biblical flood to wipe away the stain he saw left in you. His chest was plastered to your back, his hot breath puffing over the side of your hair. 

“Good girl. Knew a proper English lady was still in there didn't I? Just had to exorcise the whore MacTavish put inside you.”

Your head was so fuzzy. Your body throbbed with pain and the flush of a devastating orgasm. You whimpered pathetically when he eventually pulled out, fingering the leaking cum gently back into your oversensitive pussy. 

“I'll get a plug for you, you'd like that hm? Keep my seed nice and safe inside your little cunt.”

You drifted then, drifted to somewhere else. You didn't know that you nodded, that you were pliant and soft for him as he undressed you fully and took you to a bath. It was all like there was a pleasantly weighted fog over your senses as he fed you, rubbed oils into you, dressed you for bed and climbed in behind you like a lover. Like Johnny.

-

“Sir, we've tried. It's like she wisnae ever here tae begin with. Nae trace of whoever took her. Whoever it is, they're a ghost.”

Johnny barked out a bitter, manic sort of laugh. 

“A ghost aye? Fucking Riley.”

“Garrick and Price were spotted naw far frae the border just this morn, if it was him that took her then he's naw far.”

“Cannae imagine so, why take himself a pretty prize unless he intends tae dangle it in front of me.”

“Orders sir?”

“Get me information. Going tae take her back obviously. Fuck the Scottish back in tae her if she's lost her way.”

And this time he'd made sure it fucking stuck even if he had to carve his fucking name into your skin to prove who you belonged to. 

[galactic-rhea]

More silly Luke Skysilverfoxwalker doodles

in my mind, almost nothing of the sequels is canon, but Luke is still grumpy and somewhat depressed, his dad tries to help tho

[see-arcane]

(please imagine the following being shouted in the loudest possible car salesman voice)

DRACULA SEQUEL HORROR PODCAST!

ACTUALLY ORIGINAL PREMISE THAT ISN'T MAKING DRACULA AND MINA BLOWUP DOLLS DO KISSY KISSY!

QUEER CAST! THEY ARE THE MAIN CHARACTERS!

ARCHIVES! GHOSTS! GHOULS! VAMPIRES! THE MOORS!

MINA AND JONATHAN HARKER AS THEIR CANON HEROIC SELVES! DRACULA AS AN EVIL SEVERED HEAD IN A BACKPACK!

COOL KICKSTARTER TIER GOODIES!

THREE DAYS LEFT!

LISTEN TO THE EPISODE! DONATE! SHARE!

GO GO GO!

[bikananjarrus]

thinking about the remaining members of the ghost crew after the liberation of lothal. they've freed lothal, which is like a second home to them, but the victory is bittersweet. because kanan is still gone. ezra is still gone. and they have to return to yavin, triumphant but grieving, ezra's message still ringing in their ears. thinking about them having to fill out reports for the rebellion, saying that they're two spectres short. having to start dealing with the questions from people around them: where's spectre 1? where's spectre 6? (dead. missing in action). hera discovering she's pregnant just a few weeks later and it's a joyous moment for the remaining ghost crew, but it brings a fresh wave of grief too. because the other two members of their crew should be there. just thinking about them throwing themselves into the rebellion, taking it day by day with the ever-present reminder that their family is incomplete. because there are holes in their life where kanan and ezra should be (where's spectre 1? where's spectre 6?) (still dead. still missing in action. but maybe he's dead too. maybe he has been the whole time).

[its-to-the-death]

Glasses Swag Sequel Round 3

Sissel (Ghost Trick) vs Kim Kitsuragi (Disco Elysium)

[ladylynse]

'Write something of a sequel' won the poll, so people can drop the names of fics they'd like to see that 'something of a sequel' for the next poll.

(Apologies to all the folks who just want me to update my WIPs instead of writing something else.)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Break-In 2

Character: God the Bounty Hunter

Warnings: this drabble includes elements which may be dark. Please mind these warnings and take care.

Explicit, 18+. Please reblog and leave some feedback.

Another morning has you groggy, your feet heavy and clumsy as you rub your eyes and stagger through the early dim. Your body goes into autopilot as your brain is still half-asleep. You put a new pod in the coffee maker but knock over another used capsule as you go to open the cupboard. You catch it before it can roll off the counter. It’s still warm. 

You stare as you hold onto the little plastic cup full of wet coffee grounds. You perk up as your ears prick at the thrum through the walls. How hadn’t you noticed the running shower? You set the pod down and back away from the counter. 

You tiptoe down the hall and put your ear to the bathroom door. You live alone... 

You recoil as your mind returns to that night you were certain was a walking nightmare or at the very least some distorted episode of sleep paralysis. This is very much real. Like before, there’s just enough doubt to disturb you. 

You retreat and check the balcony door at the opposite end of the front room. It’s locked. Your foot hits a pair of boots just beside the door and you look down at the dark heap, laces tucked into the top. Holy shit. 

You run back across the apartment. The shower cranks and the pipes still. As you come to the bathroom door, it opens in a plume of smoke. You stop short and stare, waiting for the intruder to appear. What are you doing? You need something. A knife or a frying pan. Anything. 

You creep forward and peek around the door frame as the humidity seeps out into the hall. It’s that same man. He has a towel around his waist as he uses a travel toothbrush and growls at himself in the mirror. You pull back and press your shoulders to the wall. 

It’s him. That spectre who haunted your couch only to disappear with the daylight. You take a step to the side and the sink shuts off as the man spits into the porcelain. Another step and he clears his throat. 

“I’m almost done,” he calls out. 

You freeze and gape towards the rectangle of light that shines onto the wall. His silhouette blots it out and he leans forward just enough for you to glimpse his profile. You don’t know what to say or do. 

“You don’t want to get hurt.” 

You think he’s asking but you can’t tell. 

He sighs, “well neither do I.” 

He goes back into the bathroom as you linger in ominous fog of his words. You stand straight and turn to face the hallway, wavering in indecision. Last time he left without issue. There wasn’t a single sign of him left, so much so that you’d really believed he was just a hallucination. It gives you hope that this time will be the same. 

He emerges as he zips up his pants, his shirt over his arms, the harness with the large knife dangling next to it. He shuts off the light, casting himself in darkness, and closes in on you as you scramble backwards. He has you on your heels as you veer and dodge him as you back up into the kitchen. He passes without a glance. 

“Money,” he reaches over the counter that divides the kitchen from the front room and places something on the ledge, “for the coffee and laundry.” 

You squint as he continues on through the darkness. You hesitate then inch towards the coffee machine. You take down a mug and place it under the spout. You need caffeine before you can deal with this. 

[marlynnofmany]

One delightful thing about being a writer is when you get to make references to your own stuff.

The new space shanty sung by one character turns out to be based on something that happened to the other recently. And the same song will probably be years-ago history in the thing I'm going to write next week.

I always loved that sort of thing in the books I grew up reading. "OMG the ghost in this one scene is the main character from that other trilogy! And these other characters are reading a history about the stuff that happened in the first books! I am going to read this very carefully."

It's pretty awesome to be able to do bits of that same thing in my own writing. Even if I'm the only one who ever gets some of the more obscure references, I'm having a great time with them.