#until they can dubiously get my consent

[ant-diary]

I think I have maybe decided to tell someone I no longer want to be friends with them, but I'm wondering if I should give it a few more days before I commit to it

[toppamplemousse]

may i request a fic where Pierre or Seb takes advantage of Charles? like when he's high or sleepy. there are not many somno fics.

ok FIRSTLY ... hard to articulate but while we love our fans and fic requests, we can't just like, churn stuff out, ya know? and with that being said, i did write over 1k words for this! LOL

got carried away with (as a friend so nicely put it): seb is just this lecherous late 30s dubiously moral gay….. finding this blushy giggly naïve little fem twink…. who embarrasses easily and is prone to humiliating himself….. better than his wildest dreams

so anyway. cw: somnophilia, highly dubious consent, exhibitionism (i suppose), seb making fun of charles, feminization. mild rancid vibes. oh and its chussy. idc if thats you wanted.

It was truly as though Charles had been forged right out of one of Sebastian’s wettest dreams. It took a while for him to open up properly, always so nervous and blushing and uncomfortable in front of other people, especially Sebastian’s friends. Sebastian had an inkling it was a facade, that Charles wanted them all to be looking at him, leering at him, thinking about cheating on their wives for him and living out their wildest, dirtiest fantasies. 

And it drove Sebastian wild. To have a pretty, young thing like Charles always flushed bright red, big doe eyes the essence of innocence. Sebastian’s friends always had something to say about it, too, about how Charles was too pretty, how feminine he was without trying, a little plaything to keep around and entertain and embarrass. 

Sebastian felt bad about it, at first, until he realized how much Charles liked it. 

He’d beg Seb to stop and he’d plead with shame spread so beautifully across his features, and then he’d get on his knees and let Sebastian use his pretty little mouth and then beg for more. 

Charles was insatiable; ravenous and animalistic. Sebastian could pull on his pretty hair and slap his pretty ass and fuck his pretty little cunt while pressed against the wall until Charles was blotchy and teary-eyed, hungry for more.

–

They sit in the back of a taxi that winds through the streets on the way back to Sebastian’s apartment. Charles had a fair amount to drink for his small frame, stumbling out of the bar as they left. It was cute, Sebastian’s friends all jeered at him, wolf-whistling at the way Seb had to maneuver Charles’ skirt to get him into the car, knowingly flashing them a glimpse of the lacy pair of painties underneath. 

Sebastian thinks it was one of the first times Charles had smoked, too, based on the way he coughed after his first hit. It was adorable, his pink lips spluttering and his ever-present blush spreading across his neck. Sebastian had rubbed a hand against his back, soothing, before squeezing his ass briefly, and his friends had merely laughed. 

“Is your little girlfriend alright?” They had said, and Charles retreated into the crook of Seb’s neck. Not a girl, Charles had whispered against Seb’s ear, and Seb had just laughed at him, hand resting dangerously near the top of Charles’ thigh and responded, but you are my good little girl, no? All dressed up so pretty in her little outfit? And Seb had felt the way Charles’ thighs squeezed together.

But now, Charles rests his head against the door of the taxi, eyes fluttering closed every so often. Seb’s hand rests on his thigh, stroking the soft, pale skin there. Charles looks angelic, almost, so serene in his tipsy state, unable to keep his head up properly. Sebastian slides his hands slightly further up, and watches how Charles’ breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t move. 

He wonders how far he can go. 

When Sebastian’s hand slips under the hem of the skirt and sits in the crease of Charles’ hips and thighs, Charles fidgets briefly, his head lolling back onto the seat, and Sebastian just leaves it there for a moment. His finger just toys with the lace of Charles’ panties, slowly pushing back and forth, feeling the way the smooth silk rubs against his skin. 

Sebastian just wants a taste, the mere thought of Charles’ panties making his cock strain painfully against his jeans. His finger slips underneath, and Charles flinches, mumbling something of incoherence. Sebastian continues, sliding his hand down until he feels the hot, wet folds of Charles’ cunt, already dampening his underwear. 

“Fuck, baby.” Seb scoots slightly closer, eyes darting to the cab driver to ensure they are somewhat subtle, and moves his hand back and forth lightly along Charles’ cunt. A whimper escapes his mouth, Charles’ eyebrows furrowed slightly, but his eyes stay closed. 

It feels – Seb has to count to ten and take a deep breath. It’s so wet, sticky on his fingertips and Seb just wants to overpay the taxi driver to stay quiet and bounce Charles on his cock then and there. He moves his hand, rubbing it over the sensitive bump of Charles’ clit and watches how his whole body twitches in response. Charles is always so sensitive, every delicate touch causing him to moan and shudder, and it’s no different now. 

Sebastian stifles a moan, lip catching between his teeth, and as he goes to press a finger into Charles, the taxi driver announces that they have reached their destination. Seb immediately yanks his hand away, hands the cash over to the driver, and helps Charles get out of the car. It’s cute – like a baby giraffe, or something – the way he can barely walk on his two legs, murmuring into Sebastian’s neck as he walks them into his apartment. 

They finally get to the apartment, Charles has a glass of water and can at least open his eyes, and Sebastian pushes him onto the bed, letting the skirt fall open above his panties, jerks himself off hot and fast into his fist, and comes all over Charles’ stomach and cunt.

–

Sebastian knows Charles is young, much younger than himself. And Charles is so small. Seb’s shorter, only by a little, but Charles is just…small. He has a little waist and dainty fingers and slender legs, and all to say, he just never manages to hold his alcohol. The lightest of lightweights Sebastian has ever met. 

It’s cute, in the same way a child misspelling a word might be cute. Always so bright-eyed and eager to hang out with Sebastian and his friends, to keep pace with them, until he’s wobbly in the knees and bumping into tables as he walks. A permanent stain of red on his cheeks. 

So it’s a surprise to no one, that Charles has curled up, snoring lightly on the couch half way through the night. His legs are tucked into himself, leaning against the armrest with his face curled into his arms. Seb had been rubbing soothing circles into Charles’ back when they sat down, knowing that there was no way Charles could stay awake. It doesn’t matter what music is playing, or how much raucous laughter echoes throughout the apartment – a few glasses of wine, and Charles can stay sleeping. 

Sebastian’s hand now just rests on the small of Charles’ back as he talks to Mark on his left. He is playing with the waistband of Charles’ skirt, a little pleated thing he wore with a sweater for the party. It suits him quite well, the paler skin of Charles’ thighs just peeking out from the hem. Sebastian’s not really paying attention to what Mark is saying, too focused on the curve of Charles’ hips, his soft breathing pattern, the eyelashes fanning his cheeks. 

Slowly, he slides his hand down Charles’ ass, squeezing slightly as he goes. Everything about Charles is so pliant, so willing. Under the hem of the skirt, Charles’ ass is covered by a set of panties – nothing too crazy, just a thong of sorts. He had been nervous, earlier, to wear it, but Sebastian assured him it was okay. And now, when Sebastian lightly kneads at the meat of Charles’ ass, he can feel the material under his fingertips. 

Mark has long stopped talking to Sebastian, focused on something else. Sebastian just can’t draw his eyes away from Charles’ beautiful sleeping figure. The soft press of his skin under Sebastian’s thumb feels electric. And if he were to just…move so slightly, if he were to just push the lace of the thong to the side, he could slide one of his fingers into Charles’ hot, wet cunt. 

Fuck. It’s always better than he remembers. No one else can really see, although Sebastian is long past the point of caring too much, and Sebastian just leaves his finger there, remaining still against Charles’ walls. It’s like a lesson in self-restraint, a cruel test, where all he really wants to do is climb right between Charles’ toned legs and dive right in with his tongue. Feel the way Charles would shiver and convulse under his mouth. 

He resumes talking to Mark, not even a flinch from Charles during any of this, and just as the one finger becomes comfortable, he slides another in next to it. It’s so tight, and he wriggles his fingers just slightly to make some room. Charles twitches in his sleep, but his face remains calm, a perfect little picture of serenity, and Sebastian turns away. 

The party ends eventually, Charles sleeping through the last few hours, and Seb with two fingers inside Charles for the final hour. His friends leave, Seb washes his hands before saying goodbye, and then he gently wakes Charles up. 

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

This week on "CJ needs to gush about DAO": Morrigan's dark ritual.

I adore Origins because depending on how serious you take roleplay, every decision you make is a thread that leads back to your origin, and in this case of the ritual, who you choose to romance can have a major impact on how you handle this choice.

For context, my canon run is with a female Tabris who romances Alistair and keeps him as a Grey Warden, and is close friends with Morrigan. It's more in character for my Tabris to reject Morrigan's ritual and not even bring it up to Alistair, which would result in her leaving him behind while she makes the ultimate sacrifice in killing the archdemon... however, agreeing to convince Alistair to do the ritual with Morrigan is the only choice in the entire game where I break roleplay because I'm selfish and weak and I want Tabris to live.

I have a lot of strong feelings about the ritual, like it hurts me. It makes me want to chew on furniture. I can talk about it until I can talk no more. I so badly want to be strong enough to remain in character and reject the ritual.

Let me explain: Tabris survives an origin that deals with sexual assault. She gets kidnapped on her wedding day, she watches the other kidnapped women and her husband get murdered, and then is too late to save Shianni from being assaulted... and Tabris carries that trauma with her throughout the entire game.

If the way to save her life is to ask the two most important people she cares about; one being her lover and the other being her best friend; who she knows hate each other, to have dubiously consensual sex in order to make a baby to absorb the old god soul... she's saying no. The last thing Tabris would ever do is put someone into a sexual situation where consent is at all dubious after what she saw happen to Shianni and nearly happened to herself. She'd rather die than force that upon Alistair and Morrigan.

That's what I mean when I say origin affects everything; I know some will side eye that with "Really? Your warden would rather die than let Alistair sleep with another woman? It's one time, and Alistair agrees to it, so no one needs to die?"

Let me be clear in saying this isn't a "Morrigan slept with my man" issue. Sure, that part's awkward and it sucks, but that's not even breaking water tension, let alone diving into the deep waters to the core of the issue.

For my Tabris, this is about betrayal, consent, and accepting fate.

The person offering Tabris this deal is someone she thought of as a trusted friend who has actually been lying to her the entire time. It doesn't matter what Morrigan's intentions are now or if she genuinely wants to save the wardens. She knew from the beginning why Flemeth sent her with them, she admits as much. She knew a warden would need to make the ultimate sacrifice and then leveraged that to get what she wants. Morrigan waited until the night before, when Alistair and the warden learn one of them has to die to defeat the archdemon, and took advantage of the high running emotions and possibly the fear of dying to make the warden agree to her ritual.

At least, that's how my Tabris interprets this confrontation. She feels betrayed by someone she came to love like a sister and went out of her way to help Morrigan with her mother upon learning what's in Flemeth's grimoire. And then that someone tells her no one needs to die, she just needs to convince Alistair to sleep with her... which is a huge fucking problem.

The Alistair and Tabris romance is slow; it took a long time for either of them to be comfortable with being emotionally vulnerable and trusting each other with basic intimacy, let alone sex. Tabris is mortified at the idea of putting Alistair in this situation. Not only would it feel like a betrayal on her part to ask that of him, but she knows the last thing Alistair ever wants to do is father a bastard who then goes on to grow up without him. How could she possibly ask him to do that?

Then you consider that ritual or no, there isn't a guarantee that they'll survive anyway. Say they do the ritual and Tabris dies anyway; she made Alistair sleep with Morrigan in order to save her and then she died anyway. Or if Alistair dies then Tabris gets to live with the fact that the last person Alistair was with was a woman he hates because she asked that of him… and either way, Morrigan gets to walk away with what she wanted.

Tabris led the group, and she's accepted that if Riordan dies [which he does] then she'll be the one to make the sacrifice, even if it means breaking both hers and Alistair's heart.... except she doesn't because I'm a coward who doesn't want to lose her because my worldstate isn't good without her in it but I also refuse to lose Alistair so I just pretend it plays out differently in my head it's fine-

But... that's how I play Tabris and view the situation. My friend @pi-creates and I have discussed the dark ritual at length. While I play a Tabris who romances Alistair, Pi plays a Mahariel who romances Morrigan, so we have vastly different interpretations of the ritual itself and Morrigan's intentions.

Which yeah, it makes total sense that someone who romanced Morrigan with a different origin, and has the option to do the ritual with her rather than asking someone else to do it, wouldn't see this the way I do.

To quote Pi: "Playing as a male warden in the Morrigan romance makes the whole situation feel different, and maybe it’s because she’s presenting it differently due to the emotional connection, but it feels more like she’s opening up about her initial instructions (that she had been given by Flemeth) and offering a solution to avoid the possibility of death. And for my Mahariel, the constant threat of sudden death has haunted him from the start – he caught the blight and was ripped away from his clan (something he did not want to do in the slightest), got forced into a Grey Warden ritual that could kill him, was forced into a battle that could kill him, going on this whole quest that he never wanted but has now become responsible for regardless of his thoughts on the matter… the dark ritual may be one of the few moments where he is presented with an option to decide if he wants to walk into certain death, or take actions of his own volition to stop it.

"The idea of the ritual still feels like a dodgy thing to do since the ultimate outcome is unknown at that point, he’s taking Morrigan at her word that it will save the warden and that this child would be unharmed, just with an old god soul that she isn’t exactly clear on why she wants that and is determined to runaway immediately after the battle to secure it properly. It could be interpreted that it’s purely a preservation thing, but I’m biased to wanting Morrigan's intentions to not be power based.

"But also, taking part in the ritual isn’t as outlandish for my warden since he and Morrigan have already been involved in an intimate relationship. It’s the future of the ritual that is scarier – the idea of this old-god baby, and the idea of Morrigan insisting that she’s leaving afterwards when Mahariel and her have a loving relationship. He’s hurting, but he doesn’t want to die, he doesn’t want Alistair to die, he doesn’t want Morrigan to leave, he definitely doesn’t want pregnant Morrigan to leave on her own… it’s complicated, but for completely different reasons."

And I find that fascinating. I want to know how other players approach this part of DAO, what origins they play, and who they romanced. Seriously, this is an invitation to anyone reading to share their thoughts.

What about a warden who doesn't even have Alistair in their party because they made Loghain a warden? Is there anyone out there who has Loghain do the ritual with Morrigan and why? What about male wardens who don't romance her? Do you choose to do it with her anyway, or do you ask Alistair or Loghain to do it? Do you tell Morrigan to fuck off with the ritual? Why? Who makes the ultimate sacrifice in that case? And what about Morrigan herself? How do you interpret her intentions/motivations? I want to know.

I'm telling you, this is a discussion that gets me excited, as most discussions about DAO do.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Shackled (Chapter 9)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader

Warning: There are some intense, dubiously consenting and nonconsensual sexual themes in this series, MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.

Summary: You hate Outer Banks with a passion and are working hard to get out despite all the obstacles in your way. Rafe himself eventually becomes one of those obstacles after a night of low impulse control. Will you be able to overcome him or with you have no choice but to submit.

Slow Burn

Series Masterlist

It’s been 6 weeks since you’ve last been home, and your weekly schedule has completely changed.

When Rafe comes to pick you up on Mondays, you do all necessary errands, chores, and repairs (it's why it’s his second most hated day of the week, the first being Friday). Bringing laundry over to his house to use his washer and dryer, then bringing it back over Tuesday morning.

Rafe usually insists on getting breakfast, maybe chilling at the beach or country club, or hanging out with Kelce and Topper, who were wary of you but eventually learned to tolerate your presence. It helped that Rafe got a little snippy whenever they copped an attitude with you.

Mary tried to contact you twice, but her passive-aggressive speech withheld a response from you.

But Ether seemed a bit more genuine; it looked like she got over the idea of you and Rafe being together and wanted the details of how it came about. You ignored her the first few times, but she was persistent, so you eventually gave in.

Since your rendezvous at the beach, Rafe had gotten a tad more clingy, constantly touching, holding, and kissing you as often as he could.

You have to beat him off with a bat to let you go to the mainland on weekends. He concedes but not without some kind of resistance. One week he threatened not to drive you to the ferry, eventually yielding when he realized you were willing to walk to the bus stop to get there.

He’s also gotten a bit braver with his public affection for you. He must have thought it was ok since the prominent people you were hiding from, Mary and Ether already knew.

You got a nickname from the younger pogues on the cut: Wannabe. The kooks just call you a gold digger. But not in front of Rafe, never in front of Rafe, considering how feral he gets whenever anyone insults you.

You can’t say the attention you’ve managed to garner up until this point wasn’t expected. However, you were still very much uncomfortable with it.

Since the beach, you’ve sort of just accepted everything that happens.

In very few words, Rafe admitted to being in your corner on this miserable island. Although you weren’t sure how much of that sentiment you could trust, you were willing to ride the wave until you fell off.

It was Tuesday, and Rafe was pulling into his driveway. You had just dropped off laundry at your father's house, surprised to find him on the couch snoozing, but you managed to get in and get out without waking him up.

The last time your father has been on the couch mid-morning, he’d just been fired by Ward Cameron, Rafe’s father. You were hoping that history wasn’t repeating itself.

“I was thinking we could order in some Chinese?” Rafe opens the front door allowing you to walk in ahead before closing it.

You shrug your shoulder, indicating your indifference, heading towards the kitchen for a drink of water.

“Hey,” he pulls you by the waist before you can get past the kitchen island to reach the fridge. “What's wrong?”

“My dad was home.” your voice low unsure of what to make of the situation.

Rafe cocks his head to the side in confusion “ So what?”

“Last time he was home Midday, he lost his job,” you clarify.

Rafe nods his head in understanding before lifting your body to place you on top of the island.

“Don’t worry, you could always stay with me?” he moves to situate himself between your legs.

“Can my dad stay with us too?” you ask, playfulness in your voice.

“No,” he said it with such finality you didn’t know how to respond.

His face softens before he moves to plant licks and kisses along your neck. His hands creep around your waist before he squeezes and pulls you closer. Shifting his mouth down towards your cleavage.

You can feel the mood accelerating before something catches the corner of your eye. It was a bookbag, covered in sparkly accessories, sitting on the sofa in the living room. It could blend in with the modern decor of the space it occupies.

The bookbag could be considered juvenile, and where there were youthful objects, there were juveniles. You could feel a drop in your stomach when you realized what might be happening.

“Rafe,” you whisper, trying to catch his attention.

He moans before moving his fingers underneath your top.

You place your hands over his own to stop him.

“Rafe!” you repeat. “I think someone is here.”

At this, he lifts his head, and you point in the direction of the book bag. It takes him a minute before he notices his fingers twitch against your skin as if contemplating whether or not he should continue.

“She could’ve just left her stuff and gone back out.” he shrugs.

“No, she’s home,” an unknown voice chimes.

Rafe quickly removes his hands from under your shirt but doesn’t move to let you off the island.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “Aren’t you supposed to be in school in something?” waving a hand around to emphasize the disruption of her attendance.

“ School let out early today,” she says. “Hi, I’m Wheezy.” she holds her hand for you to shake.

You awkwardly grab it, responding with your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Wheezy.”

You’ve never met with Rafe's family; you only ventured to shared spaces when they weren’t home. Otherwise, you were a recluse, coddled in the corners known as Rafe’s room.

“You’re Rafe’s girlfriend, right?”

Before you could fix your mouth to say no, Rafe quickly responded with a Yes. You almost get whiplash with how quickly you turn your head to look at him. But he pays you no mind as his youngest sister has most of his attention.

He finally backs away, pulling you off the island and letting go once you’ve settled on your feet.

“People have been talking about you a lot,” she says. “I never thought Rafe would be into pogues.”

“Wheezy!” Rafe hisses.

“Honest;y, neither did I, but here I am” you take a peek at Rafe, and it looks as though you offended him.

You give him a look before turning back to Wheezy, “so we were about to order some Chinese. Did you want some?”

“For Sure. Get me some extra wontons please,” she smiles before heading into the living room “can we watch a movie while we eat?”

“Whatever,” Rafe responds.

Wheezy hops on the couch, grabbing the remote and shifting through the apps on the television. You turn toward Rafe as he pulls out his phone, searching for the restaurant number.

“Why did you tell her I was your girlfriend?” your voice lowered so Wheezy couldn’t hear. You needed to know Rafe's reasoning before you embarrassed him in front of his little sister.

“What? Was I supposed to tell a 13-year-old that we’re fuck buddies?” he says

“No, but you didn’t have to lie and say we were in a relationship either.”

“Two randos just making out on a fucking island,” he dials the number putting the phone to his ear “trust me, it’s easier this way– Hey, I’d like to put in an order” Rafe walks away, making the order.

You look back into the living room to catch Wheezy staring at you before she quickly turns her head back to the TV.

You sigh.

It could be easier this way. It’s not like you bothered to correct Mary and Ether when they called you out at the country club. And people seem to be getting those vibes from you anyways. As long as Rafe knew what it was, you’d didn’t see a reason to correct it.

—

When it rains, it pours.

Wheezy seemed a bit wary of you at first but eventually warmed up to you throughout the movies and Chinese food.

Before you know it, Ward, Rose, and Sarah are walking in through the front door, and like a deer caught in headlights, you stand there waiting for someone else to make the first move.

Ward clearly isn’t happy, asking who you were and what you were doing in his house. This seemed to offend Rafe as he again claimed you as his girlfriend. The look on Sarah’s face should have been documented and placed in a museum labeled ultimate confusion.

Rose didn’t seem to mind you, though, asking you to dinner. Unsure of what to do with yourself, you respond with “Sure.”

What have you gotten into?

[chellyfishing]

So I’m on the last book in the villains & virtues trilogy by AK Caggiano which I am absolutely loving and I just real quick wanted to talk about something the author has been doing that I think is so cool and I’m putting it under a cut mostly because it’s sexual in nature (oblique references to SA also):

The conceit of the book is that we have our villainous bad boy, “Damien Maleficus Bloodthorne” (these books are VERY self-aware) and a good girl named Amma, and they are forced together by The Circumstance and despite initially clashing they end up developing feelings for each other.

In the first two books we learn about a villain Amma knew in her previous life before meeting Damien, and while it’s never discussed explicitly or any amount of detail, the two had a sexual relationship that was dubiously consensual at absolute best (that’s the “person who treated her like an object” mentioned above), and there’s a scene in which he outright attempts to force himself on her. That guy is from the jump unequivocally a villain. He is charming to others but in private he is cruel and violent with Amma and we want him gone.

With Damien, however, she’ll frequently find herself in situations where he has to boss her around or tie her up (honestly one of my favorite scenes, it’s so funny) and she realizes she’s actually super into it. And here finally the author really highlights why this is surprising and puzzling to Amma: why is it okay with Damien when it wasn’t before?

And the reason is because by the time Amma has become attracted to Damien, she knows she is safe. She knows, for example, that when he ties her up he’s not really tying her up, she’s not in real danger, but illusion of it is there, and that’s what she finds thrilling. A man actually being controlling and domineering, a man who disregards her boundaries and lack of consent, is terrifying and horrible. A man she knows by this point is actually kind, will not hurt her (…not like that anyway), will not force himself on her, is actually very appealing even (especially) when he’s being a little rough with her.

Damien has the ability to literally force (via magic) Amma to do things but when he does this, it’s a violation. She doesn’t like it at all and the closer they get the less and less he uses it until he stops all together. But if he tells her what to do without the magic word, with her knowing she can refuse without being retaliated against, then it becomes fun and sexy.

Anyway I’ve just never seen an author really do something so deliberate and pointed like this before when it comes to ideas of danger and control in romance! She likes being dominated but in a safe and consensual way and when it’s not those things it’s portrayed as bad and horrible because it is! I love it!!

I recommend these books very much, they are so fun and funny, but I hasten to add that you shouldn’t expect explicit sex. Just as The Circumstance brought them together, it also keeps them arm’s length apart. The tension is real but there’s very little acting on it, though they get close occasionally. Mostly it’s just been a little kissing. I guess it would be classified as a slow burn? But I’m just realizing maybe I don’t know what that means? They haven’t smashed by the beginning of the third book is what I’m getting at, just a little kissing and some PG-13 tension and longing. He did say the word cock and where he’d like to put it at one point.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 26

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best

---------

Chapter 26

---------

Three days after their six-month anniversary, Peter was a mess of nerves. He'd woken up much earlier than he'd wanted, even though the night before Stephen had said they could have a lie-in until at least seven-thirty and they'd stop at the local coffee shop for donuts prior to their appointment at the BCSS office.

"Peter," Stephen said, taking the tie he'd worried into a wrinkled mess and setting it aside. "Everything is going to be fine." He picked another tie after looking at what Peter was wearing and after positioning Peter just so, went about tying it for him.

"I know, I know," Peter fussed. "I can't help that I'm nervous."

"We'll get through this and then we'll enjoy the rest of our day, hmm?" Stephen adjusted the tie with a critical look. "There's a new exhibit at the natural history museum in Upper York."

That got Peter's attention. "Really?"

"Yes. It's based on the latest findings from deep sea explorations."

"That sounds both exhilarating and potentially terrifying," Peter said.

"Agreed." Stephen looked at his Kang watch. "We should get going."

"And my tie looks good?" Peter asked.

"I tied it," Stephen said with a smirk. "Of course it looks good."

"Who are we talking with, again?" Peter asked as they waited in the lobby of the satellite office.

"I'm meeting with Mr. Fury and you're meeting with Ms. Hill," Stephen said after consulting the confirmation message he'd received when making their appointment.

"Okay, good."

"Do you know them?"

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "Kind of. Fury was the head custodian and assessor of my dorm while I was here. He didn't like me. Well, he didn't like any of us, really, but especially me."

Stephen's eyes narrowed. "What was his problem?" Who on earth would dislike Peter?

"I wasn't submissive enough, I guess." Peter shrugged. "I wasn't humble enough, either, and didn't know my place."

"And Hill?"

"She's mostly okay. She's kind of a hard-ass but she was always fair." He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I wasn't here all that long, right? I was here for less than a month."

It was an incredible thought.

Less than a month and in that time Stephen had visited to inquire about selecting a spouse. He’d happened to catch a glimpse of Peter playing chess in their recreation hall and his decision had been made.

Foolhardy, sure.

But Peter was beautiful. Stephen had barely even skimmed over the profile the Assessor had reluctantly given him, claiming that Peter wasn’t “as gracefully settled into his place here as we’d prefer our potential spouses to be.” He'd ignored the stack of profiles that the Assessor had laid out ready for his review.

But what was done was done.

He hadn’t wanted a spouse, at all. But he had wanted Peter.

Now he had Peter and he'd be damned if anyone but Peter ended their marriage.

They'd sat waiting for close to twenty minutes before someone approached them.

"Appointment for Strange?" At Stephen's nod, the woman and her companion offered them a brief smile. "Good morning," the older woman said. "I'm Agent Melinda May. For this part of your Sixth-Month Assessment, you'll be interviewed separately." She motioned to the other woman. "This is Agent Kara Palamas. She'll escort Mr. Strange and Dr. Strange, you can follow me."

Peter reluctantly followed Assessor Palamas at Stephen's nod. "How long will the first part take?" He asked.

"It usually lasts for about two hours," the woman said. "It may go longer if your Assessor feels there's a need to dig deeper."

That didn't reassure Peter at all. He didn't know why it would need to be that long. Just what were they expecting from him?

Peter was shown into a bright office that he unfortunately recognized from roughly seven months prior.

Why was he in Fury's office? He was supposed to be meeting with Hill!

"Just have a seat and Nick will be with you shortly."

Peter wanted to protest and insist there had been a mistake. But he wanted the Assessment over more.

He plopped himself in a chair and did his best to relax. It was just a few hours in total. Just a few hours and then he and Stephen would go to Upper York and have a nice rest of their day.

"Mr. Parker," came a smooth voice. "Welcome back."

"It's Mr. Strange," Peter corrected, looking at the man.

Nick Fury was a tall black man who always seemed to know something everyone else didn't. He was suspicious by nature and rarely amused. He'd run Peter's dormitory with an iron fist and Peter, for some reason, had been the subject of his ire and disdain from the moment the BCSS had moved him to Sanctum Heights.

"Ah, yes. Your Selecting spouse is the renowned Dr. Strange. You did well for yourself, landing a doctor. I'd have never believed it if I hadn't seen the contract with my own eyes."

"I wasn't trying to land anyone," Peter said. And he hadn't been. He'd just been trying to keep out of jail and off the streets. He knew he'd lucked out with Stephen.

"We had a slew of candidates hand-picked for Dr. Strange," Fury told him, sitting down behind his giant desk. "We'd chosen the best candidate profiles to present to him. Each one was educated, accomplished in a variety of ways, and exactly the kind of person who could move with ease in a top-surgeon's privileged world. But instead he insisted on you."

Peter shrugged. "I can't speak for my husband." But Stephen wanted me, Peter thought. He thought I was beautiful and he picked me. He didn't see the fuss himself, but apparently Stephen did.

"No, no you can't. I'm glad you've retained some of the education we tried to provide you. You weren't exactly receptive to self-improvement."

Peter bit his tongue. No, he hadn't been receptive to Fury's attempts to browbeat him into submission. He wasn't going to act like he was some lesser person just because he was a selected spouse. The other custodians hadn't expected it of him; why did Fury?

"We might as well get started," Fury said. "There's quite a list to get through." He motioned to a thick packet. "And I'll be recording this."

"Did Stephen sign off on that?" Peter asked. He knew Stephen would need to.

"He did," Fury said.

"I want to see it," Peter insisted.

With a put-upon sigh, Fury printed off a document from his computer.

Peter reviewed it carefully and sure enough, there was Stephen's signature - he recognized it well. "Okay, then."

Fury started to ask Peter questions.

"How was your first day as spouses?"

Peter considered. "Long, kind of a blur, looking back. We had a nice dinner and then went home."

"And did you allow your Selecting spouse to assert his rights?"

Peter fought the blush that wanted to creep up on his neck and face. He succeeded, even! "I did," he said evenly. "I don't deny him."

"And to your knowledge, is he satisfied with your performance?"

"I enjoy sex with you Peter, very much, and as you've experienced, I have no problem indulging."

"Yes."

"How can you be sure?"

Really? That was important for them to know? "If Stephen is unhappy with something, he has no problem making it known."

Eventually Fury started back on the packet and went down the list of questions. Peter gave simple answers, much to Fury's annoyance.

Do you have any concerns regarding your marriage?

No, I don't have any concerns regarding my marriage.

Peter really didn't, not after the progress they'd made. It wasn't something he'd exactly wanted, but he was content now.

Do you have any concerns regarding your Selecting Spouse?

No, I don't have any concerns regarding my Selecting Spouse.

Stephen was a good husband and very fair. For the first few weeks, he'd been very concerned, but he and Stephen had found their rhythm soon enough. Now, he knew that Stephen at least cared about him. His biggest concern was how lonely Stephen seemed to be, sometimes.

Are you afraid to express your thoughts and emotions to your Selecting Spouse?

No, I'm not afraid to express my thoughts and emotions to my Selecting Spouse.

Peter felt that he and Stephen were in a good place. Peter knew that Stephen found his smart mouth amusing most of the time. And the times Stephen didn't... well, Peter's ass paid for it. He had a much better idea of where the line was.

Do you feel alone?

No, I don't feel alone.

He didn't, not really. Stephen wasn't the most outgoing of people but they spent plenty of time together. Stephen went out of his way to keep their date nights on Friday evenings.

What communication obstacles do you face?

Our biggest obstacle to communication is that neither of us are big on sharing, let along oversharing.

He and Stephen were both private people. But they'd gotten better about it, for sure.

On and on the questions went. Peter answered truthfully to the best of his ability, even though some questions, like Do you feel sexually satisfied in your marriage? were embarrassing enough that even keeping his answers short and to the point, he couldn't control his blushing, much to Fury's amusement.

Every so often Peter would give an answer and that would prompt Fury to ask more questions. Peter had no idea just what the man was looking for.

As the clock showed the two hour mark approaching, Fury finished up with his packet.

"Wait right here while I go check in with Ms. Hill," Fury said. "Then you'll move into the next phase of this assessment."

Left alone in the office, Peter stood and started pacing. It was stupid, to let this room have any kind of power over him when he was so clearly out of the man's grasp. It was just another office, occupied by just another man who for some reason, felt that Peter was an easy mark.

Had Fury even read the books on the shelves? And just who was he friends with that he'd take a picture with?

Peter stepped closer to look at the photo.

His heart went cold.

It was a photo of Fury... with Quentin Beck.

Stephen followed Assessor May to an office where she bid him to sit.

"They'll be right with you," she said.

He sat, hoping Peter was doing okay. His young husband had been a nervous wreck; it hadn't mattered how many times Stephen tried to reassure him. He'd have to treat him that afternoon - maybe something in addition to their trip to the natural history museum.

"Dr. Strange, I'm Assessor Maria Hill."

He studied the woman who entered the office and frowned. "I thought I was going to be speaking with Assessor Nick Fury."

Hill checked the packet she carried. "Nope. Must have been an error. Sometimes the system puts assessors in the wrong order." He very much doubted that. "Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?"

"No, thank you." He held up his bottle of water and briefly wondered if Fury was extending Peter the same offer.

"We'll be going over some basic questions, all routine. And as you've previously approved, we'll be recording this visit."

"That's fine with me."

"Tell me about your first day as a married couple."

Oh, hell. This was a mistake.

"It was busy, what with the time spent here signing the contract, meeting, and then marrying Peter. We had a nice dinner out and then went home. It was pleasant enough, if awkward."

He'd been ecstatic that Peter was his and determined to not let any of that show. He hadn't lied when he told Peter that day that he hadn't wanted a spouse; he still resented having his hand forced. But oh, he could hardly bring himself to do much talking over dinner because he couldn't quite believe that it was actually real.

"And did Peter allow you to assert your rights at his Selecting Spouse?"

"He did, yes."

It hadn't been a smooth night, certainly. Peter had been emotionally wrought and defaulted to angry words in an attempt to push the inevitable back. Stephen had tried to give him some time to clear his head and when that hadn't worked... Well, he'd had to put Peter over his knee and inform him exactly how things were going to be.

It was nothing like how he'd wanted their first night to go, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

"Is there anything you'd like to add to that?" Hill asked, looking amused.

"No," he said flatly. It was none of their business.

"Are you satisfied with Peter's performance?"

What the hell kind of question was that?

"I don't understand the question," he answered.

"Was Peter's submission that night acceptable to you?" Hill rephrased.

"Yes."

Peter had submitted so beautifully to him in bed later that night and knowing that he was Peter's first still gave him a rush of euphoria he didn't think would ever fade. If things worked out the way he wanted them to he'd be Peter's only.

Hill wrote something down on her packet and then started going through the questions. He kept his answers simple and to the point. They didn't need to know the inner-workings of his marriage to Peter. Peter was his husband and what they thought didn't matter.

Do you have any concerns regarding your marriage?

I do not.

He and Peter were in a good place, he thought. They'd struggled some the first couple of months but overall he felt they were doing well.

Do you have any concerns regarding your Selecting Spouse?

No, Peter is wonderful and I have no concerns regarding him.

Peter was a bratty little smartass who was almost too clever for his own good and still too quick to brush off his own needs. He was funny, kind, generous, and just so... good it nearly hurt to be around him sometimes. But oh, he adored Peter.

Are you afraid to express your thoughts and emotions to your Selecting Spouse?

I'm not, no.

Well, he was getting better at it, at least. And Peter, whether he knew it or not, was helping with that tremendously. He still preferred to keep his own council, but he couldn't exactly expect Peter to do one thing while he himself did the opposite.

Do you feel alone?

I do not.

Stephen had never been the most outgoing of people and he'd often found connecting with others difficult. There were rare exceptions for people he found himself perfectly comfortable around, like with Tony and Sharon. There were others whose company he enjoyed and whom he admired, like Clea and Ava, Ben, Misty, and hell, even cantankerous Len. Nic was even growing on him.

He'd had a group of close friends and confidants two years ago, before they'd committed what he considered to be a massive betrayal and he'd found himself adrift and determined to bury his loneliness in his work.

Until Peter he hadn't realized how lonely he'd been.

It was hard to stay so closed off when Peter was just so open and friendly.

What communication obstacles do you face?

I can't discuss much about my work but otherwise we're fine.

He was a private person in general, and so, it seemed, was Peter. But they were getting better.

Everything with Peter was just... better.

He was relieved when they worked their way through the packet of questions.

"You know, I wasn't working at this particular satellite office when you approached us, but I've read up on your case. It's kind of funny; when you first inquired about selecting a spouse, the Bureau here bent over backwards to choose profiles they thought would be compatible. They were some of our most educated and accomplished candidates and you barely looked at them. Instead you insisted on a poor young man who'd barely settled in here. Why Peter?"

He hadn't wanted their profiles or their recommendations. Not after he'd caught that glimpse of Peter in the rec room playing chess.

"Call it a gut feeling," he said.

Peter had never been so glad to see Stephen in his life. He needed that cool, calming and protective presence of his like never before. With Stephen, he was safe.

Stephen wouldn't let anything happen to him, not ever.

In a separate waiting room, they sat and waited for the next phase of their assessment.

"Did everything go okay?" Stephen asked him quietly, when Peter's knee wouldn't stop jumping and he took Stephen's hand.

"Yeah, I'm just ready for this to be over," Peter said. It wasn't an outright lie.

"Did Fury upset you?"

Peter sighed and leaned into Stephen. "He always upsets me."

"Well, after today, I doubt you'll ever have to deal with him again," Stephen soothed. "We'll be done with this place."

"You're probably right," Peter agreed. Peter certainly hoped Stephen was right. Knowing what he knew now, he could never risk coming back to the BCSS.

It wasn't long before Assessor Palamas came and escorted them to yet another room.

How many rooms does this damned place have? Peter wondered.

It was the most welcoming space Peter had seen thus far in the entire center. It was light and open, with a cozy little couch across from a dark navy leather armchair. Nothing about it felt sinister, stiff, or overly bureaucratic. It was simply comfortable.

The man who entered - carrying yet another packet, of course - seemed pleasant enough. He smiled at them and following Stephen's lead, Peter rose to shake his hand.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," he said. "I'm Agent Triplett. Please, have a seat. I'm sure you've had a long morning so I'll do my best to keep this moving along."

"We appreciate it," Stephen said.

The setting this time didn't leave Peter feeling uncomfortable and Triplett was much nicer than Fury had ever been. There didn't seem to be any artifice in the man, though Peter's radar for that was, he would freely admit, terribly unreliable.

"Overall, how would you describe the current state of your marriage?"

Peter looked to Stephen before answering. When he got the nod to go ahead, he did. "I think we're in a good place," he said. "It was a little rough the first couple of months but we figured it out."

"And do you agree with that assessment, Dr. Strange?"

"I do," Stephen answered.

"Well, you might be relieved to know that that sentiment is fairly common in these marriages. It's when couples say they haven't had any rough spots that we start to worry."

He asked them more questions along the lines of "Do you feel the Bureau did an adequate job in preparing you both for your marriage?" and "Have either of you encountered any resistance from others regarding your marriage?" and "What feedback would you like to provide us?"

Peter followed Stephen's lead in answering and as he did so, felt much better about the day's events than he had prior to speaking to Triplett. Stephen keeping a hold of his hand had helped as well.

"Alright then," Triplett said. "That wraps us up for today. You'll receive a letter in the mail summarizing today's check-in and in five months, additional instructions as you approach the year-end mark. If you have any questions, please, don't hesitate to reach out to me personally." He gave Stephen a business card before shaking their hands again and personally escorting them to the front door.

Six months ago, Peter would have given anything to avoid getting in Stephen's Buick. Now, he wanted to dive into the front seat and beg Stephen to never bring them back.

Now, he'd give anything to stay with Stephen, where he was safe.

---------

[kenobster]

📝🗣️

please i just love u talking abt ur fics

From this ask game.

Ahhhh thanks so much, anon!!! I'm super flattered. :D

I'm still sloooowly working my way through the asks I have in my inbox, but this one luckily had great timing so I'm doing this one before the others. (Though maybe this isn't what you wanted, anon... in which case, my deepest condolences. XD)

🗣️ Talk about your favorite WIP

We are using this question as an excuse to talk about the Vader Mpreg AU, which is, in fact, my favorite AU, but also is convenient for another post I was gonna make today, haha.

For context, there are a few things you should know about me:

I did not watch The Rise of Skywalker until literally three or four weeks ago.

I have never written an mpreg in my life. (It's true that lizard brain craves noncon in a way that compels me to read the occasional mpreg... But while writing my own fic, I do try to keep lizard brain's demands as realistic and in character as humanly possible.)

Perhaps the most important thing to note: lizard brain always wins.

Anyway... this all started when I happened upon the RoS spoiler: "Rey is Palpatine's granddaughter" in the year of 2022. Having not watched the movie, I immediately wondered who the fuck the grandmother is (a question to which my actual RL mother ceaselessly chants "Mommy Mothmama" every time; do not ask me why.) Of course, lizard brain, being lizard brain, immediately headcanoned a dubiously consenting Darth Vader somehow being this elusive grandmother person. (The "somehow" was not important to lizard brain.)

For a year or so, I actually put off watching RoS — in small part because lizard brain didn't want its headcanons to be refuted. Fortunately for lizard brain, I have amazingly supportive friends who informed me that Rey is actually the daughter of a strand (aka a special Force clone) which was cast into the world only to hook up with some unknown female. Unfortunately for my friends, lizard brain realized that this information didn't refute its grandma!Vader headcanons at all. Quite the opposite in fact. 🙄

Thus, began the saga of lizard brain's precious Vader Mpreg AU.

In summary, Palpatine creates a synthetic uterus to host an ordinary clone of himself. Then, he implants the uterus into Vader's abdomen and fucks the shit out of him to get some perverse dark-sided Force magic going. Why, you ask? :) Well, dear anon, in order to transform this regular clone baby into a strand of course, lizard brain replies. :) :) :) To be clear, there is no creation of a vagina nor any other method to give birth. Instead, this strand baby, once ripe for the picking, is simply plucked from Vader's abdomen via c-section, and a newly prepped uterus is inserted in its place. After that, Palpatine repeats this process and all of its trial-and-error glory every nine months for the rest of Vader's life. (But don't worry; Vader will eventually flee to Obi-Wan, who is horrified to find his once-Padawan eight months pregnant.)

Honestly, excepting dubcon/noncon, this actually isn't that weird for me. Lizard brain already possesses a plethora of headcanons in which Palpatine modifies Vader's body. The uterus implanting kinda just feels like an extension of that. (For an example of these headcanons, urinary and intrarectal catheters have been installed into Vader's body, not out of medical necessity, but because it would be inconvenient for Vader to have to pee and poop while dressed in the suit. For another, maybe Palpatine put in a full-blown mechno spine replacement to eliminate bothersome nervous-system functions such as the registration of pain.)

In fact, while this body-modifying headcanoning won't enable live births or lactating breasts (for now.... please don't tempt my lizard brain), it will go beyond the uterus. :) For example... prepping Vader for sex sounds like an incredibly tiresome task, and it's not like anyone else can do it. Vader doesn't have any limbs, after all. Instead, Palpatine wonders, why not have Vader's anus be self-lubricating in way similar to that of a vagina? Why not scifi-gene-splice the shit out of that butt canal? Why the fuck not?

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

I feel like the above AU description is pretty clinical, so I thought it would be fun to bring some emotion back to it via the use of a snippet. So, enjoy the wildly inappropriate noncon of a pregnant male villain:

At some point, he realizes the truth—that it isn't him being fucked into the mattress, face down, ass hooked on his Master's cock. Sidious isn't fucking Darth Vader or even his body. Sidious isn't even fucking Anakin Skywalker. In actuality, Sidious is fucking the uterus. The womb. The fetus. The uncast strand, the unborn infant. In actuality, Sidious is fucking himself. The truth of it has him choking on the respirator, on a dry and tearless sob, because this isn't about him, none of this was ever about him, it's about what Sidious wants, what Sidious likes, what Sidious craves. Vader is only the conduit of this ritual—far less than a pet or even a slave. Once, yes, he may have been an object of Sidious's obsession, and maybe he liked that, maybe he liked the way that Sidious took pride in what was once his greatest creation, in twisting Anakin Skywalker into this charred and rotten beast of a Sith. Because, even loveless, Sidious's pride burns value into Vader's flesh. Makes Vader feel as if he matters, as if he's worth something, as if he can live up to the magnitude of the pressure smothering him from the inside out. Punishment, after all, and pain and strife and sorrow, are their own kind of affection, ideal for the swollen carcass of need festering within his chest, and often better than the shame that blooms with praise.  Right now, as his sphincter clenches around the cock inside him, as the base of his spine shoots overwhelming pleasure upward, as a fetus kicks at its shrinking walls pressed against the mattress, Vader finds that he is being neglected. The absence of Sidious's intimacy leaves his furnace-heart chilly and black and hollow, and he chokes and sobs and chokes and sobs, and the monotonous blue-blue-blue of this bedroom becomes half-blurred and dizzy as a torrent of tears spills from his right eye's still-functioning tear duct. The thrusting crests, and tapers out. Sidious's breathing evens, but Vader's choked sobs just won't die.

I would say I'm sorry, but I am who I am lmao.

[toxic-ship-tournament]

ROUND 1 / SIDE B / POLL 1

Ve’Qren x Lohl ( @zillastar13 ) vs Res x Leo ( @adanaac )

who makes up your ship?:

Ve'Qren x Lohl

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

Ve'Qren is a vampyr posing as an ancient pagan god to take advantage of the human sacrifices being preformed by the society he's deceiving. He's a manipulative and charismatic false god. Within two nights in his role, he has murdered a willing sacrifice, tortured a doubtful priest to set an example, and had highly dubiously consensual sex with Lohl. Lohl is the human high priest and wants nothing more than to serve to gods. He's utterly loyal, the sweetest thing, and easy to control. If Ve'Qren wants to drain someone of their blood, Lohl will find someone eager. If Ve'Qren wants to torture a priest, Lohl will watch reverently. If Ve'Qren wants to violate Lohl's celibacy vows, who is Lohl to stop him? They are a shining example of toxic relationships, and it's only a matter of time until Ve'Qren does something to keep Lohl, the object of his intense obsession, to himself. (Maybe even turning Lohl and letting him in on the ruse)

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

They're characters in my ongoing whump series. All of the chapters are linked in my pinned, but to start: Chapter one: https://www.tumblr.com/zillastar13/709917930705551360/blood-sacrifices The chapter where they get together: https://www.tumblr.com/zillastar13/713262473598386176/blood-sacrifices-part-five

****

who makes up your ship?:

Res and Leo.

why does your ship deserve to be considered the most toxic?:

Leo can’t remember anything that has happened to him before the age of twelve. All anyone knows is that he was in an accident that should have killed him, then he returned with an indestructible body and a void where his personality should be. He cannot comprehend good or evil, does not understand the concept known as ‘choice’, and cannot envision an existence where Res isn’t his Master. He imprinted onto Res the moment he met the other man and pushed himself into Res’ life without considering whether or not Res might want it. His first Master did not pass, he simply changed how he looked, and what he looks like now is Res. Period. He has nothing to offer, nothing to say, no emotions and no heart to give. All he knows are the facts, and the facts tell him that there is no Leo without Res. So he’ll make sure that there’s no Res without Leo. Res has always been very into science, but he isn’t too fond of how there are a bit too many restrictions on the experiments he can perform, and he’s even less fond of how they die whenever he tries some of his more ‘exciting’ stuff. Thankfully he has Leo, his little obedient puppy who will obey his every word and donate his body for research. Of course, he’s never asked him whether he was okay with that, but signing a consent form is so old school. He believes that we should be doers, not dreamers, and he’s always wanted to see what the insides of Leo’s body looked like. And all the resistance it’s putting up just makes it all the more exciting. Leo spells unending excitement, and that’s all the reason Res needs to make sure no one else has him. Res is life, but he is not Leo’s purpose for living, because Leo has not questioned whether or not life has a purpose. He doesn’t need to. Res is Leo’s Master, and Leo’s Master is the very concept of life itself. Without his Master, the earth does not spin, and the sun does not shine. Why would it be anything else? Leo is not a person, he is Res’ dream. The dream of a creature that would do nothing but obey his every word, and the dream of an anomaly that he could endlessly explore without an expiration date. A thing that Res will never get bored of. To Res, Leo is just an adorable lab rat who happens to be the only one in the world who can fulfill his dreams. He does not care for Leo, the person, because Leo is not a person, but he does care about Leo, the humanoid playground that belongs to Res, and Res alone. This is love, because love is when someone makes your heart race, and love is when someone makes you feel like you’re free-falling into obsession. Res loves him, loves him, loves him loves him loves himloveshim. Just as we don’t get emotionally attached to the oxygen that keeps our heart beating, Leo does not get emotionally attached to Res, and he doesn’t need to. This isn’t love, it’s something more than that. Love can change, fade and evolve- it’s fickle, fleeting and easily manipulated. What Leo and Res have is a constant. Res belongs with Leo, and Leo belongs with Res. Don’t argue with the facts. Because you’re wrong, and Leo will make sure you know you’re wrong, no matter who you are. It’s a good thing they’re with each other, and no one else. (Leo is Uno's oc, Res is Canada's oc. Above description written by Uno. Canada's description below) They're basically like those AITA stories where both are the asshole and its a good thing they're together and making each other worse. btw Res is the short pink one and Leo is the tall one.

ship tags/playlists/pinterest boards?:

[brainrot-yumm]

i think my springtrap x matt (into the flesh guy) fanfic is so . . . like funny isn't at all the right word, but somewhere between that and interesting. Cause the way I write fanfic is that I have a general idea of what should happen, but ultimately the characters control everything that's going on. So if a character Wouldn't Fucking Say That then it's not that I manhandle them into saying it, it's that I am then forced to rebound and try to scrap together coherency like a GM with a free range party. Normally it's fun as fuck because having the characters naturally progress like that often leads to scenarios that are a lot more interesting/funny than anything I had planned and it's a blessing that I have to change future events to accommodate.

my original plan was with this crack Springtrap fic was that it'd be a little dubious at first but ultimately be very much a consensual escapade for funsies. Just a little thing about Matt going a bit through the ringer but after a few minutes he'd speedrun an awakening and be So Into It.

But then I kept writing and after a while it became extremely clear that in no way would Springtrap be any kind of loving or kind or supportive in any way that would remove the dubiousness. At all. And in fact he would only worsen the dubiousness until there was no consent left. And now I'm left with an Oh Shit scenario. Like Matt is gonna be put through the ringer so hard it's gonna de-gut him, and now I have to make the big choice of whether I actually write it out or not.

TLDR Agony soul-pilled Springtrap is so much of an asshole that it's ruined my fun crack-taken-seriously romp and idk what to do about it

UPDATE: I talked to my gf about it and she pointed out a part in the story where Matt is allowed to make a choice (the only choice he ever gets) and basically said "what if he matched the freak right there" and she's so right I can write my crazy gay terrible animatronic porn without shame <3 yay <3

Still keeping the evil version cause sometimes that's what people want. But. I have the happy ending now. All is well

[tenthgrove]

I want to piggy about what @zyettemoon1800 asked for the yandere ice cream duo.

What if their quiet darling finally snaps and tells them how much they hate being forced to be with them and they wish that Sorbet or Gelato would just kill them so they call finally be happy and at peace?

I could imagine that Gelato would be tearing up a bit and trying to go confirmed their darling, but they are having a really bad break down and Sorbet would be trying to calm both of his parents down. Maybe after this, they keep a close on their darling because they think might try to kill themselves or them.

If you count this as an ask, then I can wait until you open them back up, but I just had to get this down before I forgot about it.

(Cut for dark content. Warnings for suicidal thoughts and dubiously-consensual drug use.)

Anon this hurt/comfort angst is pulling at my heart but it's so... good!! On one hand, Sorbet and Gelato are almost relieved to have you finally speak frankly with them as it at least tells them where they stand with you. You've given them something to work with. But then again, the possibility you might actually take your supposed death wish into your own hands is terrifying.

Gelato tries his best to keep calm around you but there's a very high likelihood that once he's in private with Sorbet, he'll break down. Sorbet feels a lot of despair at seeing both his lovers miserable like this, and may genuinely start to regret the 'game' they played with you before your capture. He's certain it's behind why you don't trust the sincerity of their feelings.

The pair can mope all they want, but they know they need to get your mood stable ASAP, and that means doing some things they previously agreed not to. Sorbet has a word with his contacts and obtains some sedative drugs, capable of rendering you in a haze that hinders your thoughts and actions. They'll try to get your consent to use this on you, but if you refuse they may still resort to injecting you in your sleep.

Rest assured this is only a short term measure. The plan is to create as many good memories with you while your hatred is clouded, in the hope that when they wean you off the drug after a few weeks, you might finally have begun to accept them.

[keptin-indy]

Indy plays Legends: Arceus

I haven't played Diamond/Pearl for a lot of years, but it's possibly my favorite game of the bunch. I've watched my roommate play some of the remake, and I hate the art style and also that you can't meaningfully decorate your base anymore. All this to say that I'm sure there are D/P references that I'm not going to get because it's been so long.

I have spent an ungodly amount of time playing the DLCs for Sword/Shield lately. I put more time into them than the base game itself. So I am very excited about an entire open world game.

Everything specific below the cut

It is sending me that Arceus speaks like the King James Bible

The fact that it speaks at all, like many legendaries and psychic types, once more drives home how much of a dick Calryrex in the Isle of Armor is for hijacking an entire human without their consent or knowledge just because he couldn't be arsed to do his own talking

I really hate the "modern kid wakes up in a fantasy setting" trope, but I'm interested in the wrinkle that a direct visitation from god means this kid is kind of a prophet. I did not expect to contact god via my cell phone, I must say.

The professor's hat looks so stupid. It would be fine if it didn't go all the way under his chin, but just hung open like a winter hat. Also why Laventon instead of Lavender? At least it'd be a plant, if not a tree.

I'm pretty sure that if all pokemon could shrink this would have come up A LOT before now. I can only assume that either a) this is a side game like Mystery Dungeon and therefore things work differently and are dubiously canon, or the much funnier b) the study of pokemon is new and Laventon believes all pokemon can shrink because the alternative - that one particular species of nut is just wild - is too out there for his modern science yet.

This looks to my uneducated eye like the fantasy Meiji Era and I am running around in basically my underwear by those standards. Professor, would it kill you to give me some clothes before teaching me how to imprison the wildlife?

I'm so glad the villagers are as wigged out by my clothes as they should be

I see a Galarian Weezing-shaped thing. Could it be that the British-sounding people really are Galarian rather than Galar being relatively newly connected to the rest of the world? I just want to know all about the history of this world and its regions.

Wow, I hate Beni's awful green mustache/chinstrap and grey beard combo

15! Not the tiniest of children! Hurray! Unfortunately, this qualifies me for indentured servitude. If I knew I was going to be a prophet pressed into a foreign power's service, I'd've named myself Joseph.

"Hey 15 year old, if you fuck up we are explicitly booting you out to die in the wilderness and get eaten by pokemon."

I want to eat a potato mochi. I had no idea these existed until I googled it just now, but I want them in my face.

I want to decorate my quarters but I don't think you can.

You people are sending a child out in the wilderness in basically underwear.

Putting so much emphasis on how you can and probably will die alone in the wild is hilarious for a series that is normally marketed for kids. I feel like they know the people most excited about this specific game in the series are the ones who've been hoping for open world pokemon since the late 90s/early 00s.

Laventon's camera is absurdly small for this time period expy. Cowards, not going for the huge tripod-mounted ones. It doesn't even have a big ol' flash!

Like in A Knight's Tale, the key to excelling in this story is to be too stupid to know when you're in mortal peril.

Finally someone has clothed me! And it's the person who's repeatedly said she'd leave me to die in the wilderness!

Not that I'm complaining, but why did you specially give me a hat, ma'am?

PLEASE DON'T SUPPLEX ME, SIR

The tutorial for this game lasts forever. I know there are a bunch of new things to learn, but I want to run around the wilds like a gremlin already.

WHEN YOU'RE IN YOUR HOUSE YOUR SHOES AUTOMATICALLY DISAPPEAR, THAT'S SO CUTE

I know I said I wanted to wander around outside but now I have to explore every single door in this town. And there are many.

A very serious young trainer and, unfortunately, his pokemon.

I will exclusively take pictures with the old timey lens.

IMPORTANT INFORMATION: You DO take falling damage and you CAN drown.

I have learned how to roll and now I will Link my way across this entire landscape

Oh no, inventory management

I am very bad about keeping track of which buttons do what in any video game, but I'm mad that they arbitrarily changed the controls from what they were for doing the exact same things in the Wild Areas in Sword/Shield. Now I have to retrain my muscle memory for no good reason.

I am also very bad at keeping track of whether I'm throwing a pokeball or a pokemon. And I keep pressing LR instead of ZLZR because I'm really a PC gamer and not used to two whole sets of triggers back there.

[beholdme]

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 8

Chapters: 8/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront.

The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.

“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist.

“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back.

“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”

“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.”

“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.”

“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs.

“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”

“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee.

“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain.

“No!” Jon exclaims.

At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.”

“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin.

“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.”

“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.”

Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs. As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin.

“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry.

“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild.

“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.”

“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.

“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction.

"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.

"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."

Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point.

"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done."

"Let's do it."

***

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment.

"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."

Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."

"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him.

Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it.

“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up.

“Me?” Martin asks.

“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.”

Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder.

The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops.

He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out.

"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable.

"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip.

He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease.

Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie.

The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady.

She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success.

"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side.

"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by.

Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."

He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him.

"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind.

“You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”

"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist.

Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design.

Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers.

Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."

Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London."

"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical.

"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually."

Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.'

“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign.

"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?"

***

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit.

When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically.

Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep.

"You ready?"

Jon gulps. "Yes."

Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.")

Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place.

He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time.

As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy.

He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air.

***

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back.

"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?"

"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier.

"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."

They laugh easily, the hot excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship.

[inevitablysomber-dark]

Shackled (Chapter 3)

Dark! Rafe Cameron x Pogue! Reader

Warning: There are some intense, dubiously consenting and nonconsensual sexual themes in this series, MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY. MINORS DNI.

Summary: You hate Outer Banks with a passion and are working hard to get out despite all the obstacles in your way. Rafe himself eventually becomes one of those obstacles after a night of low impulse control. Will you be able to overcome him or with you have no choice but to submit.

Slow Burn

Series Masterlist

You woke up feeling warm and comfy, as if your body was sunken into a giant cloud. You felt bare but wrapped up and cozy.

You hadn't opened your eyes, too comfortable to face the world. That is until you felt someone else's breath on your neck and a stray arm tightening around your midriff.

You open your eyes to start, and you first notice that you aren't in your room.

Memories of the night before flood your mind, giving clues to who the body behind you is. You slowly push yourself up, using the bedsheets to cover your nudity. When you turn to glance at the sleeping form behind you, you're not sure what you expected to see when you saw the Kook prince himself.

Maybe you were hoping that last night was a dream? However, it only solidified what happened.

You carefully pull yourself out of his bed and quietly move to the bathroom. On your way, you pick up a few clothes on the floor to help preserve a piece of your dignity.

When you get there, you freshen up, wash your face and fix your hair as best as possible. Trying to minimize what you hope to be an unnoticeable walk of shame.

As you put on your clothes, you realize that the two-piece Ether gave you was unsalvageable. The Top was ripped in the middle, and the bottoms were in tatters.

You still had your shorts, but you couldn't just walk out of figure 8 topless. You then remembered sighting Rafe's pale orange polo on the ground. You carefully make your way outside the bathroom when you spot it. Tiptoeing closer toward the end of the bed, you pick it up and slide it on.

"Where are you going?"

You jumped at the sudden questioning, and when you looked towards the bed where he lay staring back. His hands were tucked behind his head, the bed sheet barely covering his hips, and his morning arousal noticeable.

"Um. Home" You glance to the side he is lying in and see your sandals. You move to retrieve them, but he grabs the back of your shirt.

" This is mine," he says

You look up to find the bed sheet had fallen from his hips and Rafe bare in all his glory.

" Oh, well, my top ripped" you reached into the pockets of your shorts to pull it out and show him.

"That makes it ok for you to steal my polo," he squints, but rather than being angry, he seemed more amused by the situation.

"If you don't mind me borrowing it, I'll bring it back once I've cleaned it," you said

You never imagined someone finding such importance in a polo.

"Ok, you can borrow it, I'll even let you keep it, but you'll have to do me a favor," he says

"What?" You had an idea of what he may have wanted; there was only so much Barry was willing to give for free, even to the Kook prince himself. Now you were being milked over a stupid polo.

He takes your wrist and pulls you into his exposed body. Grabbing your chin and dragging it to his face to lay a peck on your lips. Then another, then a third, before pulling closer to a deepening kiss.

He then pulls down your shorts and lifts you to straddle his bare waist, cock pressed against your pussy.

"I want you to ride me," he says

That was unexpected; you thought he would ask about getting a freebie or something.

"Ok," you say, not minding a round two.

Last night was enjoyable, but something about being sober made it different. You licked your fingers and reached between your bodies, adjusting his shaft, pushing yourself down on his cock, reveling in the fullness that you were experiencing. Both of you gasped at the feeling of your bodies connecting as you reached the insertion limit.

You feel his fingers creeping up your waist and tickling your midsection before pushing his polo over your head and cupping your tits.

For a moment, guilt flashed through you as he jerked his hips upward, attempting to get some friction going.

But it went as quickly as it came. Who cared about Mary and Ether? You were going to enjoy yourself with the Kook prince fully.

Bringing your arms around his neck for support, you ride him. Gyrating against his body, your clit rubbing up against his pelvis.

"God, yes." He growls

Moving upwards with thrusts of his own meeting with your own ministrations.

"You're my good girl, right?" He asks

Your brows come together in confusion before you pause to stare at him.

However, he doesn't allow you the pause before grabbing your hips and jutting upwards.

Pushing into you with much aggression, your muscles tighten to absorb the impact better.

"You're my good girl?" He repeats more conviction in his voice, "right?"

"Yes." You squeak

His mouth latches on to your nipple as you reach your Climax, his own not too far behind. As the explosion happens, you can’t help but think of how ironic it was that you, some pogue scum managed to find yourself in the sheets of the kook prince himself.

He pulls you in closer, squeezing your body tight to his own as he attains his happy ending. Several moments pass, both of your bodies buzzing from the aftermath of your culminated pleasure.

Rafe holds on as he pulls you toward the middle of the bed, entangling your legs together.

“I could really go for a hit right now,” he says

" I have to go home," you respond, unsure of what he was expecting from you. He moves his head to look into your eyes.

"I'll take you," he says, looking through his drawers for something to wear.

"You don't have-"

"Look, babe, you're a long way from home, and I'm offering you a free ride," he says " it's the least I could do for the pussy you gave."

You cringe at his statement, reluctantly agreeing to go with him.

"And I meant it when I said you could keep the shirt."

[onedaybehind]

musings from a day spent hungover (tw for substance use/sex):

the irony that i spend 2+ days a week binge drinking to mourn the loss of a relationship with an alcoholic is not completely lost on me, but i don’t know any other way to meet and relate to people at this point in my life. and it’s been largely fun, until it wasn’t--and today was not fun. last night was not particularly fun, either--not that i remember most parts of it. 

one of the problems with me is that i look straight past what people openly and honestly show me they are and instead i fixate on their potential. and then i get upset when they don’t want to expend the effort to raise themselves to a standard i have mentally set them to; they’re happy as they are, and i’m disappointed that they don’t want for more. or, perhaps more accurately, i’m disappointed they don’t want to become what i’ve selfishly made them in my mind.

now-sober-me to drunk-me: honey, stop. just stop. a man who only seems to want you around when you can dubiously--at best--consent to sex is not a man who is going to turn around and court you. it ain’t gonna happen. it doesn’t matter that he could, that he has the resources to, he just does. not. want. to. and you don’t even want him to other than you want him to want to. go to therapy, get yourself right, go find yourself a man who wants to watch ESPN 24/7 and enjoys sushi. that’s what you actually want, even if what you think you want right now is a finely-educated sycophant who can quote ancient literature in dead languages. there’s a reason those languages are dead and ESPN just keeps adding channels.

[couldntbedamned]

Goodbye Grey Sky, Hello Blue - 29

Summary: In an alternate universe where trains and zeppelins are still common forms of travel and the internet and cell phones exist, nineteen year old Peter Parker has few options left after he’s swindled out of his inheritance. Unable to pay for college, let alone keep the house left to him by his deceased aunt, he’s running out of time before he’s out on the streets. Desperate, Peter signs his life over to the Bureau of Civic Spousal Selections to take his chances as the selected husband of a complete stranger. After all, he only has to make it through a year and then he can choose to annul.

Dr. Stephen Strange has little interest in marriage, preferring to focus on his career. When his career is threatened by what a nosy board of directors considers a “lack of personal fulfillment and settling down,” he opts to select a spouse through the BCSS and chooses Peter Parker. The young man’s profile he’d briefly skimmed suggests intelligence and compatibility. It’s not ideal, but if after a year it’s not working out, he can always annul the marriage and send Peter on his way.

It’s a marriage neither truly wants, with sharp learning curves for both. It’s either going to be forever or it’s going to go down in flames.

Warnings/AO3 Tags: 18+ MINORS DNI, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1950s/Modern Fusion, Doctor Stephen Strange, Jewish Peter Parker, Peter Parker is an Adult, Marriage of Convenience, Marriage Contracts, Government Sanctioned Marriages, Domestic Discipline, Dubiously Consensual Spanking, Spanking, Aftercare, Mildly Dubious Consent, Dubious Morals, Dubious Ethics, Asshole Stephen Strange, Smartass Peter Parker, Passive Aggressive Canned Soup, Two Morons Trying to Try Their Best, Borrowing Characters

_______

Chapter 29

_______

Around Three Years Ago

"How was the trip to Grand Orleans?"

Stephen grinned at Reed. "It was a great time. The surgery went off without any problems. Working with Dr. Jericho Drumm was such an honor and he was kind enough to show me the city. We spent the weekend doing so. You should have seen it, Reed, there was dancing and music everywhere. And the food? My god the food was incredible. The whole city was just alive in a way I've never seen before. It was the best trip."

Reed smiled. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. Sue and I have discussed a family trip there but we want to wait until the children are older... and in the hopes that Johnny will grow up a bit and not immediately get arrested."

Stephen winced sympathetically. Sue's younger brother hadn't had an easy go of it, though Sue and Reed were doing their best to guide him. He wasn't a bad young man, just hotheaded and prone to rash decisions.

They kept up their conversation as they made their rounds in the ER, parting to check on patients and then returning to continue speaking.

"HELP! SHE NEEDS HELP!"

A dark-haired man was rushing into the ER carrying a woman so battered and bleeding Stephen's initial thought was that she was a goner.

Stephen signaled for a stretcher and raced over to the man as the head nurse of ER joined them and they carefully transferred the bloodied woman onto it. "What happened?"

"Her husband, her selected spouse, he was beating the crap out of her! He was punching her and kicking her; he got her in the damn head." The man looked at Stephen with wild blue eyes. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"OR 2 is yours, Strange!" The charge nurse said.

"She should be scanned before heading over," Reed said. "We don't know what her most pressing injuries are."

"There's not time!" Stephen looked at the nurse. "Call Billy and tell him and the others to prep and page McCoy!"

"Help her, please," the man entreated.

"We'll do everything we can."

The woman was was wheeled away and he went to go scrub in.

Billy was already set up with two other nurses, including Dr. McCoy's right-hand-woman, Nurse Chapel when Stephen entered. Surgical Orderlies were running diagnostic scans using the mobile equipment that had cost the hospital a fortune but Stephen, McCoy, and Dr. Palmer had argued vehemently for.

"Status?"

"It's not good," Billy answered. "There's so much bleeding. Intracranial, internal, everywhere."

"Where the hell is McCoy?"

"I'm right here," the man said walking in. He read the tablet one of the orderlies presented. "My god."

Stephen took in the breadth of damage the scans were showing - much of it too healed to have been caused by the day's attack but too recent to have been done even a year previously.

"God had nothing to do with this."

Though he'd told Peter earlier he didn't want to discuss anything that night, he realized that if he didn't finally get it over with, he'd continue to find ways to put it off and that wasn't fair to Peter.

They'd gone ahead and changed into their pajamas and while he'd been undressing, he messaged Sharon.

Do I have your permission to tell Peter about what happened?

When they went down to the den, his mobile pinged with her response.

Of course you may tell him.

Stephen frowned when Peter forewent seating in the other armchair and planted himself at his feet, between his legs.

"Playing with my hair relaxes you," he said. "And I thought it might be easier for you to talk if you don't have to actually face me."

Stephen had no idea what he had done to deserve someone as wonderful as Peter in his life. He did enjoy running his hands though Peter's hair. He hadn't even realized it was something he often did, but Peter had.

"Richards and the others were already well-established at Sanctum General when I joined. They were all close but they welcomed me in and made me a part of their circle," he finally started. "I hadn't encountered that kind of openness before. Apart from Tony, I never really had close friends."

That's a shame," Peter said. "You're a lot better at it than you think."

"I've had some good examples to follow, especially recently," he admitted. "We all got along so well and from the way we talked, anyone would be convinced that we were going to change the world. We celebrated holidays together," He added with a scoff. "But things changed as they always do. Reed and Bolt became fathers, Xavier and Rambeau were promoted, Mordo got married, and Carter found herself courted by the Bureau to join as one of their consulting psychologists. Meanwhile, I was content to keep to my passion which is neurosurgery.

"I still remember the day Sergeant Barnes ran into the ER carrying Sharon in his arms and screaming for help." He took a breath, surprised at how shaky it was. "I thought she was a lost cause for sure but we raced her into the OR and Len and I spent twelve hours saving her life."

"You did," Peter said. "You saved her life and now she's happy and married and going to be a mother."

"It was touch and go for a few days; we kept her in a medical coma to take the strain off of her body so she could heal. And it was after she woke up and was questioned that I found out exactly what had happened." His grip tightened and when Peter yelped he instantly relaxed his hand. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, go on."

"As her attending physician I was entitled to be in the room when Constable Sousa and a representative from the BCSS spoke with her. I could tell that they didn't want me in there but..."

"But you didn't care what they wanted because she was your patient and you're you."

"I'm me. And Sharon asked me to stay, so of course I did."

"Sharon told them everything, including who was the BCSS psychologist on their case." He snorted. "Can you believe that bitch had the audacity to stand out in the waiting room after Sharon's surgery, asking if she'd pull through?"

"She's a piece of work," Peter said, leaning his head against Stephen's knee.

"Anyways, myself, Len, and a doctor from the BCSS were tasked with comparing her scans from that day to her medical scans when she'd been officially discharged from the CSB." He scoffed. "It turns out that had been Ms. Rambeau's suggestion, because surely Sharon was exaggerating how bad her time with Rogers had been."

"Did they know?" Peter asked, craning his neck to look at him. "Did they know what Carter did?"

"Yes, but they didn't want to believe it." He sighed. "Once her old injuries had been ruled out, there was a clear pattern of abuse and when the BCSS had another psychologist review Dr. Carter's files and notes, it was obvious just how much she'd lied."

"She lied to a government agency and isn't in jail?" Peter exclaimed. "And she's still a doctor? What the hell?"

"She had some powerful people arguing on her behalf," Stephen said. "Including Sharon's uncle, who at the time was a hopeful for state governor of East Virginia."

"There wasn't a scandal, though."

"No, the BCSS stepped in and sorted things, as did the CSB." He let his thumb rub circles on the back of Peter's neck. "That agency is fiercely protective of its agents, retired or not."

"I'm glad she had someone on her side."

"There were a handful of us, yes. But when Dr. Carter's case went before the state board, some of us at Sanctum General were asked to offer recommendations on allowing her to keep her license. I was asked along with Dr. Richards, Dr. Xavier, and Dr. Mordo. I was the only one to vote no."

"And you'll never forgive them for that," Peter said, understanding.

"There was so much documentation of malpractice. Her patient was suffering from the most severe case of shell shock any of us had ever seen and instead of helping him like she should have done, she allowed him into an environment where he was a danger to himself and others. An innocent woman - her own cousin - nearly died. All she could say for herself was 'I let my emotions cloud my judgment.' when asked." He ran a hand over his face, still so angry at what his colleagues had done. "No was the only acceptable answer but they said yes, let her keep her license and go on to ruin more people's lives."

"They weren't answering as doctors," Peter said, turning around to face him, still on his knees. "They were answering as her friends. What you did was so much harder, and Stephen, I'm so proud of you for that."

"Everything seemed to change, after that. She was suspended for two years. I could hardly stand to be in that place and I thought the loneliness was going to end me." He smiled down at Peter. "It did get better; Dr. Grimm joined and became a friend, as did Dr. Knight. Clea and Ava moved next door and that helped. And the others mostly stayed away from me for about half a year. Then they started coming around as if nothing ever happened, apparently taken with the brilliant idea that I was working too much and would burn out if I didn't settle down. It became insufferable, really."

"Was that when you decided to visit the BCSS?"

"I held out until it was strongly implied that it could cost me my career at Sanctum General," he admitted. "I could have just left, of course. Tony's been trying to convince me to move to Malibu for years, harps on about knowing people who know people." He smirked. "As if I need his connections when any hospital in country would bend over backwards to sign me on."

"So why stay?"

He considered. "Pride plays a role, I suppose. I do like some of the people here, like Ben Grimm and Len. I'd hate to leave behind Clea and Ava as well. But mostly? A sense of responsibility, because if they could brush off what happened so easily, then how can I ever trust that they won't do it again?"

"Do you really think they'd let another doctor get away with what she pulled?"

"No, they'd come on that person and hard."

"She's not with the BCSS anymore, right?"

"No, they got rid of her and every other consulting psychologist. There was an announcement that they were realigning due to feedback and that anyone involved in medical matters would be employed by the Bureau outright."

Peter snorted and stood up before sitting on his lap, much the way they'd once seen Sharon sit on Tony's all those nights ago. "All that pain and upheaval just because she was jealous she wasn't the one marrying Captain Rogers."

He could see the moment his words sunk in.

"You think so?" Stephen asked skeptically. "I knew she thought the man was attractive, but wanting to marry him?"

"Oh yeah. I'm almost one hundred percent sure that she did everything she did because she wanted to be the one marrying him." He rolled his eyes. "Which would have never happened. BCSS employees aren't allowed to be selecting spouses to anyone in the local pool and I'd bet money that the consultants weren't allowed either. The BCSS doesn't get enough credit for the steps they take to protect us selected spouses."

"Fury aside, they treated you well?"

"Yes. Sometimes we had instructors who were a little zealous in their belief that we were lesser for being in the pool and that our only concern should be pleasing whoever ended up selecting us, but we were housed, clothed, fed, and we had recreation time that was actually relaxing."

"Then I showed up," Stephen said wryly.

"Which has worked out pretty well," Peter admitted. "I wasn't at sure it would, because I was terrified of how fast my life had changed, but I settled in." He sighed and leaned into Stephen. "What happens now that you've faced the dinner party you've been dreading and survived?"

"I truly don't know," Stephen said. "I've never let myself imagine getting through it."

"Maybe we should take day or two away from here," he suggested. "I know we have the trip to California coming up but you did say you have more vacation time banked than the next five hospital employees combined."

"That's... not a bad idea," Stephen said. "Where would we go?"

"Where have you wanted to go that you haven't had a chance to visit?"

"I wouldn't mind going back down to Grand Orleans," he answered. "It's an incredible place. I think you'd enjoy it."

"I've heard it's essentially one big party," Peter said. "And the culture is supposed to be amazing."

"It is."

Later that night, when they were lying in bed, Peter asked him a question he himself had pondered more than once.

"Why her? What made Sharon's case so personal?"

"I told you once that my father was not a kind man," he said quietly. "He was also not content to merely use words to make his displeasure known."

"He hit you?" Peter sounded horrified.

"Yes. I'd step in front of my mother and take whatever blow was coming. I also made sure that his attention never made it to Victor or Donna when he was in a bad mood. I was able to protect them for the most part and that made it worth it somehow. Seeing her, though... she had no one and I wanted to make sure she never had to face anything like that again."

"Did your siblings know what you did for them?"

"I can't say for certain but honestly, I hope not."

"Your mother knew, though."

"She was a kind woman, but never took care of herself and was ultimately very weak. After losing Donna and then Victor, she let herself fade away. When she fell sick with pneumonia she didn't even try to fight it. Her husband was always off with his mistress and her two youngest children were gone; she was done."

"How did-"

"Donna drowned when we were on a rare trip to the beach when I was sixteen. Father had some business partners who had property in the fancier part of the Hamptons. I asked her to wait before swimming out further because I was helping Victor with his sunscreen but she just rolled her eyes and insisted she knew how to swim. Donna was caught in the undertow. I must have done CPR on her for twenty minutes before it finally sunk in that she was gone." He shifted and sat up, turning on the nightstand's lamp.

"It was my fault, of course," he said sardonically. "I was supposed to be watching them both and I'd failed miserably."

"You didn't!" Peter said fiercely. "You were just a kid yourself! No one should blame you for that, not even you!"

How well Peter knew him, he thought.

"Perhaps. Victor died during my sophomore year of college. He'd fallen in with a disreputable crowd and found himself on the wrong end of a knife after a dispute over drugs. My mother went a year later and my father unfortunately didn't pass away until the first year of my residency. He'd gotten liquored up per usual and drove head-on into a brick wall."

"I'm so sorry," Peter said. "I really am. No one should have to go through any of that."

"Like I've said, I've done my grieving, such as it is." It still hurt from time to time, but he was, for the most part, at peace with the loss of his family.

"You know, I won't visit the beach in Malibu if you don't want me to. I don't want you to have to worry about me."

He really did have the most wonderful spouse, Stephen thought. He hoped he'd get to keep him.

"No, that's not necessary. I don't want to deprive you of it." He arched a brow at Peter. "And I've no plans to let you out of my sight the entire time we're on the beach."

"And you'll help me with my sunscreen?"

He laughed. "Yes, you'll be well covered."

As Stephen slept next to him, chest rising and falling evenly, Peter contemplated what he'd learned.

So much about his selecting spouse made sense to him now.

He wanted Peter to take care of himself, because he'd seen what happened when his mother hadn't. He didn't want Peter to drink or smoke or do any kind of recreational drugs, because his father had been a violent alcoholic and his brother's drug habit had gotten him killed. He wasn't supposed to be disobedient or reckless because his sister had been and it had cost her her life. The not swearing or being disrespectful was probably a holdover from his childhood and father with a temper.

Stephen, he'd bet anything, had become a doctor to save lives in the hopes he could make up for not being able to save his sister. He took his job so seriously because in his mind, whether he realized it or not, he was saving his sister over and over again.

All things considered, he was so lucky to have Stephen as his selecting spouse. Peter honestly couldn't imagine being married to anyone else, let alone going back to the life he'd had planned.

He'd always told himself that he just had to make it the one year. One year and then he was free.

Life with Stephen was so much better than he'd imagined it would be that day when Peter had called into Agent Morita's office, introduced to Stephen, and told they'd be marrying the next day. "You should get your things packed up, Peter. Your new life will be starting tomorrow." Stephen hadn't said much other than a polite greeting and that he'd return the next afternoon. He hadn't felt particularly reassured and even less so on their "wedding day" and the week following.

As the months had passed, Peter had gotten to know Stephen and Stephen had gotten to know him. He'd been laid low with the influenza and Stephen had cared for him without a single word of protest. Stephen even went out of his way to ensure that Peter would be comfortable in any social situation they were in... apart from the time when Tony and Sharon were visiting and Stephen didn't see that as any sort of impediment to asserting his selecting spousal rights. (And Peter had thoroughly enjoyed it, truth be told.)

Now, the thought that Stephen might annul at the end of their twelve months worried him.

He'd have to work out some sort of clever plan and make sure that didn't happen.

_______

[fragmentedink-archived]

Hell to Pay: Part Forty-Seven

I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XIII, XIV, XV, XVI, IX, IX, XX, XXI, XXII, XXIII, XIV, XV, XVI, XVII, XVIII, XVIIII, XXX, XXXI, XXXII, XXXIII, XXXIV, XXXV, XXXVI, XXXVII, XXXVIII, XXXIX, XL, XLI, XLII, XLIII, XLIV, XLV, XLVI

cowritten by @lux-scriptum

After scrubbing his face a few times, Cyrus pushed himself up into a seated position. “You want me to what?” Cyrus asked. “You’re kidding, right?”

Cameron stared at him blankly. “Why would I do something like that? I have better things to do with my time.”

Cyrus let out a small sigh, bracing one arm across his knee. “Who do you want me to bring back?” He finally said. “And why risk it? We still don’t know what that spell did to Lev.”

This time Cameron hesitated, ever so slightly. “A spirit Lev has been seeing.”

Cyrus blinked slowly. “Just a random spirit,” he replied dubiously.

“Will you help or not?”

Cyrus hesitated. “I want to talk to the spirit first,” he said. “Before I agree to anything.”

“Alright.” Cameron said simply. “Whatever you need.”

Cyrus nodded, and started pushing himself upright. “Okay,” he said, sighing softly. “I’ll see what I can do.” After standing, he rubbed his face. “Give me a moment to get something to eat.”

“Can you even walk?” Cameron asked, raising a brow.

“In theory,” Cyrus muttered. He didn’t fall over while he made his way to the kitchen, so he considered that a success. Sorin was at his side in a heartbeat. Rather than wave him off, Cyrus let himself be herded to the table. “Do you want anything?” he asked Cameron, as Sorin poured him a mug of coffee. Decaf, as usual.

“That’s not necessary,” Cameron replied.

“Hm.” Cyrus looked him over, before adding, “I didn’t ask if you needed anything.” He waved Cameron off, however. He wasn’t going to get more than a blank stare and he knew it.

Sorin was quiet, but he wouldn’t let Cyrus get up again until Cyrus had eaten more than his fill of scrambled eggs and toast.

“Come along,” Cyrus eventually said, moving past Cameron, who had been standing there almost awkwardly. Cyrus settled slowly on the floor of his study. Sorin set up the candles for him while Cyrus looked at Cameron. “Do I have any direction when it comes to summoning this ghost or am I flying blind? It’ll take me longer, but-” Cyrus didn’t want to explain just how low he was on magic.

“What kind of direction are you looking for?”

Cyrus rubbed his face. “A name?” He said. “I should have clarified. I have no idea who I’m looking for.”

Cameron looked very tired, but Cyrus was tired too. “Darius,” Cameron finally said. “His name is Darius.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said. He blinked at the ground for a few moments. “I’m going to need help,” he finally said. He reached out, intending to take Sorin’s hand, but when he realized Cameron had taken it instead, he didn’t comment.

After a few minutes, he opened his eyes. There was a slender man standing there. His long black hair was swept to the side, and his bright gold eyes, contrasting starkly with his brown skin, were startlingly similar to Lev’s. Cyrus looked at Cameron for just a moment, before looking to Darius again.

“Hello,” Cyrus said quietly. “I assume you’re Darius?”

The ghost didn’t even look in Cyrus’ direction. Instead he stared at Cameron. “You really should eat more,” the ghost said, sadness dripping from his tone. Eventually he flicked a look at Cyrus. “I’m sorry,” he said. “My name is Darius, yes. You must be Cyrus. It's nice to meet you.”

Cyrus managed a smile. “Nice to meet you, too,” Cyrus replied. “Cameron says you’re a spirit Lev met. Someone he’s asking for.”

“I have met Lev,” Darius confirmed.

Cyrus lifted an eyebrow.

“How can I help?”

Well, Darius was dodging... something. But Cyrus just nodded slowly. “Cameron wants to bring you back,” he said gently. “But I will not if you don’t want to.”

Darius looked back to Cameron. “Do you really?”

Cameron stared right back at Darius. He somehow looked younger and older at the same time; his eyes suspiciously bright. “Lev needs you,” he said, after nearly half a minute.

“That isn’t what I asked you, Cameron.” Darius said. “Do not lie to me.”

Claws poked at the meat of Cyrus’ hand. “I should not have killed you.”

“Again,” Darius said, patiently. “That is not what I asked.”

Cameron’s eyes closed and a tick worked through his jaw. “Yes,” he bit out. “I want you alive. Lev needs you and I should not have killed you. I will make sure you have everything you need and you will not have to see me again. But yes. I want you alive.”

Cyrus tried not to stare. This whole thing was a bit more than he’d expected. In the end he bit back a sigh, and said, “Darius, do you even want to come back? I won’t perform the spell without verbal consent from you, and only you.”

Even though he did not take his eyes off of Cameron Darius did not hesitate to say, “Yes.”

Cyrus nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best,” he said tiredly. After a moment, he added, “Do you two need some time?”

“No. We’re done,” Cameron said, reticently.

Cyrus blinked at Darius. “I might have questions for you later,” he said quietly, “But for now, I have to end the connection.”

Darius gave him a small smile. “Whatever you need.”

Cyrus broke the connection and let go of Cameron’s hand. He flexed his own, but didn’t really get a good look before Sorin took it and started looking it over. Cyrus put up with that patiently, and instead addressed Cameron.

“We’re going to need a good exchange, or Nature isn’t going to accept this resurrection.” Cyrus leaned into Sorin, who by this point had knelt on the floor beside him. “I’m going to need more time to recharge, as well. I was trying to do so naturally, but- I’ll find a way.”

“Take your time. I don’t need you to perform it wrong. He’s been dead for a lot longer than Lev was.”

Cyrus nodded slowly. “Anything else?”

“What do you need from me?”

A good question. “Not that I can think of right now. I have a lot I need to figure out. The spell I used- It won’t work for Darius the same way.” Because that would require Cameron’s death, apparently, and Cyrus wasn’t going to say that. He was not going to take Cameron away from the omega he just brought back.

After nodding and reminding Cyrus he had Cameron’s number, he was gone.

“I don’t like him,” Sorin muttered.

“Most people don’t,” Cyrus sighed. “Help me to bed?”

---

It hadn’t taken Ash much to find where Amara’s new house was located. It was on the edge of the woods with a yard far larger than Ash would have expected. He took the rustic cabin home in on his way up the steps, only for the front door to swing open. Amara looked Ash up and down. “Hi,” she said, quietly. “We’re still unpacking. So.”

Ash nodded, more to himself than anything else, and folded his arms over his chest. “Do you want me to come some other time? If you’re too busy.”

Amara shook her head. “No. You came all the way out here and I need a break.”

“Alright,” Ash said. “Then let’s talk.”

“Come in,” she said. “And shut the door behind you.”

Ash did as instructed, and followed her voice back towards the living room where he planted himself on a couch. She sat somewhere near him.

“So Lev’s doing better,” he said, since she clearly wasn’t going to say anything. “I thought you’d want to know. His fever broke and he’s stable.”

“Good,” Amara said, relief coating her voice.

Ash picked at his nails. “You still wanting my help?”

“Yes please,” Amara said, quietly.

“You know I’m not going to just say yes,” Ash said. “And it’s nothing to do with you. But I do want to make sure you’re ready and not using a kid as a coping mechanism since your sister is now out of your house. Even if she did turn out pretty alright.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tiredly. “What do you want to know?”

“Well first,” he said, “I want to know if you’re going to do everything I ask without complaint. And second, I am going to need your medical history, Mar. All of it.”

“When it comes to my health, sure.”

“Oh? Is that right?” Ash asked, settling deep into the couch. “You’re going to do everything I ask?”

“Yes.”

Ash dug the list from his pocket and held it out in her direction. “Here.”

She was quiet while reading it over. “You want me to get a job?” she asked, incredulously.

“Something like that,” he said. “Thinking maybe a job as a barista or a sales clerk. I don’t know just yet.”

“I’d point out we’re not tight on money, though I think this is more of a humiliation tactic and not concern over my finances.”

“Well when you put it like that,” Ash said, “You make it sound like I’m not taking my job seriously.”

He could feel her stare at him for a solid minute. “I think you’re a petty bastard,” she finally said. “But you’re the best bastard at this sort of thing.”

Ash gave her a tight smile. “I want you at that job for five months, no fighting, no alcohol or drugs or whatever.” He held up a hand before she could argue with him. “I am aware you are clean at this current moment in time, but consider a minimum wage job dealing with idiotic customers your test.”

“I think dealing with a neurotic Cameron and you for the last four months would be test enough,” she muttered. “But fine.”

Ash snorted. “Get back to me when you want to gut four different Karens for even breathing.”

“I already agreed,” she said, tersely. “You don’t need to rub it in.”

“Mm. I think I do.” Ash said, thrumming his fingers along the back of the couch. “But back to my previous questions that you did not answer. Medical history. I need to know so I can decide what I’m dealing with.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a doctor, Ash.” she said, sounding confused. “I just heal. Eventually.”

Ash considered that.; thought on that. “Would you be willing to let me give you a full body physical back at my office in a few days? That way I can see everything for myself?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” Ash said. “I want to help. And I’ll do my best to get you what you want. But I am going to wait for the next few months. I need to recharge and you need to as well. It’ll be safer for everyone.”

“I miscarried last week,” Amara said after a beat. Her voice was quiet, and unusually steady. “It’s not the first time. Honestly? Waiting is probably good for me.”

“Probably,” Ash agreed. “You really should be resting more, as well. Especially these last few days if you just miscarried,” he added pointedly. “I’m sure your boyfriend can afford a few movers while you recuperate.”

“I suppose letting movers get everything settled sure does free up my time for that job you want me to get,” she snipped, before going quiet. “Sorry,” she said, all frustration easing from her tone just as quickly. “Been a few years since I’ve been sober this long. And you’re annoying.”

Ash just lifted a brow. “Imagine being around you stone cold sober,” he said, dryly. “Besides. You’re not touching anything until after I give you that physical. Until then you are going to rest because there is a high probability that you’re going to be on bedrest for a good deal of your pregnancy and if you cannot handle a few days of not doing anything it’s going to be a lot harder for the both of us.”

Amara let out a sigh. “I can rest. I will rest. Doctors orders, right?”

“Yeah,” Ash said, “doctor’s orders.”

---

Lev had managed to get to the point Nik wasn’t swallowing panic like he had been for the last four days. He was eating, sleeping, a lil cooler but he was on the mend. And nik used that to wander around just a bit while Lev was napping.

He was itching to move, and to think and he couldn’t just drag Lev with him. He couldn’t help but feel like the sentries were watching his every move, like they just knew that Nik was keeping a secret for Cameron and was waiting for the opportunity to put him on a spike.

That didn’t stop him from wandering, though.

Nik found himself searching this house top to bottom, not really looking for anything, though he did get himself lost a few times. This house was far larger than Nik thought it was.

He decided to make his final destination the basement for some reason. It was far too enclosed, but he was apparently a glutton for punishment lately. Even with the sweat coating his skin he still descended the steps from the basement to the dungeon.

He pushed open the heavy door and flicked the lights on. He blinked in surprise at the thing writhing in the bolted chair in the middle of the room. “I- well. I cannot say I was expecting this.”

He wandered closer and yanked the demon’s greasy and dirty hair back so he was staring down into violet eyes. “Sage?” he asked, bewildered. “What the hell are you doing down here? Wait. Don’t tell me, you showed up late to work one time too many and Cameron’s been torturing you ever since.”

“Please,” he rasped, hoarsely. “Just kill me.”

“Hmm.” Nik looked down at his grimy fingers and frowned. “No, I don’t think I will. I’m sure whatever you did was worth however long Cam has kept you rotting down here. And I have no interest in getting on his bad side at this current moment in time. I’m afraid all my good graces with my very pale boyfriend are nonexistent.” Or at least they will be.

Sage’s head dropped back against the back of the chair in defeat. “Fine,” he swallowed. “Fine.”

“So what did you do?” Nik asked, circling the chair. “How long, exactly, have you been rotting away in here. See, I’ve been a little out of commission as of late, and apparently Cameron didn’t want to invite me to play time, so. I’m afraid I’m a bit out of the loop.”

Sage merely stared numbly at him, not saying a single damned word about his current predicament as to why he was on Cameron’s shit list.

“Well go on then,” said Cameron’s bored voice. “Tell him.”

Sage whimpered and Nik nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling to face Cameron who was, of course, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded easily over his chest.

His face matched exactly his tone and of course he also looked completely unsurprised and unfazed that Nik was down here. “Well? What did he do?”

Cameron pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room with ease. Nik only lifted his brows as Cameron placed a hand on the back of the chair when Sage shrunk back into the chair. “He spied,” Cameron said, indifferently. “So I killed his family and let him rot down here to torture in my free time.”

Nik blinked. “On...us? Because I honestly can’t see what he could be spying on unless it was watching you cook every day.”

Cameron cut him an irritable look. “To my brother.”

“...oh,” Nik said, in a faint voice, returning his attention back to Sage. “I- why? We’ve done? Literally nothing to him? I don’t- why?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Cameron said, straightening. “The spineless will always bend one way or another, and he chose to bend for Destris.”

Nik wrinkled his nose. “Pathetic.”

“Indeed,” Cameron said, motioning for Nik to follow. They shut Sage in the darkness before returning upstairs to the kitchen. Nik was going for the counter to sit while Cameron went to the fridge.

Nik put his head on the counter and scrubbed his face. He looked up when he felt a plate being settled in front of him. He blinked blankly at the plate and then at Cameron. He absently touched his stomach. He hadn’t even realized he was hungry, and when he looked questioningly at Cameron, the alpha said, “I could hear your stomach across the house. Eat something.”

Nik wrinkled his nose, but crunched into a red pepper anyways. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“Hm.”

Cameron fixed himself a drink before sitting across from him, watching him steadily. They sat in silence; Cameron nursing his whiskey and Nik munching on red peppers for nearly an hour before a sentry decided to break their comfortable quiet time. “Sir?”

Cameron flicked his cool gaze to the sentry, watching and waiting. Anxiety and fear was radiating from the sentry.

Nik clicked his tongue. “I see we’re the type to learn from example,” he noted. “And clearly Sage is example enough, yes?”

The sentry only looked even more uncomfortable. Cameron cut in. “What do you want?”

“Your angel is awake. Sir.” He ducked back out of the kitchen as soon as the last word was uttered.

Cameron looked unimpressed, but satisfied, as he rose from the stool and started back for his bedroom. Nik snagged a couple pepper slices and trailed after Cameron, munching quietly.

He immediately crawled up behind Lev when he made grabby hands at them. Snuggling into his side, Nik offered him a pepper. “They’re crunchy,” he said, poking Lev’s nose with hte pepper.

“Anything’s better than broth,” he muttered, taking it and nibbling at it. He held his hand out for Cameron when Cameron didn’t move from his spot at the end of the bed. Cameron must have not moved fast enought for Lev’s liking, because Lev said, “Sit with us?”

Cameron seemed wary, though just slightly, before sitting on the bed next to them. “How are you feeling?” he asked, mildly, pressing the back of his fingers to Lev’s forehead and cheeks. “Not hallucinating still, are you?”

“...I was hallucinating?”

“Mm,” Nik said, crunching on his pepper. “Been talking to someone not as interesting as me. Granted, not possible, but you know.”

“I- who?”

“Well, you see-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cameron cut in, sharply. “There is no use dwelling.” He looked at his watch and then said, “I’m sure you’re hungry for an actual meal, since you’ve been sleeping all day.”

Neither Lev nor Nik had the option of answering before Cameron was up and out of the room a second later. Nik looked at Lev, bewildered, and crunched on his pepper. “I see we have struck a rather icy nerve, Levant.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Lev said, sounding even more confused.

Nik patted his cheek. “I know.”

----

Amara fidged as she sat on the edge of Ash’s exam table. “Well, Doc? Am I dying?” she joked, just to break the damn silence.

Ash pulled off his gloves to dispose of them. “You look healthy. A lot of scar tissue.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Amara muttered. “If I were any less vain...”

After leaning against the counter, Ash said, “It looks like a lot of cosmetic scarring, but if you made some changes to your lifestyle, your chances will probably increase. Which means you need to stop getting into fights with everyone.”

“I already cut out drinking,” Amara retorted. “Drugs are more Nik’s scene, and I’m semi-retired anway. What else is there?”

“How about eating a vegetable? Just a singulare vegetable? For once in your life?”

“There were olives on pur pizza last night?” She tried.

Ash looked unamused. “Try again.”

“Look, Ash,” Amara said, trying not to sound defensive. “Best I can cook is a bowl of cereal. I don’t know what you expect of me... that’s actually in my realm of capabilities.”

“Are you saying eating healthy is not in your realm of capabilities?”

“I’m just- I don’t know how,” she muttered. “I know how to feed two people cheaply on twenty bucks a month, but that isn’t exactly... healthy.”

Ash’s face was stern. “I do hope your not planning on feeding an infant on twenty dollars a month.”

“No,” she replied sulkily. “Cin’s in charge of the groceries.”

“Good,” Ash said. “I want you all taken care of.”

“Cin can’t cook anything any more than I can,” she warned.

“And what do you plan on doing about that?” Ash replied.

“Learn how to make grilled cheese?” She looked down. “I don’t know, Ash. If I burn enough things Cin will probably hire a chef or some shit.” A mangled grimace crossed her face. “I haven’t let him spoil me the entire time we’ve been dating. He’ll jump at the opportunity.”

“Well. I mean. I could teach you a few recipes that not even you could fuck up. If you want, of course.”

Amara blinked. “You’d do that?” she asked, startled.

He looked pained this time. “If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t have offered.”

“Usually someone is only nice when they want something,” she replied.

“I think the last four months is proof enough that I do not always act nice when I want something,” Ash said dryly.

“Yes well, I wasn’t saying you had to act nice to get what you want, just that there’s no other reason to be nice.”

“Do you want my help or not?”

Amara rubbed her face. “I do,” she said tiredly. “Sorry.”

“You should be,” he mumbled, before louder, “When do you want to start?”

“I suppose there’s no time like the present,” Amara muttered back. “Unless you’re busy.”

Ash pushed off from the counter, and said briskly, “Well, no time like the present.”

“Delightful.”

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