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#because the testing center is halfway between work and home
vilevvords · 2 years
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Test Drive — Ushijima Wakatoshi // NSFW
word count: 2.9k
content note: established relationship, car talk, driving and then sex, somehow. brief choking, vaginal sex & semi-public sex
a/n: saw a dodge, had some thoughts, et voila. also, happy birthday wakatoshi. love ya
visuals: one; two (wrong color but for front view)
mdni
Wakatoshi’s new car is a Dodge Challenger. He’s been driving a run-down Nissan god-knows-what for the longest time, never much of a car guy, but when it started rusting around the hubcaps, he knew it was time to say goodbye to the old thing.
He knows a thing or two about cars, changing both of your car’s tires by himself, checking on the oil, doing everything to prevent going to a car workshop if not absolutely necessary because although money isn’t tight for him, he prefers to not spend anything on things he can easily do himself.
And knowing this, it was even more surprising to find out just how much he had spent on his new car. You didn’t need to know cars to be able to tell it was expensive - sharp edges, polished body, sleek leather seats; a machine all muscle, sure to turn heads on the street. And while Wakatoshi never seemed like one to flaunt his possessions, he sure does cherish them.
Wakatoshi doesn’t have to, but he made it a habit to ask you first before making great purchases, partly to hear your opinion, partly because he feels like anything he owns is just as much yours as it is his. This one, however, is an exception. You knew he was going to buy a new car eventually but nothing could have prevented the way surprise painted your face when he came up to you sitting on the couch, dropping a shiny, brand-new car key into your hands followed by an “I have something to show you, baby.”
The key itself looks pricey, doing justice to the car you see standing in the car park of the apartment complex you two live in. Most of the vehicles parked there were already familiar to you, you had seen them plenty of times going and coming home from work, but even if that wasn’t the case, you didn’t need Wakatoshi to point it out. It stands out even in between your neighbor’s fancy sports cars, with a body rather angular than rounded, edges rugged compared to the flowy build and aquatic curves of most pricey cars. The burgundy is oddly reminiscent of the Shiratorizawa high school volleyball team colors and immediately overwhelmingly him.
He takes a few fast strides to get to the car door before you do, opening it and holding out his hand, signaling for you to sit in the driver’s seat. With how close the seats are to the ground, you almost fall into the red leather seat getting in, the brand-new factory smell wafting over you pleasantly and you make sure to take a few deep breaths, your eyes roaming over the sleek console.
You feel him shift beside you, moving to stand in between the opened car door and he puts one arm on the roof, leaning down slightly to see your expression.
“And? What do you say?” he asks and you find it uncharacteristic how his voice is dipped into what you think is a tinge of nervousness, almost like a little boy who forgot to get permission and is breaking the news to his parents.
For a moment, you don’t know what to say, overwhelmed by the luxury, intimidated by the power, and still not entirely done processing the surprise. You let your gaze wander over the interior once more, taking in more details this time. Your fingertips are grazing the leather center console as he leans in a bit further until he’s halfway into the car, his eyes still fixated on you because the silence has him growing restless and for a moment, he starts to already regret the decision.
It’s when you turn your head around and meet his expectant eyes that you remember you still haven’t given him an answer.
“It’s great, it suits you,” you say eventually, flashing him a smile, and you think you can see relief washing over his face as his features relax.
He explains to you how this type of car is called a muscle car - an American-made two-door sports car with a powerful engine - and it fits, you think. He starts babbling away on the details, about the sheer power of this car that manifests itself in 807 horsepower, making it the most powerful muscle car there is, and it’s clear he’s put about as much thought into this purchase as he does into everything else. And you can’t pretend you understand everything he’s saying, because it’s a lot, but you’re glad to listen nonetheless.
“Turn the motor on,” he says eventually, gesturing towards the start button. The rumble of the engine immediately creeps through your bones, even without acceleration, electrifying your veins. And it’s an exhilarating feeling, one so unlike what you felt in any other car you’ve ever been in. You look towards Wakatoshi and see him smiling at you.
“Let’s go for a ride.”
Apart from a few other cars passing by, traffic is light, and the motorway yours.
The fresh August breeze flowing in through the slightly opened passenger window hits your face, a welcome refreshment on an otherwise hot and humid day. Through the tinted windows, there are wide fields on one side, stretching out over the landscape and painting the scenery in hues of beige, the coastline on the other. The low roar of the engine mixed with the monotonous hiss of the tires rolling over smooth concrete is ambient, evoking an atmosphere that sets your mind at peace, and it is almost enough to make you want to close your eyes and have it lull you to sleep.
There’s a song playing on the radio, though anything beyond the steady rhythm of the bass is drowned out by the sounds of the car and the wind angrily swashing through the small gap of the opened car window to leave your hair tousled. It’s peaceful, relaxing your senses and at least for now, it feels like you’re able to leave all the stress of the last few weeks behind on the motorway.
You look over to Wakatoshi and feel a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth because it feels like a movie. The last few rays of the warm August sun encompass him, casting a warm halo around his silhouette, and he must notice you looking at him because the hand resting on your leg suddenly grasps you tighter, squeezing the flesh of your thigh.
And at that moment you think you will never be able to imagine Wakatoshi ever driving a different car again. Because sitting there in the driver’s seat, it looks like this car was made solely with him in mind.
You’re driving in silence for a little longer, though it feels like time passes in no time and it’s almost a shame, you think. Eventually, Wakatoshi lets the car come to a halt at a parking area of a sightseeing place you know well, though today, despite the great weather, you two are the only ones there. The view is nothing short of magnificent - vast skies stretching out over the vast expanse of the blue ocean, close to cloudless. Coming here is always nostalgic in a way, bringing back memories of past dates, stolen kisses in the setting sun, and heartfelt confessions. It is your place.
You reach to unbuckle your seatbelt but looking up again, Wakatoshi is already standing in front of the passenger door, opening it for you. He’s holding out a hand for you to take as you step out of the car, pushing the door shut behind you.
For a moment, you’re just standing there, taking in the view and basking in the last bit of sunlight for the day that soon threatens to disappear behind the horizon; because that’s all it takes. Because solitude with Wakatoshi isn’t of the suppressing kind; it’s reassuring, soothing, and altogether alleviating.
You wrap your arms around his waist, overcome with the sudden urge to be close to him and he lets you, reciprocating the affection by bringing an arm to rest around your shoulder.
He’s the first to break the silence.
“Thank you for being here with me.”
Instinctively, your hold on him tightens as you look up at him, smiling.
“Of course.”
He dips his head down to press a fleeting kiss on your forehead but the contact lingers, enough so to have you reaching up to cup his face, pulling him down to kiss him properly.
His hands fall to your waist and you can feel the warmth of his palms through the fabric of your dress. He’s using his body weight to gently, carefully guide you backward until your legs make contact with the car before closing the space left between you, his lips meeting yours once again. It’s sweet and unassuming, not necessarily meant to be an invitation to take things much further, you know, but when you feel his breath hitch as a soft sound escapes your throat, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh of your waist, you decide to test the waters.
The kiss becomes deeper, more breathless, and slowly grows into something that hints at the unmistakable, like a promise of passion.
You run your fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands and drawing a deep groan from him that you swallow. For a moment, he breaks the kiss, an action rather sudden as though he just came back to his senses, his chest heaving as he’s trying to catch his breath.
“Here?” he asks, cautiously; uncertainty deeply engrained in his features. “Now?”
You press a kiss to his jaw, another one just below and by his Adam’s apple, hoping it’s enough of an answer.
It seems to be because his hands hook under your thighs, lifting you on the wide hood of the car and you’re unsure whether it’s the cold aluminum prickling on your skin or the way Wakatoshi reaches up to tug on the straps of your dress that’s sending shivers down your spine. He pushes them off your shoulders, his fingers ghosting over your collarbones before he brings his hand to your throat, applying slight pressure. And even though your mind is clouded and the adrenaline rushing through your veins makes it difficult to think straight, you believe you can make out something unruly grazing his features. His other hand grazes the hem of your dress, teasing, before pulling down the fabric and cupping your breast, massaging the flesh.
He pushes you backward until your back makes contact with the aluminum, his free hand coming down to squeeze your hip. He’s hovering over you, his tall frame hiding the last rays of the setting sun still daring to peek over the horizon. There’s still a soft beat coming from the car’s speakers, setting the atmosphere and helping both of you to get lost in the moment.
It’s now that you take note of how worked up he really is, feeling the bulge of his erection through the layers of clothing separating you, and a gasp escapes past your lips as he presses himself a little further onto you, creating friction by gentle thrusts of his hips that feel ever so slightly restrained. And you know there’s a kind of impatience concealed within his actions, a kind of primitive urge threatening to burst through the closer he is to you, the longer he feels your fingers run through his hair, and the longer he tastes you, swallowing your sweet gasps and whines. His body curves around you, coming impossibly closer as his chest presses against yours, and yet something within his actions still appears restrained, like part of him can’t quite seem to let loose.
“’Toshi,” you manage to choke out, a breathless whimper, as he breaks the kiss, and it serves him as a reminder of how tight his pants are at that moment. He lets his head dip down onto your shoulder, his hands leaving your body to prop himself up on the hood, leaving you aching for his touch and warmth in the process.
“It’s okay, ‘Toshi. We’re alone,” you try persuading him carefully, though your hands are less restrained as you hook two fingers into his belt loop to tuck gently. “Please.”
His hips buck forward on instinct alone, chasing your touch, and it only has you growing more restless.
“Please,” you repeat, more imploring this time.
“Fuck, I don’t wanna dent it,” he breathes out, voice a deep grumble, and you think if you weren’t already lying on the hood, your legs would’ve given in.
“Bend me over the hood then.”
His brows are furrowed in thought like he’s suddenly contemplating how far he’s really willing to let his desires take him. He’s not the type to typically take sexual intimacies outside of the bedroom, not out of shame, but because he believes it to be something between only you and him, something he’s not quite willing to let anyone else in on.
And yet there’s something deeply lustful in his eyes as his hands wrap around your knees, pulling you forward and off the hood. Once your feet are planted on the ground, you’re being turned around, a hiss escaping from in between clenched teeth at the cool sensation of your chest coming into contact with the aluminum.
He hitches your dress up, leaving it bunched up at the dip of your waist, sighing as he catches sight of the darker spot where wetness seeps through your underwear. Your hips buck forward as he presses an index finger onto your clothed clit, gently circling. He hitches a finger under the fabric, pulling it aside at another whimper of his name, slipping a finger inside, soon another. His unoccupied hand massages the flesh of your hips as he pulls soft moans and pleads for more from your lips, patient despite the building pressure sitting deep in his abdomen.
Once he deems you ready to take him, he pulls away briefly, reaching to unbuckle his belt. He sighs as he frees his cock from the restriction of his pants, stroking himself, and his eyes fall shut briefly, needing to steady himself. One hand finds its place back on your waist while the other positions himself. A groan escapes his throat as the tip pushes inside and he takes his time bottoming out, although it’s less for him and more for you to be able to adjust to the stretch.
Wakatoshi leans forward, bracing an arm on the hood to further press his weight into you and you wrap a hand around his biceps, both in an attempt to be even closer to him and to brace yourself.
He starts slowly rocking into you, setting a pace that is deliberate and testing. It takes some time for him to grow bolder, for his careful thrusts to grow less restrained, faster and harder. You can feel the car moving slightly with every move of his hips against yours, the sound of skin against skin mixing in with the bass of the radio.
You’re trying your best to match his pace, attempting to meet his thrusts, but it’s too overwhelming, too overpowering that you find your muscles staggering, unable to keep up. Your nails dig into the muscle of his bicep, so hard it must sting, but he lets you. Because Wakatoshi lets you do whatever you want to him because he knows that ultimately the strain on your body is bigger. So he will take it, endure the sting, for you, and because he can.
Your vision starts to blur and your whimpers and soft moans mix with chants of his name falling from your tongue as you grow louder, but Wakatoshi shushes you, caressing the skin of your waist where he previously dug his fingers into.
He reaches to pull your upper body up from the hood as he feels your orgasm approaching, two fingers circling your clit to help push you over the edge. And he helps prolong your orgasm as you begin writhing in his hold, pleasure finally washing over you, and he presses sweet kisses to the nape of your neck until he feels your body loosen. Gently, he lays you back down on the hood, a few more strokes all it takes for his groans to stagger, for his own release to near. You purposefully tighten around him and feel his rhythm falter, a rare moan pushing itself past his lips as he cums, his cock throbbing inside of you with every wave of his climax.
His hands fall back on the hood as he halts to catch his breath. Fingers push back the strands of slightly damp hair that had fallen onto his forehead as he straightens himself up, pulling his softening cock out of you.
He helps you get back up, making sure you’re standing secure on the ground before he makes you turn around, cupping your face in both of his hands and catching your lips in another kiss. His lips move slowly, sensually, tasting like gratitude and a promise for more, for unrelenting loyalty, for love.
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bomberqueen17 · 4 months
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matcha top sewalong #4
ok so i was right, the sizing is bonkers. I should have cut a size 10. I did finally try the sleeve on-- just wrapped it around and tested it-- and i've got like four or five inches of ease in the sleeve, which I don't need.
So, for anyone thinking of making this pattern: The size chart is just in there for show, and means nothing. As the directions do say, to their credit, disregard that entire size chart except the shoulder measurement, and cut out the size that fits your shoulder measurement. Obviously they only put a size chart in there because one is expected, but it has no bearing on the pattern itself or like, human bodies. LOL!
So anyway here's my progress in a brief session this morning, which ended with my preliminary try-on.
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[image description: black fabric with some white interfacing showing, pinned to blue fabric in several places, with my hands holding part of it in place.]
I'd put the gathering stitches in by hand because I find that easier, and they were such short seams it was literally two minutes of sewing to do it. So then I pinned the center back, the side fronts, and then roughly measured the same distance to where the shoulder detail should start, and pinned that out.
I had help.
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[image description: my perfect adorable princess baby elderly gray cat sitting with her paws directly on the blue fabric I was working on, leaning towards me so I can't see the sewing machine.]
And then instead of putting four fucktillion pins in, I just started sewing, pulled the gathering stitches tight, shoved the gathers along until they looked even, sewed over them quick while holding the gathering thread tight, and did this between all the major landmarks until it was done. Had to go back over a bit of it to catch the shoulder detail hem properly, fussed around a bit. But it didn't take as long as I'd been afraid it would.
My help retreated slightly and grudgingly allowed me to make some progress on this.
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[image description: my perfect sweet cat sitting on the end of the sewing table, wall bedecked with spools of thread on a holder behind her, and the blue fabric pinned down more thoroughly in the foreground next to the sewing machine.]
Once I had the collar attached on one side I threw the thing over my head to see if the neck opening was wide enough and to confirm my suspicions about the enormous shoulders.
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[image description: a mirror selfie of me draped in the blue and black top, side seams open. I have a dressmaker's tape held to the point of my shoulder with the forefinger of that hand, and it is hanging down and the fabric that's meant to be the shoulder seam ends four and a half inches down on the tape.]
So if I hadn't embroidered this I'd cut four and a half inches off of the shoulder detail, and also recut it narrower, as it's far too wide AND far too long. As it is, I'll just cut to the edge of the embroidery. I'm going to unpick the edgestitching on both sides up to the collar, cut them both to the same width, and then gather the shoulder seam underneath them, then sew them back down. And then I'll put the sleeves on. I did check the sleeves though, and I could take some ease out of them too, so I'm sort of torn. I should probably just find the pattern pieces and recut the body to a smaller size, and recut the sleeve to match. But. Well truth be told I left the pattern back at my house and am at my mother-out-law's right now and don't want to trek back home to get it. It'll be fine oversized that's the aesthetic. I just can't stand having my sleeve start halfway down my arm. As it is the sleeve is halfway down my forearm if I hold the top of it against the point of my shoulder, and I'm going to have to cut it shorter. (Yes plus-sized garments need extra vertical room to go over full figures but not the sleeves my guys, my arms are not extra-long because I'm fat. OK OK OK they did not grade this pattern knowledgeably I can stop beating that dead horse and move on.)
So that's where I'm at now, I'm going to wind up with quite a different garment than the pattern envelope suggested I think. But it'll be wearable and probably quite comfortable.
The next version, I will cut a size 10, and i will make it of handkerchief linen probably, and I will follow the pattern directions more closely.
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steph-squatch · 3 years
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Back to work irl today 🙃 I don't even have a consistent space to set up because we're sharing a campus with another school (HVAC fire on our campus and we're not allowed back in yet) and I've been assigned to share a room with a counselor, meaning one of us has to leave if there's an appointment because of confidentiality and it's going to most likely be me (even tho she's willing to work outside and be as flexible as I am)
My anxiety is having a field day with this. Not only am I breaking routine and driving somewhere new (ish), I'm not even guaranteed a dedicated space to work! Also, because it's two schools combined into one rn it's going to be loud and I'm probably going to get distracted! But guess what I have at home?! A dedicated work space!!! And quiet!!!! Also a private bathroom!!!!!! AND I'M NOT PACKED IN WITH STRANGERS LIKE A SARDINE AT THE TAIL END OF A PANORAMA
I'm not the only one who feels this way, but admin is set on the decision so here we are
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theydjarin · 3 years
Audio
Audio of the Hoth rescue scene from the 1983 ESB radio play, featuring some really great Han & Luke dialogue 
Luke: So what’s your excuse this time? Han: ...for what? Luke: For coming out after me. I guess you can’t claim it was the money this time. Han: Well, ah. I’ll figure something out, Luke. Luke: I bet you will. 😏
Full transcript under the cut:
Han: Chewie? Hey, Chewie! You got the Falcon fixed yet? We’re getting this snowball right now before they close the shield door for the night.
Chewie: Argh?
Han: Because I’m sick of this planet, that’s why! Because Jabba’s hunting for our heads. Now warm her up and let’s raise ship.
Chewie: Aghh!
Han: WHAT?!
Chewie: Agh aghhh
Han: You took what apart?! What are you doing fine-turning the hyper drive now? Look at that mess, are you crazy?
Chewie: Ahhhhhhhhhhgghhhhhhhhhh
Han: Okay okay calm down, we still got a little while before they shut the shield door. You close up the vector guides, I’ll put the transition rig back together.
Chewie: Aghh
Han: All I want to do is get us out of here, Chewie, now put her back together the best way you can. Just so they’ll get us to our next stop.
Chewie: Aughhh
Han: Who? Her royalness? Never what she said. Remind me to tell you sometime about hob-knobbing with the other classes, it’s such fun! Oh, great, it’s just what we needed, here come the loose wiring brothers. What are you doing, Chewie? Are you a saboteur?? You think I want to spend the rest of my life here for face--
C3PO: Captain Solo--
Han: Listen, Chewie, those vector guides will do for now. Just get em back in place and tighten up the hole. I don’t want em perfect, I don’t want em pretty, I want em NOW!
C3PO: Princess Leia has been trying to get you on the comlink--
Han: Whoa whoa there. What’d you say, Threepio?
C3PO: I was attempting to draw your attention to the fact that the Princess Leia has been trying to reach you by comlink now for some consid-
Han: I turned my comlink off, I don’t want to talk to her anymore, it’s bad for my disposition.
C3PO: Indeed. Oh, well, Artoo and I are to inform you that the Princess Leia is worried about Master Luke. She doesn’t know where he is.
Han: Well, I don’t know where he is.
C3PO: Nobody knows where he is.
Han: What do you mean nobody knows? He was only a couple of minutes behind me when I rode in.
C3PO: Well you see sir--
Han: Deck officer, deck officer, come here will ya!
C3PO: Excuse me, sir, but might I inquire as to whether you intend to organize a-- mmph!
Han: Will you shut up for a sec?
Deck Officer: Sir, what can I do for you?
Han: You can tell me where Commander Skywalker is.
Deck Officer: I haven’t seen him. Is that droid malfunctioning, sir?
Han: Not anymore than usual.
Deck Officer: Then why are you holding your hand over its vocal swath?
Han: He’s got a cough. Now what about Luke?
Deck Officer: Commander Skywalker hasn’t come through the main shield door, it’s possible he came in through the south entrance.
Han: It’s possible? It’s possible? Why don’t you just go find out whether it really happened, huh?
Deck Officer: Very well, Captain, as soon as I get the rest of your--
Han: It’s getting dark out there, friend, and cold, in case you didn’t notice.
Deck Officer: I’m aware of that. I joined up with the rebels because I notice things. I’ll go and check on the Commander at once.
Han: Okay, yeah yeah, look, hey, thanks, pal.
R2D2: [angry beeping]
Han: Huh? Oh, sure, Artoo. Sorry, Threepio.
C3PO: Thank you, Captain Solo. Although there was really no need for that, I’m sure. And might I now inquire what has happened to Master Luke.
Han: Well you just go ahead and inquire all you like, Threepio, it never does any good around this deep freeze.
C3PO: Well!
Han: Seal her up, Chewie, I’ll be right back.
C3PO: Really, Artoo, have you ever met such an impossible man? Come along, let’s find the Princess Leia and tell her what’s happened. This is what we get for allowing Master Luke go off on his own, without us to look after him.
Chewie: Aghh ahhhg!
C3PO: Yes, Chewbacca, of course we shall keep you informed of any new developments. Between ourselves, Artoo, I think Master Luke is in considerable danger.
[scene break]
Han: What’d you find out? Where is he?
Deck Officer: Sir, Commander Skywalker hasn’t come in the south entrance either. No one’s heard from him since his last communication check with you.
Han: Well he was clear up on the ridge line then!
Deck Officer: He might’ve forgotten to check in.
Han: Luke? No, where he grew up, people learn to be careful. I’m going looking for him.
Deck Officer: But Captain Solo!
Han: Have the techs got those snow speeders working? I’d use the Falcon but she’s on downtime right now.
Deck Officer: The snow speeders aren’t ready yet. We’ve been having all kinds of trouble adapting them to the cold. The techs are running up a bunch of replacement parts, they should be ready by morning.
Han: Well, morning ain’t likely to do Commander Skywalker very much good, is it? Isn’t there anything in this whole base that’ll fly?
Deck Officer: Nothing that can handle a Hoth blizzard, sir. Those winds would smash you down before you got halfway--
Han: Alright, alright, forget it, I’ll have to ride out and look for him on a tauntaun. Come on, move it, we haven’t got much time.
Deck Officer: Captain Solo! General Riken gave orders no one’s to leave the base!
Han: This one over here will have to do, it’s still saddled.
Deck Officer: Captain Solo!
Han: Tell the command center that I’ll keep in touch with them over comlink band alpha.
Deck Officer: Sir! General Riken doesn’t want anyone leaving the base!
Han: Lieutenant.
Deck Officer: Sir.
Han: Lieutenant. What did you just call me?
Deck Officer: Sir?
Han: Right. Now get outta my way.
Deck Officer: But the temperature’s dropping too rapidly. Even a tauntaun couldn’t survive for long!
Han: Yeah, my friend’s out there someplace, and I’m giving you a direct order to make it easy for ya, so don’t waste my time!
Deck Officer: I’m afraid I can’t let you do this, Captain Solo! I have my standing orders.
Han: Lieutenant, have you ever seen my first mate? ‘bout, uh,  three times your size, covered in fur, got a bad temper?  
Deck Officer: Everybody in the base knows Chewbacca, sir.
Han: Uh huh. Well if you or anybody else tries to stop me from riding that tauntaun outta here, Chewie’s gonna take it real bad.
Deck Officer: But General Riken has clearly instructed me that no one--
Han: Do you think General Riken wants a quarter of a ton of roaring mad Wookie running around this base?
Deck Officer: I’m reasonably certain that he doesn’t, sir.
Han: Smart boy. Now, stand aside!
Deck Officer: I’m trying to save your life! Your tauntaun will freeze before you reach the first marker. Even with an insulated suit, if you’re on foot out there, you’re dead.
Han: THEN I’LL SEE YOU IN HELL! Hyah!
[scene break]
Luke: Ughhh. Ughhhhhh. Dagobah. Dagobah!
Han: Luke!
Luke: What?
Han: Luke!
Luke: Ben?
Han: Luke! Whoa, girl, whoa, hold on. Luke! Speak to me, kid. Here, come on, sit up.
Luke: Ben? Han? Han!
Han: Yeah, it’s me, kid, it’s me.
Luke: It’s cold. Han. So cold. I’m warmer.
Han: Warmer? No, Luke, that means you’re freezing. Fight it, come on! Don’t go to sleep on me. Don’t do this to me, Luke. Come on, give me a sign here. Luke. Stay with me. Stay with me, kid.
Tauntaun: [death noises]
Han: Oh no, girl, don’t you give me problems too. The tauntaun’s dead, Luke. Where’s your lightsaber. I need it.
Luke: Ben! Yoda--
Han: There’s not much time. There’s only one way to keep you warm until I get the emergency shelter. [lightsaber zuup] I’m sorry about this, old girl. Okay, Luke, I’m going to have to shove you inside the carcass.
Luke: Dagobah!
Han: This may smell bad, kid, but it’ll keep you alive until I can get the shelter built. And I thought these tauntauns smelled bad on the outside.
[scene break]
Han: Hold still, Luke, I gotta give you a stim shot. There, that oughta take hold and bring you around in a second or two. This is Solo to base. Solo to base. Command center, I don’t know if you can read me, but I’ve got Luke. He’s alive but my tauntaun’s down for good. We’re in an emergency shelter. Do you copy? The storm’s kicking up pretty bad. I don’t know if this hut can take it. Just come for us as soon as you can. I’ve got the homing beacon on. Do your best for us, you guys.
Luke: Han...
Han: Lay quiet, Luke. Come on, there’s not much room in here.
Luke: Han, I can’t see!
Han: You’re snowblind, Luke, but it’ll pass. We’ll get you taken care of soon, I promise. And keep that thermal wrapped around you, we gotta warm you up a little at a time.
Luke: Han... it would be you. How’d you find me?
Han: Snoozing in the snow, that’s how I found you.
Luke: Nice going. You have some sense of timing is all. Where are we?
Han: Emergency shelter. North side of the glacier field.
Luke: You think this thing’s gonna hold up?
Han: Well. I’m sort of hoping for the best, buddy.
Luke: We sure picked a great time to field test it, huh?
Han: Haha, yeah, perfect. How ya feeling?
Luke: Oh... terrific. Why don’t we go outside and get some calisthenics in before it gets too dark?
Han: Sure. Heh. We could always play some tag.
Luke: Hehe. Oh... How’d you get out here?
Han: Tauntaun. There wasn’t any other way. She didn’t make it, though.
Luke: So we’re here til the weather breaks.
Han: Yeah, that’s about it.
Luke: I can’t feel my legs. I’m numb!
Han: You’re gonna be okay. There’s not a lot more I can do for you with a medikit. But they’ll put you through nerve therapy and float you in a regenerative tank and you’ll be as good as new.
Luke: Too bad the nearest one’s a couple kilometers away through a blizzard-
Han: No more talking like that. You’re gonna make it, ya hear? What happened to your face? You look like you walked into a rotor blade.
Luke: Oh. It’s a wampa. Ice creature jumped me on the ridge and killed my tauntaun.
Han: How very rude! as Threepio would say. I hope you killed it right back.
Luke: Well, it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Whew. What smells so bad in here?
Han: Hehehe. You. You spent a little time inside my tauntaun while I was having a house raising party.
Luke: Well I guess you can cancel all my social engagements for the evening. So what’s your excuse this time?
Han: Huh? …for what?
Luke: For coming out after me. I guess you can’t claim it was the money this time.
Han: Well, ah. I’ll figure something out, Luke.
Luke: I bet you will. 😏
Han: This hut’s gonna hold, Luke, and you’re gonna make it.
Luke: I only wish I could’ve seen Leia. Said goodbye one last time.
Han: I got an idea, pal. Why don’t you just settle down and relax, and tomorrow you can say hello to her instead.
310 notes · View notes
pinkteapotwriting · 3 years
Note
Hi! I was wondering if you could do a wolfstar x reader. Where they find out the reader has a daddy kink, but she’s too shy to tell them? Also Remus and Sirius are a little older than her so she was worried that they’d assume she was only in a relationship with them due to the kink? I love your writing ♥️
Wolfstar x Fem!reader
Warning : Daddy kink, pet names, super sub fem reader, slight degradation, cream pie, male and female receiving. So yeah porn with no plot enjoy
Word count : 2365
I worked really hard on this and I hope you like it darling <3
---
You had always been attracted to older men. You were more likely to develop a crush on a professor rather than one of the boys in your class. It’s just how it has always been, and that’s why you were so happy with your relationship with Remus and Sirius. They were your dream partners, and although you were young, it felt like you had waited forever for people as kind, attentive, and uhhh dedicated to your pleasure. Everything about them just screamed dominance, perfectly suited to your daddy kink.
That’s why it was so frustrating you couldn’t get rid of that fear. That fear that you could scare them away. Of course they cared about you, but Remus was especially adamant that he would never want to hold you back. You adored them, loved them with all your heart. Everything with them was so incredibly satisfying, but to be able to go that extra step into submissiveness, for them to take control the way you desired them to, would make everything that much better. You didn’t want to risk losing them, and even if you didn’t, it’s hard being vulnerable in that way. Taking that first step would be hard, but you knew you would want the same from them. Even though this was somewhat embarrassing. 
---
“Sirius you shouldn’t have, really you don’t have to spend money on me. What did you get anyway?”
“Don’t worry love, it’s more for my benefit than anything.”
“Remus, do you know what it is.”
“Apparently it will be better for me if I’m surprised just the same.”
Sirius handed you a small black bag, with pink tissue paper blocking the top, hindering you from peeking inside.
“Remus and I will meet you upstairs in the bed room, we’ll leave you to appreciate your gift.”
“Pads that’s weird.”
“Moony I promise you’ll appreciate it, trust me.” 
They parted from you, Sirius with a peck to the cheek, and Remus with a lingering forehead kiss. Once you heard them trudge up the stairs of Sirius’s childhood home, you peaked into the bag and raised your eyebrows at the white lace hidden inside.
More for his benefit huh?
---
“Sirius, Remus, I’m ready. Can I come in now?”
They both sat leaning against the headboard. Remus’s right arm across Sirius’s shoulders, playing with the ends of his hair absentmindedly. Sirius was absolutely giddy, so giddy in fact Remus answered for him.
“Come on in Love.”
The floral lace bra supported you in all the best ways, two little pink bows adorned where the straps and the cups met. The white thong hugged your hips, complimenting your thighs and waist. It also had one small pink bow centered in the front of the waistband. Angelic is the way Remus would describe you, while Sirius would describe you as sexy as fuck. Not quite as eloquent, but it gets the job done.
“Siri, you didn’t have to but-”
“But?”
“I feel pretty.”
“You’re much more than pretty Y/N” Remus scolded.
“Does this mean you’ll let me spoil you more often, don’t mind having a sugar daddy so much huh?”
Your face immediately fell as you contemplated the effects his words had on you. Not that you needed him to spend money on you, but the idea of being good for him, of him spoiling his perfect Y/N, Daddy’s girl,  had even more wetness pooling in between your legs. Sirius mistook it for concern though, not the combination of horniness and embarrassment that it was.
“Hey Y/N, I was just kidding, you know I love you right? You’re much more than this thing that we fuck. We want you safe, and we like getting you these things because it’s kind of fun spoiling you. I’d do it much more if you’d let me. And I’m sorry, I was just making a joke with the whole sugar daddy thing.
Remus zoned in on your thighs rubbing together at the word Daddy.
“Sirius wait, Y/N, is there something you’re not telling us?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Sirius joking about being a sugar daddy didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
He smirked as you rubbed your thighs together at the word daddy, pleased that his little test worked. Sirius seemed to be catching on too.
“You know Y/N, we’re not that much older than you. Didn’t cross my mind we’d fit into that category. 
“I don’t understand Sirius.”
“You know perfectly well what I mean. Why don’t you tell us what’s going on and maybe it’ll turn out the way you like.”
“Well…”
You could not make yourself look away from your hands; watching them fiddle around anxiously. Remus’s voice soothed you though.
“It’s alright sweetheart. We want you to feel safe and comfortable telling us anything.”
You took a deep breath.
“I was scared to tell you because I didn’t want you to think that I was in the relationship for this reason. I love you both so much and would hate to make you guys feel insecure about it. I kind of have a Daddy kink.”
Remus kept his poker face, but if you looked close enough there was a hint of a smirk there. Sirius had the biggest shit eating grin there ever was, because he knew he was going to be having the best sex of his life tonight.
Their silence terrified you.
“I’m so sorry, I really shouldn’t of said anyth-”
Remus held up a hand to halt your apology, then patted his thigh.
“Why don’t you come sit on Daddy’s lap, angel?”
A shot of pleasure went straight from your spine directly to your aching cunt. You didn’t even know how to respond. So you figured it was best to obey. You crawled up from the end of the bed and straddled his right thigh, the one that was closest to Sirius. Sirius reached for the waistband of your panties and tugged upwards so they could rubbed deliciously across your clit. Remus had to grip your hips and stop you from grinding.
“You know moony, I bought these because she’s supposed to be our innocent little Y/N. Had no idea she was so dirty. Kind of ironic isn’t it.”
“Oh totally and completely ironic. She may not be a pure as we thought, but she’s still a good girl. Isn’t that right Bunny? You like being a good girl for your Daddies.”
When you whimpered instead of answering Remus tightened his grip on your hips and started helping you grind up and down his thigh. Sirius smacked your ass, which had you jolt forward, colliding with Remus’s chest and burrowing your face in his neck.
“Answer his question pup.
“Yes, I like being good for my daddies.”
You whined when Remus halted your movements once again. He raised a questioning eyebrow which had you bite your tongue instantly. You had just said you wanted to be good for them. 
“Aw, I think our desperate baby wants to cum moony.”
“Looks like it. Do you want Siri to eat you out bunny? You want your daddy to make you cum?”
You turned to look at Sirius’s smug expression.
“Yes please, want it so bad.”
“We can tell.”
Sirius’s comment had your expression turning bashful again. He gripped your jaw between his thumb and forefingers before you could turn away though. 
“That doesn’t mean hide it. I like it when you’re openly needy for us. Makes me want to fuck you hard and satiate every little desire of yours. Now climb off Remus’s lap puppy. Gonna make you  cum on my face.” 
You were almost disappointed when he let go of your face, until you remembered what he was about to do. You all too happily turned around and wiggled in as you sat between Remus’s thighs. 
“Not like that pup, ass up for me okay? I think it’s only fair if you take care of Remus while I take care of you. Understand?”
“Yes Daddy.” you hesitated for a moment, confused by Remus still fully clothed. You wanted to see him. You traced the top of his pants lightly with your forefinger. 
“Daddy can I take these off?”
“Please do.”
He pulled off his shirt as you undid his belt buckle and he watched you kiss below his belly button, and lower and lower as you pulled his pants off. Once you had them halfway off Sirius pulled them the rest of the way. You rubbed his prominent bulge through and nuzzled your cheek against his thigh before pressing a kiss against his clothed dick. He laced his fingers through your hair and you would have leaned into the touch, but instead he pulled your head to make eye contact with him.
“No teasing puppy, get right down to it.”
“Sorry daddy.”
“It’s okay love.”
You pulled his cock out from his underwear and were thoroughly impressed by how hard it was considering you barely touched him. You spat onto your hand and jerked his cock for a few strokes, but not wanting to get reprimanded for teasing you licked from the base to the tip then let the head of his cock slip past your lips. That’s when Sirius quickly discarded your panties and slid underneath your parted legs. 
“So wet baby, is this all just from calling us Daddy hmm? Should have told us sooner.”
You continued to bob up and down on Remus’s cock, wanting to earn his satisfaction. Sirius licked a bold stripe across your pussy.
“Such a good girl, fuck.”
Then he properly dove in, flicking his tongue against your clit and teasing your entrance with his fingers.
“Fuck, thinks she likes that pads. You like it when Daddy eats you out?”
You let out a muffled mm hmm against his cock, the vibrations had him throwing his head back and groaning. Sirius didn’t want to waste time talking though, his mouth and now his fingers were occupied, thrusting in and out of your dripping cunt. Bringing you that much closer to your release, while you brought Remus to his. 
“Fuck bunny, m’gonna come down your pretty little throat shit-”
He was now prodding the back of your throat, and you were completely relaxed and taking him like a champ. You felt him twitch so you pulled off just a little bit as his seed painted the inside of your mouth. He stared with lust blown eyes as you showed him your now clean tongue. He cupped your cheek and stroked it with his thumb.
“So good for me baby, such a good girl. You wanna ride Sirius? I think you’re ready now.”
Sirius placed one last gentle kiss to your clit before parting from you and allowing you to shimmy down and straddle his lap.
“Sorry pup, know that feels good but I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”
“S’okay daddy, whatever you want.”
“Mmm, that’s right baby. Why don’t you put it in now and bounce like a good bunny? You wanna be a good bunny?”
“Yes Daddy.”
“Wait.” Remus interjected.
He gripped your wrist before you could grab his dick.
“What?” Sirius sounded quite annoyed.
“Make her say it. I wanna hear her say it.”
“Well bunny, hop to it.”
Remus rolled his eyes at the pun but quickly fixed his eyes back on to you.
“Wanna, Wanna bounce on your cock daddy.”
“Like a what?”
You put your head down in embarrassment.
“Like a good bunny.”
Sirius gripped his cock, placed the tip in your entrance, and slammed up in one foul swoop. You clasped your hand over your mouth, maybe to keep some of the breath in your lungs or maybe because you didn’t want to moan so loud. You really weren’t sure. All you knew was that Sirius was going absolutely feral.
Remus moved behind you and unclasped your bra, finally freeing your boobs from their constraints. He grasped one with his left hand, while the other reached down to rub your clit.
“D-daddy, gonna cum. Can I cum?”
Remus rubbed your clit faster.
“Ask Siri love.”
“Sir, can I cum please.”
“No, Hold it.”
“But da-”
“Hold it.”
Remus was now kissing the expanse of your neck and shoulders, while rolling your nipple between his two fingers. Tears were rolling down your face at the effort it took in holding back your orgasm. All while Sirius was keeping a brutal steady pace from underneath.
“Daddy Please.”
“Go on them cum. Make a mess on my cock.”
You swear you lost your vision for a second. All the sensitivity, all of the built up pleasure finally erupted all at once and if Remus wasn’t holding you you would have collapsed. 
“Atta girl- Fuck”
You hissed in overstimulation as you felt his warmth spread and drip out of your cunt. Remus finally did let you collapse once Sirius had pulled out. 
“Alright love, lets get cleaned up.”
“I don’t think I can walk quite yet Remus.”
Sirius only smiled with a smugness that made Draco Malfoy look humble.
That stupid grin could always get you in trouble.
Especially now that he knows you have a daddy kink.
---
Bonus
The warm bath water soothed your aching muscles almost as much as Sirius scrubbing shampoo into your scalp did.
“Y/N..”
You peaked one eye open at the lanky man in front of you.
“Yes Remus?”
“So obviously Sirius and I have a daddy kink too. The funny thing is we didn’t want to tell you because we didn’t want you to think we were dating you for your age.”
“That is funny, wish one of us would of said something sooner.”
Sirius pecked your cheek.
“Me too love.”
“Besides, you two couldn’t get rid of me that easy. I kind of love you.”
“Only kind of?” Remus teased.
“Kind of love you sounded better than completely obsessed.”
“Well then,” Remus cupped both your cheeks “I kind of love you too.”
“Me too.” Sirius promised. 
The words were casual, but the tone was so intense. It reassured you that they wouldn’t be so easily scared off either.
And there were some things you had much more confidence to tell them now.
---
@sunny-bunnny @quindolyn @accioweaslcy @weasleyposts @bluemoonyblurbs @emmaev @side-blog-shit @agalandhermarvelobsession 
1K notes · View notes
tennessoui · 3 years
Note
Hi miss Kit! So um, I'm not the anon who had the idea about the Pokemon obikin AU but I saw that you're still looking for a prompt so I did some brainstorming?
Obviously Anakin is aiming to be a Pokemon Master which is why he'll have to fight the elite four eventually. Which is not an easy task despite what the games might imply! So what if, despite breezing through the gyms before, beating Team Rocket and having a team that is powerful and adores him, he still fails his first attempt at the league.
I remember Prof Oak telling your rival after you beat him in gen 1 that he lost to you because he doesn't love his Pokemon enough which is bullsh*t!! But must surely be a cutting remark.
So ofc he goes to caretaker!Obi-Wan afterwards because he is a former Pokemon trainer so how has he dealt with loss before? Does Anakin really not love his team enough? Bonus points if Obi has challenged the league before (and won??)
I just realized that this is way too angsty for the Pokemon universe >.< everything is nice and soft here
alright!!!!!! finally!!! here is that pokémon au, a bastardization of this prompt and @sinhalbutnoangst 's prompt "24: Right before a passionate/first kiss & 16: “There’s nothing to be scared of, okay? I’m right here.” For a Pokémon AU !!!"
I hope y'all both enjoy or at least find parts to be happy about!!!
(fair warning i don't know a lot about pokémon so who knows how accurate this is at ALL)
(3.3k)
(i've linked each pokémon name with their pokedex picture just so everyone knows what they look like. no need to read the descriptions or anything)(god knows i didn't half the time)
Obi-Wan is in the water, tending to a shy gyarados a trainer had left behind as a Magikarp a few months ago, when on the shore his flareon raises its muzzle and barks loudly. That’s her signal that someone’s arrived at the Daycare center proper. Obi-Wan furrows his eyebrows, as he strokes his hand down the gyarados' side.
“I always tell them to call ahead,” he mutters as the pokemon nudges closer for more attention. “Why do they never call ahead?”
Gyarados knocks him hard in the arm. It’s clear she wants more pats, but business calls.
“Would you mind terribly taking me back to shore, dear?” Obi-Wan asks politely. It’d be faster than swimming all the way there, and it would strengthen the Pokémon's connection with humans.
On the shore, Flareon bounds around in a circle, tail flickering back and forth. It must be someone she recognizes the scent of. A regular then. That means Obi-Wan can take his time getting back to the counter to greet them, but he probably shouldn’t show up dripping wet in only a pair of swim trunks.
Luckily, Gyarados gives him a lift, bellowing mournfully to be left alone again when Obi-Wan alights onto the sand. When her trainer comes back to pick it up, Obi-Wan has half a mind to offer to buy her from them. No one who actually cares about their pokemon would leave a magikarp to become a gyarados under the care and instruction of someone else.
But becoming known as the Daycare Runner who gets attached to Pokémon and tries to keep them is perhaps a serious threat to his business as a whole. And he’s already done that too many times.
No, the best thing to do is to wait for the trainer to come back and sit them down to give them a serious talk about their Pokémon’s emotional needs. They’re probably young. Most trainers are these days. On some level you have to be in order to have the energy to travel as much as you do, to sleep on the ground more nights than not.
Yes, they’re probably young, and more focused on gym battles than their Pokémons’ growth and happiness. It happens sometimes with tunnel vision like that. Too many advertisements for the Pokémon League, the Elite Four, the Gym badges. Obi-Wan had been the same way when he was a kid.
He gathers his clothes from the shoreline and slips on his shoes. Flareon tries to help dry him out by wrapping herself repeatedly around his ankles and cooing out gusts of warm air, but all it does is create a new and unusual tripping hazard.
Especially when she suddenly perks up, about halfway to the building and jumps forward into a run. Obi-Wan stares after her, confused, clothes held in a slackened grip until he sees a very familiar growlithe running fult tilt from around the building. It hops the fence with practiced ease that makes Obi-Wan inwardly despair at the lesson it’s unwittingly teaching all of the other Pokémon.
But he can’t deny the way his heart thuds when he realizes what its presence means. His flareon, embarrassingly enough, seems to be thinking along the same lines, as she bounds up to the growlithe and starts winding between his legs instead, rubbing her head over every part of black and orange fur she can reach.
Obi-Wan sighs and shucks on his buttoned shirt, shaking out the water from his hair. He doesn’t even really bother with pants, seeing as his wet swim trunks go almost to his knees.
It’s Anakin. Anakin’s here. Anakin hasn’t been here for four months when he left in the midst of a shouting match. Obi-Wan has been trying--unsuccessfully--to put Anakin out of his mind. And now Anakin’s growlithe is prancing towards him like it’s a special present to see him at all.
“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan murmurs, pausing in buttoning up his shirt so he can pet at the growlithe’s--what does Anakin call him again?--muzzle. For a second, the Pokémon nuzzles back, scenting his face and neck as territorial Pokémon are wont to do, before it moves quickly forward and grabs Obi-Wan by the shirt, swinging him up onto its back.
Out of shock and a latent survival instinct, Obi-Wan drops the rest of his clothes and clings to the Pokémon’s back. “Shit!” is on the tip of his tongue the entire two minutes it takes to bound back to the fence, over it and through the welcome doors of his own Daycare.
Anakin is standing, back to the entrance, furiously tapping the bell on the desk, looking somehow both desperate and bored.
Growlithe barks once, twice, and shakes himself hard enough that Obi-Wan knows to let go before he gets rolled over upon.
It’s not the most graceful entrance he would have chosen after going months without seeing Anakin, to land on his back, partially dressed and smelling like the sea at the Pokémon trainer’s feet.
Anakin at least has the wherewithal to be both surprised and immediately worried. “Obi-Wan!” he yelps, turning around immediately upon his growlithe’s bark of victory.
“Yes, hello there,” Obi-Wan says dryly sitting up from his sprawl and combing a nervous hand through his hair.
“Where are your clothes?” Anakin asks shrilly, turning a very interesting shade of magenta and looking quickly away from Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan couldn’t be more different, what with the way he looks at Anakin as if he’s starved for the sight of him. It’s been several long months since they last saw each other. The fight had been...awful, to say the least. Anakin had accused him of not really wanting him to succeed. Obi-Wan had accused him of the same tunnel vision he diagnoses most young adults to have.
Neither had been true. Obi-Wan hadn’t even meant it, but he’d been mad. He’d been mad that Anakin hadn’t even thought to listen to him more than a Gym Leader he’d just defeated.
Palpatine had urged him to go straight to the League. Obi-Wan had thought it prudent to return home to his mother, give his Pokémon a break, work his way to the island of the Pokémon League naturally as a means of bonding with and further testing his Pokémon. He has no idea who Anakin ended up listening to. It’s been something that has haunted him for weeks.
“Out in the back,” Obi-Wan grunts, standing and trying to pick up the shattered pieces of his dignity under the Pokémon trainer’s wide-eyed stare. Anakin’s grown older in the past few months, his face sharper. What is he now, newly twenty-three? Halfway to twenty-four? “Your Growlithe was quite enthusiastic to bring me here as soon as possible.”
Anakin flushes and looks down at his feet. He looks tired, Obi-Wan decides. Like he’s walked the entire continent just to show up at his door.
“Sorry,” Anakin says sheepishly. “I had--”
“Him out and walking with you, I know,” Obi-Wan finishes with a fond shake of his head. He buttons the last necessary button on his shirt and sweeps past Anakin to stand behind his desk. “You always liked having one of them out with you. How’s your Jolteon?”
“Twilight?” Anakin asks, sounding surprised Obi-Wan even remembered he had a jolteon. He tries not to feel offended. It’s an unfortunate truth that Obi-Wan remembers almost everything about Anakin, the trainer that used to hang around his daycare as though he couldn’t bear to step more than fifty paces from his front door. “He’s fine. A bit angry with me, I think.”
“Oh?” Obi-Wan asks, furrowing his brow as he looks up at his guest. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Anakin is quiet for a few seconds, and his hands clench down on the edge of the counter-top. When he speaks, his voice wavers. “Obi-Wan...do you think my Pokémon love me? Like, do you think I am a good trainer?”
Obi-Wan stares at him. This isn’t a conversation he should have without pants on, he decides. He slowly puts his pen down. “What happened, Anakin?” he asks gently, reaching out and laying a hand on the arm Anakin still has resting against the counter.
“I lost,” his favorite trainer whispers, looking down. Growlithe--Resolute, that’s what Anakin had named him--noses into the nape of his neck. Obi-Wan is not jealous. “I challenged the Elite Four, and I lost in the second round.”
Obi-Wan’s hand tightens completely involuntarily. He hates hearing that after their years-long friendship, the last few years where he’d thought perhaps they were on the verge of being something more, despite his reservations, Anakin had listened to Palpatine over him. Palpatine.
“Come around back here,” he instructs after a second’s thought. Somehow, still, after all these months, he thinks he knows what Anakin needs. “And release all of your Pokémon from their Pokéballs.”
“All of them?” Anakin asks, sounding so unsure Obi-Wan’s heart aches with the doubt of it all before he reigns that in. This isn’t about him.
This isn’t about him, but he can’t stop himself from asking, just once, “Yes. Do you trust me?”
Anakin’s fingers hesitate on the seal of his first Pokéball, and Obi-Wan’s heart jumps into his throat. “Yeah,” Anakin finally says gruffly, pressing the release. “Yeah, I do.”
His altaria pops out of her Pokéball with a trill and a flap of her cloud-shaped wings. He just catches a hint of the jolteon materialize into existence before he turns his back. “I’m going to put on proper clothes,” he tells Anakin over his shoulder. “Please, make yourself comfortable. I’m sure your Pokémon will remember half the ones here.”
And all of the ones Obi-Wan calls his own, he doesn’t add. Anakin should know. Anakin’s known them since he was fifteen years old and surly over the fact that his mother wouldn’t let him go out and hunt legendary Pokémon until he finished schooling.
He finds his abandoned clothes quickly, and shuffles into them. Flareon noses around him curiously, with more than a bit of excitement. She probably smells Anakin on him. The thought doesn’t warm his cheeks, but if it does, he’ll blame it on the sudden amount of heat she’s giving off.
He leaves his shirt as is and doesn’t even bother with the vest or tie. He’s not here to be Professor Kenobi. He’s here to be Obi-Wan, Anakin’s friend. That’s what Anakin needs from him right now. A friend.
He fixes his hair anyway in a mad bout of nerves, but no one, not even his mienshao or flareon, obsessed with appearances as they are, are paying enough attention to him in order to soothe his sudden insecurities.
More than anything, he wants to be back in the sea, surrounded by the gyarados’ coils. He doesn’t understand humans as much as he would like to, and he certainly doesn’t understand Anakin. Not anymore. Perhaps he never did.
His flareon bumps at his wrist with the crown of her head and he looks down with a sigh. “Someone’s excited, I see,” he murmurs wryly, smoothing down the stuck-up fur of her hair and chest mane. She purrs. “Not the most excited though,” he adds with a huff as he sees a blur of white and blue from the corner of his eyes as the female Meowstic who spends most of her time strolling the parameter of the Daycare abandons her position to dart towards the backdoors where a newly emerged navy male Meowstic stands waiting.
They collide and curl into each other, two halves of one whole brought back together.
Well, that’s as good as any sign to approach Anakin, who has decided to collapse on the soft grass of the enclosure. Other than the Meowstic, his freed Pokémon have curled around him. The jolteon, Artoo, rests by his head, while his charizard, Mustafar, brackets the length of his body with his own. The growlithe sits watchful at his feet, while a new, unfamiliar pancham curls up on his chest. Finally, his gallade sits cross-legged to his side.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan drawls before he can help himself, “It’s very obvious that your Pokémon don’t love you.”
Anakin bolts upright at the sound of his voice. The pancham growls at him, a baby noise that Obi-Wan didn’t necessarily think the species capable of.
The Pokémon trainer hushes it quickly with a stern, “Vader, no.”
Obi-Wan comes to sit cross-legged in front of the man. “You didn’t have a pancham last time,” he says easily. What he really wants to ask is much more complicated. He wants to know everything. He wants to know how Anakin changed. When. Why. He wants to know what’s still the same.
It’s always complicated when it comes to Anakin. It’s never been easy.
“He was injured when I found him,” Anakin admits, stroking the top of Vader’s head. “But a fighter. I think I was injured when I found him too.”
The man seems so lost in his own recollections that Obi-Wan hates to interrupt. Carefully, Anakin’s jolteon, Twilight, noses his hand. When he’s not pushed away, he jumps into Obi-Wan’s lap with a trill. Flareon lets out a hiss, but acquiesces when the jolteon licks at her snout, accepting her ownership of Obi-Wan.
“I had just lost,” Anakin says slowly. “I wanted to come back here, rent a Lapras and just ride until I saw the shoreline I knew was yours. But I didn’t know what you’d say to me. How mad you’d still be.”
Obi-Wan bites his lip. He wouldn’t have been mad. He’d been worried, from the second Anakin left his property. But how to tell the man that? Would the other even want to hear it? Would he think Obi-Wan was trying to infantilize him, to protect him?
“I didn’t want you to be right.” Anakin whispers, arms tightening around the Pokémon. “I didn’t want you to be right and say that I wasn’t ready. And then I was in the forest, walking home, and I found this guy. He’d been attacked by a bug pokémon who was probably a higher level. But he was so angry still. I...I wanted him on my team. I needed that fire back.”
Obi-Wan suddenly thinks that there’s much more distance between them than there should be. He wants to be hugging Anakin, to be kissing his temple. These were allowances they had given each other before the fight, things that Obi-Wan had squirreled away, close to his heart.
He wants them back.
“But I keep thinking about how the professor who gave me my first Pokémon told this guy I beat in my first battle that he lost because he didn’t love his Pokémon right, and I...I’m just worried that’s why I lost.” Anakin stares down at his pancham, who puts his paws on his cheeks and pats a few times.
“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan sighs. He thinks it sounds too fond, too revealing, but Anakin looks up at him with wide, frightened eyes. “I’ve never known a trainer to love his Pokémon more, dear one.”
“Then why?” Anakin asks plaintively, scooting forward until their knees brush. “Why did I lose? The gym leader of Cinnabar Island told me I would win!”
Obi-Wan, quite maturely in his opinion, doesn’t mention the fact that the recently defeated Palpatine probably had ulterior motives for Anakin to challenge the league too quickly and then fail. “You weren’t ready, Anakin,” he says instead, placing his hand on the other’s knee and holding it even when the trainer jerks out of his grp. “Please, listen. It's about sheer time, training experience. It’s not about you or your relationship to your Pokémon. You have such an amazing, strong relationship with them! They love you. Anyone could tell. And you’re not lacking in skill either. I know your mind is sharp and ready for battle.”
Anakin looks at him teary-eyed. “I’ve been so worried that maybe they didn’t know I loved them,” he admits in a wavering voice.
Obi-Wan can’t resist moving impossibly closer to his trainer. “Oh, Anakin, of course they do. Pokémon don’t always express or interpret love the same way humans do, but they do have their own ways of showing it.”
“Like what?” Anakin sniffles, wiping at his wet eyes. If Obi-Wan had really been listening, he would have noticed the change in his tone. As it is, he continues immediately, too focused on trying to stop his trainer from crying to think of anything else.
“A fire-type Pokémon wil try to warm you if they think you’re cold, even if it means staying up all night to keep you in in its flame. And fighting-type Pokémon are capable of throwing a blanket over you if they think you need to rest. Psychic-types have been known to read their trainer’s emotions and either hug them or give them distance whenever they want. Ground- and bug-type have been known to bring berries to their trainers to get them something to eat, and electric--why are you looking at me like that?” Anakin’s nascent smirk grows bigger at this interruption and he cocks his head to the side as he studies Obi-Wan’s face. “And what does it say about a man who spends all of his time around Pokémon, that he would do those exact same things for me?”
Obi-Wan at least understands enough to scurry backwards a few paces, much to the jolteon in his lap’s distress, who jumps away with a huff.
“I’m not sure I understand,” he says quickly.
Anakin inches forward, setting the pancham, Vader, aside. He really has grown in the past few months. The loss of the League, the months apparently spent on the road, have aged him so that he’s both recognizable and something new and wild. “What if I knew of a man,” Anakin murmurs, falling to his palms as he closes the gap between them. “One who warmed me when I was cold, covered me when I was tired, hugged me when I was needy, and fed me when I was hungry? What would that mean, in terms of Pokémon?”
Obi-Wan swallows nervously. His entire body is bracketed by Anakin. Anakin, who seems to have discovered his most-guarded secret in their months apart. Anakin, who is hovering over him now with a dark look in his eyes. Finally something in Obi-Wan gives way. This is it. He will give Anakin everything he asks for. Everything he needs. He’s always tried to do this exact thing.
“I suppose that would mean he loved you,” he whispers, closing his eyes so he does not have to see Anakin’s recoil, Anakin’s disgust.
Anakin hums instead. “Obi-Wan,” he whispers, exhale hitting his lips. “Obi-Wan, open your eyes. There’s nothing to be scared of, beloved. I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”
At these words, Obi-Wan’s eyes jump open of their own accord. Anakin’s lips press down onto his in a movement just as sudden. He whimpers involuntarily and reaches up to clutch at the trainer’s hair, hold him to his mouth. Just as involuntarily, his lips part and Anakin’s tongue licks around the gap before darting inside. He moans. It’s shameful, the way he goes from scared to sucking on Anakin’s tongue as if he’ll die without the warm intrusion of it.
It hardly feels like the first time they’ve kissed. It feels like they’ve been kissing for years, like Anakin knows his mouth completely and utterly.
There are so many secrets left between them. Obi-Wan’s one unopened Pokéball, sitting on his belt. Anakin’s relationship with that last Gym leader. What he’s been doing these past few months. What Obi-Wan Kenobi made his fortune off of.
But none of it matters now. Not here at this moment. All that matters is showing Anakin that he’s been just as missed, just as wanted.
With that in mind, Obi-Wan rolls on top of his trainer and shoves his hands up inside Anakin’s shirt to trace along the muscles of his chest and back. This was his. His, his, his. He had come back to him. Everything else could wait.
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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years
Note
Would you continue the villain nausea whumpee? To show how he is after he is removed from the chair? Do they set him free since he won’t be violent anymore ?
I loved the idea of Villain being set free, and ran with it a bit! I hope you enjoy! Thank you so much for the ask!!
This is a continuation from here, and, once again, the story below is below a read-more to prevent any accidental viewing of content that could trigger emetophobia very badly. I would hate for anyone to see it as they scroll past.
However, this time, the first scene is shown, as it contains no potentially triggering content.
CW//Emetophobia, graphic description of vomit, self-hatred, medical malpractice, low self esteem, hatred of former friends, Stockholm syndrome, whumpee liking whumper, minor eye whump mention, nausea
The auditorium crackled with the feedback of a thousand microphones, shoved towards the stage, frequencies battling and screeching against one another in chaotic choir. From a mass of bodies, of cameras and clattering boom mics, the wire spheres emerged in their dozens, all pointed centrally.
All pointed at the stage, and the podium that lived upon it, glistening in freshly-polished hardwood and media attention.
Behind the platform stood a figure, as equally basking in fame, and equally as glimmering. Upon their face, perfect white teeth glowed as freshly-fallen snow, pressed together in a wide grin.
In Hero’s eyes, it was pride that shone. The pride that came with accomplishment, with recognition, with glory, with perfect hair and thousand-dollar suits and the attention of the world, all upon their face. Their words.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here.” With a greeting alone, the world tucked back in hushed quiet. “Now, we will have plenty of time for questions later, but I wanted to start off with what has surely found itself on every headline this morning.”
A pause. The expected clamor erupted from the horde of media, incoherent shouting and stomping. A rioting crowd.
“Now, now.” It was a practiced ritual, between lion and tamer. “I will be taking all of your questions at the end, but let an old guy speak a little, first.”
Laughter queued.
“Well, then. I’m sure you’ve all seen the headlines-- you guys especially, you wrote them! But, for everyone at home, yes, the rumors are true. A villain is now loose in the city.”
A practiced gasp.
“And it’s a good thing! You see, for years, now, our in-house villainous psychology research has been working on a technique that they have dubbed Reaction-Based Morality Rehabilitation. Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret.”
The hero leaned forward, hand cupping the microphone, playful smile clear upon their face.
“They gave me this paper, and it was like, 100 pages long. And I didn’t know half the words in it.” They backed up, smile remaining. “But, trust me when I say, those guys in R&D? They’re amazing. They know exactly what they’re doing, even if I don’t.
But, I won’t leave you hanging. I do understand the just of the procedure, even if I’m not so sure on the jargon.
It’s a very simple solution to a very complicated problem. I am a firm believer in the fact that people are not born as villains. We are all born as heroes. Some of us, through unfortunate means, however, turn rotten. Through this technique, however, me and Organization believe to have found a way to separate the villain from the person inside.
By using innovative methods of therapy, our psychologists are able to help villains reject their evil ways, all the way at the center of their neurology! We have heard many concerns about the possibility of relapses, of a villain turning sides upon their release. Yet, with this technique, changing sides is not a conscious choice. It is as much a thought process as it is a carefully embedded instinct.
Of course.” They straightened momentarily. “That does not mean we are simply allowing once of those who have harmed you return to our beautiful city unsupervised. We ensure you, multiple surveillance methods have been put in place. This is only a trial run.
We at Organization wish to think each and every one for your cooperation and participating in the beta test of this revolutionary new technique. If this run receives positive results, you can all think of villainy as a thing of the past!”
From the crowd emerged a cheer. A cheer for glory, for fame, for progress!
For the destruction of a foe.
For unquestioned success. A villain defeated!
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 
Villain’s fingers brushed over the top of the kitchen’s oak-stained counter, kicking up enough dust to suffocate, even as their tightly pursed lips protected them from such.
This was a house.
Their fatigued, half-haunted gaze turned to move over the surrounding interior. The kitchen was fully-featured, oak accented with shimmering, mottled granite. Not that anyone had bothered to clean in the place. Beyond the room and its attached dining area, a step lower, a carpeted area was positioned, furnished in felt couches and a television.
But this was not a home.
With a scratching nail to their neck, the villain moved forward numbly, to the base of the stairs and up them. Beneath their skin, the tracking chip was an awful feeling. Buried just deep beneath that it could not be seen, yet shallow to the point that its presence was unyielding and unignorable. A constant itch, embedded between twitching folds of muscle.
Maybe they could take it out. Maybe with the right kitchen utensil-
Halfway up the stairs, they dropped, keeled over themself with sickly pea soup filling in the space behind their eyes. In an instant, their mind retreated desperately from the thought, or any semblance of it, even as their stomach heaved with the residual ghost of it.
The tracking chip was fine and they didn’t care about it and they wanted it to stay there forever because it wasn’t coming out.
Legs now taking on an appearance that ever so slightly more resembled gelatin, the villain leaned upon the railing, ascending with a considerable additional difficulty up the stairs. In the very brief tour they had been given, their bedroom had been identified as the dark spruce door at the hall’s end.
Moving to it was a struggle on its own, insides still twitching and squelching with the remnants of acute nausea. Yet, their agony was only internal. They made it, and, all the way, kept their mind empty. Thoughts clear.
Not thinking of anything that could make them fall.
The bedroom was a bedroom. A dust-coated vanity. A small attached restroom. A nightstand. A bed.
At the very least, the quilts had some color to them.
Struggling in an attempt not to clutch their own stomach-- an action that they had learned, time and time again, only made the organ flip-- Villain shuffled to the piece of furniture that had been designed for use when they slept. Dust coughed from beneath the covers as they lifted them, crawling under.
Laying down helped, at least in some slight way that may or may not have been a placebo. It meant they could close their eyes. Make unwise thoughts that much less likely to happen.
For a moment, Villain succeeded in blackness. A blank mind. A world unmarred by the horrible jolts within their brain, the firings of neurons, the innate jostling of their frontal cortex.
Yet, it only lasted a moment.
With a jerk, they curled to a fetal position, legs bent and tucked beneath arms. Their body struggled as though weeping, though they had long ago learned not to cry. It was terribly difficult to produce tears, after all, when the metal drew their eyes to unbroken wakefulness.
This was a nightmare. They were certain of it.
That had been their first thought, of course, when the news of their liberation had been shared with them-- after it had been shared with the wider public. Things did not reach their cell very quickly. They had believed it to be a dream, for there was no other possible explanation.
Villains did not deserve freedom. They knew that. Violent little scumbags.
When they had been driven to the house, that was when the orinique connotations in their mind had flipped-- when dream turned to nightmare.
It was their home. Such had been stated clearly, so many times. Upon a thousand channels of media syndication. They had been given the keys, had stared at them for an agonizing moment. Watched them dangle between their fingers.
Hero had practically had to shove them through the doors, and even so, their attempts at escape ceased only after the fourth time they had been reprimanded for them.
Somewhere, something mechanical twitched. Moved. Buzzed. One of the cameras. They knew they were here, obvious, blocky, black eyes. At the very least, they provided some semblance of comfort.
Of home.
Of safety.
Oh, how desperately Villain wanted to go home. Everything had made so much sense there! Was so fantastically, wonderfully simple! If they were placed in their cell, they stayed in their cell. If offered food, they ate. When seated in their chair, they watched.
It was so easy. So invariable. Strict and stringently controlled, as the life of any vile beast who called themself a villain should be. Not a chance they could make a mistake, that they could do anything wrong. Only the slightest opportunities for their mind to slip, their thoughts to wander, to go somewhere bad.
Somewhere that would send them to their hands and knees, heaving and retching.
Food came often, with how difficult it was to keep it down. They’d counted once. Certainly the chefs must have become tired after preparing thirteens meals in a single day. Yet, in the end, they had only managed to fully digest one.
Especially since that was only the day on which they had counted-- it certainly wasn’t notable.
Now, there were no chefs. No cells. No chairs. No screens to watch. Order was gone, and chaos reigned.
Terrible, bloody chaos.
The house was far too large. So many times, Villain had begged for a schedule. For orders. For what they were meant to do-- when to get up, when to go to sleep, what to do inbetween.
Yet, the answers always came the same: A shrug, and four terrible words. “Whatever you want to.”
That which they wanted was not that which should be carried out! They were a villain! A terrible, retched thing! A monster! A devil! Their thoughts deserved no attention, their wants deserved only the click of the IV.
The sickness.
Somehow, despite the inherent maleficence that it most certainly carried with it, an idea manged to work its way through the folds of their brain. A thought. A plan.
A good one. One that did not incite their stomach to heaving.
Certainly, if they laid here, in this bed, then their freedom could not lead to the harm of anyone else. The world would remain safe, regardless of their liberty. And, when the cameras at last noticed, the heroes would be forced to return. To bring them back to the cell and the chair. To return them to where they belonged.
It was perfect-- though that wasn’t to say that anything they created could possibly be good.
Thus, they put the plan into action. Beneath the chains that were covers, upon the chair that was a bed, Villain waited.
Their plan worked for perhaps an hour.
An hour. Then the door was kicked in. This time, that which seized their chest had nothing to do with nausea, nothing to do with conditioning. Everything to do with terror.
Even their wildest dreams, their most optimistic ambitions, did not expect that the heroes would have come so soon. If they had, they would have knocked.
They curled tighter into their fetal position, fingers gripping skin until both turned white. Desperation and willpower, even together, could not stop their mind from tracking the noises as they moved through the house. Through the kitchen. The living room. Up the stairs. To the hallway outside.
Certainly, they would have noticed the lack of dust on the bedroom’s doorknob.
Perhaps it was a member of the public, come to take their righteous revenge. Such would certainly be deserved. Or, perhaps, a wayward hero, disliking the arrangement that had been made. Having decided to take the matter to their own hands. They deserved that, as well.
But, when the voice came, Villain knew that their hopes were as far as could be from the truth.
“Villain?”
Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind. Don’t think. Blank mind don’t think.
Beneath the blanket, they twitched.
“Oh, thank goodness.” Footsteps dashed to the bedside. Hands upon them. There was such a wholehearted relief to the voice, an unimaginable burden relieved.
Yet, such was impossible, as villains did not have hearts.
“We were so worried, so, so worried. You have no idea! Come on, come on.”
A hand, to the top of the blanket.
“There’s about a thousand cameras in here, buddy, so we need to get going. Everyone at base has been so nervous, all day. Ever since we heard... My car’s just outside, we need to go, quick.”
Villain’s only solace was torn away.
“Buddy? What’s wrong?” The voice was practically a whisper. “It’s me. It’s-
Supervillain.”
A blank mind, filled with thoughts.
The initial strike of nausea was enough to make them wail, even as they had no ability to. They hardly remembered getting to their hands and knees, hardly remembered as they began to heave. No. They registered only the horrid, green-and-brown mess that exploded upon the pale white bedspread.
Again, again, a thousand exhausting times, the heaving struck them, until chunky vomit was spilling off the side of the bed, ruining the antique carpeting. It only ceased to spill when their insides were well and truly empty.
That was when they were picked up.
It was a caring, warm hold, tucking them close to the chest of a vile demon. Yet, they had not the slightest ounce of energy to resist. Any muscles not exhausted by fatigue went back to work, heaving and coughing, even as nothing more emerged.
“I’m sorry.” With a broken voice, Supervillain spoke. “I’m so, so sorry. Let’s go back to base, okay? Everything’s going to be okay, I promise, I promise, buddy.”
No.
With evil like this in the world, nothing was even going to be okay again.
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nonbinarylowkey · 3 years
Text
collar
Rating: Explicit. MINORS: DO NOT TOUCH! Pairing: Loki/Reader Summary: On the last night of Chanukah, your true love gave to you... a collar. So you decide to test it out. Just, maybe, not in the way he was expecting.  Note: Posted this on ao3 a lot earlier in the day, but now that I’m home and can format this properly, it’s finally going up here! Woo! Anyway, the Loki trailer dropped on the first night of Chanukah + the last night of Chanukah was Loki’s birthday so naturally these two things combined in my brain and led to this. Hope you enjoy it! It’s sub!Loki.
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Loki Laufeyson looks good in a collar.
Like, criminally good, you think, walking circles around him.  You trail your index finger along the top edge of the collar as you go.
He shivers.
Loki kneels on the plush grey carpet of your bedroom floor, knees spread wide to give you the best possible view. His pants are unbuttoned, hanging low on his hips. He's not wearing underwear tonight, you discovered when you first started this game, and so the head of his cock peeks out from the open waistband. His hands are restrained behind his back. His shirt never made it to the bedroom.
"I'm waiting," he says when you finish your circle and take your place in front of him.
You raise an eyebrow at him, "And you'll continue to wait until I've decided what to do with you."
"You are a cruel mistress," he shakes his head, but the cheeky grin on his face betrays his somber tone.
You pull the golden leash toward you; Loki falls forward with it, his face nicely cushioned by the area between your thighs. You run a hand through his hair and take advantage of the places where your fingers snag in his curls by pulling his head back so that he is looking straight up at you. Even in this position, defiance colors every inch of him. His shoulders are set back, his spine straight. The set of his jaw is stiff, giving his smile a distinctly sinister look.
You lick your lips.
"If you didn't want me to be cruel, you shouldn't have gotten me a collar for Chanukah."
"Ah, but you were meant to be the one wearing it," he nuzzles his cheek against you.
"But you look so good in it, Mischief. How could I resist?" You kneel down to kiss him, laughing as you catch his grinning lips with yours. Your content to stay like that, sharing breathy laughs with each other while your mouths move against one another. But Loki is not content in one position for very long so when he starts grinding himself against your leg, give a sharp nip to his lip. "Be good for me, please?"
" Goodness is not in my nature."
"Well then, maybe I should break out the strap. Deprive your cock of any fun tonight." You run your finger along the collar again, then press your thumb to his Adam's apple just above it.
His tongue drags a slow trail along his lips.
"Oh, please do deprive me," he says in a tone that lets you know he wouldn't actually consider the strap a deprivation at all.
"Right," you roll your eyes. You glance at the bed behind Loki, looking for inspiration. How to make the God of Mischief behave… "Maybe I should just tie you to the bedpost while I get myself off."
A hiss catches your attention. Loki's teeth are bared now and he's glaring.
Hit the nail right on the head , you think.
You make your way over to the bed, twirling the leash around your finger as you go. The knot you tie the leash into around the post is loose; it's definitely something Loki could undo with little to no effort on his part. But it gets your threat across all the same. You perch on the side of the bed closest to him. One of your hands slips under the waistband of your shorts. You're wet already; the sight of Loki at your mercy ensured that much. Your fingers slip inside your folds easily; an exaggerated moan drives home the idea of what Loki will be missing if he doesn't agree to be good.
He growls.
For a moment, your touch lingers on your clit. You rub slow, gentle circles over it, careful not to work yourself up too much; despite your teasing you weren't going to keep Loki from all the fun. You twist your hand so your thumb continues to press at your clit while you sink two fingers into yourself.
It isn't enough. You grind into your hand, trying to get the same fulfillment from your own touch as you would from Loki. Lower lip caught between your teeth, you groan in frustration.
"You only torment yourself by keeping me tied," he said through gritted teeth. It was a commendable show of restraint that he didn't just break out of his restraints; one you thought you might have rewarded if the game wasn't so amusing.
"Maybe I like torment."
He snorts, "I reiterate: you should be the one in the collar."
"Hush, you," you stick your tongue out at him. It's a decidedly unsexy thing to do. You take your hand out of your shorts and stick your fingers out to him.
Loki takes your fingers into his mouth without question. His gaze burns into yours as his tongue swirls around your digits; he is a man dying of thirst presented with a cool glass of water. When he's gotten all he can from your fingers, he pulls back, teeth dragging across your skin. It makes you feel powerful, even if you have no idea what to do with the power.
"Undress me. No hands," you leave your perch on the bed so that you can hook a finger underneath his collar. You pull his head up; eyes on you. "No magic, either. Just your mouth."
"Is that all?" He asks. Anticipation leaves his breaths heavy; an open mouthed smirk adorns his lips as he tries to keep it under control. The effect is entirely indecent.
Is it too late to give up the game and just let him fuck you?
"It's a start."
In his enthusiasm, Loki manages to get some skin when he latches on to the fabric of your shorts. It stings in the best way, amplifying the want flowing through your body and the drag of his nose as his mouth reveals more of your skin. He abandons your shorts when he reaches your center. He breathes your scent in and presses his nose to your clit, nuzzling.
You suck in a breath. The game dictates that you reprimand him for acting without permission. You don't want to. Instead you pull on his collar to bring him closer, to invite more of his willfulness.
He complies, most eagerly.
Loki's tongue delves deep, reaching places no one else had ever bothered to find. And while he is eager about what he's doing, he makes sure to go slow; to savor every last drop his mouth can find. To torture you. And you're pretty sure he's trying to torture you for even suggesting that he wouldn't get to touch you.
"Fuck, Loki," you moan, gripping his hair tight in your hand.
"Yes, fucking is the goal here," he laughs against you, sending delicious vibrations through your core.
You buck into his mouth. You need more and your body is reaching the limits of its patience. So you push him away and, startled, he falls on his ass. Despite your growing impatience, you do take a moment to admire the sight of him. His face is coated with your wetness, a mark of his passion for the taste of you. The collar and matching leash sparkle in the room's lights and his arms remain restrained behind his back - all evidence of his trust and willing submission to you.
With his hands restrained, he's no help in getting his pants off. You don't bother trying to get them off all the way. Shoving them halfway down his thighs is enough that his cock is fully free. And with his pants out of the way, you straddle him in one breath and only leave the space of one more before you bury his cock into your heat. You tug on his arms.
"Touch me," you demand.
Obediently, he frees his arms of the spell he'd used to restrain them. He runs his hands over your thighs, up your hips and waist, and then retraces that path back down. He touches you everywhere he can reach, memorizing each bump and blemish and stretch of skin that you offer to him.  He tangles a hand in your hair, uses the grip to pull you down for a kiss; the fact his face is still covered in your juices is no deterrent for him. He wants you to taste what he does to you, wants to remind you that although he is the only one wearing a collar tonight, you belong to him as surely as he belongs to you.
"Shall we take this to the bed?" He asks. But he doesn't give you the chance to to answer before he's moving the two of you off the floor.
You don't even really manage to follow how he does it. All you know is that one moment the two of you are on the floor and the next your back is hitting the mattress while Loki looms above you.
"I thought I was supposed to be in charge?" You wrap your legs around his waist.
He nuzzles your neck, "Always, my queen. So much so that you needn't use words for me to know what you desire of me."
"Silvertongue," you say, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
All talking stops when he kisses you, open mouthed, and sliding that silvertongue of his against your own. He lines himself up with your entrance, once more burying himself inside of you. It feels like he's come home to you, always; no matter how many times you're together like this, it's a homecoming.
Then he's moving, rolling his hips slowly, deliberately against you at first; you can hardly breathe for the sensation he sparks within your body. But it isn't long before he speeds his movements up. He grows frantic and rough, pushes one of your legs down into the mattress so that he can go deeper inside of you. He swallows each of your cries, keeping the noises he forces from you all for himself. He's selfish, you see, and he wants to keep your moans and shouts and pleas for more all to himself. There are other ways to show the world that you belong to each other; your noises are all for him.
You reach your climax both too soon and too slowly. You try to keep your eyes open, you want to see Loki when you reach your peak. But you're feeling too much. It's all too overwhelming so you squeeze your eyes shut and press your face into his neck because if you can't see him, you can at least try to mold yourself to him so that you never have to be apart.
Loki isn't far behind you. He murmurs desperate I love yous and my queens and other endearment as he comes. You're too far gone to understand the words, but the sentiment comes through all the same when his hips stutter against yours and he spills into you.
Silence falls over the room in the aftermath. His forehead is pressed against yours, breath intermingling in the small space between your faces.
Your fingers fumble with the collar's clasp. When it unlatches, it falls to the floor, forgotten.
"Was I good enough for you, my love?" He falls to his side, maneuvering you until you're lying on your side facing him with his arms wrapped securely around you. One of your legs is propped up on his hip.
You trace his mouth with one finger, "You've certainly got a mouth on you, I'll tell you that."
He smirks and catches your finger with his teeth, nibbling just a little bit on the first knuckle.
"But, yeah, I'd say you were more than good enough," you laugh. "Happy birthday, Lokes."
"Happy Chanukah," he responds.
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stillebesat · 3 years
Text
The Green Gremlin
Danny Phantom: Danny, Dash Blurb: The Ghost reflects the person. Dash had heard that somewhere and after tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right. There was something fundamentally wrong with him. Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Past Bullying Talk, Mind Control mention
Dash had no idea how long the hole in the fence of the Fenton’s backyard had been there and at this point he didn’t care.
Considering he’d found it back in the beginning of sophomore year...and it was still here nearly two years later...he doubted the Fenton Parents even knew it existed since it was hidden behind their shed.
After all, ghosts didn’t exactly need holes to get anywhere. They could just phase through solid objects--ones that didn’t have a ghost shield protecting them at least.
He hissed under his breath, shoving himself through the opening, purposely ignoring how his shoulders--which had nearly gotten him stuck in the hole a month ago at his last visit--didn’t stop him this time.
Intangibility.
Dash gritted his teeth, shoving his way along the gap between shed and fence into the main backyard.
He knew there would be no one home even with the late hour, considering the Fentons were still dealing with the aftermath of yet another ghost army invasion that had compromised most of the student body at Casper High. Fentina--Danny should also still be somewhere on the school grounds with his two weirdo friends, and with his old tutor, Jazz, off at college...it would be quiet here for a while yet.
Not that it would have mattered if they had been home. He’d yet to see anyone come back here unless someone was trying to get Fentroid fit enough to pass yet another fitness test. And that had only happened twice.
Dash reached the brick wall, his fingers--still green tinged from his unfortunate...change today--brushed the rough surface before he placed his back to the wall, sliding down so that the overgrown bush nearby hid most of him from view.
He let out a slow breath, ducking his head against his knees, feeling the hum of whatever protective shields the Fentons had on the building resonating through the wall and matching the burning throb in his chest as he ran slightly pointed nails through his hair.
Another ghost invasion. Another...transformation where the attacking ghost had done something to bring out the more ghostly natures of the student body to make things all the more difficult for Phantom.
And once again...Dash had been changed into that horrible green skinned gremlin ghost creature.
“It’s not fair.” He whispered, fingers flinching away from the pointed tips of his ears.
The Ghost reflects the person. He’d heard that somewhere...probably from Mr. Lancer, and after like the third incident where he’d ended up green...Dash had begun to think there was something to that thought. After tonight...the thirty-sixth freaking time he’d been turned green...he knew it was right.
There was something fundamentally wrong with him.
None of the others, in the dozenish times they had been affected, held such a consistent ghost form when they were altered, changed, or manipulated to be something else rather than human. Whether it was becoming like ghostly Vampires, Sirens, Multi-Colored Blobs, Cyborgs, or various WereCreatures, his classmates had experienced it all.
But Dash?
He remained the green gremlin.
Nothing more. Nothing less. Sure the size of his gremlin form might shift depending on the ghost doing the changing and his...well...anger issues that day.
But overall...Green. Green. Green.
The Ghost reflects the person.
And since halfway through sophomore year Dash had been trying to change that reflection. Be better.
He’d stopped taking out his...issues on the dweebs at school--especially Fen--Danny.
He’d gone to see a therapist.
He’d worked on improving his grades and study habits.
He’d tried to branch out in his hobbies. Sewing, Screenwriting, a disastrous attempt at Acting and yah, just trying anything else he had a slight interest in that wasn’t a sport. That wasn’t football.
...and yet.
He dropped a hand to his chest, rubbing at the burning sensation that no amount of Tums or Tylenol could get rid of and only seemed to grow stronger with every ghastly change he’d been forced into.
He closed his eyes, running his tongue over his sharpened teeth, feeling most of the points finally beginning to shrink. “One more year.”
If he could just survive senior year in this hellscape then…then....
He didn’t know. Colleges only wanted him for his football skills.
Football skills that he should just stop using because that seemed to bring out the worst of the Green Gremlin when the ghosts attacked.
He’d destroyed yet another uniform -his third this year- today at the game when he’d become the freaking Hulk and smashed his way through the bleachers to try and catch the annoying fly that he hadn’t realized was Phantom until after his Hero had burst free from his grip and sent him flying over the school to land face first in the grass by the flagpole.
It was a move that had placed him far out of range of the ghostly lady-like creature who had changed him in the first place, freeing him from her control. Allowing him to run like the coward he was away from the fight and his classmates and get...human again.
Dash let out another shuddering breath, trying to focus on the hum coming from the Fenton’s home as he rested his head on his knees. Trying to ground himself like the therapist had suggested.
He was safe here.
No ghosts dared to attack Fentonworks directly. Not when it housed the only stable portal in the area.
No one would come here to hurt him. To hunt him.
He just needed to wait until the last dredges of these ghost alterations left his body and then he could go home.
Go home to where his Dad would be furious that he didn’t stick it out. Didn’t win the freaking football game.
Like a ghost attack wouldn’t have forced them to reschedule anyways.
It wasn’t like that mattered to his Father though. He only ever cared about football when he wasn’t off traveling for one of his stupid work trips. Nothing more. Nothing less. His Dad hadn’t even noticed that Dash had grown out his hair to cover his ears because they’d remained pointed since Thanksgiving break and he couldn’t hide them any other way. He hadn’t noticed how Dash barely smiled anymore to hide the stupid fangs that had stuck around after the last change. He hadn’t noticed---alot. He’d come home once with his skin still green tinged and his Dad thought he’d been trying to fake an illness to get out of practice instead of recovering from another Ghost Attack.
Dash pressed his hands to his chest, again fruitlessly massaging at the burning ache there.
One more year.
One. More. Year. And he could move out of this place. Get far away from his Dad. From the Ghosts. And hopefully forget this whole gremlin nightmar---
“Dash?”
Dash jerked at the unexpected voice, hissing as he smacked the back of his head against the bricks. Great. Hello headache. Not that he didn’t already probably have a concussion from how hard he’d face planted in the dirt earlier. But still.
“...Dash?” The voice was softer. More cautious. Like the tone you’d use to try and soothe a wild animal trapped in a corner. “You...uh? Okay?”
Dash snorted, resting his head back on his knees so he could better rub the back of it and avoid looking at the speaker--at Danny. “Sure.” He gritted his teeth at the demonic growl that still was his voice. Please let that not be a permanent change this time. “I’m. Just. Fine.”
“You uh...don’t look fine.”
Nooo really? He hadn’t noticed. Dash flexed his fingers, feeling the claws still present, which meant his skin was probably still ghost colored.
Great. Fenton probably thought he was still mind controlled. Why was he even home? Or better yet. Out here? There was no reason to come back here at night--even so, he’d thought that he’d be hidden from view!
Dash exhaled, turning his head to the side, looking up to see his one time punching bag sitting on the back steps, bright blue eyes staring right at him. “I’m fine.” He repeated, hiding a wince as his chest burned hotter for a second. “Just….catching my breath.”
Danny frowned, slipping off the side of the steps to crouch in front of him. “Here? Why? My parents--”
“I KNO--” Dash flinched, groaning as Danny jerked back. He half uncurled, lightly tapping his aching head against the bricks as he closed his eyes. “I know.” He repeated in a softer growl. “They haven’t looked back here yet though. I’ll be...fine...in a minute. I won’t attack you.”
“Here yet---wait you’ve come here before? Why?”
Shouldn’t Fenton be more concerned about Dash still being well….ghostly? Or hurting him? Sure, Danny had stopped running away at the first sign of a ghost attack forever ago, finally taking after his parents in a way. He’d often seen Danny running around with Sam and Tucker helping Phantom with capturing ghosts---liked they’d done tonight. The three of them working together in tandem to keep the football team from rampaging off the field before the Fentons got there.
...Maybe Danny being back from the game already wasn’t that odd actually now that he thought about it. If Fenton was returning with a full thermos of spirits to send back in the Ghost Zone and one of his parent’s devices happened to sensed a ghost nearby---
Dash gave a one shoulder shrug, opting to look at his green tinged hands instead of at Fen---Danny’s face. “Feels...safe here. I guess. No ghosts attack it at least.”
“It feels safe.” Danny repeated an odd note to his voice.
What was he? A parrot? “Yes.” He bit out, clenching his hands before relaxing them. Anger wouldn’t help. It would only make him revert. He drew in a slow measured breath. “What’s the big deal Fent--Danny?”
Danny chuckled and shifted so he too was sitting with his back against the wall of his home. “The fact that you feel safe at my house? The place practically screams stay away to people, Dash, what with the big old Ops center on top and the threat of my Dad causing something to explode here every other day.”
Okay...yah...that...yah. Dash made a face, rubbing his aching chest. “Your sister tutored me here twice a week until she left. Maybe I’m just used to it.”
Danny made a skeptical noise, drumming his fingers on his knees. “It’s probably the increased ectoplasmic radiation here.” He remarked conversationally. “My parents thought they had it contained to the basement...but I can feel it seeping through the bricks. A neutral source of energy coming from the portal, like a recharging station at a cafe but for ghosts instead of laptops.”
A recharging station? For ghosts? Was that the humming sound? Not a shield? No. No. It couldn’t--and he--he---Dash shot to his feet, nearly stumbling into the bushes as his shredded sneakers briefly lost contact with the ground. “NO. I can’t--”
Danny reached out with a surprisingly firm grip, pulling him back down. “Hey, hey. It’s okay--”
Dash growled, hating how feral he sounded as he jerked free, backing--floating--away from Fen--Danny and the house... “I’m not a Ghost, Fenton! I can’t recharge--I can’t--” Crap. His voice was only getting more demonic because he was getting upset. He grabbed his football jersey as he roughly hit the ground, falling to his knees by the shed, clawed fingers digging into the ruined fabric as he struggled to breathe. Ectoradiation. Had he been making the problem worse this entire time? He thought hanging out here was safe! That it would help him get back to normal!
“Hey.” A cold hand squeezed his shoulder.
Dash growled, hunching further in on himself. “I can’t--I don’t want to be this! I’ve been trying to change! And it’s not working. I’m just making it wors--”
“Dash.” Danny placed his pale hand over Dash’s green one before moving it to rest on his chest, right over the burning ache like a cooling balm. “Hey.” He repeated softly. “You’re okay, you’re not a ghost.”
Wasn’t he though? After thirty-six freaking alterations, was he even human anymore? Dash gave a ragged laugh, chest burning hotter under his touch. “Fe--Danny, I’m green.”
Danny hummed, hand feeling all the colder as he tilted his head, frowning as he gave him the once over. “Not your best look, I agree, but you’re not a ghost.” He gave him a half smile, eyes sparking with silent humor. “Trust me. I’d know.”
“Ha.” He couldn’t though. Dash squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on Danny’s hand on his chest, on just breathing. “You can’t know that.” He whispered. “It doesn’t all just go away when the ghost does, Fenton. Not anymore.”
Compared to the rest of the student body, Danny had barely been changed a handful of times. How could he know how ghostly or not ghostly Dash was? Even Fenton’s parents had been wrong more than once on that account.
Danny’s fingers twitched. “...What doesn’t go away?” He asked, an edge to his voice that hadn’t been there before.
Danger.
Dash flinched, pushing Danny’s hand away, ignoring how his chest twinged as he moved back to his feet. He had to get out of here. “Nothing.” Fenton was the son of Ghost Hunters after all. He now helped Phantom capture the bad ghosts. How would he react if he saw how Dash had changed? The pointed ears? The fangs? The whatever else tonight’s attack would permanently alter. Maybe his skin would stay green this time. “It’s noth--”
“It’s not nothing.” Danny’s voice was quiet as he too stood, flexing his fingers. “There is an echo to you. Not enough to be ghostly, but far too much to be just regular contamination like the other students have.”
Dash gritted his teeth, shaking his head. He already knew that.
“Dash.” Fenton’s voice was soft. “I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Why would you want to?” Dash retorted, glaring at the shed, claws digging into his palms as he clenched his hands. “I’m just the bully am I not?” He hadn’t shoved a nerd into a locker in forever, but that didn’t stop them from side-eyeing him and shying away whenever he walked by...especially on a bad day.
Danny huffed. “You’ve hardly been that. We may not...hang out...but I have noticed the change. You’ve been...well...” He stepped into view rubbing the back of his neck, “good, man.”
Ha. “Not good enough.”
Danny raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Dash made a face, gesturing to himself once more, though he could already tell his skin was returning to its normal color. Finally. “I’m always like this, F--Danny. Thirty-six freaking times,” His chest burned as Fenton’s eyes widened. “I’ve been altered by ghosts and I always look like this. None of the others do if you haven’t noticed. They always look different with each attack. But me? I don’t--I’m just---Green.”
He should stop talking. Let it go. It wasn’t like Fenton cared what was going off with his one-time bully.
Yet...He needed to tell someone. Anyone. What he was dealing with. It wasn’t like he could go to Star or Paulina. Not even his best bud Kwan. They couldn’t understand this. They didn’t have to live with the permanent weird.
Fenton did though. His parents had been weird his entire life with their ghost obsesion.
Danny frowned. “So? It’s not like it’s perm--”
“Permanent?” Dash gave a bitter laugh, brushing his hair away from his ears to reveal the points. “Tell that to my ears. To my fangs.” He bared his teeth, ignoring the shiver that ran down his spine as Fenton bristled and bared his teeth right back.
Were Danny’s teeth more...pointed?--No. It was a trick of the light. Fenton couldn’t have fangs too. Dash growled, hands clenching as he heard a slight rumble come from Danny in response. “If those have already changed in me then how much longer before the ghost’s contamination permanently changes my voice, Fenton? My eyes? Will I keep the green skin next time?! Will I permanently remain a ghost and never change back one day? I don’t freaking know and it scares me!”
Because he was the only one. No one else could understand.
Danny shook his head, his defensive stance relaxing as he raised a hand. “Dash, I--”
Dash crossed his arms, glaring at his one time punching bag. “Don’t you dare tell me you understand or some sort of sentimental crap! You’ve been altered by ghosts like what? Three times? How could you even understand? How could anyone understand when none of the others have to deal with this either? Even though they’ve been changed a dozen times, they’re still able to be normal because they never look exactly the same under the various ghosts attacking us. Nothing sticks for them. But me?” He kicked at the grass, already regretting letting his emotions get the better of him, for revealing his...fears to Danny of all people. “I’m always just a violent green gremlin and I hate it, Fenton. I hate it. I’ve tried to change to stop it. Be a better person. And yet I always end up looking exactly--” he swallowed, roughly brushing over his eyes, hating how hot and wet they felt as he finally broke eye contact. “The same.” He whispered.
“It’s not--” Danny cleared his throat, stepping forward to place his hand back over the ache in Dash’s chest. “It’s not...bad to have a consistent ghost form, you know.” He said, giving a one shoulder shrug. “To have the same abilities. To not worry about what power you might accidentally unleash next.” His hand seemed to grow colder on Dash’s chest, drawing the heat away. “I’ve heard people talking. In school. About how they hate that they don’t know what they’ll end up being when the next ghost comes.”
Dash shakily exhaled, leaning into Fenton’s hand despite himself. Kwan had mentioned something like that before today’s game too. How he wished he could just stick with duplicating as his power like Dash was stuck with being a gremlin.
“You’re lucky in that sense.” Danny said in a low voice. “Even if you don’t like being the--” He raised his free hand to make quotation marks. “‘Green Gremlin’ At least you know what to expect when a ghost attacks. It gives you the uhh...field? Yah. Field advantage.”
He--he had a point. Dash did know what to expect. The only thing he had to adjust for was his size. Otherwise...everything else remained the same. He slowly looked up. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Or that I’m any good.” Dash grimaced. “I mean, I attacked Phantom! My hero! Who does that?”
Danny smirked, eyes glinting, reflecting the green glow coming off of Dash’s skin. “You were mind controlled. The entire football team went after him in case you didn’t notice, you just happened to reach him first. I think he understands.”
Dash scoffed, resting clawless fingers on Danny’s hand. “Does he?”
Fenton hummed, surprisingly at ease for being in the presence of his one-time bully. Of course, Fenton had bulked up a bit since freshman year. Gotten taller. Become more of a fighter with Phantom. He wouldn’t be that easy to push around anymore on a normal day if Dash were still the type to shove nerds into their lockers.
“You didn’t continue attacking. You left. That says something.” Danny said, putting slight pressure on Dash’s chest, urging him to take a step back.
Back towards the Fenton’s home. To the...freaking recharging wall.
Dash tightened his grip on Danny’s hand, the ache in his chest fading more the closer they got to the red bricks. “That I’m a coward.”
He shook his head. “That you’re smart. You got out of her control. You came to a safe place to recover.”
Like the Fenton house was actually safe. Danny had been right in pointing that out. No one in their right mind would come here.
So why had he? He shook his head. “If I was any good then I should have fought with Phantom, Danny. Not gone running off!”
Danny raised an eyebrow, pulling his hand free. “Then why don’t you?”
“Huh?”
He shrugged, moving past Dash to scoop up a familiar battered Fenton Thermos from the steps, fiddling with it. “You know what’s going to happen to you right? You Hulk it out. Why don’t you use that knowledge to help Phantom fight other ghosts next time?”
Dash frowned, absently rubbing chest as he looked up at the shadowy ops center perched overhead. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it multiple times. It just-- “I...figured I’d just get in the way.” He admitted, running fingers through his hair, relaxing as he felt the last of the ghostliness leave his body. “I mean, you know how it is, Danny, if we’re altered then it usually means we’re controlled in some way. Sent to attack. Cause destruction and chaos. Why would Phantom trust any of us, let alone me, to help?”
Even though they’d all taken ghostly defense classes. Even though most of them carried a Fenton weapon of some sort that could take down the weaker ghosts. Even then, only Fentina and his friends were allowed by Phantom to get close in a major ghost fight and even so they ran mostly interference. Damage control.
Danny hummed, bouncing the thermos in one hand as he rubbed the back of his neck with the other. “Point. He does tend to...work alone.”
“Exactly.” Dash took a seat on the steps, hunching his shoulders as he felt the hum of the building resonating through his hands. “And me bumbling into a fight with fists swinging would hardly help him.”
“Well…” Danny settled on the steps next to him, placing the Thermos by their feet. “No...probably not.”
That’s what he thought. Still...it was something to reconsider. Especially if he could convince Fenton to give Phantom the heads up that Dash wanted to try and help--
He exhaled, running fingers through his hair, lingering on the tips of his ears. He’d have to check in the mirror when he got home, but it didn’t feel like anything had permanently changed this time.
“Do they hurt?”
“Mmm?” Dash tilted his head.
Danny gestured to him, looking for a moment like his old awkward freshman self. “Your ah...teeth? The ears? You said both had changed right? Do they hurt?”
Oh. Right. He had brought that up hadn’t he? Dash exhaled, resting his head on his knees. “No. Not now. In the beginning, sure. But not now.”
“That’s...good. That they don’t hurt anymore. I--umm...what did you...ah...use for them? To stop the pain?”
Why did it matter? It wasn’t like they hurt anymore. It wasn’t like anyone else--Dash blinked, breath catching in his throat as he abruptly sat up, whirling to Danny. His teeth. He knew they hadn’t looked normal. But how?! “Let me see.”
Danny stiffened, a wary glint of green in his eyes.
Only Dash’s skin was no longer green. Where was his green glow coming from?
“See what? I was just asking a question.”
“One you shouldn’t care about unless you are having the same problem, Fenton.” Dash said, jabbing a finger at him, heart pounding like a drum in his chest.
Not alone. Was he seriously not alone in this? If Fenton!! If there were two of them instead of just him--even if it was Danny, it was someone else. It was-- Dash raked his eyes over Fenton, taking all of him in. Noting all the little changes that he hadn’t noticed before. That no one seemed to have noticed, like the fact that his hair was shaggier than it used to be. Not quite as long as Dash’s hair, but definitely hiding the ears. “Kwan, my best friend, never ever asked me what I used to stop it when I casually brought it up. Why would you ask me unless you have the same problem?” Dash said, trying and probably totally failing at keeping the desperation out of his voice. “Show me.”
Danny bit his lip, deliberately not showing any teeth with the motion, his eyes darting to the darkened yard, then away. “Seriously, Dash--”
Dash growled, hands clenching on the stairs to keep him from hitting something. “Please, Danny. Show. Me.” He had to know. Know he wasn’t the only one. “It’s not like anyone comes back here. Trust me. I know. Besides, your parents will be off decontaminating the school for forever again, if you’re that worried about them seeing.”
Danny flinched.
Ah. So it was something like that then. Dash leaned forward like a bloodhound sensing...well blood. “My Dad doesn’t know either.” He said, quietly. “I get it. Like...how do you explain this to them? Especially when they refuse to listen. If it’s not about football my Dad tunes it out.”
“They only ever talk about eradicating ghosts.” Danny mumbled, running his fingers over his left palm, tracing some invisible pattern. “Never about studying them. Learning from them. Just...how their next greatest weapon will defeat them or permanently get rid of them. It’s not like they want to---”
“See that their son is becoming more ghostly?”
Danny stiffened, a flicker of green appearing around his fingers before vanishing as he let out a slow breath. “Sure...something like that.”
Oh. “That...sucks man.” Dash rested his chin on his hand, eyes flicking between Fenton’s face and his fingers. Ecto energy. Was that why Danny had said he could feel the ectoradiation coming from his home?
Or was it a new Fenton invention that they hadn’t yet introduced to the public to help fight against ghosts?
He frowned, looking away. “I...well I get it. Being scared to tell them. I’ve been on the wrong end of their weapons more than once. It’s not fun.”
Danny hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his own chest. “Yah. I--yah. Most days it feels like they only care that I’m following in their footsteps...hunting ghosts...but beyond that? Beyond the next ghost attack? It’s like good ectoenergy doesn’t exist to them. Or shouldn’t exist. That it’s just bad pretending to be good and should be torn apart. Molecule by Molecule. So it won’t hurt anyone.”
Dash shuddered. Oh yah. He’d heard that particular speech from Jack Fenton before. He’d had nightmares for weeks. How could he have thought that he’d had it rough with his Dad and his football obsession when Danny probably heard that speech on a daily basis? When Dash had seen how they had all those weapons lying around the house, ready to be picked up and shot in the blink of an eye at the merest hint that a ghost was nearby. And Danny lived there. If he was experiencing ghost changes too….How would his parents actually react if it came out that their son had fallen victim to the ectoradiation they, the number one Ghost Hunters of Amity Park, claimed they were protected from?
Not good judging by Danny’s reluctance to admit that there was anything wrong with him in the first place.
Or it could just be his bad history with Fenton. Showing your weakness to a bully--even a former one--probably went against instinct.
“Well...if you...ah...need to tell anyone. Or get some help.” Dash offered, rubbing at his own chest, at the hollowness he could feel. Maybe he had jumped the gun there. Desperate to believe that he wasn’t the only one. That there was someone else who would understand. “You already saw my fangs...so I kinda know...things. Like there’s some creams at my place you could grab...you know...if you are having the same problem. I’d understand what’s going on a bit more than your parents would.”
Maybe. He didn’t know them that well. Maybe he was just projecting his own problems onto Fenton again.
“Mmm. I---” Danny exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck, before nodding to himself, turning to face him. “You’re right, Dash.” He said, his eyes glowing a bright neon green as his lip slowly lifted in a half smile, revealing the gleaming tip of a fang. “You would understand.”
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willowbird · 3 years
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Hey! For the au + trope + prompt thing, could you do 1 for au, 9 for trope and 27 for prompt with pynch?
(P.S: I just remembered you have already done one with pynch, so you can do this one with another ship of your choosing if this one feels repetitive!)
Roommates AU, strangers to lovers, “that was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend.” ~ for pynch!
I am more than happy to write 10,000 roommate aus for these idiots <3
---
It all started with an only mildly suspicious ad on craigslist:
Roommate needed $275/mo - utilities included must be ok with corvids good w/cars a plus - rent discount if u can prove it
Adam wasn't an idiot. He knew something that was too good to be true when he saw it. He also knew that answering a craigslist ad for a roommate was a good way to get stabbed, robbed, and God only knew what else.
And yet...
Sometimes, when your options were limited it really was better to take every possible avenue to get away from the devil you know - even if that means sharing a small apartment with the devil you don't.
Well, the devil and his pet raven. And really, Chainsaw was by far the more agreeable of the two.
That being said, it wasn't like Ronan was awful. He was an asshole, and he was downright grumpy bastard anytime before 11am. He listened to terrible music, if that trash could ever be considered such. Chainsaw was a sweetheart, though, always bringing Adam new shinies for his approval and sitting with him while he worked on a paper or research or any number of other assignments for his degree.
(Taking the risk that he had by jumping at that craigslist ad meant that he was able to cut back on his hours a little bit at work, go to school full time, and start amassing a savings account.)
And, okay, Ronan probably had some merits too. He could cook, for one thing. Not to say that Adam couldn't cook. He could - he just didn't like to. If it were up to him, he'd probably subsist on saltines and hard-boiled eggs. In fact, he had done exactly that for the first two weeks living with Ronan until the other man had dropped a full plate of breakfast in front of him, stole his crackers, and pointed at him. "Eat like a fucking grown-up," he'd said -and... well, that was that. Sure, Adam had tried to protest, but Ronan had just... started making food for the both of them and maybe if it was shitty food or even mediocre in quality Adam would have been able to ignore it - but it killed something inside Adam to waste food. Especially good food. And Ronan's food was fucking amazing.
So, there was that.
He also wasn't an absolute terror to be around. Having a conversation with Ronan Lynch was a choose-your-own-adventure novel written by very high geniuses. You really never knew what you were going to get and each alternate path was bound to be either completely bat-shit crazy or a humbling level of profound. Not only that, but Ronan didn't pull that alpha-male bullshit so many other men did where they refused to admit they didn't know something. No, when Adam proved that he knew what he was talking about when it came to cars, Ronan just said "teach me?" with such open intensity that Adam couldn't really tell him 'no', alright?
And then there were days like today, where Adam got home from an early shift at the garage to find Ronan sitting halfway out of their third-floor apartment, securing a thick rope to a hook above the window that definitely hadn't been there when Adam left that morning.
"Are you about to do something stupid again?" Adam called up to him as he got out of his car. Upon hearing his voice, Chainsaw (who had been circling anxiously above) crowed out a warbled imitation of speech that sounded a lot like 'Atom' and coasted down to him.
"Me? Stupid? Nah, this is gonna be fucking amazing," Ronan called back without looking away from his work.
Chainsaw landed on Adam's shoulder and clapped her beak affectionately near his ear. Adam dutifully lifted a hand to stroke at the soft feathers of her neck. If he also whispered 'hello beautiful girl, is your papa making trouble for you again?' it was between him and the bird and Ronan would never need to know.
Chainsaw crooned a tense 'kreh!' that Adam took as an affirmative.
"What exactly are you doing, Ronan Lynch?" Adam called up as he took another look at the setup, walking closer to the building. The rope that Ronan had just finished tying to the hook was already secured to a tree on the edge of the parking lot, the one that stood awkwardly out from the rest of the tree line. Their apartment complex was situated right on the edge of a forest preserve. A lot of Ronan's hair-brained ideas usually came back to the forest in one way or another.
"This is just a test run. If I can get it to work right, I'm going to set a line straight into the forest."
"Mm, yes, because... leaving civilization through a door is beneath you?"
Ronan paused, then grinned down at him, the expression somehow both boyish and savage in a way that always made Adam's heart jump for some reason. "Actually, yeah. Literally."
Adam rolled his eyes but didn't bother to fight the smile. "Punk."
"I resent that. I reject all labels, Parrish - you know that."
"Uh-huh. Sure. Well if you-- Ronan what are you doing?"
Ronan had produced what looked like a fucking tie (was that the one Ronan's brother Declan had been wearing when he came by for dinner a couple weeks back?) and had wrapped one end around his hand. As Adam watched, he flicked the loose end of the tie over the taut rope and then wrapped it around his other hand.
"Told you it was a test run, Parrish. That mean's I've actually got to test it."
"Ronan I don't think--"
But it was too late. Ronan had already jumped out of the fucking third-floor window like he was expecting to fly. For a second or two, he sort of did. The rope bowed but supported him and the smooth tie provided little friction as Ronan began to zoom down at a steep angle. Then the rope shuddered and went completely slack, the hook having torn free from the side of the building where it clearly had not been properly anchored. Ronan plummeted like a stone in a still pond.
"Ronan!" Adam did not make the active decision to move, but he was suddenly sprinting to where the jumbled heap of Ronan Lynch had landed on the rough pavement. Chainsaw had already launched ahead and was hopping around near Ronan's head, squawking out anxious reprimands of 'Kerah! Kerah!'
Adam skidded to his knees beside Ronan just as the other man was shakily trying to sit up. "What the FUCK Ronan Lynch!? What were you thinking!? You can't just jump out of a God-forsaken third-floor window like that. Do you want to be killed?" Adam didn't even care that the rural-Virginian flavor of his youth had coated his words in a thick batter, he was so mad.
Ronan blinked at him and there was a strange mix of confusion and pain and... something else on his face. "Scared, Parrish?" The words did not come out as teasing as they normally would.
"Scared? Scared? Of course I was scared. You... you fucking idiot!" Adam had to give himself a moment. He raked his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath, then another. He closed his eyes and tried to center himself. Fear and anger would get him nowhere, even if the fear had already set its nasty little hooks into each and every one of his nerve endings and the anger felt like the only way to burn them away.
A hand touched his shoulder, then his cheek. Adam opened his eyes and Ronan was wearing another indecipherable expression, his dark eyes hooded, his mouth pursed.
"Come on," Adam said as he leaned back so he could stand up. "Can you stand?" Chainsaw continued to hop around, but she'd stopped her distressed shouting, perhaps sensing that Adam was taking control and feeling more comfortable knowing that he would set things to rights, whatever that might mean.
Ronan was quiet for a moment, then seemed to shake himself out of his thoughts before giving a derisive snort. "It was just a little fall, Parrish, I'm --fuck!" Ronan had just tried to stand up, but his knee buckled out from under him as soon as he put his weight on it. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, alright. Alright. Shit. Fuck. That was a very bad idea. 0/10 would not recommend."
"The standing or the stupid fucking stunt you pulled jumping out of a goddamn window?" Adam asked. He attempted to make it as dry as possible, trying to get them back to some kind of equilibrium, but his heart was still racing a bit too fast and he could hear the angry bite in his own words.
Still didn't stop him from instantly stepping forward and catching Ronan, though. He wound an arm around Ronan's waist, guiding Ronan's arm over his shoulders so he could support him.
"The standing, of course. Shit! Ah... fuck. My idea for the apartment-forest zipline is fucking genius thank you."
Adam helped Ronan hobble forward, taking them back toward his car instead of the building. "Yeah. Right. Whatever you say, Lynch."
"Where are we going?"
"To the hospital, dumbass," Adam said with a roll of his eyes, all but shoving Ronan into the passenger seat. He held the door open for Chainsaw to be able to swoop in and land on the idiot's lap. The least Ronan could do was soothe her for the drive.
"You don't have--"
Adam cut him off with a glare. "We. Are. Going. To. The. Hospital. Am I being perfectly clear?"
"...yes." Ronan glared back, but then sank down in his seat, expression mulish.
Adam fixed him with a hard stare that lasted another few heartbeats, then gave a nod and snapped the door shut.
So yes, Ronan Lynch wasn't all that bad. Sometimes the devil you don't really is the better choice. Because sometimes that devil has a cute bird and makes good food and has great conversation. If he also scares the shit out of you on the regular and makes your heart race inexplicably, well, that's not so bad a deal. Right?
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neonponders · 3 years
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I started writing this very niche au ages ago that @booksfoxesandcoffee and @demogirlfriend tinkered with lol​ it’s not quite what I wanted, but at least it’s done ~
Based on my post for This Steve with This Billy:
vampire/musician!Steve and mobster!Billy.
TW for briefly mentioned drugs and all manner of vampire things.
💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋
If Billy were being honest with himself, it wasn’t the man’s looks that hooked him. The way a superior dancer stands out in the ensemble, it was the musician’s energy that made Billy’s eyes keep finding him.
Every business that opened his his territory went through Billy’s strict legislature. And the whole city was his to play king.
He didn’t consider himself a strict businessman, but he did attend the new club with regularity to make sure they had what they needed to succeed. If they couldn’t succeed, then they’d have to rebuild elsewhere.
They did succeed. Because they had Steve Harrington.
On paper, he was lead guitarist. An instrumentalist. Vocalist if necessary. Billy Hargrove knew he shined in neon stage lighting and his special trick was swinging the instrument around his body so the guitar switched sides halfway through a song or riff, proving ambidextrous dexterity.
Billy knew Harrington was hard to get ahold of. So far, he’d hosted every member of the band and every guest musician at his VIP table. Harrington always had reasons for leaving directly after a show, which surprised Billy. The man’s band mates clearly revolved around him, looked to him for timing cues, and Billy even had the unique experience of seeing the man smack a drink out of the bassist’s hand because the guy could barely stand.
There was a personality there, and Billy wanted to see it up close. Taste it.
Somehow, Harrington had even avoided being invited to Billy’s table during the mid-show break. Always conveniently disappearing until the second he needed to be on stage.
Until now.
Billy’s guards stood up when Harrington approached with someone held firmly by the scruff of his shirt and jacket. Billy waved them aside, and the musician dumped the guy into Billy’s booth. Some heads turned in their direction, curious for drama but not for long. Anyone who hung around Billy, hungering for his attention, knew to be careful about annoying him.
“Is this one of yours?” Harrington prompted.
“Why would he be?” Billy inquired with a lethargic blink.
“I thought your sort had more class than distributing roofies.”
Billy’s pleased, large feline demeanor sloughed off as he turned his head to the man in his booth. Billy didn’t bother negating Harrington’s accusations. Anybody with sense knew who he was. The only thing that bothered Billy at the moment was the use of some nobody to get the musician’s attention.
“You’re right. He isn’t.”
Just like that, the guards lifted the sorry soul out of his booth and began ushering him out of the club. He made a weak attempt at promising an ability to make Billy money, but the latter wasn’t interested in a business centered around dangerous sex. Billy considered himself a purveyor of the opposite; of passion, and real passion only came when all parties were conscious for it.
“Steve.”
The musician paused to look back at him, already on his way back to the greenroom or wherever he hid in between performances.
“Sit with me.”
Steve’s gaze flicked down to the now available seat next to Billy. “No, thanks.”
As if he could - 
He did.
Steve walked away from the table. Billy saw the more discretely dressed guards loitering in the crowd turn and begin to approach Harrington...before distinctly letting him pass.
It was not a regular day that Billy Hargrove’s employees feared someone else more than him.
He pressed his back into the booth, and one of the women sitting along the back of the booth leaned down to hear him. “I want his file.”
“Yes, sir,” she purred. It took no time at all for her to return to his table with Harrington’s business papers. Typical tax form, resume, no cover letter but instead a CD with his music samples.
“What about his background?”
Her nails raked through her long, black hair. She played the part of groupie very well. “We don’t have anything yet.”
Billy found that hard to believe. “He’s worked here for weeks.”
She shrugged a bare, shimmering shoulder. “He hides very well. We’ll have something soon.”
Not soon enough.
Billy took to wandering his club instead of sitting. Why they didn’t just haul the musician into Billy’s office for questioning…no sensible person detonates a bomb without knowing the area is clear. They didn’t know enough about Steve. Whether he belonged to a family scouting the borough before encroaching on Billy’s property.
Would it be their fault for sending in a mole without honoring the proper channels? Yes.
Would it be Billy’s fault for starting an underground war for harming Steve first? Also yes.
So he watched. So he waited. And he began to enjoy this game he and Steve had developed. Because Steve wasn’t as oblivious. He looked pretty—the kind of pretty that some mistake as dumb—but Steve had proven in many, subtle ways just how observant he could be.
The way he managed his band members’ alcohol or obvious drug addictions.
The second time he hauled some petty dealer over to Billy’s booth.
When he flipped Billy off as he walked away after Billy tested, “I noticed you like brunettes.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Steve watched Billy. And Billy watched Steve. At least, Billy suspected. Billy hoped.
The confirmation arrived in the humid alleyway behind his club. He was already itching for a fight. For the last two weeks, a new asshole had been loitering around and inside his business. No one had yet been able to catch him doing anything—until Billy followed him out of the wrong exit. Nobody could use service doors at the back of the building; it was both a safety hazard for civilians to be in the way of delivery trucks, and any squeals about people coming and going from there would have the police riding Billy’s tail.
Then the bastard had the audacity to take two girls who were definitely sporting fake id’s outside.
He slammed the service door against the brick exterior to get their attention. All three of them were huddled and necking between two garbage bins. A real class act.
“Jail bait bimbos, get inside. This asshole can lock himself in a concrete box without your…help.”
The distinct memory of Steve delivering roofy dealers to him flashed in his brain at the sight of the blissed out girls using the alley walls to stay upright. The memory flew out into the main street at the glistening darkness on both of their necks, dripping into their low cut shirts.
In the window of Billy’s surprise, the guy attacked. Slammed Billy right against the other side of the alley, knocking the air out of him—
Billy’s brain couldn’t keep up. But his eyes could.
A large hand gripped the gelled hair and wrenched the guy’s head so far back that Billy heard a threatening pop.
Billy had never stood next to Steve before. He stood just a little taller than Billy—both smaller than the impressive figure he’d watched so many times on stage, but also bigger because he’d never been this close…
Billy was officially having trouble breathing as he watched the man’s wide eyes darting around his sockets despite his broken neck and the disgusting angle of his windpipe.
“This spot’s taken. Tell your hovel to skip town. You won’t get a fourth chance.”
Fourth?
Billy’s eyes stuck on the bloody, long teeth in the man’s gullet before Steve shoved him down the alley. The man landed several yards away—no ordinary shove—but he hauled ass to his feet, head lolling on his shoulders with more sickening crackles.
Billy remained stationary as Steve fixed the shirts and jackets falling on the girls’ shoulders went to hail a cab. One of them recovered faster than the other, and hauled her friend into the vehicle. By this time, Billy managed to say, “What will they do with those stained shirts?”
Steve looked at him, suddenly looking remarkably…normal. Even startled, like he’d forgotten Billy was there. He didn’t hold Billy’s gaze, instead looking a bit downward—
“What will you do about yours?”
Billy frowned, blinking twice before he looked down at himself. It took him a moment to see the difference in his dark blue button-up. But he glistened like the girls did. Slowly, his mind caught up and realized how warm the side of his neck felt, and how gross. Wet. Dry. Sticky. Crusting.
“How did I not even notice?”
Like a dream clinging onto his waking consciousness, the blurry numbness subsided, and Billy realized his throat really fucking hurt.
Steve’s gaze dropped even further, tilting away from Billy as he pointed at the doors. “Go and clean yourself up. Go home.”
Leave it to Billy Hargrove’s pride to stack his spine back together. He stepped off the alley wall and into Steve’s space.
“Don’t—” he turned his face further to the side.
“Explain,” Billy ordered, even as Steve’s hand lifted to cover his mouth.
Steve shook his head a little. “I don’t have to,” he muffled and lifted weary eyes. “Clean yourself up.”
The answers were right there. Yet it seemed…stupid to say any of it out loud. How many movies? Book? Shows?
Instead he said, “Show me.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. “You don’t play with bears like this.”
Billy laughed. He laughed Steve all the way out of the alleyway. Billy only regretted this when the next evening, the secretaries of the business ran through the week’s itinerary. Steve wasn’t scheduled.
A long week progressed of Billy thinking over that night. How the hell a guardian angel with teeth and no wings lived his nights in Billy’s cage and Billy had just…taunted him into slipping right out of the bars.
When another week presented itself with still no sight of his musician, Billy knew he would have more than one inconvenience on his plate. His customers liked Steve. Statistically, the club was fit to bursting since a third more clientele showed up for the band’s gigs. Steve made the barkeeps laugh in between numbers. Billy had always thought he used the alcohol in the greenroom instead of taking up the bars’ time.
Instead he dropped rats right into the king’s lap. Creatures Billy never would have seen unless Steve made them visible.
“Schedule Steve’s group on Sunday.”
His secretary frowned at him. “Am I missing something? We’re off on Sundays.”
“He knows that. Just use whatever number he gave you.”
Billy waited behind the club. Perhaps he should have arranged a specific meeting time instead of just the vague Sunday, but…Steve was punctual to his usual call time. Billy heard his footsteps the same moment the lighter in his hands crackled softly under his cigarette.
Steve approached with his hands in his jean pockets. Then he entered the harsh lighting of the motion-detected beams above the doors. “You don’t look good.”
Because he didn’t. Steve made tired look good but he had met the line between tired and haggard. His lips were chapped and the lights above him put his eye sockets into harsh contrast. Billy missed the lush face he watched bathed in neon stage lights.
Steve only met Billy’s gaze briefly before looking back down the alley. “Haven’t been to the grocery store lately.”
“By ‘groceries,’ do you mean my place?”
“And if I do, then what?”
Billy smirked as easily as blinking. “I don’t recall firing you. You didn’t have to run—”
“Yes, I did. Dipshit.”
Billy moved his tongue over his teeth while he grinned. “Why didn’t you finish what he started? Three easy meals right there.”
“And swell up like a mosquito? Gross.”
Smoke sputtered out of his mouth. “You’re not what I expected. In any regard. It’s a wonder my employees haven’t been inspired by your recklessness. Or my letting you get away with it.”
“There’s no letting anything happen. We’re not all teeth. There’s nothing you could do if we don’t want it to happen. It’s the same on your side for humans.”
Billy’s next exhalation seeped out of his mouth. Slow. “Are you taking your time? Circling a stronger prey?” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and watched Steve’s irises flick to the movement. “Most people come to me for my looks, money, or power. Is it the same for you?”
“No.”
That might’ve caught Billy off guard, if he didn’t feel gently nailed in place by Steve’s eyes lifting to his own. It was Billy’s turn to look down—down at the fingers grazing Billy’s hand as Steve reached for the cigarette. Took it.
“You’re easy prey because you’re already dying. You smoke a pack of these a day. The rest of the criminal cityscape would celebrate your funeral. A wolf’s goal is to eat. Not bragging rights—well. For the smart ones. We go for what’s easy.”
Glass-blue eyes wandered Steve’s face as he took a long inhalation. “I’ve never been called ‘easy’ in my entire life.”
Steve shrugged and—politely—aimed his lips to the side. Billy wondered how much he’d mind if Steve’s smoke graced his skin. “What can I say? We hunt the same way lions, tigers, and bears to. We go for what’s attainable with minimum effort.”
“You’re lazy.”
That overarching fringe bobbed over his head. Of course Steve had taken the time to style his hair. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Billy took his cigarette back with a huff. “I’ll decide later how insulted I should be. Until then, you’re the one looking like easy pickings.”
“You haven’t thrown anyone out of your place lately.”
That took an extra minute for Billy to process. “You…huh.”
Steve’s head moved with his eyes rolling onto him. “You don’t really think people in this city leave any bar without a fight, do you? I’ve had plenty of dinners on your tab.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
Steve’s mouth lifted slightly in a skeptical grimace. “What’s the catch?”
Billy took his time with the last drag and stepped on the filter on his way to minimize the distance between them. “Explain to me why some pervert bites me and I’m fighting a hard on for two weeks?”
A rigid second passed, and then Steve crumbled into laughter. He laughed like a kid. A really cute little shit.
As Steve recovered, he heaved, “I’ve never heard anyone complain about the bite boners.”
Billy followed him as he reclined against the alley wall. “How about, instead of avoiding what’s really at play here, you admit to wanting to bite me. You’re usually on top of the rats that enter my business. But not that night.”
Steve stood on his own feet, making Billy feel the one inch he had on him. “And what if I did? What if it wasn’t your smell that made me crave, but jealousy?”
His musician’s bravado flickered when Billy’s tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip. “How do I smell?”
“Like smoked peaches.”
Steve was proving an annoying skill at making Billy dumbfounded. “What?”
He giggled anew. “Are you the type to fuck without kissing?”
Billy absorbed that and returned, “You like to kiss after blowjobs, don’t you?”
Steve wagged his head, so his words drifted back and forth over Billy’s mouth. “Yeah? So what?”
Billy inhaled deeply to make a show of sighing like humoring Steve’s romantic ethics was tiring him out—
Steve’s hands cradled his head with care, the soft sound of Billy’s hair scrunching underneath his fingers filling his ears as Steve licked inside Billy’s mouth. The latter’s jaw went slack, letting Steve in and meeting his tongue to taste him right back. Apart from the smoke, Steve tasted mutely sweet. The way a clean mouth does; the way a man should taste. Billy had always thought the way a person tasted was a uniquely intimate thing. Like a special piece of DNA could only be read with the tongue.
Steve’s tongue retreated so he could fully kiss Billy’s lips. When the lazy, soft pecks seemed to be Steve’s only intent, Billy gripped his shirtfront, the only warning he got before Billy licked the seam of his lips, wanting more. Wanting what they started.
“Mhm…is everything…a power trip with you?” Steve mumbled, but his breath shuddered when Billy pressed his hard groin against Steve’s pelvis.
“Bite me and fuck me—”
The lights went out, because they were tucked far enough behind a garbage bin for the motion detectors to not see them. Steve’s attention moved between these details and he uttered, “Next to the trash?”
Billy growled, “Ughh,” and hauled Steve off the brick and into his off-day business. “I should’ve guessed you were high maintenance.”
But right inside the doors, Billy tapped in the access code to a private elevator. “Where are we going?”
“Top floor penthouse.”
Steve snorted. “You’re like my cockatoo bragging about the highest swing.”
“You have a bird?”
“Yes, I have a bird! A little asshole named, Orchid. He whistles to all of my songs.”
“You’re the strangest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen.”
“And you are easy. Thanks for showing me the key to your house.”
Billy looked at him and met a toothy smirk. “Pisces, huh?”
The elevator dinged and Billy was too deep to back out now. He couldn’t tell which of them was the hunter, but he was ready to share a hell of a meal.
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wickedgamesoyaoya · 4 years
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Inside of the penthouse flat, melodic laughter weaved into the soundwaves exiting the small smart home speaker. Sakusa had not known what genre of music was appropriate, and after seeking advice from your wiser best friend, he settled on a classical arrangement that came highly recommended. Despite the fact your laughter had arose due to his kind gesture, the blend of the two sounds were the personification of heaven.
“I’m sorry, gorgeous. I can’t help it! It’s just so… you.” Between the heavy laughter that had surged upon your chest and your attempts to silence the noise with your hand, the explanation was barely coherent.
“It is for certain… situations. I am not making a comment on your breath, y/n.” The black haired male was seconds from pouting, the pet names were something he could become accustomed to. But the need to express your every thought on social media? Particularly when it involved what he deemed a loving gesture? That was a conversation waiting to be had.
“Yes, I know. For whenever I kiss Ko, right? Ah, I truly wonder how you will put up with me and all the germs that follow.” As the humour began to lose its appeal, a goofy grin had remained attached to your lips. At some point during your dramatic display, your knees had caved in, prompting you to crumble onto the furry carpet that was positioned in the center of the quaint living-room. Brushing your fingers through the fluffy fibers, you allowed your weight to transfer directly onto the embellishment, prompting your y/h/c hair to gracefully spill around you.
“I don’t care about your germs; I care about other people’s germs.” Discussing germs was a very serious matter to him, but fortunately for you, the sight of you sprawled across the carpet had his thoughts wandering onto something…less pg-13. It had only been half an hour since you arrived, and your presence had already impacted him in such a perverse manner. Who was he? Atsumu Miya?! “Also, will you please get off the ground?” He commanded his dark irises to focus on anything but you, but it was quite clear that when it came to you, self-control was something he severely lacked. The ornaments that embellished the apartment paled in comparison to you.
“Come make me.” The invitation was purred out in an overly seductive tone as you elevated your torso, propping yourself up on your elbows. Toying with your boyfriend was one of your newfound hobbies, outside of the one kiss he initiated, when it came to physical affection, he would usually shy away from you. And you adored watching the blood spiraling in his pale cheeks.
“No. I know what you are plotting, I refuse.” With a response as hallow as his, how could you have known he was seconds from caving in. “Come, let’s eat.”
Rolling your eyes, you bitterly accepted your defeat.
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“I don’t know what tastes better, you or this.” The flirtatious comment had earned you an artificial sigh from the boy sat directly across from you. He appreciated the compliments on his cooking, particularly because it had taken him five test runs before creating something editable – a detail you did not need to know – but did you have to make everything sexual?
After consuming another bite, unconsciously you groaned at the satisfaction washing over you due to the outburst of flavour blessings your taste buds. Sakusa immediately choked on the water that was halfway down his throat when you emitted the damn noise that stunned him.
“You have lost your rights to dinner. Go. We’re watching a movie now.” Gently pressing a napkin against his mouth, he coughed due to the inflammation in his esophagus. He did not dare to catch your gaze, knowing damn well if he did it would be game over. Instead, he dipped his chin, allowing his curls to conceal his irises.
“I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again.” Batting your mascara coated eyelids innocently, you jutted your bottom lip into an exaggerated pout. But you wondered if the expression would even work – mimicking a cute animal with a scar traced against your cheek? Perhaps not the smartest idea. Doubt brought you to immediately dismantle the puppy-dog imitation.
The insecurity that consumed you could not be disguised behind a smile. Within seconds, Sakusa had recognized what was transpiring inside that beautiful head of yours. Rather than attempting to sooth you with his words, he lowered the napkin within his grasp onto the table then minimized the distance between you. Resting one hand on the back of your chair, he brushed his lips against your skin, just below the healing laceration. The simple gesture had drained the anxiety that had haunted you.
“You missed.” Your breath tickled his skin as he fought off the smile threatening to form at his lips.
“You are impossible.”
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Once the message was delivered, you tossed the device aside then returned your complete attention to the sleeping figure beside you. Hesitantly, you extended an arm, then lightly ushered aside the curly tresses from his forehead to reveal his moles. How in the world did you get so lucky? Maybe it was worth it – all the heartache and pain, if it meant that you would find your soulmate. Not that you would be actively sending out a thank you card to Kuroo or his bizarre girlfriend anytime soon. 
Sakusa stirred under your gentle touch, his heavy eyes struggling to peel open. His vigorous cleaning schedule may have accidentally worn him out.
“It’s okay. Stay asleep. I’ll be here. Today, tomorrow… forever.”
Forever – a word that is carelessly thrown around by many, and one that rarely outlives a few months, or years. But in that moment, forever truly meant for all eternity.
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It was never meant to be easy - date
Masterlist -   Previous -  Next
A/N: I loved writing this story, thanks for all the love!! the next part will be the last, consider it the epilogue! if you guys enjoyed, consider checking out my next story!
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rexisnotyourwriter · 3 years
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by @rexalexander and @postcardsanddaydreaming
After the Atlanta child murders, the Behavioral Science Unit is as busy as ever. With a new team member by their side, they take on what feels like a growing number of active serial killers as well as continue their interviews of already incarcerated subjects. Bill tries to track down Nancy and Brian with the hopes of repairing his marriage, while Wendy tries to take on a more active role in their research with an eager budding protégé at her side.
Read on AO3
*If you enjoy this, please like/reblog on tumblr and/or leave kudos/comments on AO3. Your feedback helps keep fic writers writing.*
Notes: As always, thanks to my beta fish @hardythehermitcrab​
Chapter 2: Feeling Like a Loner
The bell rang. The class full of children emptied in a flurry of squeals. The teacher breathed a sigh of relief, but stopped when she noticed she wasn’t alone. A pair of mousy braids sat by the window watching her peers spill out into the playground like ants under a log. They scattered, dispersing themselves amongst the jungle gym, the hopscotch marked concrete, and the small patch of grass they called a field.
The teacher softly called her name.
They’d had this conversation before, usually ending with her forfeiting her smoke break to stay in the classroom.
The girl didn’t turn around.
“You have to go outside today,” she added. “It’s a beautiful day. And look at those clouds. I think that one looks like a cow.”
The girl didn’t move.
“Sweetie.” The teacher put a hand on her shoulder. The girl finally turned to face her. “Why don’t you go outside, hmm?”
“Why?”
“Why? Because it’s fun. Look. Look at all the fun they’re having.”
The girl looked back out the window and contemplated.
“That doesn’t look fun to me,” she concluded, matter-of-factly.
“You need to go outside today.”
“Why?”
“Because teachers need a break, too, and I can’t supervise you in here,” she responded bluntly.
“Oh,” the girl replied. “Okay.”
She got up from her seat and grabbed her neatly folded cardigan from the cubby.
Once outside, she found a good vantage point - a mostly flat rock at the edge of the field where she can see most of the schoolyard.
A group of boys were playing jacks. They’d made it to foursies, from what she could tell. Another boy hovered around them asking to join, but they ignored him.
The girl turned away from them and took a rubber ball out of the front pocket of her overalls. She bounced it against the ground on her own. Then, she turned back to the boys, still steadily bouncing her ball. She watched. When the time was right, she launched her ball into their game, knocking the jacks out of a boy’s hand. They yelled. She caught her ball without missing a beat.
The girl smiled, then turned her attention to the jungle gym. Almost ten children were winding their bodies between the bars, some resting on levels, others climbing to the highest perch. The few children in the center looked like they were imprisoned. An acrobatic cage. One boy made it to the top, or rather almost. His feet were on the second highest bars, his hands on the highest. He put one foot up on the high bar and tested his balance, releasing the pressure on his other grounded foot. His hand slipped, but he got his grip in time to only suffer a minor embarrassment (one of his friends saw, and proceeded to laugh). The boy climbed down after that.
She looked down at her cream colored Mary Janes and tapped her toes together. In the corner of her eye, inching toward her, was a remarkably fuzzy caterpillar. It bobbed up and down like a wave, growing closer and closer to the shore of her shoe.
“I got it,” someone yelled.
Then thud.
The caterpillar disappeared under a grass stained sneaker belonging to the boy who “got it”. “It” was a rubber ball, and the boy she recognized as the one whose turn at jacks was interrupted.
He ran back to his friends, taking no notice of her or his victim. The insect, upon inspection, hadn’t been entirely crushed, and was still wriggling. She gingerly scooped it up with a sturdy leaf and rested it in one hand while she cupped her other around it like a shield. She watched it writhe with increasing intensity, then intermittently, then not at all.
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On the following Monday morning, Bill was surprised to see that he had beat Holden in to work.
He poked his head in Wendy’s office.
“Captain America not in yet?”
“No,” she replied, barely looking up from the page in front of her.
“Maybe he finally got lucky,” Bill joked.
He got a smirk out of her that time.
Bill turned around and, seeing that Gregg was preoccupied with a phone call, didn’t bother closing the door.
“I’m going up to talk to Gunn,” he said softly.
“Good.” She paused. “Do you know what you’re going to tell him?”
“Marital problems.”
Wendy nodded her approval.
Gregg’s voice got louder from the hallway.
“Is he still on the phone?” Wendy asked.
Bill turned to confirm. “Yup.”
Wendy closed her file.
“This is ridiculous. We can’t be expected to assist in every single murder case across the country. We can’t even keep up with the inquiries.”
“What did Gunn say?”
She rolled her eyes.
“I haven’t really mentioned it, not explicitly. He’s not exactly receptive to my ideas. Knowing him, he would probably ask why Gregg was the one dealing with it and suggest I take over secretarial duties.”
“He’s not that bad, is he?”
Wendy’s eyes flicked up at him. Her look said it all.
“I’ll talk to him,” Bill decided. “Tell him we need to hire someone.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
Holden speed walked into the office, his forehead glistening with sweat.
“Good morning, sunshine,” Bill greeted.
Wendy got up from her desk and joined Bill in the doorway.
“Sorry,” Holden muttered breathlessly.
“Is everything alright?” Wendy asked.
“What? Oh, yeah. I had to take the bus, but I forgot my wallet at home and…It’s been a morning.”
“How’s your car?”
“What happened to your car?” Bill interjected.
Holden, still exasperated, dropped his briefcase on the desk with a thud.
“It wouldn’t start when I went to leave the bar on Friday, so Wendy gave me a ride home.”
Bill threw a side-eyed glance at Wendy who wrinkled her nose in subtle disgust.
No, Bill.
“I got it towed to the shop on Saturday,” Holden continued, “but it wasn’t a dead battery. Turns out I need a new timing belt, and they couldn’t get one in until today. I have to pick it up in a couple hours because they close early, and when I called this morning it still wasn’t ready, which is why I had to take the bus. Hence…” He gestured to his state of disarray and exhaled.
“Happy Monday,” Wendy said before disappearing back into her office.
Bill got roped into a case that delayed his plan to talk to Gunn. It was almost 11am before he was finally able to go upstairs. Nearly 23 minutes later, Bill returned to the basement where Holden and Wendy appeared to be waiting for him. The pair looked at him expectantly.
“It went fine,” Bill admitted. “He gave me some sympathy about ‘the old ball and chain’ and poured me a finger of whiskey. As long as we stay on track and deliver, we’re good.”
“That’s great, Bill,” Holden said.
“And Gunn agreed about hiring an assistant,” Bill added, to Wendy’s relief. “A non-agent, but someone who can deal with the sensitive matter. He said he would talk to you about it.”
Wendy’s face dropped.
“Why me?”
Bill opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. He couldn’t find the right words.
She understood.
“Of course,” she added bitterly. Because I’m the woman.  
Sometimes she missed Boston.
“Oh, shoot,” Holden exclaimed, noticing the time. “I gotta go.”
“Did you send that profile to Osborn?” Bill asked.
“Yeah, I just faxed it over,” he replied, already halfway out the door.
“Kids,” Bill joked, shaking his head.
“So, how’d it really go?” Wendy inquired.
“It really did go fine,” he replied sincerely. “Better than expected, honestly.”
“But?”
Bill sat on the edge of the desk.
“I guess I still feel…uneasy about the situation with Brian. How would it look if the FBI found out my kid was involved in a murder.”
“But he wasn’t, Bill. They concluded he wasn’t responsible. It’s on the record.”
“I know. And I know that logically he thought the cross was a good idea,” he admitted. “I just don’t feel good about it. And now I can’t even keep an eye on him. I don’t know if he’s still wetting the bed. Or if he’s started sucking his thumb again, or if he’s spoken at all.”
Wendy offered him a sympathetic smile.
“From what you’ve told me, it seems likely that the regressions are a result of the traumatic experience. Nothing more.”
“I just feel so helpless.”
They sat in silence, neither knowing what else to say.
“If there’s anything I can do,” Wendy offered.
“Thanks. Really. I’m glad you’re around.”
Bill got up to leave.
Wendy passed by the fax machine on the way back to her office and picked up the pages of the profile Holden faxed to Alaska. She scanned the page, then stopped.
That little-
There was a knock.
“All by your lonesome, Dr. Carr?”
“Not anymore,” Wendy muttered under her breath.
She turned around to see Gunn standing in the doorway.
“I don’t know if Bill had a chance to mention it to you,” he said, making his way over to her.
“He did.”
“Good. HR has a standard secretary job posting. I’ll have them send it your way and you can let them know if there’s anything to be added. I trust you to select the applicants and conduct the interviews, but I need to sign off on the hire.”
“Isn’t this something that HR can handle on their own?”
“They don’t know what it’s like in the BSU. The intricacies of your operations. You’re the expert on that.”
She straightened her posture and folded her arms.
“You were involved in hiring Agent Smith, weren’t you?” he added, taking a few steps forward, closing the gap between them.
“Yes, but that was different,” she explained. “He’s actively involved in our work.”
“And so will the woman you hire.” She fought hard not to roll her eyes. “I thought you’d want to have a hand in who joins this team, Dr. Carr.”
“That’s -” she started, then stopped.
She took a breath.
“I feel that my time would be better spent focusing on our research,” she explained.
“And this is part of that,” Gunn stated confidently. “Everything that happens in this basement is. And beyond. All the cogs in the machine have to be well oiled and working together.”
His tone was final and his feet were already headed towards the door.
“Let me know if you haven’t gotten anything by the end of the week,” he added, already halfway out the door.
The phone rang, as if on cue.
She walked away, letting the sound echo in the empty room.
Wendy was in the break room getting her third coffee of the day when Holden returned from his errand.  
“Hey, is there enough left for me?” he asked, preemptively grabbing a paper cup.
Wendy continued pouring coffee into her cup until the pot was empty. Holden looked at her cup, full to the brim. She picked it up carefully and took a sip from the top, looking Holden square in the eyes, before walking past him back to the office.
He stood there for a few seconds, stunned, before following her.
“Hey,” he called, just as she was about to enter her office.
Wendy turned around, unimpressed.
“Did I miss something?” Holden asked.
She was amused by his question, but not happy.
“Yes, Holden,” she said with more than a hint of condescension. “You missed a significant portion of my professional opinion in the Alaska profile.”
He thought for a moment, trying to remember what she could have been referring to.
“The military thing?” Her look confirmed his guess. “I thought we agreed he didn’t fit the military description.”
“I very clearly stated that it was very likely he did work at the air base.”
“Yes, but then I said I disagreed and you dropped it, so-”
“So, you took that to mean I conceded.”
“Well…”
She’d had it.
Gregg, who took notice of their dispute, removed his headphones to spectate properly, albeit discreetly.
“Look,” Holden said in a softer voice. “I don’t want to argue.”
“If you can’t tell the difference between a rational discussion and an argument-”
“Do you want me to call them?” he interrupted. “Tell them we made a mistake and we’ll send a new assessment?”
Wendy weighed this option briefly.
“No,” she concluded. “The damage is done. It won’t look good if we change our mind unless we’ve been presented with new information.”
Holden exhaled loudly. She stared him down. It didn’t appear that he’d learned this lesson.
“What’s done is done,” she added.
She retired to her office, closing the door firmly behind her.
Gregg looked up at Holden. Holden stared back, trying to think of something to say. His mind drew a blank, and he walked away, shaking his head.
The first thing Wendy did when she got home was pour herself the remainder of her bottle of Pinot Gris. It filled her glass well past the acceptable half-way point, but who was there to judge her.
The second thing she did was check her answering machine. She always tried to do it casually - just a quick glance - as if someone might be watching and think she was neurotic. The little red bulb was dark, as it always was. It seemed like a silly purchase now, slowly gathering dust like her love life.
She took a large sip of wine and opened the fridge. It was sparse. There was half a carton of eggs, an opened container of hummus, a three inch block of cheddar, and a nearly empty carton of milk next to a half full carton of orange juice. The crisper contained a bruised apple, two oranges, and a few stalks of celery.
Unmoved by her options, Wendy opened the cupboard only to find a bag of dried apricots where there would normally be cans of tuna. She once again opened the fridge and took out the cheese, an orange, and two of the celery stalks. From the cupboard, she took out the dried apricots as well as a box of crackers from the one next to it.  She sliced the cheese and arranged it carefully on a plate next to a matching number of crackers. Next to the crackers was the celery, cut into sticks, followed by orange wedges and a handful of dried apricots completing the circle. She scribbled down “tuna” and “milk” on the notepad pinned to the fridge before bringing her dinner to the living room.
Wendy settled into her usual chair, curled her feet up, and turned on the television. It was quarter to the hour, right in the middle of any half-hour show and too near the end of a full hour program. She flicked channels through twice before stopping on an episode of Wheel of Fortune, which promptly went to a commercial break.
She took a bite of one of the celery sticks only to find it bitter. It hadn’t looked spoiled from the outside, but it’s hard to tell sometimes. She tossed the stick back onto her plate and grabbed an apricot to cleanse her palate. Much better.
A man from Sarasota made it to the final round, but couldn’t guess the puzzle. Wendy got it in four seconds. When the episode ended, she turned off the television and brought her briefcase back to her chair. She pulled out the file she brought home on John Wayne Gacy. The Killer Clown.
Gacy’s mug shot was more unique than most. He was looking away from the camera, off to the side, and smiling. It was as if he was having a pleasant conversation with one of the officers when they snapped his picture. He didn’t look nice per se, however he wasn’t glistening with sweat. This wasn’t surprising though, considering he admitted he knew he was going to be arrested. And he confessed willingly, although it was only after police had found the remains in his crawl space.
Wendy read through the details of the first convicted murder, Timothy McCoy - formerly known as the “Greyhound Bus Boy”. Gacy had left a family party to go look at a display of ice sculptures, then decided to lure the 16-year-old to his car from the Chicago Greyhound Bus Terminal. He was on his way to Omaha from Nebraska. Gacy drove him around Chicago, showed him the sights, then back to his house where he told McCoy he could stay the night. He even offered him a ride to the station in the morning in time to catch his next bus. According to Gacy, he woke up early in the morning to see McCoy standing in his bedroom doorway with a knife. Gacy got out of bed and charged at McCoy, who raised his hands in surrender, still holding the knife. It cut Gacy’s arm in the panic. Gacy, who was much larger than McCoy, wrestled the knife from him and banged his head against the wall. Gacy kicked him multiple times. He wrestled him to the ground, straddled him, and stabbed him repeatedly. Then, Gacy claims he cleaned the knife in the bathroom. When he went into the kitchen, he found an open carton of eggs and a slab of bacon, unsliced, on the table, which was set for two.
This poor boy just wanted to make him breakfast, as a thank you, and he died for it. All because he didn’t leave the knife in the kitchen.
Wendy swirled the remainder of her drink in her glass, then held her hand steady and watched the wine continue to swirl and splash around the curves, briefly gaining momentum before slowing to a soft ripple.
Maybe Gacy would have killed him anyways. Maybe he never meant to drive him to the station that morning. Maybe McCoy was always meant to end up in Gacy’s crawl space, covered in concrete.
She took a sip and turned the page.
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Text
She [10]
Warnings: non-consent sex (butt plug, vaginal sex); violence, spanking/whippinh
This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.
Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.
Chapter Summary: Steve takes control.
Note: Hope you enjoy the last chapter! 
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
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Steve
He walked around her and took another look at her ass. He could see a hint of the plug between her cheeks and his lashes fluttered hungrily. He came back around as the chain chafed down her stomach and she wriggled. Helpless, hopeless, she pulled with all her weight on the cuffs.
He grabbed one of the nipple clamps and pushed it even tighter around her flesh. She yelped and he released her as she stopped her struggle. Blood stained the silver, just a trickle, and he took a hot breath. He felt like a wolf, fangs bared and mouth salivating for his prey.
He looked down and watched his hands as they deftly worked at his belt. He unbuttoned his fly and pushed the zipper open. He paused and snaked the leather loose from the loops. He folded the belt in his hand and tested it against his palm. It sent a chill through him.
“N-no,” She gasped. “Please--”
He snapped the leather across her thigh and she gave a shrill shriek. She sobbed as she swung from the hook and fought to still herself on her tiptoes. 
“What did I tell you about that word?” He hit her other thigh and she gave another shout. He hit her stomach and she sputtered as the breath went out of her. “Well!”
“I--” Her eyes searched his. Sheer terror struck her and he saw the strength seep from her. “I’m sorry, Captain.”
His cheek twitched and he neared her. He tilted his head as he trailed the leather down her stomach.
“Good,” He licked his lip. “You’re a quick learner and the faster you learn, the better.”
He grabbed her shoulder and turned her. He rested the belt against her ass as he stepped around her and peeked at the lens. Assured that she was center stage, he drew back and lashed her. Hard. 
The strike reverberated around him and fed into the next. She let out noises he’d never heard before. Pure agony. Her feet slipped and he held her hip to keep her in place. He didn’t stop until she was sobbing. Until her head slumped in defeat and the welts on her ass were raised and some bleeding.
“Aw, no,” He cooed as he went around her. He grabbed her chin and lifted her head. Her tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin. “Don’t cry. You’re stronger than that.”
She tried to shake his hand away and he slapped her. The split in her lip began to well again. She gulped down her breath and her eyes rolled back. She was dizzy as she swayed and her head lolled. She sniffed and her feet scrambled beneath her until she could still herself.
“Ah, don’t you do that,” He grabbed her head and forced it up. “I’m not even close to done. If you pass out, I won’t stop.”
She nodded and he raised a brow.
“Yath, Captam,” She slurred and blood dribbled over her lip. She’d bitten her tongue.
He let her go and repositioned her again. The curve of her ass visible to the lens as he came up behind her. He rolled the top of his underwear down along with his jeans. He let out a moan as his cock brushed up against his boxer briefs. He pushed the denim and cotton to his thighs and stroked himself.
He brushed his tip against her tortured ass and she flinched. She moaned and the link of her cuffs clinked in the hook. He pressed his fingers between her cheeks and wiggled the plug. She whimpered and he slid his hand lower. He bent his knees and spread her folds with his finger and lined himself up with her entrance.
He paused. He was holding his breath and so was she. He rescinded his hand and latched onto her hip. He slammed into her so hard she was taken off her feet. She exclaimed and grunted through her teeth as she kicked in pain. 
“I told you,” He snarled. “That toy was nothing compared to me.”
She shook and her fingers wrapped around the hook above her. He grabbed her shoulders and wiggled his hips as he tested her limits. She was tight. Very tight. She whimpered at every little move.
He thrust once, so harshly that she was once more off the ground. He repeated the motion several times until she was trembling in pain. Or pleasure. The way her cunt clenched around him was delicious.
He moved more steadily against her, slamming into her hard enough to jolt the plug in her ass. Her whines became laboured and desperate. He felt her cum and the wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of her grew louder.
He leaned against her as he reached down to her leg. He grasped behind her knee and bent her leg up and then the other. He lifted her so she was hanging from the hook and impaled entirely by his cock. He held her like that as he hammered into her from below. Her voice was stuttered and strained.
He loved the sound. The slick squelch of him inside her, the broken cries of the woman at his mercy. And they were all for him. His little secret. His hobby. He crashed into her relentlessly and felt the ecstasy bubble in his core. 
He puffed as he felt the rise, too enamored to slow it. His flesh clapped against her as her juices dampened the front of his jeans. He squeezed her legs and bucked into her violently as he came. He bent his head and sank his teeth into her shoulder to keep from crying out. She yelped as he emptied himself inside of her.
When he was still, he let her legs down and she hung against him. He eased himself out of her and his cum spilled down her thigh and dripped onto the floor. He sighed and rounded her. He reached for the camera and removed it from the tripod. He pointed the lens at her face, her swollen cheek, her bloodied lips, her dazed eyes.
Then he turned her and showed her dripping cunt; a creamy mess. He cradled the camera in one hand and focused on her ass as he grabbed the stem of the plug. He began to pull it out but thought better of it as it was halfway out. He pushed it back in until her ring was tight around it once more.
“Actually, you can keep that in.” He said as he stood straight. “I’m not done with your cunt.”
🖋️
Steve had to keep from whistling as he walked through the halls of the compound. He doubted the man beside him would appreciate that. Nick Fury was never much for levity. And now was not the time for celebration; well not for what was left of the Avengers.
As they passed through the front doors, the familiar flash of cameras greeted them and Steve smiled. He looked around at the clamoring reporters. Not so troublesome as those paparazzi droning like flies. No, a pleasant little flock of birds waiting for him to dangle a worm.
“You sure about this?” Fury paused just outside. “It’s not too late.”
“No, I’m certain.” Steve preened. “It’s time.”
Fury huffed and stepped up to the podium, several microphones mounted before him. He flinched at the feedback which greeted him and he cleared his throat. The press quieted as he stared them down with his single stern eye.
“Good morning.” He said stiffly. “I am not one to mince words so I would like to get to the point of this conference and to hand this over to man who you all are here to see. So I will say it straight; we have brought you here today to bid farewell to one of our greatest heroes.” The crowd gasped and looked at each other and then Steve. “It is bittersweet for us but we wish Steve Rogers, Our Captain, the best in what is to come for him.”
Fury nodded and backed away. He waved Steve forward and the golden soldier happily took the spotlight. He smiled at the stunned crowd.
“It has been with a lot of deep and difficult consideration that I have decided that it is time for me to step aside. But do not mistake me. This is not because I am hiding or because I am running away from one little interview. In fact, I am thankful for that article because it made me see that my time has come and gone.” 
He looked around and took a breath.
“I am leaving behind a good team. They are brave, smart, loyal, hardworking, and devoted. I leave you in good hands, better hands. But that is not to say that I will leave you entirely. Should the day come that you need me or my shield, I will be here. I will do as I have always done.
“But in the meantime, I will do something else. I have chosen to take on a new crusade. Starting right her in New York. All across the five boroughs. My new project is called Sarah’s Sanctuary. An infrastructure of shelters, youth centres, and food banks to be opened throughout the city to support all those pushed to borders of society; elderly, adult, children; men, women, LGBTQ. It will offer specialised services to all; housing, counseling, addiction treatment to things as basic as daily meals.
“Because as you know, you can take the boy out of Brooklyn, but you can’t take Brooklyn out of the boy.”
A dozen voices called out at once. Steve beamed at the reporters as they shouted their questions, desperate for more. He retreated with a wave and left them to their cameras and notepads. Fury followed him inside. They were silent for different reasons as they walked the halls. Both with too much on their minds.
🖋️
When Steve got home, he wasn’t surprised to find even more photographers than before waiting at his door. He skirted past them and closed them out as he stepped inside his Brooklyn walk-up. He had everything he needed; right here. He locked the door and continued past the front room and to the kitchen.
He took his time, admired the fruits of his hard work. Two boiled eggs, toast and butter, and a small cup of yogurt with granola on a metal tray. He balanced it all with a tall glass of water and unlocked the door to the stairs. He descended and passed through the thicker door at the bottom. It locked behind him.
His eyes found her right away. She was curled in a ball on the thin futon, her arms wrapped around her legs. Her face was swollen and dried blood flaked away from her lips. She was still naked and shivered. Her eyes opened slowly but she didn’t move.
He stopped beside the mattress and set the tray down beside it. 
“Sit up.” He ordered.
She hesitated. Then slowly pushed herself to a sitting position. “Yeth, cap-tain,” She said through her clumsy lips. She flinched as her tender ass met the futon and the plug became more obvious. She covered her chest and kept her legs bent to shield herself.
“I brought you something to eat.” He said. She stared at the tray and frowned. “What?”
“Where are my clothes?” She asked and he growled.
“You wear whatever I give you or don’t give you.” He sneered. “And eat when I bring you food.”
“It’s cold in here,” She complained and reached for a slice of toast.
“You won’t be cold much longer,” He assured her. “Finish your meal, go get cleaned up, and I’ll make sure you’re sweating in no time.”
She blanched and gulped. She bit into the bread and looked at the floor. She winced again and he saw the glossiness in her eyes.
“I announced my resignation today,” He said with a grin. “So… you won.”
She looked at him, appalled. He snickered and paced the room.
“I’ll tell you what,” He turned to her and struck that famous stance. Hands on hips, squared jaw, stoic gaze. “If you do me a favour, I’ll get you a blanket.” He watched her swallow, realisation struck her harder than he had. “You see, I’m an easy man to work with. Once you figure that out, you’ll life will get a whole lot better.”
END
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shinebrite97 · 3 years
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Read part 4 here
          "I accept."           
          The exact opposite of what she came here to say. But his expression gave away his response before he could say it.
          The tips of his cheeks, right below his golden eyes, all the way to the top of his ears were burning red. 
          What had once been a frown, slowly lifted, turning up and up, until his white teeth shone right through his parted lips. His face seemed to contort, cheeks puffing, lips puckering, eyes squinting, building up until he burst.
           "Really? You will? Oh thank you so much Yuri! I cannot tell you how happy this makes me. There are no words in any of the three realms that will ever explain how grateful I am to you!" 
            "Lord-"
            "Oh please Yuri, forgo the title just this once!"
            "Diavolo…" she said.
            "Yes, my dear?" He asked.
            "I'm placing all my trust in you, that this plan will work."  She said. "I'm ready to work hard, and I hope that I live up to your expectations." 
            "I'm sure you will." He replied.
                                                 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
           As per Lord Diavolo's orders, Yuri was excused from class for the test of the day, he even went as far as to inform Lucifer himself. 
             Yuri wasn't sure what she expected with Diavolo called him into the council room. But he placed a hand on the center of her back and stated that he was taking her out of class for the day. She was even more shocked when Diavolo added that she'd be spending the night at his castle. 
             His face was unreadable, the kind of expression she saw so rarely that chilled her more than his anger. But he bowed his head, quietly agreeing to the arrangement and asked Yuri if there was anything she'd like brought over. 
            He promised that Mammon would deliver her an overnight bag and they would see her the following night. 
              And while she couldn't hear what he said, she found it odd that he was mumbling on his way out.
               As Diavolo led her away from the academy and walked with her through town, she noticed him fighting ever so slightly. His hand seemed to gravitate toward her, to her arm, to her back, but then he would pull it back to his side, after the fourth time she had caught slight movement in the corner of her vision, she stopped walking.
                "Is something wrong, Yuri?" He asked.
                "May I?" She asked, slowly stepping closer. She offered her hand first, carefully pulling his sleeve until he relaxed his arm, holding out a few inches from his side, just enough that she could wrap her arm around his. Bringing his hand up closer to his chest so that her hand held his bicep, she brought her other hand to his sleeve, holding on and taking the first step forward.
                "Yuri...what are you…?"
                "I'm sorry…" she replied, immediately pulling her hand away. 
                His quick reflexes caught her, keeping her hand locked in the hinge of his elbow.
                "I have no problem with it." He replied. "But...are you okay with-?" 
                "Yes," she giggled. "In fact...I like it. You feel warm and it's getting a bit windy out here." 
                "Then allow me." He pulled her closer to his side. Holding her hands in his one free hand, and leading her up the hill back to his castle.
                                                      ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
                "So I told Simeon...if you're going to let him prepare dinner for your household… dare him to use canned Boarback! There's no way Solomon could mess that up!" Yuri tossed her head back as she laughed. 
                 "Then what happened?" She asked.
               "Apparently he wanted to add "his own personal flair" instead of just heating it from the can, and ended up using three cups of powdered sugar instead of flour."
                 "Oh no!" She shrieked. 
                 "Simeon said that Luke seemed to like it, only because it was so sweet. He said that they might even be able to trick Lucifer and his brothers into eating it...so long as they don't say who made it."
                "That is so funny!" 
                "Well, here we are, my dear." Diavolo said. Yuri was surprised when he didn't reach into his pocket for a key, and even more surprised when the door opened, but seeing Barbatos bow in the entryway made sense.
                "Welcome home, young master." He paused halfway to standing upright, the rest of his graceful motion was stuttered and hesitant.
                 "Yuri..." He said.
                 "Hey Barbatos." She said, throwing her hand up in an awkward wave.
                 "Is she aware, Milord?" He asked in a low voice.
                 "Yes, and she agreed." Diavolo replied.
                 "Excellent." He smiled. "Please come inside. I will prepare a tea tray at once." 
                 "We will take it in my underground study." 
                 "Very well, Milord." 
                                                       ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 
                  Yuri had no idea what to expect with an underground study. She never really knew what to expect with anything when it came to these particular demons. 
                  Hell was classier than she thought, but it was still hell. 
                  Lucifer had high standards when it came to his home, but he was still a demon.
                  In this case, the underground tunnels were just as they sounded. Dank, but not dusty. Stone walls caught the sounds of their footsteps and echoed them back, adding to the ambience of some far off drips and deep reverbs of some growling creature.
                 "Don't mind that, Yuri. Diavolo said. "Tunnel systems lead all throughout the Devildom, and there is a special one for Cerberus." 
                 "Okay..." she muttered. 
                 She wasn't sure who took the other's hand first, or when she had migrated closer to his side, but once he stopped walking and she bodily fell against him; he chuckled, catching her easily and producing a key from the folds of his uniform robe.
                   "We're going to start with my family tree," he said. "Then we can move on to our grimoire."
                  A demon's grimoire is his livelihood. Yuri remembered hearing it straight from Lucifer, when Luke had stumbled across his tomes by accident.
                  I'm about to see his whole life. Every strength and weaknesse. His summoning, and his potential downfall.
                 "Are you sure I should see that?" She asked. 
                 "Of course, Yuri," he replied. "I-I know what you're thinking…but I trust you." The stretch of his lips was faint, but he held the smile in his eyes. She felt the blush on her face as his own cheeks heated up, and she dropped her gaze to giggle awkwardly. Flustered. 
                  "If I couldn't bear my all to you, I wouldn't have asked you to marry me." He said. 
                   "Okay." 
                   Yuri cringed at how small her voice sounded, knowing exactly what was hiding behind that single word.
                   The impulsive, touched-starved part of her brain screamed her attraction to him. His kindness, that boyish smile that seemed to de-age him, and the soft tone he seemed to always hold with her. 
                   Her heart hammered in her chest, barely slowing even when Diavolo set a large book down on the table between them. 
                   It took up the full left half of the table, and Diavolo stood up, standing behind her as he carefully flipped the weathered pages. He stopped in the center of the book, spanning both pages was a swooping tree design, small portraits contained generations of Diavolo's family. Each one looking regal, not a smile in sight, and despite being just ink on paper, Yuri felt a spike in her pulse, a rush of fear in her brain.
                   Monsters.
                   Features were quite right. Eyes too big, teeth too sharp, necks too long, ears too pointed.
                   It was clear that they were demons, and she tried to remind herself exactly where she was. 
                  Of course they're demons. 
                  Yuri watched as he pointed to the ink sketch of a woman with large liquid-golden eyes and gold-tipped wings spanning out behind her. 
               "My mother," he said. "She died when I was very young."
                  "I'm sorry to hear that," she replied.
                  "I don't have many memories of her. But my father loved her.
                  "Is that him?" Yuri asked, gesturing to the portrait beside his mother's.
                  "Yes," he said. 
                  "You look just like him." She replied. "At least in the face." She smiled, glancing up and locking her eyes on his. It was a piercing stare that made him look away first. He cleared his throat, loosening the tight collar of his shirt and taking a step back.
                 "What is it?" He asked. 
                 "Oh...nothing," Yuri replied. "I just realized that...you have your mother's eyes."
                 "Hmm…" Diavolo stood up fully, straightening his ruby robe and avoiding eye contact as he worked to compose himself. "I suppose I do." 
                "Is something wrong, sir? She asked.
                Diavolo opened his mouth, only to be interrupted by the stone door opening as Barbatos entered. He bowed deeply, setting the tea tray on the free half of the table and lifting a saucer and cup.
                 "I apologize for interrupting," he said. "Will Miss Yuri be staying for dinner tonight?" 
                 "Yes." Diavolo said. "She will also spend the night in the palace, Lucifer said he would send his brother Mammon with a collection of things for her." 
                 "Very well. I will begin the preparations.
                 Barbatos turned to leave, bowing once more and quickly leaving the room, the stone door closing behind him with a grating sound.
                  "Now where were we?" 
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a-third-attempt · 4 years
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A/N: Presented on the occasion of @momochrome​‘s birthday.
Inzee is an OC of @momochrome. Source (at her writing blog)
Warnings: Claustrophobia implied, angst with a happy ending. (3240 words)
 * * *
“I need to tell you something.”
“Anything, angel.”
You’d known this was coming. He’d been out of sorts for days. Unusually quiet and slow to respond. Calling a rain check for date night. Even his quiet time tending the garden every morning didn’t seem to be bringing him the peace that it had before. 
Today, Inzee was slumped over the kitchen table, gray-skinned head resting between two massive webbed hands. He wasn’t upset, you noted, the markings on the back of his head bore only the faintest bit of color. But his pointed ears seemed to tell a different story, drooping down. You sat down next to him and smiled patiently. 
He sat with furrowed brow, collecting his thoughts, giving you plenty of time to look him over and be struck once again by how large he was. You had met other Eistirs over the last few years on Enphe, which is how you came to realize that Inzee wasn’t considered particularly muscular. Still, a lifetime of space work had kept him in shape, and what passed for lithe strength on this planet was positively enormous by Human standards. He stood well over two meters tall, with arms as thick around as your thighs and a body to match. 
“I’m glad we decided to settle down.” He hesitated, his four eyes fixed on you, nervously watching for your reaction. “But I’ve got to fly again.”
“What do you mean?”
He grunted. “I’m just going stir-crazy from being grounded for this long. I haven’t sat around on Enphe for more than one orbit since I was a child.” 
Like you, he’d gone to space as soon as he could, following that ephemeral string into the sky, hoping beyond hope that he would find where it led. That was where the similarities ended. Somehow, he seemed to enjoy it, which had always been baffling to you. Your experiences of space travel were spartan, weeks if not months of cramped quarters, bad food, and poor hygiene. When you were in Terran-charted space, you at least had a crew to keep you company. But most of your years of travels were spent far beyond it, in torturous solitude. Components were damaged with each jump, and the hours that you weren’t spending repairing the tin can were filled with tedious calculations to properly chart your course. That far out, the navigation systems were nearly useless. When they broke along with everything else after the nebula jump, you didn’t even bother to repair them. 
“Do you not like it here?” You knew the answer, but you still didn’t understand what he was getting at.
“My sweetheart, you wound me.” He clutched his chest, and you flashed a faint smile. He seemed to be feeling a little better than when you’d first come out, at least. “I love it here. I think I’d love anywhere if you were there. Somehow I just need—” Suddenly his eyes drooped, too ashamed to look at you anymore. “I mean I thought I was just out there searching for you. But maybe I was looking for something else, too, or else this feeling should have gone away, right?”
You nodded slowly. It made sense. You might have been the talkative one, making friends everywhere you went, but he had always been more inclined to adventure. You worked well together, as soulmates should, quickly collecting a large group of like-minded friends all around the world. Soon your leisure time had been positively filled with friendly banter and silly games, and with the effortless travel afforded by Eistir teleporters, there was no shortage of sights to see. At first you had assumed that he was taking you to his favorite spots, but he confessed that most of the time he was visiting for the first time too. I’ve been all around the galaxy, he said, shaking his head, but I’d never known my own backyard.
That life of your dreams had turned into a lump in your throat. How long had he felt this way? He had leased his ship when you agreed to settle back onto his homeworld, when you both thought that your days of flying were behind you. Suddenly, those terrestrial travels seemed like a paltry replacement for extraplanetary flights he could no longer have. Why hadn’t he said anything? Did he not trust you? 
No, no. That didn’t matter. He was telling you now. He trusted you now, and judging by the look on his face, he needed you now. You could worry about the past some other time.
You reached over to rub his shoulder, and ducked your head to meet his gaze. “Inzee, look at me. I love you.” He smiled, ears twitching. Every time. “You know how I feel about flying. But honestly, you’ve been a mess recently, and it breaks my heart to see you unhappy. So if you need to take a trip every once in a while, we can do that.”
He didn’t seem entirely convinced, but his skin brightened a bit more, cupping your hand in his. “You’re really okay with it? I don’t know how much time I’ll need. I could be gone for a while.”
Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath. “Honestly, angel, I don’t know. I have some really dark memories of being in a ship. But you’ll be there this time, which will help.” He bumped his forehead against yours, one of his cute little gestures that never failed to charm. “Or at least, we can try. I mean, this has to work out somehow, right? We’re soulmates, for god’s sake,” you said, twanging at the string that bound the two of you.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He pulled away, sighing. “Well, I would rather get my old ship back, if I can. That’ll probably take a while.” He looked you over with concern. He would never say that he didn’t believe you, but you both knew that there was more to be said. “Maybe I can start working on that, and you can think about it? Make sure you’re okay with me being gone for a while?”
“Being gone—?” He couldn’t possibly think that you would be staying home? “I’m going with you, you do know that, right?”
“What?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “No, I’m not going to ask you to go back on a ship again, you’ve made it plenty clear—”
A fire rose in your gut; you could hardly believe what you were hearing. “Listen, Inzee.” He snapped to attention at your sharp tone. “I dragged this tiny Human body halfway across the galaxy just to find you. And there isn’t a darn thing in it that could pry you out of my sight for a second.” He gulped, and then, much to your amusement, shivered. It made sense. He wouldn’t be used to hearing that voice in the daylight. You were tempted to push him further, but reluctantly waved the thought away. Plenty of time for that later. This was serious.
But he must have smelled your thoughts, because he completely failed at concealing his laughter. Shaking his head, he whispered, “Oh, what could I possibly have done to deserve you?”
You grinned. “Do you want an itemized list?”
 * * *
It did, indeed, take a while. Days passed and then blurred together as the long series of infuriating telecoms and paper trails paraded on. The red tape brought out a side of Inzee that you had never seen before, not just tenacious but assertive. He navigated the Eistir bureaucracy with an efficiency and ruthlessness that was almost frightening. And, ultimately, effective. After an eternity of wrangling, he managed to wrest back control of his old ship from the rental agency. 
On the morning that everything was official, he could hardly contain his excitement. He put a blindfold on you and stepped you through the teleporter, its buzzing sensation a long-familiar nuisance.
"Okay, take it off!”
As soon as the blindfold fell, you were immediately knocked breathless.
The two of you stood on a grated platform that ran along the rim of a gigantic circular room with vaulted ceilings. Sitting in the center you saw the characteristic green wireframe of a holographic starmap. It was massive, at least twice as big as any you had seen, and the room had clearly been sculpted around it; the projection equipment tucked into the arch of the ceiling, control panels on all three levels of the platform. The far side of the room was a window— a single curved sheet of glass that must have been at least two stories tall. At its edges, it faded into elegant yellow walls covered in vast black screens, woven together by veins of blue and purple crystals and a dizzying array of bright buttons. Eistir script flashed on a few of the screens, some projecting smaller holograms of their own. The room was silent, save the quiet whirring of the machinery and the occasional beeps of a droid buzzing overhead.
“Welcome aboard,” he said, his thick arms squeezing your side.
“This is your ship? It’s as big as our whole house!”
“No, I don’t, don’t think so.” His skin flushed blue. “I mean, the boy is, it’s probably, it’s not quite as—”
You hit him playfully on his side. “Jeez, you idiot! Why did you ever give this up?”
He cupped his hand around his ear, all eyes looking at the floor. “Well, I didn’t need it, anymore, once you found me, you know, and anyway, you didn’t seem so keen on flying— and I didn’t really give it up, I guess— we got it back, you see?”
You barely registered his stammered response, still taking in the grand scale of it all. “Oh, sweet heavens, I would have given the whole galaxy to fly on your ship.” His stories flooded back into your mind, and finally standing in the bright, open space, their reckless enthusiasm suddenly made sense. Of course you would love to fly if you got to fly in this beauty! This wasn’t a budget rocket slapped together to get you one or two jumps away. This was a ship made for adventure.
No, not quite, you remembered. It was, in fact, a science ship, designed for acquiring and testing specimens. You whipped your head around, looking for where the experiments might be run. But as far as you could tell, everything you saw looked like navigational equipment. “Where do you keep your collections?”
His markings glowed, intense with regret. Oh. Right. Immediately you embraced him, resting your head on his cool skin. “I’m sorry.”
The ship had been rented out, and the new astronauts would probably have collections of their own, so his had to be dealt with. He figured the data would be useful to someone, so he spent many long afternoons cataloguing everything; giving the local scientists anything they would take, and carefully documenting the rest. You had begged him to just bring them home and be done with it, but he insisted that he didn’t have the equipment to store them. He was so torn up about it, but there was nothing to be done.
“It’s okay,” he said, quietly. He wrapped you up in his arms and you savored his thick scent. “There’s a collections room.”
“There’s a what?” you demanded, jerking your head back. You were so taken aback, you’d forgotten that you were supposed to be soothing him. He tilted his head, confused.
“A… collections room? Uh, to keep everything organized?”
Your jaw dropped, and your eyes spun around the chamber. “There’s more?”
Finally understanding, he chuckled. “Ah. Yes, my love. Come on, I can give you the tour.”
“Holy shit.” 
Your mind was reeling as you followed his lead along the grated platform. He turned abruptly and the wall parted, revealing a short corridor, not quite wide enough for both of you to fit at once. He took your hand in his and you walked through to the other end, where a similar portal opened into a new room.
And when he stepped in, it was Inzee’s turn to gasp.
“Impossible…”
You rubbed your eyes as you adjusted to the light. This room was admittedly less grandiose than the navigation room, although still beautiful in its own way. It was smaller, but possibly even taller, with locker-like doors of all sizes lining the walls. A mess of Eistir script was scrawled on most of them, although it had clearly been rubbed off several of the larger doors at your eye level, replaced with more careful, steady handwriting. It wasn’t much to look at, you thought, but your partner was shell-shocked.
“What is it, angel?”
“They couldn’t have left all of it.” He started pacing around the room, sliding his hands across the glyphed doors. His body trembled as he pressed on one and it hissed open, letting loose a puff of orange steam as a shelf slid out. “Sweet oceans, they did.” He pressed frantically on the doors, drawers and tanks emerging.
“I can’t believe it.” He jumped back to you and swept you off your feet, practically lifting you up in the air. “It’s all here!”
He was still shaking as he squeezed you. You grinned like an idiot to see him so happy. “I thought you cleared it out!”
“I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He returned an embarrassed smile. “I made all the records and put a note in the system asking them to remove it. Maybe a bit rude, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually throw it away.”
You finally gave in to your curiosity and pressed a door open. The tray that emerged was dense with easily a hundred pencil-thin glass tubes. Some of them were empty, it looked like, while others were foggy and bore subtle colors. “Atmosphere samples,” he crooned, sliding one along the webbing between his fingers. “From the Kredar supersystem. A lot of gas giants.”
Your eyes widened. “Wait, is each one a different planet?”
He laughed. “There’s a couple repeats, probably.” The words hit you like a truck. Nearly a hundred planets behind this one door. In a room filled with doors, wall to wall, floor to ceiling. 
“I can’t believe they left it all behind.”
You giggled, despite yourself. “You left it all behind.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “You know what I mean.”
“I’m just teasing, angel,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’m going to make you tell me about every one.”
“Good thing I’ve already taken notes.” One of his eyelids closed clumsily, and you stifled another giggle. You’d been trying to teach him how to wink, and he still needed a bit of practice.
You slid over one of the ladders attached to the walls and climbed up a few rungs. “Hmm, what’s iiiiiin…” you waved your hand around a section of the doors. “this one?” You slapped one of the larger squares. It opened cleanly, with none of the fanfare of the others, and a glass box rolled out, filled to the brim with— 
Lego?
“You have got to be kidding me.”
Inzee clutched his sides as he bowled over laughing, nearly falling on the floor. “Oh no! Don’t tell me you have those evil buggers too!”
You grabbed a handful of bricks. They were a little different than you were used to, lacking the familiar branding, some a bit misshapen. And they were clearly not all made from plastic. Some were metallic, others almost leathery. Throwing them back in the box, you glared at your partner, still wheezing on the ground below you. “What are you on about?”
He was gasping too hard to speak. You shook your head and hopped off the ladder, looking him in the eye as you shook him gently. You tried to appear unamused, but you weren’t sure if you were succeeding— it was adorable to see him like this, and his smile was infectious.
Eventually he calmed himself down enough to explain. “Nearly every race that we have made contact with has invented some version of those things. Not too hard to believe, I suppose, a toy for curious children that gets replicated across worlds.” He shook his head, another chortle busting through. “But you would think that someone would have found a way to make them that doesn’t hurt like hell when you step on them.”
“I cannot believe that the common thread uniting civilizations across the galaxy is fucking Lego.”
“Come on, that’s not the common thread. We all do language, water treatment, fusion, that kind of stuff.” Inzee snorted. “But yes, it is a incredible coincidence.”
“Oh, that gives me an idea. We should swing by Earth!” You frowned, one complication of that plan springing quickly to mind. “Well, it is pretty far away, we’d have to fly for a while. But you don’t already have Human-Lego, right? And I’m sure there’s other collections we could fill out, too.”
“Oh, that sounds wonderful!” His markings swelled with blue, and he spread his arms wide in deference. “I would be honored to visit your homeworld.”
“How soon can we start?”
His eyes were so bright, you swore you could see by them. “What’s gotten into you, my love? Just a few days ago I thought you were ready to call off the whole thing entirely.”
“It’s your ship, Inzee. There’s so much light and space. I can breathe in here.” As if to demonstrate, you loudly inhaled through your nose. He shot you a bemused glance, and you stuck out your tongue. “Oh god, you should have seen the tin can I flew here in. If I could have had this, everything would have been better, I’m sure of it. This ship, your ship, it’s amazing.”
He had been soaking in your words with an awkward sort of pride, as if you had been praising him rather than his ship. Perhaps you had been. But at the end, his expression suddenly softened, and his skin glowed a bright red. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. 
“No, my love. You are amazing.” Towering over you, he leaned down to join his eager lips with yours. His hearts pounded blood through his body, and you felt them as if they were your own, the rhythm of the kiss synching to his hypnotic pulse. You nursed it, squeezing him as you deepened it, his quickening breath sending tingles up your spine. 
Neither able nor willing to control yourself, you stepped forward, urging him toward the wall. He gave in to your demand just as instinctively, shrinking back further and further until you slammed him against the doors, pinning him down. He could surely have broken out had he wanted, but the blue heat radiating from his skin told you he had no such desire. This was a man bent on fulfilling your fantasies— or, rather, a creature, an Eistir— any interest you had in the details vanished completely as his silky hands slipped under your shirt, the light touch of his webbing teasing soft moans from your chest.
In retaliation, you slid your tongue into the fork of his, but when he tried to lean in, you pulled away completely. You smirked wickedly at his quiet whines, lifting his chin up with one finger and setting your gaze into his eyes. “Show me to the captain’s quarters, angel.”
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