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imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs · 2 years

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Sailor Moon Smutember Week 1:🍋 Established Relationship

Here ya go. I feel like this one isn’t as good as I intended. I had a headache in the final days of the week and the story just didn’t come together in the way I hoped. All in all, I hope you guys enjoy it and that this won’t derail me like what happened in my last fandom event.

update: sorry for not tagging you @floraone

Today was Wednesday.

A cold and dry hump day like this one would probably be well spent inside, away from the sting of wind with no promise of snow or milder days.

But in the strange way that was now life in Azabuu-Juuban, Wednesday was the unofficial day when leftover monsters (Daimons, Droids, Youma, and Lemures alike) showed up to run around like a chicken with it’s head cut off. If chickens were the size of semi-trucks and were all armed with RPGs.

Apparently, this happened because Beryl had left “sleeper cells” around the city the night before her end game to ensure she had a ready army for her conquest of earth when she had finished off her hated enemy, Sailor Moon.

The Lemures and Droids most likely had been forgotten by their owners when they folded and the Daimons were likely leftovers from Tomoe’s lab that had escaped into the sewars.

And this attack had to happen mid-day, mid-week, when everyone else was busy.

Life seemed to be like that, with or without monsters that called themselves Spin Cyclist.

“The stains of the Moon Kingdom will be cleansed from this earth!” the creature said in it’s Industrial Music-like voice.

“So, I was thinking,” Sailor Venus said, her chain wrapping around the Youma’s neck and yanking it hard enough to cause it to cry out, “how did you guys decide what a Youma was going to look like?”

“There wasn’t really a finalized process,” Kunzite said, parrying a strike from Spin Cyclist’s hose-like tendrils with his sword, “I used what I could find, Nephrite tended to use whoever had the most energy—”

He ducked, leaving the Youma’s tentacle to strike air.

“And Jadeite used whatever was part of his plan. Zoisite never told me how he did it.”

“Well,” “Well,” Venus said, aiming a finger at Spin Cyclist’s head, “you guys could have at least not left them lying around.”

With a battle cry, Venus released a crescent beam at her target. The attack bounced harmlessly off it’s temple.

“All Sailor Guardians will be washed away in my power!” the creature bellowed.

“But why does he call himself ‘Spin Cyclist?” Venus asked, ducking another strike, “he’s got a freaking washing machine for a body! There’s nothing Cyclist about him!”

“In all likelihood, it was a bad pun.”

Kunzite blocked another strike before weaving between oncoming blows to get to Venus.

“Well,

Kunzite braced himself against Spin Cyclist, and the air crackled; the Youma groaned as energy drained from it into Kunzite. Normally, he took energy to charge an attack, but he’d recently found that he could use energy absorption to his advantage, in est immobilizing an enemy.

Spin Cyclist sagged, it’s cries growing weaker as its Kunzite robbed it of it’s energy. But even in it’s weakened state, the youma had a good seven feet on him and his arms didn’t even envelope around the back of it.

“Do it now, Venus!” he cried as the creature struggled to break his hold.

Sailor Venus must have heard him, since she jumped on top of an upturned car as her chain appeared in her hand.

“Venus…”

Spin Cyclist seemed to recognize the voice and began to struggle in Kunzite’s grip.

“Wink chain…”

The Holy Sword appeared at the end of the chain as Venus aimed it at the Youma. Kunzite held tighter and braced himself.

“sword!”

The attack surged from Venus’s hand, spearing Spin Cyclist through its mid-section as the chain behind the sword encircled and constricted it. In response, Kunzite fired a blast of it’s own energy at it’s head, leaving a smoldering wreck in it’s wake. The remains of the Youma went limp and fell backwards with a crash.

Kunzite let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding as Sailor Venus walked up to him.

“So, wanna bet which person designed this one?” she said, elbowing Kunzite in the arm.

“I’m more worried why it didn’t disappear or turn to dust,” he said.

The cheeky grin Venus wore faded. That was a valid question.

Suddenly, Spin Cyclist let out a pathetic noise that was probably what a tractor sounded like burping when the glass door on it’s front popped open and a geyser of damp clothes and sudsy water shot up.

And landed on both Kunzite and Sailor Venus, drenching them. After which Spin Cyclist disappeared, leaving only a dented washing machine in its wake.

“Jeez!”

Sailor Venus picked what was hopefully a t-shirt from her shoulder.

“I think this was a Zoisite youma,” Kunzite said, taking a sock from off his head. He followed up with a sneeze.

“We should probably get back to your place and warm up,” Venus said, rubbing her arms when a particularly strong gust blew in with a chill.

Kunzite couldn’t agree more.

The inside of Karim’s apartment was blessedly temperate compared to the drabness of outside.

Except for the fact that once their transformations had dropped the two of them were still sopping wet, chilled from the outside air and Spin Cyclist’s attack.

Karim made a note to “thank” his “brother-in-arms” for including that feature in a youma.

Minako had dragged out a space heater and turned it on full blast and headed straight for the shower in what must have been record time.

Judging from the steam that billowed out from under the bathroom door, the hot water would probably not return until tomorrow.

So, Karim was content to simply towel off in the living room and brew a cup of tea. Turning the heater down and putting his clothes by it to dry them better, Karim wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the kitchen to check the tea. He only stopped once to pick up a late edition of the news that was laying on the table.

Five minutes after he’d sat back down the water turned off and the door opened.

“That is so much better,” he heard Minako say.

Out of the corner of his eye, Karim caught a glimpse of her. Hair down, a towel around her shoulders as if you preserve her modesty (he almost had to laugh; all of Minako’s modesty had nothing to do with her sexuality), it was a look he hadn’t really seen on her but he wasn’t about to complain.

“Comfy?”

The sly edge of Minako’s voice should have been a warning; he’d heard it enough times. Her “comfy” could be translated as “I see you’re only wearing a towel; would you mind it if I tore it off and had my way with you?”

He should have told her now wasn’t the time; should have offered to let her use the hairdryer or maybe cook her something.

But he’d be lying if he wasn’t curious at what the goddess of love was cooking up in that beautiful head of her’s.

“Quite,” he replied, not looking up from his newspaper.

The couch dipped, letting him know she’d climbed onto it beside him, smelling freshly bathed and much warmer than when they first came in.

“You know, you didn’t really notice.” Karim smirked and flipped another page of the paper.

“Notice what?” he asked playfully.

“My new panties,” she replied.

It felt like Minako shuffled around and when Karim finally looked over, a familiar possessive heat blossomed inside him.

He really hadn’t seen the pair she was wearing, cardinal red with a pink heart outlined in lace dead center of her ass.

“I approve,” he said.

Minako turned back around and climbed closer with a smile.

“I can tell,” she said.

The white towel around her shoulders obscured her bust from his vision, but really, he didn’t need it. Her hair was freshly blow dried and brushed, a healthy glow on her face that suited her so much better than the pallid shivering look she’d worn on the way in, and a radiant smile he’d grown to know so well. It was a view someone could look at forever.

And he almost didn’t feel the warm hand that landed on his thigh because he was so busy drinking her in.

“I knew you wanted something,” he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

Minako’s hand slid up his thigh and flicked aside the towel, revealing him to the world.

“It’s nothing big,” Minako said, her hand beginning to work his shaft, “just a little handjob. You can pay it back later.”

She leaned in and kissed his lips.

“I’ll pay it back to you as soon as I can,” Karim replied.

Minako jolted when she felt a slap to her buttocks.

“Karim!”

“I thought I would try something new,” he said, feeling somewhat sheepish.

Minako’s response was to grab him by the hair and crush his mouth to her’s, her pace picking up considerably.

“Do that again,” she said through the flurry of kisses and nips, “And I will bring you down.”

He was at full attention now, his senses all focused on her, his lover, his partner, his goddess.

Karim wanted to pull down those new panties and fill her, but that would mean that her touch would be gone for too long and he wanted to ride that too completion.

With a grunt, he came.

“Fuck, Minako…”

Minako leaned down and lapped at some of the pearls on his stomach.

“Only if your sister’s not coming home for another hour,” she said.

She leaned back onto his shoulder, putting a hand on his chest.

“Not one of our flashier moments,” she said.

“I liked it,” Karim said.

“Well,” Minako said, “that was more of a casual ‘catch your boyfriend in a towel and blow his mind’ kind of quickie.”

For a while, the two of them just sat there, just enjoying each other’s presence and the fact that neither of them was cold or covered in sudsy water anymore.

#sailor moon Smutember #smutember2022 #sailor moon #my writing #minakunz #post-series #aged up characters #It's Lemon Scented

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heapster-45 · 2 years

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Find the Word

Thanks for the tag @bumblerhizal-art. Most of these excerpts are from my fanfiction “We Must be Killers”, but including others as well. I have the word as well as the title of my fic, and the fandom for them. Lots of OCs going on here, but it should be pretty easy to pick up context.

DRINK (From “Start as You Mean to Go On” ABC’s Revenge)

“What do you want, Britta?” Emily asked, not skipping a beat.

“To help you.”

“I don’t need your help. You need to stop trying to inject yourself into my plans. You’ll ruin them.”

“Oh really? I just helped you determine what to do with Daniel. He’s not like his parents, in fact he actively wants to be different from them. You’re not going to hurt him until he’s proven himself guilty. I helped you make that decision and now you can focus on other things. Or did I read you wrong, Emily?” Britta said quietly, leaning over the table so the other could hear her over a small crowd who had come bumbling through the bar.

“No,” Emily said. “You didn’t read me wrong.” She came around to the other side of the table, to sit next to Britta in the booth and took the drink out of her hand to sip it herself. “ Why do you want to help me?”

“Two reasons,” Britta got closer, so she could speak into Emily’s ear. “Like you, the Graysons are the reason my parents are dead, and I know things you don't know about them. You’re about to bite into more than you can chew.”

LIE (From “WMBK” Harry Potter)

As she exited the corridor to the Grand Staircase, of course, Pleasant walked right into someone on their way in. Just my luck.

Gaynore grabbed her arm and the front of her shirt to catch her balance. “Will you watch where you’re going?!” As soon as she realized whose shirt she was holding, Gaynore released her tight grip and took a sizable step back, stepping through the doorway before turning back around.

“Sorry,” Pleasant mumbled, trying to dash away, but the staircase had shifted, leaving only an eight story drop in its place. Panic began to set in.

“You haven’t happened to see Draco around here, have you? He’s been spending his time up here for some blasted reason,” Gaynore’s question seemed pointed. Pleasant didn’t like it.

“No,” Pleasant answered, still waiting on the staircase to return. Her body was very aware of the places Gaynore had just touched her. It was inescapable.

“You’re lying.”

Pleasant turned to face Gaynore directly. “If I had seen him, why would I tell you?”

“You and Dumbledore need to work a little harder on that Occlumency while you can.”

“You need to work on minding your business,” Pleasant retorted.

“Your staircase is here.”

Pleasant glanced behind her and saw the steps below. She left Gaynore at the landing.

“I saw the way you double checked, Pleasant. Do you really think I would send you over the edge?” Gaynore called out to her. You’ve done it before. Pleasant didn’t respond as she crossed the threshold to the Gryffindor Corridor.

WARM (“WMBK” Harry Potter)

“I need to know either way. Dumbledore gave me a task, and I need all the help I can get,” Harry said.

So Pleasant explained how Draco has been a secret friend of hers for years, and how he came to her for advice. How he didn’t want to be a Death Eater, and how she urged him to play his role for his own safety. How she helped him fix the vanishing cabinet, and how it ultimately was at Dumbledore’s request.

“Dumbledore knew Draco was trying to kill him and did nothing?” Ron asked.

“He had a grand plan so that Draco could live and you could get what you needed, Harry.”

“I’ve got very little of what I need. Did you know about Snape?”

“No, not that he would kill Dumbledore, although he’s been on Dumbledore’s side for so long, almost as long as we’ve been alive… it doesn’t make sense.”

“Obviously Voldemort gave him a better offer,” Ron countered.

Pleasant’s mind wandered to the times Snape had made her dinner, mended her scratches, and helped her change her clothes as a child, times she had willfully ignored for several years in her anger. He did all of that for her, and yet turned his back in the final stretch. “Yeah, maybe.” she replied. She realized now that they were sitting in the Transfiguration Courtyard. A warm, spring breeze tousled her hair. Pleasant had a vague recollection of two funerals; of being physically present. She had no idea how long ago they had happened, only the hard feeling of the bench she’d sat on. She couldn’t remember much more.

I have absolutely nothing of interest for the word “cold”, unfortunately.

#@bumblerhizal-art #tagged #fic #hp #revenge #wmbk #wip

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criticallyacclaimedstranger · 3 years

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Fic: Make Your Bed, Then Lie In It (part 2)

Part 1

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Equalizer 2

Ships: Dave York x fem!reader

Additional tags/warnings: Infidelity (I do not condone cheating, I just wanted to make Dave and Reader as bad people as possible), (forced) voyeurism (auralism?), derogatory language/pet names, blindfolding, light bondage, forced orgasms/squirting, face fucking, belting, use of safewords, rough PiV sex without protection.

Summary: You work with Dave both at the CIA and outside of it, and you have a secret, sexual relationship with him. When he makes you wear a vibrator in your panties during an important meeting, things escalade in a way you could not have foreseen…

a/n: Thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment for the beta and ramblings by way of email! You made my night! And as always, @apascalrascal has patiently listened to me rave on about fic and writing and smut and god knows, so a big, consensual mwah to you!

He calls you at ten past eight from his work phone, when you’re driving home. You hit the answer button on the steering wheel and answer with your last name, as per the agreement.

"Mute the phone, stay on the line, no touching," he tells you without preamble before background noise tells you that he's putting the phone down. Then you hear Carol's voice.

“Who was that?”

“Work. Dammit, honey… I’m sorry, I have to go.” He sounds so sincere, so apologetic. You hear a rustle of clothes and then a kiss. “You got me all riled up, too.”

You hear his wife moan softly. “Dave… we have time for a quick one, don’t we?”

He groans before you hear the soft smack of a kiss. “You want to?”

You can almost see her nodding. Who wouldn’t want to? You start to tremble as you realize what’s about to happen. Fuck. Dave, you absolute fucking asshole, you can’t be serious…

He gets her off with his fingers first and you swear that he’s not only addressing her when he talks about her sweet little wet pussy; he’s also talking to you. You hear the wet squishy sounds and her heated moans and it’s so wrong, you almost feel sorry for Carol, you shouldn’t be listening to this but fuck, it may be wrong but it’s so fucking hot, you can’t not listen to it, you drink in every word he breathes about the wet pussy, come on my fingers, baby, that’s a good girl. She cums in muted moans, no doubt thinking about not waking up their two daughters, asleep in their rooms down the hall.

“I want you in me,” she whimpers and it pulls an even louder whimper from you. If you were in the same room as Carol and Dave right now, you would probably put a bullet in her skull just to be fucked by that cock.

He fucks her fast and hard while talking dirty to her. You note that he uses completely different words than he uses with you. He would never call you a good girl or his wife a whore. But you lap it all up, despite not being your kind of language: his words, her sounds, the slap of skin against skin, the rhythmic rustling of the sheets, the occasional creak of the bedframe. These extremely private sounds invade your car through its speakers, and you crank up the volume to catch every single filthy sound. Your pussy is weeping and you feel dizzy with how absolutely disgustingly horny you are. You probably shouldn’t be driving but you know you can’t stop because you’d probably end up fucking the shifter.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Carol orgasms a second time and right after, Dave announces his climax with a grunt. Judging from Carol’s subsequent gasp, he must have thrust into her quite viciously, and it makes you moan out loud. FUCK.

“You think that’ll keep you satisfied for tonight?” Dave murmurs to his wife and you run a red light, earning blares from several car horn. You don’t care. If you get pulled over, you’ll just flash your CIA credentials.

You just need to get home.

The call is ended and the music you were listening to returns at full blast. You lower the volume and gnash your teeth as you hit the turn signal and slow down. Your apartment building has an underground garage and for a short moment you consider helping yourself once you’re in your parking spot.

But Dave would notice. And besides, it’s a lot more fun like this.

You get a text when you’re in the elevator. Take out the box. I want you in bed, naked, cuffed, and blindfolded.

You swallow hard. As you leave the elevator and walk down the hall to your front door, you feel like you’ve peed your pants, that’s how wet the crotch of your panties is. When you finally come inside and start to strip, you see that your pants have a wet patch as well.

You put the box of sex toys on the foot end of the bed and open it. The cuffs are CIA issued; you took those from work. The silky blindfold shines in the soft light and you shed the last pieces of clothing and climb into bed. Familiar with the accessories, you blindfold yourself before cuffing yourself to the headboard. The key is between your lips and will stay there until Dave comes and takes it from you.

You wait, your body burning with want. You know that the time is precisely nine pm when you hear the lock of your front door click. Dave has a key. You know he could have had one made without your knowing about it, but he waited until you gave him one.

You hear his footfalls come closer and you spread your legs a little to show off the glistening slick on your inner thighs.

There’s a drop in the mattress when he sits on the edge of the bed. Your breathing grows slightly shallow as you wait, absolutely hurting for his touch. You sense his breathe against your face and it makes you flinch.

“I got you,” he murmurs before his lips pick up the key from between yours with a brief kiss that despite its innocence feels like fire.

That’s all you get for now and you whine his name when he gets up from the bed.

“You haven’t touched yourself, have you?” he asks, as if he didn’t know the answer. You hear a soft clink when he puts the key on the bedside table.

“I haven’t,” you confirm, desperately fighting the urge to close your legs and rub your thighs together for at least some kind of friction. Hot and cold shivers run up and down your spine and you know you’ll go batshit crazy if you don’t get to cum soon.

“I believe you.” You hear the smile in his voice. “I could smell your cunt the second I walked in. I didn’t expect a cock-hungry little slut like you to obey me, but I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“That’s certainly the pot calling the kettle black,” you spit back. “Who was so hungry for pussy they had to fuck their spouse with their lover listening in?”

“You’re not my lover, you’re my whore,” he reminds you calmly. “And just for that, you can forget about me eating you out.”

You hear his belt buckle come undone and right after, the hiss of his leather belt pulled through the hoops of his dress pants. Soon after, he swats you high up on your inner thigh with the belt. You wince as you cry out, more from surprise than pain.

“Legs together.” You obey eagerly and he buckles your thighs together with the belt.

“Do I have to check the cuffs?” he asks you and you shake your head.

“They’re good and tight.”

“You’re learning. I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself,” he muses while he makes sure you can’t separate your legs, “but since you did, I’m going to let you cum right away.”

He takes something from the box and puts his hand on your knee.

“As many times as you want.”

He pulls up the belt and slides something under it. Your wand.

Now, the small, secret panty vibrator may not have done anything to you, but the wand is an entirely different affair. The wand will not only make you cum, but it will also make you squirt, and multiple times.

And Dave is strapping it to your legs and pushing the head against your dripping pussy, angling it so it’s just underneath your clit, just barely touching.

“Have fun,” he tells you, and switches it on.

The vibrations immediately make your thigh muscles contract, and you exhale in a long moan as you try to hump the wand, longing for the release it’ll provide.

“You really did wait,” Dave comments with satisfaction and you can only whimper where you lie, arms cuffed above your head, legs bound together, body writhing as the stimulation draws all your fire to that one spot between your legs. Pressure starts to build instantly and your body tenses up, every muscle clenching as you moan and move in a feeble attempt to get the sweet torture of the wand away from you but also try to get it closer.

“Dave,” you gasp, “oh God, Dave, fuck, I – I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

The first orgasm gushes out of you and soaks your thighs and the vibrator, which immediately sprinkles droplets all the way up to your chest. Through the wet drone of the wand and the blood rushing in your ears you hear Dave curse to himself in a low voice.

You don’t get to come down: the wand buzzes on and you start to build up again almost immediately.

“God,” you moan, arms struggling against the cuffs. “Oh God, fuck, oh God, Godddddd…”

“God can’t help you, beautiful,” Dave tells you, his voice eerily calm, almost indifferent. “Because he ain’t here.”

You squirt again with a helpless sob, soaking the sheets and yourself as the wand spreads your juices all over the place, like a pornographic sprinkler. You squirm to get some respite from the wand but as soon as you lose contact with it, Dave’s placing it back against you, much firmer this time.

“You wanted to cum. Now cum.”

You cry out as the round head of the wand continues to work your overstimulated clit. The handcuffs cut into your wrists and the chain between them rattles against the wooden bars of the headboard. All day you’ve thought you’re going to go mad from lack of stimulation, now you’re going mad from too much of it.

Being involved with Dave will lead to that. Everything is a game to him, a power play, a way of testing your limits. And so far, you haven’t broken.

Not even now. You let go of yourself, lean into the intensity, let it tear you apart time and again with no thought of what you and the sheets look like and how loud you are. Your pussy is burning, your whole body is burning, and you don’t care, you simply allow yourself to drown in the flames that somehow are both hot and wet, until Dave finally removes the wand and unbuckles the belt. By then you’re sobbing and shaking, and his touch makes you curl up.

“I got you, beautiful,” Dave soothes you, caressing the curve of your hip up to your waist. “Breathe. You did well.”

He’s not a caring person by nature so you appreciate the effort, and draw a deep, stuttering breath.

“Color?” Dave queries. You try to swallow but your mouth is too dry.

“Green,” you tell him weakly. “Just give me a moment.”

He surprises you with a swat to your pussy and you shriek.

“Fuck! Asshole!”

“You said green,” he replies coolly, and you bite back on another curse. You did say green.

“Is it still green?” You flinch when his fingers run down your inner thigh. You consider for a second before making up your mind.

“Still green,” you confirm. Thick, strong fingers dig into the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“Such a desperate slut. I'm going to enjoy fucking you.”

“You’re going to have to give me a minute first,” you ask him again. You get a chuckle in reply.

“Oh, beautiful. I’m not talking about fucking your cunt.” His dark voice is now dripping with desire and you know that if he were to ignore your overstimulated sex and just shove his dick into you, you would still thank him.

Motherfucker, how does he do it, how does he set you right back on fire with only a few, filthy words? He knows it and employs his skill frequently, has done so ever since you two first started to have these secret meetings. And you eat it up, bask in his sanctioned abuse of you, enjoy every orgasm, because you know this affair has an end date. It's not one of those things that can last. Fires like this one don't burn for long, they take it all, bright and fierce, and when they've used up all the oxygen in the room, they die quickly and without drama.

So you enjoy the flames while you can. You hear the rustling of fabric as Dave gets undressed and then you feel his thigh against yours when he sits down beside you. Next thing you know, his breath is on your face.

“I could smell you on my fingers all day,” he whispers before taking a kiss from you, fully, searingly. “Such a sweet, needy smell.” The kiss breaks and you lean forward, mouth open, wanting more.

“Keep that mouth nice and open for me.”

The mattress moves and then he straddles your chest. His hand comes to the back of your head, cradling it gently when he lifts and props you up with a pillow underneath. The strong, musky-warm scent of his cock invades your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat.

“Open wide now, sweetheart. Make me feel good.”

The smooth, salty head of his cock touches your lips and your tongue darts out to swirl around it. The precum lies thick and you lick it off with a little smile, hearing Dave's breathing change.

“This what you want?” you rile him up in a low voice. “Want to fuck my mouth?”

“Tell me I can,” he grunts, seeking your permission first although you can tell from how tight his voice is that he's ready to snap.

“Fuck my mouth, Dave,” you allow, and he pushes the head between your lips, giving you a moment to adjust to having him in your mouth. You flatten out your tongue and press the length of it to the underside of his cock, and when he grabs you by your hair, you anticipate his next move and bob your head forward, taking in all of him, almost gagging when he bottoms out at the back of your throat. You've trained your gag reflex, but it still requires focus, and you start to salivate immediately.

“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled and tense as Dave withdraws. “H-headshake for red, okay, beautiful?” You love that you can make this intimidating man stutter. You hum to let him know you understand and accept, and he takes care to not hold your head so hard that you wouldn't be able to move it if you need to put a stop to this. You stick your tongue out underneath his cock and press it up against him, feeling every vein and ridge of him. You know the taste of his cock intimately but there's something unfamiliar about it tonight. Gradually, you realize that he must have not washed himself off after sex with his wife and it is in fact her flavor you're...

The thought that Dave went from fucking his wife just to tease you, to coming straight to you with his cock hard and ready to go again is a huge turn-on. You growl low in your throat and although you can't see anything, you sense the tremors that your vocal cords send throughout Dave's body. Before he can thrust into your throat again, you push the back of your tongue up to prevent access, not letting him pass further.

“Fuck,” he grunts again as he starts to fuck your mouth and within moments, you're drooling out the sides of your mouth. “Jesus, look at that filthy fucking mouth of yours, taking me so well. So fucking wet and sweet.”

You whine a little and he strokes your hair before taking a new grip on it. Your scalp stings just right and the ache between your legs is renewed. You need him in you, deep in your hungry pussy. But that's not where you're getting him, at least not yet. He's not done with your mouth.

The mask over your eyes is beginning to feel warm and you can only imagine what your makeup looks like underneath. Your mascara feels sticky, and the salt of dried tears are straining your skin, and new ones are forming in the corners of your eyes as Dave assaults your mouth. The dominion he has over you is so complete, but he never goes beyond what you can take. He's gentler than he seems, and he knows that if he slips up, this thing he has with you is over. Not just the sex, but also the other things you do together, outside of law and order. It's so fucked up that the most trusting relationship you've ever had with a man is this: fucking a married man that you work and kill with. But then again, normal relationships were never really your thing. It's difficult to build trust with another person when you kill people on the side.

Dave lets go of your hair and moves his hands to your shoulders instead, loosely closing his forefingers and thumbs around the base of your neck, remaining fingers spread out and digging into your shoulders. His thrusts turn more insistent, the slap of his balls against your chin rougher.

“That's it, take it,” he mutters above you, thumbs pressing lightly against your windpipe. “Take it, you filthy slut.”

You let him all the way in, taking him in your throat. His surprised groan is strangled with pleasure and the taste of cum grows stronger. He thrusts deep into you and curses in a low growl before pulling out completely and staining your face with hot, wet ropes of cum.

Panting loudly, you lick your lips, catching some of the salty, thick liquid on your tongue. Dave, still straddling your chest, hums low.

“That's a good look on you, beautiful,” he comments, a little short of breath himself. “Covered in my cum, tied up... I wish I could take a picture and use it as my background image.”

“I never said you can't,” you tease, earning a chuckle.

“Such a nasty bitch.”

The fine hairs on your arm rise when he trails a finger down your upper arm. “Arms okay?”

“Arms are okay,” you confirm. “Dave... I need you to fuck me.” Your request is eager and pregnant with the longing of your empty cunt. “You left me wanting your cock all day and when you finally give it to me, you don't even fuck my pussy. I need you in my pussy, baby.”

“You're just never happy, are you?” he sighs before getting off of you.

“What's the matter?” you taunt him. “Can fuck my whore mouth but not my cunt? Is it only your wife that gets that big cock of yours in her cunt?”

Dave exhales with an amused little scoff. “I know what you're trying to do, my cock-hungry slut.”

“Or maybe you just can't get it up a third time in one night?”

You hear him pick something up from the box of sex toys. His big hand strokes down your thigh when he sits down between your legs.

“Spread your fucking legs.” You obey him immediately, lower lip caught between your teeth. Please. Please, please, please...

“How are we for color?” he asks.

“Green.” Your answer is pathetically instantaneous, as is the swat Dave gives your pussy. You moan loudly and squirm until you feel the blunt head of your favorite dildo against your slick opening.

“Yes,” you whimper, “please, Dave…”

“So desperate for cock that anything works, right?” he growls before pushing the entire length of the dildo into you, making you arch your back and gasp at the sudden stretch. He immediately begins to fuck you with the toy and you’re keening, begging him to go harder. He curses low under his breath, and you hope he’s working himself hard again.

“Are you getting hard?” you whimper, arms straining against the cuffs. “You want to fuck my tight pussy, don’t you?”

“Beg for it,” he tells you, his voice icy with control and searing hot with want at the same time. “Beg, beautiful.”

He doesn’t need to tell you again: you beg, like you have never known pride.

“Ruin me,” you implore him, “I need you to fucking ruin me, Dave!”

“Fuck.” He pulls out the dildo and tosses it to the side, and you hear the rattle of the belt buckle.

“You squirted on my belt. The leather’s all stained.”

“I’m not the one who used it to bind my thighs together,” you remind him feebly, catching your breath and preparing to beg for him to finish you.

“You know I can’t show up at home with a belt filled with stains from your dirty cunt.”

“But you can show up here with your cock stained by your wife’s angelic little vagina?” Your voice drips with sweet sarcasm because you know it’s going to make him punish you. You’re right: he slaps your thigh, making you flinch. But that wasn’t the punishment he had in mind.

“How about this, you dirty whore: I give your sweet little ass two strikes with this belt that you ruined, and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll never let anyone else but me fuck you ever again.”

You swallow, muscles trembling in trepidation. You’ve never been struck with a belt before but by God, you want him to do it.

Slowly, you nod. “Spank my ass with your belt, Dave.”

“Turn over.”

He helps you to roll over onto your stomach and you rest your face on top of your arms, body tingling, your cunt throbbing, buttocks ready.

“Remember your colors,” Dave tells you, his voice almost gentle now, and then you hear the prong jingle against the metal frame the split second before the leather lands across your buttocks. The sting is so much different from that of a palm, it burns hot and the pain knocks both voice and breath out of you, only growing and spreading for each second that passes after the strike itself.

“Yellow,” you choke, panicking for the first time. It’s so intense, so unexpectedly painful and raw.

The belt falls to the floor and Dave's hand is on your shoulder, his voice close to your ear. “Do you want me to uncuff you and take the mask off?”

“No...” you hesitate and take a deep breath, tasting the pain and almost gagging on it. “No... I... I'm good. But please don't do that again.”

“I won't,” he promises, his fingers dancing down your spine, up the curve of your ass and down between your butt cheeks. “Breathe, beautiful. You got this. I got you.”

You hate the feeling of having failed to deal with the pain but cherish the care Dave demonstrates when making sure you're okay. He may fuck you like he's a heartless asshole, but he would never hurt you - unless you asked him to.

“Was it too hard?” he asks quietly. Is that regret in his voice? You can't be really sure.

“Maybe, I don't know. I just didn't think it would feel... like that.”

The pain is now subsiding into a more manageable throbbing and you clench your buttocks, feeling a faint sting. The adrenaline is starting to flood your body.

“It's okay,” you tell him in a soft moan. “Please... I still need you to fuck me.”

Dave puts his hand on your right buttock and squeezes, making the welt heat up. You hiss at the sting, more delicious than sore now.

“Fuck...” You lift your ass up into his palm and hum when he grips your flesh again. “Dave... fuck me like you hate me.”

“You sure you can take it?” he breathes, and now there's a hint of taunting in his voice. “You sure you can take my cock?”

“Why don't you find out?” you dare him in a low moan when he grabs you by the back of the neck.

He fucks you into the mattress, methodically and roughly, the snap of his hips against your buttocks causing a titillating sting which you now embrace as he pistons into you. Your face is pressed against the sheets and it's for the best because his harsh onslaught is making you cry out desperately. He's so deep, he's so hard, he's so strong, you can feel him in every fibre of your being and you're loving it, the pleasure bordering on pain bringing you ever closer to a climax which you hope will be your last one because you won't be able to take any more after this.

“You made me do this,” Dave growls between his short huffs of breath. “You made me fuck your wet, filthy cunt like this, with your slutty behavior today. You made your bed, now fucking lie in it. I would have taken you on my desk, but I can never trust on you to keep your filthy fucking mouth shut.”

You only wail in reply, the thought of being fucked in the office turning you on so much it almost hurts you more than his assault on your oversensitive pussy.

“Maybe I should fuck you in front of the brass next time, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Rip open your shirt and have your tits out, bend you over the conference table and take you from behind like I'm doing now, show everyone what a whore you are...”

“Fuck, Dave...!” you whimper as your brain begins to black out and you’re nothing but body and sensation. The deep, fast grind is casting you out further and further into the darkness and Dave’s hands on your shoulders are your only lifeline. The way he claims you is primitive, messy, and nasty, and you love it, you love it so much because yes, you’re his whore, his cumslut, and you want him to go faster, harder, deeper, fuck you like he’d never fuck his wife, fuck you like no man has ever fucked you or ever will, only David fucking York can fuck you like this –

The orgasm is an explosion that tears you apart, soundless on the outside but deafening on the inside: your limbs and organs and mind are scattered all over the place and you couldn’t be happier. You wouldn’t notice Dave finishing if he bend down over you to suck a toothy brand of ownership into your shoulder as he empties himself with a couple of final, devastating thrusts that make you whine.

“Take my cum,” he mutters before his teeth snag another piece of flesh between them, drawing another whimper from you. “Nasty bitch, take my cum.”

He doesn’t always finish inside you and every time he does it, it’s a form of praise. You love the warm stickiness of it, the feeling of it oozing out between your swollen lips, staining your skin and the sheets…

You’re only vaguely aware of it now, and how he releases your wrists from the cuffs. Your arms leave where they are, too heavy from divine sexual exhaustion to move. Dimly, you hear him turn off the lights before he returns to bed and carefully removes your blindfold. You blink, your lashes sticking together with smeared-out mascara, tears, and sweat. The bedroom is almost dark, only the lamp on the nightstand is spreading a soft light from behind you, but it’s still almost too much for your sensitive eyes.

“Easy.” Dave comes back from the bathroom and crawls into bed, into your field of vision. “Talk to me.”

“Can’t,” you mumble, your eyes falling shut again as another ripple of lingering pleasure runs through you.

“Good, that means I did my job right.”

You want to laugh but all you can muster is a sound somewhat reminiscent of a scoff. Dave nudges your shoulder and you force your eyes open. He’s holding a glass of water to you. With a labored sigh and limbs as heavy as the sins you’ve just committed, you prop yourself up on your elbows and accept it. Greedily, you empty the entire glass in one go before slumping back down into the soiled but oh so soft sheets.

“How’s your ass? You want me to put something on it?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

“Can I use your shower?” Dave asks, and you smile softly. He’s asking. He knows full well you’re capable of sending him home to his wife smelling of cum and sweat, and still he asks.

“Go ahead,” you allow. He trails his fingers down your spine quickly before getting up.

You doze off to the soft drizzle of the shower that travels from the bathroom into the bedroom, and jerk back to consciousness when Dave returns and touches your leg.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for surprising you. “I gotta go.”

“Sure,” you mumble as you will your muscles into working for you. Gingerly, you sit up, testing how well your ass takes to sitting, and finding it manageable. Dave gives you a lopsided grin as he pulls his pants on and you hand him the belt.

“You look thoroughly fucked, beautiful,” he tells you, not without pride. “I’m sorry to leave you. I’d like to just look at you for at least a couple of hours.”

“Needs must,” you shrug, not really keen on having him stay anyway. It’s not a part of your deal, and you need to sleep. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He buttons his shirt and grabs his jacket before ducking down to give you a possessive kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, tugging on your hair a little before letting go. He’s by the bedroom door when you call his name, making him stop and turn around. “Yeah?”

Your makeup is smudged, your body is covered with sweat and cum, your hair is a mess, but there is no mistaking the gravity in your voice when you speak.

“Don’t ever try to fuck with me before a big meeting again. I’ve worked too hard and for too long to let someone like you jeopardize my career. Do you understand, David?”

He lifts his chin slightly as he takes in your words, his eyes narrowing when he looks at you. You know what he’s capable of, you’ve seen him snap people’s necks, put bullets in the backs of people’s heads. And yet, you are not afraid of him. You’ve never been afraid of him.

“Understood,” he finally confirms with a nod. “Good night, beautiful.”

#my fic #the equalizer 2 #the equalizer 2 fanfic #dave york #dave york fanfic #dave york x reader #dave york x you

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chicgeekgirl89 · 3 years

Text

Appreciation

Fandom: 911 Lone Star

Characters: T.K. Strand, Carlos Reyes, Tommy Vega, Nancy Gillian

Rating: T

Summary: T.K. is determined to show Carlos how much he loves and appreciates him. But after a long day of babysitting and saving the world, sexy times takes a turn for the sleepy. Episode tag for 2x12.

Read on Ao3

T.K.’s eyes felt gritty and raw, some of which had to do with the fact that they’d spent the last seven hours digging people out of the dirt, meaning he was covered head to toe in sand and dust, and most of which had to do with the bone deep tiredness he felt from said digging. He couldn’t remember the last time a shift had left him so physically exhausted.

He pulled into Tommy’s driveway suppressing a yawn. “Last stop,” he said, putting the car in park.

Nancy jolted awake in the backseat, rubbing at her eyes, while Tommy unbuckled her seatbelt and slid tiredly out of the car. They’d dropped the rig back off at the depot after a quick restock at the hospital and hopefully no one would be any the wiser that it had ever left. And if they did get caught by someone viewing the security footage…well, they were the 126. What did people expect?

“I think I have sand in my ears,” Nancy said as they walked up the driveway, throwing her head to the side in an attempt to clear it out. “How am I supposed to get that out?”

“No idea,” T.K. told her. “We never had dust storms in New York.”

“Multiple showers,” Tommy advised. “Lots of shampoo.”

“Remind me again why we volunteered to go out in that nonsense?” Nancy said, finger firmly in her ear canal.

“Because our job is saving people?” T.K. said as Tommy unlocked the front door.

“Oh. Right. Damn, sometimes I wish I wasn’t such a good person.”

Tommy shushed them both as she unlocked the front door and they walked inside. T.K.’s eyes immediately found his boyfriend and he felt all of his exhaustion and annoyance about the sand he could feel inside his socks and his boxers melt away.

Carlos was sitting on the couch, head tipped back, mouth slightly open, completely asleep. “Ugh, get that gross, lovey dovey look off your face,” Nancy whispered, in T.K.’s ear. “You two are so disgustingly sweet. The rest of us shouldn’t have to witness it.”

“You can go home now,” T.K. told her, not taking his eyes off his sleeping boyfriend. “There is absolutely nothing stopping you.”

Her eyes lit up at the revelation. “Oh yeah! Peace out homies!”

She disappeared out the door while Tommy shook her head. “Sometimes I really wonder about her.”

Carlos startled awake as the door closed. “Oh hey, sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “I must have dozed off.”

“I’m sorry we’re so late,” Tommy said. They’d only intended to be gone a couple hours, not most of the day.

Carlos waved her off. “Not a problem. How did it go out there?”

T.K. thought back on the grueling hours of digging and patching up, of the brokenness of family members when they got there too late to be of any help. “We did what we could,” he said. “There’s a lot of damage.”

“How were the girls?” Tommy asked. “On their best behavior I hope?”

“Yeah they were great. I checked on them about fifteen minutes ago and they were sound asleep,”” Carlos said. “We played a couple games, watched a movie. I made mac and cheese for dinner, I hope that’s okay?”

Tommy nodded. “That’s perfect. I’m sure they had a blast.”

“You can call anytime, I mean it. They’re great girls.”

“I cannot thank you enough,” Tommy told him as he got to his feet. “Now you two get out of here. If T.K. is half as exhausted as I am he definitely needs some sleep. And running around after two pre-teen girls seems to have you pretty worn out too.”

She waved them out the door and they wandered to the car, the air still heavy with dust around them. “Thanks again for being so willing to help out,” T.K. said as he buckled his seatbelt. “I know this wasn’t your first choice for your day off.”

Carlos smiled at him, soft and sweet. “I would have been almost no help out there, so I went where I could do the most good. Just like you did.”

“Well, I am going to make it up to you,” T.K. told him as Carlos pulled them onto the road. “Several times over in fact.”

“Oh are you?” Carlos sent him a pleased glance. “Care to share the details of that?”

“Probably best to wait until you’re done driving,” T.K. said. “We don’t need to cause any more accidents around here today.”

“Well I look forward to finding out the details when we get back to your dad’s place.”

“And I look forward to sharing them with you.”

However they were in for a surprise when they pulled up to Owen’s home. “Is that Marjan’s car?” Carlos asked, parking next to the driveway.

“Paul’s too,” T.K. said, pulling out his phone and barely suppressing a groan. “My phone was on silent. They’re doing a 126 hang. Judd’s out, but Nancy’s on the way. Tommy’s staying home with the girls.” He looked up. “Sorry. Guess that thank you will have to wait a little bit.”

“Well I think there’s some fun in the anticipation, right?” Carlos asked, leaning forward to give T.K. a peck on the lips. He wrinkled his nose. “You taste like sand.”

“Well you taste like kid mac and cheese.”

“You like kid mac and cheese,” Carlos pointed out as they got out of the car.

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing.” T.K. grinned and took his hand.

The hang was good if a little shorter than usual. Nancy appeared while T.K. was taking a quick shower and changing his clothes and they talked and laughed and shared stories from the day, but it was clear everyone was tired and as much as they wanted to be together, they wanted their own beds more.

Carlos was in bed when T.K. got back from his second shower of the evening. He was reading a book, but the heavy lidded, half glazed stare he was giving the page suggested he wasn’t getting much out of it at this point.

T.K. himself had nearly fallen asleep in the shower, but he’d shaken himself awake and forced himself to leave the gloriously warm water and return to the guest room. He’d promised to thank his boyfriend, and he was going to make good on that promise tonight.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and seductive as he unzipped the hoodie he’d worn back from the bathroom. It seemed silly to cover up in the hallway, just in case his dad walked by, the man had changed his diapers after all and there hadn’t been a whole lot of privacy in the weeks following his shooting, but T.K. wanted to leave a very strong impression that nothing sexual ever happened between him and Carlos. Ever. He did not need to imagine his dad thinking about the two of them in a compromising position. Even if it would have been great revenge for the many nights his mom had been in town.

“Hey,” Carlos said, shaking himself a little bit as he put the book aside. “Sand all gone?”

“I doubt it,” T.K. said, sliding into the bed next to him. “I’ll probably be finding it in every nook and cranny for the next year.”

“That is so sexy,” Carlos teased as T.K. leaned over him.

“Oh, it’s about to get very sexy in here, because you did a favor for me, and I’m going to return it,” T.K. said with a smile, pressing his lips to Carlos’.

“Are you sure you’re not too tired?” Carlos asked as T.K. kissed his bare chest.

“No, I’m great,” T.K. said, stifling a yawn. “Never too tired to be with you.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Carlos said as T.K. rolled on top of him.

“Good,” T.K. said, even as exhaustion pulled at him, begging him to curl up in Carlos’ arms and sleep for ten to twelve hours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Carlos mumbled.

It was so comfortable, lying here, body entwined with his boyfriend’s, even if they were in a borrowed bed at his dad’s house. T.K. closed his eyes and pressed another kiss to Carlos’ shoulder.

The next thing he knew he was blinking awake in sunlight, head pillowed on Carlos’ chest, Carlos’ arm wrapped around him. He squinted and tried to figure out what had happened. One second he’d been about to have sex with his boyfriend and the next…

“Oh my god!” he sat up in horror.

“What?” Carlos’ eyes snapped open and he looked around the room in bleary eyed confusion. “What happened?”

“Did I…Oh my god, babe I am so sorry!” T.K. said, completely mortified.

“For…oh crap! Did I fall asleep?” Carlos asked, knocking a box of tissues and his book off the nightstand as he reached blindly for his glasses.

T.K. stared at him. “Did you fall asleep? I thought I fell asleep!”

Carlos sighed and visibly relaxed as it became evident there was no immediate threat to anyone’s safety. “I guess we both fell asleep?”

T.K. let his head fall back against his pillow. “God that’s almost worse.”

“It’s not a big deal. We were both really tired.”

“It’s kind of a big deal! I have never fallen asleep during sex. Ever. Especially not sex with you. We have hot, sexy sex. Not boring, married couple sex.”

“Boring, married couple sex?” Carlos smiled adoringly at him as he propped himself up on one elbow. “You think we’re an old married couple? Because I had some ideas about how that was going to happen and if I missed it, I’m going to be kind of sad.”

“I think we’re young and hot and I’m not ready for us to be the kind of people who fall asleep in bed instead of having sex,” T.K. grumbled.

“Well,” Carlos reached for his hip and pulled him close. “I like anything we do in bed. Sex. Falling asleep. Watching TV. All of it.”

“I like all of it too,” T.K. said quickly. “I do. I just…I’m disappointed in myself. I wanted to show you how much it meant to me to have you show up for us like that yesterday. I’ve never been with someone who was willing to drop everything for me, let alone one of my friends.”

Carlos caressed his face. “I love you,” he said simply. “Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. I like showing up for you and your friends.”

“I know,” T.K. said. “And you have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Well,” Carlos checked the clock. “The day is young. If you still wanted to show me how much you appreciate me, we’ve got the time.”

“Yeah?” T.K. asked, perking up a bit.

“By all means,” Carlos gestured with hand down his torso. “Appreciate away.”

“Oh, I am going to appreciate you so hard,” T.K. said, rolling on top of Carlos, a grin on his face as he kissed him.

“Yeah?” Carlos asked, his own grin equally wide between kisses.

T.K. nodded fervently. “Oh yeah.”

#911 Lone Star #911lsfic #Tarlos #Tarlos Fic #Fluff #Domestic Tarlos #The boys are sexy #But also tired #No actual sexy times occur #It's basically just fluff #Sleepy Tarlos #Boys in love #Soft boys #Carlos Reyes #T.K. Strand

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thedragonemperess · 3 years

Text

I Saved Your Life! - Superhero Kaz/Bionic Chase AU

Fandom(s): Lab Rats/Mighty Med

Pairing(s): Kase/Chaz

Rating: G

Warnings: Slight language

Tags: @starspangleddummy @tronagon

Notes: Based off of these two posts by @starspangleddummy

“That was a great job, guys,” Chase said to his team as they exited the hydro-loop, dropping a duffel bag with supplies.

They had just gotten back from a mission. Another one of Mr. Davenport’s devices had become unstable and they were sent in to fix it. Specifically, Davenport Industries was messing with a new form of renewable energy, but they overdid it. The workers had to be rushed out, but some of them were blocked in, not to mention the fact that the device handling it was gaining more energy each second, getting ready to explode if nothing was done. After rescuing everyone, they rushed to the main location of the warehouse and found some more people hiding. Amy and Micheal (who could lace their bodies in metal) took the remaining three scientists and hid them in front of them, while Teresa used her force fields to surround the area. Chase used his molecular kinesis to push it through the roof and into the water nearby, so that it wouldn’t cause as much damage.

“Thanks, Chase, but we owe it to our Mission Leader,” Teresa said, playfully punching him in the shoulder.

Chase shook his head. “As nice as that compliment is, you were the one that came up with how to contain the energy and Micheal and Amy’s quick thinking protected the people working there. I may have got us in, but you guys deserve just as much credit as I do.”

“Yeah, what he said. Now can we please go to our capsules? I would really like to shower after all of this,” Micheal asked.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Then hopefully we could relax a bit. I mean, we’ve had missions all week,” Amy added

Chase nodded at them. “Go ahead. I need to talk to Mr. Davenport real quick, but I’ll be close behind.”

The others nodded at him in return before jogging down the hall.

Chase watched them until they were out of ear shot, and then walked over to the cyber desk in order to call Donald, who was at home with Tasha and Naomi at the moment. He was about to press call when another mission alert came up. He quickly dismissed the alarm and read into it.

Super villain by the name of Professor Slime running rampant in Philadelphia. Urgent.

Chase weighed his options. He could take his team with him, who is in desperate need of a break, or go alone and fight some guy with a very terrible code name. He laughed to himself at it. Anyone with that silly of a name must be fake news. He came to the conclusion that it was either a false alarm or the people in the area were overreacting.

He heard footsteps coming from behind him. He turned around to find his team on their way over.

“What was the mission alert for?” Teresa asked, exhausted.

“Oh, it was nothing. It was a false alarm. Someone must have still had a business card from when Leo started advertising us. It was just some cat stuck in a tree. I called the fire department for her, it’s nothing to worry about,” Chase lied, brushing off any concern they might have had.

The others gave a small cheer.

“Yessss! I can finally finish reading my book then!”

“You do that, I’m going to sleep.”

“If you need me, I’ll be out on the beach.”

Once they turned around, Chase looked back to the cyber desk and hit one of the buttons, saying that someone’s on the way. He runs back to the hydra loop, grabbing the duffel bag on his way. He sits down and looks through it, grabbing a teleporter that he and Douglas had made a year ago. The doors close and he zips back to the mainland. He puts in the coordinates, and as soon as he exits the hydro-loop again, he disappears.

_____________________________________________

Chase flew into the concrete wall, sliding to the floor. Professor Slime walked up to him slowly.

“The fact that you ever thought you could defeat me is amusing, and then the fact that you actually tried is even more so, but sadly, I’m going to have to kill you now,” he proclaimed. He raised a ray gun and aimed it at Chase, looking down on him.

“Not on my watch!!” a new voice came from the side. Chase looked over slightly, seeing a blur of orange, black, and brown fly by, tackling Professor Slime.

The blur was on top of him, holding him down to the road. “Hey! I got him! I actually got him!”

“Why don’t you try again?” Professor Slime exhorted, dissolving into slime and slithering away.

“What the hell--?”

Professor Slime morphed back into a human behind him, and kicked the blur down to the ground.

“I guess I’m going to have to kill you too, then!”

The gun powered up, but a blast of ice knocked it out of his hand, its ray hitting a mailbox while being thrown against the wall by Chase. Professor Slime looked over to the person that owned the cryo blast with a scowl.

“Who are you people, and where are you coming from?!”

The other boy moved his hands to his hips and looked off into the distance, attempting to look heroic.

“The name’s Cold Front, and what you’re doing, isn’t very ice.”

“Really dude?” the blur asked?

Cold Front looked at him and back at Professor Slime, changing his pose to a fighting stance, his expression changing to a more serious one.

“Come at me, Archie.”

Professor Slime, or Archie, ran at Cold Front, who was barely just barely able to dodge him. Professor Slime stretched his arm, and grabbed him, lifting him up. The blur shot a blast of fire at his arm, melting the slime off of him. Cold Front dropped to the floor, falling forward onto his knees. Professor slime ran to the parts of him that melted off and tried to gather it back into his body.

“Cold Front! Blast him! Now!”

Cold Front did a double take, but reached his left arm out and blasted him, getting up as he did so. Professor Slime’s form slowly froze, until he was completely covered in ice. Once done, Cold Front turned to the blur and put his hand in the air.

“Up top, Pyre!”

The blur, now known as Pyre, high-fived him. “Heck yeah, buddy!”

Chase looked over to the ray gun, still next to him, and grabbed, weakly pointing it at the two of them. “Who-who are you?! And how were you able to….well, that!” he gestured to Professor Slime, whose frozen body was hunched over on the floor.

Pyre walked up to him and stuck out his hand. “Dude, relax, we’re just here to help.”

Chase shook his head frantically. “But what you just did was impossible! Are you bionic? Are….are you alien? Are you one of those superheroes? Even if you were any of those, what you just did goes against all laws of science! Am I dreaming? What just happened? For real?”

Pyre rolled his eyes. “You got your ass handed to you. I saved your life!” A loud coughing noise came from behind him, making Pyre roll his eyes again. “Okay, we saved your life.”

Chase finally looked up at Pyre and froze. “Oh god he’s cute. What do I say, now? Do boys like confidence? Yeah, be confident!” he thought to himself.

“Well, I didn’t need your help.”

“Not that confident!”

“Sorry for trying to help someone in trouble, then. Jeez,” Pyre stated, retracting his hands and turning around to head to Cold Front.

Chase panicked. “Wait!” He pushed himself up, leaning back against the wall.

Pyre turned back around. “What is it? I thought you didn’t need our help, and we got other things to do.”

“I, uh,...look. What I said came out wrong. I just panicked. Thank you, Pyre, was it?”

“Yeah, Pyre. And no problem.” He started to turn again, but Chase stopped him.

“Wait! Again. Sorry, but can I keep this? To study? I don’t know if you know who I am, but, uh, I’m Chase Davenport.”

Pyre’s face seemed to light up in awe and realization. “Oh! Yeah, sure! Umm, we’ve met before! At the island. Remember the whole thing with the Incapacitator? I was the better looking Frank.”

(��Hey! I can hear you, y’know!”)

“But if that was you, how were you able to do all of,” Chase gestures to Professor Slime, again, “that?”

“It’s a long story that I will make sure to tell you some other time. But I have to go bring Archie, over there, to jail. So keep the ray gun, erase anyone who saw me and Cold Front’s memory, and I’ll see you around.” Pyre turned around completely, and jogged over to Cold Front.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Wait, wha--”

Chase was cut off with a flash of light. When he looked over to where Pyre, Cold Front, and Professor Slime once were, there was nothing. He looked around him to see if they were anywhere close by, but when they were nowhere to be seen, he scanned the area for his duffel bag. After locating it, he walked over to it and took out the Neural Scrambler. Doing what he was asked too, he talked to anyone who saw the battle and erased their memory of it, just as confused as they were.

#lab rats #lab rats bionic island #mighty med #lr #lrbi #mm #kase #chaz #kaz nolastname #chase davenport #oliver nolastname #professor slime #pyre #cold front #lrmmlref stuff #marie writes kind of

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mightysteelix · 3 years

Text

Pent Up Desires (Fic)

Ever since the summer event last year, I've been toying with the idea of a larger Robin. And now that its rerun is about to come, I've decided that it is time to finally write it out - and meanwhile hit as many of my kink buttons as possible. This is the result - one of my most indulgent works (if not the most indulgent work to beat them all).

Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Fandoms: Fate/Grand Order Relationship: Robin Hood | Archer/Billy the Kid | Archer Characters: Robin Hood | Archer and Billy the Kid | Archer Summary: Do you remember when B.B. said she would turn Robin into a pig during ServaFes? What if she followed on the threat, albeit with quite the twist?

Robin is cursed and can't control himself around food. Billy has promised to help, but he can't control himself around Robin.

Weight-gain kink fic. Don’t like, don’t read.

WARNING FOR KINK CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT

Additional Tags: Weight Gain; Belly Kink; Size Kink; Size Difference; Masturbation; Dry Humping; Stuffing; musclechub; Robin gets huge; And Billy tries not to jerk off whenever he sees him; Self-Indulgent

LAST WARNING FOR KINK

Summer was in full swing, and Babbage blasted enough steam to make Chaldea hotter than a waterless hole in the heart of the prairie. So, it did not come as a shock that Robin was rockin’ only trunks and an open shirt, which showed some well-sculpted arms. The guy was hell-fired handsome with the finest body ever, and if he wanted to kick back, Billy wouldn’t protest. Nay, what hit like a bullet to the brain was the ton of food in front of him—meats, loaves of bread, and a raft of drinks.

“How’s it goin’, partner?” Billy plopped down in a chair next to Robin. “Famished after Servant Fes sucked the life outta ya?”

“It’s…” Robin, with a larger scowl on his face than usual, panted. “It’s that… purple-haired witch’s fault.” He grabbed a drumstick and tore off some meat like a starved wolf. “She threatened to turn me in a pig…” His face was red with effort. “We had to win her Holy Grail…” He bit another chunk. “Don’t worry,”—Billy stifled a giggle when Robin mocked the Master’s voice—“she won’t follow on it.’ It’s easy to speak when this isn’t happening to them!” After chewin’ the last of the drumstick thoroughly, he swallowed. The slow gulp traveled down his throat and into his stomach. Robin punched his chest and exhaled in relief.

Billy’s eyes followed it and glued themselves to Robin’s gut. It was taut, bloated, as large as a basketball—and just as hard if he touched it. The pressure was makin’ the skin around the belly button burn angrily. The trunks rested under the overgorged curve, a trial of ginger peekin’ below the band. “True, partner, you’re becomin’ a nice piggy,” Billy quipped. “So, the purple lass’s itchin’ for a vendetta, and she chose ya?”

After he popped a soda open and drank half the bottle—his gurglin’ gut sloshin’ and expandin’ even more—Robin nodded. “She cursed the clothes. And I must’ve stepped on her toes something fierce when I complained to Master. Now I can’t even take the swimsuit off.” He grit his teeth, his handsome face (Was that the start of a double chin? Nay, don’t stare!) grimacin’ as he tried to keep the fizz down. His strained jaws opened as if pried apart, and with shakin’ hands, he poured in the rest of the drink. His neck bobbed; his stomach filled and grew in every direction. “Whenever I see—urp!”

Robin closed his mouth. His cheeks bulged with a held-back belch. Yet the stress forced his lips to open: “UUUURRPPP!” He bowed his limp head away. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “But when there’s any food—anything—I must eat it. It doesn’t matter if I’ll explode; my hands will push it down to my stomach.” He slapped the swollen ball, it barely swayin’. Something bubbled in its depths rose in his throat, and he let out another lengthy burp.

Bitin’ his lips, Billy leaned closer. “Have ya tried stayin’ outta here? Far from the eyes, far from the heart and all that?” he advised Robin, his eyes lookin’ anywhere but that overstuffed middle.

“I’m trying. But she’s pulling that Archer’s strings, too.” Robin grunted and glanced at the kitchen while devourin’ a buttered slice of bread. “If I leave my room, he’s on my tail with a cupcake or some other treat. Before I know it, I am dragged here and”—he pointed to the ungodly number of plates—“you see the rest.”

Billy nodded slowly, his whole willpower holdin’ him from lickin’ his lips. A fire was blazin’ in his chest—and his groin. He knew EMIYA’s dirty little secret way too well: the way a man’s gluttony melted him faster than an ice cube durin’ high noon. The Archer had left his treats unguarded when Amakusa discovered his sweet tooth. And when the Ruler came one morning, enormously flabby and flauntin’ it at every step, the pervert couldn’t stop blushin’! For Billy’s shock, neither could he. So did they become accomplices, secret friends bound by a common desire.

But gettin’ his pleasure from Robin, who hated every second of it? Damn, that was a new lowest of the low! Billy’s neck ached with strain as he did his best not to look, but he wouldn’t give in! “Forgive the question, partner,” he dropped it, hopin’ to divert the talk, “but if ya’re stuffin’ down so much food, how are ya not as fat as that priest boy?”

Robin clicked his tongue. “I’ve been burning off the calories. When I am not gulping down food here, I’m in the gym to work out. Doesn’t stop flab from piling.” Billy squinted, lookin’ for it, and caught himself. “But it does help.”

With some vigor, Billy’s line of sight moved higher—towards Robin’s arms. True, they were meatier, fillin’ the short sleeves of the shirt. Robin wasn’t a stick before, either, but now he was more powerful. Gorwin’. Maybe his legs had also bulked, but Billy didn’t wanna risk lookin’ at that gut again.

“Of course, after the training, my stomach is starving, and I chew down more food to make up for it. You should see how much EMIYA brings me then.”

Even more? Billy gulped—and before his brain could call out the horrible, horrible idea, he spoke. “Do ya need a partner for this job, partner? Someone to help with the trainin’ and to keep your appetite under control? Because ya can rely on me!”

“You know, that might help. Thanks a bunch!” Robin’s relieved smile stabbed Billy’s heart like a dagger. “Do you want to try it once I’m done here?”

“Sorry!” Billy jumped outta his chair. He wasn’t goin’ to ditch Robin—he owed up to his offers. “I’ve gotta do something else first!” Namely, one red Archer needed a few bullet wounds and a lecture on personal boundaries. “But tomorrow I’ll help ya!” And hopefully, he wouldn’t end distracted by that amazing, achy, hungry gut.

---

“Damn that EMIYA!” Billy shouted as he collapsed on his bed. “And that purple wretch, too! When did they form their party?” His talk with the red Archer a day ago had gone to the dogs. That man had balls of steel—no matter how many threats or bullets Billy wasted, EMIYA did not budge. And B.B. had hidden in her little mouse hole, without a trace of her anywhere in Chaldea. Billy couldn’t find her, no matter how many rooms he checked—as the stupid chef had told him.

“No whiff of the Master, either,” Billy grumbled. Da Vinci had promised to deal with the unruly pair, but B.B. would stop only if her so precious senpai ordered her. And unless she lifted the curse before breakfast tomorrow, Billy woulda to help Robin with the training again. The pillow muffled his screams. His heart woulda exploded in his chest after watchin’ his partner once. God help him if he had to see him bustle those weights while his gut shifted and gurgled. He hadn’t stopped glarin’ at the packed sphere once, paying attention and squirmin’ whenever it swayed. Robin’s unintended teasin’—him drummin’ over the sphere every once in a while—made it even worse. Billy barely had survived today; tomorrow would kill him!

Even worse, he said some calories stuck as fat. Did that mean an ever-flabbier Robin with a softenin’ gut? How much feedin’s would it take ‘till it became an enormous tank of lard; ‘till it sagged over his deck and he needed someone’s help to jerk himself off? It would jiggle whenever he took a step, it would flop over his shorts—hell, Robin woulda to pull them under his belly! His shirt would hide nothing; nay, it would show off those juicy curves.

Billy’s crotch twitched. No! He clenched fists, his nails diggin’ in his palms. “I’m not beatin’ it to Robin, no matter how smokin’ hot he becomes!” There were boundaries to those things! He rolled, now lyin’ on his back. His dick was makin’ a tent in his pants. The movement only made it rub against the fabric, and the pleasure flared up even more. “Self-control, self-control, self-control!” Billy repeated like a mantra. A burnin’, powerful feelin’ arose in his chest.

Would Robin gain love handles, too? They’d be juicy and plump, always to be grabbed when there was a chance. Billy imagined squeezin’ them in his fingers, the flab jigglin’. Would they push his shirt even higher, so large that nothing would cover them? And when Robin tugged it relentlessly, his gut would shake. The threads would strain and groan, but the clothes wouldn’t fit over that engorged mass. When he gained moobs…

Billy shut his eyes. His body was tense and feverishly hot. Sweat was burnin’ his forehead, and the flame in his dick pulsated through him. He shouldn’t think about those two swayin’, soft sacks of flab. He shouldn’t imagine carresin’ them, kissin’ them. Precum moistened his underpants.

“Who knew: I’m a pervert enough to do it!” Gruntin’, Billy peeled off his pants and pulled down his briefs, freein’ his dick. “Only this time!” He snatched the lube from his nightstand—his hands trembled and almost dropped it on the floor—and generously coated his fingers. “Do yer fuckin’ worst, libido!” he swore and began pumpin’ his cock. The first touch rustled through his body, a torrent of pleasure to drown him. No, oh no, oh, oh, oh yes, yes! He was breathin’ heavily, and his hand didn’t stop.

Robin’s moobs would show under his shirt—nay, so large that he couldn’t fit clothes over them. He’d parade around naked, a total show-off, his gut, and moobs, and love handles, and delicious, delicious backrolls for the whole world to ogle. The shirt would be a mere piece of fabric, stretched and useless, good only for hidin’ his shoulders—if even that!

Billy tried to hold his moans—keep at least that dignity. His insides were coilin’, his muscles were shiverin’. His dick stiffened more, and he drew every movement long until his body woulda broken under the strain of lust. He gulped the moan down, opened his lips for a hasty breath, and closed them immediately, the pant havin’ built up in his throat.

Robin would become a titan of a man, his torso a lardy mountain. He would carry all the weight, his freakin’ strong body put to good use. Those powerful arms he boasted an entire day—that was a start because he would also swell with packed flesh. His shorts would tear around his tights, the veiny mass crackin’ them apart. But he would pay no attention to that. The curse would drive him to eat and eat, glut himself more, unable to fight the thrall of the food. He would complain of his growth but never resist because he couldn’t—not even when he outgrew the chairs, the doors, the halls.

His stomach would be stuffed at all times, yet callin’ for more. What if Billy brought him snacks to the gym? Robin went only there and to the dinin’ hall. What if they shortened that time? What if he did not stop fillin’ his gut, gorgin’ himself, the sphere bloatin’ out of proportions, dominatin’ his already enormous frame? Then he would explode into more impossible, more gargantuan sizes. There would be no end, no control, only expansion and flab, and muscle…

Billy arched his back. A desperate, loud moan—almost a hiss—left his lips before he could bite it down. He was thrusting more rapidly, hastily, desperate for that release. If only he coulda Robin with himself, to have his way him.

If he were there—small, almost invisible next to the giant that was Robin, he would cheer. He would rejoice as the other Archer lifted heavier and heavier weights in the gym, his muscles so swole that they would tear the skin open. Veins would run under the sweaty flesh, visible over the bloated mass. And when Robin wanted to eat… Oh, boy, Billy would make sure he packed away his fill. He would push the meals in the other Archer’s mouth, rub his belly to provide comfort, and squish the flab under his fingertips, enjoy it as the gut would seemingly grow under his touch. Or, it would be tight and heavy, stretched to its limits, angry and protestin’ the constant stuffings. But it would be so used to the fullness and the cursed hunger that Robin wouldn’t handle a second without bein’ stuffed. It would be like an addiction—nay, it would be one—to eatin’, to blowin’ up, to growin’ fatter.

And if Robin enjoyed it as much as Billy, then the blond would have no problem givin’ some bonus help. He closed his eyes and imagined Robin’s dick in his hand. The massive roll of his gut pressed into the fingers, and as Billy stroked the cock, it would groan and roar, so overstuffed that it could burst open. He could also ride that massive ball, rub his member all over it while pushin’ caloric meals into Robin’s stomach. Or he could push his shaft between the two lardy ass checks and fuck Robin!

There, almost there! Billy was pantin’, out of breath, hot as coals. His ghosting fingertips ran across the red tip of his dick. It was an itchy, sudden touch that quickly ended. He hoped to prolong that sick, depraved cravin’ for as long as possible. Thoughts of relief were pushed to the corners of his mind.

Once their efforts came to an end, Robin would be huge, too large for his puny clothes. He would march around Chaldea, showin’ off his naked, heavy, thick body. The muscles would sway, the veins of his biceps and calves would shift. His enormous gut—so enormous that it would fall over his erect dick—would gurgle at every step: either achy and overfilled or not full enough and needin’ more. Robin would tend to it, gloat, relish in his new size and consume even more food. He would feed himself further into titanic sizes. Control would slip out of his mind. After gorgin’ himself, he’d be so horny, so desperate, that he’d pound Billy straight there in the canteen.

Cum shot outta Billy’s cock over his hand, and he was moanin’. His sheets were sticky as the white liquid soaked them., but he kept squeezin’ the last few lustful drops. The heat was sated, the achin’ hole in his chest filled for the time bein’. But, he realized with newfound clarity, tomorrow it would set him on fire again. And the thought of Robin attackin’ the filled tables like a beast sent a shiver down his dick again.

---

“Almost… There!” Robin grunted, gritting his teeth, and pushed up the barbell. His arms stretched, his large muscles expandin’ to their full size and squeezin’ again. His sleeves were already rolled as high as possible, not fittin’ around his swollen arms but tried to creep up more. Sweat was glistenin’ on the skin as it rippled - a proof of the effort he was puttin’ in. His round pecs—as big as apples—flexed, hard despite the flab that covered them. They swayed rhythmically as the weight moved up and down, plusatin’, tensin, and relaxin’: one, two; one, two. Billy’s eyes traced them as they shook, and he could see himself gropin’ them, holdin’ that powerful flesh… “And done!” Robin’s proud shout snapped out Billy. But it was for the worse because the huge Archer sittin’ on the bench let the barbell in place and scratched the curve of his gut, which rolled over his waist.

Fidgetin’ and tremblin, about as helpful as a snowball in a summer gunfight, Billy was warmin’ a nearby bench. He had been comin’ every day, unable to tear eyes away from the clothes that seemed to shrink around Robin’s growin’ body. The gym trips didn’t make him any smaller—especially when, after every workout session, Robin gorged himself until his bloated stomach couldn’t fit a morsel more. Then, he’d complain he was so full, drag out long moans and poke the stuffed sphere. As he sated his gluttony, it distended, pushed out more, and sometimes—a hot thrill cut through Billy—rested on his lap.

Billy bit his lips, strugglin’ not to slip a hand down in his pants right at the gym. He rubbed his tights together. His face was sizzlin’ like fire, and his breaths were rushed, unruly, desperate. He shook his head, hopin’ to clear the fantasy, but choose the damned best worst moment.

Robin jumped on the floor. The shockwave rocked the bench. Didn’t the equipment also rattle? Billy swallowed and the gulp lodged in his throat. He was shiverin’, truly feverish, trying’ to look away from the handsome behemoth. He knew what was comin’, but his neck refused to budge.

“Let’s go to the canteen.” Robin grinned lazily, his chubby cheeks jigglin’ a little. “After this stress, I should eat something.” He drew fingers over his exposed belly. Hadn’t he started touchin’ it more often—almost as if he got his kicks outta it.

No, no, no! Don’t think like that!

“Wasn’t the plan that you stopped stuffin’ your face, partner?” Billy wanted to stall—he was a god-damned coward. Once he saw Robin gulpin’ down food like there was no tomorrow, all pretenses of holdin’ back would fly straight outta the window. “Ya sure it’s not the purple hag’s doin’?” He didn’t know if he had the power to stand up without his legs meltin’ in a puddle.

Robin crossed arms behind his back, the mass of his bulky arms and forearms pressin’ together. “Does it matter much? I mean, I am not sprouting a pigtail, right? I was worried B.B. was literal with her curse.” He glanced down at his belly. “I can get used to some flab.”

Billy’s small body clenched as he struggled to hold back a moan. Robin was already a damn-fine lady-killer—in that case, a bloke-killer. His awesome, broad shoulders led to beefy arms, as thick as tree trunks - as possible capable of tearin’ them outta the ground. A soft layer of flab—quiverin’ unless Robin flexed—bloated their size further. But if Billy dragged fingers over ‘em, he’d feel the packed bulk underneath. Those powerful monsters could—a hiss of pleasure pinned him to the bench—snap him in two. Robin’s muscles were top-notch, too: wider than his arms, shaped by constant bustin’ at the gym and the very act of carryin’ his bulk. They were veiny, ripped, and made the puny summer shorts stretch and ride up under the curve of Robin’s gut.

That lardy overhand attracted attention without fail. It was an enormous sphere of pure fat. The hidden muscles kept it in a firm, massive, fat ball. Robin still tugged the shirt around his oversize middle; the buttons ached and shook, hangin’ for their dear life. His poor shorts fared even worse, trapped between the titanic tights and the blobby belly, strained into a thin line of fabric. What if, while Robin was packin’ away food, it snapped in two, no longer survivin’ the pressure? Would he shrug it off and keep eatin’, too gluttonous to consider it? Would he glut himself, his pecs—round, sightly saggin’, the perfect ending touch to his appearance—wobblin’ at the fast movements?

“Hey! Are you coming?” Robin asked. He had turned his back towards Billy. The shirt rested well above his soft, squeezable love handles, which trembled with each step. His bloated ass cheeks pressed together, foldin’ as he walked. The shorts barely covered them—and if Robin kept feedin’ himself and expandin’, no clothing would fit him. When the threads snapped, and his body exploded outta them.

Billy’s mouth opened wide, and he stood up, followin’ their hypnotizin’ sway. It wouldn’t come to that, would it? Robin had more self-control, did he not? But he had no problem with growin’ fatter—and if his eager steps were an indication, he could even await it. Billy’s imagination quickly did its job, paintin’ a pic of Robin, who was eatin’ no longer with resignation but with cheer. He would adore the way his flab folded or his muscles swelled. He would rejoice more the less he could see under the dome of his girth, proudly lift even heavier barbells and dumbbells and eat his weight in food.

“Come, or you’ll miss everything!” Robin shouted from the hall, turnin’ so fast that ripples spread through the entire mass of his engorged gut.

“I’m comin’, partner!” With an uneasy waddle, Billy followed him. Had he found out? Could he? As if he was a mutt with a yanked chain, the blond rushed down to the canteen. His brain could wait. Robin was right; Billy needed to see every second of that show.

---

Billy’s legs dragged him towards the canteen sluggishly, weakly. He hesitated at every step, pulled back, and then minced forward. What if someone saw him? He had to scram as fast as possible, get far from the dinin’ room. His dick was throbbin’ in his pants—and they were so tight that the whole Chaldea musta noticed. Hot sweat soaked him to the bone: anxiety, arousal, and anticipation. He had clenched his hands and mustered whatever willpower was left to him. “I’m not beatin’ it in the halls,” he murmured in the lonely corridor. “No matter how much I’m burnin’, no matter if it’ll drive me insane, no matter that Robin’s embraced piggin’ out and when I enter the canteen, I’ll find him stuffin’ himself sick.” Each second was painfully long-drawn torture as the twitches of pleasure set him ablaze.

“Can you walk faster, please? You partner”—the voice was so heavy with sarcasm that Billy could see it drippin’—“is inside and has already begun. If you arrive too late, he will have finished.”

“EMIYA!” Billy crouched in his shootin’ position. The tight pants rubbed his sensitive cock, and he felt himself edgin’ closer to release. He tried to hide the dick with his hands but brushed its tender head. “You’ve got a lotta courage,” he tried to push away that shameless joy, “showin’ up before my eyes.”

“Keep the rage for later. The curse would have failed if he did not enjoy it.” The unfazed Archer passed by him. Then, he stopped, glanced around shiftily, and turned back. “And you don’t have to thank me for this. Honestly. The grand plan was someone else’s.”

“I’m gonna give you all the gratitude you deserve, no worries!” Billy reached for his gun, but EMIYA slipped past him and disappeared.

He coulda chased the Archer, but there were more pressing things.

With the red vermin gone, Billy opened the doors and entered the canteen. He moved through empty chairs. The lively hall was now ghastly empty, not a sound to distract him.

Only one table was occupied—or, more accurately, three tables put together as a one. There was no other way the oversize feast woulda fitted. Potatoes, dazzlin’ with melted butter; meats with sauce as thick as syrup; mountains of golden, crispy fried rice—those were a few of the dishes, reversed for the special guest. And he was wolfin’ down a huge plate of appetizers along with a large bottle of soda to keep him company, the same ol’ grin plastered on his face. “Hey, partner!” he spoke, his mouth full. “I would say that you can pick whatever you like, but, uh, I have the feeling this is all for me.”

The flame of passion erupted into Billy. He bit his lips, and his hand reached for his cock, stroking it through the pants. It brought some short-lived relief, but then it rose higher—like a wave which would drown him if he stopped. “S-so,” he hoped to move the topic to anything else, “you were serious ‘bout enjoyin’ the curse, partner?”

The enormous gulp traveled down Robin’s throat. “How does it look to you?” He polished away the last few bites and set the plate on a pile of empty ones. When did he have the time? Billy had come ten minutes after him! How fast was Robin gorgin’ himself?

“If the red Archer will be my chef, I might get a use out of him.” Robin moved onto a juiced steak with bewitchin’ aroma and dug straight in, lickin’ the splotches of grease that stained his lips. “It’s not a weak start, but I bet I can do better. There’s a lot more to eat, after all. Do you want to watch?”

If Billy had any sense left, he should have realized the so clear teasin’. But he could only think about Robin’s huge body, about his gut and ass and bottomless hunger. Squirmin’, he nodded.

“Then you can sit here.” Robin patted the space on the bench near himself. “It might be a little tight, but a small guy like you can fit.”

Small. As if in a trance, Billy walked and plopped down, squeezin’ his body as close as possible to Robin’s flab. His left side was sinkin’ in the lard, feelin’ the warmth which the oversize Archer radiated. Those temptin’ rolls bulged over the smaller man, spillin’ over his lithe frame. He was like a mouse next to the engorged mountain that was Robin. “When did ya began enjoyin’ it, partner? Didn’t ya say ya will be stayin’ fit ‘n’ trim?” His hand hadn’t stopped runnin’ over his cock; how the hell had Robin not noticed?

“No, I did not want to be a pig. I thought B.B. would make me a large pink animal, but it seems she hadn’t been literal. Besides”—Robin stopped his feast to grip his flexed biceps, stretchin’ his fingers to fit around it—“this is quite far from a fat pig. I would have ended this earlier, but I had fun playing with you.

“You… On purpose?” Billy couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Why else? Did you think someone missed the way you were staring at me?”

It was as if a bomb had exploded in Billy’s chest. He shoulda been ashamed, distraught that his dirty secret was out in the open. But instead, he felt bliss, utter and true bliss. Robin was on the same page. Robin was on the same page! “Then, partner… Can I?” He was tremblin’, barely able to speak.

“Do whatever you want. You’ve earned it.”

Billy jumped onto him, perchin’ himself atop the blobby gut. His face leaned forward, and he kissed Robin’s revealed moobs. He pressed his lips over the pecs. His face was enveloped in the soft chub, and his tongue caressed them from the perky nipples and up the curve, glidin’ over the muscle underneath.

He began grindin’ against Robin’s belly. The flab engulfed his cock. As Billy thrust into it, his dick not penetratin’ deep enough to fell the muscle, it shook around. Those jiggles made him throb with pleasure, arch his back, and squeeze—squeeze all he could.

Robin’s huge arms were the nearest. Billy’s hands slid over them, feelin’ the muscle ripple. The veins shifted with each movement and… Was Robin still stuffin’ himself?

The fat sphere pushed out, givin’ in less and less. Robin’s gut was growin’, fillin’ up with food, and he was bound to end even flabbier; even bigger—so impossibly enormous that Billy would be but a speck next to him. He’d be so tiny next to that solid wall of flab and flesh and beef!

Jizz soaked Billy’s underpants. The relief—the final relief—crashed over him like a wave and let out an unabashed moan in Robin’s chest. His warm, frantic pantin’ made the skin tingle.

And he rose his head, and his red, messy, wild smirk met a proud grin.

“For such a small guy, you’re pretty intense,” Robin said. He was breathing heavily, his belly pushing in and out. “Do you think you can handle a round number two?”

The blond, ruffled outlaw nodded, his body movin’ before his brain had a chance to react. “You betcha, partner!”

#weight gain story #male weight gain #male weight gain stories #robin hood #billy the kid #fate grand order #fgo #chubwritings

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fictionalabyss · 3 years

Text

Backwards bullheaded bullshit.

Pairings : Alpha!Sam x Luna!Reader, Beta!Garth, Alpha!Benny, Alpha!Michael, Dean x Castiel mentioned, Past Dean x Michael mentioned.

Word count : 1,599

Written for : @spnabobingo

Square : Societal Role Reversal

Warning : Pack style fic, stay at home parent/working parent, soft Sam, tough Reader, Michael can be a dick, protective Sam, strong female not backing down.

Masterlist • Patreon • Ko-fi.

SPN A/B/O Bingo Round 5 Masterlist.

Sam is big, even for an Alpha. He towers over seemingly everyone, even other Alpha’s step out of his way. They all fear him, but they’re about to find out there’s someone they should fear more.

The Alpha family was in the city for the first time since the birth of their daughter. Packs were abuzz with the news, everything had been put on hold while the small family got settled, meetings postponed until further notice, but now, they were scheduled and happening. A meeting of the packs was happening today, every Alpha and Beta across the states making the trip.

Sam moved through the streets on his way out for breakfast, the occasional shocked eyes on him as he moved past, but he paid them no mind at all. Whispers of his name followed him as he pulled open the door of his favorite city diner, owned by a pack member, and stepped inside.

“Good morning, Alpha Sam, I-” the waitress froze, eyes on the small bundle strapped to his chest.

“Coffee.” he informed her, making his way to a table. “Egg white western omelet, turkey bacon.”

“I- yes Alpha.” she scurried off and Sam pulled out a chair and sat in it, the bag he’d been carrying on his shoulder being placed in the chair next to him and opened it. “Your coffee.” she placed the piping hot mug on the table in front of him.

“Thank you. Oh, could you heat this up for me, please? She’ll be waking up soon for a feeding.” he smiled down at his daughter in the wrap, so tiny compared to the giant she was strapped to, and handed over a bottle.

“Of course, Alpha.” the waitress all but bowed for him, but didn’t leave just yet.

“Heat it in a pot of water.” Sam informed her, figuring that was why she was lingering. “Not too hot, and be careful, it’s breast milk and I can’t exactly pump more myself.”

“Uh- no, I know, Alpha. It’s not that..”

“Then what is it?”

“I- aren’t you supposed to be at the meeting?”

Sam smiled. “Don’t worry. We’re being represented just fine.”

The chatter in the room was loud. 12 Alphas surrounded the large table, all talking amongst themselves and their Beta’s who were close by. There were even a few Luna’s relaxing on the couch at the far end of the room, more focused on their phones than anything else.

“Think he’ll finally come?”

“Word is he left his house. And his Beta was seen down in the lobby earlier this morning making sure everything was ready. He must be here.”

“If he is, he’s late. He’s never late.”

The door opened, and everyone turned expecting to see Sam, but were disappointed by the man who strolled into the room. “Boys.” he smiled, pulling off the cap he wore on his head as he moved into the room.

“Where’s your Alpha, Garth. He’s late.”

Garth just smiled and turned towards the door. “Gentlemen.” Everyone looked stunned as you walked in, tight pencil skirt, loose blouse and high heels, folder tucked under your arm. “Sorry I’m late, I had to pump for the baby before I could leave.” You smiled at them before taking your seat at the table, Sam’s seat. “Shall we get started?”

“You’re not the Alpha. Where is Sam?”

“Alpha Sam is spending time with his daughter, so I, and Sam’s Beta Garth,” you gestured over to him seated to your right “will be sitting in in his stead.”

“What makes you think you’re qualified?” the alpha across from you demanded.

You smiled at the man seated directly across from you. “I’m not just some helpless Luna blindly following my mate, Michael.” you deliberately ignored his Alpha title. “And you know that better than anyone.” You saw how his lip curled up in a sneer. “But if it’s credentials you want..” you shrugged. “I graduated top of my class, majoring in both business and law. I have my own firm and have secured acquisitions of billion dollar companies, three of which I bought out from under three members sitting at this very table, including you.” You smiled sweetly at him. “By the way, I more than doubled the income you were making from it.” you sent him a wink and Garth chuckled to himself, loving this to no end. “I keep up with the day to day of not only my own pack, but all of yours as well. I know that Benny has been dealing with rogues the last few months, I actually have a location for you, Benny, thank Castiel when you see him.” You pulled a paper out of your folder and slid that over to him. “You need lumber.” you pointed off to another alpha. “You need money.” and another. “And you.” your eyes now back on Michael. “You want something you can’t have, but I’m not about to put you on blast in front of them, not unless you push me to.”

“Burned.” Garth mouthed.

“So, can we continue this meeting or do I need to continue to prove that my dick is bigger than yours?”

“Sam’s dick is probably bigger than his whole body.” You heard the whisper and couldn’t help the smile that graced your lips while Michael glared at the culprit.

“Just fucking get this over with.” he pouted.

You smiled triumphantly. "Would any of the other Luna's care to join us? I'm sure I'd love to hear their inputs and opinions." You looked over to them, and saw the surprise on their faces.

“Hey, baby.” you smiled at the infant strapped to Sam’s chest. You were surprised to find him waiting down in the lobby when the meeting finally let out. “Did you have a nice time with daddy?”

“We had a good day.” Sam assured you. When you looked up at him, he smiled and kissed you gently. “How’d it go?” You sighed. “That bad?” A few people who’d been in the elevator with you and Garth moved past, giving Sam nods on their way out.

“At first. Michael wasn’t thrilled. I won the pissing contest in the end, so he fell in line.”

“It was beautiful, Boss.” Garth laughed, coming up behind you. “Fuck, you should have seen it.”

“I wish I had.” Sam was smiling, glad you didn’t let them walk all over you. It was what he loved most about you. The elevators dinged behind you as the door to the second one opened letting people out right as the one you had stepped out of closed and started its assent.

“Sam!” He looked past you and smiled seeing Benny. “Good to see you, brother.”

“Good to see you too, Benny.”

“Hey, thank your brother’s mate for me, for finding those rogues.”

Michael growled as he walked past, and Sam eyed him as he addressed Benny. “You can thank him yourself, why don’t you come over for dinner. What the fuck is your problem?” Sam asked, now addressing Michael, and you turned to look over at the other Alpha.

“You.” Michael snapped. “Fucking Winchesters, too busy playing house to do their fucking jobs.”

“Excuse me?” Sam was about ready to hand off the baby and knock some sense into Michael. This attitude had been going on for too long now.

“You don’t even show up to the meetings you set because you’re too busy playing fucking mama bird. You’re an alpha, for fucks sake. That’s a job for the Luna and pack Omegas. It’s fucking beneath you.”

Sam growled, but you stepped in front of him, getting in Michael's face. “This is why you lost him.” you spat at him. “Because of your backwards bullheaded bullshit.”

“Watch your mouth.” he growled at you. “I’m still an Alpha.”

“You're an asshole. Dean’s a million times better off without you and I’m so fucking glad he had the sense to see it before it was too late.”

Michael bared his teeth with a growl, and Sam was quick to pull you a step back and get between you, the baby no longer strapped to his chest. You could hear Benny behind you coo-ing at her. “Threaten my Luna again, Michael, and you won’t have a fucking pack left to call you Alpha.” Sam threatened.

“Whatever he doesn’t destroy, I’ll buy out.” you added. "At a reduction."

With one last snarl, and Michael stormed off, pissed, his Beta Zachariah hurrying along behind him.

“Gotta love working for the power house couple.” Garth chuckled from behind you, and both you and Sam turned towards him and Benny again. “Admit it, you wanna see Dean’s face when I tell him about how she put Michael in his place again.”

“I really do.” Benny was laughing.

“So, dinner?” Sam asked, holding his hands out to take his daughter back.

“I’ll be there.” Benny smiled down at the little girl in his arms before handing her over to her father. “Got a mate for you to meet, anyways.” He smiled. “Might have a little one of my own coming, too.”

“Benny!” your face lit up at that, and you gave his arm a playful punch. “Why didn’t you tell us!”

“Y'all were busy.” he shrugged. “Telling you now.”

“She’s coming to dinner, and you’re staying for a few days.” you demanded.

“Alright, alright, Jesus. Don’t need you buying out my properties, too.” he teased, hands up in surrender making you laugh again.

“Actually, I was thinking of selling you one.” you smiled at him.

“I’m listening..” he followed as you all started out of the lobby.

*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*

Tagging : Sam - @evyiione @hoboal87

SPN - @sandlee44 @just-another-busy-fangirl @mrswhozeewhatsis @deanandsamsbitch @deans-baby-momma @thebescht @67-chevy-baby @supraveng @musiclovinchic93 @holyfuckloueh @ksgeekgirl @hobby27 @maddiepants @roxyspearing @onethirstyunicorn @fandom-princess-forevermore @kalesrebellion @deanwanddamons @thoughts-and-funnies

All tags - @sorenmarie87 @artemisthebadger @winchesterprincessbride @iflostreturntosteverogers @akfonkin @rebelminxy @foxyjwls007 @onethirstyunicorn @shaelyn102 @supernaturalenchanted @kazkingdom @babypink224221 @emoryhemsworth @ilovefanfic86 @pie-with-hunters @anaelsbrunette @lazinessisalliknow @feelmyroarrrr @letsdisneythings @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose @xostephanie @ilovedeanspie @defenderrosetyler @amandamdiehl

#spnabobingo #societal role reversal square #sam x reader #sam winchester #reader insert #alpha!sam #luna!reader #sam #samfic #sam winchester fic #spn #spnfic #supernatural #supernatural fic #a/b/o #a/b/o fic

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amintyworld · 3 years

Text

It’s a Wonderful Life, Tommy - Dream SMP Holiday Oneshot

A/N: So this started as an imagine that I wanted to do a bullet fic for, but I got carried away and kind of, sort of, wrote an 11-page fic? So, sorry for the extra setup at the beginning. It’s inspired off two of my favorite Christmas movies: ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’ and ‘A Christmas Carol’ and I ended up with a pretty good even blend of the two, and I’m pretty proud of this. Here’s my Christmas gift to the fandom, I hope you enjoy! So, grab your hot cocoa and Christmas cookies, settle into a blanket and enjoy this holiday tale. -Minty

Summary: After a nasty fight with Tubbo combined with Tommy’s worsening depression, its Tommy’s final straw as he decides he’s ready to give up. But, it looks like Tommy’s condition and situation has gotten some supernatural attention.

TW: Suicide attempt, talks of suicide, heavy blood and gore, manipulation and blame, major character deaths(?), insanity. (Please tell me if I need to tag anything else!)

-----------------------------------

Imagine it’s Christmas Eve but he didn’t end up going with Technoblade and he’s still alone. He’s still as depressed as ever, and on top of all of that, he had an argument when Tubbo tried to visit that ended worse than anything Tommy ever imagined.

Tommy’s trying his best to enjoy the holiday and ends up wandering around, stumbling upon Technoblade’s house - where Ghostbur and Techno are both singing carols while decorating a tree. Tommy’s heart aches with loneliness as he quickly leaves before anyone could see him through the window. No one had left him any presents (Dream burned them all secretly) and he kept looking over Dream’s gift - a white porcelain mask with eyes and no mouth, like Dream’s. Dream claimed in his note that things were getting dangerous and it was to keep him safe and hide his identity. Something about it felt off, though.

He didn’t want to assume the worst of his friend, but it seemed more like a gift Dream wanted him to have instead of something he wanted. That’s why after a while of just holding it and tracing over the details with his fingers he put it away in his chest. He climbed his tower again and was getting ready to aim for the top of a tree, done with everything - with trying to hope when everything he ever had, his friends and family, were gone. He kept searching for a point to his suffering and found none, so he decided to finally end things for good.

A voice called out to him. It was Phil.

“It’s not really the season for giving up hope, now is it?”

Tommy was of course startled, as a floating spirit in the form of what looks like Philza, his dad, flying and floating in front of him... with wings? Tommy is trying to compose himself while trying to discern whether or not his ‘thing’ is real - touching his shoulder only to touch absolutely nothing, yelling at it to see if it’s a demon, while the spirit is nonetheless, unimpressed. “What are you? Are you really Phil, or am i just... hallucinating again?”

“I am quite real - you can call me your guide of sorts. I’ve taken the form of your loved one to make you feel more at ease. Anyway, Tommyinnit, I’m sent here to stop you from jumping from this pillar.”

“Why exactly should I listen to you? For all I know, you’re just another weird vision like Tubbo was. I’m really tired of my messed up mind, just go away.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tommy. It’s my sworn duty to step in here, for your behalf.”

“My behalf?! I assure you, whoever you are, I’d be happier dead than to live without anyone who really cares about me.”

“How about a deal then? I will show you three places, events, and if I can’t change your mind, I’ll leave you alone.”

“No lying?”

“Why would I?”

“Okay, sure.” Tommy still didn’t think any of this was real, but he was honestly curious where this weird dream was going. The Guide took Tommy’s hand and told him to trust him, and they both jumped, Tommy yelling, confused, as he fell, fell, fell, preparing for impact and probably death, instead of falling into... snow?

He shivered and looked around - how is the sun up, it was the night a few seconds ago...? The Guide took his hand with a comforting smile and led him through the trees when Tommy froze in his tracks. A house... he KNEW that house. “Look familiar?”

Shouts nearby made his head whip around as a snowball raced toward him. He braced for impact, but it didn’t hit him. Instead, it hit a tree trunk behind him. Laughter filled the air as he heard a familiar voice behind him yell. “HA, your aim is shit, Tommy!” He saw a young version of Technoblade rush through the bushes, and... that was him... a young version of him in the trees, snowball in hand, angry at his missed shot.

“Yeah, well I still have the high ground, you arsehole!” He noticed a young Tubbo next to him, a snowball in each hand wearing a green coat that was way too big for him. He laughed, remembering it - Phil didn’t have money for a new coat for Tubbo that year, so he gave him his older one to use, and the poor kid kept falling over and tripping on it. Tubbo handed Tommy another snowball as they both pelted the snowballs down as Techno rushed into some cover behind a rock.

“This is Christmas by the lake, where Phil grew up. But, how can I see it, that was over six years ago-?” Tommy turned to the guide who showed him who his whole body turned translucent.

“In order to show you events, we must travel to that point in time, but we’ll only be observers, we can’t interact with them.”

Tommy looked over as Technoblade pelted Tommy with a snowball hard, making him lose his balance and fall to the snowy ground below. “This is unreal, it’s so clear, how can I recall this in a dream...?”

“I told you, I am a spirit Tommy, your Guide.” Looking around at it all, Tommy couldn’t help but to start to believe him. The smell of gingerbread filled his nose from the house as Wilbur walked out, his hands in the air.

“Okay guys, Phil told me to tell you to come inside-” Before his older brother could even finish his sentence, three snowballs hit him square in the face. “Hey, I’m not even playing!”

“You’re in the kill zone, Wil!” Tubbo shouted from the treetops as if that would explain everything.

“Ugh, why are you all so annoying-”

Techno smirked, looking over at his brother from his spot covered by the rock. “Aw, come on, don’t be a buzzkill Wilby.” Wilbur stopped at the nickname and turned with a fire in his eyes.

“I’ll show you buzzkill-!” He shouted as he threw a snowball at Techno, running for his own cover.

“Look at you, surrounded by your family, your best friend - it seems like you all love each other a lot.”

“Well, of course, we’re family.” Tommy paused, realizing what he said and quickly correcting himself. “At least, we were.” He watched the scene unfold - Philza called them in for cookies and cocoa and they all rushed into the house. While running, Tubbo tripped on his coat and fell again, and Tommy saw himself stay back and help Tubbo to his feet with a smile.

“I bet Tubbo appreciated your friendship, especially then.”

“Well, I knew what it was like to be the new kid in the family, you know? It’s awkward and weird at first to settle into. You’re by yourself for so long it’s hard to get used to being around people all the time who give you so much affection.” He walked over toward the window and looked inside - Phil put on some Christmas music that blasted through the player and Techno covered his ears, begging for something different, making everyone laugh. Wilbur pulled out his guitar as Technoblade practically slammed the ‘stop’ button on the player.

“All of you look close.”

“We are- were,” Tommy said. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter, none of this does - even if they cared for me and loved me then, doesn’t mean they do now.”

“I thought you said family loved each other no matter what.” The Guide said smoothly. “Why would it make sense for them to stop loving you now?”

“I don’t know...” Tommy breathed, his mind confused and questioning. “Maybe we’re not family. Maybe we... maybe we never were. Anyways, you’ve shown me enough of this to count for the deal, let’s just move on.”

“Hold on, we’re gonna miss my favorite part.” The Guide said as Philza came in with a Santa hat.

“As per tradition in the Sleepy Boys Incorporated Household, me - the Grand Master - shall decide who gets to receive an extra special gift to open before Christmas Day.” Wilbur bounced excitedly on the couch, and Tommy crossed his fingers as they waited. “I have tallied the points-”

“I still think there’s no point system-” Technoblade mumbled as Philza continued.

“And this year, the wearer of the special Santa hat goes to... Tommy!” Phil said as he tossed it over to the boy, who smiled widely. “For your extra help around the house and chores, this year’s for you, buddy.”

“Yay, Tommy!” Wilbur said from the couch as Technoblade smiled and nodded in approval. Tubbo clapped and cheered - this was the first year Tommy had ever been given the hat. Outside the window, Tommy crossed his arms and looked at the snow, knowing what was going to happen next. Young Tommy smiled wide as he clutched the Santa hat in his hands. He looked over to Tubbo for a moment, then to the hat, unknown thoughts in his head. Then, he handed it out to Tubbo.

“Here. You can have it.”

Tubbo looked confused. “But Tommy, you worked so hard for this - you did extra chores, you helped out Wilbur when his beanie got stuck in the tree... you didn’t curse for an entire week!”

“I know.” He smiled, turning into a smirk. “But, you know, if it was that easy for me to get it this year, I can always get it again. And, since it was harder for you, if I don’t give you the hat now, you probably won’t get it until you’re Phil’s age.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Philza shouted as he carried in a large gift-wrapped box to set on the table.

“But Tommy-” Tubbo tried to interject, but Tommy threw him the hat.

“Come on, I insist,” Tommy said, and the two best friends hugged each other tightly. Outside, Tommy looked at the scene, pressing his hand up against the glass, his heart aching uncomfortably, not being able to tear his eyes away from the tender moment. He turned to the spirit, emotion, and anger on his face.

“Tubbo exiled me, he burned his compass, he didn’t show up to my beach party, he didn’t even come to see me.” His eyes looked cold. “He’s NOT my best friend, let alone my friend!”

The spirit looked calm. “I see.” He slowly turned and began to walk away into the forest swiftly, leaving Tommy scrambling to catch up.

--------------------------------------

“Spirit... Guide... whatever you are, wait up!” Tommy shouted as he sprinted after the figure through the trees, suddenly being caught by his shirt before he fell into the water. He looked around and noticed he was in L’manburg - the moon just how he left it when the spirit took him to the past. He noticed the Chinese lanterns, the dock, the houses - it wasn’t just L’manburg, it was New L’manburg. The spirit walked up the steps silently and Tommy was quick to follow. “We’re in the present, in L’manburg, but why?”

“I thought you’d be curious to see how your former friend is celebrating tonight - a look without the trouble of trying to hide or break the rules.” The spirit said simply, before holding out his hand for Tommy to take. “Hold on tightly, please.” Tommy gripped the spirit’s hand as he was dragged through a few walls, freaking out a bit until he realized that he was in the same state as a ghost, or like the spirit called it, an observer - so he couldn’t suffocate.

Whatever Tommy was expecting, it certainly wasn’t this. A room filled with torn posters of Technoblade pasted along the walls calling him all sorts of bad things, and a wooden table in the center with four people sitting around it, Tubbo among them. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea anymore, Big Q. With what Dream’s done to Tommy, what if he gets caught in all this?”

Quackity looked upset, his eyes narrowed. “Tubbo, this is our one and only chance to get revenge for our country, and you’re saying to stop all of our work for the small chance, chance that Tommy will show up?”

“He’s a L’manburg citizen, Quackity. As president, it’s my job to protect every citizen-”

“You’d sacrifice the country, Mr. President, everything we’ve worked for, for one person?!” Quackity snapped. Tommy looked on with piqued interest, noticing how both Ranboo and Fundy sunk down a bit on their chairs from the building tension in the room. Tubbo got up and leaned in so he and Quackity’s faces were inches apart.

“Yes, I would. I’m not going to be responsible for anyone becoming a ghost on my account, Quackity.” Tubbo snapped. “I draw the line at risking innocent lives.”

Tommy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Even after they yelled at each other, screamed at each other, he... he still... cares?

“I’m questioning your true loyalty to your country, Mr. President - it seems your loyalties lie elsewhere. What kind of President wouldn’t be willing to do anything, make any sacrifice, for the betterment of the country?”

“One like Schlatt. Wilbur maybe. But not me.”

“Then, Mr. President, you’re nothing but a traitor.” Quackity said, pulling out his sword and pointing it at Tubbo. “I’m taking you under arrest.” Tubbo slowly put his hands up, looking over to Fundy and Ranboo, who both looked distraught and stayed silent.

“Quackity, you’re insane. You’re going to destroy L’manburg to kill Techno and Dream, you’re going to destroy everything we’ve worked to save.” Tubbo protested, but his cries fell on deaf ears as Quackity forced him to give him his stuff and armor.

Tommy’s mind whirred. “Tubbo still cares about me. Even after everything, he’s still my friend.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I...I can’t believe it.”

“It’s a shame you don’t think the same of him.”

Tommy was quick to respond. “I do, I have, it’s just he’s done so much against me - he burned the compass, he didn’t show up to the beach party-”

Tommy looked over just in time to see Quackity close the jail cell loudly - there was barely enough room for Tubbo to sit or even stand. Tubbo’s hands clutched the bars. “Quackity, don’t do this. Do you even understand what Dream and Techno are capable of?!”

Quackity glared at him. “Of course I do, which is why I need to dispose of them since our leader is too much of a coward to do it himself. Come on guys, we have a festival to prepare for.” Fundy and Ranboo were silent as they passed him, bowing their heads in shame. Tommy walked closer with the spirit to see him pull out...the compass...

The enchanted compass, the matching one to the one Tommy had in his own chest. The one Dream said he burned. That didn’t make any sense, Dream said he- Dream. “Are you tricking me?”

“Why would I do that, Tommy? We made a deal.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense, Tubbo shouldn’t have the compass, it’s supposed to be burned!”

“Ah. Maybe that was the claim that led you astray?”

Tommy silently looked down at Tubbo as he held the compass in his hands, tears welling up in Tubbo’s eyes. “Guess you were right, Tommy. I’m so sorry…” Tommy had no words, thoughts running through his head. This didn’t make any sense. Dream wouldn’t lie to him, he’s his friend. Even so, emotion welled up in his eyes as his stomach formed in knots.

“Dream wouldn’t lie to me. Stop trying to trick me, I know this isn’t real.”

“But I promised you I’d only show the truth, didn’t I?”

“But this can’t be true - Tubbo’s compass is supposed to be burned, he’s not supposed to cry for me, he's supposed to hate me, they’re all supposed to hate me!”

“What if they don’t, Tommy, and they never have?”

“Even if they didn’t...even if they cared, I’ve caused too much trouble - all of this started because of me. So, wouldn’t it be better if I was gone?” The spirit held out his hand to Tommy.

“Do you want to find out?”

--------------------------------------

After a few moments of hesitation, Tommy took the Spirit’s hand, and quickly was dragged upwards through the wall, into darkness, the spirit’s wings taking them up, up, up, and suddenly… he found himself on the ground. Thunder rolled in his ears as a light shower of rain began to fall toward the ground. He was on a mountain, and his hands gripped the soggy grass between his fingers, feeling the realness of it all. He looked around for his winged spirit but found no one. L’manburg stood around him, and he walked down the dock, noticing a crowd of people gathered around a memorial of sorts.

Curious, he crept closer. Who’s memorial was it? It looked nice too - a small stone cover from the rain, vines and flowers growing all around it. He started to worry - did his death cause someone else’s? He looked over at the crowd - he noticed Skeppy holding Bad close as he cried, and there was Puffy and Ant, who looked dazed by it all, their faces solemn. Oh, over there was Quackity - he crossed his arms and looked to the floor. Fundy sat next to George and Sapnap - his eyebrows furrowed in thought. George held Sapnap’s hand in comfort as tears slid down their cheeks every now and then. Punz and Ponk were in the back.. Oh, there was Ranboo!

His half-enderman friend was shaking, as Ghostbur stood at his side and did his best to comfort him, though even Tommy could tell the ghost was more than distraught over it all. Tommy walked closer… wait, was that Technoblade?! What was he doing here…? Isn’t he wanted in L’manburg? Even more surprising, was the tear staining glisten in his eyes - Technoblade was crying. It was an odd sight indeed to see his tough friend weep, but Philza was at his side to pull him close, tears rolling down his cheeks as well.

“He was a hero for L’manburg, and made numerous sacrifices for our country. More than that, he was an uncle, a son, a brother, and a friend to many who knew him.” There was Tubbo, speaking at the podium looking the saddest Tommy had ever seen him. His hands gripped the wood tightly as he shook slightly. “Though he was not with us for long, I think it’s clear to see when I look around this room he touched more lives than he knew. He was brave, strong, and an inspiration to many as someone who encompassed the true values of our nation.. He may be gone, but will always live on in our memories and in our hearts.”

Tommy’s heart dropped as he read the sign: ‘Tommyinnit, joined July 2020, died December 2020. A friend taken too soon.’ This was his memorial, all of them were here… this was HIS funeral! He noticed how Tubbo’s shaking grew more noticable as tears streamed from his eyes that left drops where his speech was prepared. Philza walked up and they both hugged each other tightly, Phil rubbing his back as Tubbo let out a sob and the two walked back to sit with the rest.

Slowly, one by one people began to walk up to a buried spot on the ground - his green bandana was tied tightly to the side as it waved in the wind like a flag. He watched as Ghostbur walked up and left some blue flowers at his grave. “I hope you’re happier, wherever you are. Here’s some blue - I got extra so you won’t run out.” Tommy’s eyes threatened to spill with tears as Ghostbur put a hand on his gravestone. “Both Alivebur and I love you very much, and we’ll miss you a lot, but don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine! I’ll try to take care of Tubbo for you, okay?”

“Okay..” Tommy choked out as a tear slid down his cheek. Ranboo walked up to sit next to Ghostbur, silent. Ghostbur gave him a hug, which he returned before Ghostbur left, walking back into the crowd of people talking.

“I really should have noticed it sooner, shouldn’t I?” Ranboo said. “I should’ve been there more, did more, did anything… but I… I’m so sorry, Tommy.” His hands were shaking as they reached out toward the gravestone but stopped short of touching it. “You did so much for me, you protected me, and I… I couldn’t even do the same for you. I’m a pretty bad friend, aren’t I?”

“No, no.” Though Ranboo couldn’t hear him or see him, Tommy put his hand on Ranboo’s shoulder as he tried his best not to try, sniffling. “You were the best friend I could ever ask for. You were there for me whenever I needed you. This isn’t your fault.”

Both heard steps behind them and turned to notice Techoblade standing there, no clear emotion in his face. Ranboo quickly left, intimidated by the pig hybrid as he disappeared back into the crowd. Technoblade took his crown off as he approached, kneeling in front of the gravestone, silent for a few moments. “I wish we were closer. I wish I would’ve been there to help you before it was too late. I… I wish you knew how much I loved you, but I guess we’re both too similar when it comes to admitting something like that, huh?” Technoblade smiled a bit before it quickly fell. “I know I didn’t agree with your choices, but that doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t help you, I should’ve let you know that.” Tommy stood, stunned at Technoblade’s words - that he loved him, that he’d miss him. Techno pulled out a folded cloth. “I was going to give you it for Christmas, but Dream had other plans. I’m sorry, it’s the only present I saved from the lava.” Technoblade set it down next to the flowers. “It’s a cape like mine, see? Wilbur kept telling me how cold you were in exile. Partly it was because of that, the other part was because I was too annoyed when you kept trying to steal mine-” Technoblade sniffled, a few tears going down his cheeks that landed in the dirt below. Philza walked up and gave him a tight hug.

“Shh, Techno. It’s okay. I know he would’ve loved it.” Philza said, comforting his eldest. “Now go talk to Ghostbur and make sure he doesn’t wander off with Friend.” Techno just nodded, taking one last look at the grave and placing his hand on the stone, turning and walking off.

Philza was by far the quietest one of all, running his fingers over the soft green bandana and the top of the gravestone. Tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he took out a small photo in his pocket. It was an old Christmas photo from so long ago - Technoblade had Tommy up on his shoulders, Wilbur was standing at attention in a salute, holding back a laugh as Tubbo chased his scarf, Philza taking a sort of selfie with the camera, the chaos showing in the background. He wedged it in Technoblade’s cloak. “Here, don’t forget us - the good parts of us.” Philza said softly. “Don’t forget that we’ll always love you, no matter what.” Philza wiped away a few tears from his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll ever know why you did this, and I don’t think I’ll ever really know. I’m sorry I wasn’t a good father to you, and I hope you’re at peace wherever you are.” Philza took a deep breath getting ready to leave when a loud crash interrupted him.

Tommy, still trying to compose himself and wipe away his tears from his family and friend’s sentiments, looked up in surprise to see Tubbo pissed off, being held back by Technoblade and Puffy, Ghostbur trying to calm him down. Dream got up from his place on the ground, a large crack forming on his white mask. Tubbo yelled, shouted and kicked. “He doesn’t GET to be here, he’s lucky I don’t kill him right now! He’s the one who killed him, he doesn’t get to go near him again!”

Ghostbur looked nervous when Tubbo smacked the blue he offered out of his hand. “Tubbo calm yourself, please, for Tommy-!”

“I didn’t push him off that tower, did I, Tubbo?” Dream’s words were sharp and calm, traced with anger. Everyone fell silent, as Dream approached the President. “I didn’t do anything, if anything, he died because of all of you - you could have stopped me, you could have visited, and you did nothing-”

Without hesitation, Tubbo decked him across the face, his mask flying toward the ground, and suddenly blonde messy hair and piercing green eyes started down at him. “You told him lies, you manipulated him, you made him think he was alone. We may have not done much, even if we knew what you were doing, but at least we didn’t drive him into that depression, Dream. That’s all on you, and you fucking know it.” Tubbo pointed a finger at his chest. “You’ve got some nerve showing up here after everything you did to him. I don’t want you here and I know that he sure as well wouldn’t either.” Tubbo’s eyes narrowed. “So you either leave or we’re settling this right here, right now.”

“Are you threatening me, Mr. President?” Dream smirked. “Not a very wise decision - I’ve beaten you before, I’ve taken everything away from you and watched you beg for mercy.”

“That’s what you don’t understand, Dream.” Tubbo said. “You’ve taken so much away from me I have nothing left to lose.” Dream pulled out his sword but a heavy smack from Tubbo sent it to the floor. “You underestimate just how far I’m willing to go, Dream. You think you’ve seen me upset, seen me angry? You haven’t seen even a fraction of it. I will stop at nothing for Tommy - I don’t even care if you kill me, all I care about is that you’re going down with me.” For the first time in his life, fear flew across Dream’s face.

“Tubbo. Leave Dream alone, he’s not worth it.” Philza said as he turned Tubbo away from Dream and glared down at him. “Just get out of here, Dream.”

“Tubbo never really was the same again after you left.” The guiding spirit turned Tommy’s attention to the side, where he sat at the top of the dome memorial. “You mean a lot to him, and losing you after L’manburg fell to Dream, it was the last straw.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Dream owns L’manburg?! That’s impossible, Tubbo would never allow that to happen.”

“He didn’t.” The spirit replied. “Quackity led the charge against Dream and failed, nearly destroying the nation again before legally surrendering it to Dream. Ranboo was going to let Tubbo out of his cell to help, but when he didn’t hear from you he decided to check on you instead and found your body. As always, Dream traded Quackity L’manburg for something he wanted more than anything - the power to revive Schlatt.”

“Revive Schlatt?!” Tommy’s eyes widened. “Dream knew how to do it all along. So why didn’t he revive Wilbur…?”

“It wasn’t of use to him.” The spirit said. “When you died, L’manburg died with you. Philza fell into a deep depression after losing two of his sons to his own hands, and Technoblade… he went mad.”

“Technoblade went crazy…?!”

The spirit pointed around the corner as they jumped once again, landing on the dock as screams of agony echoed throughout the country. Tommy looked around in disbelief as red blood splattered the ground. He noticed Niki run past him toward the bridge, terrified. A dark shadow passed overhead and Technoblade landed in front of her with a wide smile and crazy eyes. “Where are you going, Niki…?”

“N-nowhere, I was just going to go fishing…”

“Really…? If I knew any better, I would have thought you were trying to leave.” Techno’s eyes narrowed. “You know how Dream feels about people breaking his rules.”

“Technoblade, I’m sorry, please… I promise, I won’t come near the docks ever again-!” Niki pleaded as Techno’s laugh echoed through the walls, turning into… crying? Technoblade sobbed as he leaned on his trident as a sort of staff. Niki approached, sympathetic.

“I want him back, Niki. I just want him back.” Technoblade said. “I’d do anything for him, any goddamn thing…” The crying stopped as Techno looked up, eyes full of anger. “Even if that means ripping the guts out of some lying two-faced bitch who didn’t care enough to save him. Come here you little-!” He charged at Niki, and she took off again, screaming, crying for help.

“N-no… Technoblade stop-!” Tommy cried, but Techno didn’t hear him as he snatched her up and beheaded her in one rip, sending blood everywhere. Niki’s painful screams filled his ears.

“Tubbo managed to take Dream down, and they both died in one of his death traps. Now, thanks to his manipulation, Technoblade is a bloodthirsty warrior with no master to serve. He clings to the bit of sanity he has left, not being able to deal with the guilt of being responsible for your death, so he blames others.”

“This can’t be true. Surely if I died some good would come from it.” Tommy said.

“The only good that would come of your death would be Dream’s, who thanks to Tubbo died much earlier than he was supposed to, and in turn saved his people from another tyrannical ruler.” The spirit said. “As for Ghostbur, well…”

Tommy turned around to notice Ghostbur flying around, wondering in the bloody mess of L’manburg that was too eerily quiet for Tommy’s liking. The spirit was gone again, Tommy was alone. He followed Ghostbur as he stepped over dead bodies and looked inside houses. “Hey Technoblade?” Ghostbur called, looking around. “Hey Techno, I have a fun idea to prank Tubbo with, where are you?” He opened the door to Philza’s house. “Philza? Philza Minecraft?!” He called. “I can’t find Techno, do you know where he… oh, you’re not here either.” He knocked, door to door, calling out for everyone, but it was dead silent. “Quackity?! Niki…? Fundy, where are you?!”

Tommy reached to grab Ghostbur’s hand. “They’re not here, Wil. They’re dead.” But Ghostbur didn’t notice him in the slightest.

“Tubbo?! Fundy…?”

“Ghostbur, they’re dead. You gotta stop, they’re not here.” Tommy said solemnly. “They’re dead because of me, but you gotta stop looking, they’re gone-”

“Sapnap? Bad…?”

“Wilbur please.” Tommy begged. “They’re dead, you have to move on.”

“George…?”

“They’re dead, WIlbur.” Tommy snapped, beginning to cry. He looked around for his spirit friend. “Spirit, can you hear me? I want to go back, please let me go back. I don’t want this to happen, please! Can I change it? Is there still time?! I want to live!”

-------------------------------------

When he opened his eyes, he was in his bed in the tent, the morning sun just peaking above the horizon. He wiped a few tears off his cheeks. Was it all a dream… was it not real…? He scrambled for his calendar - Christmas Day. There’s still time. He could fix everything! He searched in his chest for the compass and his discs as he packed a bag - he looked over the mask for a second, before rushing outside and in a fit of rage, frisbees it into the ocean and watched it sink to the bottom. “Fuck you, Dream.” He cursed, feeling freer than he had in weeks.

He grabbed his bag and ran off into the forest toward the snow covered house he knew, picking up some blue cornflowers along the way. His heart felt light as he hummed Christmas carols, running along the path he knew until he saw Technoblade’s house in the distance. Running up to the door, he knocked, smiling. The house was decorated beautifully, and when Ghostbur opened the door he smiled. “Hello, Tommy!”

“Hey Ghostbur!” Tommy smiled. “Sorry it’s a bit early, but I just couldn’t wait to come over and say Merry Christmas!” Technoblade came over to the door, looking extremely confused.

“Tommy…?” Technoblade yawned before Tommy crashed into him with a hug, only making the older increasingly confused. “Um-”

“Merry Christmas, Technobade.” Tommy said happily, handing out the blue flowers to Ghostbur, his eyes lighting up as he smiled. “This is for you.”

“So much blue!” Ghostbur shook with excitement, taking the flowers in his hands. “They’re so pretty, thanks Tommy!”

“You’re welcome.” Tommy said, feeling a sense of dejia vu from it all. Technoblade smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wanna come inside? I was just about to make breakfast.” Technoblade’s voice was gentle, and for the first time in a long while Tommy felt really happy. Techno ushered him inside by the fire, insisting that he was turning blue out in the snow without a jacket. Ghostbur realized too quickly that Techno didn’t have a vase for the flowers, but with a bit of help from Tommy, he was beginning to weave a flower crown. It was nice to revisit that - he remembered how Philza taught them all how to weave flowercrowns when they were younger, and how to make an acorn whistle, which he quickly regretted. Tommy laughed as he remembered Phil’s face as all three of them whistled all the way home so loud they scared away any animals within a 100 mile radius, for sure.

Techboblade was quiet but content, relaxed, and happy. After a nice breakfast of eggs and toast - the first good breakfast Tommy had in ages, which he finished in record time - Wilbur stood under the tree to open gifts excitedly like he was a child again. As they all settled in, a quick knock on Technoblade’s door interrupted them. “Hello- Oh… hey Phil.”

To his surprise, Tommy and Wilbur couldn’t see their dad at all behind the large pile of wrapped boxes in his hands. His breaths were labored as he spoke. “I hope I’m not late-”

“No, no. In fact, you’re just on time.”

“I was looking for Tommy’s house everywhere and then I realized I went the wrong way, and then he wasn’t there-” Philza began, walking in as he noticed Tommy sitting on the floor. “Well, there you are.”

“Here I am.” Tommy said with a sheepish smile. “Do you need help with that?”

“Please.”

After all of Phil’s gifts were added to the growing collection under the tree, his father pulled Tommy in for a quick hug. “I’m glad you’re here. Christmas wouldn’t be the same with you, you know.”

“I’m glad you didn’t forget me.” Tommy admitted softly, and Phil squeezed around his middle a little tighter.

“Never.” Philza whispered in response, making the younger tear up a bit at the words in joy. When they both pulled away Tommy wiped his eyes, not being able to help his bright smile. “Alright, we’ve got some presents to open, don’t we?”

“We may have to do mine first, I didn't have much time to wrap-” Tommy said as he grabbed his bag and searched. Wilbur proudly showed off his Blue flower crown with glee, making the other two smile at his child-like cheer. Technoblade stilled as Tommy held out a diamond for him. “I’m sorry, I was in a bit of a hurry, I know you have netherite, if you don’t want it-”

“I love it, Tommy.” Technoblade said as he took the diamond and held it in his hands. “It means a lot to me you’d give me it. Thank you.” The two shared a smile before Techno’s face turned into a smirk. “Plus, you’re poor, it was the best you could do, anyway-”

And, as Philza admired and thanked Tommy for the stone sword, Tommy couldn’t help but notice a figure in the window, a figure he thought he’d never see again. His Guardian Spirit, looking inside from the window at the scene with a warm smile. As the spirit looked inside the joyful house, Tommy could distinctly recall a voice in his head echoing words that he’d never forget.

“It’s a wonderful life, isn’t it Tommy?”

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years

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Okay Part 5

Fandom: One Chicago

Series: Okay

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 (Final)

Pairing: Casey x Halstead!Reader

Warning/s: mentions of kidnapping, fire, PTSD ish?

Word Count: 2,304

Summary: After narrowly escaping certain death you decided to turn your life around and become a firefighter, and although it wasn’t easy, you survived your first week at 51. Now, the strange circumstances of your very first fire lead you to a second, deadlier act. As you dig deeper, aided by your brothers and your new firehouse, you begin to realise just how in over your head you might be.

Tags: @alievans007 // @louiselikeswriting // @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na

Working your way back from the second crime scene to the first had been the plan for the day, keeping your radios on in case you got a call. The rest of truck had no problem with it; although you and Casey were the most invested, you knew the others wanted the same thing as you. To catch whoever was responsible and protect Lily.

Jay was waiting when you arrived, Hailey too. Voight had thankfully spared them, Jay had told you over the phone that they may have to leave at a moments notice depending on how the case they were working with Intelligence went. They’d leave a few unis there though.

Pulling up in the truck you saw just how much damage the fire had done, whatever accelerant this guy was using spread quicker. Kerosene Kelly reckoned, more combustable than flammable, meaning more likely to explode rather than just ignite.

You and Casey took up the front, Jay smiling slightly despite the circumstances at the sight of you in uniform. “Hey, what is it they call you? Candidate?” Jay gave you a slight hug in greeting as you rolled your eyes at his teasing.

“Yeah, yeah, what we got?” You asked, following him inside with Casey to survey the damage. There was police tape everywhere, but it had been cleared by CSI already.

“This is where we found the mom and friend,” Jay told you both, the rest of truck waiting outside. He was pointing in the dining room, three places set up around the table where most of the damage had been done.

“Ignition point?” Casey asked, lingo you knew but would still have to get used to saying. Surveying the scene, all you saw was carnage, fire blasted walls and the charred remains of a nice home. But Casey was seeing something different, as was Jay.

“We had OFI here earlier, you just missed them attending that collision this morning, but they said it was somewhere... here,” Jay gestured near the patio doors, the wall nearest the entrance black, the carpet practically gone as it had spread and you could definitely see why they suspected a combustable accelerant. “Lock was broken on the door, but there are no prints besides those you’d expect.”

“Three places,” you noted, glancing to the table, “Lily was supposed to be in here, you said she was found upstairs?” You didn’t look at Jay as you asked, too busy inspecting the room. Both the men in there with you may have been seasoned at what they did, but you hoped that your fresh eyes and new perspective might spot something the others missed. ‘Hoped’ being the key word.

“Yeah, don’t know why, she’s barely spoken as you know,” Jay answered, “but there was food on the plates.”

“Timer?” You and Casey spoke up at the same time, glancing at each other as Casey grinned your way. Guess you were picking this up quicker than you thought.

Jay looked between you with an unreadable expression before nodding. “Destroyed in the blast, but it was near the patio doors, automatic.”

Casey nodded thoughtfully, looking to you even though you could see the ideas forming behind his eyes. He wanted to see what you thought.

“It was supposed to kill them all,” you said, “for some reason Lily wasn’t at the table, maybe she went to grab something, go to the toilet... maybe her mom saw that she hadn’t washed her hands yet and made her go back upstairs to clean them like our mom always did with you,” you told Jay, who glared at you slightly as Casey chuckled under his breath.

“She’s escaped death twice now,” Casey said, following your eyes to her place at the table, “but why? We already know she must be the target, but how many enemies does a 7 year old have?”

Jay clenched his jaw, clearly wishing he had some kind of answer for you. “We’ve tried every angle we can think of,” Jay said somewhat helplessly.

“What about the charger?” You asked, remembering the car Intelligence had been looking into when you’d arrived at the hospital last night.

“Got a BOLO out, but our best guess is that either the cars been ditched or the plates have been swapped,” he replied, tone laced with frustration.

Casey ran a hand through his hair as he looked around the room, but it was clear to everyone that there was nothing solid here, or even some smoke to follow. So with a sigh Jay signaled for you guys to leave, the next stop was the first fire, where you and Casey had found Lily.

You sat next to Casey on the drive, the rest of truck discussing the case. Even though you tried to listen, you kept zoning out, the dread in your stomach getting worse with every passing second. You had nothing to offer this girl, no idea what was going on, and you hated feeling this useless.

Casey noticed your quite and nudged you with his leg. “You good?” He checked, trying to meet your eyes.

You shrugged and put on your best fake smile, “sure,” you said unconvincingly. But there was no time to challenge you, the truck was pulling up behind Jay’s car at the scene of the first fire.

The door was still taped up, Lily’s mom hadn’t had a chance to properly come back to the house to salvage much before she died. It felt strange being back here, seeing the remains in daylight when last time you’d seen it it had been burning in the night. With a breath you climbed out the truck, Jay saying something to an officer in a squad car on the otherside of the road, positioned there in case anyone tried to enter the house.

“Does Lily have any family?” Casey asked Jay as he joined you both on the front lawn. You were listening, but you found yourself unable to look away from the building, the peeling paint, the burn marks, the destruction...

“Grandparents in New York,” Jay replied, “and an estranged dad in Colorado, they split up a few years back but he’s on his way now, should be here soon.”

You realised that the other two had made it to the front door and strambled to catch up, carefully stepping over the threshold and into the house with them. Memories of smoke and fire came flooding back as you walked, the smell of the ashes making you feel nauseous. You couldn’t explain, you’d been fire at the other fires since this one... mostly. There was something about this one that sent you back to that basement, maybe it was because you’d had a panic attack here, or maybe it was Lily and how you related to her.

Whatever it was, you tried to push it down as Jay walked you around the house. There had been no broken locks in this house, compared to the broken patio lock in the friend’s, and the fire had started up stairs. Sort of.

“It looks like it was poured down,” you realised, staring at the wall below the banister. The others agreed with you, eyes following the burn pattern as it then spread across the floor once it reached the bottom. “So someone came in while the mom was next door, some how managed to get Lily behind the desk, and then poured the kerosene down the wall?”

“Leaving enough time for them to head down the stairs after they lit the match,” Casey added, but you shook your head a little.

“If they’d lit the match from the top, they would have had enough time, but they would have had to leave through the front door then, and most of the fire damage was down stairs,” you said half distantly as you followed the trail.

Casey looked proud, “you’re right, looks like this goes to the back door,” he pointed. This was all well and good, but it wasn’t helpful. Jay suggested you try upstairs next, leading the way.

You got half way up before feeling a little faint, images of your panic attack flashing through your mind as you forced yourself to continue on upstairs. Casey was a head of you too, so he didn’t notice at first, but as soon as you both reached the top he looked back, pausing as he saw the way you gripped the banister at the top.

Thankfully, he didn’t say anything when Jay was there, but you could see the concern on his face, and the seriousness. It hadn’t exactly been at the top of your to do list recently, but you’d known it was coming. He was still your Captain.

“So this was where you found her, behind the desk?” Jay asked, gesturing towards the open office, where you could clearly see the moved desk inside, the little room behind it visible.

You nodded, still taking a minute to breath and steady yourself while trying to act normal. Jay didn’t notice, but you didn’t blame him, he didn’t know what Casey did.

“Was there anything else in there, anything you might have not thought relevant at the time but might mean something now?” He asked.

“We’ve already been over this,” you said a little too harshly, giving Jay pause, “sorry, just, a little stressed, haven’t been sleeping much recently,” you tried to shrug it off. Jay was about to reply when he phone went off, excusing himself as he headed outside. He’d think you meant because of this case, and while that was true, you didn’t tell him exactly what ‘recently’ meant.

“We haven’t talked about it,” Casey pointed out after Jay was out of earshot, knowing that you knew what he meant. What was there to say? You trusted Casey, and you’d been getting closer since you’d started at the firehouse, you’d probably spent more time with him in the last week than anyone else, but he was still your Captain, and you didn’t want him to think you were unfit for duty.

“Been a little busy,” you shrugged, eyes flicking from his face to the office behind him.

“Y/N...” he struggled to find what to say, “has this happened before? Or, since even?”

You nodded a little, “before yeah, a few times after the fire, but I was fine in the academy I swear, I haven’t been hiding something that would endanger the rest of the house, if it had happened since I promise you I would have told you Matt,” you poured out. It was the truth, and thankfully he believed.

He relaxed a little, clearly afraid of something worse. “Okay, but you need to talk to me Y/N, or... someone, I don’t want you to go through this alone, I’ve been worried about you,” he admitted, the way he said it causing your breath to hitch a little bit.

“Don’t worry, it’s not going to get in the way of the job,” you assured him but he shook his head at that.

“That’s not the way I meant it Y/N-” he began, an expression on his face you didn’t have time to figure out before you were interrupted by your phone.

It was Will. “Hey what’s up?” You answered as Casey cleared his throat, backing up and getting professional again. What had he wanted to say? You’d think about that later, you told yourself, putting the phone on speaker so Casey could hear. It was a fair assumption that it was about Lily.

“Hey Y/N, just thought I should let you know that Lily’s dad has just checked her out the hospital, it was against Nat’s medical advice but she’s technically fit to leave and he said something about her recovering better with family,” he informed you both, you and Casey casting each other confused and slightly concerned looks.

If it seemed off to you both, that’s because it was. Jay came running up the stairs as if on queue. “What’s going on?” Casey asked, taking in the alarm on Jay’s face.

“Lily’s dad Paul arrived on a flight from Colorado about half an hour ago,” Jay said.

“Yeah we know Will has just been telling us-” you started, holding your phone up with Will still on the line to show Jay.

“No, you don’t understand, we didn’t pick it up until he came through, but Adam found a passport under a different name that came from Colorado to Chicago last week and left back last night,” Jay tried to explain, “the ID photo matches Paul’s, and a credit card under the same name bought over half a dozen products containing kerosene from a handful of different stores near both fires.”

Your jaw went slack, shocked as you tried to process the information. “So he went back to Colorado under his fake ID last night, and got a flight out with his real one this morning, so it’d look like he’d been there the entire time?” Casey read your mind, fists tight at his sides.

“An iron clad alibi...” you muttered, “Will, stop them from leaving!” You called over the phone, knowing he’d heard everything Jay had just said. You heard Will run, breathing heavier as he tried to catch up with Paul and Lily, none of the three of you breathing at all as you waited.

He seemed to reach an exit, having a conversation with someone you couldn’t quite make out before running again. The atmosphere changed, it sounded like he was outside. Then he stopped.

“They’ve gone,” he said angrily and Jay swore, “only just though, I ran out to see if I could stop them but they were already driving away, and Jay - I just saw their car, it was a black dodge charger.”

You paled, what were you going to do now?

#matt casey #chicago fire #chicago pd #chicago med #jay halstead #will halstead #one chicago #matt casey x reader #matt casey imagine #chicago fire imagine #chicago pd imagine #chicago med imagine #matt casey imagines #chicago fire imagines #chicago pd imagines #chicago med imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #okay

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thisbluespirit · 3 years

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Fic Writer Tag Game

I was tagged to do this by @allegoriesinmediasres but it had already gone round Dreamwidth this last week, so I did it there. I’ll try and c+p it over here, too!

1) How many works do you have on AO3? 620 (but I've been writing a lot of short things since around 2006-7, and there might even still be a couple of the 1994-98 fic from the newsgroups up). 2) What’s your total AO3 word count? 1,476,147 (but this does include about 300,000 words of origfic for RaTs and rainbowfic that are collected into three works, so it doesn't affect the works no too much, but it does affect the wordcount.) 3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Too many to list here! A lot. *nods* 4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos? People, it's still Miss Marple. Maybe one day it won't be Miss Marple, but today is not that day. (ETA: whenever i do my top AO3 fic on these memes, it’s disproportionately Miss Marple. I am bemused.) Miss Marple: The Spirit of St Mary Mead So We Meet at Last Not Miss Marple: it's the rain that will strengthen your soul (SW Prequels) Five Times the Doctor Got in the Way of Captain Janeway (and One Time They Got Along Just Fine) (DW/ST) By the Book (Origfic) (Oh, wow, By the Book keeps moving up. It must get recced sometimes, somewhere, mustn't it? 0_o ♥) 5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not? Yes. Fanfic is a lot my way of being social, which is why I don't get along with the new push-button web much. Like, kudos is fine, ok, but I just wanted to talk to people, and via fic always seems to be one of the nicest ways to do it. 6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? Oh, I don't know. I like being bleak sometimes when I feel like it. It might be the EatD one with the two Generals, but honestly there were a few in my mid-illness old bleak telly watching years, and the Level 7 one or the one from Children of the Damned might be even more so? Or some S&S stuff, too? I mean, I wrote S&S plane crash fic and weird drabbles. (I blame my fandoms! It's not my fault! *innocent*) Also I keep doing Clara splinter fic, so I keep killing Clara and it's always sadder than I expect when I get there. You'd think I'd learn by now, or just not kill this splinter, but, nooo, hey, how about MORE Clara splinter death, self? /o\ Oh, no, wait: it's probably Spooks! Spooks is also bleak and how about my tiny ficlet of death, Litany of the Fallen? Oh, actually, if I listen to people who aren't me, it's that B7 Avon/Servalan one, which I was always a bit: BUT I WROTE ONE WHERE THEY WON about it and everyone else was all THIS IS THE WORST in the comments. Sorry? The Quality of Mercy (Is Most Definitely Strained) (I still think the ending of Compendium is more angsty! It has double death!) (Ok, it's me. I like being bleak and angsty when I'm doing it. I'm less sure when someone else is doing it at me, of course. ;-p) 7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? I honestly don't know. I'm usually kind of gen and happy and sometimes even humorous, and keep canon's tone, and DW is fairly light most of the time. I tried searching on Happy, but I have never tagged anything as happy. But probably it is an AAL! thing, because AAL! is happiness in b&w TV form basically. Maybe of Of Human Bondage (or Five Times Adam and His Friends Found Themselves All Tied Up)? But I like all the AAL! ones I wrote for Yuletide, because they were the ones where I tried to be closest to an episode, and that makes them the most fun to re-read. 8) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written? I have a crossover in my top 5, so yes. I'm a DW fan; crossovers are just far too obvious a temptation when you've got a TARDIS. What DW fic writer hasn't managed at least one once somewhere? And I might have, um, written a lot of them. (AO3 says 126). I did once, way back in newsnet times, when we were having a debate over what you could and couldn't cross DW over with (and I was on Team You Can Cross It With Anything You Cowards), write a DW/Rainbow drabble. But I don't think I put that on AO3. I think it might be on Teaspoon. In AO3 works, I think by far the silliest is the Baldrick/Steed one, which AstroGirl said I couldn't write. (It was an Unconventional Courtship summary, not that they randomly dared me to write Baldrick/Steed. I mean, some of my flist totally would have done if they'd thought of it, but not in this case.) 9) Have you ever received hate on a fic? Not really. I've had some weird comments, but the nearest I've come to hate was one of the comments that time I tried to write Swan Queen fic and it wasn't happy enough for people. (I wrote a happy one after, but the ifrst one was set quite early, Regina was still kind of evil!) 10) Do you write smut? If so what kind? Alas, no. Although, ish, if we count my experimental elemental shipping phase, which included The Cornfield (Silver/Steel/(Sapphire)), which is the only time anyone called any of my fic sexy. I would totally have that comment made into a medal or something. 11) Have you ever had a fic stolen? Other than the random scraping things that have gone round over the years, no. 12) Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! Several people have been kind enough to do this, usually into Russian, and usually (but not always!) Miss Marple. 13) Have you ever co-written a fic before? Yes, and no - in adwc days we all co-authored round robins, which were a blast and highly frustrating. I think it'd be fun, but barring the odd bit of drabble tennis with various flisters back in the day, it's not really something that's worked out. (I'm thinking, I could have all the ideas, they could do all the writing, I could criticise?? XD) 14) What’s your all time favorite ship? My Relationships count is very misleading here, because I think it actually is (including in terms of things written for it), Sapphire/Silver/Steel, but it's a weird thing, so sometimes I tag it platonically, and sometimes I don't necessarily tag it at all for that reason, and also I think it puts people off unnecessarily. (But it's a Lie when I don't tag it. All my Sapphire & Silver & Steel is inherently OT3 even if no one else can see it.) 15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? None. I have unposted WIPs, but I do hope to finish those, and the only posted WIP is a very old one only on Teaspoon that was begun before I was ill and I can't even really say at this point that I would want to finish it. 16) What are your writing strengths? Character/dialogue, I think? I am actually not that bad at plot, but currently I lack the stamina for long things. I like to think I can be quite funny when I'm in the mood. 17) What are your writing weaknesses? Description, action. Argh. Yes, let's just talk some more, okay? 18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? I was going to say I would never, but actually I did! I wrote Y Gwyll | Hinterland fic, and it wouldn't be right not to have some Welsh in that. However, while I may be a 1/4 Welsh and know some Welsh words, I don't actually speak it, so I had to turn to Llywela who was very kind and translated the sentences I needed. (I added the English translation in the footnote.) This was the fic, but basically language is important in canon (ironically maybe even more so in the Eng-lang version I watched than the original Welsh), and so it was also important in the fic. So, probably if it was a canon where it was required, then I would do what I could to get help to get it right? The good thing about the internet is that you can usually find someone, although usefully for me, I already knew someone. 19) What was the first fandom you wrote for? Doctor Who! 20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? I'm going to wimp out on this along with everyone else. Although... if any of you have a fave fic of mine, that would be very cool to hear! (But I don't expect anyone to.) Sometimes I'm pleased enough with the latest to feel it's that, but that's not always the case, and it isn't currently. (No, offence, Latest Works! I like you, it just only happens once in a while, usually when I've managed something I've wanted to do for years.)

I won’t tag anyone, because I know lots of people also did this on Dreamwidth, but it’s always VERY cool to see people’s answers to these things and memes are for stealing.

#fanfic #writing #memes #writing meme #ao3 #fannish nonsense #long post #rambling about fic #replies #allegoriesinmediasres #the c+p worked even with the links!#\o/

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ziggyzagreus · 3 years

Text

Bitter Revival

[Pairing: Zagreus/Thanatos - Fandom: Hades (Video Game)]

[Rating: Teen+ Audiences]

[Important Tags: Light Angst, Argument, First Run Spoilers]

[Fic Type: SFW Drabble]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493994 ]

[Summary: Zagreus made it to the surface for the first time, only to be dragged back under.]

[Note: This is basically one hour of me being pissed off after my first run, coincidentally the first time I met Thanatos, too! Great timing.]

~~~

Zagreus had been frustrated with dying before – of course it was irritating to be put through excruciating pain again and again, only left to drag himself from the sticky river of blood and do it all over again. Expelling the irritated tension in his body, he would chat briefly with those that supported him, catching them up and once again saying thanks for their tolerance. Then the prince would stop by Cerberus to apologize for this tease of disappearing indefinitely only to come back and give the big mutt false hope.

Afterwards, he would take the berating from his father with an eyeroll and a shrug, and be on his way. A simple routine, mundane and frustrating, but never angering. In fact, more or less it just gave him something greater to undertake than that blasted paperwork.

But this time was different. This time, the prince seethed. The house was quiet at his return, the usual milling number of Shades absent. Even the ever-present scratching of his father’s quill seemed softer, more distant. Hypnos’ snores were not present either.

It was quiet, and Zagreus lie there in the river for a moment before dragging himself up the steps, the wet and sticky sloshing sound grating against his ears, the sound repulsive to his pounding skull. He pushed a hand through his thickly soaked hair, almost cursing when some dripped down his forehead around his eyes.

Zagreus took the few steps out of the Styx, glaring at the ugly trim carpet and how smoke rose from its fabrics when his feet met the floor. The rushing sound in his ears made him feel as though he was still in the river itself; and admittedly, the prince would rather lie down for another moment before pushing forward yet again.

He had made it all the way through – to the surface, past his father, to his mother… and for what? To be gone in moments? It was unfair. Why death always came to him was like a curse, and the thought of putting up with it again made Zagreus’ blood boil for the first time since he set out.

Death approaches. It always did, eventually.

The prince barely managed to stop short before knocking into someone, spotting the hovering, bare grey feet adorned in golden anklets. Of course. Normally, Zagreus would sigh with a fond exasperation, quickly thinking of excuses for his past actions. The leaving, the lies, all that.

But now he resigned to close his eyes briefly, biting back a growl, and raised his head to meet the piercing gaze of Death Incarnate himself.

“Zagreus.” Thanatos said simply, his tone dull and dampened, yet echoing all at once. “You made it to the surface.”

“I did, Than,” Zagreus replied, only his own words came out more scornful, harsher than he had ever intended. Well, suppose it was warranted in his current state. It was the sentiment carried forward from his true feelings.

“I’m sorry to see you back here then, although it possibly could have done some good to mention to me where you were off to. I could have been present along the way.”

“Oh, you were plenty present, Thanatos. I don’t recall being spared any of the pleasantries of a full death ticket,” Zagreus did not have time nor energy for this. He pushed past Thanatos, tried not to notice his gaze boring into his back.

Thanatos followed behind, his own glare then tangible despite persistence unlike his usual disposition. “I risk much for you, wasting my time out there when I have enough to do on my own. The least you could have done was informed me of your departure. Or consult in me about your brief success. Zag.”

“Shove off, Thanatos, I have to go back. I don’t have time for this.”

“You seem to have plenty of time to run out there and destroy things again, things I need to help fix I’m afraid.”

“Thanatos,” Finally halting his pace, Zagreus groaned again and turned around, threading a hand through his now dry hair, pushing it back from his forehead and letting the brief pain of the pull at his roots ground him. “Consider for a moment that I don’t care much for logistical things like that. Consider, maybe, that the only thing that matters to me is reaching my mother, my birth mother, and asking her the questions that have plagued me for… however long it’s been. Please, I’m asking you to see that and maybe leave me be when I go back out there. “

Thanatos had ceased drifting forward to meet him, instead regarding the prince with stoic expression that solidified like the hard edges of a marble bust. A change flickered in the golden light of his eyes, somehow the shade turning slightly darker. “Mother Nyx was just as much a mother to you as she was to us, Zagreus. But is that all we are now, a ‘logistical’ matter? I would have expected more from a lifelong friend.”

“Some life this is then, being lied to.” Zagreus scowled, for Thanatos was turning his words against him. Surely, as his lifelong friend, Zagreus knew that Death Incarnate was aware exactly of his thought process; that he never took his friends and family for granted, that those who cared for him such as Thanatos and Nyx were the few things that made this claustrophobic Underworld experience bearable. But no, Thanatos’ own grudge towards the prince himself for attempting to leave on impulse must take the foreground, always a quarrel with them. “I’ll be frank now, then. Kindly leave me alone, Thanatos, keep your death far away from me. Because I’m going back to her, to Persephone.”

Thanatos did not flinch, but his upper lip twitched in the tease of a scowl, and that was as good as a recoil. Zagreus took little pleasure from inflicting cruel words, but something about this defiance felt good. He raised his chin, glaring Thanatos down, and could have sworn those hovering feet drifted ever so slightly further towards the ground.

Golden eyes darted over towards the great desk of Lord Hades, but the busy deity seemed lastingly unperturbed. Still, Thanatos spoke softly. “You know I cannot help you, Zagreus. I… I have a duty to stick to, and I cannot stray from that. Even for you.”

An unspoken hesitation in his words spoke volumes, and once again a shift in hue of those beautiful eyes made Zagreus’ heart stutter, something beat and clench in his chest. Still, if Thanatos would stew over a grudge for this long, then two could play at that game. Zagreus’ own started today, or night, whenever it was that his presence was ripped from his mother after all he worked for. Dragged under by the cold and cruel hands of death itself, colder than the wind and snow that whipped about Greece on the surface, again and again. But that time it had hurt even more, an injustice for once clearing the prince of blame for his own passing.

Zagreus knew exactly where the sudden surge of anger came from, but not why or how he allowed it to burst out, right to Thanatos’ unsuspecting face. “Fuck off, Than, truly. You do your work, that’s fine – You do what you are meant to do. But I? I don’t know, I hardly do, and here I must find my mother. Maybe, if I had more than a few painful, bleeding moments with her, then I’d feel some sense of belonging and drive akin to how you treat your work, yes? And if considering you as a logistical obstacle hurts, well, I’ll have you know I’m quite insulted to be seen as your work as well then. My constant death is monotonous to you, and for that, I say please fuck off.”

The House was so quiet. Zagreus’ strange eyes burned, and he would be remiss if not to mention that a cruel little vengeful glee spiked his adrenaline when he saw the way Thanatos looked, features stolid but the well-memorized tells of his timidity betraying him. For the first time since they began speaking, Thanatos looked away, another sneaking glance to the grand desk at the forefront of the room.

Hades had ceased writing for a pause, watching his son before a rumbling scoff left with an exhale of breath. Then, the scratching of the quill resumed.

Thanatos swallowed, looking back to Zagreus.

“Fine,” He whispered, that voice steady at this low volume. Zagreus wondered how it would sound should he speak louder. “I shall leave you entirely to your devices. Expect not to hear from me until I come to collect you back to the river. And that means you will receive little of my help, too.”

“As if you were helping from the start.”

“Zag, please don’t take that tone with me again.”

Zagreus wavered then, his brow relaxing as a soft sigh left his lips. But he could not apologize, he could not relent merely minutes after such an outburst. Squaring his shoulders, he nodded so briefly it was hardly caught. But Thanatos saw. And Zagreus turned on his heel.

Death Incarnate disappeared with a burst of green and grey. The prince only fleetingly wondered on what business he originally came to the House, to leave without finishing the original task.

Unless coming to gloat was the initial intent. No, gloating was not in Than’s nature… Zagreus scrubbed a hand over his face with a guilty groan, and marched right through his room into the tiny courtyard to the rear of the house.

And Centaur Hearts were scarce going forward in his escapes; with the added pact from his father, Zagreus cursed the odds he had accidentally and foolishly stacked against himself.

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impulsive-astrophile · 4 years

Text

Burning up

@weforgotthatwearethestars here’s the post!

Summary: When Dana Scully arrived in their basement office at 8 AM on the dot and Mulder wasn’t already there, waiting for her with a new case or some ridiculous slideshow, it was unusual, but not unprecedented. She figured he was probably just out getting coffee.

By 8:30, she was a little concerned but not overly so. Maybe he just overslept for once.

By 9, she had called his home phone three times and his cell twice. No answer. She was trying not to look like she was waiting by the phone for a call back.

When the clock hit 9:30 she was out the door and in her car, driving to Mulder’s apartment, trying and failing to resist going just a little over the speed limit.

Words: 1795, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandom: The X-Files

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: F/M

Relationship: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully (pre-relationship)

Characters: Fox Mulder, Dana Scully

Additional Tags: Sickfic, Hurt Fox Mulder, Sick Fox Mulder, Hurt/Comfort, More comfort than hurt, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Pre-Relationship, could be interpreted as platonic if you squint, Maybe, But let’s real..., They’re Not, No betas we own our mistakes and cry about them like men

Read it on AO3, or below the cut!

FBI Headquarters

Washington DC

0927

When Dana Scully arrived in their basement office at 8 AM on the dot and Mulder wasn’t already there, waiting for her with a new case or some ridiculous slideshow, it was unusual, but not unprecedented. She figured he was probably just out getting coffee.

By 8:30, she was a little concerned but not overly so. Maybe he just overslept for once.

By 9, she had called his home phone three times and his cell twice. No answer. She was trying not to look like she was waiting by the phone for a call back.

When the clock hit 9:30 she was out the door and in her car, driving to Mulder’s apartment, trying and failing to resist going just a little over the speed limit.

Her knocks at his door go just as unanswered as her phone calls had. She’s just about to turn away, maybe call the Gunmen to see if they know where he is, when she hears a muffled thump inside, followed by silence. She knocks again. “Mulder? Mulder, are you in there?” What might be a “Scully?” comes from inside, and Scully fumbles with her keys, trying to locate the spare Mulder had given her years ago.

Finally, she gets the door open, stumbling a little across the threshold in her haste to get inside. The sight that greets her brings her to a halt. Mulder is sprawled on the floor outside his bathroom, naked except for a towel barely hanging onto his hips, body glistening with what she guesses must be water from the shower.

He must’ve slipped and hit his head trying to get out when he heard the door, she thinks to herself, sliding to her knees by his side and starting to flip him over, only to recoil at how hot his skin is. Fuck, he’s burning up!

She pauses, leaning back to take further stock of his condition. Flushed, pale skin, covered not in water but sweat. She swears quietly to herself, carefully laying him on his back. Further examination, thankfully, reveals no visible head wounds or other external trauma. Just a fever, then, she thinks. Better get the thermometer.

Scully smooths her hand over his forehead before rising to get the medical bag she keeps underneath the sink in his bathroom. One too many times trying to tend to his wounds without adequate supplies had led to its placement there; she’s not even sure if he’d consistently owned so much as a bandaid before he met her.

Returning to his side, she locates and turns on the thermometer, placing it under his tongue after the beep. She uses the couple minutes it takes to get the reading to fill a bowl with cool water and locate some washcloths.

The beep-beep of the thermometer summons her back. She glances at the readout - 104. Damn. Much higher than she’d been hoping. “Okay, Mulder, back in the shower with you,” she sighs. “We have to get this fever down.”

Not without effort, Scully maneuvers him into the shower, settling him against the back wall. She turns the water to a lukewarm temperature, not wanting to shock his system too badly.

The sudden blast of water startles him awake. “‘cull-ee?” Comes his confused voice.

“Mulder,” Scully responds, relieved. “How are you feeling?”

“‘m cold,” he whines, his teeth starting to chatter. “Th’ water is cold. Can you make it warm?”

She doesn’t correct him -- tell him that, in fact, the water isn’t cold, he’s just hot -- she just shakes her head, smiling sympathetically. “Sorry, Mulder, we’ve gotta get your fever down.”

“Fever?” Mulder frowns. “But ‘m cold. ‘s why I took a hot shower earlier,” he tells her.

Well, she supposes, that does make some kind of sense. And it explains why his fever was so high. “Fevers sometimes make you feel cold,” she explains. “But your hot shower brought your temperature up pretty high. I had to get it back down quickly.” He’s still frowning, but he nods, accepting her reasoning. After a couple of minutes, she lets her hand waver on his shoulder. “Will you be able to stay up on your own if I step away to get the thermometer?”

“I think so,” he says, making a show of steadying himself against the wall.

She’s gone and back in a flash, thermometer in hand. “Open up,” she prompts, and he obeys. “Much better,” she says when the reading comes back. “102. Still high, but much better.”

Shivering, Mulder looks at her hopefully, puppy-dog eyes at full force. “Does that mean I can get out now?”

“Yeah,” she says, laughing a little. He’s so cute. “I think it’s safe to get you into bed now.”

Scully turns off the water, pulling a big towel off the rack and wrapping him up in it. She leans him against the counter to dry him off before leading him to his bedroom. Mulder tugs on her arm. “Scully…”

She smiles reassuringly at him, thinking maybe it’s a mess and he’s embarrassed to have her see it, only to open the door to stacks of boxes, no bed in sight. “Mulder,” she turns to him, “please tell me you have a bed.”

Huddled in his towel, Mulder looks chagrined. “Um.”

Scully rolls her eyes before sighing and seeming to come to a decision. “Okay. Do you at least have a dresser in here somewhere?” He nods, pointing. Scully moves toward it and pulls out what looks comfortable. “Okay. We’re going to get you dressed, then we’re going to my place.”

“Scully, you don’t have to --”

“Mulder. You don’t have a bed.” Her tone brooks no argument.

Mulder acquiesces, shivering as Scully helps him dress. His blush is belated as he realizes Scully is seeing him naked, but Scully either doesn’t see or chooses not to comment on his embarrassment.

Together, make their way out of his bedroom -- although perhaps “boxroom” would be more accurate, Scully muses. She supports him as they walk past the mess made of the bathroom. She stops them. “Mulder,” she begins, “if I sit you down on the couch for a few minutes, do you think you can get back up later? I’d like to clean up the mess we made before we leave.”

Mulder considers this, then nods. Scully leads him to the couch, sitting him down and squeezing his shoulder before making short work of the cleaning -- putting away the medical bag, towels, and bowl she got out earlier, then mopping up the bathroom floor and hanging the wet towels over the shower rod.

When she gets back, Mulder is leaned against the arm of the couch, dozing lightly. She smiles. He’s the picture of innocence; huddled in clothes a little too big for him, looking sick, yet face soft and untroubled for the moment. She’s loathe to wake him.

Luckily, she doesn’t have to; as if sensing her gaze, he stirs, looking at her with sleepy eyes. “Good?” He asks, voice muzzy.

“Good,” she replies, running her fingers through his hair. He closes his eyes, leaning into her touch. She chuckles, then slides her hands under his armpits and hauls him up. “Okay, sleepyhead, let’s get you to the car before I have to carry you.”

Scully’s Apartment Complex

Washington, DC

1130

Mulder sleeps for the entire drive to her apartment. Scully watches him when they’re stopped at red lights, struck again and again by just how soft he looks in sleep. It cuts deep, this innocent look. She’s overwhelmed with the need to protect him however she can.

When they pull up outside of her complex, Mulder is still asleep. He snoozes his way through the opening and shutting of her door, then the opening of his own, and her soft, amused, “Mulder, we’re here.”

Ultimately, she doesn’t try too hard to wake him. He needs the rest, and she’s confident that she can carry him to her apartment -- thanks, in no small part, to the complex’s elevator, but also due to her regular workout routine (she’s not a gym rat by any means, but she’d known after their first case together that, one way or another, she’d be carrying his ass out of trouble on a regular basis; so she’d estimated his weight and trained until she could carry it short distances).

She hauls him bodily out of the car and into her arms, grunting with effort as she shifts him into a bridal carry and shuts the car door with her foot.

Her first roadblock comes in the form of the door to her apartment complex; she hadn’t considered how she was going to get it open without any free arms.

She stands there, stumped for a moment, before sending a silent apology to Mulder and putting him over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Even this doesn’t wake him, she notes, amused. He must really be out.

The shoulder carry is much easier on her, and she makes it into her apartment with minimal setbacks; however, he is heavy, and she ends up dumping him rather unceremoniously onto her bed when they finally reach it.

“Oof,” he says, waking up as his back hits the bed.

“Sorry,” Scully says, smiling at his ruffled look. “I had to carry you up here, and you were getting heavy.”

Mulder gazes up at her dreamily, as if this happens every day. “Thanks, babe.”

She splutters a little at the pet name, but he doesn’t even seem to notice he’s said it, so she lets it go, pulling him up further into the bed and tucking him in.

He grabs her arm when she gets up to leave. “Wait. Don’t go, please,” he says, giving her those damn puppy-dog eyes.

Scully sighs. Sometimes she thinks she might give him the world if he flashes her that damn look.

She sits back down next to him, and before she knows it, his arms are wrapped around her waist and his face is snuggled into her stomach. “Mulder…” she protests, but runs her fingers through his hair anyway.

He shivers a little and burrows further into her arms. His skin is still superheated to the touch, and Scully can tell his fever hasn’t passed. But she can’t bring herself to disturb him. He’s not dangerously hot; he’ll be okay for now.

She wriggles down further into the bed so his head rests on her shoulder and presses a kiss to his forehead, still running her fingers through his hair.

He blinks up at her, soft and adoring. “Scully?”

“Yeah, Mulder?”

“I love you.”

Her fingers don’t pause. “I know.” Then, because she’s sure he won’t remember the next time he wakes up, “I love you too, Mulder.”

#Fic #mine #msr #The X-Files #x-files #sickfic #fox mulder whump #actual puppy fox mulder

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 4 years

Text

I Have To Find The Will To Carry On

Fandom: The Clone Wars (2008) | SPOILERS FROM SEASON 7

Characters: ARC-0408 | Echo, CT-7567 | Rex, Clone Trooper Hunter, ARC-5555 | Fives (mentioned)

Tags: hurt/comfort, grief, PTSD, survivor’s guilt, echo needs a hug

Warnings: dehumanization, grieving, suicide ideation, depression/, gore m/, torture m/, medical torture m/, explosions m/, death m/

Set shortly after the ending of the last Bad Bath Arc episode, with a flashback set shortly before said ending. Be mindful of the tags. There ARE spoilers of the new season in this fic.

“You, uh. You just tell us if you need anything else, okay, Echo?”

Echo looked around one more time before sitting down in his bunk with a sigh.

“I don’t think I will, Hunter. This is...” he ran his flesh hand over the soft, clean sheets “This is much more than I’ve had in a long time.”

Hunter shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his head, and Echo offered him a small smile.

“Please don’t look at me like that. The worst thing you can do is treat me like I’m some fragile thing. It’ll take me some time to adjust, of course. But I can manage just fine.”

Hunter squared his shoulders, setting his jaw.

“Right. I would ask the same, if I was in your place.” and he offered him a salute “I welcome you again to Clone Force 99, corporal. It’s great to have you on board.”

“Glad to be here, sir.”

And with a small nod, Hunter left, closing the door behind him.

Echo looked around the small quarters. The first day in the barracks always feels weird, and Echo felt the small pang of anxiety that dragged him back in time, to his first day at the 501st’s barracks.

Their first day.

Fives had taken the upper bed and would hang upside-down every ten minutes or so to interrupt Echo’s reading of the reg manuals just to show off his recently painted helmet with a rishi eel drawn in blue over the white plastoid. They would giggle quietly to themselves, looking at their new armors and even when they bickered Echo knew he couldn’t possibly have asked for a better person to have by his side through the war, and he alwaysbelieved that Fives felt the same way about him.

When Echo decided to leave with the Bad Batch, Rex had asked him if he could spare him a minute before leaving, and so they had walked to the Captain’s barracks. Rex let the doors slide shut behind him, turning on a single dim yellow light that kept his face partially shadowed as the Captain turned to face him.

Echo didn’t quite know what to say. All the time they’ve spent apart… Everything he had missed… He wondered if Rex meant to fill him in on all of it before sending him away with the Bad Batch.

But Rex didn’t speak. Echo could notice the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were curled into fists, how he seemed to be swallowing down once or twice, eyes staring right into Echoe’s.

The silence was deafening. Echo took a small breath and opened his mouth.

“I-”

He fell silent again, wetting his lips for a second to then purse them tightly. He could feel a shiver creeping up his spine. He knew why he was there. Rex also knew. Still he had to ask.

He had to, had to, had to ask, had to know, had to-

“Where is Fives, sir?”

The sharp, shaky intake of air from Rex should have been enough of an answer. Rex shifted his gaze away from Echo, his entire face becoming twisted with something- something Echo had never seemed in his captain face before. It looked like pain for a moment soon it turned into anger, sheer unrestrained anger that shifted into pain as the captain bared his teeth and lowered his eyes.

The low light wasn’t low enough to keep the tears brimming in the captain’s eyes from glisten some, before he blinked them away. Rex lifted his gaze to Echo, wet trail drawn over his cheek.

“I’m so sorry.”

The period Echo had spent in cryostasis had been so cold. The invasive, forced surgeries performed by the separatists’ medical droids under General Grievous’ supervision had been so painful. For a moment throughout the process in whish Echo had been turned into something more machine than human, he had thought he had lost his humanity. His ability to feel anything other than the numb state of sedation and cold.

He had never hated to be wrong so much as he did now.

The pain seemed to cut through the circuits welded on his chest and into the soft, weaker flesh beneath.

“No.” he heard his own mouth say while his mind felt distant, detached from his body that wasn’t his anymore, hadn’t been since the explosion “No, no, it- It can’t be.”

Echo looked back and forth, brain trying to understand what Rex was saying. No. That was impossible. Fives was… Was the best of them. He couldn’t- he wouldn’t-

“No, no, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” he speaks louder, like he can convince Rex to change what he had just said “No! He would wait for me! He wouldn’t just- He can’t have just-“

Echo reached forward, grabbing Rex’s chest plate and yanking him closer despite his weakened joints.

“Rex, it can’t be, Rex-“ a sob cut off his words, and Echo felt his eyes hot with tears that blurred his sight like the ice in the cyostasis chamber would and he almost felt like he was back in the cursed thing, trapped, breathless, freezing from the inside out “Rex, please, I’m begging you…!”

Rex wrapped his arms over Echoe’s, pulling his brother into a hug and Echo just slumped against him, shaking his head over and over. It was like the last shred of sanity he had been clinging on to – his brothers, his family, his home, his only sense of normalcy in this chaotic, wretched universe – had been torn from him.

“He died as a soldier, Echo.” Rex said, voice half-choked

Back in the Citadel, the impact of the blast aimed at Echo had knocked him back into the shuttle with such violence that his helmet slipped out of his head; his body had hit the back wall so hard all the air left his lungs as the explosion made everything turn into a spiral of scorching heat, and roaring fire. The concussion had been enough to make him barely feel the charred stumps of his right arm and left leg or the weight of the durasteel cargo crate that had crushed his right leg. The last couple of breaths he had taken before losing consciousness ached, both because of the smoke-filled air and his two broken ribs. Fainting had been almost a blessing.

Not much later the droids had forcibly amputated what was left of his three limbs after the explosion with no anesthesia, and Echo had trashed against the binds that kept him secured over a table, screamed himself hoarse, lost control of his bladder, begged for death over a thousand times. He then had wires and tubes connected to his spine, heart and lungs before the ice engulfed him and his mind was ravished, invaded, and every ounce of resistance was met with punishing agony

All that pain, all that torture, and cruelty and still, still-

This was the most painful moment of his life.

“Why?!” he sobbed, feeling Rex’s cheek wet with tears against his jaw “He had no right… He couldn’t leave me..!”

Echo wondered for a moment if he was upset at Fives for dying or if he was just jealous of him. The entire time he was away, his only wish had been that the separatists had let him die. And now he would have to live without his dearest brother.

“Isn’t fair… We should’ve gone together… Side by side, I would’ve… Would’ve been glad to march away with him…”

Rex ran a gloved hand clumsily over the back of Echo’s hair. It reminded him of the way older cadets would soothe their younger brothers when they would confess to be afraid to go to battle.

“I know you would. I know, Echo.” Rex swallowed down, not letting go of Echo “He loved you so much, brother. Never was the same after he lost you. Kept searching for meaning in all of this, kept trying to make sense of it all. Made sure to ensure all regs were being kept like he… Like he was trying to bring some of you with him wherever he’d go.”

Echo sobbed harder at that, clutching Rex like a lifeline. His legs whirred, weakened by the overwhelming feelings in his brain, and Rex kept him standing still. He would always carry his men whenever they’d need him.

“We all missed and mourned you at the base, Echo. We felt your loss, but the scar it left on Fives never healed. He fought and bled and struggled to protect everyone, you knew him. And this wish to protect us ended up costing his life.” Rex paused for a moment “It was all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

Echo pulled back some, trying his best to keep his legs working still, despite how much he wanted to just sink to his knees and rip the circuits off his chest to make sure his heart would finally cease to beat for good.

“You always said that, captain.” Echo sniffled, rubbing his eyes “I’m sure you blamed yourself over what happened to me, too. It wasn’t your fault. None of it is.

Rex raised his eyes to the ceiling, clearly trying to hide his tears as he drew a long breath and let it out sharply to then look back at Echo. His eyes were bloodshot and tired, so tired. Echo knew he wasn’t looking good at all after everything the separatists had done to him, but the captain seemed to have aged so much since the last time he’d seen him.

Was it their fate, all of them clones? To wither away, to be tortured and mutilated, to die in pain? Who could say the ones of them that survived were the lucky ones?

Rex opened one of the pouches on his belt, retrieving a small comm device from it and offering it up to Echo.

“Here. I’ll reach you through it soon.”

Echo looked at the thing with curiosity before placing it in his own pouch.

“That’s… nonstandard.”

“That’s because it won’t be used for standard communication. I need an outside line to you. Its signal is scrambled, and the communications through it must be kept short to avoid us being heard, understood?”

Echo gave Rex a tiny smile.

“Ah, yes. Breaking the rules. Now it feels like home. Fives would-“

Echo stopped himself. He couldn’t say his name. Not yet. Rex swallowed down, reaching for the same pouch again.

“Oh, and this is for you.” he held his hand up closed in a fist “Fives used to keep it on him always, but he left… his equipment behind before his last mission. I managed to retrieve it and kept it with me, and when I thought that we might finally meet again, I brought it with me so that you could have it.”

The captain opened his fingers, and in his palm there was a small piece of durasteel. Echo took it with his flesh hand, holding it close to inspect it. It was slightly blackened, and the shape of it made it look like it had been cracked off from a larger piece rather than crafted to be of that exact size, although it did look like someone had smoothened the edges of it some to make them blunt.

“What is it?”

Rex gave him a bittersweet smile.

“No one knew. He only told me what it was right before we… lost you. This is a piece of the Rishi Moon outpost, after Hevy blew it up. I figure it must’ve been a part of one of the reinforced windows.”

Echo looked back at the memento in awe, sight going blurry with tears again.

“Rishi Moon… it feels like forever ago.”

“Yeah…”

The two of them shared a moment of silence, and as Echo stared at the piece of durasteel, he thought of Fives. Of his funny quips, his chaotically improvised plans, of his laugh and his particular way to annoy Echo as a display his affection. And he knew Rex did the same.

Remembering a fallen warrior was the way to keep him marching beyond. If it was up to Echo, he would make sure that the memory of Fives would never fade away.

Echo laid down on his bunk, reaching for the crook of his neck and feeling the small silver chain to then tug gently at it until he managed to pull the small durasteel pendant from under his black shirt and over his chest – where it clanged softly against the plate over his sternum.

He shifted on the bed, still unused to the weight and lack of mobility of his prosthetic legs, thinking of the comm that Rex had given him, hidden under a few bundled wires of a compartment in his. Skywalker had made him a new prosthetic arm that lighter and more efficient, with actual jointed fingers and sensors over the digits and palm. What was it that Rex wanted to talk about, hidden even from their superiors?

Echo ran his fingers over the piece of durasteel hanging from his necklace.

“What am I gonna do without you, brother?”

The haunting silence that followed never answered his question.

#to post on ao3 #hurt/comfort #clone feels #echo #rex #tcw #tcw spoilers

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