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radioactivepeasant · 11 months

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Fic Prompts: Free Day Thursday

Splinter Cell au today! Last Splinter Cell was father-son bonding time, so today Jak gets to spend time with his mom

Phobos was a light sleeper even in the best of times. Here in this rebel base, during the second week of her and Damas rotating between Haven and Spargus with their children, even the slightest noise was enough to wake her. She sat up in her cot and let her eyes adjust to the half-light of the Babak settlement's barracks. What had roused her?

She let her eyes roam the long wooden hut, taking stock of each of her fellow Spargans and the members of Brutter's tribe. Leave it to a son of Damas to reforge the alliance between the Babak and the House of Mar by accident. Damas had been insufferable for an entire day when he found out. But Phobos found she couldn't be too irritated at him; the way Jak and his fluffy friend brightened when they heard him bragging about them was enough to make that stupid little smirk bearable. They walked a little taller any time she or Damas complimented them, Phobos had noticed. It was nice to see Jak opening up.

Thoughts of her newfound son drew her gaze to his cot, two beds over. With how restless he'd proven to be, Phobos half expected the cot to be empty. But it wasn't.

Jak sat hunched in the center of the cot with his knees pulled to his chest. Even in the gloom, it was apparent that something wasn't right. The fingers that gripped his knees were tipped with curved, black, talons. His skin had faded from bronze to an almost reflective pearl.

Oh.

Phobos had heard the reports of Jak's "Hunter" shape before, but she had never witnessed it in person. She took in the curved horns rising from his curls, and it struck her that the boy resembled nothing so much as the dragonowls that nested in the cacti in Strider Range. All he was missing were the feathers at this point. Even the flickers of violet sparks dancing across Jak's horns didn't diminish the fact that, in the context of desert life, the Hunter form was a little endearing.

Rising from her cot, Phobos shook out her tunic and made a show of stretching. From what she'd heard, startling Jak when he was in a battle-shift didn't end well. Stark black eyes zeroed in on her in an instant, tracking her movement. Phobos smiled at him and approached his bed slowly.

"Hey, little owl" she whispered, "What's got you up so late?"

His ears flicked up, then back -- a warning that he did not want to be touched, Phobos guessed. She settled on the very end of the cot and kept her hands where he could see them. Had he had a nightmare? From the things Tess mentioned now and then, Phobos knew the boy had more reasons for nightmares than most people twice his age. They may have been just acquaintances so far, but it rankled to know a young boy had suffered so horribly with no one to stand up for him.

"Are you alright, owlet?" Phobos frowned gently and tilted her head. "Has something disturbed you?"

Surprise softened Jak’s face. He cocked his head and mirrored Phobos's frown.

"You're not afraid?" asked clawed hands.

Phobos clicked her tongue, almost scoldingly.

"Why should I be? I am as dangerous as you are, owlet. And neither of us are as dangerous as the sea."

Jak furrowed his brow and drew his knees in closer.

"...doesn't feel good," he finally admitted. "Too much dark eco, can't let it out right now."

"Ah." Phobos sighed and shifted a little closer. "You're oversaturated? Yeah? I saw that happen to your father once when an ammunition crate broke."

It was getting easier to call Damas this boy's father. Easier to think of Jak as her own.

"It was a different kind of eco, sure, but it looked like it sucked either way."

If he had been Mar -- a strange statement, considering he had been Mar in another world, another life -- Phobos would have rubbed his back and hummed him to sleep again. But Mar was a toddler, still dependent on his adults for comfort. And Jak was just a few years shy of being old enough for the Arena trials! Most teenagers his age found such coddling embarrassing; Phobos could admit that she had been one such teenager once upon a time, cringing at her own mother's public affection.

But would Jak be the same?

He was so much older than their Mar, and yet sometimes she could see her little boy peering out from behind those bright eyes. He was starved for affection, but conditioned to distrust most touch. Unbearably lonely, but afraid of rejection.

Phobos bit her lip, then held out her hand. "Come on, Jak. Let's go outside. We'll get that eco spent so you can go back to sleep, alright?"

Jak winced and looked up. Fangs dug into his lip as he frowned.

"Can't. Might need it for battle."

"There will be more eco in battle," Phobos said. She stood and kept her hand extended.

"Come on, baby. I got you. I'll watch your back, okay?"

It took another five seconds of gentle cajoling before Jak uncurled himself and slid off the cot. He didn't take her hand -- he usually didn't -- but when Phobos looked back, he had the end of her sash in one hand, twisting it around his claws like he was afraid he'd get lost if he let go. He let himself be shepherded along the catwalks connecting the Babak village to the mine shafts. The humming of the elevator seemed to vibrate in his bones, through his horns, unbearably loud.

It was better to wake up in the stifling heat of the caverns, better to be surrounded by snoring, than to find himself in the harsh cold of the Baron’s laboratories. Better to be soaked with sweat on a creaky cot than to shiver while listening to the screams of other test subjects. But even here, even from the grave, Errol still held sway over his nightmares. That was what had gathered the eco into battle-readiness in his body, looking for threats that did not exist. Jak was a haunted man.

The cool night air washed over them both, and Jak shivered. It ended in a sneeze, and the woman beside him smiled softly.

She nodded to the cliffs above the cave network.

"Sig said he saw you scale a building in this shape, fast as a lizard. I bet you're even faster with real handholds."

She stepped back and squinted as if searching for something.

"I'll bet," she said slowly, "I'll bet you there's a couple hotfoot lizards up there, actually. You can eat those, you know. They don't taste that great, but they help your body regulate heat better for a while."

She shrugged.

"Why don't you see if you can catch a few, and I'll show you how to cook them in the morning."

Jak's sharklike eyes studied the cliffs, absorbing even the smallest pinprick of light. He grinned slowly.

"Eat them raw?"

Phobos made a face. "Blegh! You can, but you might regret it later."

"I might not."

"Oy!" Phobos shook her head and laughed quietly. "You sound like Damas when he was young!"

She wasn't sure if the subsequent darker hue of the boy's skin was a blush, or if the observation had made him lose a little dark eco.

Jak bent his knees slightly, and then with a rush of air he leaped; suddenly airborne, six feet directly up. One hand caught the face of the cliff, and soon he was scaling up the rocks at a dizzying rate. Despite herself, Phobos felt her jaw drop. She had never seen anyone but a Lurker make a jump like that unaided! Would Mar be able to do that one day? Or was this an ability only Jak had, learned from the Dark Oracle that favored him?

"Look at you!" She laughed in astonishment and clapped a hand to her forehead. "I oughta put you on the rigging in my fishing boat!"

Jak reappeared after a noisy minute or two with dark spots on one cheek that looked suspiciously like blood.

"Found the lizards," he signed down to her.

Phobos raised an eyebrow. "Did you eat them?"

"No....yes. One." Then he reached back and almost sheepishly raised the battered carcass of a Glub.

"Ohhhh." Phobos squinted up through the darkness. "You want any help up there? Or do you just want to hunt until the eco runs out?"

She knew the answer before Jak had even set the Glub down to sign again.

The moment she'd said "hunt", his eyes had narrowed and his ears flicked up.

Dark eco wasn't just the element of the ocean. It was the element of the hunter, the carnivore, and the tempest. The chase was in its very nature, and right now that nature was rushing through Jak's veins at breakneck speed.

Jak bared his fangs in what was either a show of aggression to Glubs, or a very unsettling smile. Then he dropped out of sight, and Phobos guessed that he was probably shimmying along the ground to look for lizards.

He would probably be up there for a little while. Phobos strolled along the small strip of beach, looking for palm fronds to weave into a basket. She somewhat doubted that Jak would remember to actually bring her any lizards, but she liked working with her hands nonetheless. Without really thinking about it, she hummed quietly, keeping a rhythm with her hands. It was a lively tune, a folk song so old that no one in Spargus really remembered where it had come from. In the language of the people who had once lived in the ruined coastal settlements, the lyrics were something to do with a wily cacomiztli asking a cockatoo to a Fiesta with her. She praised the bird's plumage and grace, and he, flattered, agreed to go. Naturally, the song ended with the cacomiztli having a very nice party meal.

A bit morbid, perhaps, but it had a fine, rollicking melody, and easy to remember rhymes -- even for those who couldn't speak the Coastwatcher dialect. And it reminded children not to trust a flatterer.

A shuffling of feet on the sand paused Phobos's humming, and she glanced up. Jak crouched less than two feet from her, watching with a bemused expression. How was he so quiet?!

His horns had receded considerably, now no more than little nubs poking out of his curls. He'd gotten some color back, too.

"Oye, owlet, did you bring me any lizards?" Phobos asked.

Sheepishly, he held up two lizard tails. Evidently, he had forgotten that the creatures could detach their tails and flee. By the mess on his hands, Phobos guessed he'd spent more time hunting Glubs. She laughed and patted the sand next to her.

"Better luck next time, eh? Here- go get yourself a frond. We're making baskets until you're ready to go back to sleep."

The dark eco continued to fade as Jak struggled to weave with claws. What little hadn't been expended on the small carnivores up the cliff was rapidly being reabsorbed into his bloodstream. When the dark form dropped entirely, Phobos almost didn't notice at first. Jak was as quiet as before, sitting still and watching her weave. She continued to hum until a raspy voice interrupted her.

"Did...Dax...teach you...that?"

Phobos glanced up and noticed Jak wince and massage his throat. She clicked her tongue sympathetically.

"Regretting eating that lizard raw, huh? Too bad we didn't bring our canteens so you could wash that taste out."

"It...was bad." Jak made a face.

With a chuckle, Phobos scooted closer. "Alright owlet, let me see what you've got."

She looked at the sad, lopsided basket, and took hold of Jak's hands to guide him.

"Here: over, under. Over, under. Do that all the way around until you have an alternating pattern on each stem."

Jak furrowed his brows and did his best to follow her movements.

"You didn't answer my question," he croaked.

Ugh. That taste was going to sit in his throat for hours.

"Which one, baby?" Phobos asked, reaching over to flick a coil of hair out of his face.

Baby.

Nobody had ever called him baby before. Well, not sincerely, anyway. Jinx and his guys did sometimes, but they called everyone nicknames like that, because they were weird.

They didn't have the same warmth in their voices, and they definitely didn't apply affectionate nicknames to his dark form!

"The song. Daxter's favorite when we were little. Did he teach you?"

Phobos leaned back. "It's been around that long? Huh! Didn't think the Coastwatcher people went as far as Dead Town."

Jak shrugged. "Daxter's not from Sandover either. He showed up in a boat a year before I did. Said a hurricane washed his village away and he was trapped in the boat."

Jak paused as something occurred to him.

"Wait. How far is your island from Misty Island?"

"Misty Island?"

"Where everyone says the Nest is," Jak clarified.

With how much dark eco had been there when he was a kid, he wasn't surprised that the metalheads had chosen Misty Island to nest.

"About two days on a propeller boat," Phobos said, rubbing her chin, "Closer to two hours by air."

The math lined up surprisingly well, and Jak began to wonder if perhaps his best friend had his origins on the same island he had allegedly been born on. One more thing tying them together; Daxter would be so excited!

"You telling me your buddy in the Titan Suit is a Coastwatcher?" Phobos asked with interest.

"Um...maybe? Have to ask."

Phobos whistled low. "When we go home, we'll have to keep the monks from snatching him. They're obsessed with history and archeological discovery. You tell them a Coastwatcher ancestor is still living and they'll lose their minds."

Jak laughed, almost silently. "He'd probably like that, though. It's rough being the last survivor."

Phobos wrapped an arm around his shoulders and, distracted as he was, Jak simply leaned into her. Phobos stilled, unwilling to jeopardize this moment. She smiled and set her basket aside to brush a hand over her son's hair.

"Well. Neither of you are alone now," she murmured. "And I can promise you, we're not going anywhere."

Was it her imagination, or did Jak lean into her side a little further?

They sat quietly for a moment, watching the waves roll in and out. Then, barely audible over the hiss of the surf, Jak whispered,

"Good."

#jak and daxter #splinter cell au #fic prompts #writing prompts #free day thursday #phobos #captain phobos #jak's mother #spargan ocs #jak and daxter au #my headcanon is that the ruins on the edge of the wasteland used to trade with sandover #and everyone in sandover always treats dax like an outsider so i figured hey maybe he came from another village #the descendants of the Coastwatcher settlements now live mostly in Spargus and don't know a lot about the communities lost in the hurricane #dark jak #dark jak gets to be treated with affection!#owlet is his mom's personal nickname for him now because of his dark form

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morganaseren · 3 months

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Hi! I'd love to know more About We'll Lose the Grip in Waters Dark, the Poets must be out for Blood and the bodyguard au for the wip meme 👀

((I deeply apologize for how long this took me to get out. I work nights now at my apprenticeship, which means I'm on the weirdest sleep schedule... 😅))

Pairing: Leliana/Niamh Cousland

Rating: Teen

AU: We'll Lose Their Grip in Waters Dark Note: While this AU does deal with one of Niamh's worst worldstates, everything in regards to her relationship with Leliana will always be consensual. Honestly, Leliana goes out of her way to ensure Niamh's consent in whatever they do--not necessarily just in the bedroom.

In this scene, Leliana is lost in her thoughts while they're having sex. There's nothing especially explicit about the act itself, but I'm putting everything under a Read More due to length. There's also some mention of what Niamh's past was like before Leliana came into her life, but it's nothing graphic--a brief comment or two at best.

---

Leliana had remembered early on in their relationship how a simple hug had stunned Niamh into silence, words collapsing mid-sentence with the gesture. At once, Leliana had pulled back, wondering if she'd perhaps been too forward with her affection.

Upon Niamh's features, the surprise had been evident, of course, but Leliana also hadn't missed miss the flicker of quiet wonder and yearning in that gaze--perhaps from the simple knowledge that another person would ever seek to touch her with more than just lust in their hearts.

Past the depths of those bewitching eyes had been a soul so starved of such simple kindness, but beneath the oppressive environment of Kinloch Hold, Niamh had long conditioned herself never to ask for it, less it be misconstrued for more by the men and women who acted as both guard and executioner.

Her thrusts slowed then, unable to help the guilt that slowly crept into her. As Left Hand of the Divine, could she say she was any different from them? With an intelligence network that spanned nearly every corner of Thedas and the ability to command the death of any whom dared to seek harm against Justinia, Leliana was one of the most powerful women in the world. Did Niamh feel the need to chain herself to her out of fear that she'd be next?

"Leliana!"

And all at once, Leliana's worries faded at the simple call of her name. Her lover's usual soft-spoken voice had become high and tight with her arousal due in no small part to Leliana's ministrations.

Still, Niamh knew it was her there. Not some Templar or some faceless dignitary in the sea of contacts that Knight-Commander Gregoire had used her to curry favor with. Not the Left Hand. Not the terrifying spymaster or bard.

Just... Leliana.

And did Niamh not know her best?

"Leliana, please..." she begged again, voice breaking with the entreaty as blunt nails scrabbled helplessly against the back of her tunic. "I'm so close..."

"Shh... I have you," Leliana reassured, pressing her lips against the damp skin of the other woman's temple in apology for her distraction. "I have you," she repeated. "Just as you never need to hide your pleasure from me, you never need to beg from me either. I will always give you what you desire."

With silken heat still clinging to her fingers between the apex of Niamh's thighs, Leliana swiped her thumb in such a way that it immediately had the woman's body going taut beneath hers with a sharp gasp. Leliana couldn't help her own trembling as she felt velvet walls tightening and shuddering beneath her touch. She wound her arm behind Niamh, providing support as the mage's back arched instinctively with the rush of pleasure coursing through her. Leliana continued to work her fingers through wet folds albeit at a more languid pace, gently coaxing Niamh to the end of her release. It was only when her lover released the tightened grip around her shoulders and ceased shivering did Leliana finally pull out.

"Oh, good girl..." she rasped. She smiled when her words earned a lazy hum of delight at the praise. Leliana then peppered slow, tender kisses across Niamh's face, and the gentle laughter it caused was ever sweet music to her ears. "You did so well. Can you sit up for me? Ah. There we go. Good girl. I'm sure my desk can't make for a very comfortable surface after all that."

Leliana gently maneuvered Niamh's body to the side so that she could get her arms beneath her knees and shoulders more easily. With an effortless flex of muscles, she lifted her lover up and away from her desk. Carefully, she moved to seat them both into the chair behind her, settling Niamh atop her lap with the woman's calves draped over the lacquered arm.

"Are you alright?" she questioned, reaching out to adjust Niamh's robes, where it had settled awkwardly around her waist. Sheepishly, Leliana could admit that she'd been a tad too impatient to deal with the intricacy of the belts and knots there. As such, she had simply tugged and pulled at the fabric until her mouth and hands had unimpeded access to the treasure of soft flesh beneath. She could also see the marks dotting the area around Niamh's neck--all too visible now that enough time had passed--where Leliana had been unable to resist sampling the flawless temptation of skin before her. She was a delight in more ways than one, truly.

"I'm fine."

"You're certain it wasn't too much?" Her continued inquiries only drew a roll of those mist-grey eyes, but there was little missing the smile upon her lover's lips.

"You ask me that as if I didn't provide you ample incentive to take me here. Besides, your own attire didn't escape entirely unscathed either," Niamh remarked, reaching out to touch the vee of her tunic, where it had a more noticeable rip that split further down the middle. The lacing that held it together was now noticeably frayed, barely held in place by the eyelets that were threatening to split at the seams. "Hm. Leave this with me in the morning. Madame de Fer mentioned wanting to introduce me to her seamtress. I can ask if she'd be willing to mend this as well."

"As you wish," was Leliana's own response, unable to deny her, given how so rarely Niamh asked for anything. Granted, Leliana was somewhat distracted with the attention being given to her as Niamh gently adjusted the wide collar of her shirt. She quite enjoyed those small, exploratory touches. "Would you like anything from the kitchens?"

"Later perhaps." Niamh turned her head then to guide her arm back into the sleeve of her robes. "I don't think I can feel my legs ye--"

And then the other woman paused very abruptly, tensing in her lap.

Confused, Leliana's arms tightened instinctively around her, her senses immediately going on alert for anything that could have startled her lover. "Niamh?"

But the mage continued to stare ahead. "I... I think I've ruined your desk," she answered haltingly, disbelief evident in her voice.

Leliana blinked, letting the words settle over her before following Niamh's gaze to the object in question. Her desk had been unceremoniously cleared before she had laid Niamh atop it earlier. Before long, she had her lover's bare back against the wooden surface as they rocked against one another. At one point, however, she could remember feeling the faintest tingle along the nape of her neck during their coupling. It wasn't unlike how she could detect Niamh using her element of her choice out in the battlefield before the mage allowed lightning to strike.

It did in fact strike there as Leliana curiously eyed the fractal burns now etched across the wood grain, perfectly encompassing the shape of her lover's back in jagged asymmetry. She saw beauty in the chaos of its design, but she could also see the dismay settling into Niamh's features, and Leliana couldn't stand to leave her upset. She pressed her lips to the shoulder closest to her, still bare with Niamh's distraction.

"'Ruin?'" she repeated. "How could anything you touch possibly be less than sublime?" Leliana couldn't stop her smug grin. "If anything, I would consider it a compliment to my skills..."

And Leliana supposed such evidence would make working at her desk all the more enjoyable in the future.

Of course, her humor had earned her a grumble of discontent as Niamh hid her face against her neck. Leliana could feel the heat of the woman's blush against her skin, which charmed and amused her in equal measure, but she made no comment about it.

She settled her feet apart more firmly before rising in one fluid motion. Her smirk grew somewhat at the soft noise it elicited from Niamh, who was perhaps still surprised that she could lift her so easily.

"Come along, Mon Ciel Étoilée," she said, carrying her toward the side door of the office that opened into Leliana's personal quarters. "I do believe a warm bath is calling for us."

((I did not forget about your other prompts, friend! I promise! I just decided to separate them into two other parts since they were getting rather long! 😅 I hope you like this first one though!))

#illusivesoul #lee's inbox #leliana #female cousland/leliana #OTP: What If We Rewrite the Stars?#AU: We'll Lose Their Grip in Waters Dark #i was talking to someone ages ago about how Leliana gave off strict dom vibes in Inquistion #which is obviously a far cry to how playful she is in Origins #i present to my audience playful dom Leliana 😌#whiiich probably gives her 'allow me. i can do that for you' line in Origins a whole new light 😏#i have six more prompts to get to so expect more writing from me in the next week or so

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tennessoui · 2 years

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Miss Kit, if you’re still taking prompts. How about “You love me, right?” for AU where Mafia boss Anakin corrupts Obi-Wan.

hi hi hi!!! so this was a bit weird to write because the au in question is really like 1-2 posts (i know there's an original but i can only find the follow up) which means it was a lot of building!!! which was cool but also that means this is actually 2.5k rip

anyway this is an au where basically young detective obi-wan is sent undercover to infiltrate mob boss anakin's criminal organization and he's successful but he falls in love with anakin in the classic 'got too deep and can't get out' thing. at least anakin loves him and loves corrupting him. (this is dark--duh--and age reversal, so obi-wan is 23 and anakin is 39.)

sorta a reverse pbatmb but not because i think there are really fascinating differences between the stories but it is a dark mob boss story with flipped mob bosses, so it's a LITTLE reverse pbatmb lol

anyway

(2.4k)

It isn’t surprising that Anakin is waiting for him, not really. He’d probably had him tailed to the police station and back again. He might even have told his man to kill Obi-Wan should he not exit the building within fifteen minutes.

After all, letting Obi-Wan run away once was about proving a point. Twice just looks bad.

So he’s not surprised that upon stepping into the lobby of Anakin’s restaurant, his elbow is caught by one of the men. “Vader wants ya,” Ahsoka tells him. She sounds grim.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Obi-Wan replies. Maybe it’s because he feels—free. Maybe it’s because he feels confused and like he’s swallowed a ball of lead that transformed itself into a hornet’s nest upon contact with his stomach. He shrugs Ahsoka’s hand off. “I know where to go.”

Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, but she does sneer. She didn’t like him much before she found out he was a rat. She especially didn’t like him after he ran that first time, no matter that at the time he’d thought he was running for his life. She probably didn’t think his life was worth the trouble he’d caused.

They’re both lucky Vader thinks differently.

“Watch your step,” she tells him like it’s a threat, at the base of the grand staircase that leads to the second floor. Ostensibly, there’s more dining up there for anyone in want of a table at a hot, fancy, popular restaurant with countless awards. Realistically, Obi-Wan knows that the second floor of the restaurant is where Anakin conducts his business.

His other business.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replies, pausing on the third step to look down. It’s the events of the past twenty-four hours that make his tongue loosen in a way that only Anakin has ever rewarded him for. “He says you’re jealous.”

Ahsoka’s eyes flash in the low light as she takes a step closer. She’d been about to retake her spot at the front, the guard dog of Vader’s mob. “What.”

Obi-Wan steps down until he’s only one step higher than her. It makes them almost the same height. “He says you’re jealous,” he repeats. “Ani does.”

Obi-Wan never calls Anakin Ani, not unless he’s been told to by the man in scenarios where it helps both of them with their covers: Anakin as someone to underestimate. Obi-Wan as someone to write off. It works now too for a vastly different reason. The only one allowed to call Anakin by his first name is Obi-Wan himself. Not even Ahsoka, his apprentice, can.

“I’m not,” Ahsoka snaps. She grips the bannister so hard that her knuckles turn white.

“Really?” Obi-Wan asks. “Because, well. I was an undercover cop, he caught me, he still kept me, and then I slashed his face, I ran away, and when I came back he still welcomed me with open arms. But you—he broke your finger for bungling the shipment I told Windu about. I’d be jealous too, in your place.”

Ahsoka tries to take a second step up, be on level with Obi-Wan, but he stops her with a hand raised and placed on her neck. “Now, now,” he says. “Vader wants to see me.”

Anakin’s apprentice snarls but lets him go. She always has to let him go because Anakin loves him. Anakin wants him.

“One day, someone’s going to show you your place, Ben,” Ahsoka takes a step back, a strategic retreat.

“I know my place, ma’am,” Obi-Wan says in Ben’s accent, soft and unassuming, framed and workshopped off of Vader’s own speech patterns because the linguist the police hired had thought it would breed familiarity. “Similar to yours, it’s beneath Anakin. Mine just comes with more perks.”

He loves me for one, he doesn’t say. He doesn’t particularly want to shove a crowbar into Anakin’s relationship with his apprentice. Not because he doesn’t think Anakin would forgive him for it, but because it sounds more complicated than it’s worth. Ahsoka will adjust. Anakin will make sure of it.

He doesn’t love you, an unwelcome voice murmurs in the back of his head. The memory is fresh. Mace Windu, senior detective, had said that not even an hour ago, clutching Obi-Wan’s resignation letter tightly in both hands. Parting words that had landed like a grenade in his mind, even as he tried to shake it off.

Has anyone ever? He’d shot back, eyes drawn without his express permission to stare heavily at the sheriff’s closed door. Qui-Gon had refused to see him. His own father—he makes one choice he doesn’t approve of, slips and stumbles in a situation his father sent him into, and suddenly Qui-Gon Jinn never adopted a boy.

He’d left the station soon after, but not before Detective Windu hda fired a parting shot: I’d hate to see you spend the rest of your life catering to your daddy issues.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even really thought about the words, what they meant, not until he’s walking through the open doors of the second floor to see Anakin lounging in a firm chair at the head of a table. The table is laid heavy with food: fruit, cold meats, cheeses, pasta, salads, oysters.

All of it untouched. Some of it Obi-Wan had admitted to never trying, some of it he’d told him were his favorittes.

Anakin smiles when he sees him, dropping the knife he’d been spinning around in his fingers to hold out a hand as he shifts his body, readjusts to rest his chin on his fist. “Welcome home, baby. Happy retirement.”

Obi-Wan gets halfway from the entrance of the room to Anakin before he stops. He doesn’t mean to. He’d been ready and willing and eager to climb into the older man’s lap, kiss him dirty, lick down the pink scar over his eye that Obi-Wan had given him. But—he can’t shake Mace Windu’s words. Men like Skywalker can’t love. You’ve found yourself in the eye of a hurricane, but storms move quick.

It had been his mentor’s last piece of advice for him, before his feelings and disappointment had turned his words into insults and petty blows.

Men like Skywalker can’t love.

“Baby?” Anakin sits up straight, head cocked slightly as he studies him. “Did they give you trouble? Quitting a job isn’t illegal. You gave them two weeks and everything. Well, I did. But you were there. You were quite…enthusiastic.”

Obi-Wan swallows and can feel a blush burn down his face and across his cheeks. He remembers the terms of which Anakin had called into the police department, asked to speak to Obi-Wan’s supervisor, and smugly told them that as Obi-Wan’s new employer, he was phoning to let them know that Obi-Wan was giving a two-weeks notice, but that they had talked about it, and Anakin would allow him to finish up on any current assignment he was working on.

The assignment Obi-Wan had been working on was, of course, infiltrating Anakin’s criminal organization while undercover as a lackey from out of town named Ben.

Obi-Wan had, at the time of the call, been on his knees beneath Anakin’s desk.

“Come here, Benny,” Anakin purrs. Obi-Wan has never liked that nickname, not since the very first time the mobster had called him it, and he thinks he probably knows.

He’d studied Anakin, right, before he’d gone under. He knows that Anakin still sometimes calls him Ben on purpose because Obi-Wan can never stop the flash of guilt he feels at having started a relationship with Anakin before the older man knew who he really was. He knows Anakin uses it against him. He knows Aanakin probably can’t even help it.

It still stings. Many things do, in their relationship. But Anakin kisses the hurts better every time. He’s the only person who has ever said he loved Obi-Wan and then—then actually tried to make good on the promise.

Obi-Wan’s mouth is dry, but he has to ask. “You—you love me, right?”

Anakin blinks at him and lounges back in his seat to look at him consideringly. His hand drops down onto his thigh. Like this, the man looks more Vader than Anakin, and it makes Obi-Wan shiver. No one in the precinct actually, really thought Anakin Skywalker had dual personalities, and perhaps Obi-Wan should know better than everyone else. But he doesn’t.

Sometimes Anakin looks at him and all he can see is Vader in his eyes, the way his hands are rougher on Obi-Wan’s form, the short staccato sentences and the resting frown that even Obi-Wan cannot kiss away. Vader is…territorial. There has never been a single meeting that Obi-Wan has attended where Anakin looks like Vader that he has not attended in the man’s lap. It’s not as if Anakin is lightyears better or anything, still as possessive, jealous, but sweeter too.

Obi-Wan doesn’t know what these differences mean. He isn’t sure Anakin would elaborate if asked.

And a part of Obi-Wan—a part of Obi-Wan simply does not care. Not if both—one—either—whatever—not if Anakin, whoever Anakin is at any given moment, wants him. Loves him.

“Do I love you?” Anakin repeats. It’s an embarrassing question, all things considered. It reeks of every insecurity Obi-Wan has ever harbored in his soul. And even though most of them have been teased out by the man in front of him, dissected and examined, the words still bruise to hear spoken so lowly in the air. “Come here, Obi-Wan.”

This time, Obi-Wan goes, closing the distance between them quickly. Before he can scramble into his lover’s arms, the man stands up so that their fronts brush against each other.

It feels far too close and not close enough, and Anakin must agree because his arm brushes against the backs of his thighs and pushes up in the universal sign to jump. Obi-Wan does, wrapping his arms around his neck for further balance.

Anakin catches him with ease. Obi-Wan’s only twenty-three, not yet grown into his shoulders, so he’s fairly light to carry, but it helps that Anakin is almost forty, all broad shoulders and height and muscle put on from a life of fighting.

“Why else would I have taken such an interest in you, sweet baby Ben?” Anakin croons as he lays him down on a couch meant for reclining with after-dinner drinks. Mostly the couch is where Anakin fucks him if he doesn’t want to wait to get back to his apartments. “Take you in, off the streets, a stripper who punched my best friend in the face because he was flirting with a girl?”

“She was half his age,” Obi-Wan mutters, turning his face up and away. He’s never going to apologize for it, even if it hadn’t been how he was supposed to make contact with Anakin’s mob in the first place.

Anakin hums and catches his jaw. “Hm. Point is, baby, why else would I have let you get so close to me, wearing all my pretty things, ignoring all the alarms in my head saying you knew me too well, too fast, if I didn’t love you?” His hand tightens and Obi-Wan gasps out.

He’d read the files on Anakin. He’d read every Business Insider article. He’d read everything he could get his hands on. Of course he’d known so many things about the man. That had been his only job. Get close to Anakin Skywalker.

Task succeeded.

Anakin Skywalker’s lips trail from his cheekbone down and then up again, to the edge of his temple. Obi-Wan knows what he’s going to say before he says it. “Why else would I let you into my bed, if I didn’t love you? Why would you be the only person allowed to see the twins whenever you want if I didn’t love you? Why else would I be so terribly upset to find you in this very room, in this very position with one of my men, if I didn’t love you?”

Obi-Wan tries to move, to thrash and shiver and run his hands over Anakin in return but somewhere between laying him down and now, the man has caught his wrists in one of his big hands while the other runs up and down Obi-Wan’s torso.

The man—Maul—had followed Obi-Wan one night to a meeting with Detective Secura. He’d overheard everything, had known Ben to be a rat, but he hadn’t confronted him about it for two days. He’d waited until he could get him alone, in this room. Obi-Wan had been sitting at the table, sipping water, knowing he couldn’t eat until Anakin returned from his drop-off.

Maul had threatened him. Threatened to tell the mob, threatened to tell Anakin. Obi-Wan had been confronted with the thought of losing Anakin or losing his cover and he hadn’t reacted well. He’d known exactly how long it would take Anakin to get back, so he’d stalled until the last minute before offering himself to Maul in exchange for his silence.

He’d seen the looks. He’d known he wouldn’t be turned down.

He’d also known Anakin would kill Maul if he found him on top of him. Which he had. To both.

“Why would I forgive you after, if I didn’t love you, sweet thing?” Anakin murmurs, mouth still pressed to his temple. “Why would I forgive you for trying to fuck another man into silence, for lying to me about your name, for hurting me and leaving me, if I didn’t love you?”

Obi-Wan whimpers. Anakin’s hand has migrated to his throat and he’s putting so much pressure on it. He’s hurting him. He’ll probably never hurt him as much as Obi-Wan hurt him. Maul had managed to accuse Obi-Wan as being a rat before he’d died. Anakin, fearsome and covered in blood, had turned to him with one golden eyebrow raised.

Obi-Wan had tried to flee. For some reason, that had been the moment Anakin had become enraged. He’d tackled Obi-Wan to the floor. They’d fought, Obi-Wan has a scar on his palm still, long and deep. He’d grabbed the knife Anakin had slit Maul’s throat with with his open palm flipped it to his other hand, and cut out at Anakin’s face. The move had gotten him off him, just long enough for him to run.

“If I didn’t love you, baby, why would I have gone to find you? Why would I have made it so very clear that your place was by my side? Why would I have given you the choice to come back or stay away forever? Do you think I often give rats those sorts of choices?”

Obi-Wan shakes his head. It hadn’t taken him long. Anakin, that is. He’d found him hiding in his apartment—Obi-Wan’s, not Ben’s. Obi-Wan had come home from a shift to see Anakin lounging on his sofa, reading through one of his favorite books, skin around his right eye carefully bandaged.

It hadn’t taken Obi-Wan long either, to decide. Anakin hadn’t even gotten out of the building before Obi-Wan had made his choice. He hadn’t—he hadn’t wanted to leave Anakin. The man had said he loved him. He hadn’t—he hadn’t wanted to be without his love again, he’d do whatever necessary.

“I’m not a rat,” Obi-Wan gasps, and the hand around his neck loosens as Anakin takes his hand away to look down at him in interest.

“Oh?” he asks. “What are you then?”

“Your baby,” he breathes, eyes falling to half-lids as he adjusts their bodies so that they’re as close together as possible.

“Mm,” Anakin agrees, leaning down to bite gently at the skin of Obi-Wan’s bottom lip before letting go. “Guess I’m just wondering then. I think the real question should be…does my baby love me?”

Obi-Wan lets his eyes fall completely shut as he tilts his head up in silent demand for a proper kiss.

After all, Anakin has a point. The answer should be obvious.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #dark fic #also absolutely anakin knew from like almost the very beginning #like obi-wan gets taken to see him and he's just too 'recently trained and aware of the peopel around him'#to really be ben from his cover story #so he's fascinated but suspicous and he finds out fairly quickly #but wants to know how he can twist and bend this young and desperate to be loved and desperate to please man #he really does love him in his own way #but he also really enjoys playing mind games with him #and he will always keep the upper hand #i think the most interesting thing between pbatmb and this #is the anakin/vader split that is sort of there but not really but not NOT #and of course baby obi-wan vs baby anakin is just worlds apart #this obi-wan wuld never really take pleasure in the direct killing #but he was ready to engineer a sittuation to make anakin kill maul #idk i obviously need a tag for this i just typed 2.4k but idk what to call it rip #vaderwan #i guess #playmaker au

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puppetmaster13u · 8 months

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Y'know what, yet another de-aged Danny idea where he falls into another world. But Clockwork sends Fright Knight to go watch over him to stop something bad from happening. The heroes of said world were not prepared, at all.

#dpxdc #prompts #The JL are confused about this lil glowing green toddler with lil snek body #They are then alarmed by Massive Glowing Knight looking thing emerging from the shadows to scoop up said child #No one mentions anything at the time but does later joke about how there were 'Batman' vibes going on with the whole situation #fright knight #de aged danny #Honestly I want Fright Knight & Batman to get along and be friends lol #Bruce became the embodiment of his fear to fight in Gotham & is called the dark knight so they can be fear/knight buddies #Bruce can use Alfred to help with the whole new single dad thing lol #Once he gets over his suspicions and anxiety and all that fun stuff #Not ghost king Danny #He a lil baby ancient #Fright probably calls him his lil prince tho

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valiantstarlights · 11 months

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[Dreamling Week Day 3: Curiosity (killed the cat)] An All-Consuming Kind of Love

This fic is very much within dead dove territory, so please read the CWs and proceed with caution. But if you enjoy that kind of thing, may I shamelessly ask for incoherent yelling in your tags? Please? 🖤

CW: oh wow where do I start 😂 Student!Dream highkey seducing Professor!Hob, Hob cheating on his girlfriend Eleanor with Dream, marathon sex...everywhere, Dark!Dream, drugging someone's food, blackmail, death(?) threats, dubcon, feminization, and equally unhinged!Hob.

If anyone needs assurance after reading those tags, then rest assured that Dream and Hob will end up together and they'll live happily ever after.

The thing is, Dream Endless isn't even Hob's student. He's only sitting in for his sister, Delirium, the one who is actually enrolled in Hob's course, because she had to go to rehab.

The first time Dream showed up, he was dressed in black from head to toe, and stared at Hob so intensely that after class, Hob had to check in the bathroom to see if he had something stuck in his teeth or, god forbid, if his fly was open.

And after that day, well.

Dream still dressed in black, but his style has...branched out. The first time Hob notices the mesh shirt instead of the usual black t-shirt, it took him a second too long to tear his gaze away, and Dream had smirked. His gaze, if possible, became even more intense after that.

And then he started wearing skirts. Plaid black and grey ones that Hob should not be salivating over, especially when Dream crosses his legs.

And after that, the skirt came with fishnet stockings and high heels. Just, full-on embracing slutty schoolgirl core, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

(Hob isn't that old. He's just 34, and his students are no more than a decade younger than him.)

No one reprimands Dream because apparently, his skirt's length is long enough to pass inspection, and there's no rule against wearing fishnet stockings or heels.

(The people doing the inspection doesn't know that Dream would often roll his skirts up until the hem would fall barely past his mid-thigh.)

Hob supposes that he should count himself lucky that Dream's tops became more conservative when he started wearing skirts. If he had paired his mesh shirt with the skirts, it would have been all over for Hob.

Luckily, Dream's tops are mostly composed of simple blouses, often with long sleeves, accessorized with a long red ribbon tied around his neck, like he was a goddamn present waiting to be unwrapped.

Hob tries very hard not to notice it when Dream pulls one end of the ribbon in class and twirls it around his long fingers. He doesn't do it hard enough to untie the ribbon, but it's enough to keep Hob's imagination churning out incredibly vivid images of what he'd like to do to Dream's pale neck.

Hob is trying very hard to be a good person. He has a girlfriend he loves. He's even thinking about proposing to her once he gets promoted.

A few weeks before Delirium is set to come back, Hob is running late, and accidentally bumps into a student while going up the stairs.

The student falls forward, and Hob barely catches them from faceplanting into the edges of the stairs. The papers they were holding aren't so lucky, however, and ends up scattering around them in a cascade of paperwork.

Hob curses but bends down and starts helping the student gather up their papers. The student, a step above him, bends down as well to start collecting their things.

"I'm sorry, Professor Gadling," the student says, and Hob looks up because he knows that voice. And sure enough, it's Dream Endless, wearing his slutty schoolgirl outfit.

Hob is just about to say that it's fine, he's the one at fault here, when he sees a sliver of the inside of Dream's blouse, and catches a glimpse of a lacy black bra.

His thoughts come to a standstill. Is Dream...also wearing female undergarments under his clothes? For some reason, the thought never occurred to him before, and the revelation has him gawking like a fool in broad daylight, leading Dream to say, "Are you alright, Professor? You look flushed."

Hob nods and keeps his head low after that, intent on just helping Dream gather his things and handing it to him so they could both get to class.

"Thank you, Professor," Dream says after Hob has given him his things. He's looking up at him through his lashes, even when they're roughly the same height. For some reason, Dream always manages make himself look smaller than Hob.

And, fuck, is he wearing make-up? Or had his lips always been that shade of pink?

Dream smiles when Hob remains transfixed, and starts going up the stairs again.

Hob's big mistake is looking up to follow Dream with his gaze.

Because Dream is wearing a thong under his skirt, and Hob can see the base of an anal plug resting between his ass cheeks.

He swears under his breath, and sure enough, Dream looks back down towards him. "Sir?" he asks, sounding demure and shy and tempting. He cocks his hips to one side and Hob could see how the plug twitched, like Dream just squeezed tight around it.

"I'm fine," Hob says through gritted teeth, and speedwalks his way up the stairs and a couple of corridors to reach the lecture hall.

Dream arrives not long after him and makes sure to sit in the very front row, legs slightly open, eyes dark, daring, wanting, allowing Hob to take a look.

Hob spends the rest of the class behind his desk to hide his erection.

Hob can't pinpoint when exactly he admits to himself that he wants to fuck one of his students.

(Again, technically, Dream isn't even his student, but the fact that he's using the word 'technically' already means he knows he's in big trouble.)

Was it when Hob rushed out of the lecture hall the very same day he bumped into Dream on the stairs, his messenger bag placed strategically in front of his crotch area?

He couldn't help it if his thoughts were racing, and his body was quicker than his mind. He couldn't help it if the thought of sliding Dream's thong to the side, removing his plug, and sliding right into his slutty little hole had him locking himself up in a bathroom stall and jerking himself off furiously.

Was it when Dream came to class eating a red lollipop so lasciviously that even a couple of students stared at him in lust? Was it after, when he coldly turned down the Corinthian twins' offer to fuck him?

Was it when Hob was having sex with his girlfriend one night and almost moans out Dream's name when he came?

Or is it today, when Dream is sucking on a popsicle in the quad, in plain sight of Hob's office window? When Dream deepthroats the popsicle while gazing lustfully into Hob's eyes?

Is it when Hob tilts his head just so, beckoning Dream to come to his office? Hob's consultation hours just finished, after all, and he's just about to head home for the weekend.

When did Hob realize that thoughts of Dream have consumed him? He doesn't know.

But perhaps it was on the very first day Dream came to his lecture hall and their eyes met. When Hob thought how cute Dream was and how unfortunate that he was his student. And then delighting, afterwards, when he finds out that Dream isn't his student, at least not officially.

Hob pins Dream against the door as soon as he enters his office and fucks his tongue inside Dream's still slightly cold mouth.

"Fucking tease," Hob mutters against Dream's lips, almost ripping his white blouse in his haste to put his mouth on Dream's bra. On Dream's tits.

"Professor Gadling," Dream moans breathily, not even pretending he doesn't want this. One of his long fishnet-clad legs is already hooked around Hob's waist. Fuck. This flexible little minx. Hob wants to see just how far he could bend Dream in half. "We shouldn't--ah, here--"

"Then where do you want me to fuck you, hmm? In my car in the middle of the parking lot? In the apartment I share with my girlfriend?" Hob bites Dream's throat and soothes the skin with his tongue. "Or maybe you want me to fuck you raw in your dorm room. Do you have roommates, baby? Do you want them to watch?"

Dream squirms in his arms, panting, trying to dissuade Hob from stripping him naked. He looks absolutely delectable, and Hob is intent on finally untying that damn red ribbon from his neck and marking him up with his teeth. "I..." Dream licks his lips and runs delicate fingers against Hob's stubble. "My family has a cabin. It's about an hour's drive away. We could--"

"You want me to drive us to your family's fancy cabin for a fuck?" Hob asks and grinds his erection against Dream's, watching in rapt attention how he keens and throws his head back against the door in pleasure. "When I can just take you right here against the door?"

Dream shakes his head. He's blushing so prettily, suddenly so shy, that Hob leans forward and gives him another filthy kiss.

"Professor!" Dream protests, and actually pushes him back a little. Not enough to dislodge Hob's body against his, but enough so they could talk face to face. "I was thinking...maybe...for the whole weekend?"

Oh, fuck.

"You want me to fuck you for an entire weekend?" An eager nod. "In your family's cabin?" Another eager nod, and a hopeful, chaste kiss to his chin. Dream is so fucking sweet and sexy at the same time that Hob doesn't know what to do with him. "Baby, I don't think I can drive like this." He grinds his cock against Dream again, and Dream responds this time by reaching between them and fondling Hob through his slacks.

"It's okay, Professor," Dream says, smiling impishly. "I'll take the edge off for you."

Despite Dream torturing Hob with his slutty outfits for what feels like several months already, Dream proves that he can be a very good boy when he wants to.

"You should call your girlfriend, sir," he says, lips slick and red and tempting, Hob's cockhead resting against his lower lip. Hob has already cum in his mouth once, and true to Dream's word, it has taken the edge off. Hob could think more clearly now. "So she wouldn't worry. Tell her you have a conference or something."

Hob chuckles and smears his cum across Dream's lips more. "How considerate of you to think about my girlfriend worrying about me when I'll be spending the entire weekend fucking you."

Dream pouts, not even saying anything in reply to that, and Hob immediately caves.

Hob calls Eleanor to tell her about a sudden teacher's conference being held this weekend while Dream warms his cock.

He mouths 'good boy,' to Dream, who blinks coquettishly up at him, but part of Hob thinks he's the good boy in this scenario, just doing what Dream wants him to do.

He doesn't get to say 'I love you,' to Eleanor because when he was about to, Dream sucks him so good that he had to hang up and muffle his groan against his fist.

Halfway through the drive, Dream makes Hob stop the car so he could suck his cock again.

Barely a couple of miles after that, Hob stops the car so he could fuck Dream's thighs in the backseat.

Once in the cabin, they barely make it to the bed, but make it they do. Hob wants Dream to be comfortable when he takes Hob's cock in his ass. Hob knows he's much larger than average, and he would hate to see Dream in pain.

He's not a total monster. Sure, he may lie to his girlfriend so he could fuck his student's brother for an entire weekend, but he's not going to treat said student's brother badly. He's better than that.

Hob eats Dream out twice before he even enters him, sucks on his nipples until they're red and swollen as they fuck, and finally gets to mark Dream's neck with his teeth.

He fucks Dream's hole until he's gaping and leaking cum because he's unable to clench his hole closed enough to stop the flow. Hob teases him that they should perhaps switch to a larger plug to accommodate his loose pussy, but does no such thing. He likes it when Dream has to concentrate and keep clenching his ass in between rounds so he could keep the plug in place.

All the while Dream begs for more of him. For everything.

And Hob gives it to him.

They fuck the entire weekend. On the bed, in the bathroom, against the walls, Dream bent over various furniture, on the rug in front of the fireplace, against the kitchen counters, outside on the front porch, on the hood of Hob's car...

Hob is surprised at himself. He's not that young anymore, but give him one Dream Endless and he feels like he's at the peak of his youth again.

Hob tells himself it's only his desperation making him vigorous. He's only going to get Dream this weekend, and after that, who knows? When Delirium comes back, would Dream still feel the need to sit in on Hob's class, or is this it? Is Dream going to move on to seducing someone else?

No.

Every time Hob thinks that, Dream seducing someone else, another professor, another man, he pushes himself and fucks the boy harder.

Unacceptable. Hob is going to ruin him for everyone else, just like how Dream has been set on ruining him from day one.

Dream sometimes says, 'I love you,' to Hob when he's getting fucked so good that his eyes roll up to the back of his skull, but Hob thinks it's just something Dream says without knowing he's saying it. Many people say things during sex that they don't mean.

But when Dream says, "Mine," right after the two of them collapsed in bed after yet another round of fucking, Hob says, "All yours this weekend, yeah."

And Dream says, "Well see."

It's Sunday night and Hob is supposed to drive them both back to civilization. Dream has insisted upon dinner before leaving, though, and Hob is loathe to reject him because Dream has been working hard, cooking throughout the day in between their rounds, and Hob knows he's going to miss this.

(Dream has banned him from the kitchen as he cooks. Hob thinks he's adorable but follows his instruction anyway.)

He feels something warm in his heart as he sees the spread of food that Dream has been preparing. Roasted lamb, venison pasties, fruit tarts--all of them Hob's favorite.

('How did he know?' a tiny voice in Hob's mind asks, but is quickly ignored in favor of taking in Dream's shy smile.)

"Did you cook all this from scratch?" Hob asks, awed. Eleanor doesn't cook. It's either Hob cooks for them both or they order in. He doesn't feel bitter about it. It's just the way they are.

"Yes," Dream says simply. "I want to be able to cook well for you."

Oh. Oh. An uncomfortable feeling rises in Hob's stomach.

Dream loves him.

Actually wants to date him.

This is a very bad idea.

"Dream..."

Dream ignores the tone of Hob's voice and sits on one side of the table. Hob belatedly realizes that, although there is a lot of food on the table, the table itself is small enough to be intimate. Like the two of them are on a date. "Let's eat."

"Dream," Hob says in-between bites of the really excellent pasties. "You know I have a girlfriend."

"I do," Dream says. "I even asked you to call her, didn't I?"

"And you know that I love her."

A pause. "Sure."

"So this, between us-- You know it can never happen again, right?" Like Hob isn't the one dead set on ruining Dream for any future lover.

Dream shrugs and sips his wine. He has barely eaten, but Hob saw him tasting the food earlier, so he figures Dream made all of this for him, and is just enjoying seeing Hob eat. Hob is the same sometimes, so he cannot fault Dream for having the same habit. "If you say so."

Hob wakes due to the early morning sunlight hitting his face directly.

He's confused for a second, because his bedroom in the apartment isn't facing east, before the events of last night came rushing back to him.

The delicious dinner. Dream drinking wine. Feeling increasingly dizzy. Dream rushing towards him so he wouldn't fall to the floor. Passing out with Dream telling him everything's going to be alright.

Hob thought it was strange that Dream wasn't panicking or rushing to grab his phone to call the hospital.

And now, Hob is tied to the bed, naked, arms and legs bound to the bed posts with silk ropes. Gagged. He tries tugging on the ropes to no avail. Whoever tied him up knew what they were doing.

He is alone in the room, but not for long.

Dream enters a few minutes later, probably alerted by the sounds Hob had been making in his bid to escape his bonds, wearing only a short fluffy bathrobe. He's holding Hob's phone in his hands

'Dream!' Hob tries to say. It comes out muffled through the gag.

"Good morning, Professor," Dream says, smiling. He leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Will you be good for me today?"

'What the fuck are you playing at! Let go of me!'

"That doesn't sound like a 'yes,'" Dream remarks. "Maybe you need a little incentive to cooperate?"

Dream climbs on the bed then, sitting his naked and already lubed-up ass against Hob's member, which did not get the memo and is currently growing thicker despite the predicament Hob is in.

Dream flips over Hob's phone to show him the screen, and Hob sees his 'incentive' to be good.

It's a picture of Dream, curled up naked in his arms, asleep. One of Hob's arms is looped around his body in a possessive hold, and the other is holding the phone up for a selfie. Hob's face isn't shown, but his students would know his chin and neck and hair. Eleanor would know his chest and arms.

Hob's blood runs cold. It was an impossible shot that wouldn't be possible if it's only him and Dream in the cabin, so there must another person who helped Dream carry Hob, arranged the two of them in bed, and took the photo while propping up Hob's arm to make it look like Hob is the one taking it.

Hob remembers the large, muscled, red-haired man he saw once or twice in campus with Dream. At first, he thought it was Dream's boyfriend, but finds out from overhearing a couple of students that the man is one of Dream's brothers. Hob isn't sure who the older brother is between the two.

Dream sits patiently on top of him as he's having these realizations. "Should I send this to your girlfriend, Professor?" he asks, when he sees Hob's eyes focus on him once more. "Or are you going to be good for me?"

Hob nods decisively. He'll say he's gonna be good. But the moment he gets free, he'll grab his phone from Dream, delete the picture--

Dream smiles and grinds down on him a little. His cock twitches and oozes out precome, which Dream scoops up from Hob's lower stomach and licks from his fingers, humming in delight at the taste. "My brother is nearby," he says, pleasant as anything. "If he sees you harming me, you're not even going to make it back to your car. And before you ask, we have already siphoned the gas, and removed the car battery."

Hob feels tears pricking his eyes. What the fuck...who the fuck are these people?

"Do you understand now, Professor?" Dream asks. "I said you're mine. And I'm not in the habit of lying. Or sharing, come to think of it."

Hob nods, timidly this time. How the fuck has this gone so wrong? Was there even a warning sign that Hob should have noticed before it came to this?

Dream smiles and kisses him chastely on the chin. "Good. Now, Professor, I want you to be very, very well-behaved for me..."

"Professor Gadling!" Dream squeals, thighs opened wide and shaking, his breath stuttering as Hob fucks him hard from behind. "O-oh gods, please, your cock feels so good!"

"You like this, Dream?" Hob says against his ear, enjoying, despite everything, this sick sadistic play. All he has to do is play along, and he's going to be fine. Everything will go back to normal. He's going to go back to his job, to his girlfriend, and put all this behind him. Maybe he'll request a transfer next semester. Somewhere as far as they could send him. "You like me splitting you open like a whore?"

Dream nods frantically and lets out a high pitched whine. "Y-yes, sir. I love...I love being filled with your cum. I love sitting on your cock all day." He gasps as Hob starts stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. "Professor, please..!"

"Please what, darling? What do you want? Tell me." The endearment slips out of him accidentally, and he feels Dream squeeze him thrice in quick succession as a reward. He curses and pounds him harder. "So fucking tight. Best damn cunt I ever put my cock in."

That line wasn't part of the script.

Dream moans at that unexpected treat and turns his head to the side, begging for a kiss. Hob grants it to him. He fucks Dream's mouth with his tongue and uses his free hand to cup one of Dream's tits. A perfect fucking handful. He twists the nipple and imagines milk squirting out of it. Imagines Dream's milk-heavy tits leaking in class, his eyes filled with tears because he can't wait for the hour to be over so Hob could nurse from him right on his desk. Imagines Dream pushing him down on the desk so he can ride him after Hob drinks his fill. Imagines him pushing aside his lacy panties and holding his skirt up as Hob fucks up into him, giving him his daily dose of cum.

"Gonna breed you, baby," Hob says. People say things they don't mean during sex. It's perfectly normal. "Not gonna let you out of this damn bed until you're round with my cum, and then I'm gonna marry you so you can be my slut forever."

Dream shrieks and cums at his words, and as Hob continues railing him to overstimulation, he gasps out, "Yes, yes, please sir--want you to marry me--I'm yours, just yours--ah--"

Hob pushes in deep and cums inside again, moaning Dream's name out loud, then peppers his sweet boy's tear-streaked face and pale neck with fervent little kisses.

Maybe he's just as fucked up as Dream is, and maybe he always has been.

There is a red light blinking in the corner of the room, recording.

Only one of the room's current occupants know that it's there.

To: Eleanor

I'm with someone else now, and he's better than you ever were. I love him and we just got married. I'll send someone to get my things.

Hob sends that message himself, but he sends a different photo than the one Dream threatened to send. It's of Dream wearing all white lingerie. Bralette, lacy panties, garter belt, stockings--the entire thing, but he's also wearing a beautiful wedding veil, and he's holding a bouquet of white roses. He's kneeling in bed and is splattered with Hob's cum from forehead to groin, looking incandescently happy, smiling up at the camera with eyes full of love.

Hob turns off his phone and throws it to the side, intending on going back to bed to ruin his baby boy even more.

Dream welcomes him with open arms, smile shy but looking so goddamn happy.

"You're all mine now, aren't you, baby?" Hob asks, pushing his husband back on the bed and spreading his legs so Hob could see the mess he made earlier. He grips one cheek and watches as a dollop of cum oozes out of Dream's hole and onto the bedsheets.

Dream leans up and kisses him, winding his long stockinged legs around Hob's waist and welcoming Hob's cock back into his fucked out hole once more. They are surrounded by white rose petals from the bouquet. Dream must have plucked and scattered them throughout their marriage bed while Hob was sending his last message to Eleanor. Always so fucking romantic. Hob can't wait to reward Dream for being so good to him.

"All yours forever, Professor Gadling."

#??? ?????#trust me idk either #i was supposed to write for the synesthesia prompt 🥲 it was supposed to be fluffy #anyway have another dark spicy fic from me #i'm sorry eleanor but in this au you deserve better #(chokes upon seeing the wordcount) what do you mean this is 3500 plus words worth of filth unedited #good job my thumbs #like holy shit very good job 👏👏👏 you deserve a wahoo 🎉🎉🎉#dreamling #DreamlingWeek #DreamlingWeek2023 #the sandman #my writing #dream (pouting at destruction): help me seduce del's professor #destruction: ok but what will I get in return?#dream (rummaging through his things): I have a ball of string and a coupon so you could adopt a dog from the shelter #destruction: alright deal

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stargazeraldroth · 17 days

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I know I'm not the best when it comes to getting canon characterization right, but when I deviate from canon, I (usually) have a justified reason for doing so. Whether that be projection or differences for AU purposes, it's usually understandable.

And then there's the pain that comes from blatant mischaracterization that has nothing to do with an AU, and it's either because the person genuinely sees the character that way or does it for weird shipping purposes. Like, really weird shipping purposes. I'm talking "Character A is such a frail bottom UwU" and "Character B is such a strong top, protecting their precious partner". THAT kind of weird change for shipping. Especially when it comes to LGBTQ+ couples.

#those sentences caused me physical pain to write I want you all to know that #this can be used for all fandoms #but the prompt for this came from Cookie run #specifically a (partial) high school au #like no dark choco wouldn't burn down the school because someone was mean to licorice #the creator specified that there were still people inside the school too #and no he wouldn't make fun of caramel arrow for being an orphan???#are we even talking about the same character #talking about some “dark choco didn't get possessed by the sword AU”#sucka you made him worse than the strawberry jam sword ever could in canon #how do you make a fandom favorite so damn unlikable

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phoenixcatch7 · 1 year

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Okay but like Peter Parker reincarnated as dick grayson angst

#peter parker #dick grayson #nightwing #spiderman #Me in my little head listening to music and suddenly it auto fills a gap that wasn't even there and now I can't stop thinking about it #batman #story prompt #fic prompt #Fic idea #The angst would be juiciest if he didn't keep his powers #So like he's always pushing his body further to try and gain back just an inch more of what he had #Because even as spiderman he was too slow or weak to save everyone and he never realised just how dependent he was on his spider sense #At first he's living the dream with alive loving parents and acrobatics and travelling the world in peace #He's crushed when they die. In a way spiderman could have so easily prevented with his webs. He had to watch AGAIN. He's furious #With his experience from his previous life he latches onto batman and creates Robin from that. He balances school and hero life once more.#He becomes night wing when Gotham grows too dark and stifling. He needs out. To be a solo hero again. He hates that he has to leave batman #But at least he's alive to be mad.#When he gets siblings wow new experience!! Batman parenting normal kids is Such a bad idea but he'd die for them!#Then everything cascades and batman goes from iron man/daredevil to punisher/black widow and Jason doesn't want to listen #Even tho he died too and it hurt and b had a bio kid and he's batman until he isn't and he misses aunt may and still he loves being alive #Because spiderman was killed #And nightwing is older than he will ever be

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redrobin-detective · 2 years

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fight or flight

Bruce would not consider himself to be an impulsive man. Quite the opposite, he had singularly dedicated himself to his task of ridding Gotham of crime since he was child. He vetted all of his teachers thoroughly and only acted on evidence he could support. Bruce Wayne, the Batman, was not a man prone to fits of emotion. And yet he cannot explain why, when an obligatory appearance at the circus turned tragic, he took home an orphan boy.

“Dick, I’m coming in,” Bruce said, opening the door to the room the boy had been staying in. “Alfred wants to know if you’re coming to dinner.”

“I don’t want anything from you!” Dick screamed, lobbing a shoe at Bruce which he dodged. The room was still in a state of disarray; nightstand knocked over and covers pulled violently off the bed into a protective pile on the floor. The sight was achingly familiar. “You can’t keep me here! I want to go back to Pop Haly!”

“We’ve been over this,” Bruce said softly, opening the door a bit more. “The circus is European, only here on temporary visas. As they aren’t blood relatives, they cannot legally take you in.” Aside from the chaos of the room, a framed picture of Dick’s parents was placed on a place of honor at the windowsill. Bruce unfortunately had to nail the window shut after Dick made 3 very daring escape attempts. “Besides, you and I both know you’re not planning on going back to the circus, not yet.”

“You don’t know anything!” Dick hissed, barring his teeth. “Get out before I make you!”

“I understand, Dick, believe me I understand,” Bruce said heavily, some of the Batman’s gravelly tones leaching into his voice. Bruce had done a lot of thinking in the past week, wondering just what had compelled him to offer himself as a temporary foster parent. He thought maybe it was because he feared for the boy’s safety if Zucco decided to silence him. Perhaps he thought it too cruel to send an innocent child to a juvenile detention center for reasons beyond his control. But, when the hour was late and he’d returned from patrol and was stripped of Batman and Wayne and was just Bruce, he knew.

He knew by the look of devastation and roiling anger in the boy’s eyes that no one, not the police or social workers or circus family would be able to help with. Bruce wasn’t sure that Dick could be helped, he himself was living proof, but he had to try. Because if he didn’t, the last of the Graysons would die trying to complete his revenge.

“No you don’t!” Dick roared, pushing himself out of his self imposed little nest. He threw another shoe which Bruce side stepped. “Because if you did, you would let me go! That-that bastard is still out there after killing them, after making them fall!” He took in a deep breath as grief washed over him before the anger returned twice as strong. “I know how this works Mr. Money Bags. We’re carney trash, we’re nobody, no ones gonna go after the killer.”

“Dick, I’ve been involved with the investigation, the police are doing everything they can.” Bruce explained, daring to step closer. Admittedly, the police couldn’t do all that much. There wasn’t a lot tying Zucco to the scene and that’s not even getting into the complicated Falcone-Maroni family mess that Zucco was protected by. There was a chance Zucco would skate by, ordinarily but- “and if they can’t then Batman will bring him to justice.”

“Batman!” Dick laughed, loudly and harshly. “And you city folks call us the freaks, you got a freaking bat monster out there solving your crimes Well I don’t need him, I don’t need any of you! They were my parents, I need to make sure Tony Zucco knows what’s coming to him and why.”

“Is that really what you want?” Bruce couldn’t help but ask. “To kill? To possibly be killed yourself?”

“Yes,” Dick said his eyes angry but filled with tears. “I can’t live in a world where their killer is free. I’d rather die myself.” Bruce’s chest became painfully tight, uncertain and afraid of what to do. It was like walking on landmines, knowing one wrong step will end in catastrophe.

He wondered if this was how Alfred felt every day for the past 15 years, watching Bruce drown himself in grief and anger. He knows very well what Dick was feeling, that pain and single minded rage. He wished he’d been better at managing himself if only so he could know how to help this boy now.

“I don’t think that’s what your parents would want, they’d want you to live, Dick, and this isn’t living,” Bruce said and realized he’d stepped on one of those landmines. The anger in Dick’s eyes turned physical and soon there was a furious acrobat in his face.

“You don’t get to talk about them!” Dick screeched, clawing at Bruce’s arms with impressive strength. “You don’t get to talk for them! You didn’t know them and now they’re dead because of assholes like you!” Batman had 36 ways of disabling the child but significantly less in ways that wouldn’t harm Dick. small, powerful hands clawed at his arms. Well defined legs kicked at him and elbows jammed at him.

But Bruce was larger, older and significantly heavier than the boy. He would bleed, he would bruise but he would survive. Gotham gave him worse on his easier nights. And some part of him couldn’t help but hope that the physical release would help Dick. God knows Bruce had destroyed enough property when he’d been an angry, grieving child. He would endure a thousand cuts if it meant he could ease even a small part of his charge’s pain. It was never that easy but, as Alfred used to say, hope wasn’t a dirty word.

Eventually, Dick wore himself out and his attacks petered out and he ended up slumped against Bruce’s chest. He put one hand on Dick’s shoulder to steady him but was he supposed to hug? Would Dick want that? Could he even offer it? It was easier to focus on the physical pain and on Dick’s quiet, little sobs.

“I hate this, I miss them so much,” Dick cried. Not knowing what else to do, Bruce ran his fingers through the boys wild hair. “Mr. Wayne, please, just let me go. I don’t wanna be here and you don’t want me either. Just turn your back, say I snuck out and you couldn’t find me. You’re rich, you won’t get in any trouble, not over someone like me. Please.”

“I can’t do that, Dick,” Bruce sighed, he pulled Dick closer as the boy tried to wiggle away. “I know it’s hard but I’m doing this because I care about you and because I want to give you what I never got, closure and a chance to heal. Dick, look at me,” The boy refused and Bruce pinched his chin as gently as he could and made him look. “Richard Grayson I promise you on the graves of my murdered parents that Tony Zucco will not remain free for longer. I will make sure he pays for what he did to you. And once he is caught, it will be up to you to figure out what you want to do with your life, the last gift your parents gave you.”

Dick didn’t say anything, just pulled himself out of Bruce’s grasp and fled back to his nest. He buried himself under the blankets and was silent save for quiet sobs and hiccups.

“You don’t have to come down if you don’t want to but you do need to eat, I’ll put something in front of your door.” Bruce made his way towards the door. “If you don’t keep your strength up, you’ll be in no state to help catch Zucco.” Dick peeked his face out behind the blankets.

“I’ll see if I can contact Batman, ask about his progress on the case. Maybe see if there’s anything you can do to help, get you involved,” Bruce said even though internally he was screaming. He wanted more than anything to keep Dick safe, away from all this. But the Bat inside him knew that Dick would never settle, never allow himself to grow past this tragedy until he sunk his teeth into his parents’ murderer. Nothing else to say, Bruce closed the door.

“Is the young master coming- my word, Master Bruce!” Alfred exclaimed when he walked into the kitchen. He’d worn long sleeves but Dick had sharp nails and blood was seeping through the fabric, he’d even gotten a few swipes at his face. One scratch just below his lip to the neck stung in the cool air of the kitchen.

“No, he’s not coming. I said we’d set something outside his door,” Bruce said. He didn’t fight back when Alfred pushed him onto a chair and began examining the injuries. He’d been caring for Bruce his entire life, from his very worst up until now which arguably wasn’t much better. “I don’t know how to help him, Alfred. I know his pain, I feel it but I never figured out how to help myself much less others.”

“Oh my boy if there was a cure all fix for grief, I’d put it in a bottle and be my own billionaire,” Alfred sighed, dabbing at the cuts. “All you can do is be there for him, offer love, safety, understanding. I can see the Young Master Dick is a kind boy, that this anger isn’t in his nature. One day, with the proper support, he’ll be able to move past this tragedy.”

“And we’ll get him to a real home,” Bruce sighed. He went to pick at one of the scratches but Alfred’s lightly swatted him away.

“So you still intend to send him away once this Zucco business is settled?”

“He doesn’t want to be here, he’s made that clear,“ Bruce stated. “Besides, with my work... it’s not safe for either of us to have attachments. Once Zucco is brought to justice, he’ll be safe in a regular foster home. He can he be happy there.”

“Will he, Sir?” Alfred tutted. “Because in between the young master’s bouts of grief and violence, I have spoken with him at length. The lad wants nothing more than to fly again, like he did with his mother and father and extended family at the circus. And, forgive me for being bold but I doubt a traditional home will allow him that privilege.”

“What are you implying? That he should stay here?” Bruce scoffed

“I’m not telling you, either of you, what to do. But you brought Master Dick home because you sensed a kinship, forged a connection not of logic but heart. He is so much like you were back then, Master Bruce, maybe he needs your unorthodox methods to stop fighting and start flying again.”

“Well, first of all, Tony Zucco needs to be brought to justice,” He said, standing up suddenly and stalking towards the grandfather clock. “If you need me, I’ll be down in the Cave reviewing his safe houses. Please ensure the boy is fed and he doesn’t find any other windows to crawl out of. I might not make it in time the next time he tries to run.”

“Of course, Sir, happy hunting.”

#hour prompt #slightly over the mark but only about 5 minutes or so #ever since my last prompt Ive been obsessed thinking on feral dick and an awkward bruce #on how they had to learn each other how bruce in a way had to finally confront his own grief to deal with dicks #Batman Year 3 and dark Victory remain my favorite canon Dick origin stories #so took inspiration from there for the details #but B absolutely looked at Dick and realized the kid would get himself killed bc no one else understood #impulse took him in and then blue screened bc he had no idea what to do #Dick sneaking out tracking down Zucco getting his ass beat until Batman saved him and he put bruce and Bats together is what saved his life #i dont think dick could have gone to a normal foster home #i dont think he would have done well would have probably run back to the circus #he needed someone like B to understand him #they helped each other heal which is why their relationship is soooo special but also so disasterous #anyway here's wonderwall

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