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buckets-and-trees · 1 year

Note

"You are nothing but a toy for me to fuck, little lamb. Now open your mouth for me, or I will break your jaw opening it myself."

👀👀👀

Well... as you know, this escalated quickly.

Title: Sacrificial Fandom: MCU Characters/Pairings: Minotaur!Bucky x Botanist!Female!Reader Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: If it seems too good to be true, it always is. Always. Too bad you had to go to the remote jungles of South America to learn that lesson.

Content/Concept Warnings: DARK, lulled into a trap, human sacrifice, dubious consent/fuck or die, public sex/exhibitionism, size kink, monster fucking, face fucking/oral male receiving, vaginal fingering/fisting, breast worship, rough fucking, possessive/pet, praise kink, dirty talk, cum play, marking, cream pie, choking

Additional Notes: Thoty time with @rookthorne... she's only responsible for enabling me when my monster thirst reared its head. Wicked entry for @buckybarnesevents WEEK ONE of Hot Bucky Summer: "What Should I Wear?" and my third square of @buckybarnesbingo K1 "Fuck or Die."

When you told your friends, family, and former colleagues about the research grant and fellowship you had been awarded in the weeks leading up to your departure that it was too perfect, clearly somewhere deep in your bones you had known.

Eighty thousand dollars a year for three years, travel covered, visa approved, fully furnished accommodations provided, and a book deal for the discoveries and research studying flora in a largely undocumented and remote part of the jungle on another continent.

No scientist got a deal like that.

The only downside was the isolation of the location. They had electricity and running water, but you would only be able to go into town for internet every few weeks.

But the part of you that had grown up watching Indiana Jones, Jurassic Park, LOST, and the deep space missions of Star Trek who had far too many plants in your apartment and in your tiny office at the university had beat back that downside. It was only three years, and after living through the strange isolation of the pandemic, you knew you could manage this where you wouldn’t be isolated from people, just for short stints from your old life.

And though you had good pieces and good people in your life, you were desperate to get away from the suffocating societal expectations you felt like you weren’t living up to while so many others around you were – marriage, kids, white picket fences, career accomplishments, tenured professorships, promotions, raises, overnight influencers, travel vloggers.

This was something no one you knew had ever done.

Everyone raved about the adventure ahead of you.

Everyone had been impressed.

You had conquered in the accomplishments department with this for the year, no question. Your older sister with her third child on the way and your younger brother and his Premiere League football contract could wallow in your shadow.

This was a golden opportunity for a research botanist still in the early years of their career.

Kneeling on the ground in the middle of the jungle with your hands folded in your lap, head bowed, surrounded by a village of people who all should have known better than to follow ancient superstitions, with a dozen or more guns trained on you in nothing more than lingerie, you were living a nightmare.

All of it had been a baited trap.

No one would even question you falling off the grid before it was too late, and even if they did, these villagers could say one day you never came back from the jungle.

And it would be true.

One afternoon and evening, a good dinner, a sleep you’d yearned for thinking it was the jet lag, and then you’d awoken screaming as the first strip of wax had been ripped from your skin to discover you were naked with a half dozen people attending to all aspects of your grooming, preparing you to be their human sacrifice for the beast that lived in the jungle.

You were past the crying and pleading.

The no WIFI had been a lie, too.

Everyone in this small village looked and acted like they lived in the present day except for this one thing.

The belief that if they did not provide the beast his human sacrifice that they would not survive his terror.

“Then why don’t you just leave?” you had implored.

“This is our home, our loved ones are here, our ancestors are part of this place, and,” their leader and the head of the research foundation paused – almost faltered before continuing to explain, “the sacrifice of one stranger will guarantee us safety for many, many years.”

Everyone else had been instructed not to speak or listen to you from that point on in the preparations.

Nails trimmed, buffed, shined. Luxurious oil that smelled delicate and heavenly rubbed over every inch of your skin from the neck down. Hair partially braided to stay out of your face with the rest left natural. Color applied to your lips. They didn’t bother with eye makeup. No jewelry.

You had been wrapped up in a linen garment that was not quite a robe but not quite a coat to be transported to the ruins of an old stone dais in the thick of the jungle but deprived of it and then pushed onto the sacrificial area, left only in the sapphire silk of a bra and panties delicately lined with lace.

After hours being poked, prodded, and prepared by strangers in a strange land in a state of dread and disbelief, you thought you were numb.

You had endured too much to think you were hallucinating, but that you now all waited illuminated by literal torches with fire made this seem almost like a season of Survivor gone horribly wrong.

But then you heard the hushed wave of whispers at the rustle and rumble of something approaching through the thick vegetation of the jungle and adrenaline shot through your veins. It didn’t inspire fight or flight. You were frozen, fixated on the beast that would finally appear and seal your fate any moment now.

It made no attempt at arriving quietly, and when it finally appeared, there were collective gasps and cries from the people gathered to watch the sacrifice, though no sound fell from your lips.

The reaction was more than warranted, and a whisper of a thought flashed through your head that you were surprised no one had screamed. Maybe they were too terrified to scream, worried they would draw the beast’s attention. You wanted to scream, but your chest was gripped in fear.

The thick, furry legs of a bull, down to the cloven hooves, and a girthy tail with a tuft of dark hair at the end, swishing slightly as he walked. There was a loincloth tied at his waist that – rather than providing modesty – inspired anyone whose gaze lingered there to imagine the bulge nudging conspicuously beneath. Not that anyone’s gaze would linger there for long, for the rest of him was altogether imposing. Only the tallest of the villagers might hope to measure up to the base of his sternum – the sternum that anchored the torso of a man with shoulders more than twice the width of a human. Skin golden from the sun stretched over muscles that burst and rippled over his chest and shoulders, extending down his arms. You could see a litany of angry scars littered up and down his left arm.

Great bull’s horns rose and curled out of his head, possibly longer than your own arms. He had a mane of long, glossy but mostly unruly brown hair, with a couple of braids, that fell past his shoulders. Though the rest of his physique inspired fear, the true terror was perhaps the face of this man beast – it was terrifyingly handsome. Strong jaw, stubbled beard, a crease between his brows, and piercing blue eyes. His expression was drawn into an ominous grin.

He was in no rush as he walked into the ring of the villagers.

“Weapons down,” he growled.

There was almost no hesitation – their purpose had been to keep you in place anyway. Though the fear in the air was palpable, the tone of it seemed to be turning to some sort of reverent fear now for everyone else.

What inspired this unquestioned obedience from an entire people? People you’d seen with smart phones as abundantly among them as any other place on earth, though you’d been advised to shut yours down and leave it behind since it would be of next to no use to you in the jungle. They were right – but had left out the true reason and made it even more believable for you to seem only cut off to those back home, not lost and gone forever.

His enormous legs took the step easily up onto the dais, and his eyes were now fixed only on you. He stopped at the foot of the altar where you were presented for him.

“Well done,” this was meant for the people and their leader.

Then he reached out and the fingers of his large hands traced the strap over your left shoulder, then along your jaw, tilting your chin to look straight up at him. “And your choice is set?”

“My – my choice?” your voice cracked, but you felt it was a miracle you even found it.

Your confusion must have been evident, as his eyes flashed with anger and her rounded on the man who had facilitated all of this. “You did not tell her anything, did you?”

“I thought it best if –“

“It is not your job to think. The thoughtlessness of your people is why we’re here at all,” he snarled. Then he turned back to you.

“No time for stories now. I’m a minotaur called Bucky; a lost soldier cursed long ago to this state. Suffice it to say II must be satiated or the village will be subjected to bloodshed and desolation in the face of my wrath. They’ve chosen you, but you can choose your fate: fuck or die. I’ll take your throat, or I’ll cut it and drink your blood in front of everyone.”

Your chest heaved in trepidation. “How is that a choice?”

“Is it not clear to you?”

“Have others chosen death?”

He nodded. “Or they refused to choose.”

You opened your mouth then closed it again.

“Do you wish to die?”

You thought your tears were spent, but you could feel them welling in your eyes. “No.”

“Then claim your choice.”

You took a shaky breath.

“Say it!” he barked.

You flinched, but managed to spit out, “Fuck.”

“Perfect. Open up.”

“In front of everyone?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

He nodded. “They will remember and mark this sacrifice. It will be the reason they continue to breathe.”

You spread your knees a part so you were still kneeling and sitting back on your heels but his to take like this.

“That’s nice but not what I meant.” He tugged his loincloth and dropped it to the ground. You whimpered, afraid of the enormous size of his cock and ashamed at the lick of heat that flared in your core at the sight of him. He leaned down closer, put a hand at the back of your neck, and slapped the side of your face with his rigid length. “You are nothing but a toy for me to fuck, little lamb. Now open your mouth for me, or I will break your jaw opening it myself.”

This drew a handful of muted gasps from the onlookers. You saw a spark of something new in his eyes at this reaction.

He was pleased at their reaction.

You dropped your mouth open for him, nervous knowing you could not take all of him, embarrassed to be on such display in front of these strangers, but wanting to please him.

Wait, you thought, wanting to please him?

He shoved his cock into your wet mouth, shoving any other thoughts immediately out.

“Suck.”

You did.

“Just like that,” he said. The hand on your neck moved up to cradle and command the back of your head. He slowly began to fuck your mouth but with only a small motion, encouraging you to continue sucking just that first bit of cock as it was in your mouth. He still was in no rush. It felt like a power play – not wanting to show impatience or lack of restraint in the onset of this sacrificial claiming.

As he continued to speak now, his voice was low, intended for you. “Get ready for more.”

You looked up at him and tried to nod your head ever so slightly. He smirked, then he brought his other hand up under your jaw and to your throat, wanting to feel himself using you. He groaned and briefly closed his eyes. His tip hit the back of your mouth, and you spluttered. He pulled out slightly, giving you half a moment to recover, then forced the point again, holding himself there while you adjusted. He opened his eyes again, locking back onto yours, and a thrill of terror shot through you again. That was only the preliminary.

Now he would truly begin.

That look was all you got. Keeping the one hand at your throat, the provided the anchor to begin truly fucking your throat, not in a rush, but he picked up the pace. You placed your hands on his thighs to steady yourself. Your muscles initially gagged in protest, but he persisted, stroking your throat with his fingers as well, coaxing you to relax. Tears spilled down your cheeks. You concentrated on breathing through your nose and the steady gaze he kept trained on you. Soon you were taking more of him than you thought you could. He quickened his thrusts into your mouth. Your fingers stretched into the fur on his hips, mewling as he continued to use your mouth.

A few short grunts with the last thrusts were the only hint before he came, shooting his hot spend in your mouth with an unrestrained howl that shook the crowd to their core. There was no way for you to swallow everything, but, if anything, seeing his cum spilling down your chin made him grin.

Then he raised his head to address the villagers. “Remember that you gave this human to me. I will do with her as I please, and you will never see her again. Hope that you never see me again in your lifetime,” his voice carried, his power unquestioned in the clearing. “If you are lucky, the children you left home today will not see me in their lifetimes either. All of you go now. What happens next is not for your eyes.”

They followed his instructions without hesitation, all of them eager to be gone from this cursed place and their collective and ignored shame.

They left the torches – no desire for a souvenir.

And now you were alone with him, the light of the flames flickering over every inch of your exposed skin – which was almost all your skin, the lingerie only for show.

With the hand that was still anchored at the back of your head, he roughly angled you up sharply to look directly up at him, and tipping his own head forward he loomed in all his height above you, a truly searing heat in this look. “I meant what I said: you are mine, and I will never allow those vile villagers to see you again. You’re mine to do with as I please.”

He stooped down to claim your mouth in a kiss. His large thumb brushed the remaining spend from your chin and then moved down your throat to brush it over your collar bone, rubbing it in. He pushed his tongue between your lips, and you opened your mouth for him again. His tongue was too big for your mouth, too, but the more he subjected your body to the largeness of his being, the more you seemed to seep into him. He used his tongue to wrap around and tangle with yours, stroking it with his, now and then slipping it further down your throat, teasing, choking, mimicking the actions of his cock not long before.

When you were truly gasping, he chuckled darkly and pulled away, you leaned forward, lips chasing his, and then you shook your head, trying to restore some logic.

Failing.

Bucky easily tore away your bra with his brute strength. “Lay back for me, lamb.”

You shifted, legs aching from resting on them in that kneeling position for far too long. He noted the care you took in moving your limbs and rubbed the muscles up and down a few times. Then he pulled your hips to the end of the alter, flush against his cock, which was already semi-hard again. You hummed as he pushed against your still-clothed core.

His hands moved from your thighs up your sides, stoking the desire surging through your body, moving up your waist, thumbs brushing up against the underswell of your breasts, then flicking over the nipples, bringing them to little peaks before diving down to lave one of them with his tongue and suck, rolling, twisting, and pinching the other with his hand. Then he moved his mouth, and as he latched on to the other nipple, his hands worked the lace and silk panties off your hips and down your legs before tossing them away. He rutted up against you again, slow but persistent pressure against your core again, but now with no barrier he felt your arousal slicking up your entrance. When you began working your hips against him, seeking more friction, fisting your hands into his hair, he moved a hand between your legs, stroking over your labia and pushing one of his fingers right into your cunt, making you keen immediately from the force and fullness.

“Going to ruin you, lamb, but don’t want to hurt you.” He was brutal, but only because he was a monster by nature, not because he was heartless. “Gotta work your tiny pussy open so you can take me like you were meant to.”

As before, he was patient, making up for the impatience mounting inside you as he worked his fingers into you, circling, questing, stretching, twisting. When he pushed three fingers in he could tell it was a lot, but he knew he needed you to easily receive four if he was going to get to fuck you on his cock the way he wanted. All through it, he was relentless in overwhelming you in other ways, continuing to worship your breasts, but also murmuring praises against your skin, and threatening and promising filthy things that you couldn’t even respond to.

When you were thoroughly primed, aching for him, a mess with tears and begging for him, he finally realigned his hips between your legs, forcing your thighs wide to accommodate him. He bumped the head of his cock against your throbbing clit a couple of times, making your whimper repeatedly. You were lost as you lay splayed out above him, eyes tightly shut, hands reaching for him, desperately pleading his name over and over. He bent down to you again, relishing the feel of your breasts brushing against his chest for one more moment before sinking his cock into your cunt with a brutal thrust, pushing clear to the hilt, making you scream. It was wicked, and he knew it, but also knew how much he had worked up your body and your mind, and he was rewarded as you arched beneath him, and wrapped your arms around his neck, adjusted your hips, and then rocked against him, clearly seeking more.

Holding you at the precipice of pleasure for so long meant you crashed into your first orgasm very quickly as he pushed his cock in and out of your, “tight heat, little lamb, taking me so well,” he cooed. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, shuddering as he fucked your through it, groaning at the feel of your walls around him. “No one else will ever have this cunt now,” he vowed. “You’re mine.”

“Mine,” you echoed without thinking, not knowing it was exactly how he wanted his pet to feel about him. He pushed you over the edge into another orgasm and then spilled his hot seed inside you not long after. You were beyond spent, at that point, and less than a minute after he scooped you up, tucking your legs around his waist, you dropped out of consciousness, and went totally limp. He kissed the top of your head, then shifted you to sling you over his shoulder for the trek to his lair – your home. He’d secure you there, then go back to the get the wooden crate of the belongings you had shipped ahead of you and the bag you had traveled with – both were supposed to be deposited and waiting in a cave, the final part of his negotiations for acquiring his new human from that village and their foolish leader. Humans were delicate creatures with peculiar needs, after all, and he was determined to keep you content and fucked out until you were devoted to staying with him until the end of your days.

But the last hour had exceeded even his own expectations. He suspected he wouldn’t have to try very hard to keep his little lamb.

NEXT PART: Do You Remember

"haunting thoughts" on Sacrificial for the Dark Forest Fest

brief insight into what reader's life is like now

physical appearance of Minotaur!Bucky

easy and challenging parts of writing the fic

the writing of the story from concept to completion in one night

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #minotaur bucky #monster fucking #bucky barnes x you #dark!bucky barnes x reader #tw: dubcon #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bbb2023 #buckybarnesbingo2023 #hotbuckysummer2023 #terato #terato fic #minotaur smut #minotaur x reader #female reader

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 3 months

Text

Thirst Trap

A Travis Kelce Instagram AU

****

liked by chiefs, yourinstagram, jason.kelce, and 4,532 others

killatrav Can’t thank the legendary J.R. Moehringer enough for writing this piece about my life in the WSJ. I loved talking about my wife and family as well as where I see my career going over the next few years. It was an absolute honor to work with him and with my guy gstyles 📸 I really appreciate everybody that was involved in making this happen! 🙌🏻🙌🏻

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yourinstagram would have been a lot better if they took my suggestions to have you shirtless in every photo 🤷🏽‍♀️

killatrav babe please 😂 traviskelcesuperfan no I second yourinstagram ideas user third ✋🏼 yourinstagram see?! I'm thinking about your career babe killatrav sure 👀

user great article!

liked by killatrav, kyliekelce, yourbestfriend, and 2,148 others

yourinstagram outtakes from a special project justinefinephotography and I have been working on 😘

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user Travis is the luckiest man alive

killatrav why am I just now seeing these?! And are there more?!

yourinstagram these may or may not be part of your valentine's day present 👀 killatrav WHAT?! TAKE THESE DOWN RIGHT NOW!! yourinstagram calm down babe! 😂 The good ones are for your eyes only

traviskelcehater kelce your wife is smokin' hot 🥵

killatrav shut up 🤬 killatrav she is but still shut up 😡

liked by chiefs, user, yourinstagram and 14,658 others

chiefs and killatrav the grind doesn't stop 😤

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user best tight end in the league

yourinstagram sure is 😉 killatrav peaches stop playing around in the comments lol

yourinstagram is this payback for my photos?

killatrav this isn't a thirst trap, I'm just stretching girl yourinstagram please you know that behind is mine chiefs we have no idea what you're talking about yourinstagram 👀 yourinstagram not fair! I don't have a social media team

user Chiefs are trash

yourinstagram two can play this game Travis Michael

liked by kyliekelce, killatrav, yourbestfriend and 782 others

yourinstagram these 5am workouts are kicking my ass 😰

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user can you fight killatrav?

killatrav yes jason.kelce I would take his word for it

killatrav GAH DAMN GIRL!

yourinstagram 😘😘😘 killatrav if you wanted to head home right now, I wouldn't say no 🤷🏼‍♂️ yourinstagram I'm running errands and then I'll be home baby 💋 user y'all are the cutest couple

liked by killatrav, user, yourinstagram, and 4,501 others

killatrav leaving here with a dub

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yourinstagram daddy? sorry! daddy? sorry!

killatrav 😂😂😂 user can you not be gross on here? 🙄 yourinstagram I already made him a daddy, just giving him his props 🤷🏾‍♀️

chief Kelce got swag 💪🏼

jason.kelce this look is missing flip flops

#travis kelce #travis kelce fanfiction #trav kelce instagram au #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce fanfic #nfl fanfiction #nfl imagine #nfl instagram au #travis kelce instagram au

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globalrebrand · 2 years

Text

When You Deny Them

Third Years Part I: Vil, Leona

Warnings: None, not sfw, gn!reader, fluff

A/N: I'll do more of these for the other third years, hopefully.

Vil Schoenheit

With Vil, sex usually happens organically and by mutual invitation. A cuddling session will turn frisky, a scheduled encounter you both have been anticipating all day, (you and Vil are so busy you have to plan sex 😢 but it can still be sexy!)

Otherwise Vil goes off your cues. Touch his thigh and give him sultry look and he’s prepared to put you back in your place for "groping him so brazenly." Crawl into your shared bed and straddle him, or whisper in his ear how much you missed him. After some teasing, Vil will put aside most things to indulge you.

However he’s not used to you not giving him the green light. And Vil prefers you initiate because he likes to feel wanted, it's the ultimately a little ego boost for him. So what does he do when he’s horny but you’re not matching his energy or giving him the signal?

He doesn’t actively seduce you generally. The only times Vil initiates are on special occasions, your birthday, anniversary, etc, or when he’s trying to interrupt your plans so you stay in instead of going out without him.

However, if you keep turning down his advances he'll preen just like a peacock would, metaphorically spreading his tail feathers and flashing them at you.

Vil will put in a little more effort to get your attention. He'll lounge around in silk pajama with the shirt unbuttoned and recline in seductive poses.

He’ll even sneak up on you shirtless, lightly perspiring while wearing some running leggings that show off his toned ass and bulge and whisper in your ear that he's about to take a shower and how boring it would be without you.

If you wave him off he might spill something on you so you have to join him

If those attempts don't work, he'll up the ante. Vil will plan a romantic evening at home, hiring a private chef and serving a meal exclusively of known aphrodisiac foods and red wine. He'll turn on music the two of you can slow dance to on you patio over looking your beautifully maintained garden. Then he presents you with a new piece of jewelry or fancy watch. Hoping that is overtures will entice you. After all what a good partner he is! Spoiling you so.

And if that doesn't work...Vil’s not above playing the jealousy card to rile you.

If he's being subtle he'll post a thirst trap on magicam that will get a lot of attention, if he really wants to make you jealous he'll make sure you see other people fawning over him when you go to events. He hopes you'll get so worked up that you just drag him in to the bathroom and ride him. Pretty please, he won't beg. yet

Vil would never admit it, but he kind of loves then you play hard to get, telling him your busy and denying him, it only makes him all the more eager to finally get you back in his bed, or shower, wherever really since he can be so competitive, but... after a certain time the fun wears off and he has to get more forceful.

He does this by nudging you awake if you fell asleep after completing your nightly skincare routine and telling you that he has something that can ensure you have good dreams (his dick), but if you rebuff him yet again he’ll just shoot straight.

"Is something wrong my love? Have I not made my intentions clear enough? I want you...very badly."

If you tell him you're tired or over worked and thusly not in the mood, he pulls one last resort.

He schedules a vacation where he can have you all to himself.

Vil gets it you are both busy with your respective lives but you both have needs that neither of you are fulfilling with your current routine. If you work he’ll call your boss and tell them he’s taking you on vacation for a month and that if they have a problem with it that he can get you a better job with the snap of his fingers.

He picks an extremely romantic vacation in a gorgeous locale but there's really little point, Vil just wants to keep you in the hotel room.

"Isn't this wonderful, I have you all to myself little one." He'll coo while he curls his arms around you as you look out of a balcony over crystal waters. "Zero distractions. How about you make it up to me? You can start on your knees."

Leona Kingscholar

Sex with Leona is frequent and if it doesn't start as a natural part of how much time you spend napping and cuddling in bed, Leona initiates by telling you exactly what he wants you to do. Sometimes he's sweet and sultry about it, "pretty little herbivore, why don't you go ahead and get yourself off on my dick, yeah?" Other times he's straightforward. "Oi herbivore, get over here and ride me." Depends on his mood.

Regardless, Leona is a man with expectations about the sex he is "owed" in a relationship and if he’s not getting it he’ll be vocal about it. He's horny damn it! You're supposed to take care of that.

If you scold him for being grumpy towards you he’ll probably respond with something snarky like "sorry, I haven’t had my dick sucked in a week" And yes a week is all it takes to have leona protesting about sexual neglect and alienation of affection.

When it comes to you, Leona is absolutely shameless. He goes on the prowl, for you. Stalks you in your (shared) home during the day. He'll tug your undergarments down and grope at you or fondle you over your clothes. He will knock it off if you tell him to in a really firm tone that's not what you want right now, but then he’ll start demanding reasons why the two of you can’t drop everything and fuck in this hallway. The servants would just look the other way so there's really no harm in it, right? wrong

If he’s really desperate he’ll try to service you to entice you. A rare occurrence. You’ll wake up and he’ll be kissing the insides of you thighs and asking if you need him to do anything for you or complaining that he's hungry. Leona makes it very hard to turn him away, but if you have the strength to bat a pining Leona away from your spread thighs power to you.

In another bout of desperation for you, Leona will purposely arrange a situation where you catch him masturbating. On your bed, in the shower, hell even on a couch in a very high traffic area of your home. Shirt unbuttoned, cock out, looking completely unashamed as he asks, "You can help me with this can't you herbivore?"

He'll start walking in on you naked more than he already does to try and strike when you're vulnerable. And while normally Leona's a bit stingy with compliments, they suddenly become free flowing, if a not a little guilt tripping.

"So pretty, herbivore, and for what? Depriving me of this beautiful body. It's such a shame."

After a while Leona makes you a proposition. "If I beat you in chess, I get to do whatever I want with you." He won't take no for an answer (he's painfully stubborn) but the game really isn't fair considering how good Leona is at chess. When he inevitably wins he'll gloat and make sure you make if up to him. He won't tell you, but he really missed your routine intimacy.

"Finally, I can get what I need." Leona purrs as he pulls you into his chest, when you complain about his statement he adds, "Don't worry I'll take care of you too, but you have a lot to make up to me...now on the bed and spread 'em, be quick about it."

#twst wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #leona smut #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #leona x reader #vil schoenheit smut #leona kingscholar smut #vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #twst scenarios #twst imagines #vil smut

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sgiandubh · 5 months

Note

Omg!!! Such great news!

Dear @herethereeverywhere22,

I saw her post almost as soon as she published it. Well, then: karma is a bitch, isn't she? Who would have thought, just six months ago, that such a thing was ever possible?

First and foremost thought: she is apparently not useful, anymore. Too loud. Too proud. And yes, ten years at the epicenter of the Narrative must take a heavy toll on your credibility. Especially since that Remarkable Week-end, and especially since everything you say from that particular moment in time is, IMHO, not even planted, but totally freelanced.

Second thought: it's not too early, it's even late. She's been here since Day One, the ever available Useful (but also Fearless) Idiot TPTB could count on to spread the Anti gospel. She was the main reason many people left this fandom in tears and dismay and frustration. She was the Ur-Troll, the Uber Bully and I find some poetic justice in the fact that the alleged health problem is about her eyes.

Third thought: she did nothing good for S. She durably dented his professional profile and credit, describing him as a piece of meat, a thirst trap and, ultimately, a bore. The amount of childish and parochial bullshit this woman has fed her gullible audience is industrial. It is also very easy to debunk - the Hotel Costes fanfic comes immediately to mind - and I tried my best, something that earned me a 'worst of the worst' mention, if I remember well. For ten long years, she drooled an ocean over his biceps, his Golden Dirk, his supposed sexual prowess. This had to end somehow, someday. Has it?

Fourth thought: with a cool head, I wouldn't be so sure. She is a narcissist and a narcissist always needs a scene, a spotlight and an enraptured crowd. Maybe she found another victim/fandom. Maybe she is just strategically lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to jump back in. Only time will tell. For the moment, her OL reign didn't end in a blaze of glory, but with a fizzle. And make no mistake: the real winner is Marple.

FWIW, I am leaving here two links for two posts about *urv @tpquill wrote quite a while ago. She knows *urv (or Margot, or Elaine Cha Ching or whoever the fuck else she was impersonating on Pufflander's Just Make It A Double) since her Twilight fandom days. Irrespective of anything else, this gives her opinion the required gravitas:

and

And *urv: yours is the second Tumblr blog I found after BIF and the contrast between sterile and filthy was brutal. Good riddance?

#asks #fandom

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leclerc-s · 6 months

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big reputations - part three

series masterlist // previous // next

yuki tsunoda so when is daniel going to man up and invite daphne jones to a grand prix?

daniel ricciardo wow. this is a betrayal i never saw coming. my own teammate.

daniel ricciardo and i’ll do it when i can actually drive in one again?

lando norris BOO! COWARD! INVITE HER TO SUZUKA!

fernando alonso invite her before i do.

daniel ricciardo do not threaten me fernando.

daniel ricciardo why do all of you just assume i’ve talked to her?

max verstappen what is it logan says, ‘slide into her dms?’ logan sargeant never thought i’d live to see the day max verstappen said ‘slide into her dms’

lando norris there’s no way she hasn’t see the tweets from your fans.

george russell and you have? lando norris they're practically thirst trapping the woman! of course i have! charles leclerc sounds like a horrible excuse.

alex albon i thought we were all aware of lando's man crush on daniel??

lando norris fuck you albon

logan sargeant and he's trying to steal my boyfriend!

lando norris what the hell are you going on about? logan sargeant don’t think i haven’t seen the heart eyes you send oscar! oscar piastri do you just like picking fights with lando? AND WE’RE NOT DATING! STOP TELLING PEOPLE THAT

pierre gasly my favorite tweet was the one telling daphne jones that max will be a third wheel in their relationship.

max verstappen i hope you dnf gasly

kevin magnussen someone warn the poor girl that dating daniel means accepting max and his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s boyfriend.

sergio perez who’s his boyfriend? and boyfriend’s boyfriend?

kevin magnussen charles and carlos

charles leclerc HOW DID I GET DRAGGED INTO THIS? carlos sainz and me? esteban ocon that’s your biggest problem with that? not that kevin implied you two are dating? or max and charles?

max verstappen you two are shitheads

daniel ricciardo but this is so much fun

max verstappen fun for who? certainly not me.

daphne jones you're an f1 driver, you keep secrets all the time, how is this any different?

max verstappen BECAUSE AT LEAST FOR THAT I'M NOT CONSTANTLY GETTING ASKED ABOUT IT! IT’S ALSO MY JOB!

daphne jones those tweets were right, max has become a third wheel in my relationship

max verstappen YOU TWO AREN'T EVEN DATING??

daphne jones my hypothetical relationship

daniel ricciardo

max verstappen definition of down bad

daphne jones i'm taking your girlfriend out to dinner.

max verstappen excuse me?

daphne jones i'm taking out alex and pierre's girlfriends too. they're my girlfriends now.

daniel ricciardo YOU'RE IN ITALY?? WHEN I'M NOT??

daphne jones oops? daniel ricciardo I HATE EVERYTHING!!!

¡leclerc-s speaks! not going to lie, i didn't feel like changing the date on the final set of tweets. (i noticed too late and didn't want to go back and change it.) i'm like eh about this part and hopefully the next one is better. also manifesting vegas isn't the giant shitshow we're all expecting it to be. praying for the drivers' safety because the track is going to be fucking cold.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #big reputations series #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x female oc #formula one #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #fanfic #fanfiction #f1 #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 instagram au #f1 fic

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jarviscockerssecrethusband · 1 month

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Depending on your point of view, coming across Billie Hargrove’s Instagram account was either the best or the worst thing to ever happen in Stevie’s life.

Stevie didn’t even know that butches could have long hair but this one did. Granted in a douchey eighties mullet type of way. She also had a very pronounced six pack which she was not attempting to hide in any of her photos. Crystal blue eyes. A winning smile. Shit.

Billy, they/she, basketball stan and cringe Judith Butler supporter- 60% girl, 40% something else-meanest lesbian ever

Over the course of about three weeks, Stevie had looked over that profile at least six times a day. They were mesmeric and Stevie found herself wanting to be consumed. She’d never felt this way about a boy before. Not even Tommy Hagan who she’d dated for over a year before they split. And Billy was in fucking L.A. Nothing was ever going to happen between them.

Still, she found herself sliding into their DMs just before going to get her hair done. Nothing too I’ll-stab-you-and-keep-your-body-in-the-basement but like casual. Maybe a little flirty. They didn’t seem like they had a girlfriend.

What she ended up messaging was “hi Billie! You don’t know me but I love your jeans where did you get them from ☺️”

Smooth Stevie. Very smooth.

She couldn’t even talk to her hairdresser during her hair appointment because she was so embarrassed by what she’d done. A small part of her genuinely considered setting her phone on fire until she checked it again after her highlights were in.

Incredibly surprisingly to Stevie, Billie responded and not even that, responded very positively indeed.

It was all Hey pretty girl and smirking emojis and I got my jeans from this underground thrift store or whatever and Stevie didn’t exactly take any of the information in because she was so incredibly flustered.

If she flattered herself, Stevie knew she was pretty. She knew she had big eyes and glossy hair and full lips which usually led to a line of guys queuing up for a shot. Billie wasn’t like any of those frat guys she was used to or the pretentious hipsters she’d dated later on in college. If there was chasing that was going to be done, Stevie was going to have to do it herself.

A gratifying squirm started in her gut the next day, when she realised that Billy had followed her back. Stevie may have been far too chickenshit to actually message her back but still. Progress was progress.

They danced around talking for a bit. Billie always liked her stories but there was never actually any flirting. Just a palpable tension. Something waiting to begin.

Stevie was not a patient woman. So she decided to push it forward a little.

Posting a thirst trap wasn’t something Stevie had done since she was bored during lockdown but how hard could it be? It had to be like riding a bike or some shit. So she just uploaded a couple of pictures, no overthinking it.

After deleting about thirty different messages from guys, all of whom were being creeps in different ways, Stevie finally got to the message she hoped she’d get from Billie. For all the anxiety leading up to it, the actual content was remarkably short.

Cute 💖😙

Robin picked up after the third ring. Judging by the time of her voice, Stevie had definitely woken her up from a nap. Whoops.

“What the fuck is it dingus?” Ouch.

Stevie tried to answer without sounding like an absolute moron.

“Robin how do you know if a lesbian is flirting with you?”

The long silence indicated to Stevie that she’d absolutely sounded like a moron.

“What did she say dingus?”

Stevie told her then she hung up. Which seemed harsh.

Billie messaged again the following day. Again it was brief.

Sorry if I misread. I’ll leave you alone now.

Stevie had never scrambled to reply to a message as fast in her life. Begging Billie not to leave, she wasn’t very good at this type of flirting but she wanted to try.

Billie seemed a lot less bummed after that. And much flirtier. They’d explained about their ocd, the constant fear of being creepy or a bad person stopping her from messaging Stevie more. But now that they were talking they could try. If Stevie wanted.

Stevie did want. She wanted very much.

And when finally visited Billy one person about five months later and they were doing dumb first date stuff, being in love, she thought that was a pretty good story to tell their grandkids about how they’d met.

Embarrassing. But good.

@shieldofiron @dragonflylady77 @oopsiedaisiesbaby @thatgirlwithasquid @robthegoodfellow

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringrove ficlet #sapphic harringrove

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coleskingdom · 3 months

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Pictures

Will Ospreay x f reader

Same universe as the valentines fic

This one is all @midwestmade29 fault 😂

What are you looking at?” Will’s voice startling me, my phone flying from my hands as he walked into the room. “Nothing” reaching down to pick up my phone my hand meeting his. “ That’s quite a blush for it be nothing, now I really want to know what you were looking at.” Slyly grabbing my phone as he slid in behind me on the couch.

“ Will no” but I heard the deep chuckle “ What really? How did you find these? Exactly what does one google to find these particular pics. Wait are these are saved on your phone? “ kissing behind my ear “ I was actually about to delete them”

“ Why ? I think it’s cute you’ve got these on your phone, in a secret hidden folder, it’s kind of naughty. You saved these when we weren’t even together. “ nipping at my ear. “ It’s embarrassing Will” his arms pulled me back s o I reclined more into him, “ after everything we’ve done together and been through me catching you with a couple of thirst trap pictures of me on your phone is what your going to be embarrassed over, or is what you thought of and did when you brought these photos out. “ his thumbs tracing the back of my neck “ that’s it isn’t it, you got yourself off on these photos. Sweet girl the number of nights I got my self to the memories of us together. Did you use your hand, or was it a toy? Did you call out my name or did you swallow it so no one could hear.” He whispered his hand massaging my breasts, through the tank. “If I was to slip my hand inside your shorts right now and under your panties what would I find” I moaned the combination of his hands and his words doing more than the picture ever could. “ I bet I’d find you wet, I’d bet that you’d taste sweeter than sunshine, when will you realize there’s nothing that you have to hide from me.” His hand slipping under the waistband of my shorts, down the front of my panties. “ Will” I gasped as his fingers began to explore. “ I’ve got you, just lean back l, spread your legs a little bit more, there you go.” His hands given greater access, “ Now tell me why these pictures darling” his palm putting the lightest bit of pressure while his fingers teased my entrance.

“ The first one reminded me of our wilder days, just that crazy insane mad love, the reckless dangerous kind.” His fingers moved back up teasing my clit, “ Go on” he said

“ The second made me think of being on my knees in front of you, or when I’d straddle your lap , your abs and your thighs.” his fingers picking up speed, “

The third one, it always made me think you were trying to tell me something. That you knew you’d be back….” His long fingers curled inside and his palm applying the perfect amount of pressure. “ Come for me, I know you want to” one hand continued to work me the other hand was pinching and teasing my nipple , and his teeth were grazing, licking and sucking my neck. I felt the pressure build “ Right there Will, do not stop , please” I moaned as I came on his fingers the orgasm washed over me.

“Will I want you” I stood up and took off my clothes, I straddled him my hands working to get his tshirt off, lowering the waist band of his athletic pants and boxers. I kissed him as he lined up at my entrance and I sank down on him inch by inch until he was fully sheathed. We swallowed each others moans, he began to move his muscular arms around me as he thrust in to me adjusting the angle to make sure he was hitting the deepest part of my me but also that my clit got the friction I needed. Our moans, filled the room, I could feel myself getting closer and knew he was to his once completely controlled thrusts had become erratic. “Will” I moaned, “ I know” he said as we crashed together one setting off the others orgasm our breathing slowly came back to normal and he slid to the back of the couch. He kept me there pressed against him, our heads buried in an each other’s shoulders.

I felt him smile , “ What?” I asked, “ You were right about the third one, it was the day I decided to get you back no matter what I had to do my sweet girl. “

#will ospreay x reader #will ospreay smut #aew fanfiction

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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

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hockey!Abby x dancer!reader pt4

pt3, pt3.5

Tags: modern au, fluff, fem!reader, shy reader, reader is into sexy/girly dances, Abby is a sweetheart, switching pov

Notes: swearing, kissing, kind of smutty? They get worked up and it's described explicitly, but nothing really happens. So if you don't want to read it, stop reading after King Princess is mentioned and scroll down to the very end. Gossiping, because that's a fundamental female bonding experience and if you think Abby doesn't like gossip you're wrong.

I fucking forgot the phrase "dance studio" for the past three chapters. So I changed it here and maybe will edit it in previous chapters, just a heads-up.

Also I’m a dance nerd (duh), so I added some links to the choreos reader is dancing. Let me know if it's uncomfortable to read now.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

This evening Abby felt restless, like something was keeping her from doing anything. She couldn't concentrate long enough, switching between things - the pile of dishes was abandoned after the third cup, her homework was opened on her laptop but only finished halfway. She was bored out of her mind.

It's been a week since the party, and you've been texting each other every day: either it was a funny tiktok or complaining about classes or asking advice on the outfits (definitely not thirst traps from both of you, no) or heads-up about any changes on campus. Abby texted you first to find out if you got home safely, and after that it just snowballed into 5am drunk conversation and this conversation never stopped. Abby found you were easy to talk to and you didn't get angry or upset when she didn't reply for a long time. But during this week you both were so busy you weren't able to meet up even in the university centre - Jesse needed a change in schedule due to his job, and now the hockey team had practice at a different time.

Maybe that was why Abby felt so restless? She just missed you?

Well, Abby knew only one way to get some energy out (two, technically, but her head was filled with you, so she'd probably get even more frustrated from not seeing you), so she picked up her gym bag and went to the gym.

Somehow lifting weights got her mind in order: she needed to concentrate on her technique, but she didn't have to think any big smart thoughts, her head half-empty, Ramones screaming in her ears. Abby felt satisfied with her workout, so she took a photo in the mirror and sent it to you. You didn't answer right away, so Abby put her phone away and went to hit the showers, pretending she wasn't waiting for your reply.

The hot water helped her relax, and Abby left the shower feeling refreshed and pleasantly tired with an ache in her muscles. She changed and checked her phone - still no answer from you. Abby sat her phone aside and started packing her things when she heard music.

Locker rooms were next to the dance studio - that was one of the reasons why the hockey team had to go past the dance studio in order to enter the rink. (It was highly inefficient, but the whole building was built just to torture everyone - even the door to the dance studio was always open because the ventilation was absolute shit.)

Could it mean?...

Abby recognised the song - it was one of your more cute than sexy routines, and it meant you were here.

Abby's heartbeat picked up and she felt nervous - she hadn't seen you for a week and she wasn't emotionally prepared to see you dancing.

But Abby really wanted to see you. So she packed her things, checked if she looked good, grabbed her bag and went to the dance studio.

The thing was: the cultural studies paper was fucking insufferable. It was stressing you out, and when something was stressing you out, you did what did best - you avoided it. So after avoiding your laptop like it was infected, you decided to avoid your apartment altogether and go work on a new routine. That old Billie Eilish song you had a creative block on? Forget it, the choreo just came to you in an hour.

So you took a key to the dance studio, threw your bag on the floor and got to work. You saw the notification from Abby, but you assumed it was a meme so you decided to answer later (preferably already in bed).

You needed to warm up first and the Twit was next in the queue, so you let it play. The choreo wasn't too complicated and you purposely avoided some of the parts, so it should work as a warmup.

♪Twit twit twit twit

I don't like it

Nobody likes it♪

You started moving your shoulders in small cute up-and-downs and then moved on to your steps: the whole choreography was bouncy and wavy and kinda jumpy, but you liked that it was playful and worked so well when the moves were not exhausting or demanding, but even simple? It didn't take long to learn this dance.

The part you liked the most was closer to an end, just before the final sequence, when you could just jump around and twirl and shake your ass all you want without playing a role.

The song ended and the next song started to play and you rushed to turn it off (slumber party, uncensored, you'd die before letting it play through the whole centre). The first line played, but then music stopped and you sighed in relief.

"Do you have a dance for it too?"

You jumped, embarrassed, and turned to Abby who was standing in the door frame, smiling. She was dressed in a hoodie that looked super comfy and black joggers, her hair was tied in a bun, still wet. She clearly saw your panic and now was having fun at your misery.

But you saw her and you didn't care - all you wanted was to get closer, so you stood up and went up to her, smiling bashfully.

"I want to do one, but this song is not suitable for a big audience." You said and you stood as close to Abby as it was appropriate, enjoying the way she was taller than you, making you feel like- like a lady.

"It has a clean version." Abby smiled as she put your hair away from your face. "Hi."

"Hi." You giggled, unable to look away from Abby's face. God she was so fucking pretty. "I didn't know you were here."

"I was at the gym. I sent you a picture."

"Oh shit. I haven't seen it yet."

You ran to grab your phone and opened your dms, just to choke on air: Abby was so hot and so- so- damn there wasn't a word to describe what was happening to you. It felt like your insides rearranged just from looking at this photo.

You looked up at Abby, as she unashamedly enjoyed your reaction.

"Fuck you." You laughed as Abby tilted her head bashfully. "It's unfair."

"Seems fair to me." She grinned playfully.

"Um. Do you want to stay? I just came, and I wanted to work on my new routine, but-" I'll do anything if you stay. "I can dance something for you? Like the hockey guys list, but Abby list."

Abby's brain stopped functioning. To stay here alone with you and watch you dance what she wanted you to dance? Fuck. Fuck.

It meant watching all your arches, spins, shakes directly, not like Abby was used to, watching you from the side or through the mirror. She knew she was setting herself up with the sweetest torture, the biggest tease, but-

"Yeah, sure."

Abby put her bag on the floor and went closer to you, while you were looking for your dancing playlist.

"Obviously, if you wanna see some of Ellie's routines, I can, but it won't be as good as if it was her."

"Why?"

"I don't have the body type. It looks funny."

"No, you look amazing when you dance." Abby said, and you turned to her, your faces too close but not close enough. Abby looked at your lips, thinking if it would be a right thing to do, to kiss you now.

"You like my dancing?"

"Are you serious, (y/n)?" Abby wasn't entirely sure if it was a genuine question or if you were flirting. "You're the only reason I come here after practice."

You blushed adorably and Abby couldn't resist anymore. She cupped your face and kissed you, sweet and gentle, careful not to turn it into something more heated. She just wanted to feel you in her hands, to hold you like something precious, just because she fucking missed you.

You pulled away with a small smile, and something in Abby melted when you held her face with your fingertips, all sweet and light.

“I just thought you came here for Ellie.” You murmured, smiling and not moving away.

“I did the first time, because she deserves to be made fun of for her crush on Dina.” Abby rolled her eyes and you giggled.

“I mean, she did make a whole duet routine with that Dove Cameron song just for her and Dina, so I’m not defending her.”

“She did what?” Abby couldn’t believe what she just heard. What was wrong with Williams? “O my god.” Abby full on facepalmed, feeling second-hand embarrassment. Ellie really embraced "I'm cringe but I'm free" mindset when it came to her crushes.

“Yeah, I think she tried to show Dina she was better than Jesse? To be fair, it did work.”

“What?” Was Abby living under a fucking rock? How did she miss all of this? “What happened?”

“I don’t know what exactly happened, but she broke up with Jesse like, two weeks ago. And he’s not handling it well, that’s why your schedule changed, he doesn’t want to see Dina.”

“WHAT?” Now this shit was getting ridiculous. Jesse didn’t tell anyone! “The fuck? He said his boss asked him to work different shifts!”

“What? No, he lied. He literally told Dina he couldn’t see her with Ellie and he needed a break or something.”

“Motherfucker. It’s not like their relationship was going anywhere, just get over it.”

“Right? They were already breaking up like they had a schedule, it wouldn’t have worked anyway.” You paused as you went through your playlist. “Okay, what do you want me to dance?”

Abby blinked. She had a feeling it was a trick question, and she also couldn’t remember the names to any songs that weren’t super popular.

“Which one is your favourite?”

“It’s hard. Let’s just see what is going to play if I feel like it - or if you like it - I’ll do it.”

“Isn’t it 'Slumber Party' right now?” Abby smirked and watched how you blushed.

“I can find a clean version and just improvise if you want.” You said, now clearly being coy.

"The clean version is lame."

You laughed and started going through your playlist. Abby recognised most of them, and if she liked pain, she'd have stopped you on some of them, but she still thought she could survive this.

You wanted to dance something that Abby would like, so you tried to pick something you didn't make a lot of mistakes in. You were nervous and you didn't really know how to dance for her. Would she like a whole performance or would she like to become one with a mirror like she wasn't there?

"Do you want me to dance at you or at the mirror? Some people are not comfortable when we interact with them during performance."

Abby looked at you, taking a pause, and you got nervous if you asked something weird.

"At me, please." Abby smirked and you blushed again.

"Still no requests?" You stood up with your phone, getting ready to dance. You chose a routine, but still waited for Abby.

"I'm thinking about it."

"Okay, you think and I'll dance. Sit." You pointed on the floor right in front of the mirror, meaning: right in front of you. Abby sat on the floor, legs crossed, and you got ready.

The music started playing and you started moving, smooth and seductive, and Abby had to hold into her hoodie otherwise she'd just grab you. And then you were lying on your back, looking up at her with big innocent eyes that was obviously an act and Abby felt her stomach tighten up in arousal. The music carried on but the routine ended, so you've stopped dancing, breathing heavily.

"Did you like it?" You asked, eager to hear her opinion. Abby unfroze and looked at your happy face.

"Yeah, it was very cool." Abby needed to save herself before she needed to change her pants. "Can you do Say So next?"

That was an extremely tactical decision: that choreo wasn't too sexual and Abby really needed a breather after that. You agreed and while you were looking for it, Abby tried to calm down. She needed to keep it in her pants.

"You know, I actually really like Say So choreo." You showed a sequence where your hands go up your body but stop at a beat a few times as you move. "So easy but looks so good."

The casual show of how well you can control your body and your movements reminded Abby how skilled you were in the area she was a total zero, and she felt her heart swell with affection and pride that she got to touch someone as talented as you were.

You've danced a few more routines, some sexy some not, and you enjoyed how intently Abby watched you, her eyes following your every move, every arch and every hand. You've made a few mistakes in some of them, but it didn't seem that Abby even noticed, her wide eyes on you, unblinking. It was cute and made you feel powerful: it was your body that made her all glossy eyed, and she was only looking. She visibly tried to stay serious, but she forgot about it a few seconds into the next dance.

And then you had a naughty, naughty thought. A year or so ago you made a choreo for Holy by King Princess, and it wasn't super explicit, but it was something that fitted into the situation right now. So you stopped music for a second, trying to remember how it went without spoiling anything for Abby.

"I think you'll like this one. Especially when I remember the whole dance." You winked.

Abby laughed quietly and waited, watching you doing the "I'm remembering choreo just by moving my hands like a T-Rex" thing.

When you've felt confident enough, you turned the music on and started dancing, a little lazy but sharp on specific beats, keeping Abby's attention. The verse was easy, but you were waiting for a different part.

♪Honey, on your knees♪ - You pointed your finger towards the floor, showing Abby her place in this performance and looking just the right side of mean - ♪when you look at me♪ - you pointed back at your face, holding eye contact with Abby, enjoying her big glossy eyes.

♪I'm dressed like a fucking queen♪ - you moved your hands down your body, showing your curves, and slowly went down for a wide squat that flawlessly turned into you standing on your knees just in front of Abby, as you held your hands like a prayer, looking up and arching your back - ♪and you're begging please♪

♪Holy♪

You looked down at Abby, and something snapped. Abby could not not touch you, especially since you were so close, just in an arm reach. So before you could move away, she grabbed you by your waist and pulled you down in her lap, kissing you wet and raw, feeling your body, kneading your flesh like it was her last chance to touch you. God you got her worked up. Abby didn't move her hands down to your butt but she wanted to, fuck she wanted to. So she pulled away, desperate to get your permission.

"Can I?" Abby asked, panting, not moving away from your sweet mouth. She moved her hand just shy of your butt as she watched you blush, absolutely starving for you. "Please."

"Yeah." You whispered and kissed her again, clinging to her soft hoodie, to her shoulders as if she could just disappear under your fingers.

That was all Abby needed. She grabbed your butt, pulling you so close you felt her lower stomach pressing between your legs, practically lifting you up, her hands kneading your butt. You moved closer to Abby, chest to chest, feeling her boobs against yours as you sighed into her mouth, so aroused her one touch could explode you right now, your underwear completely soaked.

Abby pulled away and put her lips on your neck, kissing and licking your skin, not even caring you were all sweaty after dancing. You sighed, surprised, and Abby's ears tuned to your noises, hyper aware of your every breath as she nipped at your neck, every sound resonating with her own body, going straight to her crotch.

"Fuck you drive me crazy." Abby whispered in your neck as she kissed your collarbones. "Just fucking marry me."

You laughed silently, but your laugh was interrupted by your sharp inhale when Abby scraped her teeth over your skin, sending a thrill through your body.

"I'm not getting married at 21, Abby." You took her face in your hands and looked at her, adoring her. "You're so pretty."

"Go on a date with me."

You blushed and Abby groaned inside: how the fuck this is what was getting you shy, not the makeout session you too just had?

"You make me feel like a lady, Abby." You rubbed your nose against hers and she suddenly hugged you, making you yelp.

"Shit you're so fucking cute." You giggled and hugged her back, basically crushing her head with your chest.

Abby sighed, content. She could die a happy woman now.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #hockey!abby

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insertsickusername13 · 1 year

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the fact the eight-episode limited netflix series i have made up for be more chill with each episode focusing on a different character, the first being Jeremy getting the squip, the second being christine dating him, the third being a flashback to rich and learning his entire backstory starting from freshman year all the way up to the present-day that's thirty minutes longer than every other episode in the series, then michael does the halloween party, Jake does the fire and the immediate aftermath, Jenna sets up the play and everything that's about to happen, the play is from chloe's pov, the hospital from Brooke's, and it ends with jeremy taking back the narration and doing his whole 'voices in my head' thing and we get depth on all the popular kids and learn the intricacies of each character and get thirst trap edits of jake and chloe and angsty edits of michael and jeremy on tik tok and really cringy cosplayers and a soundtrack of pop songs to back up angsty scenes because it's no longer a musical and a cast that are all super close friends and do interviews together doesn't exist and never will exist constantly haunts me

#I HAVE ALL THE DETAILS MADE UP #IT'S SO GOOD #mostly i have the narration #like jeremy's voice doing an overlay and setting the scene of middleborough or however it's spelled #and like the social hierarchy and all #and then rich's whole story from start to finish akfjskgj #jake's narration after the fire is like peak angst and we learn how he reacted and handled it #everyone's narration using 'i' a lot but when it comes to jenna's episode #she's only telling other people's stories #so we primarily hear 'she' and 'him' and stuff like that #the squip and jeremy are like a side plot and most of its focused on like the actual friendships

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 3 months

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Yellow City, chapter sixteen - a Malevolent AU

A trial.

A choice.

Parker learns what partner really means.

Chapter sixteen of Yellow City. Warning: explicit content.

AO3

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It had taken seven hundred and twenty-nine years. A significant number, and one Hastur told nobody: nine times nine times nine again. It was a number of great power.

A lot of power had gone into finding Arthur Lester.

Hastur should have done what Y’golonac was doing. That was what gods of their ilk always did: whispering in dreams, speaking through objects intentionally (and illicitly) left behind, revealing things in sacrificial fires and through the screams of the mad. Channeling power, but not presence—awful from a god’s perspective, giving and barely receiving—if quite nice for the humans involved.

Should have done it that way, by any stretch of reason. Their bet was already going, and had been for more than three decades at that point—which was nothing in their eyes, but half a lifetime for a human. Yet, Hastur did not.

He missed Earth. He missed humans he could touch and play with. He missed their creativity, their crazy emotions, their warm, red blood. So that day—the seven hundred and twenty-ninth anniversary of the first time he’d held the scales he’d made and they’d broken—he decided to try one more time.

It was not uncommon to see him there, carrying scales and attempting the impossible. He wandered through his beautiful pavilion, pleased by the white marble, the perfectly spaced shadows beneath the scrying pillars, the magnificence of desperate humans dancing in projection and begging for their help.

To be needed… They all missed it. They all craved it. They all suffered for the lack of it. And humans had no idea how much the gods thirsted, or they would absolutely drive harder bargains than they did.

Robe gleaming and fluttering, he walked between. Help me, cried one. My husband, cried another. Trapped, cried a third.

Hastur would never forget his first glimpse of that miserable human man called Arthur Lester.

The man was drunk. His summoning circle was ridiculously drawn, working almost as a fluke, sigils misaligned in a shape not even the most generous could call round. But maybe his force of will made it work, anyway.

The man had stood there (stood, not knelt), screaming at the sky, hands clenched like claws, demanding suffering.

Another middling god, curious, held up their scales, and then sort of sadly hooted as the scales…

Did not crash to the right, indicating they were too strong for the human. No. These scales crashed to the left.

That almost never happened. The little god (of a child’s joy when blowing dandelion fluff, if Hastur recalled right) moved on, and Hastur stepped near.

Oh, he liked this human. So fierce; eyes red and swollen, teeth (white and well-cared-for, so this rough condition was new) bared. His clothing wasn’t bad quality, but it was… not in great shape, wrinkled, sweat-stained, the shirt completely misbuttoned, the tie an awkward noose. The jacket had been thrown off to the side, forgotten.

He wasn’t shaved. His hair looked like it might not have been washed in weeks. As required for summons, the man was barefoot, revealing that his toenails were not trimmed. And, Hastur noted, the pants were recently too large, cinched with a belt and folding slightly in on themselves—as though he hadn’t been eating.

Incredible. This man was fucking desperate. He’d make someone a delicious treat.

It was so rare for a human to overbalance a god. It was more than will, more than density of spirit; it was an amorphous quality of self, a consequence of life and luck and choice and chemistry, of the billion little things that made every human so unique (and oh, Hastur missed them so much).

Well. Chances were, Hastur would just break another scale, but it would do no real harm to try. He’d held it up.

And the scales had balanced.

Few things gave Hastur chills. This did.

Suffering, demanded this man, and his grief was almost too sour, too full, and made Hastur salivate like some starving thing overwhelmed by food too rich. Hastur waved one tentacle, a graceful and beckoning motion, and the man came into full view.

Full view.

In this moment, the god saw everything. Of course they did; how else could they be sure they could fulfill a Contract when taking it? It was a risk to Contract, every time, but seeing everything certainly helped.

And there was quite a lot to see. Suffering! the man sobbed, and he dug his fingers into his forearms, gouging his own flesh, completely unaware he was doing it.

But he’d created his mess himself. It was an accident, and anyone could see that, except this man did not.

It would be an easy Contract to fulfill, zero risk; the act of Harvesting itself would fulfill the Contract’s demands. Hastur couldn’t have created a better setup if he’d tried.

He studied this man. He might get a few days out of him, perhaps even a week; long enough to see what Y’golonac was up to, discover his stupid, nasty plots, unmoor them, and send them all adrift.

(He hoped for a week. A week on Earth, long enough to at least experience it, long enough to enjoy his new human. A week would be… a gift.)

“Hello, Arthur Lester,” said Hastur. The man gasped, shocked at the voice in his mind, and Hastur rumbled, pleased.

After a week, when Arthur had lost no body-parts, when the man hadn’t seemed drained at all, Hastur could barely believe his luck.

After a month, when Arthur was still hale and hearty, and could actually manage channeling a smidge of Hastur’s power through him, Hastur began to wonder if he was somehow being rewarded for all his hard work in the Dreamlands.

After a year, he’d just assumed Arthur would be fine until he wasn’t. Which is to say, Hastur tried very, very hard not to think about the end.

Oh, he’d teased it. He’d purred it at Arthur, used it like a terrifying flirt, because it was happening and they needed not forget that; but he no longer wanted it to.

He wanted to stay here. He wanted to play. He wanted to enjoy Arthur Lester, who constantly surprised him, who made him laugh and infuriated him sometimes in the same breath, who was never still except when he was sleeping or drunk. And sometimes, not even then.

Hastur hated it when Arthur was drunk. He lost all control of Arthur when Arthur was drunk. He couldn’t speak reason to that man at all when Arthur was drunk, and that felt just… bad.

Terrible. Unacceptable. No good.

Hastur spent the first year nagging the fuck out of Arthur until he stopped going nightly to Jack’s Bar. Of course, that meant dealing with Arthur’s bad dreams.

A little magic cured that.

Hastur wondered after why he’d done that. Arthur’s torment in sleep should have just been the tastiest fucking thing. And it was, sure, it… it was.

Hastur didn’t like it, so. Peaceful dreams for Arthur, the end.

By year two, he’d begun to worry that Y’golonac had actually outsmarted him.

Impossible. That absolutely could not happen. The Defiler was smart, sure, but in the way of a fungus; he chose the easiest path, and if blocked, was predictable in the way he tried to move around it. This shouldn’t be this hard.

It seemed the Defiler had found a worthy human, as well, even though it had to be through secondary means… and with Hastur’s body frozen (one enormous statue of himself in the Pavilion, glorious for all to see—he’d posed, of course), he couldn’t bug his stupid brother to find out just what that asshole had done.

This human priest was good. Really good. No aetheric waste, no sloppy clues leftover, not so much as a fucking hair left somewhere to indicate who the fuck they were.

Damn Y’golonac. Lucky son of a bitch had found some kind of genius. But why would a genius listen to the Defiler?

It was… irritating.

Hastur knew he had the better human, of course, but that wasn’t the point. Not even Arthur Lester could last forever, and Hastur was beginning to see very tiny signs.

More exhaustion at the end of the day. Slightly more will needed on Hastur’s part to do those tiny magics. And once—just once—a larger magic attempted, and it knocked Arthur out.

Arthur didn’t remember that one. He thought he’d been cold-cocked. That was good, because Hastur had panicked, and wasn’t very proud of it.

At least Asenath got a kick out of it. Though it wasn’t really fun to be laughed at, either.

Three times. Hastur had control of Arthur’s body three times, and he’d made use of those times. He did research, he talked to witches, and he made progress on his actual purpose here. Though one of those times he wasted half of spying on Parker Yang.

Fuck, that man got under his hide. The guy was like some honed knife, some wicked-sharp blade, gleaming and deadly and precise. Parker was always there. Always watching. Always violent. Always excellent. And damn, if he wasn’t easy on the eyes, too.

That anger was not a turn-off. Hastur wanted to eat it. If he’d had a way to do that through Arthur, he would.

He did not, so he had to put up with it. And he had, very well-behaved, until he couldn’t take it anymore. Until Parker’s casual bullying became pointed.

Parker wanted Arthur. It was obvious he wanted Arthur. (Which lots of people did, but Arthur always missed it, and Hastur was just fine with that.) Hastur absolutely could not parse what he was feeling at the thought that they might touch each other and he would have no part in it.

So he tried to make sure that didn’t happen.

For some reason, it didn’t work.

At least he got to touch with Arthur’s left hand. At least he got to see.

It wasn’t enough.

Arthur’s last week on Earth was absolutely weird, and Hastur could admit in hindsight he might have gone a little overboard.

He felt bad about Arthur not listening to him. He felt bad about the realization that Parker was apparently into some dangerous esoteric shit. He felt bad about Arthur crying, bad about Asenath dying, bad about the way Parker had to die at their hand—like shattering a work of art, even if he had been tainted by the Defiler. (And learning who Parker worked for made Hastur feel like he’d lost something, but he didn’t know what that meant, either.)

But Asenath had a black mirror.

Asenath had a black mirror.

Asenath had a black mirror, and that turned the whole day around.

Asenath had a black mirror, and though Arthur was dying, he didn’t have to die.

Asenath had a black mirror, and that meant Hastur could have him.

There was only a little bit of cleverness needed to make this work. Some drama—which felt so good now that he had his body back. Some caution—the black mirror was never meant to handle someone of his power, and he had to be so careful or it would break and damn them both. And then, some manipulation to nudge Arthur toward the right end-game—or Arthur would have to die, and Hastur no longer wanted that.

It had been far too easy.

Arthur as the killer? Revealed.

Arthur mentally crashing? Achieved.

Arthur demanding death? Loophole triggered.

“Do it!” Arthur screamed, and spit pathetically, and it was just so adorable and missed completely.

Hastur had one tentacle around Arthur’s waist, one around his ankle, one under Arthur’s chin, and was so fucking happy to be finally touching him. “Do what, Arthur Lester, murderer?” he rumbled.

It was like the initial Contract demand all over again, standing in that ruined circle, snarling. “Do it! Harvest me! Get it over with!”

“Is that what you wish?” said Hastur, and he couldn’t help his glee, couldn’t help eagerness leaking through his tone.

Arthur sobbed it. “Yes!”

Done. Perfect. He’d won. “Then I so fulfill our Contract, Arthur: I will not give you what you want.”

“Wh… what…”

“‘Make them suffer,’” Hastur hissed, repeating Arthur’s words from his Contract so long ago. “‘I don’t care who they are. Find them. Make them pay. Make it slow. Make it long. That’s what I want.’”

How Arthur stared!

“I will not give you the death you crave. In fact…I will prevent it,” said Hastur. “Thus, I fulfill our Contract.” And he’d brought Arthur through, carefully, slowly, and somehow, the mirror didn’t break.

Hastur sighed. What a wonderful moment that had been! He’d been so relieved, all around, because it could have gone so wrong. Instead, it all worked out.

Hastur had earned his fucking pet.

Not so much a pet now, though. Was he?

His humans lay in his bed, asleep, fitted against each other like pieces of a strange puzzle, and he studied them. Yes; he could admit it to himself, privately, he’d gone a little nuts upon realizing he could actually touch Arthur Lester. And yes; he’d gone a little nuts over Arthur’s madness, because it distracted, because when playing with him and focusing on him, Hastur could forget that they were all doomed.

And he could admit he’d gone a little nuts the moment Parker actually came within his reach.

He would never touch a human belonging to one of his peers. Some gods had more dignity than that. All he’d been able to do for years was aggravate Parker to get his attention (delightful), and then let him walk away. Alas.

But then! Arthur had asked for him! It wasn’t even Hastur’s idea! He couldn’t be blamed… and all that idiot Y’golonac wanted in return for his beautiful and misused priest was his vote.

What a moron.

So now Hastur had them both, and he was happy for it. And Parker’s anger was every bit as delicious as he’d thought it would be. And Parker was more fun to poke than a month-old kitten.

Parker was lovely. Like some dark guardian, protective of Arthur and evidently unaware of it. Whip-smart. Graceful. Weak, of course; the Defiler had fucked up his body, and Hastur hadn’t… felt like fixing it at first.

Parker bitched about running around, so that made it funny.

But when he’d apologized…

Hastur had not expected that. Perhaps he should have; humans changed, all the time, and that was part of what made them so delightful. It still took him by surprise.

He’d given Parker’s strength back. It felt like the right thing to do.

It felt better all around, after that.

Just like with taking Parker away from Y’golonac, partnering was Arthur’s idea—which meant Hastur could support this as if he hadn’t wanted it all along.

At least until Arthur called him out.

“I want him as our partner,” Arthur had murmured, nude, well-used, looking up at him with a sleepy adoration Hastur suspected was addictive.

“Do you,” said Hastur, tracing the sensitive tips of his tentacles over Arthur’s skin, point-first, leaving little red lines that vanished like kisses.

“I do,” said Arthur. “And so do you.”

Hastur paused. “Why do you say that, little detective?”

And oh, how Arthur smiled, a warm smile, a knowing smile that had no place on the face of a man who was looking at his god. “Just because he thinks no god would want him doesn’t mean I'm blind.”

Incredible. Arthur was the best human.

He’d have them both, and all of Carcosa would know. Everything was coming up Hastur!

At least until the Pavilion of Contracts was destroyed.

His humans slept. Without leaving the bed, Hastur reached, taking spell-paper and gryphon quill and his own magic ink, and wrote a message to the Mother herself.

He hadn’t dared to speak to her in centuries—apart from begging for his pet. Begging for his… Arthur.

Well. This was an emergency. This could not wait. If the contract system wasn’t back online within the next hundred years, there would start being deaths. Very bad ones, pulling nearby deities and powers into the void with them.

It was all going to end, anyway, in time, an unsustainable system… but it had been delayed. He wanted that delay. He wasn’t done.

He paused and looked at his humans. Their graceful spoon had devolved during the night, and they’d somehow tangled their rigid human legs and arms. Parker had slid down, jacked his chin up on Arthur’s shoulder, and was breathing directly up into his ear. Arthur leaned into this instead of away, and his mouth hung open, lips pink and wet.

To them, a hundred years probably seemed like a long time. It was not a long time.

This was really an emergency, and he had no choice.

Hastur sighed slowly. Time to see if Arthur had truly charmed “Mama Laveau” enough that she would not choose to let it all slide into oblivion, after all.

Probably only a few minutes, it lasted

Probably wasn’t nearly as bad as it had seemed in retrospect, couldn’t have been

Wrong place wrong time four fleeing bank robbers on their way to the docks, just bad luck for a sixteen-year-old nobody, a kid who was pretty darned strong for what he was but still only one , and

And the voice had been whispering for over a year, promising, bringing old Barnaby to mind more than once, more patient than Parker knew how to resist, said Ask me

Caught

(Watched?)

Beaten

(Fucking watched?)

And

The things they said, waiting for their getaway boat, a gun in his mouth in his throat

Laughing

The taste of gunmetal of some rancid oil of his death, setting off his gag reflex and

He’d witnessed them he was a witness they were never going to let him go

They would hurt him so much more and they were going to kill him and he didn’t want to die and it wasn’t fair and

He didn’t expect to call for help to the god who’d been fucking bugging him for over a year

It just happened

Not that praying screaming calling had ever brought help before, ever at any time, but then

I thought you’d never ask.

A flash of putrid green stench left him blind and choking on the rotted wood of the dock, screaming and rotting and vomiting and the gun clogged with black spew and couldn’t go off and then…

A touch woke him, and he startled upright with a gasp.

Arthur buzzed on, asleep, probably magically. Hastur was the one who’d touched him.

Parker panted, shivering and sweaty, staring at him.

Hastur’s touch—gentle, in spite of such power—rested under his chin, cupping his face. “A bad dream.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Bad memory,” said Parker, wiping his face on his forearm.

“I could taste it.” Hastur stroked his cheek, ran the very tip of his tentacle along Parker’s lips. “Quite sour. Quite… foul.”

Foul. Sour. Yeah. That worked.

The memories splashed in his head like water disturbed in a tub by a brick. The slippery slope, the “gifts” from this god, the promises again and again that cleansing was his goal, the commiserating over how awful the world was because of other gods.

And the tiny, tiny compromises asked.

Leaving some food to rot in dark places.

Eventually, stealing dead animal bodies from behind the strays disposal building.

Eventually, using the bodies of people he’d had to kill—criminals, off the books, no due process—and leaving them somewhere to rot.

Eventually—

“You weep,” Hastur observed.

Parker did weep. He hadn’t done that in… a long fucking time. He used to when he’d killed for his god, at least at the beginning, even though he knew, believed, that with one death, he could save thousands. One at a time.

He’d been so sure.

“Fuck,” Parker said, wiping his face.

“I taste regret,” said Hastur, tilting Parker’s face up and wiping away tears with another fine tentacle-tip. “I taste shame.”

“You don’t know nothing,” Parker said, then stopped. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“I do,” said Hastur.

“Yeah.” Parker swallowed and looked up at him. “How would you know?”

“I see shadows,” said Hastur, his voice low and frightening and strangely sensual, as though torn between appropriate horror and simmering desire. “I see you weeping and sacrificing, then not weeping and sacrificing. I see you converting your coworkers and firing hold-outs. I see you hardening, witnessing the wicked things humans do, the desperation and misery and pain. I see you wondering if the world is even worth saving.”

Parker stared.

“I know you very well, Parker Yang,” said Hastur, rumbling, more tentacles rising, sliding around him, and still on his knees, Parker shuddered. “I know your flaws and your strengths. I know your fears and your obsessions.”

“You…” Parker bared his teeth. “Well, I know, you, too!”

“Oh?” said Hastur, amused.

“You’re a fucker,” said Parker.

Hastur laughed softly.

Parker wasn’t done. “You love fucking with me.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I find you delightful, Parker Yang,” said the god of madness and music, and Parker didn’t realize until this moment just how powerful the use of his name was.

Every time Hastur spoke it, it was like being pushed by some invisible tide, something that lifted him from his feet without effort, that made him feel for one, breathless second like he’d never find ground. “That why you… you said yes to Arthur about… partners?”

“I said yes because I wanted to,” said Hastur.

“Sure,” said Parker. “What’s your angle?”

The many, many tentacles sliding over Parker’s skin quirked, some ticklish, some constricting, and Parker’s breath caught. “I have many angles, Parker Yang,” purred the dark god.

It felt good. Parker’s voice was tight. “Quit it.”

Hastur did. Withdrew completely leaving him feeling fucking bereft. “Any other requests?”

And Parker knew he was going to say yes. Yes to partners. Yes to Arthur.

Yes to Hastur.

This was not like other gods anymore.

Not like—

Because of Arthur. Yes. That was it. That was the difference. Parker could accept this because fucking Lester was… Lestering.

He was briefly furious at Asenath for coming up with that verb.

But he couldn’t let the asshole know all that just yet. “Trial today?”

“Yes.” Grim. All the tentacles stilled. “You will have to be there. Arthur cannot attend. It would be too much for him… and I believe my brother would use his presence in some way.”

Parker frowned. “But you want me there.”

“Yes.”

“I wanna go.”

The tentacles moved, undulating. “Why?”

“I owe that bastard, and he owes me.”

“This will not be an occasion of payback.”

“No. But it also won’t be my first trial.” And he’d been parsing something the Keeper said. “You gods… you all have a purpose, don’t you? Something you… I dunno, represent, or create, or something.”

“We do. We have our purpose, born of the Dreamer, formed by Yog-Sothoth’s will.”

He had a thought. A big one. He couldn’t word it yet. “Arthur gonna be okay here?”

“Asenath will be with him.”

“He gonna be fucking safe, Hastur?”

“I believe he will be safe.”

Fucking witches. “Guess she’s got a direct line to the Mother’s power here, huh?”

“She does. Not to mention the Mother herself.”

Parker sighed. “He just… gonna sleep?”

“That is the plan.”

So Arthur wouldn’t even be awake to worry about them.

Or… run after them. Or get into something crazy, start shouting about stolen bed linens, or whatever. Yeah, Parker could see the wisdom in this. “This trial gonna mean anything to the Defiler?”

“If it goes as expected, he will be banished to Outer Darkness.”

So, in a very real way, death.

Weird, how that was… strange. Weird, how his heart couldn’t go for that one hundred percent. Weird, how it just felt bad, even though at the same time, it was miraculous.

“You have seen many human cases,” said Hastur, maybe reading his face, maybe reading his thoughts.

“Yeah.”

“You have seen spouses grieve when their heinous partner received just deserts.”

“Wait a fucking minute. I ain’t nobody’s pincushion,” Parker snarled.

Hastur let it go, but his tentacles fucking smiled. Of course they did. The blow had landed.

Parker was still furious when Hastur dressed him for the trial in a sort of dark bodysuit, not too different from Asenath’s favorite, but he could not find a way to argue.

The gods of Carcosa gathered for a trial.

There hadn’t been one since he had been banished, the betrayer, sent away for his crime of giving the secret of unraveling life to every Earth in every timeline, telling them not to use it, and expecting to be obeyed.

They wouldn’t actually do it, he’d said. They’d just hand it down and corrupt the fuck out of it like they did most secrets, he’d said. It would be spy games and intrigue for generations, he’d said.

And if the Mother hadn’t proven his shock when one after another they lit their worlds on fire, when through the vagaries of chronology and fuckery all the worlds burned at once even though they were centuries apart from each other, everyone would have assumed he’d meant it to go down that way.

But he hadn’t. While he’d laughed like a lunatic after he’d recovered from the shock, he had been in shock, and that was why he’d someday be allowed back.

Not now. Not for a long time. Outer Darkness did not alter him, so isolation and boredom were all that could be done.

Shub-Nigurrath was relieved. She wasn’t sure she could kill him, but more than that, his role was too unique in the reality the Dreamer dreamed: someone had to keep an ear out for the snoring.

In all that time since, they hadn’t needed another trial. Today, they finally did. She grieved it had come to this.

The Plateau of Trials was high above Carcosa, a tall, rune-gashed pillar with a wide, round platform on top of it. There, sourceless white light showed everything. There, accuser and accused stood, waiting to begin.

All around, gods watched, hidden in the darkness and meters above the ground. Occasional gleams revealed so many eyes, and spurts of flame flickered in the presence of deific breath. Silent, the gods waited. No matter how this went, it would be frightening.

The gods were what they were in nature, tied to the things that exist; the god of water droplets joyfully flung when whales splashed could not stop being that thing, but the personal details were up to him. Were he erased—sent back to Outer Darkness—he would still be the god of water droplets splashed by whales, even though whales were extinct.

But he might not like lemon anymore. Or knock-knock jokes anymore. All the personal development be gone.

Hastur would always be the god of artistic madness, even if he came back quiet and serene.

Y’golonac would always be a god of rot and rebirth… and might benefit from the stripping of all the patterns and proclivities he’d developed since the beginning.

She still didn’t want to do it. It wasn’t that she liked him. It’s that he was known.

They’d lost so many who were once known.

This damage couldn’t be overlooked. The hammer would fall, and the Mother of a Thousand Young lacked the power to hold it back. MY CHILDREN. MY FAMILY. MY FEW. WE ARE HERE BECAUSE AN ACCUSATION HAS BEEN LEVIED. THE CLAIM, FROM H’AAZTRE, COMES AGAINST HIS BROTHER Y’GOLONAC. THE CLAIM IS THAT Y’GOLONAC HAS CROSSED THE LINE UNBIDDEN—A LINE WE ALL KNOW AND SEE—AND SO SHORTENED THE TIME WE HAVE REMAINING. Y’GOLONAC, CHILD OF AZAZOTH, HARBINGER OF THE RECYCLING AND RENEWING OF LIFE, WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?

The Defiler stepped forward.

He was huge. Had gone all out for this moment, for this possible last excursion as the self he’d honed, and he dripped putrescence, left hissing, smoking holes in the ancient stone as he walked, and spread his arms wide, mouths sneering at the world. “I do, great Mother, greatest of us all,” they spoke in unison. “You who held back the final darkness, who preserved the least worthy of life, who saved those who squander it and throw it away though it comes at cost for us all. I do have things to say.”

Her sigh was the breeze that moved oceans, that sped clouds across the sky, that puffed away the cobwebs of mortal dreams. SPEAK.

“Do we not all know what comes?” said the Defiler, turning in a slow circle, destroying the pillar on which he stood, cratering it unevenly, like rotted cheese. “We need not wait for the Idiot to wake! Our end comes. We delay it with falsehoods. Why do we wait? Is it our preference to fade slowly, to cruelly starve? To barely subsist on the pretense of presence, of pleasure, of failing to take what is our right!”

Ah, that voice; alternately gloopy and hissing-smooth. It was seductive, almost sweet. He’d always been good at speeches. Parker knew this; but tying those words with this sight still threw him for a loop.

Parker had, somewhere around his eighteenth year, began imagining that Y’golonac looked like a verdant green valley—something he’d never seen in real life, but found photos of in books. Yes, that felt right; rolling hills, wild shapes in the land, covered in rich, blooming things that fed off the death and rot of the old.

Y’golonac was not like that, and green things near him died.

“Well?” said the Defiler. “You all know I am right. H’aaztre simply wishes things to remain as there are, here, in the prison he’s designed, because he alone benefits. He enjoys our pain. He delights in our misery while he alone benefits from this arrangement. I say it is time to take that which belongs to us. What I have done in the Pavilion of Contracts is a blessing. Needed. From here, we can do what we need.”

Parker’s jaw clenched so tightly it hurt.

The Mother’s tone revealed nothing. DOES ANYONE WISH TO SPEAK AGAINST HIM?

“So I shall,” said Hastur, billowing forward as expected.

Y’golonac laughed, spraying stomach acid. “Oh, of course! This one, who has what he wants—this one, who has his pet human, wishes to deny all the rest of us the chance to have our own!”

And there was one moment, just one, where that statement held sway. Arthur was too special; Arthur naturally engendered envy, hunger, a memory of what was, a need for what could never be.

Parker thought about Arthur, here, fucking crazy, but better cared for than he’d ever been.

He thought about Tabby, who’d somehow made a home here, even though she’d rejected the Mother herself.

He thought about Earth, about everyone there being poured out like holy wine. No more Charlies. No more anything. No more calm sunsets or smoky jazz clubs, no more boxing matches or eager rookies or justice over crime.

All these thoughts passed in a second, like a flash-bulb in a dark room. Before Hastur could reply, Parker stepped forward.

Breathing through his nose, he looked (sort of) at Shub-Niggurath, or as close as he could to her projection without knock himself out.

Apparently, no one had expected that. Everyone was silent.

The Mother handled it with aplomb. YOU WISH TO SPEAK? BY ALL MEANS, DO.

All eyes were on him; it had a weight, a viscousness, a disgusting and penetrating and terrible quality that made Parker’s knees shake and cast his gaze down. But even with his gaze down, he could get loud. “This guy had me.” Fucking hell. He raised his face. “This guy had me. I’d do anything for him. There or here. Any fucking thing he asked. And the way he treated me shows he don’t got nobody’s best end in mind.”

“But you failed,” said someone in the darkness around the pillar.

“Once!” Parker yelled, and it was like a hammer. “I failed fucking once. You’ve all fucking failed more than that, but you get mercy!”

“Easy,” Hastur murmured, and touched his back.

That helped. Parker refused to consider why it helped. “It’s the truth, anyway. He doesn’t want his own pet—he fucking traded me for nothing. He doesn’t want you to have one, either. He just wants to fucking wreck it all because he can’t have it like he wants, and he’s fucking pouting like a piece of shit.”

Oh, the murmuring that rose now; shocked, shocking, disagreeing, delaying.

Hastur’s tentacle very, very gently slid up Parker’s spine, and Parker suddenly knew he’d done well.

Praise? Real praise? Actual… actual praise? He’d lived a year with them. Hastur didn’t do false praise. Parker knew. Parker had seen. Real praise?

AN INTERESTING ACCUSATION, said the Mother. IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE TO SAY?

Parker thought fast. He had to appeal to these guys on their fucking level. “One thing.”

“Why is this slave being allowed to speak?” said Y’golonac.

AND WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH THEM INSTEAD, COUSIN? said the Mother. HUMANS SPEAK. WE ENJOY THEIR THOUGHTS.

“Harvest them so we can enjoy their thoughts without having to deal with all of this bullshit,” said Y’golonac like it was the most logical, economical thing in the world.

Parker dared not wait. He’d never been good with children, but he knew if he waited, he’d lose their stupid, simple hearts. “I accuse you of fuckin’ failing your purpose.”

Half the gathering gasped, like at some kid’s puppet show. Hastur went still.

And for the first time, the Mother moved. It was the world shifting; it was the night sky sliding to show new and different worlds. It was a sound beyond sound beyond sense beyond reason, and—

Parker came to on his knees. Hastur had kept him from hitting the ground, from being curled up in his own sweat like he had in the Woods beside Asenath’s small table. Parker shook.

LITTLE ONE, said the Mother. DO YOU KNOW THE GRAVITY OF THE ACCUSATION YOU BRING?

All those lies. All those promises. “Yeah, I do.” He tried to stand and could not under the attention of the Mother. Hastur lifted him upright, many tentacles lightly supporting. Parker gripped them.

IF YOU MAKE THIS ACCUSATION AND YOU ARE WRONG, JUDGMENT WILL BE PASSED. THIS IS A DANGEROUS STATEMENT YOU HAVE MADE.

Hastur was so very still. Maybe this would hit him if it went wrong. Maybe it would swing the trial. Maybe it meant Parker had to take the fall. Parker didn’t know.

He just knew it mattered. It’s a courtroom, he told himself. Sway the fucking jury. “Yeah. I understand.” And finally, he looked up. He met the invisible gaze of Y’golonac, where he knew that unseen gaze was. “I meant every damn word.”

The anger from the Defiler had heat, and began to bubble the stone around him like some kind of sludge.

SPEAK.

He’d never been good with words. Funny thing though; he’d never had trouble with them in a courtroom setting.

When it wasn’t about him.

When it wasn’t about fucking politics.

When it wasn’t about whether he sounded right or said the nicer things, but just about facts. Cold, hard facts. He could do cold and hard.

He did it now. “Y’golonac is meant to be a god of rot and renewal. That’s life. Something dies, it goes down to the dirt, and feeds what grows next. It’s important. It’s good. But Y’golonac’s forgotten the second half of that equation. All he does is rot. He doesn’t renew.”

“You yourself are proof that I do,” said Y’golonac, but it didn’t sound nearly as smooth, didn’t sound anywhere as pretty as it had a moment before.

“Yeah? Where’s the renewal in the place you own in Carcosa, then? Because it’s fucked, and it has been for centuries. You’ve never renewed shit.”

“I renewed you,” Y’golonac snarled. “And I renewed your victims.”

“No, you didn’t,” said Parker, daring to guess, daring to trust, daring to state something he wasn’t a hundred percent sure of, but felt… accurate. “My victims rotted fast, but they never renewed. They didn’t sprout fucking daisies. They stayed bones. You just took the rot and left the rest. And I? I’ve been fucked since you traded me, until recently… when the King in Yellow gave me aid.”

The murmuring rose again.

“Really,” sneered Y’golonac.

“Really,” said Hastur, “I renewed his strength, which you had taken from him.”

Holy shit. Parker had been right. It had been Hastur who’d restored him.

“I notice,” someone began, and stopped.

SPEAK, LITTLE ONE.

It was a tiny god who slid forward, just a little guy: green all over, with branches growing from its head. “He no longer smells of rot.”

And it seemed everyone had noticed that. “Yeah, he doesn’t.” “That last lingering bit… what happened?” “He smells good now!”

Parker hadn’t known just how obvious it was. His face burned.

That stroking up his spine again, not at all interfering with the tentacles holding him up. Must be nice to have so many limbs.

(Nice to have a god… genuinely approve. Parker fucking knew, and he couldn’t help comparing it to praise from the Defiler, couldn’t help comparing it to that damned unstable feeling that had always come with it, that sense of warning: you’ve done well, but keep doing it, or else. That wasn’t an or else here. It wasn’t here. There wasn’t any threat coming from Hastur, and he—)

Gods seemed to be freaking out. “He still smelled that way with Hastur at first!” “You’re right. What happened?” “He was traded. He shouldn’t have smelled like that anymore. Did Y’golonac cheat?”

Simple. A very simple thing they could all agree on: the stench of rot… which they all knew because Arthur had dragged him all over Carcosa. They anew.

THIS CHARGE IS TRUE. The Mother spoke into the din. WE STATE NOW WITH THE POWER OF CREATION AND SUSTAINING BEHIND US THAT Y’GOLONAC IS GUILTY OF BOTH CHARGES. HE HAS ABANDONED HIS PURPOSE, AND HE HAS DAMAGED THE PAVILION OF CONTACTS BY HIS OWN ADMISSION.

“Because we don’t need it!” Y’golonac said, loud, maybe even a little afraid. “Earth is right there! We can just take them! They owe us! They only exist because we kept them alive! They owe us their souls!”

“And then there would be no more, you fool!” Hastur said.

“We can just take them. Make them breed. Have as many souls as you want!” Y’golonac snarled.

YOU WOULD IGNORE MY RULES, MY COUSIN?

And wow, the place got tense.

Parker didn’t know the rules. What were gods not allowed to do? There were boundaries? “What’d he do?” Parker whispered.

“Humans may not simply be brought to this place,” Hastur murmured back. “It is too out of balance. If they come in their dreams, they die—the Dreamlands rip them apart. If they are brought through most means which once worked, they die for the same reason.”

“Arthur’s okay,” murmured Parker.

“He has never and will not leave Carcosa. The Mother has left two avenues for human transport: after death, though that is difficult because of the amount of time and power we must put into a human to retrieve them. And through objects, such as black mirrors.”

Arthur had said something like that, and the Keeper had said something like that, and Asenath had said something like that.

Parker had the wild thought that Asenath would be green she missed this drama.

“I…” The Defiler had been stumped by that simple question. “I assumed you would change the rules.”

WHY?

Such silence. As if whatever he’d done to his peer, whatever he’d threatened for Earth, this right here was the true line he’d crossed.

Silence, thick and heavy. Hastur held Parker up.

IT IS OUR DECISION THAT YOU HAVE FAILED YOUR PURPOSE… AND YOU HAVE DEFIED ME. ALL IS NOT LOST; YOU WILL RETURN TO OUTER DARKNESS. THERE, YOU WILL REDISCOVER YOUR NATURE, ALL OF YOUR PURPOSE WHICH YOG-SOTHOTH CREATED YOU TO FULFILL, AND RETURN TO US AGAIN WHOLE.

“Not until the vote!” Y’golonac snarled. Decrepit power pulsed, eating into the platform. “All deserve the vote, regardless of status or position!”

YOU ARE CORRECT. THOUGH YOU DO NOT KNOW WHAT IT IS YOU ASK.

The mouths in the hands… sneered. Ice slid down Parker’s spine.

Hastur growled. “So he just goes without consequence for years?”

A beat.

WE WILL MOVE THE VOTE UP.

Oh, shit, Parker thought.

“I request he be isolated in the interim, lest he do more damage as he did to the pavilion,” Hastur said.

GRANTED.

And just like that, it was done. Gods began flying away.

“That’s it?” said Parker, who still couldn’t stand.

Hastur drew him nearer. “Far from just it.”

Just beginning was what Parker understood. “What now?”

“We go home. I miss my pet.”

That was louder.

That was the benefit of whatever the hell might be listening.

Parker understood strategy, and so did not call Hastur out on the most egregious piece of bullshit he’d heard in years.

Arthur was not alone.

It was a strange thing, to be asleep and yet outside of sleeping, not precisely separated from his body. He could see the thin mortal strands tying him to it, but more than that, the gleaming golden cord from his heart to somewhere out of sight, to Hastur, truer than any leash and far more important.

Arthur tried to touch it.

I wouldn’t, little one. He’ll come running, and if my timing is right, he’s quite busy right now.

There was a voice he knew. Sometimes, anyway, in the depths of night, when fully mad, and other moments he couldn’t quite remember. “Hello, Beyond.”

It had taken them a while to find a name Arthur could use without bleeding a little. “Hello, little one.” And it had taken them a while to find a name the Beyond One could use without immediately blacking Arthur out into some deeper sleep he could only fully awake from and not return here.

Arthur looked. Asenath sat at the little table, reading a book and softly laughing at it.

In this state—whatever it was—Arthur knew that book was loaned from the Keeper, and was some weird old-timey tome about women and something called humors, which the author thought were bodily fluids responsible for both feelings and wellness, and while in a truly generic sense this was true, the specific way this idea had been applied was so bonkers that Asenath couldn’t help laughing.

And Arthur knew he wouldn’t remember this when he woke up. Here, in this between-space with the Beyond One, he remembered previous conversations. At all other times, they were gone. “That’s an interesting theory.”

Isn’t it? They tried so hard to explain everything. In every timeline, in every Earth, when technology took rein over medicine, they got very good at handling much of the human body, but were never able to fully understand it. There were always questions.

“Of course there were.” Arthur gestured at the threads tethering him to his body. “Those.”

Your soul moorings. Yes. Very long, very strong. Do you remember what I told you before?

“Most of them are about an inch long.”

Indeed. And very frail. But that isn’t why I’m here now.

“It’s all going as you’ve seen?” said Arthur politely.

Yog-Sothoth could not control anything. He could, however, see everything, all the time, and (Arthur thought) it probably made him crazy. Yes.

That, and being separated from Shub-Niggurath, whom he loved. Arthur wasn’t sure of the details there. When he asked, and was told, it had blacked him out, so. Too much, whatever that answer was. “Am I supposed to do something?”

You know that’s not how this works.

And it wasn’t. Beyond never told him to do anything. “Is Hastur at the trial?”

Yes. With Parker Yang. They will acquit themselves well. However, the trouble only increases from here. Y’golonac has a plan, and the vote is being moved closer.

Arthur sighed. “I really wish you’d tell me how this was going to go.”

I can’t do that. It’s against the rules; but I don’t have to leave you alone in it, either.

Which was nice. Even if he didn’t remember it all the time. “Why are you visiting tonight?”

Because I enjoy happy endings.

“Something’s ending?”

Something is coming to pass. You won’t know I’m here.

Creepy? Eh. Sort of? Yog-Sothoth never went out of his way to be involved in things. He just was.

That informed so much of Arthur’s understanding of these beings who called themselves gods. They just were, which made them so different from humans. He understood how they needed each other; those changed by nature and nurture, those who generally were what they were, one finding solidity through the other, the other finally learning to bend.

“I want to go to Harper’s Hill,” said Arthur.

Not yet, little one.

“I know. That isn’t the real one, anyway. You know what I mean.”

I do.

“Will I ever get to go…” Home? He wanted to say it, but it felt wrong.

Back to Cloud City?

“Yes.”

No answer. That could mean anything. That was the Beyond One for you.

They’re coming. Have a good night, Arthur Lester. You deserve it.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” said Arthur, already falling back, already sliding into his body with a contented sigh, already forgetting the last few minutes and what he’d learned, though not what he’d felt.

Half-asleep, he waited for good things to come.

Hastur did not slam the doors open this time. Still carrying Parker, he flew inside, sighed as if the weight of the world were on him, and put Parker down.

Asenath looked them both up and down. “How’d it go?”

“Crazy,” said Parker a little gleefully. “Shame you weren’t there to see.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will through the Mother later.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there.”

She laughed softly. “Yes, yes, you win a point, Detective Yang.”

“We rest,” said Hastur, who sounded like he needed it.

Parker’s stomach rumbled. “Why am I fucking hungry? We ate like an hour ago.”

“Time dilation,” said Asenath. “You were in a gathering of gods. Every word spoken held the meaning of that word in all languages, in all times. There was no chance of misunderstanding, and it took twelve and a half hours.”

Parker stared.

Asenath smiled sweetly. “Good night!” and she walked out, hips sashaying as they always had, and closed the doors behind her with a wave of her hand.

“Twelve and a half fucking hours?” Parker blurted.

Hastur gathered Arthur from the bed, who made sleeping sounds. He blinked at them. “What happened?”

“The trial,” said Parker. “We won one, but more shit’s coming down the pike.”

“Food,” announced Hastur, placing them both at the table (Arthur wrapped in a blanket), and presented them with some kind of small dumplings and sauteed green vegetables.

Both men immediately knew hunger in a deep and intimate way and chowed down.

Subtly as he could, Parker watched them. Watched Arthur eat—visibly not completely sure where he was, but amenable enough for the moment. Watched Hastur watching them— the anxious little flips of his tentacles, the tiny bits of body-language that said he was concerned.

And Parker knew he could turn this whole evening around by saying yes, or make it horrifically worse by throwing a fit. The power was completely in his hands.

Maybe that’s what partners really meant: vulnerability. Power over each other. Trust along with that power, handed over.

Charlie had given him that. Intimacy, and the power that went with it. But Parker hadn’t really… understood that, then. He’d definitely abused it more than once, said shit he shouldn’t, hurt that man’s feelings sometimes when there wasn’t a damn reason except that Charlie was safe to lash out at because he wouldn’t go away.

Parker wasn’t too proud of any of that, right now. But Charlie had forgiven him.

Yeah. No wonder the Defiler had to get him out of the way. What was forgiveness if not renewal after rot?

Arthur leaned back. “That was good. Thank you, Hastur.”

And here was the moment. Funny, really. He could shout, accuse, storm off. Flip the table, go into a sulk, do all kinds of things. Or.

Or.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” Parker said. “Real good. Come on, Lester.”

“Sure,” said Arthur, and rose, though he kept the blanket on like some sort of pillbug.

Parker waited until they were at the bath, then slowly and gently pulled it from his shoulders and tossed it onto the table with towels.

Arthur looked at him.

“Get in the water, Arthur.” Parker held his gaze.

Arthur’s eyes widened. He went in.

Parker grabbed a soft washcloth and followed him in. “Gods don’t got to bathe, huh?”

“They have magic,” Arthur murmured, and did nothing to stop him as Parker began to wash his back, his neck. Using his fingertips to clean around his ears. Sliding them down Arthur’s chest. Arthur leaned back into Parker. “What are you doing?”

“I think you know.” Parker’s hands slid further. Cleaning and exploring. Slow, like Arthur liked it. “Hey. Hastur.”

“Yes, little traitor?” said Hastur, who was watching this scene eagerly, leaning forward as he hovered over the water.

“Get the bed ready.”

Arthur turned to stare over his shoulder, his eyes huge. “Are you sure?”

Parker pushed his hips into him. “What’s that feel like to you, Lester?”

Arthur’s eyes somehow went wider.

“Now?” said Hastur like some eager fucking teenager.

Parker smirked and pressed against Arthur again. “You like that?”

“Now?” said Hastur again.

“Yeah,” said Parker. “Everybody’s ready.”

Hastur plucked them both out of the water so fast they barely splashed. They were dry and warm before they reached the bed, and Hastur lay them down in it gently, then hovered over them. His cloak billowed. His eagerness was absurd.

Parker laughed. He couldn’t help it. This asshole. This weirdly endearing son of a bitch—

Arthur leaned over him, leaning on his chest, and kissed him, slow and deep. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it. Are you sure?”

Parker took Arthur’s hand and directed it down, but Arthur resisted.

“That’s not an answer, Parker,” Arthur said.

Fuck. When had anyone ever… this was…

Vulnerability. Power. Permission. It suddenly seemed like a much bigger deal than he’d thought it was a moment before. Parker swallowed. “Yeah. I’m sure. I’m really sure.”

Arthur stopped resisting. Instead, he closed his eyes, leaned in, and kissed again, touching so gently over Parker’s chest, Parker’s ribs, making him shiver.

And Hastur came down.

Hastur arrived like a weather front, like some atmospheric surprise, and added his many, many touches to what was already being done.

It was suddenly almost too much. Parker gasped for air.

“Easy,” said Arthur, who understood. “Easy.”

“It’s a lot,” said Parker, who wasn’t used to being overwhelmed in a way that wasn’t misery and rotting and pain, who was suddenly out of his depth, who was suddenly fucking afraid and he didn’t even know why.

“Parker Yang,” rumbled Hastur, and waited until Parker looked at him, wide-eyed, still breathing too fast.

“What?”

And Hastur knew he was afraid, of course he did, he dealt in mental unsteadiness, which made these words so purposeful: “Tonight, little traitor… you have power over me.” And Hastur spread, Hastur opened, Hastur lay back on the bed and bloomed like a godsdamned flower, and his power changed the air and drowned the fear and reminded Parker how fucking badly he wanted to do this and now suddenly he could.

Hastur was making himself vulnerable, and Parker understood it. Breathing fast for a different reason now, he rolled over and approached.

Hastur was rumbling, vibrating the whole bed, making incense-sticks dance in their golden urns. “Come to me.”

Oh. He was.

The hide was different here, softer, manifestly sensitive here, and Parker knew as he touched that this was never something Hastur would show to an enemy. Hastur made a pleased sound, low.

Arthur slid over from behind and stroked Parker’s back. His breath was fast, too.

“I want,” said Parker, voice rough.

“Yes,” said Hastur.

“I fucking want… now,” said Parker, which was as clear as he could get.

“Yes,” said Hastur.

There suddenly wasn’t time for fiddly fucking around and showing off and being fancy, and how far will he let me go was all it took, and he leaned in, let himself be enveloped, and pushed inside so fucking hard it would have hurt anybody else.

Not a god. Hastur groaned, low, and it was a pleased sound.

And nothing had prepared Parker for this. Nothing. No sex, no pleasure; no horror, no pain. No penetration of any kind, no power or strength or violence or bliss. Entering a god almost undid him at once, and he couldn’t fucking see anything but gold. He cried out.

“Easy,” Arthur murmured from behind, arms around him, kissing his shoulder, and that did not help, because–

The fleshy folds around Parker (damn near swallowing his whole body) suddenly had teeth, and bit in, pulling him deeper.

Parker shouted yes. He shouted yes so hard his throat hurt. And he wasn’t sure if he was thrusting or Hastur was just pulling him in or what was going on, but those sharp, shallow teeth bit and held and added an edge and it was so good, so good—

And Arthur behind was being so fucking gentle. Whisper-kisses, fairy-touches, exploring on his own, and normally that gentle shit didn’t do anything for Parker, not at all, but paired with the teeth it was peeling him apart more surely than any knife or god’s power alone.

Parker cried out again.

“He will have you,” Hastur said, low, rumbling, pulling so deep and so sharp that Parker thought he might just be fully swallowed and rejoice the whole ride down.

He will… wha?

When Arthur entered him, Parker lost his mind.

Completely lost it, full-on, words gone for good, names unimportant, and his last clear thought was amortization means getting fucked, and then he was gone.

Slow and gentle penetration, sweet kisses on his shoulders and throat.

Tight and forceful suction, pulling him deeper, all while tiny, shallow teeth gripped and held him in place.

Giving and taking, power changing hands (and Parker hazily understood that’s what they had been doing, those two, for months now), and he was crying, maybe, or screaming, maybe, and couldn’t get away from Arthur’s peeling tenderness and couldn’t get enough of Hastur’s cruel grace.

He saw gold. He came, and his soul fucking left his fucking body, he’d swear in a court of law.

Too much. He’d been right, it was all too much, and Arthur’s raindrop kisses and calming murmurs ripped more sobs out of him, and Hastur’s many teeth disappeared and those folds did a gentle soothing pulsing moving Parker had no word for, and he let them carry him back to the water (so much better than some instant magic spell after all that, he got it now), and relished the sting of a million little tooth-marks (and Hastur understood Parker didn’t want them healed right away and so did not), and Arthur’s intentional tenderness, and between the two of them, patiently and personally, they tore him apart.

He didn’t remember leaving the bath, but they were in the bed now, and he was waking up, so he must’ve been there a while.

Arthur was behind him, doing his tiny buzzy snore, a non-invasive and stupid-cute sound. Hastur was before him, unsleeping—gods just didn’t sleep—many tentacles over them both, holding them together.

Holding Parker together.

He had no idea what to say. Y’golonac had denuded him in every way, literally melted him to the bone, but this felt more exposed than he had ever been in his life. “Am I okay?” popped out of his mouth, and he wasn’t even sure what he meant.

“Yes,” rumbled Hastur.

Maybe so, then. Though trusting that feeling was terrifying. What if was a horrible question. He didn’t want to trust it. He wanted to stay safe.

Safe. Being alone had not kept him safe.

Parker closed his eyes, memorizing the different weight of Arthur’s arm over his side versus Hastur’s thick and clever tentacles. Weird, how balanced they were.

He could sleep. That’s what his gut said. Maybe it would all go to hell; maybe everything would blow up, melt, Y’golonac would produce a secret army and they’d all die. Maybe the worst thing would happen.

Didn’t mean he had to let any of that take away from this.

He didn’t. This wasn’t part of that. He could enjoy this, rest in this, be safe in this, and whatever came later would come later, whether he indulged in this or not.

Weirdly pragmatic for such a fucked-up intimacy. Tension left him. “Not too bad,” he mumbled, falling into sleep more easily than normal. “For an amateur.”

Hastur’s dark chuckle was the last thing he heard before he drifted into dreams.

#malevolent fic #malevolent au #cloud city #yellow city #parker yang #arthur lester #hastur malevolent #kiy malevolent #arthur/parker/hastur #tw:explicit

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