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houseofanticipation · 8 months

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You're sitting with your friend Sam at a coffee shop, catching up. She's telling you about an instagram ad she keeps getting for some audiobook streaming service. "It's just crazy," she says, "because I was just telling Lucille I wanted to start reading more books but I never have the time, and then it's like instantly I'm getting these ads all the time."

"So what," you say over your steaming mug, "you think they're listening to you?"

Sam shakes her head. "Honestly I think it's almost scarier than that. They have so much information about us, they don't even need to listen to our conversations. They just know, based on everything they've gathered about me, that I'm probably someone who wants to listen to audiobooks."

"Well they can't be that smart," you say. "Because the only ads I've been getting lately are for something called Slut Cream."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You must know I'm going to need more details."

You take out your phone and find an ad to show her. It's not difficult; literally all of the ads you see on instagram are like this. They're even showing up in other places now, on webpages you visit or apps you use. This one is one you've seen before: a beautiful woman in a crop top that just barely covers her nipples is proudly displaying a squeeze tube of the kind you'd buy sunscreen or toothpaste in. The caption says, "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle! Step up your slut game with Slut Cream! Shop Now"

"I don't even know what slut cream is," you say. "All you get when you look it up is a bunch of porn."

"Well, obviously it's a way to step up your slut game," says Sam sagely. "What does it say on the website?"

"Oh, I'm not clicking the link," you say. "I don't want to encourage them! What I want to know is why suddenly this ad is all I can seem to see!"

Sam shoots you a wink. "Maybe you're just a slut. These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."'

What neither of you know is that it's actually quite easy to buy online ad space, and they let you get pretty specific with your intended audience.

I live in the next apartment over from you. I've been watching you for a long time, studying you, listening to you through our shared wall. We've talked a few times, some terse conversation at the mailboxes or in the hall, which is how I knew enough about you to place those ads, with audience parameters so specific that probably only you and about five other people would see them. I had fun making them; hiring the model to do the photoshoot, dusting off the skills I picked up in that college graphic design course, creating a website for this fake business (though I'm disappointed you still haven't clicked through to see it). If you actually tried to buy slut cream, the website would tell you we're currently closed due to high traffic, and to check back later. Nowhere on the website does it explain what slut cream is.

A number of strange things happen to you over the course of the following day. On your lunch break you walk down the block to the deli by your office. You're in here every weekday, but today the energy here is different. People are staring you, side-eyeing you, having whispered conversations that stop abruptly when you get too close. As you're walking back to work, an old woman spits on the ground as you pass, you'd swear you heard the word "whore!" hissed under her breath. You wonder if you should say something, stand up for yourself, but she's elderly, probably confused, and you decide to be the bigger person.

In the hours after lunch, you're propositioned by no less than seven of your male coworkers. You've had to refuse a few invitations to dinner in your time, but seven in a day is completely out of the ordinary, and the things these men are offering to do to you go way outside the bounds of first date stuff. One guy tells you the conference room is empty, if you want to go for a quick fuck; another guy tells you he hasn't cum in a month, and if you sucked his cock he'd pump so much cum down your throat that you wouldn't need to eat dinner. Your boss even tells you he and his wife are looking for a third and he thought of you first, like he's offering you a big promotion. The strangest thing is that all of these men seem genuinely surprised when you turn them down. Like this sort of thing usually works with girls. One guy even says, "sorry, I was just trying to help."

It was pretty easy to hire actors for the deli and the street. You go to the same place every day, so I knew where they'd have to go and roughly when they'd need to be there. The harder part was getting your coworkers to play along, especially because I was picky about getting people who could sell the act. For a few of them all it took was money. A few of them I had to blackmail. For your boss I had to call in a favor, get his boss to threaten his job. He protested, but I think it made his cock hard, thinking about fucking you alongside his wife.

I keep this up for a few weeks. Anywhere you go I have people watching you, talking about you behind your back. I have people approaching you on the train, at the park, in restaurants, offering to fuck you like they're doing you a favor. You stay firm in your refusal—I wouldn't have expected any less from you—but I can tell it's beginning to eat at you. I watch you try to figure out what you're doing that seems to give all these people the wrong idea about you; you start to dress more modestly, talk less, even walk a little less confidently. But none of this will change anything. All it will do is make you feel more repressed.

After a month, I decide it's time to make my move. I could probably wait longer, but the anticipation is getting too much for me, and besides, you're beginning to get a little wild around the eyes. I'd hate to break you before I've had my fun. One evening, when I know you're home, I unlock your apartment with the duplicate key I had made two months ago. You're in the kitchen, washing dishes with headphones on; you didn't hear me come in. I leave the door open as I approach you, admiring the way you shake your ass to whatever it is you're listening to. I get right up behind you and stay there for a moment, lavishing in your innocence, feeling my cock strain at my belt as I imagine taking it away from you. Then I reach around front of you with both arms and plunge my hand into your panties

You shout in shock, fight back, try to push me off as the headphones fall off your head. But I've got you pinned against the counter, my full body weight against you, one hand down your pants, the other groping your breasts. Once you realize that fighting won't help, you stop struggling and ask me what I want. "Please," you say. Just hearing that quiver in your voice almost makes me delirious with lust. "Please, let me go. I don't want this, please."

I bury my face in your neck, kissing and breathing you in. You smell incredible, like fear and sweat and sex. I bring my lips up to your ear, let them brush against you as I speak. "Of course you want this, baby. You've been trying so hard to hide it, but you don't have to hide with me. Look, you left the door open for me." I let you turn your head enough to see the door hanging open just as my fingers find your clit. I'm rubbing you gently, tenderly, just the way I've watched you touch yourself through the webcam I have in your room. My other hand is under your shirt now and I'm squeezing your breast, rolling your nipple between my fingers, feeling it slowly grow full and erect. You try to stifle a soft moan and I kiss your neck again. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to be ashamed. It's okay to want to feel good. Let me make you feel good."

You clutch your face in your hands and let out a cry of frustration and humiliation and agony and pleasure. You barely know me; I'm the guy next door who sometimes looks at you a little too long. The guy you speed up to avoid in the hall. But that feeling radiating from you clit... You think how exhausting it's been, doing everything you could think of to change people's perception of you, get them to stop looking at you as a slut, how none of it has done you any good anyway. You wonder if you'd have had more fun fucking Jim in the conference room, or swallowing Dylan's cum, or having a threesome with your boss and his wife. And that throbbing in your clit, the agonizing pleasure...You remember that beautiful woman in the ad: "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle!" You think about how happy she looked, how fulfilled. You remember Sam's words: "These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."

It does feel good, doesn't it? To let me touch you, pleasure you, to let go of this act you've been holding on to. Isn't it okay to want to feel good? Why did you ever let anyone make you ashamed of that? You try out another moan, letting the pleasure well up through your chest and out your mouth. It feels good, so you try another, and another, and then you're leaning back into me, grinding up against me, delighting in the feeling of my hard cock against your ass.

"Good," I say. "You're letting go of those silly hang-ups. Now we can have our real fun." My hands still around you, controlling you, I half lead-half carry your trembling body to the bedroom. I throw you on the bed, face up so I can get a good look at your eyes, see what I've done to your mind. Those same eyes that have avoided me in the hall so many times now gaze hungrily up at me, wanting me, needing me.

Who am I do decline?

I pull off your pants and panties as a single unit, letting you take care of your shirt for yourself. I kick of my own bottoms, letting my throbbing cock slap against your leg as it springs from its confinement. Don't think I don't notice the way your whole body shivers when it touches you. I lift your legs and push your knees up towards your ears; you're remarkably flexible. It must be all that yoga I've watched you do at the place downtown. I've greatly enjoyed your visits to that place, so it's nice to see they weren't in vain.

You're afraid of me, all of a sudden. Maybe some part of you is seeing sense, realizing you'd have to be crazy to let a guy like me come into your home and fuck you like this. But what was the alternative? Have me rape you? Let me tell you, darling: I would have raped you. You feel the head of my cock gliding over your skin, exploring your inner thighs and pubic area, and tremble at my touch. I want this, you tell yourself. This is what a slut like me needs.

All the same, you cry a little bit when I penetrate you. It's not because it hurts—it does hurt a bit, but you're wet enough, and it's not entirely a bad pain. It's not because you're afraid—well, maybe in part, but that's not the core of it. You cry because you're finally letting go. Letting go of the person you used to be, or thought you were. It's the relief of knowing you don't have to pretend anymore, wrapped up with the mourning you feel when you lose a potential version of yourself. I lean across you as my cock fills you up, and tenderly, I kiss away your tears. "Hush, my darling. I'm here. I will always be here. I will love you despite what you are, when everyone else turns away in disgust."

My weight on you feels good, comforting. The way I press down on your legs, stretching you out, driving my cock so deep inside you that it brushes your cervix. It hurts a little, but is that any better than you deserve? Could a slut like you really expect to find better than this? Better than unconditional love and a desire to give you the pleasure you need?

I'm speeding up now, my face something like an animal, furious and insistent as I gaze down at you. There's darkness behind my eyes, you think, something cold and cruel. You thank God I'm on your side. My hips are like a hammer on your pelvis now, and with each thrust you feel my cock bulging inside you, throbbing and pulsating with anticipation. When I finally plant my seed in you, groaning and growling and pressing you further into the bed, you find there's something comforting about the warmth of my cum inside you. Maybe my seed will take root, make you swell up with me, make you mine. As I roll off you, huffing and panting, the tears begin to stream down your face again, this time from joy.

What did a slut like you ever do to deserve someone who loves you like I do?

#r@pe fantasy #r@pe kink #cvmslvt #cvmdump #rapekink #rapetoy #breeding toy #mind conditioning

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allastoredeer · 5 days

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THAT MOMENT YOU REALIZE ALASTOR IS ACTUALLY WAY SCARIER THAN WE GIVE HIM CREDIT FOR

So, in the throes of doing world-building for my Hazbin fics and analyzing characters and how they fit into Pentagram's political system, I realized not only how powerful Alastor actually is, but how fucking scary.

Now, yes, in the grand scheme of things, Alastor is far from the most powerful person in Hell. Far from it. The Royal Family (Lucifer, Lilith, and Charlie), and the Goetia are way above the Overlords. Our twinky, angsty, galaxy bird, Stolas, could 100% body Alastor. I'm sorry, Al. I love you, babe. But in terms of the hierarchal system, you and the other Overlords aren't influential to the rest of Hell, at all.

But, it's an entirely different story if we stick exclusively to the Pride Ring.

I'm not trying to do a big, essay-length analysis, that's a lot of work and I'm tired, so I'll try to make it as brief as possible.

We know three crucial things: 1) sinners aren't allowed to leave the Pride Ring, 2) they've built a semi-functional society for themselves that is exclusive to their specific ring (with a political system that they've molded just for them), and 3) sinners can't kill other sinners.

So, what we have here is a big piece of land stuffed with people who can't leave it, in a society they've built specifically for themselves, with an amassing population that is constantly growing because they have no way of dying/or killing each other. (Honestly, it's like Heaven was setting them up for an Exterminations - THOUGH I'VE ACTUALLY COME UP WITH A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT, COMPLETELY FANON BASED THEORY/WORLD BUILDING IDEA ABOUT HOW HELL HAD KEPT THE POPULATION DENSISTY CONTROLLED FOR THE MILLENIA OF COLLECTING HUMAN SOULS, HOW THE POPLUATION STILL GOT TOO LARGE AND THUS RESULTED IN THE EXTERMINATIONS, AND HOW IT WAS ROSIE WHO HAD A HUGE HAND IN IT ALL.

Anyway, back on topic, so the Overlords essentially control this Ring. We know Stolas lives in the Pride Ring (judging by the red sky we see when he's at his house), so its possible more Goetia live there too (and imps, and succubi; the Pride Ring is known for being the most diverse of the Rings), but we haven't seen any evidence of the Goetia, or any of the other Hellborn, interact or influencE Pentragram City in a political way--outside of the Goetia being above the Overlords in the hierarchal system). I headcanon that they do have some involvement in Pentagram City, as they do live there, but for the most part, the Pride Ring is left completely to the sinners and how they run things.

Lillith got involved, obviously (but she's been missing for years in the beginning of the show), Lucifer hasn't been involved for who knows how long, and Charlie obviously doesn't have a lot of sway, nor did she have any previous influence given how she's treated by the very people she rules over. Her status is known, but there's no actual respect for her or her title as the literal Princess of Hell.

The royal family may the the strongest beings in all of the 7 Rings, but outside of Lillith, it seems they had very little involvement (in Charlie's case) or interest (in Lucifer's case) in ingratiating themselves into Pentagram City.

The entire Ring is being run by the Overlords. They cannot leave it. The Pride Ring is their domain. This is their new home. This is their world.

And in this world, the Overlords are the top dogs.

So, Alastor is powerful just in the sense that he is one of the Overlords. Like them, he is essentially one of the rulers of their personal, caged-off little world. He has power and political sway. He joined the other Overlords for Carmilla's meeting, where they were going to discuss the aftermath of the Extermination and what they can do about the loss in the population (and thus, their power, given that owning souls is how they get it).

It's implied that this isn't the first time they've had meetings like this, and if they get together to discuss the best ways to recover from the Exterminations and make up for their mutual losses (literally working together when they could've all just been rivals trying to undermine the others to get more souls), who knows what else they've discussed in their efforts to keep Pentagram City running (especially considering that the best way to maintain their power IS by maintaining the city, it's people, and keeping it from falling apart at the seams. Taking care of the city is in their best interests - I use "taking care of" very, very loosely, considering this is still Hell and it's hardly the gold standard of utopia's). They're essentially a Board of Leadership with mutually shared power.

The Overlords have all the power. All the sway. In their established world, THEY are at the top of the food chain.

BUT then, you take into account that sinners can't kill each other (a rule that extends even to the Overlords), and that's when things get interesting.

In episode 4, "Masquerade" Valentino told Angel that he's "killed people for less" during the scene in the dressing room. But, in episode 2, after Valentino had torn apart one of Velvette's models, she wasn't upset in the way an Overlord would be if they lost someone under contract, especially considering that owning souls is what gives them power (and I assume that they own the souls of most, if not all, of the people they employ). She said that she can't sit and wait for "that bitch to pull herself back together," so, yeah, the implication is that sinners can literally be torn apart (even by the Overlords, who are the strongest among them) but won't die is immense. No matter what you do, a sinner will reform, or heal, or whatever, but they will come back.

So, consider, that there is only one person who's been able to kill sinners, permanently, and that person is Alastor.

Not only that, he killed Overlords.

In a realm where death is impossible, Alastor had cheated the system. And as far as we know, he's the only one who's been able to do it.

The only person I can think of who has something similar is Carmilla, but that's because she'd integrated angelic steel into her apparel. (Though, there's something to be said about her selling angelic weapons to the masses, as she is a manufacturer and distributor of them not only in Pentagram city, but all of the 7 Rings, (as Stryker had gotten his hands on a "Carmine blessing tipped rifle" to kill off Stolas, who's a Goetia), thus, sinners killing other sinners can still be possible, but that's only if they get you're hands on a weapon with angelic steel, or they're wealthy enough to buy onr, and I imagine Carmilla doesn't sell those cheap.

But Alastor didn't use angelic steel. He found a way to tear souls apart, where otherwise they were only able to be owned. Considering how terrified Husk (who is one of the most calm and collected people in the Hazbin crew; who had once been an Overlord, himself) was when AIastor threatened to do they same to him, like, that goes to show just how serious it is. He was literally full-body shaking. Ears-pinned back. Flight-fight-or freeze. Pressing himself down into the carpet.

We've never seen him like that at any other time during the show, even during the Extermination when they were all about to die.

Alastor's threat had scared him more than literally getting killed my an army of Exorcist's.

And like, yeah???? I get it????

That shit has to be terrifying. Not only for those that Alastor threatens, but for every single sinner in Pentagram City.

This random guy cheated the system, killed without any outside means, and if he can topple Overlords (the strongest and most powerful of them) almost over night, there's no saying what he can do to regular sinners. (Or what they think he can do, I have more thoughts surrounding whether Alastor would be able to tear apart a soul that is owned by someone else, but this is already getting long).

And, presumably, the only reason he stopped is because he decided to.

Like???? Do you guys understand what I'm saying???? For someone to have that kind of power??? In a system where that power SHOULD NOT be possible??? A power that gives him this massive advantage over everyone else???? That no one else can do???? And the only reason he doesn't use it is because he decides not to????

It's no wonder Alastor was so feared. Why he still is feared (by those who know of him at least LOL he has been gone for 7 years). And, like, yeah we see him be all creepy and scary during the show. We see him use his magic and grow into his demon form, and he is intimidating in that right, but I think the true horror of his character comes from this ability to kill the unkillable in a system where it never should've been possible in the first place.

That's where the true terror of the Radio Demon lies. That's where the visceral fear comes from. And it's why he's someone you wouldn't want to mess with, even for the other Overlords (especially for the other Overlords).

Like, it makes sense why he has such a massive ego. Why he thinks he can take on anyone. It's because he has. He's powerful, even by Overlord standards, and he knows it. And it makes further sense why him now being on a leash is making him unravel at the seams.

Am I making sense??? Is this all just meaningless rambling to you guys??? Idk! Idk. It's just been tumbling through my head, and it made me realize just how scary Alastor is, especially from an outside perspective.

I have SO many headcanons T.T I've done so much world-building, and I am have so much fucking fun. I feel like a kid in a sandbox. My brain hasn't stopped buzzing since this show came out.

Anyway, I'm off to outline more wips and work on the fics I'm writing. Happy Hazbin-ing to the rest of you.

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mrylin · 1 year

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deep claws (wednesday addams/reader)

so this was a request but i posted it accidentally and i lost it along with half of my work but that's ok! anon i hope you like it.

summary: there was a big bruise on your body, one that you tried to keep hidden from everyone and that worked for some days. that is, until wednesday catches you in the lie.

warnings: blood and bruised and much pain, wednesday will also be scarier than usual but all end up with a happy ending

With a heavy sigh, you pulled down your shirt that had a huge blood stain right on top of the poorly made bandage, feeling the burning come back ten times worse.

"You should tell someone about this." Enid said. She was standing on the edge of your bed looking at you with concern. You didn't want her to find out, but in the end it was unavoidable since she walked into your room when you were trying to get stitches on yourself.

"I will not. This school is already going through a lot of problems, they don't need another one." You spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument.

Enid was stubborn though, and wouldn't let it go. "But you know you can die from it. You can have an infection."

You agreed and pressed your hand on your waist, right over the cut, applying pressure and tried to get up. From the copious loss of blood, you were still dizzy and a little weak so you swayed to your feet. "Look, I'll be better in a minute. I promise."

"Wednesday will hate me for not saying anything."

"She won't find out from me." You said, swallowing when a strong dizziness brought you an overwhelming feeling of nausea.

Enid went to your side and guided you to your bed and helped you to lie down in a position that wouldn't open all your stitches, and stood looking at you. "I still think it's totally stupid."

You smirked. "You can rest assured that I will live for years just to annoy you."

For the first time since she found out about that situation, she gave a genuine laugh and smiled. Enid was a great friend and she cared about everyone, which you appreciated, but you preferred to keep your situation out of other people's ears.

A few minutes passed between the two of you talking and then the door opened, revealing an ever stoic Wednesday. She looked angrier than ever. "Hey, Wed." You greeted, trying not to let your voice shake.

She grimaced at the horrible nickname and walked across the room, dropping her purse at the bed. "How was your day?" Every day she asked you the same question and tried to demonstrate things around you more openly. She was doing really well at it.

"Boring. Good thing Enid came." The blonde smiled at you and placed her hands in front of her body, looking between you both. She was used to being in the same room and witnessing Wednesday's minuscule affection, but in that moment she really wanted to be somewhere else.

"I came and I'm leaving. Bye to both." She said waving. Before closing the bedroom door she said an inaudible 'be ok' and you smiled in agreement.

Wednesday walked over to your side and sat down, looking at you deeply. "You're different." She looked you up and down.

"What do you mean?" You laughed nervously.

She looked into your face and locked eyes with yours, as if all the answers were there. "You are pale, sweating and your hands are shaking."

You swallowed hard and tried to smile but failed as your body shuddered as a sharp pain shot up your spine. "I'm totally fine."

"This is obviously a lie." She said. "Are you hurt?"

Trying to prove there was nothing, you threw your legs over the side and braced yourself to your feet, bitterly regretting it when you felt sharp twinges. It was like someone was stabbing you over and over again with inhuman strength.

A loud, aching scream escaped your throat and you fell back, your whole body shuddering and twitching with pain. Wednesday quickly moved to hold your head and helped you to lie down better. "What happened?" She asked, scared.

You took the best breath you could and pulled your shirt up, revealing the bloody bandage. Not waiting long, she moved to grab the first aid kit you had by your bed, not caring about the things falling to the floor. Because of your small feat, your stitches had burst and your cut was redder. For the first time in her life Wednesday was hating a sight like that.

She didn't say anything as she cleaned up and tried not to hurt you with the stitches. You could see that she was angry, worried and scared, and you knew you were going to have to explain why of those cuts. "It was the hyde, wasn't it?" She asked, turning around to throw everything she'd used away.

"Yes." You said, your voice breathy and trembling. "I was walking near the woods when he attacked me. I was lucky I managed to escape before he killed me, but I earned this."

She turned and met your eyes. She was angrier than you thought. "I told you to stay away from there. You could have died."

You threw your head back against the headboard and took a deep breath. "I know, and I didn't really go to the forest, I was in the garden."

"You shouldn't go there. I told you how dangerous it was." This time the one who was angry was you.

"I'm not going to stay inside this place forever just because a sick person is killing people. I need to breathe, Wednesday." You swallowed, feeling your throat close up. "I will not stop living because of this."

She stood up and pinched her eyebrows. "One second more and you wouldn't be here anymore."

That was a baseless argument, since you didn't want and wouldn't stop doing what you wanted because of some monster. "You think death is so beautiful, maybe I would start to think the same thing once I met her."

Wednesday's breathing grew faster and heavier, her hands curled into fists and clenched until her fingers turned horribly white. You had said the wrong thing. "When I saw the cut I thought about how I could have lost you, that I would never see you again and in a second that became my worst fear. So don't play with it ever again."

Softening, you nodded and stretched out your other arm, asking her to lie down next to you. Wednesday climbed into bed and tried her best not to touch anything that might hurt you and rested her head on top of your chest. "I promise, Wed."

While you slept, weary with pain and weak, she watched over you. Seeing you there, on the way to get well, alive and safe, she promised that nothing and no one would ever hurt you again. She would make sure of that.

my first language is portuguese (brazil) and it's really hard translate it and that's why there can be some nonsense things (i know english but i'm not fluent unfortunately) i'm really sorry!!!

if you want you can send me a request :)

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday addams #wednesday 2022 #wednesday #idk if this is good #but ok i'll get better #was supposed to be a fem reader

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thegoblinboy · 1 year

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Never Say Die

You are here | part two | part three | part four

I can’t get this concept out of my head steve being a prisoner instead of hopper and coming back home.

Steve sat in the back of the car, unsure what to expect. Six months. Six months he hasn’t seen his friends, who he considered to be his family if anything. He wished he could say that it had been six months since the last time he seen his parents but that would be a lie. Strange how he could place the date and times when he last seen his real family but yet he didn’t know when he last seen his parents. It was a chilling thought. He doesn’t remember being this nervous about seeing his parents for the first time in a long, long time.

Then again this was under different circumstances. Last time he seen Dustin, Robin and Erica it had looked like he had died. The last time he seen Hopper and Joyce, both of them had been trying to reach them from god knows where with their own personal Russian translator. Now, when he steps out of this car his new life will begin. One that was much different compared to before he “died”.

He was stunned if anything. He doesn’t know how he survived. He had thought the torture he had endured at star court, tied to a chair was bad. Little did he know, the Russians got very creative in their homeland. His body sometimes still aches from his time there. Though, he’s been through hell and back nothing was more scarier then seeing his family again. What if they were different, what if they didn’t want him back? All questions that were bothering him. All questions that disappear the the second he he sees all of the kids gathered together in a drive way. Smiling and laughing as they all help the Byers unpack their boxes into a nicer home then what they had lived in before.

He smiles to himself. He’s unsure if they were told he was coming. He stops the agent in front of him from stepping out. To break the moment he was watching. Lucas was laughing as he carefully holds one hand on the back of Max’s back. Crutches under her armpits as she leans on on foot. Her other leg in a cast, along with one of her wrists. Both of them talking to each other in a way that told him they made it through the little dispute from six months ago. Off to the right of them, stepping out of the van carrying boxes was Jonathan. Handing them to Nancy, who was smiling brightly up at him. Mouth moving as she talked. Next to them, in a bean bag sat a boy with long silky hair. Obviously stoned off his ass as he wore a button down shirt eating pizza. Steve wanted to hear some of what they were saying, he pulls his window down just a smidge to catch Jonathan laughing.

“You know, the pizza was supposed to motivate you helping us carry our stuff in.” Hes looking at the other with a smirk. Steve chuckles softly to himself before his eyes move over seeing Will sitting on the hood of a car. Talking to El, who seemed to have lost all process in her hair growth. Both of them huddled together and talking with serious expressions. Both of their faces cracking into smiles when Mike comes walking over to them. There’s something awkward going on there but it seemed like they were all friends.

The front door of the house opens further, and Steve’s heart stops. Breathing not in his dictionary anymore as he watches Robin Buckley walk out with flying hands. God it was so her, though what takes him by surprise was the fact she was wearing his letterman jacket. How the hell she got a hold of it was beyond him. Then again Dustin must have told her where the key of his house was hidden. Let her in and it warms his heart in a way that doesn’t even make sense to know she wanted something that was his. Her hair is in a Bob and she’s yelling at someone. That someone showing his presence, walking out behind her. Steve’s in a near heart attack and near tears when he sees Henderson walking out with a cap on. Hair styled in the way that he had showed him, a hat firmly placed on the top of his head. Mouth moving a mile per minute. Talking right back to Robin. Even from here Steve knew the kid was being obnoxious.

“Come on Robin. It’s not that bad, right Eddie.” The boy turns. Looking for confirmation from Eddie the freak Munson. And Steve really shouldn’t be that shocked that Dustin would find a friend in a drug dealer. If there was trouble in Hawkins, Henderson sure as hell would find it. Steve’s about to freak out, but stops when he sees the amused look on the metal heads face. His hair was much longer then what he remembered it being.

“Sorry dude. Im with Robbie on this one.” Eddie moves a hand playfully moving the others head on his shoulders. None of them noticing the suspicious car on the other side of the street. Next came Joyce, whose hand was wrapped tightly in Hoppers. That was not a shock to see at all. Both of them laughing as they look around at the children. Like Steve had.

As expected, Hoppers eyes land on the car. His face going a bright red as he lets go of Joyce’s hand. Storming forward catching everyone’s attention. Breaking the peace as he looks like he’s ready to kill someone. “Get the hell away from my property. Don’t need the god damn government spying on my daughter. Last warning, next time I’ll -“ his words die in his throat as Steve steps out of the car. Hoppers back blocking the view of everyone behind him.

Steve looks at him with a amused look, holding his side. Body still recovering from his stint in another country. “Wow, nice welcoming home gift hopper.” He laughs. Coughing a little from the bruised rib. Though the bruised rib is nearly the least of his worries as Hopper pulls him into a bear hug.

“Never got a chance to thank you for saving Joyce and the kids. Considering the fact you fucking died.” Hopper gruffly rasps. “Everyone’s going to freak you know.” He warns.

“I know.” Steve says softly. Stepping back with a tight smile.

“Hopper what’s going on?” Joyce is now walking over. Obviously warning the kids to go inside. All of them complaining and bickering as they do. Steve could hear them. Her face pulls into a shocked expression when she sees Steve. “Oh my god.” She gasps as she moves nearly tackling him.

“What is it mom?” Jonathan’s voice is heard from the van.

“Everyone inside now.” Joyce yells. Helping hopper hide steve from everybody. They knew that the second they all seen him, the neighbors attention would be all over them. Something that they didn’t need was for everyone talking about how a whole group of people started sobbing in the middle of the drive way. That and Steve Harrington was supposed to be dead. Word got around, that was all they would need.

When he hears the front door closing Joyce finally looks at him. Looks right through him actually. “Oh god what did they do to you.” She sounded in pain as her hand cups his face. All of them still standing in the middle of the road. Only remembering where they were when a car try’s coming through. Hopper quickly thinks as he pulls off his ugly Hawaiian shirt. Quickly tossing it over Steve’s head. Who starts to gag.

“Oh my god you stink. I shared a cell with a guy who had stomach issues and you somehow stink more then our toilet.” He gags, being dragged up the driveway. Letting Joyce’s hand wrap around his as she moves him to what he assumes is the front door.

“Shut up-“ hopper rasps out.

“Honey, everyone’s going to freak out. Are you ready for this?” Joyce sounded like she was crying herself. Hand shaking in his. Steve felt like his world was just beginning again. Rotating, revolving whatever the earth does. It was happening again for him.

“Yeah.. yeah I’m ready.”

Im thinking about doing a part two though I’m unsure. If I did write more, it would be eventual Steddie. I don’t know if I should though 😭 should I?

#eventual steddie #steddie #stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #steve harrington #bxb #steveharrington #steveddie #eddie stranger things #steve and eddie #Steve harrington went to Russia instead #Steve harrington was tortured #Robin is about to freak out #so many happy tears will be occurring

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rosie-writings · 1 month

Text

Take Everything

Summary: Dream works non stop on a project for months, and even after it’s finished he still seems like he needs to relieve some stress.

Warnings: Dream x Reader smut, Semi-public sex (on Livestream), Teasing, Cockwarming, Rough sex, Hair pulling, Squirting

Words: 4.3k

No Use of Y/N

Title is from ‘Hypnosis’ by Sleep Token

My hands still ached from the shenanigans we got up to in the early morning hours last weekend. It’s far from me to reject any kind of outing with Sam and Colby, and it’s definitely unlike me to finish an adventure completely unscathed.

It was a simple miscalculation.

Colby was pissed because if I was any weaker I would have fallen 60 feet to broken concrete blanketed with glass, and to that I agreed. It would have sucked.

Two hospital visits and eight days later, the slits across the palms of my hands were finally infection and tetanus free. They were wrapped with soft gauze, though, and while embarrassing, they were very relieving. I finally felt free to do what I wanted for myself.

Telling Dream what happened when I got home was honestly scarier than the actual situation.

“I really don’t understand why you would have to scale the outside of the building though, you’re a dumbass—“

“We went inside, Dream,” I exasperated. “Sam fell through the floor twice! We wanted to get to the top for pictures and I volunteered to go first. I didn’t think the literal fucking—the steel structure around the wall would cave in like that.”

“Well no shit! If you guys are falling through the floors then obviously the building’s gonna fucking collapse!”

“Dream—“

“No, don’t give me that. This is serious!”

“I know it is—“

“Listen to me,” he demanded. My throat closed tightly as he took my wrists in his hands so he could see the damage. Bandages still covered the wounds, but we both knew how nasty they were. “This can’t happen every goddamn time you go out with them or else you won’t anymore.”

“And you’re the one who decides that?”

“Since you clearly can’t for yourself, yeah!”

“What the fuck is going on down here?” We both looked as George entered the room from the stairs. I yanked my hands from Dream to hide the bandages, but George already saw. “What happened to you?”

”Just went out with Sam and Colby—“

“Tell her that she can’t climb old nasty tetanus ridden buildings without gloves anymore.”

”What is wrong with you?” His face twisted with disgust.

“George—“

“No, get away from me, ew.” And he passed us as he shook his head. “You’re ridiculous. Dream’s the only one who will give you sympathy around here and if even he thinks you’re an idiot then you won’t like me very much either.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to Dream. He stared back at me.

”I’m going to bed. You guys are ridiculous.”

”Okay but risking infection and, I don’t fucking know, death is a big deal. You’re being ridiculous.”

”Whatever, Dream,” I sighed as I took two stares at a time. “You can’t be upset that my version of fun is different than yours.”

”My version of fun doesn’t risk my damn life. And I thought you said you were going to bed?” He shouted as I walked down the hallway towards our soundproofed offices.

”I’m sleeping in my office so I don’t have to listen to you guys bitch at me anymore.”

”Jesus Christ.”

I shared a bed with Dream now. My room was used as the last remaining guest bedroom in this house—the other house has many more rooms for that—but in a couple days Punz planned to Use it for two weeks until his apartment was ready which was fine by me unless Dream didn’t shape up his attitude. I didn’t have any serious plans of leaving his bed, I just didn’t anticipate a lack of freedom in my decision making process.

Don’t get me wrong; none of the boys were overbearing or overprotective of me at all, even Dream, but I forgot what it was like to come home to questioning eyes wondering where I had been and why my hands were covered in bandages. I lived by myself for so long that I forgot what it was like to share life with other people. Blessings and curses.

I curled myself up in the blankets of the bed and sleep came over me immediately when I closed my eyes. It was too comfortable. Not nearly as comfortable as our bed downstairs, but the pure silence in the pitch black room lulled me to sleep like no other.

Three days later I told George that he was right, and he must have felt bad about my multiple hospital trips and infected wounds because he didn’t even bask in the glory of my fess up.

Eight days later I knew I was on the up and up, and my wounds healed rightly. I stressed Dream out. I could tell, and mixed with everything else going on, he was one more mishap from breaking.

Multiple videos between the three boys were scheduled, and they included incredibly large amounts of time, energy, and money to finish, that by the end of the day—if either of them took a break—there was nothing to do but scarf down their single meal of the day then sleep for ten hours just to do it all over again. At least they deserved everything they had; they worked harder than anyone else I had ever seen.

Dream’s video was finished. His workdays were infinitely shorter now, and he only needed to do finishing touches on other things and get his ducks in order. What he needed to do most, though, was relax. I think we got a solid seven words in to each other every night before sleeping for an eternity and I was impatient. I worked just as hard as them and traveled as well, so when there was any down time, of course we slept like there was no tomorrow.

Until the livestream.

The three live-streamed the night before the first video release, and they played games with friends for a while. It was good—fantastic even—for Dream’s mental health. It didn’t look like he wanted to shrivel up at any happenstance any longer and for that I was grateful.

He just wouldn’t chill. Even with the hard part of the video making process behind him, the stress still kindled inside of him.

Good thing I was so much better at breaking things than putting them back together.

I don’t know what came over me, but with the tension within the house ceasing and my hands not being the problem they were, I was ready for some strife. A little bit of chaos.

And a lot more closeness with Dream.

We had been dating for six months and pining after each other for almost two years and somehow I could count on one hand how many times we had sex. It wasn’t a problem, yet anyway, but if he wouldn’t calm down and separate his work from his non-existent personal life, it would be.

Not because I was selfish but because he deserved to not work himself sick.

I didn’t think twice when I silently opened his office door. Not silently per-say; Dream’s eyes quickly darted to me with concern, but enough that his mic didn’t pick it up.

He muted.

”What’s wrong?”

”Nothing,” I said sweetly. He hesitated and blinked quickly. I walked over to him.

“Did—Are you wanting to be on stream?”

”No.”

”Oh.”

More silence.

”I—I was going to unmute now—oh.” He froze and backed from his desk more when I walked over and straddled his lap. He looked up at me with bright eyes. God, I loved them. And I loved the fact that they stared back at me for longer than a couple seconds.

“You can unmute now.”

”But I—no, what are you doing?”

”Sitting? Obviously.”

”I’m streaming.”

”I know.”

He sucked in a quick breath as I watched the realization click.

“Just tell me if you—“

He unmuted. I held my breath as I leaned into him and wrapped my arms around his neck. My chin rested on his shoulder and I closed my eyes to hush the rushing of my heart.

Already, the heat between us sent chills across my skin.

Now that I was where I wanted to be, suddenly the confidence drained. I didn’t check the viewer countâ—good thing too or else I probably would have turned and left his office in a flash—but I knew it wasn’t too good for my blood pressure. I was frozen against him. The heat spread down my body and pooled in my pants. I didn’t listen to what he said, but I felt the way his body vibrated from his voice. It almost lulled me to sleep. But then it happened.

He slowly pushed his hips up and leaned back more to give me more access.

That was all I needed. Just one push.

And I felt him, all of him.

I rolled my hips into his and butterflies twisted in my stomach from the sound of his shaking breath. I couldn’t stop. My hand held the side of his neck, thumb brushed his face, as I kissed and bit down on his neck for security. I needed something for my hands to do, something for my mouth to do, or else a lot more would come from his mic than the viewers paid for.

“Mmm—“ He made a more prominent noise and I did the same movement over and over. That was when one of his hands finally came down on me. Of course he didn’t unmute yet. I knew he wasn’t that gone, and some evil part of me wanted him to be so I kept on and on.

Maybe I was the one we should be worried about. My throat ran dry from the amounts of pressure I mustered to keep quiet. He felt too good against me, and I thought he would be the one falling apart too fast.

Suddenly he pushed his chair back.

”What—“

“Off,” he demanded and cut off my whisper. He had to be muted. I looked down where his fingers pulled back the waistband of my pants. All too quickly, I leapt to my feet and yanked them off me. “God, what is wrong with you?” His voice broke into frustrated whining, but he definitely didn’t push me away.

His hand rose in between my legs and the other pulled me onto his lap again.

“Oh fuckâ—“ I gasped and released some of the pent up tension in my throat. Of course he didn’t invade my underwear yet, pay back, but he did tease me to the point where I thrusted my hips back and forth on his hand for something harder than his light touches.

”Can feel how turned on you are already, you want me that bad?”

”Can you blame me?” I moaned through gritted teeth. He sat back and got closer to his desk again.

”I know, baby, I know,” he sighed and unmuted again.

This time I bit down on his shoulder as the pleasure radiated through me. Good thing he wore at least a hoodie because then it would have interrupted his words. He pulled his hand away only for the pressure between us to intensify. I grinded against him faster, and I nearly blacked out at how painfully hard he felt against me. Finally his head tossed back with closed eyes.

Not until he made noises would I make noises.

”Come on, stop playing,” he whispered so quietly it made me furl inside myself. He leaned forward and focused on his conversations and games. With shaking arms and legs, I lifted myself up and tugged at the waistband of his pants. I only pulled the front of them down enough for access; I couldn’t waste another second and he wasn’t in a place to mute or take his hands from the keyboard for a moment.

He stuttered his words when I pulled him from his pants and stroked him slowly. I knew he couldn’t get mad at me for doing it during a crucial moment; he told me to stop messing around and I did.

I watched him as he focused on the screens behind me with glazed over eyes. Then I pushed my underwear to the side and sank down on him.

First his eyebrows lifted in pleasure and his lips parted with shakiness, and then I heard quicker clicking on the keyboard. I bit on my own lips to make myself shut the hell up. Holy shit, too good. He felt too good I could barely keep myself together.

I couldn’t tell if it was from the unbearable amount of time without being filled like this or if it was the fact that I chose a livestream of all moments to tease the life out of him, but the pleasure was insurmountable as it traveled through my body like powerful acidic waves.

I moved faster.

I held onto him; my fingers laced through his hair and pulled. He pulled back, and there it was. He was losing his cool. I knew it too, obviously. With my hands in his hair, I could get him to do whatever I wanted. I didn’t care if I took advantage of it; he hadn’t complained about it yet.

”Fuck, you feel so good,” I whispered every so quietly in his hair and he fucked his hips forward. I slapped a hand over my mouth.

“You got to be good for me and be quiet if you want to fuck me when I’m streaming like this,” he spat. Then turned back to his game. I didn’t know when he was muted and when he wasn’t; perhaps that was the torture he was able to put me through.

And when he pushed his hips forward, the breath was knocked out of me from the

“Dream—!”

A loud click on his keyboard led a groan, and he kicked us away from the desk harshly.

“You’re so in trouble,” he moaned quietly as if he were still unmuted, even though I knew he would never risk that, and he leaned back in his chair with both hands holding my waist tightly. “Wasn’t fucking muted.”

”Sorry,” I stuttered and then I let all the moans I kept inside pour out. He looked up at me and held my hair back. Tears welled in my eyes from the feeling of how deep he pushed.

”You trying to act up or something?”

“How do you know that wasn’t the plan?” I choked out in between moans as his hands guided me up and down for himself. I don’t think I moved anymore; he used me like he had clearly been dying to.

“Oh so you want me to tear you apart?”

“Please—“ I gasped. “I need you so bad.”

“You think you need me that bad? We’ll see how bad you need it if you can be patient for another 20 minutes.”

“Not if you can’t last that long—“ My sentence hardly left my mouth before he slapped my ass. I fell into him and bit down on my arm. And his hips met mine harsher.

”Oh my fucking god—Dream yes please, you feel so—“

”Yeah?” He laughed. “That’s what I thought. Keep—holy shit—keep fucking doing that.”

And he went back to his game. Cruelly, might I add.

It went on.

I went faster and faster, then harsh hands would still my waist. I knew he bruised me, and in a few hours he would kiss them and repeatedly say sorry, but I didn’t care. I wanted them. Needed them; I needed him permanently on my body, in my body.

”Oh my—“ he gasped suddenly and his fingertips and nails dug into my skin. I yelped and watched his face as his eyes shut tightly and lips part. I slowed my movements and simply watched him; my thumb pulled at his bottom lip as he came to.

”Stop it,” he said. “I’m so—fucking stop!” He must have muted.

”What? You going to cum or something?”

”I swear to god,” he laughed. I bit my lip from laughing at him, but he yanked me down on him and I couldn’t move anymore. “You make me cum and I won’t touch you for a month.”

”Dream—“ I gasped. That was too much.

”Yeah, I’m fucking serious, baby.”

”Just—Just hurry then.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder as my body burned. My desperation ate me alive until I yanked my hoodie off and tied my hair up so it wouldn’t touch my flushed skin.

Of course that distracted him for a moment. His eyes tore across my bare skin so I took the opportunity and moved faster. His hand grabbed me reflexively, but that was when he noticed the tears in my skin from his nails.

”Fuck,” he whispered. “Sor—“

”Uh-Hu,” I told him as I shook my head quickly. “Said I needed you.”

”About to-About to end now,” he gasped.

His own desperation melted the frustration and dominance from him like I anticipated. And god, I loved it.

I held onto him again to give him space and watch the screens and close the livestream. It took another two minutes, but when his headphones came off, I sat up again and brought my hips up and down properly.

”Holy shit!” He cried and tossed his head back.

”Fuck fuck fuck,” I laughed as I finally moved the way I wanted. For the first time I wasn’t uncomfortable with the sound of our skin against each other.

”Look so fucking good,” he moaned. His hands were still on my waist and led me up and down. And his eyes fell lower in between us.

I leaned back and supported my elbows on the edge of his desk.

“Please,” I gasped.

”Please what?” Fuck that ridiculous airy teasing tone. As much as it irritated me, it crawled under my skin and told me I needed more and more.

”Just fuck me already, I need it so hard, please—“ I was out of his lap in an instant. I held onto him as he stumbled with me to the bed. “Dream—holy shit—“

He pinned me to the soft bedding with a kiss. I tugged him down by his hair. I couldn’t believe how riled up I was; sure it had been over 30 minutes of this push and pull, but this was something new. Something I hadn’t experienced before.

I moaned loudly in his mouth the moment he finally took control. He stood up and his hands fell down to where they belonged.

”You are so fucking bad,” he laughed. “I cannot believe we did this.”

”Just needed you,” I whined. I couldn’t tell if he could understand what I said through the loudness of my moans. Thank god the offices were soundproof. I had no idea if George or Sapnap were still live.

”I know.” His voice was quieter; face softened as if he felt bad. “Wanted you for so damn long.” Then he leaned down and finally my arms wrapped around him to keep him close. I fell lost under his kisses and touches, and I wanted so badly for him to stay close, but that itch deep inside of me wasn’t being scratched. Fuck, I loved the closeness, it was all I ever wanted the past few months. However, I needed to feel.

Sometimes I couldn’t feel without intensity.

”Harder, please I need it; want it so bad—“

”Yeah? Is that really what you want?” His whisper pulled a groan out of me, and he pushed the hair around my face that fell from the ponytail I haphazardly made.

Tears blurred my vision all over again. My back arched in frustration.

“Yes! Obviously, just—“

”What do you say?” Again, that sweet tone stung my bones. My heart melted under his hands and that stupid gleam of boyish anticipation in his gaze set me off.

”Please! Please fuck me, I need you so deep inside of me. Want to feel you for days.”

”Turn over, baby.” My stomach fell out of its place as I scrambled around. My stomach met his bed as my toes hit the floor. I balled the blankets in my hands and held my breath to prepare—

All at once, the room spun around me and my body was lit on fire. He shoved himself inside of me and stopped holding back. I pushed my face into the bed because yeah, the offices were soundproof, but I don’t think they were that soundproofed. A trail of expletives and words I couldn’t remember spilled out of me as he filled me relentlessly.

”Oh my fucking god, ugh—“ His moans filled the air this time, and that was when I felt a harsh tug in my hair. He grabbed my ponytail at the roots and yanked. With a gasp, I lifted into the air and supported myself on the bed with my hands. “No no,” he said with a shakingly quiet voice. “That’s not fair; don’t cover your face with the blankets. Want to hear you. Tell me how good it feels.”

”Oh fuck!” If he wanted to hear me, then he would hear me because I ran out of stamina to keep quiet. “So-So good, Dream, you feel so good. Can-Can feel you everywhere.”

”Yeah? Tell me you love it. Tell me you love how hard I fuck you.”

”Holy shit I love it. I love how hard you fuck me—oh my god—you feel so damn good. I love you.”

”I love you too, baby,” he said in my hair; he still didn’t let go of it. After he kissed my head, his fingers on my hips tightened. “Now tell me when you want to cum.”

”I already have to, please, please let me cum already.”

”You’re so cute—oh fuck—but I told you to tell me when you want to.”

”I want to!” My voice broke. God, the pressure was too much. It built too much too fast; I didn’t know what would happen if he didn’t allow me to soon. “I want to cum now.”

”You do?”

Shit.

That tone again.

That stupid sweetheart tone.

“But what have you done to deserve it?”

”I’m-I’m so good for you I-I didn’t make you cum earlier, I told you how good you feel, I-I—”

”Trying to convince me you’re so good for me?”

”Oh my fucking—Dream I’m serious I’m going to. I can’t fucking—“

”Okay baby, holy shit, I know I’m—oh my god I’m cumming.“ The pleasure was all too much for me to handle so I couldn’t process anything else he said. He pulled out of me, and when he did, the pressure released.

All of it happened in a few seconds—

I think I cried his name when my orgasm took me by the throat. My eyes clamped shut and knees gave out; the only reason I didn’t fall to them was because his hand hooked under my hips still. My body writhed from the pleasure, and I was still coming to terms with how much of a mess I made. My thighs pressed together when rivers drenched them and I felt a few cold drops hit the bottom of my legs and feet.

After he finished over me, which was so quick I didn’t even think he had to touch himself after he pulled out, his hand trailed from my hips to my front. I knew he tried to get everything out of me, but I didn’t want it. I did, but I couldn’t handle it.

”Dream! Oh my god, no no no I can’t—“

”Again for me, I know you can; it was so fucking hot.”

”Fuck!“ I shouted again and my hand tried to grab his.

”Hell no,” he laughed. When I felt his free hand reach over and grab mine, I ultimately gave up. Once he grabbed my other wrist, he pinned them to my back. “Squirt for me, do it again baby. Drench me.” And the second his fingers worked me again, I let go and finally, it felt complete.

I relaxed into the blankets with vain attempts to catch my breath. Dream let go of my hands gently and kissed up my back.

“I’m sorry, baby.” There it was. His voice was quiet as he said those words just as I anticipated.

”For what?” I really gasped for breath trying to gather myself. His hands grazed my skin and I felt his eyes staring at every part of me.

“Well hold on,” he said as I tried to move. “I’m using your pants, okay?”

”Whatever,” I laughed.

“I shouldn’t have neglected you to this point,” he spoke as he cleaned his release off my skin. “I feel bad and don’t want to hurt you—“

”Dream,” I grumbled and turned over when he finished cleaning me.

Holy fuck.

It would take a lot for him to convince me to take him from behind for a while. The flush of his face, how messy his hair was, and that hazy gaze in his eyes were too intoxicating for me to miss out on again.

”I want you to relax. You have been so damn stressed and working for so long that I just wanted you to release your pent up stress. I thought finishing the video would help, but it didn’t really seem to do it.”

”So you thought fucking me on stream would?” I laughed and felt my face heat up.

”I mean, it made you upset enough to fuck the shit out of me and you already seem to feel better.” I touched his face and he leaned into it. His hand covered mine.

”I know, I do.” It sounded like he didn’t want to admit it, but at least he did. “We’ll all take a long long break once everything for this project is finalized.”

”Good. Because you really deserve it.”

Comment to be added to Dream Taglist

Love, Rosie

#dreamblr #404blr #dwt x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken #18+ only #rosie writings #rosie hub #minors dni

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sshadowritestoriess · 1 year

Note

Hello! Before requesting anything i just wanted to say how much i enjoy your Ramattra content.

Now, i was thinking, we've seen him with a male apendage added to his anatomy before, but what if he and his partner were to switch things up? What if he were the one to get penetrated this time?

(AMAB reader or pegging, you decide, but i'd love to see some submissive Ramattra)

Thank you!! Here’s another something from a while ago I decided to quickly finish.

Submissive Ramattra

Obviously, this took some convincing. You had to reassure him he wouldn’t have any less control of the situation just because he’d be on the more ‘receiving’ end of things, and that this was purely to try something new/that you wanted to do.

But once he gets into it, he just becomes innocently ridiculous about the whole thing. You’d find him muttering things like “strange” and “this is odd” under his breath, along with complaints that it wasn’t as sensitive as his ‘preferred’ appendage when he curiously dipped his fingers inside.

Thus he’d make a near-fatal mistake of enhancing his own sensors just for the sake of this ‘experiment’.

He’s a large robot. As much as you would have liked to touch, he’d take it upon himself to stretch the faux muscle before you began— making the excuse that his own hand was better suited for preparation in comparison to your own, smaller ones. (You were more than certain he was just warming up to this kind of vulnerability though, so you’d give him that space)

Watching Ramattra touch himself like this definitely sparks a different kind of excitement. The way he’d edge his knees a little farther apart while burying two fingers knuckles-deep into this new attachment, and ogling the way the panels of his midsection shake and glide over one another with the arch of his back.

He shudders and tells you the heightened sensitivity was ‘much better’ than it was at the recommended level, so you take his word for it. And when he feels ready, he’d lay himself on his back and beckon you close with a hand, disguising any remnants of nervousness behind his mask when you’d crawl over him

“Be kind.” He would joke flatly, said as if a warning. It went unspoken that any of your indulgent motives for this occasion would be returned tenfold next time.

But you would take him slow for this first time; because honestly, the very idea of penetrating an extremist omnic with a reputation like his, especially as a human who’s been granted such a privilege, is far more intimidating than you’d ever let on. Somehow it was scarier knowing he’s laid himself bare like this for you to use, over the typical exchanges where he’s had control over most of everything— including you.

But it was just as honoring that he’d put full faith in you like this. He wouldn’t have otherwise agreed if he thought you would take advantage of him in any negative way

When your hips reach his pelvic plate, flush inside this new attachment of his, you’d notice immediately the stiffness in his form. His chin would be raised high as he presses his head back, the arch of his back somewhat raised while his hands seemingly scramble in slow-motion for something to take purchase on.

You’d ask if he was alright or in any pain, and his voice would buzz out and break in a failed attempt to mutter anything— so you would pull back slightly, no longer buried to the brim, and immediately his vocalizer would reset and his body would go lax.

“No.” He finally answers with a deep sigh, “but that was… intense.”

With his permission to continue, you’d begin a gentle roll of your hips and relish in the slight resistance that his slick walls gave around you. It would take only a handful of thrusts before he was throwing his head back again and holding a high tone in a glitched-out moan.

But that was the thing that somewhat puzzled you— you were taking this pretty easily, going at a gentle pace, and he was already this undone. You would ask about the sensitivity settings again and he would dismiss any suggestion, swearing that this had to be normal

It wasn’t. And as you pick up the pace, he would figure this out rather quickly, but his stubbornness would keep his vocalizer on mute in regard to admitting he was wrong.

The intensity of pleasure he was experiencing would heavily aid in preventing the truth from escaping him as well, though. He felt way too good, twitching and entirely losing control of the further ends of his limbs. Panting heavily, somehow feeling breathless despite his lack of need for air, and all his systems spiraling toward dangerous conditions and being unable to communicate to each other

One good dicking-down and Ramattra would lose his vision. His legs would lock around you for security, squeezing tight and pulling you close until he’d accidentally brought you flush inside of him again, and he’d nearly short-circuit.

Never in your life have you heard Ramattra shout a string of expletives, and you’re not certain he’d heard himself either.

He’d be steaming at the seems, cursing at you to keep moving— which you would try, but it proved to be quite difficult with his ankles locked behind your lower back. The inside of him was heating up extremely quickly, though, so you knew you had to wrap this up fast.

But he wasn’t about to last too long to begin with. Just a couple strong humps and everything would crash— you swore you saw a spark fly from his mask as his entire body seizes for a moment before completely collapsing, his systems and fans shutting off in an instant as the red glow of his LEDs start to fade.

And it would take him much longer than usual to reboot. A process that should only take a solid minute took about fifteen— after three attempts to wake up, his body failing to fully restart each time, he’d finally come to very slowly, and sluggish.

He would be shocked to still feel the aftereffects, this pulsing inside of him as if you were still present and moving. It made him feel odd, as if he craved more despite knowing he was in need of a break. And there was a subtle soreness that he’d known to feel only once when he experienced servo decay. But it was pleasant this time.

And of course, he’d wake to find you in a bit of a panic because it took him so long to wake up. (His lights came on three times, and they were orange before blacking out. What does orange mean?) Thus he may have to spare a few minutes of reassurance that he is functioning fine, and that was the hardest he’d ever blacked out in his life

Then… he’d lower the sensitivity when he has the chance, without you ever knowing. So any suspicions you had for future occasions like this one would be dismissed with an “It was my first time, of course I was dramatic.”

#overwatch #overwatch2 #ramattra #headcanons #ramattra x reader #reader insert #fluff #smut #ramattra overwatch #ramattra x listener #imagines

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ageless-aislynn · 2 months

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Aislynn's Absolute Screaming, Crying, Flailing Thinky Thoughts About Halo s2ep8

Under the cut since its the finale and I don't want to be That Person who spoils a finale for anybody if I can help it 💖

First thing: KAI, my baby, noooooooooo

Okay, do I love the Halo games? So much. So, so much. Did I know what actually adapting them would mean would happen in the live action show, especially since s2 clearly wanted to pull closer to the games? Yep.

Did I want to see characters I've come to love, appreciate or love to hate get infected by the Flood? HECK NO.

However, the fact that the Flood spores were much smaller than their game counterparts (Evil Cabbages with feet were my initial thought of them when I met them in Combat Evolved the first time 😂🤷‍♀️😉) was a definite win, IMO. Obviously they couldn't be germ-sized in game and you be able to shoot them. But just the visual of them being smaller and much more virus/germ-sized made them a bazillion times scarier because they felt more real in that way to me.

Why do I watch so many zombie things? Zombies FREAK ME OUT SO BAAAAAD, MAN. And the body horror, dude. Ohhhhh, I can't with the body horror and people getting mutated and... UGH. Yet I've made, like, half a dozen Alien/Prometheus vids. I AM A CONUNDRUM, what can I say? 🤷‍♀️😂

Now, ever since Vannak died, I've been trying to figure out how we can, you know, bring him back to the show. I still don't know how it could actually be done but one thing I do know is that KAI COULD TOTALLY BE FOUND INJURED BUT ALIVE. Her Mjolnir can protect her from deep space, so it could have totally protected her against a big KABOOM, too. Her body is intact, she wasn't vaporized or whatever, so that's my story and I'm sticking to it. *nodnods very seriously*

I think I'm going to have to either invent time travel or cloning to save Vannak, though. Give me a minute. 🤔😉

If we do get another season (or 2 or 5 😉), I'm wondering if they're really serious about Silver Team being gone, if we're going to get Blue Team, then? Mannnnn, I don't want Silver to be gone, though. I've fallen so in love with Kai, Riz and Vannak now, too!

I'm kinda glad that not-Thel!Arbiter wasn't Thel because that was a good ending to his storyline, with Chief's "I know what he said" and finishing him off. Obs, though, I don't want Thel to have met the same fate.

Makee's line about being a demon, too? That was a good one, yep. Still annoyed that John's first question to her last ep wasn't "Um, hi, nice to see you and how is it that you're alive?" That being unanswered was just one of those clearly "because we changed showrunners," things.

John and Cortana (now in his suit), together again, YESSSSS!!!

Hello, Guilty Spark! If this is Gravemind they're talking about, they NEED Dee Bradley Baker for the voice. Just, no question, don't even think of casting anybody else.

John doing that badass "fight through the smoke and haze to save the day" made my fangirl heart go pitter-pat, what can I say? I'm easy to please, lol!

In summary, I did love s2 in a different way than I loved s1 and I hope we'll get news of a renewal ASAP!

Also, Kai's fine, she's just having a little nap, no worries!

#halo #halo the series #halo paramount+#airline's thinky thoughts #master chief #john-117 #kai-125 #ageless aislynn #aislynn's thinky thoughts #i'm TOTALLY keeping that autocorrected tag calling me an airline lol #halo spoilers #spoilers

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bigoltrashpile · 11 months

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Stress Relief

Hey guys! The amazing @shadowandcasper has commissioned me for a threesome between Butch and Grimm (demon mafiafell Sans) and a female reader! Obviously there's going to be smut under the cut, so minors stay away. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! And my commissions are still open, if anyone is interested~ ;3

You groaned loudly as you flopped facedown onto the couch next to your boyfriend. Butch looked down at you and chuckled. “long day, doll?”

Instead of responding, you just made a frustrated sound.

“gotcha. is college kicking your class?”

You looked up just long enough to stick your tongue out at him. “You know it’s finals, of course I’m tired!”

“mhm. well, ya know me and grimm are always here to help ya…relieve some stress~”

“I know, you’re both horny bastards.” At first, you only had one boyfriend, Butch. You loved him a lot, of course! But suddenly, while he and some of the other skeletons were working on the mysterious machine in the basement, they had pulled…something different through. Demonic versions of themselves.

You had understandably been freaked out, at first. After a couple weeks, though, you had come to terms with the fact that these demons were more or less the same skeletons you had come to know and love, just with horns, strange new powers, and a whole lot scarier.

That was when you had brought Grimm into the equation.

Butch usually wasn’t very willing to share, but Grimm was definitely the closest in personality to him, so he seemed to make an exception. Not to mention that you were sure to tell them how much you loved them both, very often. And they returned the favor! Unfortunately for your ass, the way they showed love was usually through sex.

“oh ya know ya love it~” Butch purred, snapping you back to reality. His voice lowered dangerously. “ya just looove the way we fill ya, makin’ ya scream our name~”

“OKAY!” you yelped, sitting up straight. “That’s enough of that!”

Butch just laughed wickedly. “sorry, sorry, you’re just so cute when ya blush like that!”

“yeah, ya got the cutest expression when you’re flustered~” Grimm’s voice startled you, and you whipped around to see him in the doorway. He had a shit eating grin on his face, and the gold jewelry decorating his horns sparkled in the light. “would love to see it a bit closer~”

“you’re just in time, i just about convinced her to let us fuck her nice and senseless,” Butch winked.

“N-no you didn’t!” you squeaked. “I was trying to leave!”

“to the bedroom?”

“No!!!”

Both of your boyfriends laughed hard. You folded your arms as Grimm put a hand on your shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “oh come on, angel, i can feel you’re so tense,” he whispered in your ear. “let us help ya, then i can give ya a nice massage~”

You had to admit that that sounded amazing. Just letting loose after such a long day would be nice…plus, with these two, you were far from a virgin, so you didn’t have much to lose. “Okay, fine. You two are insatiabl-”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Butch crashed his teeth to your lips, immediately locking you in a passionate kiss. He just proved your point. From behind, Grimm began to kiss your neck. His touch burned as he bit lightly into your skin.

You let out a gasp at the slight pain, but you were quickly silenced by Butch’s tongue snaking into your mouth. He eagerly claimed every inch of your mouth, as if staking a claim. Two pairs of hands slipped under your clothes to explore your soft skin.

Suddenly, Grimm’s hand snuck under your pants, quickly finding your sex. You finally broke away from Butch and let out a shuddering moan. His hot fingers carefully traced through your folds, before finding your clit. “that’s a good girl, moan for daddy,” he whispered in your ear. Fuck, his gruff voice this close to your ear always had you shaking.

“i think it’s time we take this somewhere a bit more private,” Butch grinned at his double.

You nodded. It was all the time you had before the world fell around you, and you landed heavily on Butch’s bed. Almost immediately, four hands were on you, eagerly stripping you of all your clothes and tossing them into some corner of the room, probably never to be seen again. As soon as you were naked, the two of them paused and gazed down at you with hungry eyelights.

“how’d we get so lucky?” Grimm sighed.

“dunno, but i’m sure glad we tricked whoever’s in charge of karma,” Butch joked back.

You squirmed self consciously and tried to cover yourself. A big mistake. Grimm’s eye glowed a flaming red, and your hands slammed above your head. “don’t ya dare try to hide from us,” he snarled. Even though you knew he would never hurt you, his tone still made you shudder. “you’re too fucking gorgeous to hide.”

You whimpered a bit, still embarrassed, but let them take in the view. Seeing them looming over you like this made you feel like a bird trapped by two very dangerous cats.

“i think we should teach her a lesson,” Butch purred. The two of them glanced at each other, and immediately seemed to know what to do. It was eerie the way they seemed to communicate without words.

Butch sat down on the edge of the bed, before tugging you into his lap. You could feel his hardening cock through his pants. With a deep, dark chuckle, he hooked your knees over his, and pulled your legs wide apart. A small whimper escaped your mouth as Grimm knelt down in front of you. He shot you a wink as he ran his big hands up your thighs.

“stay still for us, angel,” he purred. “we just wanna help ya relax, after all~”

“B-bullshit, you just want to see me suffer!”

“we could do a whole lot worse, if ya wanted,” Butch whispered in your ear. A shiver shot up your spine. “be good for daddy~”

You could only watch with wide eyes as Grimm’s long tongue stretched from his mouth. Teasingly, he nibbled up your thighs, leaving red marks that he soothed with his red hot tongue. He gave you a grin while he expertly avoided where you needed him the most.

“Pleeeeeease,” you moaned. “Please please please! I need you!”

“is that how ya ask?” Butch asked. His hands teasingly groped your chest. As he asked, he gave your nipple a sharp twist.

Your back arched and you let out a gasp. “Fuck, I’m sorry! Daddy, please, give me more!”

“what a polite girl,” Grimm laughed. “since ya asked so nicely~”

Finally, his tongue touched your sex. His tongue was so hot that you almost jumped out of Butch’s hold. His tongue always surprised you, no matter how often you felt it.

Butch growled warningly. “don’t ya dare move,” he hissed. One hand grabbed your wrists and pinned them behind your back, while the other continued to tease your chest.

Grimm just smirked as he continued to work down below. He was careful not to let his dangerous teeth hurt you, but he let them graze you on occasion. His tongue wormed his way inside you, growing and stretching to fill every inch of you.

A shaky gasp escaped you as he found your g spot. His horns knocked against your thighs as you tried instinctively to squeeze them together. However, Butch’s legs kept yours spread wide.

“that’s right, doll, just let him make ya feel good,” Butch’s hot voice breathed in your ear. “ya make the cutest sounds, let us hear ya, nice and loud~”

As he spoke, Grimm pressed his thumb to your clit. Your back arched and you almost screamed. You were so, so close, you just needed a little more-

Just as you were thinking that, Grimm wormed his tongue just right, right as Butch twisted your nipple hard. You squirmed fruitlessly in Butch’s grip as your orgasm swept through you. You whimpered and shook as Grimm worked you through your pleasure, not letting up until you were limp in Butch’s hold.

“that’s it, such a good girl,” Grimm purred. He pulled back and gently stroked your thighs. He gave you a kiss on the biggest bite mark. “doin’ so good for your daddies~”

Finally, Butch let you go, and you leaned heavily against his broad chest. Your legs were completely limp. “Fuck,” you panted. “That was intense.”

“ya doin’ okay, doll?” Butch asked. He pet your hair, and you leaned happily into his touch. “we kinda went hard on ya.”

You nodded. “Yeah, I just need a minute before I help you guys out.”

“ya don’t need to do that, angel,” Grimm said as he sat next to you. “this was to help ya relax, after all.”

You chuckled. “Don’t be silly, you guys have the most obvious boners I’ve ever seen.”

“to be fair, bone is all we are,” Grimm winked. “but yeah, you’re right. just tell us when you’re ready.”

You relaxed for a minute longer, letting the throbbing in your sex fade a bit. “Alright, let’s go.”

No sooner were the words out of your mouth than you were sandwiched between your boyfriends. You blushed at the feeling of their broad chests pressed right against you, leaving absolutely no room for frivolous things like “personal space.” “fuck, i need ya so much,” Butch growled from your front.

“you’re so irresistible,” Grimm purred. “just relax and let us ravish you~”

As if you would say no to them. Both of the skeletons tore their pants off and tossed them off the bed thoughtlessly. Without warning, Butch plunged three of his phalanges inside you.

You yelped at the sudden intrusion, but thankfully, Grimm’s tongue had done a great job at stretching you out, so it wasn’t too uncomfortable. You reached behind you with one hand and grabbed Grimm’s horns like a handle to stabilize yourself.

“fuck, just look at the way your cunt pulls him in,” Grimm chuckled deeply. “it’s like it’s hungry for us~”

His words sent a jolt of pleasure through you. Though, of course, it could’ve been Butch’s fingers, now curling inside you. “Please, I need your c-cock,” you whimpered.

“i thought we told ya how to address us~” Butch said teasingly. His red eyelights seemed to glint with mischief.

You growled in frustration. “I need your cock, Daddy! Please just fuck me!”

“if ya say so!” Without so much as a warning, Butch pulled his fingers out and shoved his thick cock into your pussy.

You fell back against Grimm’s chest, moaning like a whore at the stretch. Fuck, you were sure he was making it bigger just to watch you squirm! Once he was situated inside you, Butch pulled you further onto his lap to ride him. His claws dug into your hips and helped guide you into a speed he liked.

From behind, you could hear Grimm’s frustrated moans and growls. “fuck, is it okay if i fuck your ass?” he asked. He seemed to be getting desperate, judging from the heat you could feel pouring from him.

“Yes, please!” you moaned. Though Butch felt amazing, you needed more!

Grimm gave a delighted little growl. He swept up some of the slick from your front and used it as lube in order to stretch out your ass. You gasped at the feeling, but Butch’s attention at your front helped to get rid of any discomfort.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of shallow thrusts from Butch and gentle stretches from Grimm, he deemed you ready. Slowly, almost torturously, he pushed into you.

You couldn’t even move, you were so full! Having both of them fill you up from the inside and surrounding you from the outside-it was so much! All you could do was grab Butch’s ribs and Grimm’s horns while they gave you a moment to adjust.

Finally, Butch got impatient and gave a quick thrust. You yelped, but couldn’t stop yourself from grinding down. “heh, what a good lil slut, so desperate for your daddies’ cocks~” Grimm laughed. He thrust into you as well. Butch used his grip on your hips to move you up and down, setting a steady pace.

After a little while, they began to speed up, bouncing you in their laps faster and faster. You had no control, could only hold on for dear life as they became more and more desperate.

The knot inside you began to tighten, and you began to shake. “Daddy, I’m so close,” you whined, unsure who you were talking to. “Please Daddy, let me cum!”

Grimm reached around and began to rub your clit with one hand, and twisted your sore nipple with the other. “cum for us, angel,” he panted. “let us feel ya!”

That was all you needed. You practically exploded around them as your orgasm crashed around you like a tsunami. Your boyfriends held you steady while you screamed and shook. Faintly, you could feel them cumming as well, filling you up with their hot magic.

After what felt like an eternity, you felt yourself come back to earth. You felt like a wet noodle. You just flopped back against Grimm while they both gently pulled out of you.

“how you doin?” Butch asked gently. “we didn’t go too hard, did we?”

You shook your head. “No, it was perfect. You definitely fucked the stress out of me!

“mission accomplished, then,” Grimm laughed. “c’mere, let’s get ya cleaned up.”

“Okay, just…just a minute. I just want to cuddle with you two for a bit.”

Butch’s eyes blipped into hearts. You couldn’t see Grimm, but you were sure that his were the same. “of course, doll. just relax. we’ll be here for ya when you’re ready.”

“we love ya,” Grimm added. “so much.”

“And I love you too,” you murmured sleepily. You let your eyes drift shut, safe in the knowledge that your boyfriends would take good care of you.

#my garbage #writing #sans #sans x reader #mafiafell #demon au #butch #grimm #osha violation #osha violations #undertale imagines #commissions

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acupofsolacemoved · 8 months

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Okay so some stuff that stood out to me on my 100th rewatch of the new trailer (because the other 99 times i was just freaking out about getting a narrator and grover being actually perfect)

HES LOOKING AT A STATUE OF PERSEUS!!!! THE GUY HE'S NAMED AFTER!!!!!!!!! HOLDING MEDUSA'S HEAD!!!

assuming this is mrs dodds i'm actually really sad they didn't give her her leather jacket :( i would have LOVED her aesthetic as it's described in the books

She looks absolutely amazing here though no notes

LOOK AT OLYMPUS!!!! don't care about zeus(i'm sure he'll do a great job portraying zeus he has the vibes already) THIS IS THE BEGINNING OLYMPUS CAN YOU IMAGINE IT WHEN ANNABETH IS DONE WITH IT????

obviously the armour isn't Quite accurate (like the shields should be bigger) but it LOOKS REALLY GOOD!!!! LOOK AT THOSE BABIES!!!!

the quality is SHIT but LOOK AT THISS!!! actually tearing up the cute little arrows pointing you to the different cabins!! the cabins themselves!!!!! the black one with the red banners is Ares and I really like the vibes tbh, i do wonder what the other cabins look like if zeus, poseidon and ares are all tall temple like and the apollo cabin is significantly different in style

GETTEM PERCY!!!!!

SO MUCH JUDGEMENT IN TEN FRAMES. ANNABETH MY BABY I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

omg i cannot wait for this scene if that's poseidon that's so fucking funny wtf

THIS IS A LOT SCARIER THAN I IMAGINED IT I CAN GET BEHIND THIS HELL YEA

THEM JUST STANDING THERE JUST LOOKING AS ARES DRIVES OFF LMAOOO

i'm so intrigued what changes have they made to the tunnel of love cause there are OBVIOUSLY some changes. that's neither a chariot nor a love tunnel ride i need ANSWERS

are we not getting a chimera? kinda hope we are but can't imagine them not showing it in the trailer?

Just the whole minataur scene is insane actually i'm so excited for it i have no words i'm speechless with excitement

#pjo stuff #pjo tv #percy jackson #em rambles #this post is for my future self to look back on and go 'oh i wish i could experience all that excitement and the first watch again'#i'm gonna TREASURE this experience i've never been more hyped

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turningsoft · 4 months

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Richie Tozier & Will Byers Werewolf Metaphor Post

@pinkeoni's old What's up with all the werewolves? post and its further discussion made me think of a lot. Seriously, it's lengthy.

I wanna preface this by saying I don't actually believe everything is connected or intentional, as it would be a huge reach. However, it's rather interesting to draw connections even where there were intended none. Proceed at your own peril.

As we all know, the Duffers originally wanted to write Stephen King's IT remake. Naturally, we also know they took some inspiration from King's various work, so for me it was a really small leap from werewolf references in Stranger Things to Richie's werewolf in IT.

Richie Tozier Was A Teenage Werewolf

In the book, Richie goes to see a horror double-feature, which includes movies I Was a Teenage Werewolf and I Was a Teenage Frankenstein (both 1957). Let's read the excerpt from the novel.

The Teenage Frankenstein was suitably gross. The Teenage Werewolf was somehow scarier, though… perhaps because he also seemed a little sad. What had happened wasn't his own fault. There was this hypnotist who had fucked him up, but the only reason he'd been able to was that the kid who turned into the werewolf was full of anger and bad feelings. Richie found himself wondering if there were many people in the world hiding bad feelings like that. Henry Bowers was just overflowing with bad feelings, but he sure didn't bother hiding them.

Now, this quote contains a lot of information to suggest that Richie at least empathizes with the character, but we don't actually see him relating to Tony until Richie comes face to face with Pennywise — for the first time, or so he thinks. During this encounter, It takes the form of the Teenage Werewolf and chases Bill and Richie out of the house on Neibolt Street. His appearance is described in great detail and mostly doesn't contradict the original movie, except for the werewolf's silk jacket.

It was black with orange piping — the Derry High School colors.

And a bit further on:

It was the other thing that made him feel as if he might faint, or just give up and let it kill him. A name was stitched on the jacket in gold thread, the kind of thing you could get done down at Machen's for a buck if you wanted it. Stitched on the bloody left breast of the Werewolf's jacket, stained but readable, were the words RICHIE TOZIER.

In the movie it's Tony's signature jacket that allows others to recognize him in his werewolf form, so it only makes sense to assume Richie's scared because he's forced to recognize himself in the monster. The implications affect him so deeply that he considers giving up his own life.

Bad feelings

It provides a bit of insight into Richie's head and makes us question what exactly he considers “bad feelings” within himself, if not anger (he doesn't seem to be an angry person). Some speculate it has to do with growing up and becoming an unstable, hormonal teenager in the future. Others link it to his possible undiagnosed ADHD, self-hatred and the ever-present fear of being ostracized for his differences, both visible and not. Being a queer person in the 50's would also fit the narrative pretty well. For those who are interested, I strongly recommend reading expanded analysis on the matter here (werewolf as a symbol in IT), here (bisexuality viewed as “monstrous”) and here (Richie's fears explained).

Not his fault

Obviously, none of the aforementioned reasons justify putting such strong labels (monster, werewolf) on a literal child. Richie seems to understand he's not at fault for whatever makes him a target, but he also believes in a strong possibility someone can inflict this inhuman identity upon him. Despite already being bullied, he fears his situation can take a turn for the worse. And despite having a wonderful support system, he somehow knows it's not enough. If someone or something decides to “fuck him up” and exploit his vulnerable state, they will, so he cuts down on the amount of vulnerability. Heavily. I can't believe I'm still not talking about Will Byers.

Hiding stuff

As ironic as it sounds, Richie Tozier is canonically good at hiding. Other people find it difficult to make up their minds about his personality and actions — the most famous instance being, perhaps, this quote.

He had known Richie Tozier for four years, and he still didn't really understand what Richie was about.

Richie uses his Voices and “numbers” both as a shield and a weapon. He shows raw emotions only when he considers it absolutely safe. He takes “refuge in absurdity”. To reiterate @/jasperathrifteddoll's werewolf symbolism post, Richie 1) is confusing; 2) tells half-truths; 3) puts up facades; 4) “through his concealment of his inner thoughts to the reader, seems almost aware of his status as a book's narrator”.

All of Richie's fears are connected to or based on public perception. “But he knew well enough” has earned a meta post in and of itself.

Will Byers Has Werewolves In His Closet

So what's the meaning behind this werewolf costume in the Trick or Treat, Freak episode? Maybe it's a manifestation of one of Will's fears, or maybe there's no hidden message. After all, even if Stranger Things and IT are connected, I Was A Teenage Werewolf has nothing to do with ST… Unless we consider it left a huge legacy and inspired The Cramps to write a song of the same name — the one that introduced Eddie Munson to the audience in S04E01. Frankly speaking, I don't think this was an easter egg the writers were actively trying to include, but it doesn't take away from the parallel. It's still fun to compare Will and Richie, especially because on a surface level they're so unlike.

To execute Stephen King's werewolf metaphor, one would need:

a character with enough emotional baggage,

who is afraid of being perceived as a monster,

especially as a result of trusting an authority figure,

who breaks his trust and exploits his vulnerable state,

potentially making him dangerous in the process.

Let's see if Will ticks all the boxes.

Bad feelings

Will's otherness is easy to pick up on. It's either “being a sensitive artistic kid who grew up to be gay in the 80's” or “being a child who was abducted to a horrific dimension and is now attached to it”. Arguably, we don't even have to choose: these two plots are closely related and can become one through the AIDS metaphore. Not to mention the whole “growing up poor with an abusive and neglectful father” thing. Simply put, Will Byers has plenty reason to experience “bad feelings”. On a rare occasion, we can hear about his struggles firsthand.

Bad feelings = self-hatred

So far, Will has internalized a variety of epithets:

“Zombie Boy”

“Freak”

“Stupid”

“Mistake”

We can see each of them affect him to some extent.

In season 2, during multiple heart-to-hearts with Jonathan, Will expresses his desire for everyone to stop treating him different, like there's something wrong with him. Meaning, he himself doesn't think there's something wrong. He stubbornly insists: “Yeah, I am. I am [a freak],” but he's quick to be offended when Jonathan agrees. It reads as a defense tactic, not his own opinion. After all, when you pointedly address yourself in a hurtful fashion, shouldn't those words stop holding power over you?

When drawing the Zombie Boy, Will essentially tries to reclaim this identity in a way that's true to him — by using art. He doesn't want to passively accept the label, he wants to strip it of its negative connotations. But then again, when a kid deemed as dead comes back to life, it's a pretty dumb reason to bully him. Will probably knows it's dumb, so he fights back. His homosexuality, though, is a harder pill to swallow.

There's no denying he feels guilty for his attraction to Mike (well, boys, but Mike specifically). Guilty and other things as well, a mixture of shameful, jealous, hurt, confused and angry. In seasons 3 and 4 he learns that even the tiniest portions of his affection and his sincerest attempts at salvaging a friendship can be neglected or misconstrued. It cuts deeply.

Then there's, of course, the van scene. Will says he feels like a mistake sometimes. Not all the time, he clears up. Mike makes him feel better for being different, and yet Will cries after the speech, knowing full well his differences don't make his life any happier or simplier, or better.

Bad feelings = past trauma

Still, all of it pales in comparison to plain old trauma and its prolonged effects. This anon ask and @/heroesbyler's answer have summarized it better than I ever could. Here's a quote that I can't not mention:

His trauma is one of the most if not the most multifaceted in the entire story, and also he literally is the main character foil to the big villain. Saying that Will hates himself for being gay is such a gross oversimplification of what we see. It's haunting to know that people want to project a stereotypical situation to his nuanced one.

Additionally, there were theories that Will is a victim of CSA, and I'm not only referring to the ones about Vecna/MF/UD allegories (these I very much agree with) but those about full-on CSA by Lonnie. While I'm still on the fence about it, I acknowledge this is also a possibility.

To sum up, our boy Will has been through a lot. Emotional baggage? Check. Susceptibility to “monstrous” labels? Check.

Not his fault

Up until this point I was being ambiguous about whether my theory is applicable to S2 only or other seasons as well. I have to admit, right now the werewolf costume guy is no more than a little foreshadowing of the S2 plot. However, given the fact that S5 is promised to take inspiration from S2, some of its key elements or plot points may be reused, albeit probably in a different fashion. Additionally, new information might be revealed, meaning that the metaphore has potential to grow into something bigger in the future.

For now I'll focus on the S2 events mainly and compare them to I Was A Teenage Werewolf.

___

Movie: Tony Rivers embodies a typical delinquent from the 50's. He's a troubled rebellious teenager with anger issues. He exhibits such violent behavior that he's advised to seek psychological help.

IT: Richie doesn't fixate on the anger part and instead uses “bad feelings” wording to convey broader (or perhaps, entirely different) meaning. Ultimately, we're led to believe that it doesn't matter what character traits Tony possessed. What's more important is 1) he had psychological issues; 2) he was advised to seek out professional help.

ST: Will has a lot of unresolved trauma from his experience in the UD, which manifests in “bad feelings”, so-called flashbacks and coughing up demonic slugs. He's advised to undergo medical supervision/scientific surveillance at Hawkins Lab.

___

Movie: Dr. Alfred Brandon embodies the classic mad scientist archetype. He conducts experiments on people by using hypnosis and medication in unconventional ways and claims it's for a greater cause. He draws out Tony's traumatic childhood memories during their sessions. Brandon has an assistant, Dr. Hugo Wagner, who comes across as compassionate and humanistic.

ST: Dr. Martin Brenner is affiliated with multiple scientific projects that conduct experiments on people by using sensory deprivation, psychedelic drugs and various abuse/manipulation tactics. He, too, claims it's for a greater cause. Also works with traumatic childhood memories, e. g. the whole NINA project. If twelvegate is proven true in S5, these parallels will become positively unhinged. Brenner repeatedly works with Dr. Owens, who on the outside seems more sympathetic towards main heroes.

___

Movie: Tony finally accepts Dr. Brandon's help after a Halloween party gone wrong. He decides to trust everyone's opinion, goes through the procedure and ends up becoming “possessed by wolves” (= made into a werewolf).

ST: Will accepts the fact that he's spiraling and needs help on Halloween night. He decides to trust Dr. Owens, Joyce and Bob that his visions are just PTSD-related episodes. He follows Bob's advice and ends up possessed.

Ultimately, this is the moment when Will's trust is broken. Although it's definitely not Bob's or Joyce's fault, a collective authority figure represented by Hawkins Lab fails Will. It fucks him up big. And one can argue, Owens' incapacity to protect him wasn't a simple negligence but an extension of Brenner's politics. @/runninguplenorahills suggests the following:

If Owens knew about Brenner being alive and deliberately kept that information to himself (which he did), and if Owens knew about Henry and everything that happened (which seems to be the case too)……. Well….. doesn't that make Owens' inability to help and protect Will in s2 a deliberate choice?

Regardless, it isn't Will's own doing that turns him into someone dangerous — it's the Lab's fault.

___

Movie: Dr. Brandon and his assistant argue about the necessity of transforming Tony because it might be harmful or even fatal to him.

“But you're sacrificing a human life!” ”Do you cry over a guinea pig?”

ST: Dr. Owens argues with other scientists over attacking the UD vines/tunnels and potentially harming Will in the process.

“And if it kills the boy?” ”Then quite frankly, Sam, it kills him.”

___

Movie: In his werewolf state, Tony kills a bunch of his classmates, a random dog, Dr. Brandon and his assistant.

ST: While being possessed, Will leads the soldiers into a trap and gets them killed because they've upset the MF. Owens ends up injured, and Bob gets killed. We can view them all as Brenner's “assistants” to different extents.

All in all, I'd say the metaphor fits. But wait, there's more!

Hiding stuff

Once again referencing @/pinkeoni's posts, there's a long history of Will hiding his feelings. Fascinating how the conversation that basically establishes this trait of his, aka his exchange with Joyce, happens in S2 and specifically in relation to his not-actually-PTSD episodes. But the motive of hiding, be it in a literal or a figurative sense (as in hiding parts of himself), is integral to Will's character. It is continually present troughout seasons and is supported by in-show elements and costume design choices alike.

Billy Hargrove And Henry Bowers Are Overflowing

Parallels should be drawn between Henry and Billy, too. This section is small, but nonetheless I like it — it's a finishing touch to the story and a cherry to top it all off.

Richie completes his train of thought by contrasting Tony and Henry Bowers, accentuating how the latter “didn't bother hiding” his bad feelings, e. g. his anger, bigotry and violent outbursts. The same could be said about Billy. Both of them killed people under the influence (Flayed!Billy, Pennywise-inspired!Henry) and definitely were capable of assault regardless. For both of them a relationship with one's father seems to be an instigation of their descent into madness, although Billy hates Neil, whereas Henry appears to have a more complex, effectively love-hate attitude towards Oscar.

It's also noteable that Billy is a foil character to Will, who is mirroring him in many ways, while Henry and Patrick may be seen as foils to Richie and Eddie when it comes to handling “their same-sex attraction”. And by the way, if sexuaility and attraction is consired “bad feelings” within Will's mind, one particular part of this post becomes all the more relevant. To quote and paraphrase, “Billy wears his sexuality proud and openly”, yet Will's sexuality is suppressed — another case of hiding versus overflowing.

I'd love to TL;DR this post into something concise and coherent, but I fear I'd just end up repeating my points and wording. I'd rather say I have more thoughts on Richie and Will's similarities, so there's gonna be a short post about it sometime down the line. Thank you to anyone who decided that this was worth reading!

#tw csa mention #will byers #richie tozier #stranger things analysis #st analysis #my analysis #this is not gonna get noticed but whatever #i'm doing it for the sake of doing it

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ryuichirou · 8 months

Note

I know there's an yandere Rook hcs,but what him when it comes to Vil?

This is another extremely late reply, and it’s related to this hc post. Sorry for the wait, Anon!

Ironically, the original post was already written with Vil in mind, so technically the previous list applies to your ask as well, but here are some more hcs about RookVil specifically. We really love giving these two (well, any character and ship...) a darker twist, so I’m glad you asked for more headcanons.

Let’s go~

It’s a bit difficult for Vil to figure out whether Rook is prone to jealousy or not. Sometimes it feels like he doesn’t care at all, especially when he speaks about how there are millions of people who witness Vil’s beauty and are enamored by him, and in such a dreamy Rook voice that one would assume that he even enjoys that in some kind of twisted way. But he is in fact quite jealous and tends to think that all these people can watch, but no one can get as close to Vil as he is. Vil is his beloved, his star and his prey.

It’s nothing new that Rook can be quite noisy and overbearing, but when he is in love to a yandere degree, he gets like that on a whole different level. He listens to Vil’s phone calls, reads his mail, and obviously watches him all the time. Even when Vil thinks that he is alone, he is never completely alone. In person he would talk about how he respects Vil’s privacy though.

And it’s not a complete lie: he does think that Vil deserves his privacy, when it comes to other people pestering him. There is a bunch of NRC students that are scared to approach Vil because Rook spooked them away either by suddenly shooting arrows almost at them or by kindly advising them to stay away from Vil with a smile. The second option is much scarier.

And this is Rook being gentle with NRC students. Because when it comes to paparazzi, he wouldn’t mind hurting them just so they leave Vil alone. The only reason he doesn’t kill them left and right is because he knows that it would cause problems for Vil. If it weren’t for that, he would have sniped down at least 10 of the nosiest paparazzis.

Despite being so protective of Vil, Rook isn’t really nice to him either. Well, he is nice in his own understanding: he’s just trying to make Vil’s life better. And “better” doesn’t always mean “healthier”. Rook deeply and genuinely believes that Vil needs certain experiences in life to have a more profound “feeling” of the roles he’s playing. He acts from behind the curtain, so Vil doesn’t know that Rook orchestrates a lot of stuff in his life: from small frustrations leading to big emotional breakdowns, to him getting exciting new opportunities that are getting snatched away almost instantly. Whenever Vil is upset, Rook talks about how much he hates seeing him cry, but these moments are also truly beautiful, and Rook is the only one who gets the whole scale of Vil’s dramatic and emotional range like that.

#replies #headcanons #rookvil

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luimagines · 11 months

Note

Hi! I can’t sleep (I’m writing this in bed at midnight) and I forgot to request proposal headcannons while requests were open. So now I’m inflicting you with my own headcannon about how Twilight would propose. Woe be upon ye. This one is an earnest attempt on your life (consider my last story to be a half-hearted try with a foam knife). Warning: long ask.

The rancher had been incredibly nervous about this for a really, really long time. He’s done a remarkably good job at hiding it from you (for a Link, that is). You’d assumed he’d been stressed with the upcoming harvest since that was the most logical conclusion you could come to given the available information. Given that, you decided to try and ease his stress some by pilfering his pumpkin soup recipe and then asking him to help you make it — activities are always more fun together, after all.

He complies because he can never deny you anything that’s in his power to give. That and he really enjoys cooking with you. It’s domestic and sweet and it gives him butterflies — which ultimately only serves to make his upcoming proposal all the scarier. On the one hand, he could have this domesticity every day and hold you while you both sleep every night. But on the other… what if you say no and things become awkward?? What if you end up breaking up with him??? It’s hard to stay present and not spiral into worst-case scenarios as he gets a small taste of what could be.

You, sensing he’s becoming stressed, come up and hug him from behind while he’s stirring the soup. He inhales sharply as you lay your cheek against his back, but he melts into your touch. His panicked thoughts quiet instantly — you’ve always had that effect on him. “What’s wrong, my love?” You ask, concerned. His drawl is a little thicker than normal and his voice is warm. You might not be able to see his face from your position, but you can actually hear the small smile and soft look that have spread over his features, “it’s nothin’ to trouble yourself with, darlin’. I’m alright now. I jus’ needed a hug and didn’t realize it is all.”

You hum, not entirely convinced but recognizing the half-truth for what it is. You’ve quietes whatever thoughts are plaguing him, but there’s obviously something. He’s not the type to get this stressed out over “nothing.” He evidently doesn’t want to talk about it for some reason though.

“There’s a difference between ‘it’s nothing’ and ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ The latter is always an acceptable answer, but I rather you tell me that. I won’t force you to tell me what’s bothering you, but I want you to know you can come to me with anything.” You say as your grip around his waist tightens (and as you have to force yourself to think of anything but how muscular his back is and the fact that you can feel his abs under your hands).

If there was any tension left in his body at all, it deflates all at once as you speak. “Trus’ me, I know. And I appreciate that more than you know, darlin’. But I meant it. It was a silly thing to be worried about, all things considered, I’m all righ’ now. Thank you.” He keeps stirring the soup with one hand, but one large hand comes to rest overtop where your own have wrapped themselves around his middle, his thumb caressing your skin. He’s told you the truth, he really isn’t worried anymore. He knows the life he can give you is a simple one, but it’s one full of love and happiness. There’s something about the way you hold him, the tenderness of the embrace, that makes him realize that everything’s gonna be okay in the end.

He‘s no longer afraid you’ll say no. Not necessarily because you couldn’t do better (he’s quite convinced you could if you wanted to, no matter now frequently you tell him otherwise), but because you love him. Completely, with every fiber of your being; just as much as he loves you. He allows himself to believe that you would choose him just as many times over as he would choose you.

When the soup finishes cooking, the pair of you eat dinner together. You spend an hour and a half just talking and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. When the meal ends and you’ve both put your dishes away, he takes your hand in his and asks if you’ll go on a walk with him. You accept readily.

He leads you through a winding path that leads out into one of the wheat fields, the pair of you continuing your conversation the whole way. Eventually, you reach the edge of the field. There’s a small clearing and a crystal clear water running through the tall golden stems, the sunset just over the horizon.

He looks at you with an undeniable warmth in his eyes and expression, but there’s also a serious look on his face. Sensing he needs to tell you something important, you quiet your laughter. Much to your surprise, he grabs his sword off his waist and lays it down on the dirt beneath you two. He kneels down on his right knee. His left fist is planted in the dirt and his right rests over his heart.

“Darlin’, words can’t even begin to express how much you mean to me. Yer the light of ma life and the reason I get up every mornin’. If ‘m being honest, I can’t imagine ma life without you in it. What I want more’n anything in this world is to wake up with you in ma arms every mornin’, and to make dinner with you every evening like we did t’day.” He’s starting to tear up now as he looks up at you. “Would you do me the honor of marryin’ me?”

You can’t seem to find your voice. At some point while he was talking your hands came up to cover your mouth as you start to cry a little. You nod and that’s all he needs. The next thing you know, he’s shot to his feet and has wrapped you up in a warm embrace. You pull him down for a kiss and he complies happily. You can feel within the action just how much he loves you and how happy you’ve made him today.

When you pull away he has a biggest goofiest grin on his fact that you’ve ever seen. He slips a small box out of his pocket and produces a gorgeous, albeit simple ring (that explains where the extra money he’s been putting away lately went). Gingerly, he takes your left hand in his free one and ever so gently slides the ring onto your finger. Right where it belongs. You’re his, and he’s yours, and now everyone will be able to see it. It’ll be legally true soon enough.

Man, he really can’t wait until your beautiful face is the first thing he sees every morning. Bedhead and all.

- glitter ✨

THIS IS AN ATTEMPT ON MY LIFE!!!

I'M TAKING YOU ALL DOWN WITH ME!!!!!

Thank you, Glitter. I love this. This was so sweet. <3

#pinky replies #anon stories #someone remind me to add it to the masterlist please!#A story for all of you <3 #very lovely #very sweet #well written

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theshadowrealmitself · 4 months

Text

Another specific scenario: one of those “evil universes” and the character (A) that’s like. really good at being sadistic and rises quickly up through the ranks. has a parent who always cries about how their “good child” went missing (there is no other child, it’s like when people would claim their kid has been replaced with a changeling because they can’t handle the reality that their kid is different from their expectations)

No one actually ever pays that parent any mind, until an alternate universe version of A from a “good” universe shows up (B), and even though it’s a futuristic society, no one assumes that there’s any multiverse stuff going on, obviously A and B are twins and there actually was a missing “good child” this whole time

B just wants to go back to their universe and get away from this terrifying one, but between a scary overprotective parent who’s glad “their” ��missing child” is “back home”, an even scarier “twin” who’s keeping an eye on them because having a twin might prove to be useful for them, and downright terrifying other characters who have their own agendas, getting away is proving to be really difficult

#no fandom #multiverse shenanigans #evil universe #mirror universe

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authoressofdarkness · 11 months

Text

Fill: Mafia AU for @starkerfestivals Summer Bingo 2023

Mind the tags y'all! Pretty typical mafia AU bs below but I just want everyone to be safe. Read on AO3.

Peter can’t see anything when he wakes up.

Of course he can’t; what do you expect when you get hit over the head and abducted? He should know better. It’s not the first time someone has tried to use him against Ben, although it would be the first time they’ve gotten this far. Ben doesn’t mess around with his and May’s safety.

This time is different, though, and not just because of the fact they’d successfully abducted him and taken him to God only knows where. He can’t put his finger on why until a voice speaks from somewhere that sounds alarmingly distant, but the concussion he likely has is the least of his worries when he hears it.

“Oh, look. Sleeping beauty awakens.”

Peter tenses. It’s Tony Stark. He’s in deep fucking trouble.

It certainly explains how they got past the security that’s been not-so-secretly tailing him since the last incident, and also the fact that his arms are tied so tightly that they’ve gone numb. These are professionals. The mafia. Ben has been looking into Tony’s case for years, but Tony has never seemed to care before. Why now?

“Aw, look at that. He’s well educated, this one. You knew who I was as soon as I spoke. Your body says it all.” A hand brushes down his jawline, and he jolts a little. “You can talk. If I didn’t want you to, I’d have gagged you,” he continues nonchalantly.

Maybe it’s the fog or the dull throbbing he feels in his head, but it takes a minute for that to register and for him to realize that no, he isn’t gagged. He licks his lips, considering what to say.

“If you’re hoping I’ll beg, you’re wrong,” he says at last. “Ben will come for me like always.”

“You think so?” Tony sounds amused. It throws him off more than he wants to admit, but he presses on.

“I know so.” Even if he sounds more unsteady than he did a minute ago.

“That’s cute, sweetheart. Such confidence. But I have to say, I think Ben’s a little busy at the moment, doll. You might be stuck with me for a while.”

It’s the cool confidence in those words more than anything that makes him nervous. Tony has done something, and whatever it is, he’s sure it worked.

Peter’s heartbeat picks up. “What did you do to him?” he blurts before he can think better of it.

“Nothing, silly boy. Then he can’t do what I want him to. Just left him a little warning of what might happen to you if he doesn't clean up.” A finger brushes his cheek again.

The shiver goes down his spine before he can help it. Both at the touch, and at the threat. It’s obviously a thinly veiled threat. “I’m not afraid of you,” he tells him, trying for strong and confident, but that’s not how it comes out. More uncertain and wobbly.

Tony just chuckles. “You shouldn’t be. Not for that, anyway. If I have to kill you, I’ll just be supervising. My men are much more creative with making it painful and drawn out than I am.” He pauses, and the gentle touch on his jawline turns to a firm grip on his jaw. “Now, in between... that’s what you should be afraid of, because that’s all me, sweetheart.”

Peter gulps involuntarily. Okay, that’s scarier than he cares to admit. Tony has quite the reputation himself, and it takes a physical effort not to run through every story he’s ever heard. And there’s a lot; good, bad, scary, and of course downright hot.

He pushes the thoughts away. “Got special plans for me, do you?” He’s going for sarcastic, but then it also falls short.

Tony chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea.”

The threat in the words is, again, barely bothered to be concealed. It’s dangerous and scary and yet somehow thrilling in the implication.

Peter flushes when he starts to indeed think of some ideas, and Tony’s chuckle only makes him turn a deeper shade of red. Then he releases his chin and steps away. Peter almost mourns the absence of his heat.

“Take him to a room and lock him up. I have to make some calls before anything else. Besides, I gave his uncle a day to respond before I show him how serious I am.”

They throw him in a room, cutting the rope on his arms and leaving him there.

Eventually the feeling comes back to his arms, even if it takes several minutes of shaking on the floor from the intense pins and needles sensation running through them. Then he pulls off the blindfold.

He’s just in a bedroom, he sees, when his eyes finally return to normal. It’s a surprisingly normal room — not an obvious cell, although there are no windows.

He climbs unsteadily into bed. There’s not much else to do. Even if he really thought he could make it out of this impenetrable house — which he honestly doesn’t — he’s fairly sure he’s concussed. His head is pounding so hard that standing is uncomfortable. If he’s going to try to escape, now isn’t the time to waste that opportunity.

Despite the conflict raging in every inch of his body, he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, he can sense immediately that he’s in a different place. Not only because of the difference he can feel in the sheets — rougher, obviously meant to be disposed of, not to be comfortable — but because of exactly how much difference he can feel. He’s been stripped down to his boxers. Fuck.

Once again, the first thing he hears is Tony Stark's voice.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, sweetheart.”

Peter ignores him, testing his bonds. His ankles are bound and spread wide. His arms, oddly enough, are not. He pushes himself into a sitting position and pulls off the blindfold, looking around and spotting Tony for the first time.

He’s shorter than he realized, he thinks, but still gives off the tall, dark, intimidating appearance. He radiates a charisma and sense of control that makes Peter’s hair stand on end because he knows it’s not the good kind. Yet it’s still damn attractive.

And alarming, because every other time he’s seen Tony Stark, while from a distance or on surveillance, he’s been impeccably dressed, the pure channel of that control. Now he’s dressed casually, in ripped blue jeans and a ratty band tee shirt that looks like it’s seen more years than Peter has lived.

The choice isn’t lost on him. The disposable room they are in, hella less expensive clothes than what Tony normally wears... It's obvious what’s happening next. His stomach clenches with fear that he swallows down. Panicking won’t help.

Tony must read the immediate panic on his face, because his expression softens, just a fraction. “Relax. We still have time. That’s why I let you wake up first.”

Let him wake up. They'd drugged him.

“How long was I out?” He needs to know.

Tony presses his lips together as if considering how much to tell him. “A while,” he says at last. “Long enough for your uncle to think he was going to get away with something.”

Peter swallows hard. He’d known that Ben wouldn’t give into whatever demands Tony had sent him, not right away, but the words still send a spike of fear through his gut. “What are you going to do to me?”

Tony shrugs, standing up. He grabs something off the table he’s been sitting at, and Peter realizes it’s a tray of... food?

“Right now, I’m going to make you eat, because you’re going to need it. Then we’ll get started.” He sets the tray on his lap.

Peter tenses, both at the closeness and his words. “Is it drugged again?”

“After, it might be,” Tony tells him, with a flippant honesty that takes him by surprise. “But no, not this time. I need you awake to film.”

“Film what?” Peter presses. He doesn’t want to know, but he needs to.

Tony takes a step away from him and heaves a sigh, shoving his hands in his pockets. Despite the severity of his words, the elder man's demeanor is a lot more casual than before. “Don’t worry about it right now. I’m not going to mutilate you. Not if I don’t have to. Hurting kids is hardly fun, you know. I’m not a psychopath, believe it or not.”

Peter frowns, not sure if he should believe that, nor why Tony would tell him that. He just nods and starts eating. Tony probably isn’t going to tell him anymore right now, and he's not sure he would like it even if he did.

He eats as much as he thinks he can stomach, then stops, pushing the tray away. Tony gets up immediately from where he'd settled in a metal chair in the corner to retrieve it.

Peter waits until he’s close, then lays a hand on his arm when he reaches for the tray. He feels Tony stiffen, but he’s not immediately batted off. “What?”

“Please tell me what you’re going to do to me.” He’s not going to beg, he’s better than that, but he will ask. It’s obvious how badly it’s getting to him, but when he looks up at Tony, the mobster doesn’t look amused like he did earlier. Just tired, maybe a little wary.

“Are you sure you want me to tell you?”

Peter hesitates. No. But he feels like he needs to know.

Tony just shakes his head. The hesitation is answer enough for him. “Then don’t ask.” He takes the tray and leaves.

Tony doesn’t return for a half hour or so. By the time he does, Peter has tried every thing to get out of his bonds unsuccessfully. He can’t even reach them, nor does he know what he’d do if he could. These are real cuffs, sized to him. Not ropes or a cheap pair of handcuffs.

If Tony was alerted to any of his attempts, he doesn’t seem to care. He walks right over and pushes against his shoulder. “Lay down.”

Peter makes a feeble attempt at resisting. “Why?”

“You know why. Lay. Down.” The words leave no room for argument. Then Tony adds, softer, “If I have to force you, this will be worse than it has to be.”

That much Peter knows is true, and he knows struggling will be futile, at least this time. So he lays down. Whatever he can do to make this as easy to get through as possible...

Tony cuffs his arms in and pulls the blindfold back over his eyes. Peter hears his footsteps move away, and the faint sounds of him messing with something from far away before he mutters, “Alright. Showtime.”

The seconds tick away as Tony returns to the bed, and Peter immediately tenses. He’s seen enough and heard enough about Tony to know how much this is going to hurt. He can sense the change in the man’s demeanor without him even opening his mouth. The casual clothes don't make him any less terrifying when he slips back into his more terrifying persona. Any warmth seems to seep out of the room.

Despite Peter's expectations, pain isn’t what comes next. A hand touches his chest, humming a little as it travels down, and then he feels the edge of his boxers being lifted. In the second it takes him to register exactly what’s going on, they’ve been cut straight down each leg.

Peter swallows hard. Fuck. He honestly doesn’t know if this is better or worse than the immense amount of pain he’d been expecting.

Tony chuckles, and it’s a cold, emotionless sound, so unlike how he’d spoken to him a few minutes ago.

“Such a pretty boy. You’d have made someone very happy someday. It’s a shame I have to do this. But you can thank your uncle for that.”

A hand runs down his chest again, fingers drawing slowly from his collarbone down to his nipple, rubbing a tight circle around it.

A gasp leaves Peter's mouth before he can help it. He can almost hear the way Tony smirks at the sound. “Easy, darling. We’ve barely started.”

Peter cinches his eyes shut, glad for the blindfold to hide it. Tony’s hand travels lower, nails gently scraping down his stomach, light enough to tickle but also leave barely-there marks. He squirms under the touch, eliciting another chuckle from the mobster.

"There there. I’ll get there eventually, sweetheart. Although I don’t know if you’ll like it when I do.” The fingers trailing between his hips pause in their descent. “Anything you’d like to say to your uncle before we get started?”

Peter licks his lips. “You’re not getting anything from me, Mr. Stark. Go to hell.”

Tony chuckles. “Fair enough.” He presses something hard and leathery into Peter’s mouth, and the younger man bites it automatically, wishing he didn’t feel grateful for it. At least he doesn’t have to worry about what he says now.

The mobster climbs on the bed and settles between his legs. His hands run up Peter's bare thighs, the motion soft but his palms rough and calloused against his skin. He’s surprisingly gentle, thumbs rubbing little circles against his hip bones as if to try to soothe him for just a second before one presses down, the other moving to wrap around his cock.

And fuck, he’s hard and he definitely should not be. By all definitions, he was hurt and abducted, and there’s no denying that this is rape. Or at least Tony intends it to be, but for some reason Peter isn’t entirely sure he doesn’t like it.

Okay, to say he’d always been fascinated by the mob boss would be an understatement. It was hard not to be, with Ben having spent so many years telling him about him, pouring over case files and trying his damndest to implicate him in something, somehow. And maybe Peter had started to join him with the intention to help. Up until now, he's convinced himself that was all his interest was about.

Now his own body was ousting him.

Ben wouldn’t see anything besides what Tony was doing to him. But both of them could feel it even before Tony starts stroking him with one of those calloused hands, and a nearly pornographic moan tears from his throat, barely muffled at all by the gag.

Tony strokes him agonizingly slowly, making him feel things that he absolutely shouldn’t. To Peter's credit, he really tries to keep from giving into the feeling, and it actually takes several minutes before his body really begins to betray him. When the pleasure starts to build and he feels the hand that splays over his stomach as if wanting to feel when his abdomen started to seize, he suddenly realizes what’s happening.

Tony is teasing him. He has no intention of letting him come. And this is Ben’s punishment, watching him be edged on camera.

So why the fuck does it feel so good? Why isn’t he terrified out of his mind?

He should be terrified. But instead, the only fear he feels right now is fear of Tony stopping. All he can focus on is the feeling of the hand on his dick and the nails tickling his stomach, muscles clenching, the pressure building until he’s so close, desperately trying to fight the hand that presses firmly down over his stomach when he starts trying to chase the pleasure himself and then-

He lets out a choked cry when Tony pulls away, despite knowing it was coming. Fuck, it was only one and he’s so hard it hurts.

Tony chuckles dryly, though this time he doesn’t sound very amused. “Easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, and then louder, for the camera, "We’re only getting started."

Peter groans, unable to help himself. He tilts his head back, squeezing his eyes tight under the blindfold. It can’t get worse than this, can it? But he knows it can.

It gets a lot worse, apparently, because Tony apparently has no intention of keeping things informal. Maybe he’s just not too worried since he doesn’t intend to let Peter come, but Peter still doesn’t expect it when he feels something warm and wet wrap around the tip of his cock.

Tony Stark is sucking his dick. His first blowjob, and he won’t even get to come.

Tony’s mouth slides down his cock, and Peter groans again, writhing under him. The mob boss’s hands press into his hips firmly, keeping him flat against the bed as he hollows his cheeks out and sucks.

It just feels so good and so bad at the same time. He doesn’t know how to handle it. He writhes and moans and tries to arch, and the man above him makes sure he gets absolutely nowhere.

He hardly realizes how overwhelmed he really is until Tony pulls away and a choked sob tears itself from his throat. Tony makes a low, almost intrigued hum at the sound.

“There, there, precious. Don’t cry.”

He jumps a little when he feels those rough fingers brush his cheek, and realizes suddenly the blindfold is wet. He hadn’t even noticed.

“Just one more, this time,” Tony promises, voice low and throaty. “Then you can tell uncle all about it and we’ll call it a day.”

Peter's groan is his only attempt at a response. Tony runs his hands down his chest again, teasing his nipple for a few sparse seconds, just enough to make him whine a little, before moving all the way back to his hips.

“If you breathe, it’s easier,” Tony reminds, sounding almost pitying. “You should hope your uncle doesn’t go too long. Too much of this and you’ll be used to it. I could turn you into such a pretty little slut.”

Peter whimpers, tilting his head back. He wishes his cock didn’t throb at the words, the idea of it, but it does.

Tony chuckles quietly, apparently feeling it as he starts stroking him again. “You like that, baby boy? Does that turn you on? The idea of being mine? Being a slut for me?”

Peter groans, trying to squirm again. “Please,” he tries to say, but the gag doesn’t allow him to.

Tony gets the gist, though. “Please what, darling? Want me to keep you? Want me to do this to you all the time?” His voice is dark, dangerous, and accompanied by a gentle squeeze on his cock.

Peter moans, unable to help himself. Fuck, it’s hot and scary and intriguing and he should be so fucking scared, but then the elder man’s hot mouth is sucking at his balls and any thoughts of the threat melt away immediately, replaced by the feel of his impending orgasm, the blood rushing in his ears, and the sound of his own choked moans.

Tony pulls away again, leaving him straining against his bonds and moaning. Peter isn't even sure how long it takes him to settle down, but when he does, Tony leans over again, pulling whatever he’d shoved into his mouth as a makeshift gag out of his mouth.

“Last chance, sweetheart. Anything you want to say to the camera?”

Peter sucks in a greedy, unhindered breath. It takes a moment to register what Tony’s asking, but he manages to pant out, “Go to hell.” Only this time he doesn’t know who he’s directing it towards.

Tony just sighs dramatically, getting up and shutting off the camera. A moment later, he returns to the bed. It creaks as he crawls on the other side and settles beside Peter.

The blindfold slips up onto his forehead, and Peter blinks a few times. The world goes in and out of focus for a minute as his eyes readjust.

Tony is beside him. He presses something against his lips, and Peter opens automatically. He probably shouldn’t, especially considering what just happened, but he does.

As it turns out, it’s just a straw. Peter greedily sucks down a few drinks until his senses return enough, he turns his head away. “I don’t want you to drug me again,” he mumbles. If it is drugged, it's far too late now, but...

“It’s just water. Not drugged. Drink,” Tony orders.

Peter complies. He doesn’t know that he entirely trusts that, but he’s dying of thirst. He drinks the rest of the glass in a few swallows.

The automatic movement and the cold water calm him, as it’s probably supposed to. Tony releases the cuffs while he’s preoccupied, and takes Peter by surprise when he keeps a hold of his wrists and begins to rub the circulation back into them. “Tell me how you feel.”

“Does it matter?” Peter drops his eyes to Tony's hands, unable to look him in the eyes.

Tony releases one wrist to grab his chin, tapping his head up. The elder man's eyes are dark and serious. “Yes. It does.”

Peter closes his eyes. “It hurts,” he admits.

He hears Tony sigh. “Hurts less than what the guys thought I should do.” What he would have done to an adult, he didn’t have to say.

Peter understands it anyway. “I know,” he mutters. Is it odd that he feels grateful, in that respect? Probably not as odd as him being unable to decide whether he had actually liked any of it.

“If it means anything, I apologize. And if you want me to... I won’t make you suffer another day.”

Peter’s head snaps up, eyes wide as saucers. “What?” He knows he should think logically about it, that Tony can’t possibly actually mean that he would kill him, not with Ben’s job still hanging in the balance, but panic overrules his better senses for a moment.

Tony realizes instantly, gripping his shoulder. “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean I’d kill you. Christ. I was offering to let you come.”

Peter stares at him for a second. The hand on his shoulder feels unnaturally heavy. He slowly leans away, unsure. “You’re messing with me.”

Tony catches his chin, making him meet his eyes. “No. There’s no point. I’m not going to say I won’t have to tease you again if I have to do another, because I very well may. But I won’t make you sit like this all night.”

Peter wets his lips. His mouth still feels impossibly dry. “I... would appreciate that,” he whispers, lowering his eyes again. The offer is more than kind, all things considered. He can't fathom why Tony would actually do it, and he's still on the fence as to whether to believe him, despite the little seed of hope it gives him.

Something in Tony's face softens, just a little, at the quiet admission. “Ask me, then. Tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you.”

“I assume we’re still talking about sexually.”

The elder man smiles, but it’s dry and humorless. He anticipates what Peter is thinking without missing a beat. “I’ll let you go when Ben does what he’s supposed to. That’s it. Unless you have a reasonable request in the meantime...”

“Clothes, maybe?”

Tony tilts his head in acknowledgement. “Maybe I can give you something. After. If you still want to come.”

Peter presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, all things considered. Maybe it only is because it’s a fantasy taken to a whole different level than what he ever could have anticipated. But it’s hard not to flush when he murmurs, “Yes, please, sir.”

At least it seems to affect Tony, too. He inhales a sharp breath. “It’s a shame. You would be such a pretty, trainable little slut too,” the mobster murmurs, and Peter jumps a little when he trails a finger down the line of his jaw. “I know I was teasing you earlier, but... you are very turned on. You really did enjoy that, didn't you?”

Peter turns even deeper scarlet at the question, if that’s even possible. “No. Yes. I mean– I don’t know." He may as well admit that much. Tony has already seen right through him.

Tony hums as if considering this. He pulls Peter's hands away from his face, his grip firm but not harsh. Peter's eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at him again. “But you want to come?”

“Please.” It’s okay to beg now that the camera is off, right?

Tony’s face flickers with bemusement, but if he’s thinking the same thing, he doesn’t say it. “How?”

“I get a choice?” Peter asks, wary.

Tony just shrugs. “Considering what I just put you through and likely will do again? Why not.”

Peter nods once, licking his lips. There’s an immediate answer that comes to his head, of course, but does he want to ask for it? Is he even capable of asking for it? He honestly doesn’t know if he can get the words out.

And should he? What if the camera really isn’t turned off? What if Tony is messing with him to hurt him more? But then, why would he? He has total control already. There’s not much point. Breaking Peter too much won’t do anything for him if he intends to let him go, after all. Ben could easily take back whatever it is Tony is making him say or do for him if he damages Peter too much.

Tony’s quiet chuckle is what jolts him out of his thoughts. “If that’s what you want, all you had to do is say so, sweetheart,” he says, and Peter’s blush colors his cheeks anew as he realizes he’d drifted off in thought staring at Tony’s mouth.

Well. At least he doesn’t have to ask now. Tony flashes him what can only be described as a wicked grin and moves to settle between his legs.

Tony runs his hands over Peter’s thighs again. The motion is light and gentle, this time, and Peter rests his head back, taking a breath.

But Tony isn’t going to just do this and let him forget exactly who it is between his legs and why. He presses a kiss to Peter’s hipbone, catching him off guard. “Was this your first?”

Peter watches him with cautious eyes, still unsure. “Yes.” If Tony's words during the video were anything to go by, he doubts it will surprise him.

Tony doesn't seem surprised, but he is quiet for a long moment. “Let me make it up to you, then. I just need something from you, first."

There it is. The catch he’d been expecting. He’s already cursing himself for being so gullible, wondering if he can really hold out another day for Ben when this one has already been a mixture of every fantasy he's ever had and also literal hell, and then-

“A kiss.”

That’s the last thing Peter was expecting to hear. "What?"

“You heard me. I want you to bring your pretty self over here and kiss me. Or let me kiss you. I’ll take either.”

“Why?” Peter can’t help asking. If he was confused before, he's even more so now. Tony must know that he doesn't have much to give him in return, sure, but a kiss was not the kind of extortion that he'd been expecting.

“Because I don’t want to take the choice away from you to do it, and I might have to later if you don’t. Besides, if I’m going to ruin you, I may as well do it completely.” Tony smirks, nails trailing, ticklishly light, down his stomach and onto his thighs.

Peter's muscles clench under the touch, but he can’t bring himself to pull away. It’s not as if it isn’t true. Tony just doesn’t know exactly how much he’s already ruined him, and the reality is that he's barely done anything compared to what Peter knows he's capable of. Hell, that just might be the problem.

“By that logic, are you going to fuck me, too?” The words come out before he can really think through what he’s asking.

Tony straightens a little, taken aback by the question for a moment before his expression smooths out again. “I… No. It would take a lot for me to get to that point,” he tells him, though the words come slowly, as if he is weighing their truth while he says them. “A wide variety of torture would come first, especially in your case. The assignment I gave your uncle isn’t that big of an ask. I’m not anticipating that happening.”

Peter lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, not sure if he feels relieved or disappointed by the words. “Right.” He hesitates to ask, given Tony has already given him more than he was expecting, but… the elder man has hinted at it too many times for him to not feel the need to ask. “What are you anticipating, then?”

Tony's expression darkens. The bite of his nails suddenly seems to be a bit firmer on his skin, toeing the previously unnoticed line between teasing and pinching.

“More denials, probably. Ben will have responded to what happened by morning. I’m sure he’ll try to negotiate. I may or may not accept, depending on how what he says holds up to what my intelligence says.”

“What if he still refuses?”

“Don't worry about that right now." It's not a reassuring answer.

“But–"

“I said we’ll worry about it then,” Tony responds, cutting him off. His tone is sharp, and Peter is still struck with a sudden fear that maybe he’d pushed his kindness just a little too far, overstepping the boundaries that were never defined but had to be there. "I don't like to repeat myself Peter. If you're looking for promises, I can't make any. Situations like this can change with the snap of my fingers." The implication isn't missed on Peter, but he doesn't have time to dwell on it when the other man continues.

"Now–" Tony grips his cock suddenly, making him jolt a little at the pleasant-painful touch. “Do you want me to suck your dick or not?”

The words, combined with the touch, make his cock throb. It's a distraction tactic, but an effective one, throwing him completely off the topic. “Yes, please.” Peter's words are barely a whimper.

“Then shut up before I fill your babbling mouth with mine,” Tony mutters, but before Peter can respond or even apologize, Tony's lips are wrapping around the head of his cock again and everything he might have been going to say is lost.

Tony’s mouth is hot and wet and frankly more amazing than he imagined, even after the half-assed first blowjob. His tongue slides against the underside of Peter’s length, pressing gently in all the right places to make him cry out and convulse under him. The addition of being able to see him do it is almost enough to make Peter blow his load immediately, but he tried to hold off. This is not an opportunity that he wants to waste, after all. If this isn't enough to satisfy him… well, he's going to be hurting for it tomorrow, that's for certain.

Between his newness and his hyper arousal, it still doesn't take very long for Tony to make him come. Tony’s mouth moves from his cock to attend to his balls, one hand still stroking him repeatedly, and even with his eyes squeezed closed, that’s all it takes for him to come with a strangled yell, spilling all over Tony's hand and his own stomach.

He’s vaguely aware of Tony dropping his cock, the feeling of the mob boss’s calloused hands smoothing from his hips down to his knees, straightening his cramping legs from where he'd been pulling on the ankle bonds unwittingly. Then he’s leaning forward, and Peter exhales the little air he has left in a soft moan as Tony’s hot tongue smooths against his skin, licking the expanse of his stomach clean.

Their eyes meet again for a second, and Tony licks his lips.

“It really is a shame I have to give you back." The mobster's voice is deliciously throaty, an unwelcome reminder of what they've just done. His eyes are nearly glowing with what Peter can only describe as malicious intent. "You’re such a delicious little thing. I’ve been needing a new slut for a while now, and you’re just my type.”

Peter's stomach clenches at the words, more than a small dose of fear and something he doesn't want to name twisting inside his gut, but there’s no mistaking the way he’s growing half hard again between them.

“But Ben would really have to fuck up for me to do that,” Tony continues, almost thoughtfully, as he gets to his feet and moves to fix Peter’s bonds. Peter lets him, almost in a daze from this surreal experience. Or maybe dissociated is the better word.

"Who knows. Maybe God will smile upon us, hm?” And with that, Tony flashes him a wicked grin and leaves him alone in the room.

~~~

It’s the next day before he sees Tony himself again.

Someone comes in and shoves a tray of food in his lap, untying one of his hands so that he can eat, and then disappears again.

Despite the crazy way this has gone suggesting otherwise, this isn’t the first bad situation he’s been in. It’s never been this severe, of course, but he’s certainly been tied up before, and Ben has made sure he can get out of most bonds, given proper time. It's all too easy, once he's left unattended, for him to get his other wrist and then his ankles free.

Well, maybe not all too easy. His food is cold by the time he gets completely free, and the room is barren and cold and the only exit is locked from the outside, but... well, he doesn’t have to spend the night in that uncomfortable position. No one else comes in, and whether they know he’s free from his bonds or not, he doesn’t know, but they leave him alone.

Until the next day. The door to his weirdly big cell bursts open suddenly, startling him awake, and Tony Stark stalks in, gun in hand and eyes glowing with ire.

Peter is on his feet almost before Tony orders him to get up, and he barely makes it a step back—his self-preservation instincts kicking in far too late—before Tony has reached him, grabbing his arm and dragging him out with a grip that verges on dislocating his shoulder if he pulls against it. He's still completely naked from the night before.

Now that the door is open, Peter can hear the commotion outside. Fighting. Yelling. Gunshots. And they’re heading right for it.

“Mr. Stark-“ he starts, uncertainly, but a look from Tony silences him. This is not the same man that was patiently taking care of him last night. That is long gone now.

Peter isn't sure which version of Tony Stark was the facade, but he's smart enough to know that now isn't the time to try to find out. His mouth snaps closed as soon as Tony looks at him.

“Shut up and do exactly as I tell you, or someone who doesn’t have to is going to die."

Peter doesn't need any more convincing.

He lets himself be dragged into a deserted meeting room– not far from the gun fight that's happening elsewhere in the house, judging by the echoes that are still bouncing around the hall, but in a space it hasn't reached yet. Tony shoves him onto his knees on the floor, settling in a chair.

“What are we-“ Peter tries, earning another cold side eye from the mobster.

“Waiting.” Tony sheaths the one gun he was holding in his belt and grabs another seemingly from nowhere, rubbing the barrel with his shirt for a moment before appearing satisfied. “Any more questions?”

Peter shakes his head mutely, leaning his head against the front of the chair and waiting.

The first time the door opens, it’s just two of Tony’s men. Peter startles so much that he almost jumps to his feet, but Tony's hand clamps on the back of his head, keeping him down. It’s obvious based on the way they’re dressed and the weapons they carry — and the lack of them being pointed at Tony — that they work for him, and that they knew he was in here.

“How many are alive?” is the first thing Tony asks.

“Most of them. There’s always a stray bullet or two, but I don’t think any of them are definitely dead. Not if we vacate in the next fifteen minutes, anyway.”

“Well, he better get his ass in here soon, then,” Tony says, mildly, as if the lives of the men outside are of no consequence to him. Of course they aren't. What were you expecting, Peter?

Peter swallows down his rising questions. He wants to ask who they’re talking about, what’s going on, but he knows it won’t be taken well if he does. He has a feeling even if the mild version of Tony Stark he was treated to yesterday actually exists, he would never show it in front of his men. He has a sinking feeling he knows exactly what's about to happen, anyway.

The men take up their places, and while he doesn’t exactly relax, Peter lowers his head again. He was told to wait, so that's what he does, steadying himself as best he can with deep, meticulously counted breaths.

Tony's grip relaxes on his head, but the hand stays in his hair, toying with his curls. Though it's almost calming, it also feels downright possessive.

The next time the door opens, he never gets to lift his head. Tony’s hand, which had drifted down, stroking long lines along the back of Peter's neck, fists into the fine hair at the base of it, keeping his head firmly down. Peter can see the gun on Tony's knee in his peripheral. That alone is enough to keep him from moving.

“I was beginning to think they’d killed you, despite my orders,” Tony says, fingers drumming almost lazily on the barrel of the weapon right across from Peter's head.

“You knew we were coming.” Ben’s voice pierces something in his chest. He’d suspected, of course, but hearing and knowing were two different things. “How?”

“That’s for me to know and you to never find out. Although I have to say, it was ridiculously predictable, especially for an officer of your caliber.” A backhanded compliment, Peter recognizes, but one that does nothing to diffuse the situation, nor does he think Tony intended it to.

“So." Tony's tone is too casual for their situation as he carries on. "Your men are nearly all injured, most of them probably close to dead, or at least equal in uselessness. You’re here. What you’re looking for is right here.” He tugs Peter's hair, yanking his head back hard enough to make him hiss. A tap on Peter's cheek with the barrel of the gun is enough to keep his eyes on him instead of drifting, like they'd started to, towards Ben. He finds Tony's dark eyes are alight with amusement and something much more dangerous. “Unfortunately I’m not very inclined to give him back to you now.”

“Let him go, Stark,” Ben snaps, and he knows from experience the way Ben looks right now, even with his gaze locked on Tony's; the way the muscle in his jaw is jumping with anger, body tense, a coil ready to spring from his place across the room. “It’s over.”

Tony laughs. It's nothing like the teasing laughs at Peter's expense last night. No, this sound makes every hair on his body stand up. “Is it? Really? If it’s over for anyone, it’s you, Parker. We had a deal. You broke it. This is what you get. Speaking of,” he adds suddenly, looking down at Peter again with those too-dark eyes, “We also had a deal, that I so kindly let you off of last night because you were too wrecked to hold to it. I think now would be a good time for you to own up to it.” The barrel of the gun he’s brandishing idly brushes his cheek again. “Don’t you think?”

Peter gulps, mind immediately set to racing. Fuck. What deal did they make? Had he said something last night in all his horny haste? Or maybe there was a conversation that had happened while he was drugged and he didn’t remember it?

Tony grins a little at his confusion. Ben tries to step forward, an argument ready to leave his open mouth, but Peter seems a dark haired man behind Tony step forward and cock a gun at him, freezing him in place.

“A kiss, Bambi,” Tony reminds, voice quiet and yet still carrying that dangerous edge. “You owe me a kiss.”

Oh. That. He can’t believe Tony let him forget, but then... did he really forget? If Tony remembered and knew about this, was he just waiting for this moment to collect? Or was he really just now remembering?

It didn’t matter. The comment on the way here about people dying made sense now, as it was obviously meant to. If he didn’t cooperate, Ben would die. Simple as that.

He starts to raise himself up, only to be pushed back to his knees by Tony.

“Oh, I changed my mind, sweetheart,” Tony drawls, an absolutely feral grin turning up his lips. “You’re going to kiss me, yes. But not on the lips.”

The innuendo sends a thrill down his spine, a mix of terror and nerves and something that could have been excitement or something else he was better off not naming-

“Move,” Tony orders, his voice cutting into Peter’s thoughts.

“Haven’t you already hurt him enough?” Ben snaps, and Peter risks a glance over to see him being held back by one of Tony’s men, nearly frantic in trying to get to him. “Leave him alone. I told you, it’s over. Even if you somehow make it out of here, they’ve got you for felony kidnapping charges at the least. You’ll be hunted-“

“What else is new,” Tony mutters, dismissive. He uses his grip on Peter's hair to make the boy drag his mouth along the inside of his thigh, clear up and over the bulge in his pants, then holds his head there. “Make a decent effort, Bambi, or next time it will be the gun,” he whispers for only Peter to hear.

Peter can barely nod against the grip on his hair. He feels like everyone in the room is watching as he slowly opens his mouth, tongue moving from the button of his pants all the way down the line of the zipper. He nips at the zipper piece, tugging it as hard as he dared with his teeth and looking up at Tony.

Tony just smirks back at him, eyes wicked and almost consumed by black pupils. Without taking his eyes off Peter, he says, “You might be right, Parker. But there’s one thing you’re wrong about. It’s not just over for me.” He lets go of Peter’s hair and shoves him back. “Up. Let's go.”

“No!” Peter looks toward the cry to see both men holding Ben back. “Peter! Stark, you can’t-“

Ben never gets to finish. One of the men takes out a gun, and before Peter even has time to panic, whips him across the face with the butt of it. Ben drops to the floor like a stone.

Tony turns to Peter with that feral grin, hooking an arm around his waist and pulling him in, kissing him for real. His tongue traces over Peter’s lips, which part automatically, then dips into his mouth, tasting and claiming.

He kisses him until Peter is panting and weak at the knees, and Tony’s arm is about the only thing keeping him on his feet. Then he finally pulls away, grinning, and tugs him toward the door. “Let's go, Bambi.”

~~~

Peter doesn’t get a chance to resist.

Tony has a firm grip around his waist and is tugging him out of the room before he’s even had a chance to recover his breath. He manages to get one last good look at Ben — breathing, he’s sure of that much, at least — and then he’s being dragged out.

Out of the room, out the back door, and into a car. Tony shoves him in the backseat and slides in beside him. Almost before the door has completely closed, the mobster has taken his wrists and cuffed them behind his back. He barely has time to wonder where in the world the cuffs came from before Tony has slid off his tie and is wrapping that around his eyes.

“What-“ He tries, but Tony cuts him off.

“Until we get to the jet, you can’t see anything. Secrets to be kept and all that. And no, don’t bother bombarding me with questions, because I either don’t have or won’t give you the answers right now.”

Peter frowns. Considering everything that just happened, he’s fairly sure asking a few questions should be justified. “Why do I have to be bound, at least?” It comes out much shakier than he intended.

Tony chuckles, pulling him against his seat. The sound isn't as hair raising as it was a few minutes before, but its still tinged with a manic, dangerous sort of joy. “Oh. Those are partially because you’re a flight risk, and partially just for fun.”

“For fun?” Peter repeats. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge the flight risk comment. It seems stupid to. Even if he was inclined to try anything right now — which he isn’t; he needs way more information to try anything than what he has — he’s...naked and cuffed up in the back seat of a mobster’s car, with no idea what state he’s even in. What would he even do if he made it out?

“Yes. Fun. As cute as I’m sure you would be writhing around and hanging on me would be, I much prefer it when you’re still for me.” The mobster’s hand lands on his thigh, making him jump. “You being restrained and squirming for me has to be the cutest thing I’ve seen in a while. I think I’ll quite enjoy having you as a pet.” A hand wraps around his still exposed cock.

Peter stiffens, feeling his body start to respond to the touch almost instantly.

“Mr. Stark...”

What can only be the elder man’s mouth touches his shoulder, hot and wet, pressing kisses along and up it until he reaches his pulse point, sucking at it. Peter tamps down on a groan.

“Can’t wait to mark you all up,” Tony purrs. “As soon as we get to the safe house... fuck, baby, I can’t wait to make you scream.”

It’s hard to think with the elder man’s hand stroking his cock slowly and deliberately, the hot words and his mouth moving along his body. He tilts his head, baring his throat to him almost automatically, unable to help himself.

On one hand, the idea terrifies him. Being permanently separated from Ben and May, being Tony’s permanent... plaything. But on the other hand, Tony’s hands and mouth are warm and sending electricity along his body, and he can’t help thinking that maybe it won’t be so bad. Especially if there's any of the Tony that had visited him last night buried under this terrifying exterior.

“You’re hard as a rock, pretty boy,” Tony whispers against his skin. “Did you like being dragged around naked for everyone to see? Being forced to kneel, to use your mouth just for me, right in front of your uncle? When we get on the jet, you’re going to do it for real while I have my meeting. Suck me off nice and sloppy and loud, the whole time we’re there, in front of everyone. What do you think of that?”

That sends a shiver coursing through his body. The degradation and the absolute ownership in every word and touch is straight out of his deepest fears and his darkest desires.

“What if I say no?” His voice is weak and hoarse, even to his own ears. As the words leave his mouth, his hips squirm against the elder man’s touches.

“What if you say no?” Tony chuckles again, right by his ear. “Who told you that you get to say no, baby boy? You could try. And I suppose I could rape you until you couldn’t walk or talk and you’re so broken you don’t resist anymore. Or, if you really irritate me or I really don’t feel like fighting with you, I could sell you to someone who really doesn’t give a shit what you say. Or let the men use you for torture or target practice. Your uncle would be plenty horrified at that, I’m sure. Or...” Something cold and metallic touches his thigh, then trails up his body, pressing just insistently enough against his lips that he opens his mouth before he could think better of it. And he does think better of it, but not before he hears the safety click off and realizes that he just let Tony Stark slide the barrel of his gun into his mouth.

“I could just kill you,” Tony finishes, his lips brushing hotly against Peter’s ear. “Whenever or wherever I feel like. I could kill you right here, but-“ he’s still stroking the boy’s cock, and Peter’s hips twitch and buck against him now. “It’d be a shame when you’re just so close to changing your mind, isn’t it?”

Peter had frozen against him sometime after he’d heard the safety click off, and even the dull pleasure of the man stroking his cock can’t quite overrule the spike of fear and clarity that hit him when he realizes Tony’s handgun is nudging the back of his throat.

Tony nuzzles his throat, turning the gun to create gentle friction inside his mouth. “I’m going to let you think about it until we get to the jet,” the mobster whispers against his ear. “Why don’t you come sit in Daddy’s lap now-“ the hand drops his cock and wraps around his waist, tugging his back firmly against Tony’s chest. "-and you can just hold my gun for me while you think about it, hm? But in the meantime, naughty little pets don’t get to come, so... may as well close your legs for now, sweetheart. I’ll have them wide open when we get there either way.”

The gun presses insistently at the back of his throat as Peter curls up in the man’s lap, head lolling back against his shoulder. The words may as well have been burned into him. None of this is about Peter; it’s about hurting Ben. Revenge. Tony wants what will burn Ben most, and he’s inclined to agree that escaping the country with him and knowing that he’s being kept as Tony’s personal plaything is probably what will upset Ben most. At this point, killing him would be a reprieve, and they all know it. Whether it’s one any of them want for him... well, he really doesn’t want to die, even if he knows it might be better for him.

So Peter stews over the words and doesn’t try to resist, knowing that in itself would be taken as a decision. And when Tony nuzzles his neck and orders him to suck, to practice for giving him head as if his life depends on it, because it just might, he does.

He sucks and licks at the barrel of the gun in his mouth, tongue circling the barrel and tickling the underside with the tip of it. He can taste the metal and gunpowder and idly wonders if that’s even safe for him to consume, but it’s too late now.

Tony continues toying with and turning the gun in his mouth until they arrive at their stop. By the time they do, drool has started running out of the corners of his mouth, and his jaw aches from both the tension and the position of having sat there the whole time.

Tony pulls the gun free of his mouth and holsters it without even wiping it off, and then scoops him up. Peter doesn't try to wipe his face but closes his mouth immediately, trying to work the stiffness out of his jaw before Tony makes him follow through on his threats.

The air is cold when they step outside. In all reality the temperature really isn’t all that bad, but, well, he’s still completely naked, so... it feels very cold.

Tony carries him for an indeterminate amount of time before he’s hit with a blast of warm air and, shortly thereafter, set on his knees. Soft murmuring around him alerts him to the presence of Tony’s men surrounding them, and the realization of exactly how public his degradation is sends a shudder through him.

He feels the light press of Tony’s knees against his shoulders and knows the mobster is getting comfortable above him. He sits there for several minutes, waiting, when he hears the click of the safety on the gun again. He jumps when the still-slick metal brushes his cheek.

“Time to make a choice, Bambi." Tony's voice is soft, the closest thing to gentle it's been all day. “You can rest here on your knees and keep quiet with my cock until daddy can get you somewhere and spread you out, or you can call your aunt and say goodbye and take a short trip outside with one of the men. Choose wisely.”

Peter gulps. He isn’t stupid; he knows exactly what the second option means.

He doesn’t want to die. He isn’t anywhere near desperate enough to say he does, not yet. And if he really becomes that desperate later... well, the men will all still be carrying guns later on, and there’s plenty of ways he could act out to end up getting killed, should he really decide he prefers that.

So he swallows, trying to wet his throat that already feels like sandpaper, and opens his mouth after only a moment of hesitation. He hears Tony chuckle quietly, feels the gun brush across his bottom lip as if considering it anyway before the mobster draws it away.

“Excellent choice,” Tony purrs, sliding the gun into his holster and gripping his hair. He lets himself be guided up on his knees, the cold press of Tony’s zipper against his cheek before he’s unzipping it and something hot and firm slides between his open lips.

“Someone get me earplugs for the boy. I don’t want him listening in while we talk business just yet.”

There’s some quiet muttering, and a moment later, something soft presses against one ear, then the other.

Silence prevails as his mouth is guided further onto Tony’s cock, and there’s literally nothing else for him to focus on besides the task set before him.

Peter closes his eyes under the blindfold and tries to make himself relax. It’s hard, impossible, even, to push the situation itself to the back of his mind, but at least it’s easier to pretend it’s just him and Tony again when he can’t see or hear anyone else. He can feel the mobster's hand still tangled in his hair, holding him there, firm and unyielding. Right now it’s still, simply keeping him there, not allowing him to pull off but not forcing him to do anything more than be.

That's where he stays for the next several hours, nothing but the endless dark and silence, and the hot, overwhelming presence of Tony Stark – the prospect of life with him, at least for the considerable near future, making everything feel so much heavier – lingering over him, leaving him to stew in his own thoughts.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark x peter parker #my writing #sfsummerbingo23 #bingo fill #mafia au #mob boss tony stark #stockholm syndrome #tw: kidnapping #police officer ben parker #tw: dubcon #dubious consent

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