#he still has some issues but now he’s not terminal or anything

[brawn-gp]

HIII my cat’s test results came back and the result is very positive !!!!! in the end he ended up having an acute renal failure, but this will not be chronic, and we were able to get him to the vet on time, where he was treated amazingly. we just need to monitor him closely but every parameter that was very high is now in normal range :-) thank you for your good thoughts and prayers<3

here’s the boy, now at home !!

[spaceclefairy]

Only You

You don't expect the Ghoul to hang around, but he comes creepin' back in around sundown every night. You're glad you remembered the Rad-Away.

Act I | Act II | Act III | Act V | Ao3 Compilation

You're stuck in Filly for the next few days while you sort out the raider issue with your agency. You assume “sorting it out” involves the agency terminating the raiders with characteristic violence and aplomb, but you don’t ask questions when you don’t want to know the answer.

There’s not a lot of lodging in Filly. In fact, there’s not much of anything. Ramshackle trader stalls, a few real stores if you squint, a radroach-infested motel, and a bar that most of the town seemed to frequent once the hour struck late no matter the day. At least the bar has enough open rooms to let you rent one for a few nights.

You hadn't expected the Ghoul to stick around, but so far, he continues to show up. He disappears during the day, then returns long after dark and crawls into the small barroom bed with you. You don't ask him what he gets up to during the day (you don't want to know), but you assume he's taking care of smaller contracts while he's out.

You've been spending your days at the agency hub taking down telegrams for contracts and sending out bids. It's mind numbing work when you're used to dealing with bounty hunters all day, but you've got to do something while you wait for the agency to give you the okay to go back home. You need money, and you’ll probably go nuts if you don’t keep yourself busy.

At least you've got the chance to see some old acquaintances at the agency hub. A couple of former bounty hunters who'd come through your office were now agents at the hub. They're alright, as far as wastelanders go; you hang around with them when you take breaks.

Today’s smoke break has more or less turned into gossip time. You’re happy to listen in on any and all gossip (it’s part of your job, after all) - it’s less enjoyable when the questions turn to you.

One of them, a woman whose teeth were file-sharpened into fangs (creatively named Fang), lives above the bar down the hall from you. She's good natured, if quite terrifying. She leans against the crumbling concrete wall of the hub, taking a drag on a little paper cylinder that smells suspiciously like burning catnip. “I saw that ghoul you came into town with last night. Is he staying with you?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

You’re not inclined to expound upon her question, but she lives down the hall from you. She’s obviously seen the Ghoul creeping into your room at night (he’s not exactly quiet, either), hence the question.

The other, an individual with - conversely - no teeth to speak of (again, creatively named Gums - fuckin’ wastelanders), chimes in. “You're staying with a ghoul?”

“Yeah-”

Fang interrupts you. “And not just a ghoul. The Ghoul.”

“The Ghoul? As in…” Gums raises a sparse, flakey eyebrow. You nod, and they whistle. “Nice. How'd you bag that?”

“Longtime client,” you reply simply. You don’t know Gums as well as you do Fang, but they seem harmless enough. “He got caught in the gunfight when the raiders showed up at my office.”

You neglect to tell them he'd started the gunfight. The less they know, the better.

“Not bad. You could do worse,” Fang observes. “Does his dick look like the rest of him?”

You nod. “Yep.”

Gums grins. “Cool.”

Your break turns into playing hooky the rest of the day, mostly because you don’t want to field any more questions from anyone who’d seen you walking around with the Ghoul. You make yourself scarce for the rest of the day, choosing to wander around town. You haven't been to Filly in years, not since you were a kid. It hasn't changed much. There's still the same derelict bars, saloons, and stores. There's more than one bounty agency here, too, though you don't know which ones. You're only concerned with yours.

Sundown slides over the town by the time you head back over to the bar for the night. Everyone’s locked down and boarded up their places of business, the street vendors have all scattered. You know that Filly after sundown is not a great place to be, but you can hold your own if the need arises.

You're in the mood for a drink tonight, and frankly, there's nothing else to do in Filly after dark that won’t get you shot. When you step into the dingy bar, you make your way up to the bartender and grab a beer. It’s watery and gross-looking, but it smells like beer and you can’t be picky out here in the wasteland.

When you turn around to find somewhere to sit, you spot the Ghoul watching you from a back corner of the bar. You're surprised he’s back by sundown - he’d been rolling in late into the night, long after the moon had risen into the sky. You take your beer and skirt around the chairs and tables littering the bar. 

He cocks his head and watches you approach. He's got a half-full beer mug in one hand - evidence he's been back for a while. He doesn't give you a chance to grab another chair when you reach him. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you down into his lap. 

If you didn't know how much booze it takes to affect a ghoul, you'd assume your Ghoul was drunk, but he's not. He just doesn't seem to care that the few patrons of the bar have their eyes trained on the two of you. Of all the things you expect him to be, possessive is not one - or maybe he is possessive, and this is his warning to the other patrons. You don't care which, and you’re not inclined to give it further thought. Rather, you're distracted by his hand squeezing the top of your thigh.

The Ghoul takes a drink of his beer and rests the glass on your knee. “Any word on the raiders?”

“Other than, it's being handled, no,” you reply. You force your brain to focus away from his hand on your thigh. You don’t want to admit to yourself that’s all it takes for him to get you going. “My agency isn't exactly forthcoming about what goes on behind the scenes.”

“No, they're quiet about how dangerous they are, and they like to keep it that way,” he agrees. He pauses, and grins slightly. “Kind of like you. You're a hell of shot with that rifle.”

Compliments from him are few and far-between - forward compliments at least. He’s far more show than tell. You’re… flattered, actually, that he’s paid attention to you beyond just physically. You know he has, but it’s nice to hear it.

Again, you suspect you may actually like the Ghoul.

“Can't be a bounty agent if you haven't been a bounty hunter before,” you shrug. “I've had plenty of practice.”

He takes a drink of his beer, and says, so, so quietly, “Ditch the agency and come with me. Be a bounty hunter again.”

You raise an eyebrow. He's not serious, surely. 

“I like what I do now, Cooper,” you reply softly. “But my door's always open.”

He nods. “Fair enough.”

The Ghoul returns to people-watching in silence, sipping on his beer and continuously making you more and more nervous with his hand on your thigh. He's taken to rubbing circles into your thigh with his thumb, and he keeps getting closer and closer to the space between your legs. He's not being even remotely inconspicuous, either. More than one person in the bar has caught on to what’s going on in the back corner, if the odd looks you’re getting tell you anything.

You don't try to make him stop (you don’t think you’re capable of asking him to stop), but you do lean back against his shoulder and press your lips to his ear. “You're gonna do this here?”

He looks you dead in the eye. “I'll fuck you right here in this chair with every single person watchin’.”

Yeah, no, he's serious on that one. You can see it in his eyes. Actually, you can feel his dick pressed against the back of your leg, too. 

You blink. “We should probably go upstairs now.”

He chugs the rest of his beer, then pats your leg, motioning for you to stand up. “Should have already gone upstairs.”

You don't disagree. In fact, you don't think you could have stood up any faster. 

The Ghoul looks you up and down with that grin on his face before following you up the stairs. You don't quite make it back to your room before he’s grabbing at you by the waist and pulling you close. He traps you against the wall, body pressing down on you, completely irreverent of anyone walking down the hallway behind you. You grab his face and kiss him; his raw skin is chapped, but soft and cool against yours. The brim of his hat knocks against the top of your head, but you don’t care. 

You scramble to find your door key in your back pocket and only just manage to get your hands on it. You can’t quite manage to get the key in the lock, so he takes a break from what he’s doing (grabbing your tits under your shirt) to take it from you and jam it into the door.

The Ghoul kicks the doors closed behind him with the heel of his boot. The force shakes dust from the walls and kicks dirt up from the floor. With a single-mindedness that takes your breath away, he backs you up to the tiny bed shoved up against the back wall and drops down to his knees.

He strips your pants and underwear down your legs, then prompts you to sit down with a hand on your stomach. As much as you like when he tries to have a little patience, you like it this way more - sloppy, breathless, a little desperate for you. A starving man eating his first meal in days. 

With a tug, he drags your hips over to the edge of the bed and sets to work with his tongue. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch and busy yourself picking open the buttons of your shirt with shaking fingers. You shrug out of your shirt, leaving yourself completely exposed. He hasn't even taken off his hat yet, but you take care of that for him and drop it onto your head.

The Ghoul looks up at you and pauses his ministrations, licking his lips in thought. 

You shrug. “The hat was in the way.”

He doesn't respond, choosing to set his mouth back to better purposes, but he keeps his eyes trained up on your face while he sticks his tongue in your cunt. He's sloppy about it, spreading your lips with his gloved thumbs so he can get better access to you. You buck up against his face, and he doesn't stop you - no, he buries his tongue deeper between your legs and lets you ride his face, all the while still looking up at you with those bright hazel eyes.

Finally, it hits you, and you grin like you've won the damn lottery. “You like me wearing your hat, Cooper?”

He nips your inner thigh with his teeth, making you jump, and sets back to sucking your clit. You take that as a warning not to tease him, but it's so much more fun to know his mouth is too full of you to tease you back.

You don't stop teasing him, knowing full well it's just going to rile him up. “Why don't you come up here so I can ride your face properly, cowboy? I've got the hat to fit the part.”

The Ghoul has had enough of the gloves obstructing his ability to feel your skin. He stops long enough to strip them off, stick a finger in his mouth to coat it with his spit, and press his finger deep into your entrance. You choke on the fullness, the sensation rough but not unwelcome.

“Well, don't get quiet on me now,” he says. 

You stutter, but he can absolutely understand you when you say, “I like riding your face when you're on your knees, too.”

He spreads you apart and licks you, slow and deep, chasing the path of his fingers. He watches you while he does it, eyes never leaving yours. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Sure is.”

You lean over where you sit, where he's still on his knees on the floor, and unbutton his shirt. You expect him to tell you to stop - there's more light in the room this time, after all - but he doesn't. He shrugs his duster and shirt down over his shoulders and lets them hit the floor. This time, you can really see what he looks like. Raw, pitted skin, mostly red but pink-white in places where old scars have healed over time and again, build slight but still muscular. He seems to be waiting for you to pull back, recoil away - stop in your tracks. You grab his face and kiss him, then pull him to his feet.

 You pull him closer by his belt before that comes off, too. Boots and pants next, dropped carelessly to the floor. You take a minute to look and touch, run your hands over exposed skin, and he sighs softly at your touch.

“Look at you, Cooper,” you say. “Aren’t you a sight?”

“You are fuckin’ strange,” the Ghoul comments, but it’s with affection. His version of affection, anyway.

“Yeah,” you shoot back with a grin, “but I don't hear you complaining.”

You take his cock in hand and run your tongue along the vein underneath, making him twitch. You swallow him down, fisting what doesn’t fit in your mouth, until he’s threading his fingers through your hair and pulling you off of him.

The Ghoul deems that to be the extent of what he can take from you. You’re on your back with him crawling over you before your brain registers that he’s moved. He smashes his lips down over yours while his hands creep up along your sides. He wastes no time reaching between your legs and running the head of his cock along your slit. Not for the first time, you marvel at how much you prefer the roughness over his attempts to be patient.

You’ve teased him long enough, you decide, so you wrap your legs around his waist and arch up against him. “Come on, Coop -”

He obliges and thrusts into you, planting one hand next to your head for leverage. The other hand catches your chin and holds you steady while he fucks you. You meet his eyes, and the way he watches you - like it’s a privilege to touch you - makes you ache.

You nudge him with your hip until he rolls on his back. You slide him back inside, hissing at the returning fullness, and grind down on him with your hands on his chest. He wraps his hands around your thighs, squeezing so hard you're sure you'll find new bruises come morning.

You like watching him from up here. The way his jaw clenches, when his head lolls back in response to whatever you're doing, the way his mouth parts in a semi-attempt to say your name or give you direction - it captivates you. You like when he’s speechless - when he can’t pull himself together long enough to tease you.

The Ghoul can feel your hips stutter when you move, grinding down harder each time for any little extra bit of friction. His thumb finds you clit and presses circles into you relentlessly, letting you use the palm of his hand to find the friction you need.

“Go ahead,” he says, breathless, “come on my cock, babydoll.”

You do, with a hand on his chest and the other hand on his wrist, holding him close and steady. It rolls down your back, down your thighs, all the way out to your fingertips, like the wasteland air burning underneath your skin. Your nails bite into his wrist, and that makes him smile - a real grin, not the smug skeleton grin you’re used to getting from him. You return it.

When the Ghoul comes, he wraps an arm around your back to keep you steady and holds you flush against his chest. You sigh at the touch of his skin against yours, his chest pressed against yours, your nipples prickling against him. You take it as he comes, grinding down on him when he fills you up. You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder, teeth grazing his raw skin. 

The usual question of radaway? doesn't come this time. You’re not concerned, and neither is he; the dose you took that morning would still be enough.

The Ghoul scoops you up into his side when he’s come back to his senses and rolls you onto your back. You wrap your arms around him and trail a finger down the back of his neck, just barely scratching at his skin with your nails. He burrows his face into your soft chest (the lack of nose is helpful in this regard) and closes his eyes.

After a few minutes, you say, “You know, I’ve liked you since the first time you walked into my office.”

The Ghoul glances up at you before closing his eyes again. “Can’t imagine why.”

“You were all business,” you reply. “I respect that.”

The Ghoul is quiet for a while, long enough you think he’s gone to sleep, but he answers. “Weird way to tell someone you like ‘em.”

You snort. “I’m trying to be nice, dickhead.”

You can feel him grinning against your skin. “Well, baby, that’s on you.”

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “I’ll kick your ass out of this bed.”

“Sure you will,” he replies. “Just remember that when you roll over and grab me like you did this morning.”

[akutasoda]

hi! It’s been awhile and I was playing a game and got an idea! How would Bsd men react to an enemy whose ability is with every time they kill a person the reader themselves can move faster..and every attack they do will hurt more? Reader is a hazard is basically laughing their head off while gaining kills left and right

-🌀 Anon!

what are you?

synopsis - what happens when the enemy is as dangerous as could come

includes - atsushi, dazai, chuuya, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, heavy violence/mentions of killing, descriptions of blood, slight dehumanisation, wc - 1.8k

a/n: hi hi! it has been a while, hope your doing okay however?

atsushi nakajima ★↷

an easy mission was what he had been told. a simple situation diffusion along the ports, one that had occurred between the port mafia and some underground gang. why the agency was involved made no sense but from a reasonable perspective perhaps it was just to keep peace.

no matter the reason, he had been assigned the mission as it wasn't to take long and no one accompanied as it was just seemingly a few low grunts. so he had no reason to be as nervous as he was, yet he couldn't shake the pit of dread tightening in his stomach.

something was off and he couldn't quite figure out the reason. even arriving on site the situation seemed very insignificant and meaningless. diffused within a short while. but it seemed off, like someone was watching him. and before he knew it more mafia members made their way over.

they seemed to off horribly misinterpreted the situation, assuming the agency was the reason for whatever had transpired. now instead of low ranking grunts, he was faced with higher ranking grunts but that wasn't the only issue. members of the other underground organisation had also arrived.

but worst of all, he could finally pinpoint the source of his dread. the first sign came in form of the still mafia grunts watching as a member of the other organisation was killed in a couple fell swoops. atsushi turned around just in time to watch another fall in less time. and another. and another.

the group ensued into panic at the termination of it's members and tried fleeing, forgetting any petty argument. tried. atsushi's hairs stood upright as he heard a rather horrific laighter echho throughout the port. each member being slaughtered in less time and effort than the last.

he'd never quite seen anything like this. and in complete honesty it was horrifying. laughter seemed to ricochet off the surroundings as blood coated the floors. he couldn't move. as much as his instincts told him to run, to seek safety he couldn't. fear grasped each and every one of his limbs rendering him immobile and only able to witness the execution happening before him.

what scared him the most wasn't the bloodbath, wasnt the laughter but the following silence. the same pit of dread now rising in his throat. his eyes locked in place of the figure standing over the graveyard of bodies. he locked eyes with you and that's when he could finally take off. the fear activating his flight and he'd never ran faster.

the only thoughts occupying his mind was how vile an ability you possessed and how sinister you were to weild it in such way. he'd prefer never seeing you again.

osamu dazai ★↷

he'd like to think he was prepared for every situation. he knew he wasn't but that wasn't for others to know. and being prepared meant that going into battle he would know exactly who the enemies were. another extent of his planning considered the fact that he thought he could never encounter an ability that shook him. afterall he could just nullify any.

but that could change rather quickly with a moving target, getting faster still. so when the agency threw him and a few others a new case that would most likely end in conflict, he thought he would be prepared. especially with his colleagues at side.

yokohama territory was a rather complex thing. it seemed simple but it really wasn't, the port mafia didn't have 'port' in the name for nothing. but some really couldn't understand that and even so it seemed weird that the conflict involved a different group at the ports.

while it was weird it wouldn't be solved by sitting around and thinking about it. so with confidence, he and his colleagues welcomed the conflict when no other option was viable. but there was something different. something was off, an outside factor looking to disrupt.

but no matter where he looked or what happened, he couldn't find the reason for it going wrong. they weren't noticed at first. bodies of the enemy dropping seemingly due to exhaustion - afterall the agency would rather not kill opponents. but it wasn't until red soaked the area that they stopped.

both sides looking equally confused but the opposing group looking more horrified at the deaths of their members. then another fell. dazai and his colleagues immediately went on guard but dazai could feel dread building in him. for the first time in ages.

and as another fell in quicker time he knew exactly what was up. this was now life or death for the agency so it was most tactical for him tourge his colleagues away into safety. not the graveyard the area was about to become. and he was right, bodies dropped left and right within inhuman time.

now it seemed more logical. this was port mafia turf, of course any conflict would be resolved by them. but he didn't think they'd so quickly resort to you. every urge in him knew he'd never be able to nullify your ability in quick enough time to stop you slaughtering everything around you and so he and his colleagues took off.

he knew a fight he wasn't destined to win and while he did like the idea of dying he knew you'd make it painful for him. and even in his rare state of fear he couldn't help but look back. loom back just in time to meet your gaze riddled with bloodlust as the sound of your bone chilling laughter echoed the now desolate land.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

he'd always appreciate a good fight. he enjoyed being in them aswell. a new way to test his skills and yet still show silent awe at the skills that could rarely impress him demonstrated by opponents. and plus, fighting for him was rather fun.

that's why he never really had issue with being sent on guaranteed conflict missions. while he did sometimes roll his eyes or scoff at being sent on so many, he did always enjoy the conflict in them. and he wouldn't say he was arrogant, but he was rather confident.

and that always shone through in his fights, he had confidence in his skills and ability and that rarely wavered. he'd read somewhere in the file that the group they were meant to experience conflict with had some sort of secret weapon. something that brought them a terrifying reputation, one that chuuya scoffed at.

he doubted that it could be something truly terrifying and that was what he was wrong about. and he knew he was wrong, he knew the minute he watched a handful of port mafia grunts fall in no less than a few moments. an event that was followed by a maniacal laughter that truly put fear into chuuya.

his body no longer wanting to fight, well he still did as he rarely backed down from one but he was happy to make an exception as something felt off. another group fell in less time and he could see the smirk of the original opponents as they fled the scene.

he heard the laughter yet again and thsi tome narrowly doged what would've been a fatal blow as the group of grunts behind him fell in a small movement. corpses now mostly made up his backing group and he knew he'd have to flee. but he really couldn't.

the fear demanded that he run but his fight or flight was still saying fight. even as your laughter sent shivers down his spine as he finally caught a glimpse of you slaughtering the rest of his group. even as he finally locked eyes with you standing opposite him. would it of been cruel for him to call you inhuman?

paul verlaine ★↷

the king of assassins. a title bestowed to him and a title he took seriously. no job that he was given would be taken lightly when he had that title. he prided himself on being good at his job, quite a bit of his confidence also came from that and therefore he would always prove that he was worthy of such a title.

against better judgement, he always looked to take the best action appropriate when a new job was tossed his way. he needed to know the ins and outs of the person or people involved and aware of any outstanding abilities that could cause an issue. so when your file was tossed at him he acted the same.

but it became apparent bery quickly that you're job was entrusted to him for a reason. no information. just a loose alias and last know location. that's what he was given and from that he had to still fulfill his job and if anything he saw it as a challenge. call him arrogant, but no regular assassin could perform such a job.

he had very quickly tracked down a lead. a lead that led him to your next expected location. he had no clue what ability you held, he had a hunch you had one however, nor did he know much about you. but he didn't care or atleast he didn't. not until he started waiting for you.

an unusual sense of dread filled his very being and no matter how much he tried to shake it off, he couldn't. he tried pushing it to the back of his mind but he really couldn't. and it only worsened even though everything was going as intended.

the group you were confronting had arrived yet no signs of you. the only sign of your arrival was the swift execution of a quarter of the group. verlaine was caught off guard, there was no way that was your doing. but he was corrected when you performed the same action yet seemingly quicker.

your laugh made his blood freeze. he understood now - why you had no information, why he was entrusted your file. and so he acted quicker than he'd like, but you were quicker. avoiding his attack and slaughtering the rest of the group in seemingly the same action.

you laughed again and it felt more of a direct laugh at him. you were no human anymore. your ability made you nothing but a weapon. he dared call you less human then he was and yet he still had a job to do. he had no doubt you're horrific ability and mind could end him swiftly but he didn't care. you weren't human anymore, so why should he treat you like one?

[wayfayrr]

This is based on @sketchyspook's Mask - the hero of terminal! he's a lil gremlin who in this decided to pull a sky and break out of his game. He just wants a sibling though so can you blame him?

“Hey we were thinking about going out tonight [name], you want to join us?”

“Nah, I’ll be honest I was planning to stay in tonight. Just want a rest you know, got some old games I’ve been planning to replay.” “Fair, if I hadn’t promised someone I’d join them I’d probably be doing the same. See you around sometime [name].”

After how hectic everything has been recently it’ll be nice to have a night in where I can just zone out and do next to nothing; really what better way is there to do that than by playing through Majora’s mask for the, what 50th time? It’s such a nostalgic game to me that it can’t be anything other than my go-to relaxing game. Besides that though, really it’s just fun to fish using the fierce deity mask. Something about an ancient war god going fishing like that? It’s a fun break from the rest of the game.

Something feels different this time though. I can’t quite pinpoint what but even the opening cutscene feels different. There’s more static than there should be, it just feels wrong. There’s also this feeling, I’m probably just being paranoid, but I swear someone’s watching me. Judging me even. Like they’re trying to evaluate me for something, I just can’t tell what. It’s nothing I’m sure. Just need to shake it off and carry on playing. 

Saving it after getting the deity mask feels like a good point to leave it off for the evening, how long have I even been playing? I could’ve sworn it wasn’t that long but - It’s past 2?? It’s never taken me this long to get to this point before, maybe it’s been glitching way more than I thought. I mean it felt like every few minutes I lost control over Link, oddly enough it was only when his model was facing the screen. My controller must just be acting up, I knew buying the cheapest one on eBay would’ve been a bad idea, of course, it’s gonna have some issues. Just turn off the game and go to bed, it’s that easy [name]. Your bed’s comfortable anyway, you’ll fall asleep in no time. 

What’s that sound? It’s barely enough to wake me up, am I hearing things? What’s gotten into you tonight [name], first being paranoid while playing, now hearing things? Am I coming down with something? Just try to go back to sleep and deal with this in the morning. 

Okay, I can’t just be feeling things now, did something fall on me during the night?

No, it feels far too much like a person, but then who is lying on me? And how did they get here? Opening my eyes to a blonde kid who looks suspiciously like Link doesn’t feel quite real, maybe I’m still asleep and something fell on me and affected my dream? Oh, what am I kidding myself? I’m awake. I’ll just try to gently wake him up to get some answers, if he doesn’t wake up then at least I can move him so I can get a look at just how he got here. 

“Bewegen Sie mich nicht, ich fühle mich hier wohl.”

So he didn’t like that then, my german is rusty but even then it’s clear enough what he meant by how he’s trying to get closer to me in his half-asleep state. He’s going to be staying right where he is for as long as he can get away with it. All I can hope for in the meantime is to try and find out he got in here without moving. There isn’t any broken glass or windows so he didn’t get in that way, it would be insane for a kid to break in just for hugs as well so that rules out that possibility. 

There is broken glass though… by my laptop… what?Of all the - my laptop is shattered. How did that - did he? My laptop is broken and there is a game character in my arms, that has to be related, doesn't it?  

There are tiny cuts and fresh burns on his arms, ones that look like they could be - did he?

That would explain how my laptop broke. There are more questions from that though. Such as how did a video game character get out of my laptop and into my arms?? And why? Answers aren’t going to show themselves and theres only one person who knows why he did this. 

“Kid? I know you don’t want to move, but can you tell me what’s going on? How you got here at least?” That seems to have woken him up a little, enough for him to look at me now even though he looks very bitter he’s had to move. Now that I’m getting a better look at his face though, he’s certainly link but he looks a little different to how he does in the game. White streaks in the front of his hair, paler eyes and far too many scars for someone his age. It’s like he’s picked up traits of the fierce deity mask, you know what if he’s here in my room real like this why couldn’t he look different from in game?

“Ich kann, ich tue es nicht - I don’t want to be in the game any more, so I got out.”

“Can I ask how you got out?”

Alright no answer for that besides a quick look at his hair, must be a sore point for him. I won’t press him on that until he feels more alright to talk about it.

“Is there any reason you wanted to well, be like this link?”

With a gesture to how he’s decided to lay on me, he has at least a little bit of shame as he looks away from me before mumbling something just loud enough that I could hear.

“After you playing through it for so long, you uh, you feel like an older sibling to me. So I’ll stay here with you [name]?”

It’s either he can stay with me or he’ll go out to the street, not that I have the heart to throw him out, after everything I know he’s been through. That I’m partly responsible for putting him through? If I didn’t play his game, he - he wouldn’t have had to go through that would he. It’s my fault. 

“[name]? You aren’t upset at me are you? I didn’t - I didn’t mean to make you cry, I can - Nun, ich denke, ich kann - if you don’t want me here I can go back.”

“No I don’t - of course I don’t think that. I’m sorry link, I made you keep reliving all of that. I never even knew that you were - oh god I’m so sorry link.”

He paused at that to think things over for a second, most likely about to say something although I can’t tell what from his body language. Is he crying now? Shaking slightly while leaning towards me like he wants a hug, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was crying after everythin-

“AUGH! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?”

“You wouldn’t stop crying because you were blaming yourself for ‘hurting’ me. Now we’re even so you can stop crying about it.”

As much as I hate it he is right, somewhat, one single bite doesn’t exactly make up for everything that I put him through but I’m not going to say that aloud incase he bites me again. Inspecting my arm there is a neat mark from his teeth, kid’s got a strong jaw I’ll give him that.

“Alright [name] I’ve seen a few things of your world when you were playing, but um would you mind showing me what it’s like? You’re my big sibling now so I think that’s just what you have to do.”

“Oh about that, why do you see me as a sibling?”

A shrug with yet another glance at his hair like it holds the answer. 

“I’m not the only one who sees you as my sibling, I know the deity has kinda unofficially adopted you as well.”

“Huh? The deity? Like the mask, the thing you use in game? Has adopted me?”

“Mhm, he’s the one who encouraged me to get out, it’s a little complicated but basically I wore the mask a bit too much.”

Just another thing I’ve done wrong then, or maybe not seeing as he seems to be fine with what is happening and the fact that it’s gotten him out of the game. 

“You gonna explain what you mean by that?”

“Nah not yet, gotta come to terms with it myself as well before any of that.”

[lemon-russ]

I got carried away, and I think the fact that the last like, 7? books I read were Brandon Sanderson has made me long winded and afraid of sex /s

But we are back to Cato's POV, this is kinda turning into a slower burn than intended, but it will eventually become horny lmao

also, thanks everyone liking it! Did not think anyone would see it, love this like 50 person community of niche warhammer fic and smut lovers <3

Part 3/ ???

part:: 1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

(Cato POV 3rd person though)

CW: Violence, blood, descriptions of a vehicle crashing, no sex yet but there will be later, Cato being a bully (like, verbally only)

Summary: Shit hits the fan, Cato and Diplomat have to skedaddle.

word count: 2,208 (the man has possessed me)

Cato tosses the stupid woman into the seat of the thunderhawk, stomping over to the pilot seat. The small crew of 3 humans that had brought them here seem startled by his sudden appearance, and then by his actual appearance as he is coated in blood.

“Go. Now. Back to The Honour.” He commands. The pilot nods and starts punching in things on the terminals, and the two gunners look concerned. Stupid baseline humans, were they all so slow? “Rebellion.” He says, deigning to explain it to them. They frown and look between them, then man their guns. Finally. He looks back at the woman. She was bruised, and now covered in blood. Pretty sure it was from him carrying her- stupid thing can't keep up so he was forced to sling her like a sack back to the thunderhawk. The corner of his mouth twitches down a bit. No it was definitely blood from his armor.

But Guilliman would be upset if she was bleeding and he didn't fix it. Her impractical gown was torn a bit now, blood stained, and dirty. Damn it. “Woman.” He barks at her, making her jump a bit. “Are you injured?” He says, making sure to sound appropriately unconcerned. Because he isn't concerned. Obviously.

She frowns and knits her brow into that throne damned look of confusion she always seemed to have. By the Emperor her brain was smooth. “I said, are you injured?” He drawls out slowly, like he's talking to an especially slow child.

She shakes her head. “Uh, no, nothing besides some scrapes and bruises-” She says in a stupid, puzzled tone. Before she finishes Cato is turning away. Good enough. He sighs a little at the answer- wait why is he relieved at that? Right, his duty. If she was hurt he'd have failed his Father and he hates that. Of course he's relieved she's unharmed.

“Are you almost ready to take off?” He snaps at the pilot impatiently. It'd been nearly a whole minute since he ordered them back to the ship. Why was everyone incompetent but him here?

The pilot frowns and shoots him a look as the small ship starts whirring and taking off from the ground, ramps receding and doors closing. Finally. The ship lurches a bit and the Ambassador falls to the side in her seat at the movement. By the throne, did he have to do everything for her? He stomps over and rights her in her seat, strapping her in with the safety harness. “Can't you do anything but breathe and waste time?” He grumbles at her, tightening the straps a bit too hard and making her wince. “You'll break your skull unbelted, even if it's so hard it might hurt the craft first.” He huffs, stomping out to a window. She wears that stupid confused face still, but he ignores her.

His mood is soured further as he actually sees outside. Human rebels are pouring from the manor they had just left, heading to the Thunderhawk. Which wouldn't be a big issue, except there were so many. The gunner on this side starts mowing them down, but they just keep coming, and the ones in the back are preparing an artillery mortar. Fuck- “The back! Target that mortar, now!” He barks at the gunner.

The gunner tries to move his shots toward the artillery, but the panicked lurching of the craft as the Pilot is flooring it ruins his aim. Throne damned baseline humans- he pushes the gunner off the controls, taking over. His superior reaction speed and aim should be able to handle this, and he turns the gun toward the back line-

There's the familiar thumph of an artillery shell launching. Fuck fuck fuck- “DOWN, BRACE FOR IMPACT-!” He barks, and in two strides he's covering the stupid, soft, breakable-bone filled ambassador with himself. The ship lurches hard as the mortar shell crashes into the back engine.

Lights flash red, there's screaming and alarms, another thumph and another crash into the front of the ship now. He affixes his helmet and curls around the woman, who is bracing herself and curling into a ball to fit better under him. Maybe her brain has a wrinkle of survival instinct in it after all. Flames and shrapnel sweep through in a concussive wave, bouncing off his armor in sharp tink tink tink sounds, and he feels the gut lurching effect of suddenly losing gravity- no, falling, the ship was falling-

His senses hone and time slows as he bunkers down over the diplomat. He stares down at her as they hit the curve from accelerating up, to zero G, and then to falling down. Her hair is floating up around her face, and she looks terrified, looking up at him with wide eyes. Tears are rolling down her cheeks- oh shit she's crying. Oh Emperor he hates women crying. He should say something, or it will distract him.

Bracing himself around her seat, he shouts over the cacophony of terror and panic. “You're okay- I got you.” His voice comes out modulated by his helmet's vox speakers, but her expression shifts just a little at his words, from terror to, well still scared and shocked but at least she might stop crying now. Holy Terra he hates crying.

Suddenly they are crashing into the ground, and he has to focus on not flattening her as his 1000 lbs of plasteel and ceramite clad self suddenly goes from falling to stopping in a second. He braces himself into a cocoon and her seat cushions her impact a bit, though he winces as she immediately gets whiplash from the recoiling force. He quickly moves a hand to brace her head a little so it doesn't snap back again so hard.

As soon as they are no longer actively crashing, he's unbuckling her and scooping her to his chest. Scoping the damage, he grimaces. The crew are dead, thunderhawk is in ruins, and there's a small army of rebel humans heading their way. cradling her to his chest, hand still on the back of her head- he's unsure if that whiplash cause any spinal damage and he'd rather her not die of a broken neck in his arms, his genefather would be furious, of course- he starts charging out the broken hull of the ship, away from the army and towards some rock formations in the distance.

He sprints as fast as he can go, which is pretty fast, even in his armor, but he slows when he feels the ambassador bump against his chest plate. Mortals and their soft, breakable bodies. Why is her neck so thin? A stiff breeze could snap it, and why is her skin so bruisable- should he be worried about the purple splotches already staining her arms and face? Does she have internal injuries he needs to worry about? Fuck she was annoying.

He groans in frustration and slows his stride to something he can maintain while cradling her safely and smoothly against him. It's fine, the rebels are so slow they are already a blob in the distance. He's got this. He's Cato Sicarius, he's always got this. He spots a rocky hole he hopes is a safe cave, but frowns. They're running over fine dirt, his foot prints clearly visible.

He halts his stride, making the woman make a soft noise of surprise. She outright yelps though when he grabs her stupid, long, trailing gown at the knee and yanks on it. The krrchh of tearing fabric startles her. “Hey-! what are you-!” She squeaks out, but he's already tossing his power sword into the fabric. He places her on the ground gingerly, laying her head carefully, and pulls utility cordage from a compartment of his armor, tying it to the satchel he just made.

He picks her up in one arm, holding her like a child to his shoulder with hand on her head, and starts walking, dragging the sword-dress-bag behind them, erasing his footprints in the dirt as they walked. She peaks over his shoulder at his creation. “Oh- Okay, that's actually pretty smart.” She says, sounding surprised. He scowls in his helmet. “Of course it is-” he snaps, “Do you underestimate me so much that you think I'd lead enemies to our location? Or are you merely so vacant that you are surprised it is even a worry?” He growls. How dare this mortal woman doubt his ability to fulfill his duty to protect her stupid, squishy, useless body.

She huffs an annoyed noise. “Are you capable of not being a complete asshole for five minutes, Captain?” She snaps back. He bristles a bit. “Watch your tongue, woman, or I'll have to tap that empty little skull of yours and simply drag you about unconscious. Honestly, that'd be easier.” He adds, actually contemplating it. He already made a bag, he could just stuff her in it, like a safe little hammock… A little diplomat sack, for easy handling. He nearly chuckles at the mental image.

She mumbles grumpily, “That broom on your head must be from shoving it so far up your ass-”, but he ignores her insolent whining, focusing on getting to the cave he spotted. He ducks into the rock formation, grateful to see it is only a pocket and not a whole cave, so no surprises, and when he’s satisfied it is clear of dangerous fauna, he moves to drop her on her ass on the floor.

But he stops himself, frowning. He wasn't sure if her neck was injured or not, and he needed to asses for internal damage. “Emperor, you're such a pain in the ass.” He huffs as he carefully lays her on her back, supporting her neck. “you'd certainly know about pains in your ass with that broom-” she grumbles, trying to sit up. He frowns again and holds her down. “Stop that. Your neck may be inured. Just stay still for a moment.” he scolds.

He peeks out of the cave. They left no tracks, and he sees no troops. He quickly gathers some foliage- brown and dry, what a hellscape planet, did they even want them in the Imperium- and uses it to cover the cave entrance. He sits down next to her, removing his helmet and sighing a deep, tired sigh. “You are the worst thing to ever happen to me.” He states plainly, glowering down at her. She frowns up at him. “Really. Me. Out of all of your Centuries of battle and bloodshed, the worse thing to happen to you is having to guard me for a single mission.” She retorts.

He nodded once. “Yes, exactly. Glad you're keeping up.” He says, trying not to smirk at how angry she seems to get at that. “Cato Sicarius, I swear by the Emperor's holy light you are the single most infuriating person that I have ever been forced to deal with, and I am including the Chancellor that just sicked an army on us-” She starts to yell, trying to sit up again. He pushes her back down carefully by the shoulder, making her growl in frustration. “Neck.” he says, smirking at her tiny rage. Like a puffed up kitten, spitting and hissing at a guard dog.

“Also, that Rolf whatever man is dead. Obviously. So, planet is ours basically when we get off here.” He adds casually. She blinks up at him. “You killed him?” she asks, and he furrows his brow and frowns down at her. “Yes? of course. I killed them all. and half the place on my way to you.” He says, smiling at the memory. Ah, the glory of battle. It would have been better had they been better armed, and maybe if there were more of them. He prefers a challenge. Instead he decided to challenge himself to how many he could dispatch within 20 seconds. That made it more entertaining.

She sighs and rubs her face. “Fine, I guess doing this diplomatically was off the table anyway when they took our ship out. Oh- did you vox up to the Honour yet?” she asks. He shakes his head. “No, I saw signal towers on the way in. I worried they would intercept the vox and find us. I'm going to wait a bit for that army to disperse so they aren't on top of us if we're triangulated.”

She sighs and stares at the ceiling, looking exhausted. Was that normal? she looked pale, could that be internal bleeding? His stomach flipped, and he immediately recoils at the feeling. Why did he worry so much? Of course he wants to do his duty and obey his Primarch, but really if she died of medical complications he probably wouldn't even be punished. Yet when he thought of having to leave her corpse on this backwater wasteland of a planet, his chest tightened. He simply would not allow that to come to pass, then he never had to unpack the feelings. There, boom, done. Psychology solved. He smiled to himself and settled back against the wall. Was there any field he could not master? Of course not. He's Cato Sicarius, he's simply the best at everything.

[neopoliitan]

TEAM RAIN: ARC 4 CH4 - BEST LAID PLANS

A WRITE UP FOR THE REST OF TEAM RAIN: CHAPTER 4

We open on a scene in Zenith. Viorel and Zelena Braith open Roderick Lincoln’s cell to reveal they have brought him the last remnants of the Lincoln Clan, now with an active aura like him. They present it as company, but note that  Gardner Braith will return to drain their aura to replenish his upon their return from hunting Otso Umber.

The clansmen are these;

Crete Reed, A warrior woman based on Britomartis.

Oak Holm, a man who was briefly seen in the back of some Arc 2 shots.

Loden Lincoln, a teenager and third or fourth cousin of Robin.

Primrose, a teenage girl with round glasses.

Fennel, the son of Kodiak Lincoln and around 7-9 years old.

Crete sees Artemis Garland lying on a cot, still comatose but out of the pod she was previously in implying she’s gotten a little stronger. Crete runs to her side.

Sterling Braith enters and tells her not to get attached, ordering the Talos robots to restrain the clansmen. Viorel cautions that there’s no time for his vendetta, to which Sterling responds he’s making time. He advances on Roderick, telling him “Your sister cut my arm off, so it’s lucky for me that you’re here.” Before Roderick can reply, Sterling socks him in the face with one of his new prosthetic arms.

“I’m not exactly sure what I’m going to do to you, but if it doesn’t kill you… You’re damn well gonna wish it did.”

Zelena looks slightly shaken and follows Viorel out of the room. Viorel coldly comments that now “the terminal” is fixed, Roderick has outlived his use and this is the least he deserves. Zelena asks if “the terminal” is really going to change anything, to which Viorel grows frustrated and tells her not to have second thoughts - they’ve come this far already; she “isn’t there to think”, and that Kamala will show her no more mercy than “they” did if she backs out.

Lilli Lincoln wakes up in her bed, unable to sleep. She heads downstairs to the kitchen for some water and comes across Petra Redwood. Petra mentions the 7-day time limit Kamala Braith issued Team RAIN, which Lilli didn’t know about. Her expression unreadable, she heads upstairs.

She grabs her labrys.

We cut to Robin asleep in her room. Lilli kicks the door open and slings her buzzsaw-shield at Robin.

ROBIN: What are you doing?! What the hell is this about?!

LILLI: E V E R Y T H I N G ! I’m sick of you, and I’m sick of your stupid face! You always get what you want! Even after coming home and getting dad KILLED!

Lilli swings again.

LILLI: Pitch was the closest thing I had to a friend, and now he’s GONE! I was the LAST ONE to be told about Marina even though I'm FAMILY! You told everyone EXCEPT ME about Mom and Roderick being ALIVE! And I just found out that even though you only have seven days to save them, you go and SLEEP THROUGH ONE--!

Robin blocks one of Lilli’s attacks, and the two are held in stalemate.

ROBIN: LILLI-! What the hell is going on? Why are you always trying to fight me--!?

LILLI: BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY TIME YOU EVER NOTICE I’M THERE!

They relax slightly at this moment of honesty. Lilli smiles weakly.

LILLI: You were always the favorite, even after you got sent away from home. Mom and Dad never shut up about you. “Why can’t you be more like your sister? Why can’t you be more like Robin?” They would’ve switched us without a second thought if it meant getting Robin back. 

Lilli relaxes, her arms hanging limp.

LILLI: It’s not like I wanna be mean. It’s just that people only notice me when they’re angry at me.  ...They’d just be happier if I was gone, huh?

We see flashbacks to:

Roderick scolding Lilli (pg297)

Artemis Scolding Lilli (pg828)

Marina [then Tobin] scolding Lilli (pg331)

Robin shoving Lilli (pg828)

ROBIN: I should’ve seen the signs. No one wishes you were gone.

LILLI: Don’t. Don’t lie to me like that.

ROBIN: I’m not.

We see a Flashback to Robin saying “there’s nothing I’d rather be than kind” in Arc 3 Ch9 (pg. 746)

ROBIN: We weren’t there for you after what happened back home, and I didn’t even think twice about it. ...But I wanna try to be there for you now, if you’ll let me. Lilli, I’m sorry.

Lilli begins to sob, and Robin reaches out to embrace her sister. Her sister. Who she treated like an enemy for years. She embraces her as Lilli apologizes too, and we see Lilli’s aura activate in a moment of emotional height.

–

Irving, Nyssa, Jin, the Hawthornes, Team ZNON, and Peach’s Team disembark from Raleigh Radcliff’s ship as it touches down in the Tsubaki District.

Farran Hawthorne commends Irving’s bravery in showing mercy to Team ZNON and defeating the rat king, telling him he’s proud. Irving turns around and says he’s not proud of his father for closing ZNON’s school and turning them against him, making them easy to manipulate. He tells his father to use his political power to set them up in a school in Mistral so that the world doesn’t have more Violas to deal with.

Robin and Akane reunite with Irving and Nyssa. Robin says she’s glad Irving’s family made it out safe unlike hers, but Irving cuts her off and tells her it wasn’t her fault - it was bad luck they chose the Lincolns.

Raleigh approaches Team RAIN and tells them they have some explaining to do.

–

We cut to Jin and Peach. Peach reveals she was adopted by a couple who she refers to as “her dad” (Bjorn Vermell) and her “science dad” (Konstantan Vermell). They wanted to get her out of the orphanage after seeing how malnourished she was, and her “science dad” later engineered her prosthetic legs.

Peach asks if the orphanage is still there. Jin tells her the Sisterhood marched in and made sure the kids were safe, while the adults “didn’t hurt anyone else.” She then asks if Peach held the final argument before they were separated against her, and Peach admits she doesn’t even really remember it. Once she knew her parents were good people, she asked Konstantan to put out feelers to find Jin, but by then it was too late. 

Jin looks at the old photo of them both, but Peach brushes it away. She tells her that she’s here now, and places Jin’s hand on her heart. The two rest their foreheads against each other.

–

40 years ago.

We see Raleigh Radcliff being congratulated on his victory in the 21st Biennial Vytal Festival.

Briefly we cut away to a young Otso Umber in a medical ward, his head bandaged - his grip tightens on the sheets of his hospital bed in envy as he sees Raleigh reaping the glory.

It’s revealed we’re watching Raleigh’s victory in the present day as a presentation on 58-year-old Raleigh’s scroll. Robin tells him they’re happy to have him along now they’ve seen his skills.

Raleigh reveals that Otso cut off his left leg from below the knee during one of their fights, and that he has a prosthetic - he has his own motives for fighting Otso. Irving questions what originally started their feud, and Raleigh tells him that he took Otso’s place in the tournament finale, after Otso couldn’t compete due to a head injury - and that Otso ‘didn’t deserve the win anyway’.

Raleigh asks what they know about the Braiths; they’re a family of good fighters, proficient with Aura and fusing Grimm and humans. When asked about their weaknesses, Akane recalls that she made Zelena falter when the latter stole her truth semblance.

Akane and Irving surmise that their tech suggests Atlas. Robin recalls Roderick telling her that the Braiths’ base was called Zenith, but Raleigh doesn’t know it and Akane can’t find any info on it on cached offline CCT information on her scroll.

Robin quickly recalls the Crazy Bunch who worked under Sterling and Zelena, and how they managed to apprehend one of them. Raleigh says interrogating him is worth a shot, and takes Akane with him to verify the man’s answers.

–

Nyssa visits home and shares closure over Pitch with her mother, Maera. Murasaki drops in, assuring them that the Sisterhood is in the capable care of Team BRUT. When questioned on how trustworthy BRUT are, Murasaki replies that she is trying to steer them right and give them a purpose, the same way the previous Sisterhood leader did for her.

Murasaki reveals that after she got her head together regarding Pitch, she contacted Maera and the two talked it over. Both of them shared relationships with Pitch, but she won’t go into detail just yet. She regrets not dealing with him the moment she laid eyes on him in the Sisterhood cave.

–

Robin and Lilli are attempting to bond. Robin called Lilli downstairs to ask her if she wants to attend Combat School in Mistral while she and her team venture to Atlas - unless Lilli wants to argue and come with them. Lilli proclaims she’s not an idiot, but seems unconvinced that Elysium Academy will take her. Robin reassures her by complimenting her fighting ability.

Marina interrupts by sticking her head through the wall behind them - revealing that her semblance does not only consist of invisibility, but intangibility. She notes that Robin and Lilli are getting along better, but the same can’t be said for Robin and Marron.

Robin argues that she’s not budging - she won’t get Marron mixed up in her mess again. Marron wants to go to Atlas, but Robin doesn’t - so do they just break up?

Lilli interjects by telling her to compromise, to find a solution that works for both of them. After being pestered by the other two siblings, Robin gets up and agrees to talk it over. When she leaves, Marina tries to banter with Lilli, but the youngest Lincoln sister halts her, unfolds a sheet of paper and reads:

"Please do not attempt to make light conversation or banter with me. You are still complicit in my neglect for your own reasons, and are, therefore, an absolute carbuncle. I forbid you from attempting to take a shortcut by hijacking the effort Robin has made."

Marina is stumped, then admits that’s a fair point.

–

Marron is sitting on the porch of the Tsubaki District house. Robin sits down next to her.

After a moment, Robin asks if Marron knows why she doesn’t want her to come to Zenith, which Marron confirms. Robin tells her that she doesn’t want her to get hurt, which Marron spins back on her - she isn’t going to wait around like a sailor’s wife hoping that Robin might come back, that she doesn’t need Robin’s protection.

Robin begins to observe that they’re at an impasse, but Marron interrupts.

“I need you to show me some trust -- some faith in my judgment. Some faith that I know what to do if things go to hell. I need you to accept that you're not the only one who knows what they're doing. And I need you to understand that my decisions aren’t yours to make.”

Robin takes this in.

She apologises for coddling Marron, and observes that Marron knew how to break Sterling and when to call for her help. She admits that between her father’s death and her treatment of Nyssa and Lilli, her own judgment hasn’t been the best.

She trusts Marron to know her limits and make the right calls.

The two hold hands and stay there on the porch for a while. Slowly, they begin to make small talk about what they’ll do once this is all over.

[cryptictongues]

Cruel

pairing: Barnabas Tharmr x Leviathan!Reader rating: Explicit (MINORS DNI; 18+) word count: 4.5k summary: You will be Barnabas's ruin.

warnings: porn with plot, unprotected sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, vaginal fingering, body worship, angst.

This was supposed to be an Enemies with Benefits type beat but lmao it shifted a little bit. Hope this kicks off the week for those that enjoy!

Spoilers from the very beginning of the game, as well as certain things about Barnabas you learn later in the game. Also, there are some references from FFXVI Ultimania. Explained some of that in a comment if interested!

There are a few lines used from the game in the beginning. I do not claim that I own those lines or anything that Square Enix has created.

[AO3 link]

Barnabas didn’t want to be here. Sitting here with Dhalmekian’s leaders as they list all the reasons that he should grant them his knights to fight against the Ironblood makes him mentally roll his eyes. He only accepted the invitation for this meeting to ensure the plan he has set forth is going as planned. All in its right place he tells himself.

“Did you not pledge your swords to our cause!? The Marshal yells, and all Barnabas can think of is how pathetic the Marshal is. Men begging for him to save them, as if they deserve saving. He feels Harbard take a defensive stance beside him, sword at the ready.

“Come now. Marshal–the king of Waloed is our guest.”

Silence spreads at that statement, as if they are remembering who it really was that they were in the presence of: Barnabas Tharmr, Warden of Ash and king of Waloed, and the Dominant of Odin… a Dominant that has slayed thousands upon thousands in battle with a single stroke of his blade. They knew not to step on his toes, or they too would seek the same fate, as well as a termination of allyship. 

Barnabas turns to Harbard, shaking his head and scoffing at their pleas. Harbard goes at ease and looks to the Dhalmekian leadership. “And you have His Majesty’s answer.”

Groans and sighs waft around the room, no words being spoken as everyone contemplates their next moves. Barnabas casts his eyes down, thinking about how everything is going. His goal for this meeting is to have Hugo Kupka take the field as Titan, needing him to take down the Shiva Dominant that the Ironblood have so she can be captured. He needs all of the Dominants in the right place for this to work, and if he gets her, then everything will be set. Well almost.

Most of the Dominants outside his circle are exactly where he needs them. Bahamut is out of the way, staying within his means of commanding the Sanbrequois forces. Ramuh is out playing “hero”, most likely nearby to try and retrieve the Shiva Dominant. The Phoenix is six feet under where he belongs.  All of this comes to fruition as the perfect vessel, his mythos, starts to come together. There is only one issue: you.

Leviathan, Goddess of Chaos. The one who should be by his side to bring on a new age. But you fail to see the bigger picture, and that has led you astray. It infuriates him. You infuriate him. It drives him mad that you could betray him, and potentially ruin everything he has laid out, yet still have a soft spot for you. It makes him sick to think that no matter how hard he tries to fight his urges, you are still able to make him remember that he is what he hates most: human.

Commotion returns his mental focus as he hears shouting coming from the hallway, blood curling screeches growing louder before everything falls silent again, aside from the footsteps approaching the double doors. Once the footsteps halt, the doors swing open… and there you are in all of your glory.

“Sorry to crash your meeting, my dear friends.” You say, bowing slightly, although Barnabas could tell it was in a mocking manner. 

He keeps his face stoic, but his insides churn at the sight of you. It has been a few years since his last encounter with you. You had left him ten years ago, leaving not a trace of your whereabouts. It had sent him spiraling, as you were the last person, he expected to turn against him. The next time he saw you was a couple years later when he arrived back from Storm to the shores of Waloed, and he saw you there by the ship port. His first emotions were anger for how dare you show your face. That was until you climbed aboard, dragged him to the lower deck, and had fucked him on the floors on the Einherjar. Then you disappeared again, seeming to find him a couple times a year since and the both of you would engage in a few rough rounds before departing again. There are many times in the beginning he contemplated getting rid of you, the sting of treason heavy on his heart, but he grew to accept this agreement. If it meant he could be close to you, to share some semblance of the past when you were his most avid supporter, it would be enough. The last time he saw you was three years ago up until now, a big gap of time spent compared to the others. On the inside, he was surprised, but you tend to have a way with your timing on things. 

You look older, but he still saw the radiance you allure, wearing a dark blue velvet gown that covers your every step. Collar bones exposed and skin glowing like the moon reflecting the sea. You are like a siren calling to him, and it was working because all Barnabas could think is how beautiful you are… and how cruel you could be all the same. Because he knew your presentation was for him, and that he would break. He always did.

You are standing by the table now, hands placed on top as you scan the room. Everyone looks shocked, not expecting surprise visitors, let alone a rogue Water Dominant. The reaction makes you smile; you love catching people by surprise. Your eyes land on Barnabas, and good stars above, he looks gorgeous. Chest slightly exposed, beautiful blue silk and black fabric in intricate form on his body. He really hasn’t aged a day. 

Finally, a member from the Dhlamekian council stands, taking an immediate defense posture. “I don’t know how you bested our men, but you are not welcome here. This is between us and the Waloeders.”

You shrug. “Well thank goodness that I am a Waloeder. Well, by blood at least.”

Benedikta snickers, an obvious grimace on her face. “And you chose to leave, therefore I don’t think you have business here.”

You turn to her, a wicked smile appearing on your face. You walk towards her, placing your hand on her face to caress her smooth skin. “Oh, but I do, Benna.”

“Keep your hands off of her.” You hear a growl from across the room, turning to see it is none other than Titan himself. You feign innocence. “Or what? Are you going to put your hands on me? It’s not nice to manhandle a lady.” You turn fully to him now, a smirk forming over your innocent gaze. “Not that I personally mind it.”

Barnabas internally growls at your notion, moving his hand to his chin to keep his jaw locked. The last thing he needs is for his facade to slip. 

You sense the Marshal stand, irritation clear on his face. “I’ll ask one more time to leave, or I’ll have my guards escort you out.”

You belt out a laugh. “What guards? Look around!” Your arms go to the air spread out, turning your torso from side to side to show that it is just them. That seems to set him off as he goes to walk towards you, seemingly wanting to throw you out himself. You can’t have that.

You put your hand out towards him, feeling the blood run through his veins before gripping your fist, causing the Marshal to stutter in his stance. He gasps in pain, grabbing at his chest as he tries to breathe. You throw your fist down by your side, sending him to the ground in a fetal position. You keep your grip as you walk to him, bending down as you place your other hand's fingers on his chin, lifting it up to look at him. You see he is struggling, and all you can do is tsk. “Know this: I could make you scream just like I did to your men out in the hall. Consider this a mercy.” You tap his face before releasing him, leaving him on the floor as he tries to gain his bearings. 

Your attention goes back to Hugo Kupka. “You may want to ready yourself, Titan. The Ironblood are invading Dhalmekian territory as we speak.”

Hugo’s face is stone, walking past Marshal and others to the door. “Kupka!” The Marshal chokes from the floor. Hugo doesn’t look his way as he replies. “The Ironblood will rue the day they set foot on Storm… this game is over.” 

He makes his exit, closely followed by Benedikta. You see her leave with confidence in her stride, very obvious that she is trying to prepare her facade. You chuckle at this new development. 

“Everyone out.” A stern voice says, and you turn to see it is none other than Barnabas, whose hard stare is on your form. 

Everyone is still, not knowing if they should listen as it is their territory after all. You, however, could care less. “Do the lot of you not understand signals? Get out.” You say sternly, command dripping from your voice. The council slowly makes their way out, afraid to talk against you due to what they witnessed. You hear them talking amongst themselves in disappointment, confusion, and curiosity, questioning what business Leviathan has with the mighty Odin. You turn your head towards the Lord Commander himself, watching him stay firmly in his spot. “That means you too, Harbard.” Barnabas dismisses him, and Harbard walks past you, smirking as he is the last one to exit. The doors shut and you face Barnabas. “It’s been a long time, Barney Boy.”

His face twists. He hates when you call him that. You walk towards him, commanding his attention as you sway your hips. “Awe, does the strong, dark King of Waloed not like being called that?” You walk slowly behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “Would you like me to call you something else, your majesty?” You draw out, hands running down to the inside of his royal blue undershirt. You lean down by his ear, taking a second to let your breath graze it as your left pointer finger traces the scar on his chest. “Would you like me to call you something endearing like my dearest?” You kiss under his ear, and he shivers. “Or…” you continue to kiss down his neck. “Would you like something a little more submissive like my pet?” You nip at his neck, and he grunts. 

He craves you in this way. When you left Waloed, left him, he struggled. He had been with several women since, but he always feels like he has to hold himself to the standard he’s set for himself. He could always be vulnerable with you, no matter if it was you in control or him. With you, he gives himself fully and he can’t say he ever regrets it even though you will be his ruin. He is sure of it.

You step back from him only to step into his line of vision, leaning against the table. You place your hand on his cheek, and he leans into its cool embrace, craving anything you would give him. “Someone seems touch starved. Is Benedikta not keeping you warm at night?” 

“Nobody will ever compare to you, no matter how cruel you are.” He speaks truthfully, turning his face into your palm to press his lips to the softness of your skin.

“Is that true? Because I know of someone, or rather something that seems to topple over me.”

He growls. “You know my relationship with my master is not the same as it is with you.”

Your hand moves from his cheek to grip his chin, holding it tightly as your eyes burn into his. “Are you sure? Because it seems every time we are in this situation, it’s my name you call out; like I am the one that can grant you salvation.” You bend down to kiss his forehead, whispering your next words against it. “It’s a shame I can’t seem to make that illusion stick.” 

You pull away and move to sit on the table. Your left foot is set on the arm of his chair, while your right one rubs against his muscular thigh. You love how muscular he is, his battle hungry body filling his clothes out deliciously, especially in his black trousers. Your foot moves past his thigh to his crotch, rubbing his bulge with little pressure. He is staring daggers at you, but you know he won’t do anything. He could have taken you in his arms and fucked you face down into the table if he wanted to, but he knows your command is law in these moments. Right now, you are his God. 

You push your foot slightly, causing him to buck into it with a sigh. “It’s okay though. I like to pretend, even if it is for a moment.” You set your right foot on the other side of the seat to settle on the arm rest. You pull your dress up, exposing yourself to him. 

Barnabas licks his lips. No matter how many times he’s had you, he will never get tired of how beautiful your womanhood is. His breath deepens, wanting so badly to touch you, but he knows the rules. You are in control.

“Did you want to touch me, Barnabas? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a taste, hasn’t it?” He mewls, nodding his head, hands clenching and unclenching to calm himself.

You smirk. You know him like the back of your hand. You know what he wants, and you are going to give it to him. “Go ahead, my darling. Claim your prize.”

There is hesitation on Barnabas’s half. It isn’t like you to give in so easily. You will toy with him until he is begging for you to let him touch and taste you. You would make him watch as you pleasure yourself, letting the sweetest gasps fall from your lips. You wouldn’t let him have what he wants until there is visible evidence of your essence dripping from your fingers. You see his hesitation and you giggle. “There is no catch, my dear. This is all for you. Indulge in me, worship me, for I know it is what you crave.” You lift your foot again, this time putting it on his shoulder to edge him forward. He simply cannot refuse.

He reaches forward, his big hands starting from your calves to your thighs, gripping the flesh as he brings himself forward. He places kisses on your thighs, giving small nips only to lick them right after. He takes his time with you, worshiping you like you deserve, making sure to convey his devotion to you as your encouragements reach his ears.

“You revere me so much, don’t you? You are doing a wonderful job at showing that.” You purr, using one hand to run through his dark locks. “But I want those pretty lips to worship me where I will be brought to ruin. Will you worship me there?”

He looks up to you, steel blue eyes stirring with his need to praise you. “I will do as you wish, my Goddess.” He goes in, securing your legs over his shoulders, and letting his tongue sing praises against your delicious cunt.

“You are such a good boy.” You mewl, gripping his hair as your other hand holds you up so you can watch him please you. All you can think is how beautiful he looks in his submissive state, an absolute juxtaposition to the battle hungry maniac he is. 

His hold on you tightens, his actions becoming more relentless the more you praise him and the more your essence starts to make its way onto his tongue. He moans into your pussy, lapping at your clit with vigor. He has had many women on his tongue, more as a way of getting them ready for his own selfish pleasure. No one has ever compared to flavor, for he yearns for you to fall apart on his mouth. To know that he is the one to bring you to completion makes his blood pump strongly through his veins, going right to his manhood. 

Your noises grow louder, becoming apparent that your release is calling to him to give you what you need. He takes his right pointer and middle fingers to your heat, sinking them in as his tongue worships your clit. He feels your hold on his hair grow stronger, and his moan against you with the fast work of his fingers signals your finish. You cry out, thighs squeezing around his head as he rides your orgasm out. He slurps the sweet liquid dripping around his fingers, letting you calm down as your breaths echo throughout the room. 

You pull his head up, hard enough to the point where he is now standing in between your legs. You are both staring at each other, both breathing heavily waiting for each other’s next set of commands and moves. You stare at his lips, glittering with your essence. Your resolve is breaking down, your want to do what you haven’t done in many years taking hold of your heart. 

Barnabas is waiting for you to tell him what you want from him next when gravity seems to shift as you pull him down, your lips pressing against his in hunger. Time seems to still, his mind going insane as your lovely lips move against his. Something he noticed in previous meetings is that you would never kiss him. Whenever he would go in to kiss you, you would avoid saying he was undeserving of that kind of affection from you. The last time he had kissed you was not long before you left. It has been ten long years since he received this blessing, and rather than thinking about what has changed, he loses himself in you wanting to make up for all the times he wasn’t allowed to love you like this. 

His hands grab your face, holding it in place as he escalates his kisses. The callused skin of his palms feels good on your cheeks, the roughness causing you to latch your hands to his top attire. You wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him on top of you as you deepen your kiss with him. His bulge is right up against your wet cunt, and he softly grinds into you. The feeling feels good on both ends, both of you capturing each other’s gasps and choked moans as things get heavier and more intense. 

You pull away, placing both hands onto his cheeks as you look at him. The emotions swirling in his gaze are almost too much to bear, and if you want to do this right, you cannot be sucked into them. You won’t let that happen. 

“Make love to me, my darling. Please.” You whisper. 

He is fast to lower his trousers enough to release his cock, lowering his face to yours to kiss you again as he sinks into your warm heat. You whimper, his cock stretching you out in an exquisite way. It has been a very long time since you’ve had him on top of you like this, and you will burn this into your memory for all time.

Barnabas picks up the pace slightly, letting go of your lips to trail wet kisses down your neck. He sucks harshly where your neck and left clavicle meet, the need to mark you infiltrating his soul. He missed loving you like this. He can’t believe you are allowing this. For so long, it has been you to have your way with him, to have complete control over the situation. In any other instance, if he had instigated this, you would have punished him till kingdom come. But you started this. You allowed this. It is now the both of you engaging with each other how you both used to. It is too good to be true. 

If only he knew that it was.

He keeps leaving marks on your neck, painting the beautiful picture that you are his to mark. He is pumping his cock in you in deep strokes, reaching every depth of your cunt that sends you reeling. His hands travel down to your breasts, squeezing through the velvet of your dress which makes your nipples rub against the fabric. You hum in approval, bringing your hands to the collar of his undershirt to move it aside, bringing your mouth to his chest, the both of you now marking each other as you both reach the edge together. 

Barnabas is fucking you full force now, his right hand pulling your head back as his mouth leaves your now marked body. His lips meet yours again, praises and whispers of affirmation leaving each other in the same breaths.

“Release for me, my Goddess.” He breathes into you. “Bring me to ruin.”

You cry out against his lips, your walls squeezing his cock as you cum for him. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him against you as he releases during your high. He draws in and out, slowing down as his cock becomes more sensitive by the second. Once the both of you are down, he releases your lips, heavy breaths and stares exchanged in the aftermath. He groans as he pulls out of you fully, causing you to sigh at the emptiness, letting your legs unravel from his hips to dangle against the table. 

You work to calm yourself down, needing to get yourself together before you do anything else. Your eyes shut, focusing your mind on your next moves. You know what you need to do, yet you didn’t realize cutting off your boundaries would make this much harder. It has to be done. 

You sit up to see he has fixed himself up and is staring at you with what you can only see is hope. It makes your chest pang a little harder, knowing what you are about to do will sever your ties with him for good.

You move off the table, situating yourself so your gown is smoothed out and looking somewhat presentable. As you are doing this, you see his feet reach your line of sight. You look up and he is directly in front of you. His eyes are soft yet holding back. He is smiling down at you, and it makes your heart flip. You want so badly to confirm you are here to stay, but that is far from the truth.

“What’s changed?” He breathes out. “This isn’t like you. I feel as if I’m back in the past; back to how things should be.”

Your gaze stays down, working up the courage to say what you came to say. His hand comes to your chin, mimicking how you had gripped his chin earlier, and lifted your face to his. He is examining you, not understanding why you don’t seem happier. “You are usually so cruel to me, making me earn my servitude. But most of all, you haven’t blessed me with your kisses in a decade. So, I’ll ask again, what’s changed?”

You sigh, stepping back from him. His hand is still out, confusion taking over his features at your mannerisms. Your confident gaze is set back onto your face, not wanting to potentially give into him. “This is a goodbye.”

“A goodbye? Meaning what?” Barnabas asks, his tone shifting slightly, his brows knit together.

“I’m leaving Valisthea… for good.” You admit.

His blood runs cold. Leaving? What could you possibly mean by that?

You watch his features shift once more, only this time it snaps your heart in two. He is scared; you can see that very clearly. It is the scared look of a boy, as you know deep down that is who Barnabas is: a lonely, scared boy. You continue. “Things around here are getting worse with the Blight and the ridiculous wars you and everyone else seem to lash out with. Countless lives lost to them. It is barbaric, and this place is no longer a place I can proudly call a home.”

“My biggest reason is that I cannot live in a place where you exist.” Your voice shakes. 

“Exist?” He chokes out.

You smile, a hint of sadness complimenting it. “The way you want the world based on how your god wants it will not only destroy everyone, but it will also destroy you. I will not stay to bear witness to it.”

“You know that this is the only way to salvation.” Barnabas says above a whisper, not wanting to give away his motives, but he knows it is futile. He knows you are smarter than that. 

You laugh, sorrow building in your chest. “If your plan to have us enslaved by that thing you call a god is salvation, then I’d rather be dead.” 

The next thing you feel is your back hitting the wall, Barnabas pushing himself into you as he holds your head in his rough hands, eyes staring at you belligerently. The scared boy you saw from the deep dwellings of his heart vanishing before your eyes. “We have always belonged to one another, ____. We can build a world that no man could ever dream of seeing.”

This sends you into a spiral, causing you to laugh maniacally. “I have always belonged to you, but you have never fully belonged to me.” You push him off of you, leering at him as you can feel yourself starting to rage. “You were the only one who could bring me to my knees, but I am not the only one that can bring you to yours.”

You rush towards him, pushing him into the table with your hand on his throat. “Remember this, Barnabas.” You seethe. “You may hate mankind, but under all of your disdain, you are still nothing but a man. Not even being Akashic can change that.” 

You feel him try to turn you over, but as soon as you feel him move you grip your free hand, making him stop in his tracks as he groans out in pain. You make his blood run slowly, having it flow away from his hands and feet to make them go cold. “Do you forget who you are dealing with? Your god made my Eikon the strongest. That was his first mistake because unlike you I am not a sheep in wolf's clothing. I will not stay to be his puppet.”

You let him go, backing away as he drops to his knees, numbness in his limbs as the blood slowly returns. “For your sake, Barnabas, I hope you find peace as I understand your need to avenge, but I will not stay for the finale.”

You kneel, looking at how pitiful he looks. “I do love you. And because I do, I must save myself the heartache that I will never be able to change your mind. Goodbye, Barnabas.” 

You stand back up and turn away, walking to the doors and out of his life for good. Barnabas coughs, hitting the cold floor with his fist to calm the anguish that repeatedly suffocates him because now he really is alone.

If only you knew that his attempts to keep you here weren’t for ulterior motives… he just wanted you to stay.

[ghoulangerlee]

you just need your rest ; Swiss/Aether ; E

i've been working on this for a bit, but @obsidianghoul commissioned me with this wonderful snippet of an Aether/Swiss prompt involving Aether and Swiss having a scene and Aether having to safe word. I'm absolutely honored that you trusted me enough to write this for you <3

I hope I did it justice! Throwing this up here before I go to bed, but I'll cross post it to AO3 tomorrow :) title is from pine barrens yea lets not talk about how much i listened to it while writing this

warnings: overstimulation, dropping, safe wording. content: restraints, Aether has two dicks, aftercare and a lot of fluff

-

Aether is, essentially, the foundation that holds the pack together—even before they were as full a pack as they are now. Strong and steady, comforting and quiet when someone needs a shoulder to lean on, a firm hand to guide—he’d done a lot, taking over for Omega after Omega’s final departure from the church; guiding the new summons and making sure they were acclimated to life on the surface.  

All of it had fallen on his shoulders then—much like things still do now, even though Dew and Cumulus had taken on most of the inter-pack hardships since Aether had gone to Copia one night shortly after the first Imperatour to let him know that he was considering retirement.  

Touring was a lot of fun, playing off the energy of his pack, an extreme blessing from the Eternal Father himself, and Aether was grateful for his tenure as a band ghoul. 

He was just tired.  

These days, his load is much lighter. He spends a lot of the time dealing with paperwork while Copia’s away, becoming an extension of Papa himself, standing in for meetings with the Clergy, much to their own chagrin about a ghoul of all things, taking the place of their esteemed leader.  

But they hadn’t fought as hard as they did in the early days of it all, restructuring the church from the inside out, for a few whispered words from some old stuffy suits to really affect him all that much.  

He helps in the infirmary, lending a hand and his magic to the staff there, tending to children and the terminal patients, hoping to make them as comfortable as possible. 

It’s something he’s grateful for, the experience he’d had before with seeing the world and working closely with his pack, and the experience now, of helping Copia run the church in the manner intended. Having a part in bringing everyone together in His name was the reason that he was who he is today—blood, sweat and his own tears.  

Loyal, faithful in his own way, willing to step in where needed no matter what—these were all the reasons that he still had a place, the love of his pack rushing strongly through his veins; their support on the nights that things were the hardest.  

He was the foundation of it all, the one that people still came to, his pack still came to when things weren’t going the way they should—he took the brunt of Sister Imperator’s ire whenever something came up and Copia wasn’t present, funneling all his energy into making things right.  

His physical load of work was much lighter than touring most of the year, but the mental toll of it all has him dropping harder than he can handle most days, collapsing tiredly into his bed, on the couch, anywhere he can lie horizontally after a long day of working through crisis after crisis—lending his shoulder to struggling siblings, to struggling ghouls who’d been summoned for mundane tasks, the ever overbearing presence of the Clergy asking him to break down what Copia’s next plan was for whatever new issue they had churned up.  

It’s shortly after everyone returns from the last Imperatour that Aether finally allows himself a moment to just be.  

He seeks out Swiss almost immediately—he could go to anyone, really, but Swiss knows how to handle him, knows what he needs without him having to actually say anything.  

His room is still in a slight disarray, his suitcases are lined neatly along the wall by the door, but one of them is opened and clothes are spilling out onto the floor while Swiss carefully sorts through another pile he’d overturned onto his bed.  

Aether stands there by the opened door, feels something heavy in his heart and chest unclench, finally able to see, to tangibly feel him after being apart for so long, their bond buzzing happily as Aether opens himself up to the questioning probe of Swiss’s everything.  

“How long are you gonna stand there, handsome?” Swiss asks, his back’s still turned and he’s mostly unglamoured now; his tail swaying slowly behind him to some sort of tune that Swiss had been humming softly before he’d spoken.  

Accepting the invitation for what it was, Aether steps into the room, words caught in his throat as he closes the door quietly behind him, watching the way Swiss’s head turns, his profile beautiful and strong, the soft lavender downy feathers along his jawline a stark contrast to his darker skin.  

The words still stick thickly in Aether’s throat as he crosses the space, closing the distance between them with careful yet large steps until he’s able to wrap his arms around Swiss’s waist from the side, pressing his face into his shoulder and just existing.  

He feels more than hears Swiss laugh, the vibration against his own chest from where they’re pressed together, and then Swiss is turning in his arms, wrapping his own over Aether’s shoulders and holding him close, resting his chin on the top of Aether’s hair, right between where his horns curl outward and away from his head.  

“We’re going to have to talk about this,” Swiss says after a moment, his voice low and comforting, he’s not chastising or chiding him, and Aether knows he isn’t, but he can’t help the way he tries to bury himself deeper into Swiss’s arms at the words.  

He doesn’t want to talk about it.  

That’s why he came to Swiss.  

“I know what you need baby, but there’s a few things we need to establish first,” Swiss continues, as if he can read Aether’s mind—and well, to an extent he can, the two of them so in tune with each other now.   He finally makes a noise, a sigh that’s a little bit put upon, but he nods carefully—mindful of his horns and Swiss’s place so close to them. Still, words leave him, rendering him unable to speak.  

“We’ll take our time,” Swiss murmurs then and presses a kiss between Aether’s horns before he pulls away, just long enough to shuffle the clothes from the bed to the floor, before he’s maneuvering the two of them down into the blankets.  

Aether hasn’t been in Swiss’s bed since he left for tour in the spring, his scent almost fading from the pillows and blankets on the bed—being refreshed by their combined scents sends a spark of something through him as a low, rumbling purr looses itself from his chest—its involuntary and Swiss immediately bullies his way between Aether’s legs so he can rest between them, settling atop his chest like some sort of person shaped weighted blanket. 

He purrs louder, feeling grounded in a way he hasn’t in so many months, his eyes fluttering closed as he sinks back into the pillows behind him, as he feels Swiss draw a blanket up over the two of them, cocooning them in with softness and warmth.  

He falls asleep at some point, with Swiss’s head on his chest, only vaguely aware of the somewhat rusty answering purr that comes from the multi-ghoul on top of him.  

- 

When Aether awakens, Swiss is holding him now, their positions much different than they had been before—his face pressed into Swiss’s collarbone and Swiss’s arms wrapped tightly around him. 

Swiss is, of course, awake, his hand rubbing slow circles along his lower back almost like he’s kneading there, and Aether can’t help the content sigh that leaves his mouth as he closes his eyes again and sinks back into Swiss’s embrace.  

“Feeling better?” Swiss asks after some time, his fingers had slowly worked their way under Aether’s shirt, untucking it from the back of his pants so he could draw shapes along his lower back, callus roughened fingertips oh so gentle against his skin.  

He can talk now, and Aether knows he should, but there’s part of him that wants to keep the quiet for a bit longer, let Swiss touch him oh so gently before he asks for something firmer, before he discusses everything and lets Swiss take control.  

In the end, he sighs and rubs his cheek against Swiss’s shirt, a warm and worn thing he’d had on for a lazy day in that smells strongly of him, “Marginally.” he finally manages to make himself say. “There’s a lot going on.”  

Swiss hums softly, tracing a little heart along Aether’s spine, “I heard,” he says, keeping his voice low, speaking mostly into Aether’s hair, not complaining about the uncomfortable press of Aether’s horn against his collarbone. “Things always get hectic at the end of a tour, yeah?” he murmurs, drawing another heart along Aether’s spine, “But you do so well, you handle it all with the grace of a leader,” he smiles a little, “I know you came to me for a reason, big boy.” he adds on after a moment, his fingertip dipping lower to drag along the waist of his slacks. “But we’ve got to talk about it first.”  

Aether exhales loudly, he’s not trying to be difficult about this—a brat, Swiss would call him if he were privy to his thoughts, but the thought of talking about it makes his skin feel too tight, makes him want to hide.  

“I guess, yeah. I did come to you for...this. You’re the only one who can really get me to...” he trails off, the word’s on the tip of his tongue, he wants to say it, he really does, but it sticks there, against the roof of his mouth.   

Swiss makes a pleased sort of sound, “Drop?” he supplies the word, rewarding him with a kiss to his hair, a sweeping across his lower back with two of his fingers; the touch light and barely there but it still lights every nerve ending of Aether’s on fire.  

“Uh huh,” Aether mumbles in agreement, presses his face into Swiss’s shirt again, moving his lips around the word, mouthing drop against his shirt until he feels like he’s able to say it, “I want to not be in control for a little while.” he continues, “I feel like I’m going to claw my own skin off because everything’s just too much right now.” he admits quietly, bunching his fingers into the soft material of Swiss’s shirt.  

Swiss is quiet for a moment, long enough to let Aether’s words sit between them, before he shifts on the bed, maneuvering the two of them around until he’s sitting back against the headboard and Aether’s leaned properly against his chest; his palm now spread across Aether’s back as a point of skin-to-skin contact.  

“Thank you for trusting me enough to come to me with this,” Swiss murmurs, “And I’d be honored to be the one to take you out of your mind for a bit,” he adds, ducking down to press a quick kiss to the corner of his lips, “We need to go over a few things, and then we’ll go get something to eat and maybe once we’ve finished eating, we’ll scene tonight, if you’re up to it. Or we can table it for tonight and look into it sometime tomorrow. I’ve got a clear schedule and I’m sure Copia’ll be glad to take back his paperwork duties to get out of post tour concert meetings. Gotta give his right hand a proper rest now that he’s back at the church and can take over his duties again.”  

Aether snorts softly, though he doesn’t deny it—Copia does hate speaking with the Clergy most of the time. “Once we eat, I’ll have an answer then,” he says with a little sigh. He feels tired, limbs heavy and he knows that it’s mostly from the way he’s been ignoring his own needs these past few days leading up to this. His mental capacity to take care of everyone slowly fills until it’s nearly overfull.  

Swiss hums and slides his hand further up Aether’s shirt, smoothing his palm across his back in a slow, comforting motion, “What exactly do you want from this? Beyond me taking the control?” he asks, “Specifics, if you can. Penetration or none, do you want to be restrained. Things like that.”  

He thinks on it then, contemplates what he wants, his brain trying to overthink and wonder if something he wants is too much for Swiss to want to do so soon after tour.  

“No penetration,” Aether finally settles on, “I’m okay with restraints, the ones you know I like, with the padded cuffs that don’t hurt.” He stops then, pressing his lips together as another thought comes to the forefront of his mind, “I don’t want to hurt.” he says, “I don’t want to be hit, or in pain.”  

Swiss presses a kiss to his temple, keeping his palm flat against Aether’s back, “No pain, no hitting, no penetration.” He lists back, his voice low and warm. “Do you have an idea of what you want?” he asks, “Something to take you out of your mind, yeah?”  

After a moment, Aether huffs, “Honestly I think if you make me come a few times, that might be enough for me.” he says, feeling only a slight bit of embarrassment as he speaks. “It’s been a while for me. I feel like a few orgasms could really reset everything.”  

A laugh, soft and fond falls from Swiss’s lips, “A few orgasms,” he says with a smile. “I can do that. I have an idea, let’s get some food in you and I’ll run it by you afterwards. You tell me what you think, and we can go from there. Sound good?”  

It’s only then, does Aether lift his head, looking up at Swiss who’s watching him with the fondest, softest look he’s ever seen, “Yeah, okay,” he says, and then he pushes himself up, fits his lips against Swiss’s and gives into the slide of their mouths together for a bit until Swiss is nudging him away, grinning wide.  

“Food first, big guy,” Swiss says with a little laugh, pressing one last firm kiss to Aether’s mouth before pulling away properly. “Let’s get you right and we’ll head down to see the pack. Dinner time and all that. I’m sure the others will want to regale you all the tales from our time on the road.”  

As much as Aether wants to pout, to demand they eat up here in the quiet of Swiss’s room, he knows himself well enough to know that’d be a terrible idea—so he smiles, nods at him and pulls himself out of Swiss’s embrace, as much as he craves the closeness, now that Swiss has mentioned pack, he feels a strong pull in his chest as he thinks of them, wanting to see them all together again after so long apart.  

“Let’s go, baby,” Swiss is saying, in the time that Aether had pulled away, he’d already moved off the bed and was standing by it, holding his hand out.  

In a moment of weakness, Aether takes his hand and lets Swiss pull him from the bed.  

- 

After dinner, they talk more, discuss Swiss’s idea and he falls asleep safely in Swiss’s arms, murmuring that they can start tomorrow—that he’ll take the day off and he’ll be Swiss’s for the foreseeable future, until he feels less like he’s going to crawl out of his own skin in agony.  

- 

The next morning, he wakes up in Swiss’s arms, rested but weary still, limbs heavy with sleep, but Swiss allows him to rest there for a little while longer before pulling him into a kiss—something firm yet soft, something that easily warms him up, makes him feel flush and hot with need.  

He feels himself plump up a bit at the sensation, making a soft, pleased noise into the kiss, reaching his hand up to tangle in Swiss’s curly hair, fingers gentle against his scalp until Swiss lets the kiss come to an end, naturally.  

“Go shower for me, gorgeous,” Swiss murmurs, pressing another kiss to his mouth. “And then come back in here, naked. We’ll get you restrained just like you want to be.”  

There’s a simmer of heat in Aether’s belly, low and slow deep down as he allows himself to lay close to Swiss for only a few moments more before tearing himself away from him—he knows himself, knows that if he stays around, if he loiters in bed for too long then he’ll forgo their carefully crafted plan, their scene before it even happens.  

Aether allows himself time to stand under the warm water—it's almost hot enough to burn his skin but it’s relaxing, bearing down on the tension in his shoulders, the weight of the world on him heavy and uncomfortably. He doesn’t quite know how long he stays there, standing under the water, but he doesn’t snap out of his heat induced trance until there’s a soft knock on the door, an even softer call of his name. 

That snaps him out of it, makes him shuffle back out of the water so he can quickly clean himself up—unscented soap and the nice shampoos that Swiss keeps in his bathroom before he’s turning the water off and wrapping himself up in a big, fluffy and warm towel—enchanted to keep a low level of heat for warmth after a shower.  

A cloud of steam follows him out of the bathroom, back into Swiss’s room where the other ghoul is waiting—there's a set of chains with padded wrist cuffs affixed to one of the sturdy beams in the ceiling—they hang down just enough that Aether knows when he’s restrained, it’ll be a stretch on his shoulders, he’ll be on his tiptoes.  

He feels himself fatten up even more, each of his cocks unfurled and thickening as he takes it all in. It’s a simple scene, he’ll be restrained, and Swiss will wring several orgasms out of him until he’s happy with how much Aether has come, until Aether drops into that space where he’s warm and floaty.  

Swiss easily crosses the room—now dressed in another soft t-shirt, but wearing a pair of jeans, barefoot; he’s got the button on the jeans undone, the zip barely up over where his own cock is half-hard. They share a kiss, something simple and sweet and full of love, while Swiss’s hands rub over Aether’s shoulders, fingertips catching on the soft towel with each pass.  

“Ready?” Swiss murmurs against his mouth, feels Aether’s responding yes more than he hears it; the taste of the word, the shape of it shared in the kiss and he pulls away with a grin before guiding Aether back into place. 

With gentle fingers, Swiss carefully unwraps the towel from around him, lets it drop to the floor, “There we go,” he says, now able to smooth his fingers along Aether’s shower warmed skin; he smiles and leans forward to press a kiss to his sternum, murmuring something as a warm gust of air leaves his mouth.  

An enchantment, warmth encasing Aether, keeping him from catching a chill from the room—he appreciates it, always a little on the colder side, being quintessence, his nature and when Swiss laces their fingers together on one hand and guides his arm upwards, he lets him.  

Confident that Swiss will take care of him now, he relaxes the second the padded cuff slips over his first wrist, already warmed by Swiss’s magic—he's guided up onto his toes as Swiss closes the second one over his other wrist and already, he can feel a sort of haziness in his brain.  

“Good?” Swiss asks, checking how tight they are, making sure they’re not going to cut any sort of circulation off. 

Aether nods, blinking slowly, “Perfect,” he says with a sigh, almost making the mistake of sinking down onto the flat of his feet but at the last second correcting himself and settling on the balls of his feet instead.  

Swiss smiles, pleased and he steps around behind Aether briefly, allowing himself to take in the planes of his back, his arms above his head, the slight arch as he balances himself.  

There’s a noise, the whir of a vibrating wand coming to life behind him and then Swiss steps in close to him, pressing it against the small of his back in a tease—Aether gasps with it and rocks forward a bit more, the sensation so strange all of a sudden.  

That makes Swiss laugh and press harder, letting it run along the knobs of his spine—it's different than what he expected, it’s on one of the lower settings but Aether can’t help the way he tries to move away from it, wiggling around on his toes, he doesn’t laugh but it’s close enough, the choked sound leaving his throat, his lips has Swiss’s laughter grow louder, fonder.  

“Hey, hey, where do you think you’re going, big guy?” Swiss asks, stepping in closer until Aether can feel him, the softness of his t-shirt a stark contrast against his own bare skin. “Not trying to run away from me already, are you?” 

Aether makes another noise, something like a whine, thick and reedy in the back of his throat as he inhales deeply through his nose and leans back into Swiss, into the vibrations—they’re so low and barely there, but he can feel it rattling him to his very core, already so keyed up from the barest of touches. 

(“I don’t want to talk much,” Aether had whispered into his shoulder the night before. “Feels like I can barely string together words now.”  

Swiss had hummed softly, combing his fingers through Aether’s hair, “Understandable. No talking required unless you need to get out of the cuffs, baby.”)  

“Good boy,” Swiss murmurs with a smile, pressing an open mouthed kiss against the base of Aether’s neck, “You know that I’ll take good care of you. S’why you come to me..” He draws the wand downwards, letting the vibrations settle into his lower back again, just above the curve of his ass, “You’re such a good leader, strong and steady to lean on, but sometimes you need to lean on someone, baby.” 

Aether’s shivering, shaking, feeling like he’s going to come apart at the seams already, Swiss has barely even touched him, much less touched him where he’s craving it—his cocks curved up against his belly, leaking steadily at the tip.  

It's been a while, since he’s been able to focus on himself, on his own pleasure, he just wants to— 

“Do you want to come, sweet boy?” Swiss asks, nudging a knee between Aether’s spread legs, right up against where his balls hang heavily, the barest graze of denim over sensitive skin.  

There’s no cruelness in his tone, gentle and careful as he reaches around with his empty hand, cupping over Aether’s belly, “If you need it, take it, this is about you, baby boy. You don’t need my permission.”  

Aether makes a noise, a garbled mess of something not quite human as he bows back against Swiss, a gaspy sob leaving his lips as his cocks twitch and with barely any warning at all, he comes—it feels like a release, the way he sort of bows over with it, the padded cuffs pulling at his wrists, at his shoulders, overwhelming and good.  

Swiss lets him catch his breath then, removes the wand from his lower back, the low and steady buzz stopping and leaving the room silent except for Aether’s own gasping and harsh breaths.  

“Good boy,” Swiss murmurs, pressing himself along Aether’s back once more, clothes to skin, using both arms to cradle him gently, “You’re doing so well, that’s one down, huh? Do you think we can squeeze a couple more out of you? Two? Three? Could we get up to five before it’s too much?”  

Aether shudders in Swiss’s arms, “Uh huh,” he manages to mumble out, tilting his head back against Swiss’s shoulder as he shifts on his feet, settling more comfortably as he turns his head, brushing a kiss across Swiss’s jaw. “Please.” 

Swiss makes a soft, happy noise and carefully turns Aether’s head more so they can share a kiss—it's not their first of the day, and it won’t be the last, but it makes Aether’s head spin in the best of ways; all-encompassing, like he’s being devoured.  

The buzzing starts again, but this time Aether is ready for it, the vibrations nudged right against his hip, letting him get used to it; it’s still so low compared to how high he knows the wand goes and he can’t figure out if he’s frustrated that Swiss is going so easy or if he’s thankful for it.  

“I can feel that you’re not content with what I’m giving you,” Swiss murmurs, amusement tugging at their bond as he carefully slides the wand further across Aether’s stomach, “Can feel you getting impatient with me, baby boy.” he’s grinning against his cheek, “You know I’m going to take care of you, right?”  

The answer is on the tip of his tongue, but in the next moment, the wand is right there against the head of one of his cocks and all he can do is rock into it and make a choked noise—the metallic sound of the chains echo loud in the room, a cacophony of noise that drowns out everything but the tortured groan that rips itself from Aether’s chest.  

“Beautiful,” Swiss coos against his cheek, pressing a firm kiss there, “You’re doing so well, taking what I give you,” he continues as he slowly drags the wand further down his shaft, nestling it at the root of both his cocks.  

It catches him by surprise this time—the vibrations shouldn’t be enough to make his toes curl, shouldn’t take his breath so suddenly as he rocks up into it and comes again, nearly hoarse and raw as both of his cocks leak steadily.  

He’s been essentially untouched this whole time, pent up but soft around the edges—Swiss's hard body against his back, grounding him there, keeping him from swaying too much on his toes.  

“Good, good,” Swiss murmurs, the wand is off again and put away as Swiss comes around to stand in front of him, pressing against his front so wholly uncaring of the mess that paints Aether’s belly and leaks down onto his thighs—it gets on Swiss’s clothes but the other ghoul doesn’t look like he cares too much as he cups Aether’s face in his hands and draws him into a proper kiss.  

Tears leak from the corners of Aether’s eyes as he closes them tightly, leaning into the soft and sweet thing, letting Swiss coax his mouth open with gentle nips and presses of his tongue until Aether’s going fuzzy with it all, feeling as if Swiss is stealing the air right from his lungs.  

When they part, Aether’s sure his face is flush, that his skin is a mess of mottled gray and constellation like silver across the apples of his cheek, across his chest—he feels Swiss’s lips press against his cheek, tongue flicking out to catch the sweat and tears there, “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs with a rusty sort of purr, grinding forward against where Aether’s starting to harden again. 

The sensation of cloth against his oversensitive cocks makes Aether whine, more tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he tries to rock forward into the sensation, even though part of his brain wants him to move away from it.  

Swiss draws him into another kiss, slower and deeper than the last, one hand cupping his cheek as the other works its way between their bodies to wrap around Aether’s cocks—the sudden touch of skin against skin has Aether crying out into Swiss’s mouth, nearly losing his balance.  

The next orgasm comes a little slower than the last one—Swiss's touch is so firm, steady and careful, his large palm encompassing the entirety of one of his shafts while his knuckles brush over the second one, stimulating them both in a way that makes him want to fuck into Swiss’s hand.  

He can’t, tied as he is, his body pressed against Swiss’s front so tightly—he has no leverage, he feels helpless as he pulls at the chains and feels the way the ache in his shoulders grows, part of him wishes he could touch, could pull Swiss’s cock out and feel it against his, get their hands around all three of them together.  

“Let me,” Swiss murmurs, as if he can tell that Aether’s mind is starting to drift somewhere, somewhere far away from where he currently has him, tied up in his bedroom and at his mercy. He tightens his fist around Aether’s cock, the slickness of his come giving just enough friction for it to not hurt.  

He feels it building deep inside his belly, warmth spreading from his groin—outwards until all his limbs feel fuzzy and limp as both of his cocks kick, one in Swiss’s fist and the other one just barely stimulated enough for anything.  

Swiss’s shirt is a mess when he finally stops touching Aether and steps back, a mess of sweat and come but he doesn’t seem to mind it, just wipes his hand off on the bottom of it, grinning lasciviously at Aether before he goes to pick the wand up again.  

“Three, yeah?” Swiss asks, innocently as he turns the wand on, the vibrations loud in the quietness of the room. He draws the vibrating head across Aether’s belly, teasing, and Aether hisses, clenches his fists and wobbles on his toes. “I think five is looking like a good number for us, baby,” he teases and then Aether shouts when the wand comes into contact with his still soft cocks once again.  

It continues on like this for so long that Aether forgets the time, forgets how many times Swiss has made him come, forgets the mess he’s making on himself, on the floor, on Swiss’s clothes—the only thing he can focus on is the feeling of the vibrations in his cocks, in the soft praises that are bestowed upon him as he goes somewhere far off and floaty.  

It’s so good that it almost doesn’t register when it suddenly tips over into not good—he's not sure how many times this makes, Swiss’s voice is low and syrupy against his ear, the vibrations against his cocks suddenly becoming too much and all he wants to do is get away from it.  

He gasps out, the sound coming out more pained than pleasured, his lips working over and over and over as if they’re trying to form something, form a word and—and—and— 

“Pomegranate.” He manages to get out, the word sounding foreign and choked in his own ears, like he’s underwater and only tipping further into the abyss, hurtling towards an end that’s so unpleasant now that his mind is focused on it, he can’t do anything else.  

The vibrations stop immediately, there’s a thunk of something hitting the floor and then there’s hands, gentle and quick, undoing the cuffs around his wrists—he still feels like he’s underwater, moving sluggish, he wants to curl up and in on himself, his entire body feeling like a livewire, like one touch will surely end him.  

He doesn’t know, from one moment to the next, how he makes it to a seated position, but he feels Swiss hovering around him, hands fluttering over his shoulders—he thinks the other is talking, but he’s too focused on controlling his breathing, his rapid, almost convulsive heaving breaths that draw all thought away from him when he tries to form one.  

A warm and slightly heavy blanket settles over his shoulders as the bed behind him dips and he’s shifted back into Swiss’s chest, there’s layers of cloth between the two of them, but somehow that’s what he’s able to focus on, to feel himself come back slowly, the rushing in his ears dying down until he can hear Swiss behind him, he’s humming something, a song that Aether can’t quite place, hands resting firm on his shoulders as a rush of heat travels through the blanket.  

The crash is always the hardest on Aether, even when he drops peacefully, his body temperature hurtling dangerously low, but Swiss is doing his best to keep him comfortable, warm—the tears come to Aether’s eyes again, unbidden as he hunches over on himself.  

There’s a kiss pressed into his hair, barely there as Swiss waits it out, keeping the touch and the heat close, the blanket doing its job in grounding him properly until Aether feels less like he’s going to fall through the cracks of existence.  

“Aeth?” Swiss murmurs after a long period of silence, after he feels the way Aether’s body seems to drop as if it were a puppet whose strings had been cut. “When you’re ready I’ve got some water and a few snacks for you, but we won’t move until you give the signal.”  

When Aether finally lifts his head enough to turn it, to look back at him, his eyes are red rimmed and his face splotchy with silvery gray and Swiss is watching him with wide, worried eyes.  

It takes him a moment, but he manages to get his limbs to move enough that he’s reaching out to Swiss, trying to turn around so he can bury himself into his embrace—not that he needs to fret about it much, because Swiss always knows what he needs, gets him turned around on the bed and wrapped tightly in the blanket, tightly in his arms.  

He takes a bit there, nose pressed into the downy feathers against the side of Swiss’s throat, inhaling his scent, listening to the raspy, rusty purr that looses itself from Swiss’s chest—he does eventually lift his head, peering up at Swiss with a curious look, taking in the pinched look on his face.  

“Think you’re ready for some water now?” Swiss asks, his voice low and gentle, almost hypnotizing in a way and Aether nods slowly, only jostled a bit as Swiss leans back to grab a cup with a straw in it—ever thoughtful and prepared.  

He takes a few sips from it, the liquid cool on his tongue, parching his dry throat, he’s going to need something more than that soon, but for now, the water is enough for him, so he goes back in and takes a few more careful pulls from the straw until he’s drank his fill, pulling back with a little sigh before resting back in the crook of Swiss’s neck.  

Swiss is quiet for a bit, but he starts carding his fingers through Aether’s hair, keeping his touch light and careful around his horns as he does so, it’s relaxing and Aether feels himself start to fall asleep from it—though he knows that he still needs to get cleaned up, they still need to talk about it, there’s so much to do still— 

“Hey, baby, baby,” Swiss murmurs, pressing a kiss to his temple, “I’ve got you; do you want to lay down now? I’ve got some wipes, and we can clean up a little bit before we finish getting you to come down proper, alright?”  

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, lets Swiss maneuver him around on the bed until he’s lying on his back—the weighted blanket had been removed from his shoulders and Swiss warms the wipes up before he carefully wipes away most of the come that had been slowly drying on his skin.  

Overall, it takes a lot less time than a bath would have, but Aether feels exhausted as all is said and done, easily goes when Swiss, who’s stripped and is now as naked as he, wiggles into the bed beside him and draws him into his arms, pulling the blanket up over their bodies to fight off the chill of the room now that Swiss isn’t focusing on keeping everything warm.  

“Do you think you can eat a little bit of this for me?” Swiss murmurs, shaking a small container; its chocolate covered almonds and Aether licks his lips, nods and lets Swiss feed him a small handful of almonds—the chocolate sweet and just enough to draw him further back into his own body.  

Swiss is back to drawing little shapes across his back, fingertips gentle as he writes and draws his love across Aether’s skin, letting him come back to his own on his own time, not rushing him—and Aether feels floaty and sleepy in a completely different direction than before.  

He’s happy and content in this, pressing his face into Swiss’s collarbone, and when he finally finds his words, he doesn’t pull away much, speaking directly into Swiss’s skin.  

“It became too much all of a sudden,” Aether mumbles, sluggish and slow, “I don’t know what happened, but I was enjoying it and all of a sudden, I felt like I was going to come apart.”  

Swiss’s other hand finds his hair again, nails gentle over his scalp as he listens, allows Aether to talk about it, the helplessness at being chained there and suddenly not wanting it anymore.  

“Thank you for stopping when you did,” Aether mumbles, knowing he doesn’t have to thank Swiss for it, but feeling indebted to his kindness and the constant vigilance that Swiss shows when they scene together. “For making me comfortable enough to know that I can stop whenever it’s too much.”  

A kiss pressed to his temple again, “Anytime baby,” Swiss murmurs, “Your comfort is the most important thing. The scene was about you. If you’re uncomfortable, then we stop.” He draws a heart over Aether’s shoulder blade. “You know I’ll always take care of you.”  

Aether makes a soft noise in contentment, “I know,” he mumbles, the words starting to feel heavy on his tongue. “I had a great time, before things got to be too much. I didn’t realize how much I needed something like that until you’d gotten me to come twice with very little stimulation.”  

“That’s what I’m here for,” Swiss says, carding his fingers through Aether’s hair, “Did you want to take a nap now? And once we wake up, we can settle in the bathtub for a bit? Unless you’d like to bathe now.”  

He’s comfortable and warm, wrapped in the blanket and Swiss’s arms so he shakes his head, “Nap first,” he says, a yawn catching him as he speaks, “Bath and then maybe some food. In that order.”  

Swiss hums, “Anything for you,” he murmurs, smiling softly when Aether lifts his head so they can kiss, slow and soft and light, a barely there brush of lips that has Aether purring happily before burying back into Swiss’s embrace.  

He’s the backbone of the pack, the one everyone comes to when something goes wrong, even though these days Dew and Cumulus are more suited for the interworking issues of pack management—but when he’s in Swiss’s bed, all that melts away and he’s not longer the backbone no longer the one offering support.  

He’s.   

Safe.  

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

I think it's time for me to come clean with something I've never admitted to anybody before. And it's not something I've done or anything like that. It's not an action I've taken. It's an opinion I have that I know is something that would cause a lot of...let's say strife with most people if they knew I had it. It's not a controversial opinion I'm particularly proud of the way I'm proud of my opinion on John Lennon being a boring hack, or my opinions on YouTube content creators being, by default, talentless nobodies compared to literally any other professional creative, or my opinion that sport hunting journalists and politicians should be, if not actually legal, than at least one of those victimless crimes that never actually get prosecuted. This opinion I'm about to share is something that my own parents would never understand if I were to admit it to them, which, to be honest, does sting a bit when I let myself think about it too much.

I know most of you don't follow me for personal BS, and I respect that, so I'm going to put a cut before I state this opinion so people who don't really care to learn more about me as a person can easily give it a skip. For the rest of you, all I ask is that you try to keep an open mind, and understand that this is as hard for me to admit as it is for you to read.

George Carlin is a terrible fucking comedian.

I know. I know.

But hear me out.

I'm not saying he's not funny, because he can be. Certainly he was hilarious to 12 year old Little Me who would watch clips of his acts on Comedy Central long after my parents went to bed. But as I got older, I started to notice something. It wasn't that I was "growing out" of George Carlin. That's silly to say. That's like saying someone grew out of watching Eddie Murphy's Raw. You're not even supposed to be watching that stuff until you're grown.

No, the thing I noticed was that he isn't actually a comedian.

He's a blogger.

Again, he does tell jokes, but telling jokes does not a comedian make. Everyone tells jokes. What makes a comedian a comedian is that they are so funny that people will pay money to laugh at their jokes. And that's not George Carlin. That's not why people go to see George Carlin. They might think it is, but it's not. No, they go to see him for the same reason he stands up in front of them and speaks.

They want to hear their own opinions parroted back at them, and then they want to cheer. Just like George doesn't really want to make people laugh. He wants to give his opinions on social issues and politics, and then he wants everyone to clap and validate those opinions. The laughter is completely secondary. It's not even necessary past the point of telling just enough jokes to both get people in the door, and to allow those people the illusion that they're at a comedy show and not reading a blog.

And Carlin isn't the only blogger pretending to be a comedian. You probably know quite a few already. The Jon Stewarts, John Olivers, and Jimmy Kimmels of the world who just want to be cheered for stating their, often idiotic, opinions on things. I used to call this "Applause Comedy", and I've always hated it with a passion. But these days I just call it blogging, because that's what it is. And George Carlin is its grandfather. His entire career is based on "telling it like it is" instead of "telling jokes". And let's be fair, some of his opinions are right. Of course, these days the people he roasts are usually not on the same side of the political divide as the ones he was intending on roasting. He is another terminal victim of the 60s, so don't ever mistake him for being even remotely right wing.

(I wonder if, were he still alive, would he be one of those few boomerlibs that actually recognize how batshit insane the left has become? Or would he be one of the ones that now supports all the things they railed against 40+ years back because their identity as a leftist is more important than their supposed principals?

I could speculate, but I won't.)

But being able to comment intelligently or eloquently on political or social issues isn't a skill one should look for in a comedian. And getting cheered for stating an opinion isn't something a real comedian should look for in their audience. A comedian tells jokes. He makes people laugh. He tells stories and weaves tales and creates an atmosphere of joy. He allows us to keep the outside world at bay for an hour or so, and leaves us with a small shield against that world when his show is over in the form of fond memories and shared enjoyment.

You're more likely to come out of a George Carlin show more angry at the world than when you went in.

And that's not comedy.

That's not entertainment.

That's blogging.

[sickficideas]

🍎 for ryūnosuke?

Sick or Treat!

of course i skip to him right away cause he's my favorite hehe...

(Warnings: emeto/vomiting, a little angsty, vague references to his terminal illness)

🍎 (Food Poisoning) - Akutagawa + Gin and Higuchi

“I’m the worst person ever,” Ichiyo laments, totally meaning for that thought to stay inside her head.

“You are not the worst person ever,” Gin assures her, sounding almost like a kindergarten teacher consoling a child. She’s busy clipping Akutagawa’s hair back with barrettes in wake of Ichiyo’s failed attempt to use a hairband. She's already had to wash some vomit out of his hair.

“You couldn’t…couldn’t possibly have known,” Akutagawa barely manages, leaning against the side of the shower door, beside the toilet, where he’s spent the last forty-five minutes, at least. He looks a little more comfortable now with the comforter Ichiyo brought to him, but he’s still downright miserable. He has enough stomach issues as it is, he really didn’t need food poisoning on top of all of that. Ichiyo will certainly cross off the restaurant they went to for lunch as a possibility for the future ever again.

She feels awful, seeing Akutagawa so sick, completely able to do anything to truly help him feel better. It was only an hour or two ago when he first told her over the phone that he was feeling sick to his stomach, simply asking Ichiyo if she could pick something up for him. She should have known it was this bad. He wouldn't ask for help otherwise. He had even managed to avoid involving Gin, but Ichiyo has undone that attempt.

“I'll be right back,” Gin says.

Akutagawa seems to doze off for a few moments, and Ichiyo is glad that he has a second to, but it doesn't last for long. A quiet, half-asleep cough turns into a gag, and without much warning at all, he's haphazardly brought his hand up to his mouth, too late to catch any of the vomit that falls down the front of the comforter.

Ichiyo squeaks and scurries to get next to him to lead him back to the toilet. For a second, she thinks he might be done, but it sounds like his body is still so nauseous from it all that it's still forcing gags, and bringing up more of his evidently undercooked lunch splashing into the toilet water. He can't even get a few seconds of sleep with how awfully nauseous he is. His poor tummy.

He's almost distraught, this time, he didn't have any chance of making it to the toilet in time but Ichiyo does what she can to comfort him, keeping a hand on his back that's starting to feel much too warm to be normal. He groans from the pain. His breathing starts to get irregular again.

“I'll take it to get washed right away,” Ichiyo promises, since he's clearly more concerned with the vomit on the comforter than how he's feeling. She can't help but pout when he lays his cheek on the lid of the toilet seat, his eyes feverish and face red, still visibly nauseous. She carefully reaches for the comforter, still halfway over his lap, and folds it up, tucking it away in the corner. “I'm so sorry, Akutagawa…”

“You didn't…you didn't do anything wrong, Higuchi,” he says with a few unsteady, nauseous sounding breaths in between. He coughs, too, because of course his lungs won't give him a break. “You…shouldn't have gone out of your way to…to help me…”

Ichiyo’s always thrown off when he talks like that, it's not like him to say things like that at all - to anyone, but especially not her. He's always so docile when he's sick like this.

“I'll always try to help you. However I can,” she says quietly.

Gin is back in the doorway with a glass of water that she sets on the sink counter just in time for Akutagawa to weakly lift up his head and choke up a mouthful of vomit. She kneels down beside him and rubs his back, gently and methodically like she's done it a million times. He's sick so often, Ichiyo doesn't even want to think about how many times they've been in this situation. And it's only been getting worse, in the last few months.

She sneaks out with the folded blanket and wanders into their laundry room to dump it into the washer right away. There's a sweater down at the bottom too that's got vomit stains on it too. That's what he was wearing when she found him, curled up on the kitchen floor, his stomach causing him so much pain that he couldn't move. Her eyes flood with tears. It is her fault. She took him to that restaurant. He wouldn't be so sick if she had picked somewhere else for them to eat after their shift ended, even though she was just trying to get him to eat at all. She was glad he even agreed to it.

She rubs at her eyes, knowing Gin will pick up on any sign of her crying if she starts now, but she's too late. She jumps. There's a hand on her shoulder.

Gin doesn't ever turn the stealth off.

“Higuchi,” she says with a frown full of pity. “It's okay. He'll be okay, he always is.”

The tears stream down her face when she says that and Gin doesn't waste any time wrapping her arms around her, tight, and Ichiyo does it right back. Gin is so used to seeing her brother vulnerable that it doesn't hurt her nearly as much as it does for Ichiyo, but she feels her grip shake. She's worried too.

“Thank you for coming to take care of him. And calling me,” Gin says gently. “I'm really grateful that you're so kind.”

“Gin…” Ichiyo murmurs, her tears clouding her vision now, as she buries her face in Gin's shoulder.

[bijoumikhawal]

Bite the Hand that Starves You: Chapter Four

Fic as of this chapter contains: discussion of abortion, references to drug use, intersex and trans characters, torture/graphic violence, colonialism and its aftermath, implied sexual violence, disassociation

Kardasi: Peikirvi - would translate to something like "concubine", specifically refers to an individual that socially presents as male, and was assigned such at birth, but can carry children (and often could impregnate someone else), who is legally bound to someone. Usually this is done with a pre-existing couple who has fertility issues.

---

It wasn't a baby. In terminating it, you were admitting that- it wasn't a baby. It never breathed, thought, or spoke.

Garak wished there was something physical that made sense. He knows if he asked, they'd show him some vial, or petri dish, with an unidentifiable clump, and that didn't feel right. It didn't feel like something worth funding over. In terminating it, you were admitting that it wasn't.

It wasn't a baby, so of course it didn't look like one, and it wasn't worth fussing over. Not once it was gone, anyway.

“Everything checks out.” Dr. Ammshah said. “I also talked over a few options for your care going forward with Dr. Bashir. First, I know you said you wished to keep all your organs, but we still can do a tubal detachment-"

“No.”

“I thought you might say that.” Dr. Ammshah looked away- purposely a display of deference. “In that case, there are implants available which don’t need to be replaced more than once every kashmim. It’s a lot longer lasting than the shots preferred in the Federation, and if you ever want to have children, it’s not too difficult to remove. I know you’ve had issues with an implant before, so let me reassure you: this implant has no electrical components. The worst it can do is move somewhere it shouldn’t.” She's rolled her sleeves up- most likely a nervous habit. It reveals inked scars on her forearms.

Garak thought for a moment. “Doctor Bashir.” The observation of her arms is distant and evokes no feeling in him. He knew from the moment Julian said her name why she had been eager to help him in particular.

His head turned to Garak quickly- he hadn't stopped paying attention, but hadn't expected to be called upon. “Yes?”

“If I were to do shots, would I be allowed to keep the doses on hand and self administer them, or would I have to come to the infirmary every time?” His own arms are unmarked. It was too dangerous, given who would see his bare skin, for Tolan to give into that form of sentiment- to permanently have Garak carry evidence with him.

“Normally I give patients a few doses and they self administer. I see no reason why you'd be different.” It was not said with anything but pure neutrality.

“I wanted to be sure. I'd rather use the shots, in that case.” His name would have become fetid in her mouth if she knew of Garak outside the boundaries of this room and those marks.

“Would you like me to go ahead and give you the first dose?”

Garak nodded. No more incidents like this. At last.

The first time he sees Kel, the stripes of her childhood have faded, and he assumes she is Barkan’s. So did everyone else. As her age of emergence approached, its clear to everyone they'd assumed wrong. One time at Bamarren, in the garden, and Barkan a week late coming back for Palandine's cycle-

It must've been embarrassing, when Barkan realized. Most peikirvi fucked the wife too, at least once. Historically, it was thought all they did was transfer the husband's seed, with a little of themselves- ultimately, they were not recorded as the father in that case. They knew better now.

Barkan never allows the two of them in the same bed without him as a physical barrier. They went back to Prime a few times- Garak has his own room in the historic Lokar home after the ceremony.

Dr. Bashir put the hypospray down next to his hand. “I'll go ahead and have the pharmacy retrieve a few more doses for you so they're ready when you leave.”

Garak’s hand curled around the handle. “Thank you, doctor.”

The round circle of metal (always cold) went a half inch past the end of his neck ridges, under the chin, like always.

He never sleeps well there. He kept remembering- one time he'd been helping prepare guest rooms, and fell asleep on top of an heirloom silk quilt. Mila never locked him in a closet, but she'd roll out a mat of rough sticks and make him kneel on it in front of the estate cenotaphs for hours.

He'd lived decently on his own as an Order agent, but never that decently.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Ammshah asked.

“No.” He'd already dismissed the one from earlier. Except- “If this happens again, will Dr. Bashir need to call on you?”

She turned to him. Like with now, and the examination, she'd had Dr. Bashir take careful watch. “I think that may be something at his discretion. Normally, I would have someone observe quite a few procedures before trying to undertake one. But usually I'm dealing with residencies, not a full fledged doctor. Most likely, I'd still end up supervising over video at least.”

Dr. Bashir inclined his head. “I do think I’d be able to handle it, but yes, I would most likely call you just in case.”

The Lokars have silk quilts too- they'd been very fashionable, six to eight generations ago. Barkan has him on top of one once. The whole time Garak is thinking about the launderer, a quiet young thing, and wondering how the hell he was going to clean it.

The Garak cenotaph on Tain’s estate was blank in his childhood (Tolan is on it now), but the message was clear- you will die here.

Garak nodded and leaned back. “I don't plan on this happening again.”

It was better if it wasn't a baby. If it was, where would he bury it? Where you buried your dead was your home. What name would be put on the cenotaph he did not have, on a station with no soil deeper than his knee?

---

Jabara sat next to him, jarring him out of his thoughts. “You're three hours into overtime today.”

Julian wished he could say he hadn't noticed, but he had. Perfect internal clock and everything.

Dr. Ammshah would be leaving in a few days. A check up after a day, a few days of buffer in case of a last minute emergency, then she'd be on her way back to Vulcan. Which left him with one less pair of hands soon.

“I'm just trying to make sure everything goes smoothly.” Julian rubbed a hand over his face. “How's setting up the storage bay going?”

“It's going fine. It hasn't really been used since the last time we needed it, so it didn't need to be cleared out.”

He had been to send his earliest cases home with a minder. That freed up eight beds, with more flagged as being viable to go home under the same conditions. However, he still had more patients coming in- both newly ill and those who'd tried to tough out what they'd assumed was a bad dining choice at first. The surgical suite had a few beds in it now.

Calculations in his head guessed that at least they'd seen a slowdown starting the day Dr. Ammshah left. “That's good. Are any beds ready yet?”

“A few. Yaatare wants to move the first patient over in the next hour or so.”

“I'll want to look things over first.”

“I know. And I was hoping I'd have to comm you to tell you instead of finding you still here.” Jabara stared scalpels in the side of his head.

“Everyone's doing overtime right now.”

“When was your last day off?”

Julian sighed. “Jabara-”

“You're comfortable telling off the rest of the medical staff and any Starfleet officer you see for poor work habits like too much overtime, but you set a poor example.” Jabara leaned back. “You asked me to be blunt with you from the beginning sir, so- it gives the impression that you're a hypocrite, or that you don't trust your staff.”

Julian flinched. It wasn't the first time Jabara told him that- the fact that she fully took him up fully on the request to be blunt was why he preferred working with her. “You want me to check on the storage bay and go back to my quarters.”

“At least. I also frankly don't want to hear you came back here any sooner than eight hours from now. Ten would be better.”

Julian put his hands up. “Alright. I'll go.”

---

Quark’s was perhaps not the best place to unwind if your stress came from how busy you were. Normally the sights- bright lights, Dabo attendants covered in glitter and rhinestones, flashes of brilliant color everywhere- sounds- shrieks of delight and anger, the wheels turning, glass clinking, conversations- smells- all kinds of food, astringent alcohol, a bit of sweat, cleaner (Quark never allowed vomit to sit the way he never let a paying customer's glass sit empty)- made it exciting.

Right now, Julian was just regretting his choices, holed up in a corner alone. Quark had taken one look at him and mixed something without even asking what he was in the mood for- it was vaguely reminiscent of a hot toddy. Julian found he didn't mind it.

He wiped the red foam from the corner of his mouth and sighed.

“I don't usually see you here by yourself.”

Julian managed a smile as Jadzia slid into the seat across from him. “Well I'm not by myself now, am I?”

“Mm. Is this how it usually works for you?”

“How what works?”

“Dates. You sit alone, looking sad and pretty, and someone eventually walks over.”

“Ah, so I'm pretty.” Julian said, sipping his drink. “And no, usually I'm here for fun and enjoying myself.”

Jadzia peered at his mug. “Oh, Quark gave you a Sweet Howler.” She grimaced a bit. “I heard kunowaat was going around. I didn't realize it was this bad.”

How badly was this going to hit him in the morning? Julian sighed. “It's not the worst thing to deal with. A steady, high, clean water intake, and a constant drip of diozaine, and basically anyone who catches it will live. It's just resource intensive and… annoying."

“I can imagine. I'm glad I'm vaccinated.”

“We've been working on that.” Julian muttered. “I told other Starfleet Medical doctors on Bajor to make it a top priority, but the problem with Bajorans and vaccines…”

“We still haven't built up everyone's trust after the Occupation.”

“No. Especially not in rural areas, like where it started this time.” Julian looked up at her. “Enough about work. How have you been? Any interesting holosuite programs you've discovered?”

Are you alright after the Joining Council almost let you die to save themselves some face?

“I've been okay. And no, no new interesting programs have made their way into my clutches.”

I've been okay, often meant something very different, Julian found.

“And which ones does the major like?” Julian asked.

“I don't think she has a preference yet.”

“Really?”

Jadzia shrugged. “She likes a little of everything, and nothing in its entirety out of what I've introduced her to. We've been trying out more programs recently…” she cocked her head. “Some people are just a bit picky. That makes it all the more special when you do find what they like.”

Interesting.

“How has Bareil been?”

Jadzia gave him a puzzled look. “Why would I know?”

Julian tapped his fingers on the side of his mug. “You just mentioned you've been with the major a lot lately. I thought she might’ve mentioned something.”

Jadzia doesn't quite buy it, still giving him an odd look. “She hasn't, really. Since when are you interested in what vedeks are doing, Julian?”

“Well, he's not just any vedek. If I'm to live right next to Bajor I ought to know what's going on with… politics.”

Jadzia squinted at him. “Do you know something I don't?”

“About Bareil? No.”

“Hm.” Jadzia leaned back.

“Are you going to report me to Odo?” Julian said lightly.

Jadzia softened a bit, not that she was especially hardened in the first place. “For all I know, he put you up to asking me.” She looked around, then peeked under the table. “Doesn't look like he's nearby, though.”

“You can't tell.”

“Well, not anymore.” Jadzia admitted. “It used to be something was a little off about whatever form he took. He's gotten better recently. A spare jacket in one of the labs turned out to be him and made me jump half a Quark into the air a few days ago.”

Julian snickered. “Half a Quark… I'll have to remember that one.”

---

Garak sat on the floor.

His holding cell was now an apartment. A ransacked apartment- Garak had accidentally slept in his shop last night, and Dukat hadn’t hesitated to seize the opportunity to target him in his tantrum- but just. An apartment.

He wondered if he'd be pushing his luck to request different quarters now.

He looked around, taking stock, and halted on an ajar wall panel. He yanked at it, heart pounding, and the metal bent- the red box was still there. Garak cradled it in his lap for a moment.

The recitation mask stared up at him. And kept staring.

Garak picked it up and threw it at the wall.

It only bounced off. The mask was lightweight, but the stone was strong and resilient.

Garak let out an angry sigh- bordering on a growl, really- as he got up off the floor. He picked up a chair leg that had broken off.

The mask gave him no more satisfaction than a clunk.

Garak tried, all night- throwing it, stomping on it, putting it under a table leg and then pushing down with all he had- the mask did not break.

[spiderpussinc]

Like holy shit. Like that Poly-Anon, what the hell are they on?

You never said you hate poly people or open marriages or anything. Are they Mr. Fantastic cuz boi if that wasn’t a STRETCH!

But yeah, sure we can have the poly relationship, hell I read that shit all the time. I even have some sketches of it in progress. But by far my favorite is divorce!Peter.

You get so much more ideas and history with that. Peter dealing with no longer being with someone he loves, learning how to deal with that while getting feeling with Miguel. Maybe he never even liked MJ that way and couldn’t realize that he was gay and only saw her as a friend until recently.

Hell for extra spice and drama, have it so Mayday still exists during the divorce AU. Have Peter trying to figure out how to be a single dad while figuring himself. Maybe Miguel is fighting to understand if he likes Peter that way or if he just sees himself in him.

Divorce is so liberating for people and it can be so with these people. So many ideas can come from it. I don’t know why so many people hate it when we write or draw divorce.

I think the answer is a pretty clear and loud "homophobia" and this recent insistence on progressive circles to paint same-sex attraction as "inherently limiting" or "biased"; which are both absolutely /insane/ takes. You can't be a man and *JUST* like men, that's a waste! That's suspicious! That sounds like an ulterior motive! (Being gay is passe to a certain type of terminally online guy. Real enlightened allies would fuck anyone at any time! Words don't mean anything!!!!!)

People's insistence to read any interest in m/m relationships as a malicious attack designed to prod at *them* in particular is so fucking tiresome. The world does not revolve around you. Nobody has to care for straight ships and it's not revolutionary to try to reinforce them as a holy central aspect in characterization or storytelling. It's not more dignified or substantial. You just think straight people are inherently 'neutral' or pure because they dominate the media field.

My preferences and my gay art exist in a minuscule internet bubble that doesn't endanger or erase the fact that Marvel is a rampantly cishet company. I can do whatever I want and it doesn't matter; they will keep publishing the same thing they've been publishing. But I *HAVE* had my art stolen multiple times now to be reposted on tiktok or resold on etsy with any gay/trans elements I've put on it scrubbed out - to appeal to this very same straight audience -and that pisses me off. I am not trying to cater to these people and never will. I *HAVE* had my gay art used as a point of ridicule against me for years; and tbh it does nothing to me anymore but I refuse to quietly accept this treatment as default.

I don't have to center the experience of M/F nuclear family in my gay art and I won't; it does not appeal to me, I don't care for it, and I cannot be talked into changing my mind. Anyone finding an issue with this should go outside and touch grass.

Evergreen tweet, really:

If i say "i like these two gay dudes, I would like to see them kissing" and you hear something else about someone completely unrelated, that sounds like a skill issue

[and-claudias-world]

His Heir pt. 16 (Darth Maul x pregnant reader)

Taglist Sign Up

Master List

Warnings: Flirting

Word Count: 1790

This was accidentally posted on the wrong account, this is my side blog, main blog is @and-claudia

I waited about thirty for Maul to arrive at his quarters. When he did I could tell he was agitated. 

“Everything okay?” I asked cautiously. 

“I need you to let me know if Qi’ra says or does anything to you. I want to know the moment it happens.” He said. 

“Okay… what happened?” “She walked in and the first words she said was that she thinks I should fire you. I explained that people don’t just get fired from Crimson Dawn. And she said that she was well aware of that. She really came in there and suggested I get rid of you, that I kill you. All because she doesn’t like you.” He said, still clearly angry about the situation. 

I didn’t speak. I knew better. It was best to let him go on his ranting spell and get it all out of his system before talking to him about it.

“I know the two of you don’t get along, but you would never have come into my office and seriously suggest that I terminate her. You have more class than that… Oh, but I put her in her place. She would be foolish to even so much as consider giving you a dirty look. I laid it out plainly for her. I would not get rid of you. She would do good to remember that you are irreplaceable but she, and everyone is. I told her the only thing keeping her in her position was the sheer fact that I did not want to have to look for a new right hand. She better get herself together before I get rid of her.” 

Once he finished he took a deep breath to calm himself further. 

“I’m sorry, Maul. I promise I will try to get along with her and try to reduce some of the conflicts between us.” I said feeling slightly guilty for some of what has gone on between us two. 

Maul turned to me and grabbed my hands. 

“Oh, my dear, you have nothing to apologize for. Lady Qi’ra brought this all upon herself. I know not everyone will get along working here, but everyone here is an adult who is more than capable of resolving their own issues. To request to have someone you work with terminated simply because you cannot figure out how to get along is beyond unprofessional.” 

I nodded in agreement before Maul sighed. 

“What have you selected for dinner? I am ready to put that discussion behind me and spend time with you.” He said. 

“Well… I know it hasn’t gotten super cold here yet, but I really wanted some soup.” 

Maul let out a small laugh. 

“Also I wasn’t sure how the discussion was going to go so I also requested one of the bottles of Alderaanian white wine to be brought as well… for you of course.” I said. 

He sent me a smirk, “Are you trying to get me drunk?” 

I simply sent him a flirty wink as I turned to walk toward to couch. 

“What shall we watch tonight?” I asked as I powered up the holoscreen. 

“You pick, I am going to go change.” He said, walking to his room. 

As he did I realized I should’ve gone by quarters to grab something more comfortable to lounge in. I had already discarded my heels by the door, but now sitting on the couch in what I wore to work, I was suddenly very uncomfortable. Then, as if he was reading my mind, which I knew he wasn’t Maul stepped back out of his room dressed only in grey lounge pants. I hadn’t seen him like this in some time. We hadn’t had sex since I left for the mission. Now, seeing his toned torso was driving me wild. I adjusted the way I was sitting and did my best to squeeze my thighs together and ignore the way his appearance was making me feel. 

“Would you like to change as well?” He asked. 

“I didn’t bring anything to change into.” I said, trying not to stare and his body. 

“You can borrow something. I don’t mind at all. I believe the droids just had all my warmer sweaters laundered and put away if you’d like to put one of those on.” He offered. 

During the cold season here on Dathomir it got extremely cold and I was horrible about stealing his sweaters during that time. They were all quite big on me but that never really bothered me, they were comfy and that’s all I cared about. 

“If you don’t mind.” I said, getting up. 

“Not at all, besides, half of them might as well just be yours.” He joked, leading me back to where they were in his closet. 

I riffled through a few of them before picking the one I wanted. I walked out of the closet with it and laid it on the bed as I began to undress. Maul stood and watched me, not in a weird way though. The look in his eyes was something akin to longing. I removed my top before stopping for a moment and walking over to the mirror. I had gotten into the habit of constantly checking to see if I was showing yet. I sighed slightly when I didn’t see anything. 

“Give it another couple of weeks.” Maul said as he watched my face fall. 

“Sorry. I guess I’ve got a little excited to see a little baby bump.” I said, stepping away from the mirror. 

I removed my bra and let out a small sigh of relief before grabbing the sweater and putting it on. 

“It’s quite alright. I myself am quite excited to see it as well. I think you’ll look really nice with it.” I was blushing at his comment as I took off my bottoms. 

“I guess I should ask, are you okay with me not wearing pants? I mean the sweater covers my ass.” I said looking over at him. 

“I wouldn’t mind, even if it didn’t cover your ass.” He sent me a wink. 

Though his words were going straight to my core, I couldn’t let on that it was having that effect on me. We weren’t in a relationship. We had only had sex so I could get pregnant. I shouldn’t think of him like that anymore. 

“Careful, Maul. You wouldn’t want to start something you can’t finish.” I teased, stepping closer to him. 

Instinctively, his hands went to my waist. 

“Oh darling, trust me, I can finish it no problem.” He said. 

I was just about to boldly reach up and pull him down to kiss him but the droids were arriving with our dinner. 

“We should probably get that before our soup gets cold.” Maul said, releasing his grapes on my hips. 

I nodded and stepped away from him and followed him out to the living room. The droids came in and set the table for us. As we ate we discussed some of the details of the celebration. He was excited to finally announce me as Mand'alor while I was beyond nervous. What if they were angry with me for hiding the truth for so long? What if they rejected me as Mand'alor? What if someone tried to challenge me for the throne? 

Maul did his best to reassure me that none of that would happen but still as the days passed it was all I could think about. And now I only had one more day before the celebration. Everything was being set up as we prepared to rehearse the ceremony part of the celebration. 

“Qi’ra, since you won’t be in the ceremony-” 

“I am though.” She cut me off. 

I gave her a weird look, creasing my eye eyebrows in confusion. 

“I am the Maul’s right hand, the righthand of the Mand'alor is in the ceremony.” She explained to me as if I were stupid. 

“Yes, I am in the ceremony.” I said. 

“Oh Yn,” her tone was already extremely condescending. “You must have forgotten. Lord Maul chose me to be his right hand, not you. So, you can go sit with the other advisors during the ceremony.” 

“No, Qi’ra. You are Maul’s, leader of Crimson Dawn’s, righthand not the Mand'alor’s righthand. The two are separate. So as I was saying, since you are not in the ceremony you will be making sure everything is running smoothly. And right now, you need to keep an eye on things while we go rehearse for the ceremony.” 

She was stunned at the news. 

“So what, am I supposed to wear white just like all the other nobodies?” She sassed. 

“Yes, that is what the dress code said. You will be wearing white with all the others who do not hold a specific title. The Mand'alor will be in burgundy and their right hand will be in dark grey. The MSCs are going to be in black.” I said. 

“What the hell are the MSCs?” 

I sighed before answering, “The MSCs are the Mandalorian Super Commandos. They are the Mandalorian soldiers that served under Maul back on Mandalore. You know, if you were so sure that you were the Mand'alor’s righthand, I would have thought you would know more about the Mandalorians.” 

With that, I left to head to the ballroom where our rehearsal would be taking place. Everyone was already there waiting for me. 

“Sorry, there was some confusion I had to clear up with Lady Qi’ra.” I said walking over to them.

“That’s alright dear. Shall we begin?” Maul asked, hinting that I needed to make my announcement. 

I nodded to him before speaking up. 

“So, this year is going to be a little different. I am just going to come out and say it, unfortunately since were short on time today I can’t go into deep detail about it, but Lord Maul is not Mand'alor, I am. I have been since the first year celebration of Maul being Mand'alor… I had no intention of doind so. But as Lord Maul said, it what was meant to happen. I’ve been the one making the decisions ever since, but Maul has just been the face of the Mand'alor. If you have any questions, we’re opening the throne room to the people on the day after the celebration for anyone who has any. But for now, let’s just run the ceremony as we know it be done, just mine and Lord Maul’s roles are reversed.” I said, glaning to Maul for encouragement. 

I could tell there was some hesitation and shock from all of them But after a moment they all gave a curt nod and said “Yes, ma’am.” Then we were beginning to rehearse. 

A/n: next part will have at least a little bit of smut

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[coffeeheartaddict2]

When life has other plans (8/16)

Tolerate it

Book: Open Heart (AU)

Characters: Ethan Ramsey, F!MC Casey Valentine

Warnings: language

Category: Angst

Word count: 1982

Summary: A new normal is found hastily. The changes pique the curiosity of a colleague. A blast from Ethan’s past leaves him torn as to what to do

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Pixelberry.

Authors note: It is not the end of the drama ok. It is me I will give you a truck load of angst and then give you a happy ending. This series has a happy ending ok. I need to look at my plan again as I changed a little bit the finding out and fallout.

💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

Casey made it home. She arrived at the same time as Aurora.

“What is up Casey?” She asks tentatively.

Casey tells Aurora everything, from the collapse due to the pain, to Ethan coming across her and him finding about the pregnancy and abortion and the heated discussion they had. Aurora listened and refrained from saying that you should have told him. She knew that was the last thing she needed to hear right now. Casey had a light breakfast and went to her room. She was still tired from the day before. After a shower she went to hop into bed.

There was a message from Ethan wanting to know if she arrived home safely. She left it on read and went to sleep.

Meanwhile, at Edenbrook Ethan was off. The lack of sleep and his discussion with Casey was catching up with Ethan. As such his temper was shorter than usual. Naveen had his regular head of department meeting with Ethan today and straight away he knew something was up.

“What is wrong and don’t you dare say nothing.”

Ethan sighed in resignation.

“I had no sleep last night, just a bit too tired but Casey was not well…”

“Casey? Not well? Is she ok?”

“She was pregnant, and decided to terminate the pregnancy and not tell me.”

Naveen was silent for a few minutes.

“I am sure she had her reasons…”

“Yes she did Naveen, I was in Brazil when she found out and she did not want to leave a voicemail or text so she decided not to tell me. I do not think she was anticipating this medication not working.”

“If she had told you would the outcome had been the same?”

“I do not know. We had decided that our arrangement would end before I went to Brazil, we had both agreed at the time we would go to a pre-Miami footing but I realized after a few weeks down there that I did not want that and was thinking of possible work arounds if Casey wanted a relationship too.”

“Having a child is a big commitment as well…”

“I know Naveen, she called herself an obligation.”

“Is this going to affect the team moving forward?” Asks Naveen.

“You know I can compartmentalize with the best of them by. So I do not see any major issues going forward, however I will let you know if there is.”

Naveen nodded. They discussed the team, the patient from yesterday and work in general. Ethan felt lighter for having told someone. He also knew Naveen would not plaster it all over the hospital. Meanwhile, after Ethan left, Naveen felt saddened. He had seen Ethan put his career ahead of personal relationships many times. He knew that there was a valid concern with reporting lines and the rabid gossip but he had hoped Casey would be different. Also he was saddened about Casey’s ordeal also. He sent some flowers to her house.

The day after came. Casey still had some abdominal pain but it was to be expected. She went to work. She saw Naveen on her way in and she thanked him for the flowers. Casey presumed that Ethan had told him but said nothing. Naveen stated that if there was anything she needed to let him know. Casey was appreciative. She made her way to the team office. Ethan was there alone.

“Good morning Dr Ramsey.” She said as she entered. Ethan was surprised to see her.

“How are you feeling…” he falters when he sees the look on her face.

“I am fine, Ethan.” She says curtly. He winces at the tone.

“Well, we have what you wished for. I thought you would be happy.”

“What so I can not enquire about your welfare?”

“Sorry Dr Ramsey, everything is still a little too raw right now.”

“I do not consider you a burden, Dr Valentine. Nor would I do anything out of ‘obligation’”

Casey nods. “As I said, everything is a little raw, it will take me time to process.”

Ethan nods, hoping that once all the dust settles, a friendship and a less terse normality will be found.

Time went on and Casey and Ethan both begrudgingly settled into their perceived want of a pre Miami footing. Deep down they both hated it but they neither party was willing to admit to the other that they hated it. The change from Casey’s first day to what was now normal between the two of them did not go unnoticed by Dr June Hirata. June was not a fan of the competition when it was announced and Aurora Emery being on top of the competition was no surprise and confirmed her initial suspicion that it was a way for Dr Harper Emery to give her niece a leg up but as the competition went on there was a new top

Intern. Ethan had already been acting suspicious and appearing more tired but not long before Casey was on top he appeared more rested, despite appearing to be at the hospital more than he needed to be. Then the rumours started. She was not sure what to think about them. She did not think Ethan to be the type to sleep with someone to give favour but she could not rule out it. She was also suspicious of the sabbatical, sure if he did apply when he quit surely he could have gotten out of it but then she met her, did as she was told and confirmed the diagnosis on the first day but now there was tension. It struck her odd. How was this change going to affect the team? She had to admit though that Casey did have plenty of knowledge and did work well within the team despite whatever was happening between Ethan and Casey.

June was eager for information and her chance came when they had a perplexing case. The case of Lamar Stevenson. It was an interesting and a complex case. He was losing motor skill and could not identify multiple points of contact but we could not figure out what was happening. A home visit was suggested. Lamar’s wife, Lorraine consented to the visit but the team were deciding who would go. Baz had too many patients and June suggested that Casey accompany Ethan. They go to the Stevenson’s house. The ride to Quincy Bay started off with a very awkward silence which both of them hated. Eventually Casey broke the silence asking about what normally happens with a home visit. Ethan stated that they focus on key areas, to ascertain further what they have been told but to also to look for anything that stands out that could help solve the case. They arrive at the house and go through the main areas. Casey is in the main bedroom, standing on a chair to try and reach some photo albums. Ethan stood close. As Casey reached an album and overbalanced. Ethan caught her. They looked in each others eyes for awhile, Casey swore she saw a hint of desire among all the emotions. Ethan wanted to kiss her so much.

“This is not a competition to see how long you can hold me” said Casey, breaking the spell.

“Of course” said Ethan. They look at the album and Casey notes the lack of Lamar’s photos. Ethan does not find it completely odd but gets where Casey is going. They collect the samples and lock up and head back to the hospital.

Casey heads off and does her rounds. After awhile she makes her way back to the DT office to see if there are any dates. She comes across a familiar looking older gentleman who looks lost.

“Can I help you?”

“Yeah, I am looking for Ethan Ramsey, I have not seen him here since he moved office and I am lost.”

“I am headed to that office, are you a patient of his?”

“I am sometimes but not today, I am his dad.” He offers his hand. “Alan Ramsey.”

Casey shakes it, “Dr Valentine but you can call me Casey.”

A glimmer of recognition lights up Alan. “Ahh, the rookie.” Says Alan with a slight chuckle. “It is not very often that he refers to an intern well I suppose resident now by any name. It is nice to put a face to it.”

Casey did not know what to think about this. They arrived at the office and it is empty. Alan looks dejected but Casey tracks down Danny and he says that Dr Ramsey has left the building. Alan looks even more dejected and wished he had called ahead. Casey could see he looked upset. “I have an idea where he could be and Casey and Alan made their way to Derry Roasters. They spoke about working with Ethan and how he sees the world. Alan could see why his son was so taken by Casey. She was intelligent, appeared driven and he had to admit attractive. They arrived at the coffee shop and they saw Ethan. They made their way over and Ethan was surprised to see them both.

“What brings you up dad?” Asked Ethan.

“I had a phone call, it was your mother…”

“Ethan tensed. Casey tries to leave and Alan stops her, insisting that he buy her a coffee. Casey sits down while Alan gets a coffee.

“Are you ok?”

Ethan remains silent. Alan returns and Casey accepts the coffee and Alan insists that she stay.

“What does she want?” Ethan asks tersely.

“To speak to you Ethan. I do not know why but she did want the decision to be yours.” He says while he hands him a piece of paper. Ethan says nothing and Alan takes his leave. Ethan and Casey then walk back to the hospital. She can see Ethan is troubled but does not pry. Ethan is appreciative of the silence. His mother all of a sudden requesting contact after nearly 26 years was confronting to say the least. With how things were with Casey currently, he did not wish to burden her.

They arrive back at the hospital to see their patient hanging off the railings of the atrium. Casey rushes up and pretends to be one of the people that Lamar is talking too. She hops over the edge to try and lure him back. Ethan is frightened, not for the patient but Casey. As much as things are strained right he does not want to see her hurt. The whole commotion, including Ethan’s reaction was spotted by June. Perhaps there are feelings underneath Ethan’s exterior, she thinks. Lamar comes back from the railing and is taken back to the room. Casey is brought back over and she heads off to do some research. Ethan is relieved she is ok and June decides to monitor the situation. She did concede that Casey did fit well in the team, despite whatever was going on with Ethan.

The atrium episode leads to a diagnosis for Lamar. Syphilis and it is in its tertiary phase. The damage it has done is permanent but it can be managed. Lorraine is thankful but saddened.

Later that night Ethan is at home, sipping on a scotch. He thinks about the whole case, how Lamar’s past has some serious implications for his future, how he had let his issues from Louise abandoning him affect him. The trust issues he had because of her abandoning him and Alan already destroyed a friendship and possibly another, his feeling of being unloved had also impacted many a long term relationship. He looked at the piece of paper on the coffee table. He knew opening Pandora’s box was risky and making this call would be but he needed to before again his future was ruined by his past. He finishes the glass of scotch, pours another and then dials.

———-

Authors note: laughs maniacally. I am not sorry for ending it there but what happens next will be the focus of the next chapter and if I added it to this then well it would be very long.

In all honesty though in a way I am glad that Pixelberry did not give Ethan the option to speak to Louise when she first contacts him because we all know how non existent her plot point became at the end of book 2 but at the same time I wish we could have. And that is what writing an au is for.

For those who have read this far thank you.

Tagging: @jerzwriter @jamespotterthefirst @genevievemd @cariantha @alj4890 @zealouscanonindeer @youlookappropriate @trappedinfanfiction @tessa-liam @potionsprefect @liaromancewriter @socalwriterbee @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @a-crepusculo @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985 @lucy-268 @openheartfanfics @choicesficwriterscreations

[pruengs]

a symptom of being human - master post

a symptom of being human is my humanverse gerame & pruk hetalia au. i am hoping to write a cohesive story about it one day but for now i'm compiling this information here (taken from discord & my google doc) for you to look at. i'll link to the other posts here.

all posts of this au will be tagged as #asobh.

general info.

it's set in germany. arthur meant to study abroad for two semesters, but ran into gilbert because they studied the same thing (art history) and then never left. alfred wanted to escape the unites states and went to germany as an au pair, which is where he met ludwig.

arthur and gil are 4 years older than lud and al.

ludwig has autism.

alfred & gilbert are trans.

arthur speaks fluent german, alfred is learning german but is having a much harder time learning it than arthur.

alfred and matthew are still twins, but matthew lives with his father in canada, while alfred lived with his mother in the united states. they still talk generally.

the next paragraph is technically also general info but it needs to be expanded so it gets its own bullet point list here.

gilbert and his thing with death.

terminal illness! discussion of death and dying!

gilbert has an unspecified illness that is going to kill him before he's 30. i haven't decided on what yet, but it's a degenerative disease that he was born with, and it got diagnosed when he was a young child, and he has been raised with the knowledge that he won't make it past 30.

UPDATE: gilbert has hermansky-pudlak syndrome type 1, an extremely rare autosomal disorder, that causes albinism, bleeding diathesis, immunodeficiency, and pulmonary fibrosis.

he has a life expectancy of around 30, and has been raised with that knowledge. he's well aware he's going to die.

so is ludwig, of course, but it's still hard on everyone. ludwig cannot cope with the concept well, because he cannot fully grasp it.

gilbert's mortality especially becomes an issue once the relationship between arthur and gilbert becomes serious.

because gilbert didn't talk about it when they got together, because he assumed they wouldn't stay together long enough anyway, and then suddenly arthur is proposing to him and gilbert realizes this is a conversation they have to have immediately, 'cause he will not marry him under false pretenses.

gilbert is pretty optimistic despite the dying thing, usually. he planned his own funeral because he's pragmatic like that. his testament is written and he jokes about it constantly, he doesn't care because he never knew anything else. but of course even he has his limits and gets very, very upset about it sometimes.

when it comes to leaving his family behind, or even more personal things.

like settling down or starting a family he has difficulties dealing with it. because he's good with kids, maybe would even like some, but he knows it's not really feasible. he wouldn't live long enough to see them growing up, and he couldn't put the stress on arthur on raising children alone, and he couldn't put the stress on the children either. to lose a parent. adopting isn't an option because of that, and biological kids even less so because he would be too scared of passing his illness on. and he is really struggling with it, because it's something he always wanted.

the only person gilbert really talks about his issues with is his father. gilbert can't possibly imagine how hard it must be for him to know he's going to lose his son, but he talks things through with him a lot and in the end they both feel better, especially because gilbert sometimes just needs to rant.

that and his therapist. because you bet your ass germania put this kid in therapy the moment that diagnosis came.

links.

the german family. german family part 2.

pruk.

germerica.

bad friends trio.

roderich.

misc.

fic: baby, pull me closer. [prueng, explicit]

[will be updated with other links, like arts or fic.]

[sarahowritesostucky]

Rated: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: ptsd, trauma recovery, kink negotiations, fetishes, fantasies, body modification, self-harm, destructive sexual urges, heavy bdsm, bondage, 24/7 D/s, dom Steve, sub Bucky, sadism, masochism, castration fantasy, dark comedy, oddly sweet relationship dynamics (idiots in love), sex toys, handjobs, bondage, cbt, smacking

Summary: Steve shows Bucky that he likes his body exactly the way it is.

🖤Disclaimer: Nobody gets castrated or otherwise body-modified in this fic, okay? It's Steve and Bucky, kink negotiating and sceneing w/ regards to Bucky's very strange fantasies.

Wait! I haven't read Part 1 yet!

Part 2 - That Morning a Few Months Ago, When Steve Found Out About The Castration Issue

Steve immediately freaks out when he comes home to the apartment and catches Bucky Googling a string of majorly alarming keywords:

effects of castration_

can you cum without balls_

prostate orgasm_

modern castration_

modern surgical human castration_

voluntary castration_

erotic castration_

erotic surgical castration real_

body mod_

tattoo shops Brooklyn_

extreme body mod Brooklyn_

underground orchiectomy_

DIY surgery_

eunuch advice quora___

There are entire message boards and threads devoted to it online, reddit communities of men who call themselves modern day eunuchs; chatting details, swapping tips and tricks, making loose plans to fly down to Mexico or else perform amateur surgery in their basements. All so that they can chop each other's nuts off.

Steve breaks the whole fucking StarkPad as he’s holding it, furious (but only because he’s so terrified). “Get in the playroom!” he barks, and Bucky—wide-eyed—scrambles to obey.

Steve rigs him from the ceiling, held up by a crotch harness of elaborate shibari knots. He looks like someone about to rappel down a rock wall, only naked. As Steve fumes (panics), he hoists Bucky up for easy access, arranging the ropes so that he hangs in a seated position, ass about three feet off the floor, thighs forced wide. He buckles thigh restraints onto him and clips his wrist cuffs to those, rendering both hands useless. He goes and grabs the folding chair and drags it over. He sits between Bucky’s legs, up close, and he knows it must look near-comical—like some mid-air, Ringling Bros. version of a gynecological exam.

Bucky’s breathing picks up at the sight of Steve’s face so close to all his junk. “No oral!” he gasps. “You promised!”

Steve sees red and slaps him so hard, it swings Bucky out of control. He has to grab the ropes to settle him back into place. “I promised no blow jobs, you absolute and utter moron. I didn't say anything about anything further back.” He grabs him by the nuts and squeezes, pulls—mean enough and hard enough that it elicits a yelp. He makes a ring around the base with one hand, pulling, forcing both testicles taught against the skin, and promptly slaps them. Bucky screams.

Steve looks up to see him with his lips parted and his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming in fast, laboured little pants. Bucky recovers from the pain, and when he opens his eyes again, they’re bright with excitement.

Steve sneers and lets him go, sitting back in the chair. “We have to have a talk, pal,” he says sarcastically, feeling a good majority of his anger (panic) subsiding now that he has all the control, now that he’s got Bucky hanging from the ceiling, tied up and safe and completely unable to seek out amateur surgery in some guy’s basement.

Lord, give me patience, he thinks.

They have a stare off, which terminates in Steve scoffing and reaching forward to swat his balls again. Bucky’s abs tense and he grunts, fighting hard to stay still in the harness. With the way Steve has him rigged, his own bodyweight will mostly keep him from swinging, as long as he doesn’t jerk around too much and Steve doesn’t smack him too hard.

Steve sits in the chair like he has all day to do this (he does), ignoring Bucky’s junk in favor of staring up at his face. He waits, forearms crossed, letting the tension build as he says absolutely nothing and Bucky starts looking increasingly sheepish. His dick—about twenty inches in front of Steve’s face right now—lays thickened against the crease of his thigh. Steve arches a long-suffering eyebrow. “Explain. yourself.”

Bucky shifts nervously in his bonds. “Well … I wasn’t really gonna do it.”

Oh, but Steve would love to believe that. “Mm hm,” he drawls. “Just like you ‘weren’t really’ going to get your tits pierced, right?”

Bucky looks down at his chest. He’s got the little black barbells in today. “Um,”

“Just like you ‘weren’t really’ going to go get that star branded into the back of your neck?”

Bucky bites his lip. “... Okay but hear me out!”

“Jesus Christ!” Steve shoots up from the chair and stalks angrily to the other side of the room. He stays there, pacing, agitated, hands on his hips and shaking his head at his idiot boyfriend. “You can’t chop your balls off, Bucky. Okay?! You just cannot.”

Bucky, at least, looks sorry that he’s upset Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad, you jerk. I’m fucking terrified.” He walks back over to him. Standing there, his face is a little higher than it normally would be in relation to Bucky’s. He locks gazes with him and lets his eyes do the pleading. “Do I have to worry about coming home one day to find you bleeding out in the bathtub or somethin’?”

Bucky licks his lips, hesitant, but then, “It wouldn’t be like that, though! I could—”

Steve smacks him across the face so hard, he goes swinging again. This time he doesn’t do anything to steady him back into place, just lets him twist back and forth in ridiculous, pendulous motions, until he eventually comes to a stop on his own. “Shut. up,” he tells him. “And repeat after me: ‘Steve’,” He waits.

Bucky sighs. “Steve.”

“‘I promise I am not going to cut off my balls’.”

Bucky’s mouth works in frustration for a few seconds. “M’not gonna cut off my balls,” he eventually mumbles, doing a piss poor job of following directions, but at least following them. Steve narrows his eyes.

“‘Or let anyone else cut off my balls’.”

“Steve,” he whines. “You haven’t even let me explain!”

For a few seconds, Steve really just thinks about hitting him again. But something holds him back. Grinding his teeth together at the pleading, insulted look on Bucky’s face, he reconsiders his options. He’s got Bucky: helpless and hanging, naked, wanting something. That’s called leverage. He inhales deep and lets it out slowly, raising his chin up while he looks down his nose at him. “Fine,” he decides, magnanimous. “You can explain it while we work.”

Bucky’s irises flare, but he does a fairly good job of containing any other outward signs of his displeasure. He’s been trained to withstand torture, after all. Never let ‘em see you sweat.

“Working” is by far Bucky’s least favorite version of what they get up to in this room. Steve doesn’t wait to see any more of his reaction to this announcement, just turns and crosses the room. He knows Bucky’s watching him like a hawk. He ambles over to the supply wall and pokes around, taking his time deciding what he wants, rooting through the cabinets, taking things off the wall’s hooks and putting them back after consideration. He dumps everything he wants on the rolling cart and brings it back over with him. Bucky’s chewing his lip hard when Steve sits down in the chair. Steve pinches his inner thigh and twists the skin cruelly. “Stop biting, or I’ll gag you.”

Bucky stops right away.

Sighing, Steve oils up his hands and the inside of the cock ring that he’s brought over. It’s made from thick, heavy rubber—a ball stretcher and cockring all in one. It’ll help keep Bucky hard and keep his testicles pulled uncomfortably away from his body. Steve grabs his dick without preamble and gives a few, rough pulls, coating him in the oil and getting him to fatten up enough to maneuver. There is no gentling of the head, no soft pressing, no playing with the little wrinkle of foreskin that Bucky has when he’s soft enough. It’s completely mechanical and without technique.

Bucky inhales harshly through his nose and his muscles go rigid underneath the leather straps of the thigh restraints. “Shh,” Steve soothes, but in a perfunctory way, like he’s calming a big, dumb animal so that he can get a task done. “Hush. You don’t have any room to whine at me right now. You can, but I’m still gonna do what I want to your body.”

It’s obvious that Bucky’s trying, because he focuses on taking deep, calming breaths as Steve jerks him off in his hand. He doesn’t make a peep. Steve works the ring over his dick, snugging it to the base and forcing his balls through the stretcher part. He lets it hang there, pulled down by its own weight, and re-drenches his hand with the oil. A few more, sloppy strokes, and then he looks up at Bucky’s face. “When’s the last time you jerked off?” he asks.

He sees the rise and fall of Bucky’s Adam’s apple as he swallows. After a moment of thought, he just shakes his head minutely, and Steve knows what that means: It’s been so long, Bucky can’t even remember the last time he touched himself.

“How ‘bout me?” Steve asks.

“Yesterday,” Bucky whispers, breath hitching when Steve gives him another firm stroke. “S-steve …”

“Is it really all that bad?” Steve wonders, hurt even though he knows he should be used to it by now. He looks back down and watches the tension in the muscles of Bucky’s lower abs, the lewd shine of the lube on his cockhead as it slides through the tight channel of Steve’s fist. The sight makes his own cock throb beneath his clothes, but he ignores it. “Tell me,” he murmurs, sad. “Tell me how it makes you feel.”

“Steve … You already know—”

“I don’t care,” Steve snaps. “Tell me anyway.” He takes his hand off Bucky’s cock and grabs the buttplug from the cart, starts lubing it up in full view of Bucky. He coats the entire thing slowly, almost leisurely, then shoots a warning glance upwards. “I’m waiting.”

“Scared,” Bucky rasps, voice coming up dry, like he wasn’t expecting to have to speak. He squirms in his bonds, but stops when it makes the ropes move. “Worried.”

“This a fear boner, then?” Steve glides a single fingertip up and down the top of his shaft. “Doesn’t look very afraid to me.”

“It’s a reflex,” Bucky defends. “Like flinching. It does feel good when you touch me, but my brain starts to squirm, too. Starts to feel like … I dunno … like somethin’ really bad’s gonna happen.”

“Panic,” Steve murmurs, removing his finger from Bucky’s dick, upset. “It makes you panic.”

Bucky whines. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Shh. I know you can’t help it, honey. As long as you’re honest with me like that, as long as you tell me how you really feel, this is gonna go fine.” He pets over top of Bucky’s thigh and out to the side, to his hip, to the side of his butt. The gluteus muscle keeps tensing and releasing as Bucky fights to remain still. Steve taps the rubber of the buttplug against his bound balls and murmurs, “If you’re worried I’m not going to hurt you enough, don’t be. You’ve got me feeling mighty generous.”

Bucky gulps. His head dips in a tiny nod, mouth sealed shut. Steve can’t read if he’s nervous, or just excited.

Steve’s not a sadist, and Bucky’s not a brat—he absolutely hates letting Steve down, and he never gets off on disobeying, not even for the sake of a punishment. But Bucky is a masochist. He gets off on pain to a degree that most people would say isn’t possible. But it’s all true. He’s more than proved it to Steve time and again.

So Steve feels zero pity as he swats Bucky’s bound balls around carelessly with the plug and hears him grunt, then gasp when he loses control of holding in the noise. Steve drags the plug back, smearing oil across the bare skin of his taint. He works it inside of him quickly, efficiently, pats the base of it once it's in. Steve’s chosen this particular plug because he wants Bucky to feel as helpless as possible right now.

Bucky saw it when Steve walked back from the other side of the room with it, so he’ll already know that it’s one of the vibrating ones. He’ll be on edge because he knows that, afraid that Steve’s planning on turning it on and forcing an orgasm out of him. (Oh, the horror.) Inflatable, because Steve doesn’t want him to be able to push it out. As helpless as possible. “You can still red out,” he tells him softly. “But if you don’t, begging’s not going to do you any fucking good. All it’ll do is hurt my ears.”

He pumps the plug up, a few squeezes at a time, just slow enough to know that he’s not damaging Bucky’s body. Hurting him, maybe, but that’s not exactly something Bucky will complain about.

“How can it feel that good?!” Steve’s cried more than once, upset after watching him ejaculate out of a soft penis, from nothing more than a beating, a whipping, or having his ass caned until blood pricked past the edges of the welts. “Please! Why can’t I touch you?! Let me love you!”

Steve’s therapist likes to remind him that you can train the brain to do pretty much anything. Sometimes on purpose, but often just by happenstance. “You have to remember, this is what helped him get through decades of torture. He might not feel like he needs to ‘get better’.”

“... I need him to.”

Bucky’s trauma made him this way, and Steve isn’t supposed to shame him for it. He likes to think that he doesn’t. Bucky’s struggled to try and accept sexual touch for his benefit. Maybe Steve needs to try harder, too.

He gets up from the chair and stands in the wide open vee of Bucky’s legs, staring him straight in the eye as he reaches down to flutter oily fingertips over his balls. He cups them, circles the pad of his thumb slowly and firmly on the shape of one testicle, then the other. They’re pushed down by the stretcher, taut against the skin, slick from the oil. He lets go, then flicks him with his finger. It’s only as hard as finger flick can be, but he gets him with the nail, and Bucky jerks in his bonds and breathes hard through his nose again. Steve goes back to caressing. He takes Bucky’s chin in his other hand and uses it to hold him still as he leans in and kisses him. It’s an achingly gentle kiss, deep and thoughtful and slow. He pulls back, still gripping his chin. He flicks his balls again, and this time Bucky’s gasp is so close to his own face, he feels it. He flicks him again, kisses him again. Flicks him again and speaks right against his lips,

“I love you, so much.”

“Steve …”

“Shut up. Listen to me, Buck.” He caresses and feathers and slips and strokes his fingers all over Bucky’s balls. “It would make me very, very sad; very disappointed, very mournful, hurt, angry … and very frightened,” he says quietly, “if you ever decided to take these away from me.” Bucky goes stock still, hardly breathing. Steve regards him tenderly, flicking his balls again a few more times, then patting them around in a way that probably feels like a lot, but not explicitly painful to someone like Bucky. “Would you really want to do that?” he murmurs, frowning and tilting his head. “Would you take that away from me? Something I enjoy so much?”

Bucky’s eyes are going half-lidded, and Steve knows that he’s made a wise choice by going the objectification route, here; making Bucky’s body about Steve and his wants, his needs, what it can do for him. That’ll talk Bucky down from this insane castration cliff faster than anything else will. Nodding, Steve takes a step back. He sits in the chair. Bucky’s legs are very, very wide apart, so there’s plenty of room to move in, to reach for things he’s brought over on the cart, lean forward and torment Bucky, or lean back and ignore him. All Bucky can do is hang there, exactly as Steve has put him.

Over the course of the last year, Steve has learned a lot of things about himself, one of those things being that he’s a bit of a rigger. That’s what people call it. Rigger: one who likes to rig. As in people, from various places, into various positions. Like how Bucky’s hanging from the ceiling right now in his very own fucked up little chair harness. When Steve has Bucky tied up, nobody can hurt Bucky but him. And Bucky can’t make any poor choices for himself out in the world when he’s tied up here for Steve. It’s a very satisfying feeling.

Sitting in the chair with his back straight puts the apex of Bucky’s crotch about fifteen inches in front of Steve’s face. He looks up to find Bucky watching him closely. “So tell me what your thought process was,” he says, quietly, knowing that he needs to give Bucky that outlet, needs to let him explain. Despite how much it infuriates him (terrifies him), Steve has to acknowledge that this is something Bucky came up with in his mind, and that there is therefore a need being fulfilled when he thinks of it. He didn’t dig this all up just to reach a new level of outrageousness. There’s a reason behind it.

“People don’t do things for no reason. He has his reasons, in all the crevices and corners of his mind. And you have to understand that he may not be able to let you into all of them. There may be crevices he doesn’t know how to navigate with someone else, or simply doesn’t have the words for. There may be places he can’t bear to ever let you see.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“Both, probably. But does that really matter?”

Steve sighs, but it’s much less put-upon this time. This particular crevice may sound worse on paper, but they’ve been here before. After all, Steve had let Bucky explain back when he’d told him about needing pain. He’d let him explain about how scary accepting pleasure can be. He’d let him explain the restraint and the objectification and how they help make him feel safe; about why the promise of a ruined orgasm makes it easier for him to come, and why letting Steve draw a blade along his skin makes him cry tears of relief. And even though it may now be a long while before Steve leaves Bucky unsupervised for any considerable period of time, he’s not going to dismiss this particular crevice at face value. Bucky deserves better than that.

So, leaning over to grab a box of itty bitty plastic clothespins, Steve sucks his teeth good naturedly and raises his eyebrows at Bucky’s dick. “Okay pal. Start talkin’.” Bucky’s face goes red and he squirms, clearly embarrassed. Steve decides to help him out. “Hey, I’m not doing this to humiliate you,” he promises, rubbing at his inner thigh soothingly. “Just … start with what made you think of it, and we’ll go from there.”

Bucky nods, and Steve has a brief moment of pride and love for him so strong, he just wants to take him down from the ropes and kiss him silly. Bucky’s trying, and that’s what matters. He’s always trying so hard for Steve. “Where’d you first hear about it?” Steve guides, waiting until Bucky swallows and says ‘the internet’, before clipping the first clip to the skin at the very base of his dick.

Masterlist

Part 3

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