#tentacle ficlets

[lsunstreakerl]

just imagine the walk of shame as I bring you all this fic, please and thank you. 6.6k of the tentacle verse I clearly said I would not be revisiting. if you aren't caught up, this verse was born during the smut prompts of February, and you can probably guess what the prompt was! this has also been referred to as the sea creature charles au. part one, part two.

helllooooo this is explicit! there's a chunk in the beginning, and then I got lost in the sauce for worldbuilding, and then back to being explicit near the end.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: literally everything from the first two fics, a dash of body horror, uh, biting in a violent way, and sharkstappen. questionable dietary habits when you think too hard about it.

Charles has been a massive dick the entire season, and Max is over it. He doesn't want anything to do with him, even though Charles keeps shooting him quick glances at the drivers dinner. He's been trying to get a moment alone with Max for weeks, but Max isn't interested.

He's going to sleep for a week, eat junk food, maybe go clubbing with Daniel, and play video games. It's his entire plan for the break, and nowhere in it does he have Charles.

Charles tries to corner him after dinner anyways, frowning as he boxes Max in a hallway corner as everyone is leaving.

"Max, can we talk? Please? I know you are upset with me, and I want to fix that-"

"You did not seem interested in fixing it during the season."

Max isn't interested in what Charles has to say- wants this conversation to be over with already.

Charles presses his lips together, eyebrows furrowed.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but even if I could just see you over break? Get lunch?"

Whatever gets him off of Max's back.

"Sure."

Max doesn't mean it- has no intention of actually following through, but Charles seems relieved, shoulders relaxing as he gives Max an apologetic grin.

"Thank you."

------

Max has come up with an excuse the last three times Charles had reached out to him, but he really does mean it this time- he's not feeling well.

He's dizzy constantly, thirsty and weak. He has no idea what's wrong with him, and no combination of over the counter medications have been able to get rid of the ache in his gut, settled just behind his stomach.

He feels like shit.

He's been chugging water down, but it's not enough, and everything feels too bright and too dry- he's going insane.

Max had been meaning to wait it out, let it get better naturally, but it's only getting worse now, and he's not even sure what it is- just knows he needs something.

He's half delirious in his bed, tangled in his sheets. It's dry, so dry he feels sick with it, and he needs some kind of solution.

Going down to the harbor when he feels like this is out of the question, so he's stumbling over to the sunken bathtub, cranking the faucet on and letting it fill.

It takes forever.

When it's finally filled to the brim, water splashing over the edges, Max sinks down into it, groaning as he settles.

It's marginally better- he doesn't feel like he's going to crack apart at the edges anymore, body finally starting to relax. It's not helping anything else though, his head still spins, and he still has a desperate ache inside of him, but it's enough for him to lean his head against the rim of the tub, eyes fluttering closed.

------

Max wakes up when the water has gone cold, manages to fight through the haze to drain the tub, filling it back up with warm water. He's hungry- has no idea when he last ate- but there's no way he leaves the tub, not when it's the only thing that's helped.

His fingers are shaking when he turns the faucet off, head thunking against the side of the tub again. He knows something is wrong- really wrong- but he's spiraled too far to do anything about it- his phone is in the other room. He has no idea how long he's been in the water.

His eyes drift shut again, and he starts accepting that this is somehow his fate. 'Formula 1 Champion Max Verstappen Found Dead in Bathtub!' isn't quite the end he'd been hoping for.

------

"-ax. Idiot."

There's something....

Max groans, slowly waking up. There's something in his mouth, stretching his lips wide and filling his throat, slick and strong. It's satisfying the thirst that water hadn't, thick and viscous inside of him.

He shifts and realizes there's something between his legs as well, coiling up further and further- he's so full, feels so much better than the ache of before.

His throat is stretched too wide for him to swallow, but he doesn't need to, eyes blinking up to hazily stare at his savior.

Charles is cramped into the bathtub with him, looking equal parts concerned and annoyed.

"Good morning, you stupid, petty brooder."

Max makes a muffled noise. Charles is... Charles is good, he takes care of Max, he'll make it better.

Charles sighs, and then Max is being pressed tight to his chest, sharp teeth scraping his nose as he leans down to kiss him.

"You see how dumb you were being now? You are changing, Max. You have cycles now too, and ignoring them- ignoring me- is only going to hurt you."

Max isn't quite following. He's feeling so much better now- his needs are met, and he kind of wants to get fucked.

Really wants to get fucked.

It must be apparent to Charles, who looks annoyed with him.

"I am not giving you a clutch in your bathtub, Max. We are going back to the cave, and I am going to breed you properly. We're behind schedule now anyways, since you wanted to be so fucking stubborn. You'll still be carrying a week before testing starts."

Sure, whatever Charles wants. Whatever gets Max more of this, feeling better than he has in days.

------

Max is draped across Charles' lap, tentacles working their way across his body. His eyes roll back into his head as the one in his ass pushes further into him, thicker than what he's used to.

He's pretty sure Charles has given him the actual clutch already- he feels full even in the rare moments there aren't tentacles inside of him. That doesn't stop him from moaning around the one in his throat as they squeeze tighter around him, holding him in place.

He vaguely remembers the prior years, but they hadn't been as... intense, as this year. Max has never needed it like this before- he can barely stand to have the tentacles out of him, pressed close to Charles constantly.

Charles has one of his hands pressing on Max's spine, pushing him further down as Max tries to squirm.

"If you had not been ridiculous earlier this would not have been so bad, Max. But no, you wanted to be petty and wait, and it's messed with your head, yes? You need more?"

Max wants more. He wants more bad, trying to push his hips back up into Charles' hand even as the tentacle inside of him swells, pushing inside of him into sweet spots he didn't know he had.

It's still not enough, he wants-

He wants another clutch, body desperately trying to accommodate for it, starting to wiggle in Charles' lap.

Charles makes a low noise, apprehensive.

"Max, if I give you more it's going to be a lot, yes?"

Max doesn't care, just needs to be full, needs to settle the empty ache he's feeling.

"Okay. Hold still for me."

The tentacles around him tighten, holding him down as the one inside of him starts to rhythmically swell and compress, and then Max can feel it-

It's not like with the clutch, where there's a full pressure. It's a hot swell inside of him, heavy and viscous, more liquid than anything. Max finally falls still as it seeps inside of him, weighing him down.

There's a moment where it feels perfect, exactly what he needed, but then it keeps going, pushes into being too much- Max wants to struggle, but it's pushing him down, making him feel like he's made of lead.

Charles coos softly at him even as Max tries to whine against the tentacle in his mouth, because it's starting to hurt.

"There you go, yes, that was a full brooder drop. I did not think you were ready for that yet."

Max doesn't think he was ready either. It's too much inside of him, overwhelming everything else he could possibly feel. Charles' fingers brush over his cheek as the tentacles start withdrawing.

"Good job, Max. Perfect brooder for me, even if you made things difficult for us both."

There's a soft kiss to the side of Max's face.

"You had me very worried, when you wouldn't respond. You need this just as bad as I do now, but you don't remember, so you have to trust me, yes? Even when you are upset."

Max is barely following- gives a raspy noise that hopefully passes for confirmation. Charles nips lightly at him, teeth pricking into his skin.

"You're going to need extra food now- that is a big one."

The tentacles are lifting Max out of Charles' lap, and he groans at the feeling of everything shifting inside of him.

"Shh, it's alright, I'm just putting you back in the water."

Whatever Charles wants. Max is too exhausted to offer any input.

------

Max blinks awake to the sound of splashing, eyes cracking open. Charles must be back with food, although he's usually a bit quieter coming into the cave.

He freezes, breath catching in his throat, heard pounding.

There's someone else looking at him, settling along the rocks across from Max's ledge. It's a complete stranger, large orange tentacles dragging against the stone. They remind Max of an octopus, suckers decorating the underside of them.

He isn't breathing.

The man is leering at him, leaning forward.

"Hello breeder. You're new here, aren't you?"

Max scowls, even as he shrinks back further onto his ledge.

The man just moves closer, tentacles starting to drop into the water, drifting in Max's direction.

Max clenches his jaw, eyes narrowed.

"Get out."

"Oh?"

The man stops moving, eyeing Max.

"Isn't that cute. What exactly are you going to do, brooder? You're barely turning, and everyone knows that's the best stage. You're all so...

There's a tentacle trying to wrap around his ankle, and Max yanks his foot back- but the suckers cling, stretching his leg out in front of him instead.

"...Vulnerable."

Max's breathing picks up. He's in danger, real danger here- someone has come into their cave, and Charles isn't here, and Max is going to-

"You smell wonderful too. Young, well bred-"

Max feels more tentacles starting to slide across him. They're nothing like Charles, none of the smooth slide that he's used to. He's trembling.

"-scared."

He's running out of options- not that he had many to begin with- and Max swallows, curling his lip up in a futile threat.

The man just laughs softly, and then his eyes narrow-

Max is plunged underwater with him, breath leaving his lungs as his eyes fly open. They're going deep, by where the cave entrance is, and Max panics. He's pretty sure the man is an octopus, and he's pretty sure they're somewhat cannibalistic, and he's not fucking dying here.

He doesn't even think about it when he sees the tentacle heading for his neck- just lunges forward, mouth open as water rushes in, before he gets his teeth on the tentacle and bites.

It's hard and rubbery, thrashing in his mouth, but Max digs deeper- something in the taste is lighting up his brain, adding to the anger.

Max is better than him. It doesn't fucking matter that he's somehow ended up with a life where he spends some of his year fucked full with eggs- he's not some kind of cowering incubator.

If this man is stupid enough to come after Max-

He'll kill him.

The tentacle in his mouth flails wildly as Max digs his teeth deeper, and then it snaps, bursting in Max's mouth as he spits it out. He's furious.

A stranger, in their cave, coming after Max, when he has eggs-

The man looks angry, but there's not currently any tentacles on Max- he's withdrawn them all around his body, nursing the bitten one.

The water is bloody around them.

Max lowers his head, still watching him. He's floating in the water, but he looks like a threat now. He doesn't care if he has to go one by one- the man can either leave now, or he can leave in pieces.

He snarls at Max, but his body language isn't aggressive anymore, and he's slinking towards the cave entrance.

Max won't relax until he's gone, but at least he's leaving.

Which is of course when Charles comes in.

It's fast- Max can't really keep track of it, just knows there's a blur of dark blue and bright orange, and then Charles is slamming the man against the rock walls of the cave, biting a chunk out of his throat.

It should make Max sick. There's no possible way the man is alive, not with the way he looks when Charles lets go of him, using a dark blue tentacle to push the body outside.

The only thing Max feels is satisfaction. Charles came back and protected them.

Charles' eyes are wide when he sees Max underwater, and then he's being yanked to the surface, laid out in Charles' lap as worried hands stroke over his face, smooth tentacles gingerly wrapping around him.

"Max, Max can you breathe? How much water did you- Max, baby, please-"

Charles looks two seconds from CPR, and Max lifts a hand to bat at him. He's fine.

He tries to open his mouth to say that, but there's a weird whistling noise when he inhales, and Charles' eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh- Oh, Max! That is amazing, you have-"

Max has fucking gills.

------

Charles brings them both back to the surface.

"You were using them fine when I came in, why can't you use them anymore?"

Max is scowling.

"Because I am not supposed to breathe underwater, Charles. I am a human person- not whatever weird fish shit you have going on."

Charles furrows his brows.

There's still flecks of blood on his face.

"But you are? You are a brooder, Max. Yes, you are turning faster than I thought you would, but you're still turning. Which is what I expected? We talked about this."

What.

"No? No, Charles, we definitely didn't- you said something about the chemicals messing with my memories. There was not any discussion of gills."

Max pauses.

"And I sort of thought when you were calling me a brooder it was-"

He makes a face, because he thinks about bringing it up every year, but by the time he remembers, it's always right before he forgets.

"-it was derogatory or something. Like calling your partner a slut."

Charles raises an eyebrow at him.

"And you were okay with that?"

Max tosses his hands up, frustrated. There's a complicated swell of emotions inside of him, and they're getting harder to suppress, thick behind his throat.

"I was more concerned about the egg thing, Charles!"

Charles is resettling Max where they're floating in the water, tentacles brushing soothingly across his skin. Max blinks rapidly.

"I did not explain it very well, Max. I'm sorry, it is also just that-"

Charles huffs, and his gills flare on the side of his neck. Max had never really noticed them before- Charles takes care to keep them closed above water.

"We only take one brooder in our lifetimes? And you obviously are the first I have had, and I don't exactly- I mean, Lolo has told me some about what his partner went through, but obviously these things are different."

Max blinks, digesting Charles' words. Processes.

His eye twitches.

"You don't know?"

Charles winces.

"Not really."

Max can't tell if he wants to scream or cry, and instead a slightly hysterical laugh bubbles out of his lips.

The tentacle thing- manageable, if Max doesn't think too hard about it.

The egg thing- a little harder to deal with, but Max can compartmentalize.

The gills? His entire body turning into something different, something he has no control over? Something even Charles doesn't understand? He has no idea how to handle that.

"So, what? I'm going to go full fish person? Did you-"

Max cuts himself off, doubling over in laughter, even though it isn't very funny at all.

"Did you turn me into a fucking mermaid, Leclerc?"

"Max-"

Charles sounds concerned, hands trying to settle on Max's waist, but Max twists away. He can't tell if he wants to smash Charles' head against a rock, or his own.

"I mean- what the fuck? Genuinely, what the fuck? How do I even- How am I supposed to handle this, huh? Do you know? Did you think about that before you yanked me off the beach?"

Max is feels like he's going off the rails, hands flying as he speaks, voice getting higher as his eyes get worryingly wet.

"Where, at any point, was I even asked?"

Charles flinches.

Max isn't done.

"Nowhere! Absolutely nowhere! No one ever went 'hey Max, do you want to be a fish person for the rest of your life?' because the answer would have been no!"

His chest is heaving, eyes darting around the cave wildly.

"And now- and now every year, I have these fucking eggs, and they are- they are mine, and we fucking abandon them. I did not want to be a parent, but I refuse to be that kind of parent. I don't care that it's 'nature', Charles, it's not me!"

Charles looks at though Max has stabbed him, hands helplessly reaching for him even as Max shifts away.

"On top of it all, I am turning into a fucking mermaid!"

His words are shaky, and he's trembling. He wants to curl up, to protect the eggs. He doesn't know if that's Max Brain or Fish Brain- is there even a difference?

He wants to cry.

He wants to punch Charles in the face.

Charles is keeping his distance, giving Max the space he's asked for, even though it looks like it's physically paining him.

"Max-"

Max bursts into tears, curling up on his stupid rock ledge, wanting Charles near him, despite the fact that the whole thing is his fault.

There's a brush of a tentacle against him, and when Max doesn't shove him away, Charles cautiously drifts closer, pulling him into his chest.

"I hate you."

The tentacles are wrapping around him, cocooning him in the safety that is Charles.

"I'm sorry, Max."

It doesn't fix anything.

------

Max refuses to try and breathe underwater with Charles around. He's refusing to do much anything with Charles, which is extremely distressing for both him and probably also the eggs.

He feels terrible for the eggs- but he can't bring himself to get over it.

Charles is out hunting again, even though Max is on a self imposed hunger strike since early morning.

He slides carefully off the rock ledge back underwater. It's definitely a mental block- telling himself that it's okay to open his mouth and inhale water isn't going over well with the reasonable side of him.

He grits his teeth and tries anyways.

The first rush of saltwater is the worst, stinging his nose and the back of his throat, and he's expecting to choke, prepared for it-

He takes an even breath.

And then another.

Slowly, he starts to relax, carefully letting go of the rock ledge, where his fingers have had a death grip on the stone.

He kicks his legs, floating in the water as he adjusts. It feels like his regular breathing, just-

Through his neck.

This is fine.

Max tries to push his leg at the side of the wall to push off further into the water, but a shooting pain rips through his hip, and he immediately brings both legs up to his chest, hissing.

He gingerly tries to extend his leg to the side again, but there's a stiffness to his hips- they just won't work with him.

It's not a reason to panic. It's probably just a weird muscle cramp.

A really weird muscle cramp, on both sides.

Or maybe the fucking octopus tentacle he'd bitten off yesterday had a slow acting poison in it and he's dying.

He kind of wants Charles to come back, even if he's mad at him, because his legs aren't working, and he's about to start freaking out.

Max twists his core, scrunching up to push off the wall with both feet backwards, swimming back to the surface until his fingers are gripping his rock ledge again.

He pokes the top of his head out of water, blinking his eyes to adjust back to the dim light of the cave. He's still breathing through the gills, which is not any less weird than it was the first time.

There's a stack of fish near the edge- Charles has been in and out all day, trying to find something enticing enough for Max to break his hunger strike.

Max has been holding out on principle, but Charles still isn't back, so he drifts closer, picking through the pile.

It really is a good haul- fat fish, plenty of protein. Max isn't entirely sure what he's looking for, but he knows what he's not, so he carefully picks through the pile, discarding fish at random.

There's a particularly large trout near the bottom of the pile, and Max inspects it carefully before deciding he wants it.

There's just one problem- his ledge is back to his left, and his legs aren't doing him a whole lot of favors- he needs his hands.

Can't swim with both hands if he's holding a giant trout in one.

His eye twitches. Charles is never finding out about this.

Max sighs heavily, cringing as he lifts the trout, the slick scales against his teeth and tongue, gripping it between his teeth as he pushes back for the ledge, spitting it out onto the rock as soon as he arrives.

Disgusting.

Problem number two-

Charles has always deboned Max's fish. Max has no idea how to do it on his own.

He pokes at the slimy scales for a moment, trying to remember how Charles does it.

Except Charles is some kind of squid person, with freakishly sharp nails and lifetime of experience behind him, and Max has... none of those qualities.

Well.

He's got the gills now, but that isn't exactly helping him.

Does he just...?

Max grips one fin of the trout in one hand, holding the rest of the body with the other.

He gags, and then he rips.

It tears easier than he'd expected, and he's not near as disgusted by the metallic tang of blood as he should be.

He's not really sure where to go from here.

There's exposed meat now, but does he just... rip it out?

Max has not been appreciating Charles' fish filleting skills properly. He really doesn't want to rip chunks out, but-

He's hungry, and he's upset, and there's enough things going wrong in his life- the last thing he needs to do is accidentally fuck up the eggs any worse than he already has.

His eyes dart down to the water again, making sure there's no sign of Charles.

He lifts the fish in his hands, noise wrinkling, and bites.

------

Charles had to fight for his life to get this fucking tuna- if Max doesn't eat it, he's going to lose it.

He's dragging it behind him on the way back to the cave. He would've been more worried about leaving Max undefended, but letting an octopus hybrid corpse float up for scavengers is a pretty clear statement.

Admittedly, he hadn't expected Max to bite a tentacle off- he's both impressed and slightly disturbed.

Brooders- human ones anyways- most often turn into relatively peaceful hybrids. Certainly not the kind of hybrids willing to sink their teeth into an octopus.

Then again-

This is Max.

Charles feels his stomach roll with worry as he gets closer to the cave. Max has been furious since the discussion about the turning, and Charles...

He can't blame him. Max has valid points, a genuine reason to be angry. At the same time- his brooder has eggs, and the stress is bad enough- getting into a fight and going on a self imposed hunger strike isn't going to help anyone.

If Max doesn't like the tuna, Charles is going to have to settle him down and force feed him. Also something he doesn't want to do.

This whole breeding season has been a mess- Charles upset Max during the racing season, and then had to break into Max's flat, only to find his brooder a heatsick disoriented mess in the bathtub, and now Max is mad again.

His nose twitches as he swims through the entrance- there's a faint tang of blood in the water. Not Max's, thankfully. Charles focuses, dimming his bioluminescence and sinking to the bottom of the floor, carefully looking around.

There's a few fish bones that have sunken down to the sand- fresh ones. He gingerly lifts one, turning it over in his hands. It's decently large, tiny little nicks and chips in it.

If he didn't know any better, he'd say it looks like the feeding marks from a predator species- sharks and eels, the kind of hybrid species that Charles keeps his fair distance from.

They're not particularly opposed to hunting other hybrids, and Charles is strong- but he's not at their level.

He's grateful that the Mediterranean is warmer waters- they don't have to deal with some of the larger species, or the worst case scenario- orcas.

Still.

He lets the bone drop back into the sand, carefully swimming up to the surface. Ideally, Max would be more comfortable using his gills, and Charles could bring him to their actual nesting site, but his stubborn brooder refuses to try again.

Except-

Max is curled into a tight ball on his ledge, completely submerged. He's also deeply asleep, gills flaring softly with each exhale.

Charles is quiet as he brings the tuna over to the pile that's started to amass on the edge of the pool, but he's pleasantly surprised to find it in disarray.

Max has been in here, and Charles' trout he'd brought back a few hours ago- an impressive catch- is missing. He sets the tuna on the pile, eyes flicking over to the dry stone near Max's ledge.

There's a small pile of bones, and a splattered bloodstain.

Huh.

Charles... didn't think Max would have been willing to do that. He's been deboning all the fish for him, slicing them into little bite sized chunks for his brooder.

But now- it looks like Max had just torn into it.

So much for a hunger strike.

He drifts closer, brushing one hand against the side of Max's face. He has his legs curled up tight to him, although he's grimacing, even in his sleep.

Lolo had said his brooder went through the actual changes rapidly, once they started- a painful few days before she'd finally settled, coherent and also a beautiful flying fish hybrid.

Charles had been slightly jealous of the extravagant fins.

Max must be starting his physical change now, which means Charles can get them both to the real den, further underwater but closer to Monaco.

Now that Max is breathing through his gills, Charles thinks it's time- and he's been carefully working on their space, getting it ready for Max. It's larger than their current one, and it's more secure, solidly within old family territory.

There's a separate brooding space for Max, interconnected by tunnel inside the den, artfully arranged to be as ideal as possible. There's a sunken basin for fish storage, soft kelp weavings across the room, and the space itself is all smooth rock.

There's optional lighting, delicately brought in from above ground, but Charles has found that Max prefers being in the dark while he's being bred.

The rest of the den system is cozy- a sleeping space with a deep layer of sand for sleeping, and a coral structure to wrap around and rest on.

Charles will make more edits to it as he and Max settle, but as far as starter dens- it's acceptable. Max can nest in the brooders den while he turns.

He's a bit worried about this seasons eggs. Turning is going to take everything out of Max, and the stress that's been present throughout the entire ordeal can't possibly have helped. There's a chance Max has reabsorbed any possible nutrients for his own survival.

He carefully lifts Max in his arms, and uses a few stray tentacles to grab the rest of the fish.

Max shifts, face scrunching as he turns closer into Charles' chest. He's starting to produce the viscous gel over his legs and hips- so he's not a tentacle hybrid.

Charles is fairly confident that the gel will start to solidify into the structure of Max's tail, and when he starts to see scale growth is when he'll know Max is almost done.

His brooder is... probably going to want to kill him.

Charles definitely hadn't discussed the tail thing with him, but- he hadn't expected it to start with Max only three years in.

He's deliberately ignoring the glaringly obvious problem of racing. He and Max will figure it out when they get there.

------

Max feels terrible when he wakes up. His entire body aches, and everything is blurry when he blinks, like he's looking underwater.

He realizes a moment later that it's because he is.

He's completely submerged in a new cave, resting on the sand underneath him in a curved basin. There's tentacles draped across him, and Charles looks like he's also asleep a few feet away, half buried into the sand.

Max slowly stretches, arms in front of him as he pops his head above water, but when he goes to move his legs, they don't respond the way he's expects them to.

His head snaps down to look, but his entire lower half is covered in tentacles.

Max reaches to try and push at them, see what's going on, but the movement wakes up Charles, who looks almost-

Scared.

"Max, you're awake."

Max narrows his eyes. Trying to sit up feels weird too, and the tentacles just tighten further around his legs, making it impossible to see.

"Where the hell are we?"

Charles is fidgeting with his fingers, a nervous habit from when they were younger.

"We are in the actual den, now that you can breathe underwater. It's safer, and it is closer to Monte-Carlo also."

Max likes the sound of being closer to his actual flat, back at home, but he's got an equally pressing concern, and there's a bad feeling rising in his gut, twisting and turning inside of him.

"What are you not telling me, Charles?"

Charles winces, tentacles squeezing around Max.

"Remember our conversation about the turning thing?"

Max's heart drops to his stomach.

"No."

"Max-"

"No-"

He yanks away from Charles- his legs won't work with him, abdomen twisting weirdly as he turns, and when he's finally pulled away, hissing at Charles-

His legs are gone.

It's just- it doesn't even feel real. It can't possibly be real, the way Max transitions from smooth human skin to a rough, sandpapery texture.

The tail goes further than his feet had, and it's the same color as his skin, but there's an assortment of dark brown speckles and dots, extending from his ribs all the way down the tail.

There's a few fins, but they're not the frilly kind- they're rigid, clearly defined triangular shapes.

It's a prank. It has to be- some kind of prank, or a nightmare, or an awful drug trip.

It moves when Max moves.

The noise that comes out of him is strangled, high pitched and distressed, because he's-

His head whips back around at Charles.

"Fix it."

Charles winces again, shrinking back from him.

"I can't, Max, you have to learn to shed it normally-"

"Fix it!"

Max cannot be a fish person. Not only does he not want to be a fish person, he doesn't have the time for it, and it's not like he can drive when he has no legs.

Charles at least looks mournful and apologetic, for all the good it's doing him, carefully keeping his distance.

"Max..."

Max is a fish.

Max can't drive.

Max has a tail, because three years ago Charles decided to snatch him off a beach, fuck him full of eggs, and then kept doing it.

He's worryingly close to another breakdown, and he's already cried into Charles' arms about the whole thing, which leaves him with the other emotional extreme- and he's more partial to this one anyways.

"Leclerc."

Charles twitches.

"Max."

Max locks eyes with him, tries to make it as clear as possible that in this moment, he really does mean it-

"I am going to kill you."

Charles' eyes widen, and then he's bolting out of the space, a dark blue blur. Max doesn't waste any time, launching after him.

The tail feels like an extension of him, and he hits a few corners at first, scraping his skin on stone and coral in the unfamiliar cave system, but Charles is getting away, so he keeps going.

Once they're out of the cave in open water things get easier- Max moves fast with the tail, feels the adrenaline rush that he's always craving, eyes searching for where Charles has hidden himself.

There's a large kelp forest nearby, and Max feels a grin stretch across his lips.

Charles is in there somewhere.

He leisurely lounges around the edges of it, watching sharply for any movement. There's so many smells- but he's pinpointing on a specific one, a combination of Charles and something else that makes his mouth water.

It reminds him of their octopus intruder, the way the tentacle had burst in his mouth, chewy flesh under his teeth.

He takes another inhale, drifting down closer to the seafloor. He doesn't know much about squids, but he's pretty sure they like to hide in the sand.

There's a few moments where he doesn't see anything, and then he locks eyes with a familiar green shade, staring right back at him.

Charles' pupils are huge, fearful and wide as he looks at Max.

It's not terribly dissimilar to how Max had felt when he was first yanked off the beach, terrified and feeling distinctly like prey.

He winks at Charles, before swimming a few feet back.

He's not actually going to take a bite out of Charles- even if the idea makes his mouth water, his brain is also screaming at him not to do it. Seeing the look in Charles' eyes when he'd realized Max had seen him- that's satisfying enough on its own.

He opens his mouth, intending to speak, but all that comes out is a low warble. Charles carefully unearths from under the sand, but he moves painstakingly slow to the edge of the kelp forest, ready to bolt again at any moment.

Max rolls his eyes, following his nose to backtrack the scents back into the cave system they'd come out of. He wants to talk to Charles about this.

It's a good thing the tail feels like second nature, because if Max was dead in the water on top of everything else, he might've genuinely taken a chunk out of Charles.

He makes his way back into the first cave he'd woken up in, settling with his head above water.

It takes a few more minutes for Charles to slink in, staying tight to the walls as he eyes Max.

Max sighs.

"I think I am weaker now than I was before, I'm not sure what has you so freaked out."

Charles makes a weird squeaking noise, still watching Max intently, practically pasted against the opposite wall.

"You are- uh, you are a shark, Max."

Huh.

Max looks back down at the tail- not his tail, but the tail-

Nope. Still not real.

He furrows his eyebrows, head jerking back up to meet Charles' eyes as he remembers.

"Charles, the egg-"

Charles winces, worrying at his fingers.

"You absorbed it."

"I what?"

Max's voice goes high and hysterical, one hand pressing to the flat of his stomach.

"You needed the extra nutrients and support, and the turning process is much longer than the actual turn, so really,"

Charles is looking apologetically at him.

"They most likely did not even fertilize."

Max's head is spinning. He has a tail. He doesn't have eggs. He doesn't-

"I'm not doing this."

Charles tilts his head to side.

"I'm not sure...?"

Max throws his arms out, tail splashing unhappily.

"This, the fucking- the fish thing, the egg thing, everything. I want to go back."

"Max, you can't."

The words trip in Max's brain, rattle over everything else because he hates it and it's true.

His entire life has been people dictating what he can and can't do, and now that's extended to his body, his entire being-

He launches forward at Charles. He isn't sure what he wants, just knows he's upset and angry and it's Charles' fault.

"Shit-"

Charles is wrestling him below the water, and Max is snapping at him, gulping in mouthfuls of water as he thrashes.

There are tentacles sliding around him, and he swears he sees Charles mouth sorry at him before Max is being yanked into place, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder, deeper than Charles has ever bitten before.

He shouts, air bubbles moving towards the surface as the water tints red around them, blood- Max's blood- starting to surround them.

The tentacles around him are squeezing and sliding, and Max hates how it has him relaxing in their grip, hips twitching.

Having sex is not going to make him any less angry, even as he feels Charles lapping at the bite mark he's left behind, and a small tentacle is curling around Max's neck.

Something presses between Max's legs, a weird sensation with the tail, sending lightning bolts of pleasure through him- it feels like Charles is pressing on his prostate, but there's not even anything inside of him.

He jerks in the tentacles grip, eyes rolling back in his head as Charles does it again, and again, and then there's a tentacle sliding inside of him, and Max is moaning, spasming as it pushes deeper.

It's nothing like getting fucked- everything is so much, and he's already losing himself to it, tentacles coiled around his skin as Charles fucks a tentacle smoothly into him.

Max- he's upset, it isn't fair that this is working. Charles makes it hard to stay mad at him, sealing his mouth over the pinpricks in Max's skin, tentacles tight around him.

Max's mouth drops open, head dropping limply as Charles presses further into him, and he feels cored open with it, rearranged in the truest sense of the word.

He almost doesn't recognize the swelling sensation at first, but he definitely feels the pressure inside of him, and he fights back, teeth snapping in Charles' direction.

He doesn't want another clutch, that's not how they solve problems-

It's not until he starts trying to utilize his legs- or his tail, whatever it is now- that he realizes Charles is struggling, tentacles slipping against the rough skin of Max's lower body.

Max lunges forward again, eyes narrowed, but he's unfamiliar with the water, with the tail, and there's still tentacles inside of him, coiling up tight, and he gasps, lightning shock through his system at the abrupt fullness.

Charles takes advantage of his distraction, tentacles tightening enough to hurt, twisting forward and pressing him against the wall- Max freezes as he feels sharp teeth rest gently across the front of his throat.

He's completely still, some animalistic part of him realizing Charles is perfectly poised to rip his throat out. They're both tense, neither of them moving, before Max feels the tentacle inside of him uncoil, and he moans- the undoing is almost as bad, the sudden change in him.

He still doesn't dare move, even as he feels the pressure build up again, but- it's harder for Max to find the anger now. Charles won, so he's in charge. Max knows that's not how it's supposed to work, but he can't find his righteous anger about it, eyes rolling back as he twitches in the tentacles grip, fingers uselessly clenching into his palms as Charles deposits the clutch.

Again.

[forlorn-crows]

crow u know we need rain and dew going crazy over each other's pussies now right

here's the third of the unrelated trilogy of ghoul pussy, i GUESS. i hope it Ruins you. consider Dew still freshly shaven here, too.

their cunts are french kissing and rains the only one with a tongue, you catch my drift?

obviously we've got T4T raindrop here. cunt/folds/cock/dick used for both of their anatomies. rain has a tentacle, referred to with she/her >:)

tagging @divine-misfortune and @askingforthesun bc i tortured them with this

“Oh shit, why’s it . . . why’s it so—” Rain stutters for the right words, thoughts washed away by the sensation of delicate skin on skin.

“Milky,” Dew finishes for him with a groan. “Fuckin’ hells, starfish.” Rain’s grind falters when the fire ghoul reaches to where their bodies meet and runs a finger down the length of Rain’s plump little dick, collecting some of the creamy white slick that’s caught in the hair surrounding it. The water ghoul digs his nails into the leg that’s hiked over his and pressed to his torso, leaving marks in Dew’s upper thigh. 

“Dew—”

“S’ hot,” Dew breathes. His fingers trails up and down the length of Rain’s cock again—he watches it twitch under the pad of his finger, retracting up towards the hood and back down again. He expects to find a growing bump beneath it, a curious appendage pushing her way out. But he doesn’t.

“Should let her out,” Dew muses. “Bet she’d love all this mess.” He rolls his hips, accentuating the lack of friction between them. “Nice and slippery for her.”

“Shit,” Rain hisses. He can’t help but match Dew’s movements, grinding as he bucks up. “You—you want her to come out?”

“You know I do.”

Rain groans.

“Could snuggle right in between us. Make us both feel even better; don’t you want that, starfish?”

The water ghoul bites his lip, nodding after a moment. With another look between them, he admits: “Might need a little coaxing today.”

“Shouldn’t be hard, considering how much she loves me,” Dew smirks. It earns him an eye roll and a tail smack to the thigh. “Hey—c’mere. Let me help.” He pulls Rain into a kiss, lingering and deep. It doesn’t take much to get hot and heavy again, pulling apart to pant into each others’ mouths just to dive back in again. Dew snakes his hand between them to pet along Rain’s folds. Curling his fingers against that specific spot just below his cock and right above the start of his inner lips. If he prods just right, he can feel the tip of her, snuggled somewhere deep inside.

“Shy today,” he whispers. “Feel okay, starfish?”

“More than,” Rain gasps. “Fuck, just—keep stroking there.” He rolls his cunt against the fire ghoul’s hand, and Dew feels a shift. “Shit,” Rain curses again. “Gills—kiss me there. She wants it.”

Dew purrs and weaves a hand into the water ghoul’s hair, tipping his head just so. “Anything for her.” He tucks his face into the curve of Rain’s neck and nuzzles close, kissing the delicate skin. Rain moans long and low. 

It’s quick after that: Dew presses his lips around the middle set of gills and sucks on the fins. Paired with quick little licks at the filaments, Rain’s panting and writhing in under a minute. The bump grows and grows under Dew’s hand, until the membrane thins enough to reveal a slit—and the inhabitant within. 

“That’s it—hi, beautiful,” he coos. 

Slowly, the tip of his tentacle reveals itself, inky blue and coated with fluid. She dances out to meet Dew’s hand, twisting and slithering along the length of his fingers. 

“Satanas, sit up, wanna see her—show her off for me.” 

Rain does his best to do so with his thighs quivering. Threatening to squeeze together as she wriggles her way out. But he drops an equally shaking hand down to his sex so he can spread his folds, tentacle worming out between them. 

“Fuckin’ gorgeous.” Dew strokes along the length of her, watching Rain’s face contort with pleasure, deep indigo blushing across his cheeks and chest. He squeezes around the thick base, just large enough that his fingers don’t touch. She pulses under his palm, and Rain bites back a groan. Entrance squeezing around nothing.

“Wanna get inside,” he whimpers. “Feels s’ good.” 

Dew hums. His tentacle continues to wrap around his fingers, shallow suction cups kissing the spaces between them. She travels to the inside of his wrist, dipping down to latch onto his bare mound instead, cool suckers a flash of relief on his heated skin. 

“Yeah,” Dew breathes. “Just like that, keep going . . .”

“Fuck, you’re so soft,” Rain groans. The appendage may behave as if she were her own entity, but, of course, Rain feels everywhere she goes and everything she touches with heightened sensation. “She wants in—fuck, wants it bad, Dew.”

The line of suckers drags along his dick, and the fire ghoul’s composure slips a little. “Oh gods, put her in, Rainy.”

The water ghoul nods. Frantic up and down movements of his head as his tentacle continues her descent towards Dew’s inner folds, sliding along slick-coated skin until just the tip breaches his entrance. Dew drops his head back onto the pillows with a groan and spreads his legs as far as he can in their pretzeled position. Welcoming her with an involuntary squeeze as her suckers start to catch. 

“Warm,” Rain breathes. All is quiet as she wriggles her way in deeper. Slides in as smooth as a tongue: just as wet and three times as thick. The water ghoul’s face is lax with pure bliss as his tentacle squeezes into place, only his eyebrows quirking slightly when Dew rolls his hips to slide her home. 

“H-oh, fill me up—” Dew grits out. “Fuck, right there.” The tip of her snuggles deep inside. It’s perfect pressure as she molds to fit all the crevices of Dew’s most private spot, burrowing into places he can’t reach with a cock or the longest of fingers. She’s like water itself, connecting him quietly with the element he’s long since given up. 

It makes him throb something fierce, cunt gripping around her like his body intends to never let her go. 

Rain hisses and bucks against him. “Shit, keep doing that,” he wheezes. “Oh, Belial.” 

“Move those hips, baby, c’mon—” Dew moves his own to encourage the other, angling his pelvis to make the head of their dicks kiss. Sweet, sweet momentary friction that makes them both shudder. But it does the trick, kicking Rain’s hips back into gear. 

“Yes-yes-yes,” he spews. Once he starts he doesn’t stop, slender hips kicking up a medium tempo as he grinds their cunts against one another. Inside, his tentacle matches his movements; she undulates at the same pace, grazing all of Dew’s sensitive points.

“Fuckin’ hells, starfish, that’s good,” he groans. 

There’s a fine tremble in Rain’s thighs as he shifts onto his hands. It’s instantly more intense—the weight over Dew’s lower stomach and the contact between their cocks gets him aching; he can feel Rain throb everywhere. 

“Mmpf. Dew,” he keens. “Think I’m gonna—shit—”

The fire ghoul grips his bicep, rolling his hips even harder. Straining. Gasping at the slick now running down his taint. “Yeah? You gonna ink in me, baby?”

“What the fuck,” Rain whines. “I don’t—ink, I don’t do tha-hah-at.” He tries to look the fire ghoul in the eyes, but his head drops right back down when Dew clenches around him. 

“No?” Dew goads further. “Not gonna get me all wet? Let her get messy?” 

The water ghoul doesn’t know what to do. He coughs out a cross between a moan and a curse, stammering through a denial. Anything that comes out of his mouth next, Dew won’t believe anyway—the way his body jerks is evidence enough for him that the idea only brings him closer to creaming over them both. Rain is in shambles, but the sick satisfaction only spurs Dew on. 

“You might not, but your body wants to. Can feel how wet and thick she is,” he continues. “Lucifer, what would it be like, d’you think?”

“Fuck, Dew, fuck, you can’t–uhhnf—you can’t say that, I’m–I’m gonna—”

“C’mon, cum inside, wanna feel it,” Dew rasps. “Doin’ so good, just a little more.” 

Rain nearly sobs as he collapses onto his elbows, draping across Dew’s body as his thrusts turn into hungry little humps. His tentacle gets greedy too, pushing up against his cervix in an attempt to get further in. She can’t, Dew knows, but the tightness makes him feel otherwise. 

He curses. “Fuck, she’s really gettin’ in there.”

“Needs it—” Rain huffs. “Tight. Warm.”

“Hah—no wonder she lo-uh-ves me.”

“Tell me to cum,” he wheezes. “Tell—shit, please tell me to.”

Rain can’t see his smirk, but he knows what he’s asking for. “Do it. Ink for me.”

“Fuck!” The water ghoul smashes their hips together and cums with the most embarrassed, gut-punched sound that Dew’s ever heard him make, slick gushing over his cunt and soaking into the sheets below. He gets a hand on himself and vows to make Rain see stars. 

[skele-bunny]

Mountain's Revenge. (CW) Swiss/Mountain

CW: Dubcon, Forced Intox, Sounding, Piss

Characters: Swiss, Mountain

A little gift for the amazing @hypnoneghoul ! I had such a blast with this.

Read under the cut or on AO3!

“Damnit, Swiss!” Mountain hissed between his teeth, looking down at his stash jar opened and half empty. “I just filled this thing, you stoner…”

The earth ghoul moved towards the LED section of the greenhouse and crouched down, hands delicately lifting one of the plants and listening to its hum. Mountain knew Swiss visited much too often, and that also meant he's aware of the plants ready to be harvested, dried, and trimmed. With a tail flick against the ground, Mountain stared at the mister that continued flowing before his ears perked up - cheeks turning dark as an idea came into his mind. 

Swiss knew when the next harvesting date was, and Mountain was positive he'd get the point across. Moving around, Mountain began to plant heavy ferns and letting certain plants overgrow - even if it hurt his heart to see. Through the days, he had made more frequent trips to tend to the greenhouse, and Swiss was none the wiser. Just like he hoped. Just like he planned. 

Two weeks later in the middle of the night, Mountain's ‘prophecy’ became true as Swiss peeked his head through, smiling as it was clear. The multi made his way to the handmade stock shelf, standing on his tiptoes to grab the clear jar at the top, purrs loud and content. With excitement in his step, Swiss sat down on a chair Mountain kept nearby his workbench, opening the metal clip and practicing moaning as the strong smell of cannabis snuck into his airways. It always had a strong scent of cinnamon, signifying the strength and meant for Ghoul lungs only. Satan save whatever sibling that dared to try. 

Reaching into his pocket, Swiss pulled out wraps he and Cumulus had picked out while on tour - different flavors but specifically picking out a strawberry one. Unwrapping the wrap, Swiss pulled off the lining before reaching into the jar, using his nails to measure out before grinding with care; falling into the all too familiar rhythm of rolling. He brought the roll to his tongue, licking along the side before closing with a squeeze - finally releasing with a happy purr. Swiss leaned into the chair and brought his finger up, lighting his blunt with his spare fire element. With a long drag, Swiss held himself before exhaling, giving a slight cough as the cinnamon taste was more noticeable than normal.

“Damn.” Swiss laughed under his breath, bringing the blunt back to his lips.

He had lost count, really. Was it two inhales? Eight? He didn't know. Two blunts in and Swiss couldn't even move his head much, lost in an array of different flavors and sensations. His eyes began to flutter as the sound of movement picked up on his ears, but his body proved too weak to do anything. Swiss felt so lost in head, focusing on the euphoria and numbness, he didn't notice the feeling of something creeping up his leg. Swiss let out a whine as his body was picked up, something cradling his head and lower back, sighing as he was wrapped up by his legs.

“M…” Swiss tried to lift his head. “Moun’ty?” 

There was no response, just sensations. Swiss exhaled as he felt his pants slowly being dragged down, arms carefully pulled up by the wrists and tank top discarded. 

“No,” A shaking breath. “M’ too fucked up.”

Whoever it was, whatever it was, didn't listen. Unbeknownst to Swiss, vines had emerged from both the ceiling and ground, some downing thorns and some slick and smooth. The ones with thorns wrapped around his wrists and ankles, one loose around his neck while the nude vines began to squirm and wriggle their way across his body. One of the smooths carefully pushed its tip into Swiss’ mouth, holding the last dead bit of his roach that Swiss accidentally fell asleep with. It was brought to his slightly parted lips, Swiss trying to inhale air only to meet smoke. He let out a long whine, falling more limp into the vines holding him, tail lax and freely dangling. 

The numbness through Swiss’ body felt like a switch had been turned off - mind still dull but body set ablaze. He groaned as he could feel everything down to the minute detail, how his glamor began to slip and vines went through his talons to wrap around his calves, how the thorns around his neck were barely grazing to keep him safe but still provide a threat. Swiss inhaled sharply as more nude vines began to squirm at his most sensitive parts: slowly massaging his armpits and love handles, inner thighs being completely wrapped around and squeezed, even his tail being snaked around and lightly pulled. His body absentmindedly responded to the frictions by his cock slowly chubbing, another whine dragging through his throat. 

Drool began to go down Swiss’ lip and a nude carefully began to sneak it's way up before entering his mouth, tip gliding over the multi’s tongue before suddenly shoving down his throat. It seemed like a signal as the others pounced. Swiss gagged, tears forming in the corners of his eyes, thighs forcefully opened and now feeling his cock being squeezed. Swiss wanted to squirm, wanted to bite, yell, and especially cut the damn things, but all his body could do was make him moan and whine. 

He was unaware that a budding flower that had some kind of syrup covering its petals began to lift up to his ass before it touched him, smearing it's syrup over his hole then reaching up to his cock. Swiss shivered and gagged harder as the vine in his throat shoved further down, retracting and thrusting back down. It throat fucked him with no mercy, slowly pulsing as it kept a steady rhythm - Swiss' eyes rolling back as he let out the most beautiful wet gags and chokes. He felt the bud smear at his cock’s tip before finally retracting back to its pot. 

A much thinner, tiny vine broke off from its parent as it teased his urethra. Swiss felt nothing but white fire as it slid down in, squirming and flicking around rapidly. It kept pushing and digging, Swiss left in hysterics but muffled by the vine in his throat still. Once it deemed itself fully seated, it went still, and the mother in the ghouls throat finally pulled out. Heavy breaths left the multi's throat, trying to cough and still gagging on his spit. His entire front was a deep red and yellow, body shaking as the sudden sounding caught him off guard more than he already was. 

Despite his best efforts, Swiss couldn't form a straight sentence in his head. There was nothing but feeling. Droplets of color spread amongst his consciousness, seeing the vine in his cock as a bright orange. 

Swiss felt his legs being pushed towards his chest, and it bubbled a purple. Something prodded at his home before sinking in, a green. A strained moan came from the multi ghoul’s throat, being ripped from him as he was entered by the nude. 

It didn't even bother to wait before thrusting into his body, the thorned keeping him still as the nude went into the deepest crevices, Swiss keening as he could feel it twist past his rectum and into his colon. Nothing but red and violet filled Swiss, mouth lax and fucked in both the head and now ass. His cock strained against his abdomen, the thin inside his urethra slowly starting to squirm which set him off more, pre desperate to leak out. His body was on complete fire and if he was more conscious, he would've assumed himself back in the pits. 

It felt like both torment and pleasure as he was fucked helplessly, even as his body was rotated so he was upside down so another vine near the ceiling could squirm it's way in his ass too. The two nudes went at different paces out of sink, sending Swiss into hysterics, tears trailing down his forehead to mix with his own drool. His cock felt like it was turning purple from the neglect to cum, the thin never once leaving or showing signs it was. Bliss clouded his head, lost in his intoxication and body. 

With nothing becoming clear anymore, Swiss was stuck in a repetitive circle of moaning and loose begs that wasn't coherent - just babbles and murmurs that wouldn't have sound. He could feel his slick dripping down his skin every time the nudes pulled out, slinging his own bodily fluids around. Perhaps it was just another minute, just another hour, or even a few more but all Swiss knew was that his cock ached desperately and his hole had finally begun to gape around them. With the feeling of the thin squirming, Swiss was able to let out a pain-relieved sob as it suddenly yanked out and he instantly coated himself and the ground below in both piss and cum. The vine around his neck tilted him back out of a mindless courtesy, but not once did the nudes in his hole stop.

They continued until another orgasm wrecked Swiss’ system, now fully crying from the overstimulation as his dumb, fogged brain couldn't process. He heaved for air and finally everything came to a slow stop. The nudes in his ass slowly retracted with wet squelches, watching as Swiss’ hole tried to wink to no avail from the loss. It was a gentle rotation back up so he didn't vomit, then suddenly cradled by warmth. 

Mountain looked down at his mate that laid in his arms, covered in his own mess and trying to breathe - his eyes completely pitched out with stars. He'd have to thank Aether for spiking his weed. He leaned down and kissed the multi's forehead, starting to purr as he walked out of the greenhouse; vines retracting back to their respective plants. 

“You did so good, beautiful…” Mountain mumbled, tail wagging. “Watched the entire time… I have to fuck you more like that, don't I?” 

Swiss closed his eyes, babbling again under his breath. Mountain could only chuckle, watching each step as he slowly approached the abbey. 

“I'm glad you agree.”

[hoko-onchi-writes]

hoko | kinkuary 2025 | day 19 | xeno

Otherworldly | 500 words | Explicit | Drarry

tags: tentacles

“I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. Some boys have tentacles. You seem to have missed that in your magical education.” Harry is naked, cock wet and half-hard. He was maybe three minutes into fucking Draco into the mattress when the appendage appeared. That’s what Draco called it—an appendage. Oh, gracious! My appendage!

Read it on ao3!

[dewedup]

Kinktober Day 1 - High Sex/Tentacles Monsterfucking

IT'S THE MOST WONDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR!

@jimothybarnes and I decided to tackle this together, we'll be taking turns writing/posting and it'll be a collaborative effort for each piece we post!

This is all based around the amazing prompt list by @kroas-adtam!

Pairing: Swiss/Rain

Words: 1,739

“Is that-“

“A tentacle, yeah.”

At Rain’s words, Swiss feels his brain go through a series of events. At first, it’s reeling, thoughts flying by at the speed of lightening. Then it’s eerily quiet, his mind going completely blank, a barren shell of where his brain used to reside. Finally, it’s like an explosion.

Read it under the cut or here on AO3

Swiss and Rain pass the joint back and forth as they relax in the sunlight on the dock. Their feet kick lightly in the water beneath them, soaking up the sun and enjoying the company of each other.

“Favourite animal?”

“Axolotl.”

“What the fuck is that?” Swiss sputters, choking on the smoke as he exhales, almost positive that Rain just made up that word on the spot. The water ghoul giggles at the bewildered look on Swiss’ face. He tries to compose his facial expression, but the grin he’s sporting would need superhuman strength to suppress.

“An animal.” Rain deadpans, lasting a whole five seconds before he’s busting out into laughter again, clutching his stomach at the sigh of exasperation Swiss releases beside him.

“Yeah, no shit. Got any more info or did you just say it to sound quirky?”

“Hey!” Rain protests, smacking Swiss’ arm at the insinuation. “They’re real, and I’m quite knowledgeable. Especially animals that thrive in water. It kind of comes with the territory of being a water ghoul.”

“All water animals, yeah?” Rain nods in confirmation at Swiss’ question, tossing a goofy smile in his direction. Swiss reaches over to crush the roach of the joint against the dock. He seems deep in thought, or just… maybe regularly in thought? Rain’s having a hard time wrangling his stream of consciousness, the cloudy haze of the weed making him pleasantly blissful. “I think my favourite animal would be an octopus, which I’m sure you’re quite knowledgeable about.”

An idea hits Rain as the words leave Swiss’ mouth, his grin doubling in size as he leans in to whisper conspiratorially.

“Wanna see a trick?”

“Absolutely,” Swiss doesn’t hesitate to answer, already watching the ghoul in front of him with anticipation. He’s pretty sure he’ll find whatever Rain’s about to do endearing. He has a soft spot for the water ghoul. He’s so busy getting lost in Rain’s eyes, he doesn’t notice anything amiss until there’s a nudge on his shoulder. He reaches a hand up subconsciously, swatting away whatever it is.

Except, it’s… well, it’s kind of wet? Slimy, almost. And it has a texture Swiss has never felt before. His head snaps to the side and his eyes are level with the intruder.

“Is that-“

“A tentacle, yeah.”

At Rain’s words, Swiss feels his brain go through a series of events. At first, it’s reeling, thoughts flying by at the speed of lightening. Then it’s eerily quiet, his mind going completely blank, a barren shell of where his brain used to reside. Finally, it’s like an explosion.

Swiss would never admit it, but he watches a great deal of tentacle porn. A borderline unhealthy obsession. He always thought it looked too fake.

He can now confidently say they weren’t too far off.

It’s purple in colour, tiny little suction cups along the bottom of the appendage. What they missed were the details. The way he can see the veins crawling underneath the outer skin, supplying blood all the way to the smooth tip. It glistens, most likely from tiny little pores along the surface to produce lubricant.

It looks so inviting. Swiss raises a hand but freezes before he makes contact.

“Can I-I mean, is it okay if I touch it?” It doesn’t surprise Swiss that his question comes out like a plea, begging for permission, pleading for consent to lay his hand upon this utter perfection before him. Rain seems a little confused, looking at the multi ghoul intently, trying to uncover why exactly it looks like he’s about to come in his pants at the thought of touching his tentacle. It might be a little odd, but he’s had weirder things happen. So, he shrugs, lifting the appendage from where it sneaks out from underneath his shirt, a little closer to the multi ghoul.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

It’s the green light Swiss needs. He’s running his fingers lightly down the length of the tentacle, sometimes stopping to wrap them around it, testing out the girth of the extra limb. One time he gets bold, when he’s got his hand wrapped around it, he gives a firm tug, basking in the feeling of the veins passing underneath his grip.

He freezes as Rain lets out a cut-off moan, like the ghoul himself is surprised the noise has left his mouth. Swiss looks up, meeting Rain’s wide eyes. He almost snatches his hand back, wanting to apologize for whatever just happened between them.

But he’s also high as fuck, and he wants to hear that noise from Rain again.

He gives another experimental tug, watching as the water ghoul’s eyes roll back, eyelids falling half shut as he releases another filthy groan.

Swiss surges forward, trying to capture the taste of Rain’s moan with his own lips, his tongue forcing its way in to clean up any lingering notes of desperation. Rain shudders against his lips as Swiss starts jerking his wrist along the tentacle, growing more confident with every stroke.

He pulls back to watch Rain crumble in reaction to his touch, Swiss’ eyes drinking in the visual of the ghoul falling apart beneath his hand like he’s never seen him do before.

“Swiss,” Rain whines, claws coming up to bury in Swiss’ shirt. He’s clutching pathetically to him as he continues to shake with every other slip of Swiss’ hand. Swiss can’t form a coherent thought. The only thing keeping him grounded to this realm is the way Rain’s mouth forms his name like a hymn, the claws scratching lightly against his chest, and the slick sensation of running his hand up and down the tentacle.

He wants desperately to burn this entire encounter into the recesses of his mind. He’d never watch porn again if he could close his eyes and see this image imprinted there forever.

“Swiss I’m gonna… Fuck, Swiss I think I’m close,” Rain’s voice cracks and it pulls Swiss back from where he was floating above his own body, taking in the scene like it was crafted specially for him. He supposes it is, and thinks he should thank Lucifer for every single thing that’s happened in his life leading him to this moment. He glances down at the rapidly growing damp spot on Rain’s shorts, curious to see if he’ll come without Swiss paying any attention to his cock.

“What if I put it in my mouth?” The question surprises even Swiss, unsure that was the direction he was heading in until the words have already been said, unable to take them back now. The needy gasp that Rain answers with is enough to make him positive that he doesn’t want to rescind the request.

 “Fuck, I-Swiss, yes.”

“Say it again.”

“Please put my fucking tentacle in the filthy little mouth of yours.” Rain rasps, and the words go straight to Swiss’ dick, his own pants looking in no better condition than Rain’s. He ignores his achingly hard cock though and uses his hand to bring the tentacle closer to his face, his gaze travelling over the surface of the appendage.

Swiss sticks his tongue out, licking timidly at the head of the tentacle. The lubricant coating the surface is salty, with an underlying taste of Rain that has Swiss swallowing down the saliva that starts pooling in his mouth. Rain mewls in a high-pitched tone, the tentacle pulsing underneath Swiss’ firm grip.

Without a second thought, Swiss wraps his lips around it. He suckles gently, the discharging lubricant reminding him of pre, just a thinner texture. He slides the tentacle further into his mouth and pauses as the little suction cups on the bottom catch on his tongue. It hinders his movement slightly, but he’s no stranger to a little adversity. He pumps his hand along the tentacle as he continues to suck a little harder, moving his tongue as much as he can with the new restraints.

“Swiss,” Rain hisses, and it’s the only warning Swiss gets. Rain shudders, letting loose a garbled mess of Swiss’ name and a loud moan, the patch on his shorts darkening and growing as he comes untouched. Swiss is a little surprised. Usually in the videos he watches online the tentacles ejaculate as well, but Rain’s panting and slumping with the mess in his pants being the only evidence of their time together.

Swiss starts to try and remove his tongue from its entrapment when Rain breaks out a sharp, drawn-out cry. Instantly his mouth is being pumped full of liquid, too much so he’s drowning in it. He can’t pull back with his tongue still tied up, so his only option is to keep gulping down the release, swallowing desperately. Just when he thinks he might not survive this tentacle ejaculate, it finally ceases. He’s panting and can feel the liquid sloshing around in his otherwise empty stomach.

He has to exert some effort to remove his tongue from the clutches of the suction cups, being extra mindful of his teeth and razor-sharp fangs. Rain whimpers at the struggle, getting louder when Swiss finally frees himself.

“That was…” Rain trails off, his chest moving rapidly with how heavy his breathing is. Swiss sticks his tongue out, poking at the slightly raised circular bumps that are sore to the touch. He glances up from under his lashes at the water ghoul, who’s observing his movements closely. Swiss pushes his tongue out a little more, pointing accusingly at the marks he is sure must be visible. Rain breaks into another bout of laughter, arms wrapping around his stomach as he slumps forward, giggling wildly.

Swiss starts to chuckle too, laughter building until he’s wiping tears from his eyes.

“That was fucking wild,” Swiss agrees, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation. He feels like he’s in a dream, that there’s no way this can be real. But he watches as Rain reels back in his limp tentacle, sliding back to where it had appeared underneath his shirt, no longer as imposing of a sight since it emptied itself into Swiss’ willing mouth.

“I didn’t know it’d feel that good,” Rain offers with a blush, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You can do that whenever, yeah? Like whip that thing out?”

“I mean, yeah?”

“Okay, good. I might have a few different ideas of how we can make that feel even better, for both of us.”

[thehypnone]

rulti!! rain using that tentacle dick of his on swiss??

I may be overreacting but that ask sounds hella demanding, like, idk, u come here screaming RULTI TENTACLE SEX just like that, man, IDK

"Oh, f- fuck, Raincloud, fuck, that- that's so hot," Swiss moaned, way too far gone for how long they've been at it. Or rather how short. He was writhing in the sheets, hands tied up and to the headboard, legs held open by Rain.

The multi ghoul was covered in sweat, some kind of slime that was coming off of his mate's body and his own precum. His eyes were wide and glistening with tears as he stared down at Rain's ministrations.

Said ministrations being his tentacle cock jacking him off while the bassist's long fingers were buried in Swiss' ass.

He wanted Rain to fuck him, sure, who wouldn't, but the slimy, cold texture of the appendage on his cock felt just too good. And it was so hot, Swiss couldn't look away no matter how hard he might try.

"You wish I'd have two, don't you?" Rain teased, squeezing Swiss' dick and nailing his sweet spot with deadly precision at the same time. "Maybe even three, huh?"

"Y- yes, fuck yes," the multi ghoul whined, "You c- could fuck me s- so good."

Rain growled then, and he was on him, hand wrapped tightly around Swiss' throat before he even registered his mistake, "You mean I don't fuck you good now?"

"No, no, no, no, that's not wh-" his freightened, strained babbling was interrupted when the water ghoul squeezed his throat even harder, cutting off all air.

"Oh, darling, I'll make sure you remember how good I fuck you every time you try to sit for the next fucking week."

When Rain's tentacle unwinded from Swiss' cock and got all but shoved into his ass, he wailed, realising it would be way more than just a week.

[luveline]

𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐨’𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚

miguel can’t control himself when you get hurt in the field —a ficlet featuring an irritated (lovesick) miguel and a flirty, distracted spider-girl. pre across the spider-verse but contains spoilers. requested he re, fem!reader, 2.5k

tw. fighting, injury, blood

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Miguel watches the screen in front of him unhappily. 

"Spider-Girl," he says. Two people answer him. He sighs. "Y/N," he amends, "you're being reckless." 

The little droid camera that follows you around circles your head as you swing from one place to another. "I'm being good," you deny. 

Miguel would never tell you this, but he loves how you speak. Sure, almost every word you say annoys him, but the cadence of your voice is melodic and addictive at once. And Miguel knows you're nice to everyone, but it's him alone that has you speaking so softly. 

You do it to torture him, he's sure. 

"You're doing well, but you'd be better if you didn't free fall for so long. Mechanical failure can happen at any minute," Miguel says. 

"Then one of the others will catch me." 

"And if there's no team member close by? I'm supposed to come and scrape you off of the sidewalk?" 

"Miguel," you say gently. He can tell what mood you're in today. "They have people for that." 

"Could you just do as I asked you to?" 

"Ah, but you haven't asked me anything." 

"Please," he says, "focus on the task at hand, and use your webs cautiously." 

You make a chirping sound that feels more laughter than affirmation, but you do as he requests, reducing the length of time between each web shot. You're in New York, Earth-1844, attempting to send home an unhappy Doc Ock variant whose mechanical arms are immensely technologically advanced, even when compared to Nueva York's futurism.

Miguel had sent you along with a rather large team, one. because a big team was necessary for the task, two. because you'd asked and he has trouble saying no to you, and three. because if you'd spent another hour in his office today he actually might have given into temptation, which wouldn't be good for anybody.

Miguel is used to doing what needs to be done rather than what he'd like, these days. So while he wants to indulge you and your fanciful suggestions —I'm not heavy, handsome, please, you won't even notice I'm in your lap, your thighs are so wide— he can't. He has things to do. Things that cannot endure distraction. 

"Woo!" you cheer through laughter, letting your shoes skim the floor in an especially dangerous manoeuvre. The adrenaline turns you giddy. "Holy crap." 

Oh, right, that's why he resists temptation —he hates you. (He doesn't hate you.) He hates you and your disregard for your own safety, he hates your rejection of his authority, and he hates the stupid sweet sound you make when you're excited. 

"Do you listen to me and then forget what I've said, or do you not understand the English language?" he asks. 

You land on a rooftop overlooking the centre of Future Doc Ock's destruction. "Well, I've been learning Spanish. We could always try that," you suggest. 

"Why have you been learning Spanish?" he asks. 

"Coquetear contigo," you say, your pronunciation all over the place. To flirt with you. 

"Qué maravilla," he mutters. 

"I don't know that one, handsome, so I'm going to assume it was a love confession or something similar." You sound so overly fond he has to tense his jaw. "Gwen, where are you?" 

"I'm over here?" 

Gwen is wrapped up tightly in a metal tentacle. It shakes her around fanatically. Miguel swears and zooms in on her location, watching in apprehension as she attempts to free herself while the arm creaks, tightening, tightening. 

"Woah," you say, taking a running jump off of the rooftop. "Can you believe it? I'm not the first one who needs rescuing." 

Hobie Brown reaches Gwen before you can, and he makes an impressive rescue. You divert your path, shooting a web at the glass dome covering Future Doc Ock's head. Miguel crosses his arms across his chest. Wannabe Mysterio loser, he thinks, and then, when you've smashed a hole into the dome with a generously momentous kick, Nice. 

He doesn't suppose Doc Ock was expecting a kick to the jaw today. 

You hiss as you propel yourself away from him, another web shot at a nearby lamppost. It does something funny to his chest when he hears you whine in pain, but he's too distracted to ask what's wrong —he scours your droid's view for an answer, finds it red and saturating the fabric of your suit. 

"Why are you bleeding, Spider-Girl?" he asks, gaze drawn to the main screen where Dock Ock shouts belligerent threats at an approaching Spider-Man. 

"No biggie," you say, hissing again, "I think I cut my leg on the glass. I need a better suit." 

"Can you walk?" 

"I'm fine," you say with a sniffle. From the amount of blood, the cut is deep. "Is it me, or is it dusty in here?" 

It definitely hurts if it's making you cry, though maybe you're unprepared. This was a bad idea, you aren't as seasoned as the others, and he knows you don't know what you're doing yet. You need more time, more practice. You've hurt yourself in the field on your very first mission, and you don't have the pain threshold or the super-healing necessary to cope.

It's his fault for letting you go. 

"Prepare for extraction," he says.

"No! No way, are you kidding? I'm fine, I– I can do this."

"Y/N," he warns. 

You fling yourself from the lamppost with impressive grace considering your injury and join the fight once again. Miguel can't keep an eye on you like he wants to, as the alarm that indicates an anomaly begins to sound. He's forced to rush together a second team while the elite strike force are preoccupied, yanking members of Spider-Society from their goings abouts, Lyla in his ear recommending effective combinations and fighting styles. From that point on, he has to supervise two different missions, his head pounding with effort. 

His hands itch. He should be out there. Miguel is the cream of the crop and he isn't shy to admit that. He's a good fighter, but he can't be everywhere at once, and most of the anomalies they face require multiple sets of hands to fix. So he forces himself to stay put and guide the teams through each fight, sick to his stomach with every bloody footprint you leave behind. 

He's following Hobie Brown and offering rejected instruction when he sees you go down. He toggles your voice channel and catches the end of a high-pitched, "Oof," the air-knocked from your lungs forcibly as you hit the ground. The tentacle that propelled you veers up for a finishing blow, and three different webs catch it and pull it backward. 

It's a blur. One minute Miguel's in the control room at Spider-Society headquarters, the next he's breathing in the smoggy air of New York, Earth-1844, concrete and asphalt torn up under his hands. Lyla speaks in his ear and he's deaf to her, his focus pointed with only one thing in mind. 

The restraint it takes not to wipe Doc Ock from the face of the dimension is incalculable. Miguel can't quite believe his own moderation as he orchestrates the return of the anomaly, your body on the ground in the corner of his eye. 

The second the situation is under control, he runs to you. His gloves hit the ground with a thud by your hip, as do his knees. Spider-Man, a Peter Parker from Earth-751263, has already set nanobots over your prone figure, tiny spider-like creatures that leave webbing bandages in their wake, closing the sluggish wound on your calf. But nanotech won't fix a broken spine, not in the field. Miguel needs a stretcher. He needs to get you home. 

"Miguel," you say, drawing his gaze from your slow-rising chest, "I can't breathe.

He slides his thumb as gently as he can into the seam of your mask and eases it off. "You're winded." 

You cough. The sound is disturbingly wet, but your lips remain unsullied. Miguel can't look at you in this much pain, and he won't: he stands, and he takes control. 

—

You're not in nearly as much pain as you should be, because Doctor Spider-Man gave you the good stuff. "Your healing isn't nearly as expedited as most of us," he'd said. 

"Is this medical discrimination?" you'd asked, faking a serious concern. "Do I need to talk to Spider-Lawyer?" 

You found it funny. He maybe didn't, but he gave you an extra dose and told you to rest up before leaving. Resting at the Society medbay isn't easy because Spider People are constantly filtering in and out of the ward for check-ups, medication, and corrections. 

It's also not easy because most Spider People are incredibly lonely in their home dimensions, and incredibly friendly here. When Miguel finally comes to visit you, you have a Spider-Girl from a few dimensions over who has the same biological mother as you but a different father sitting to your left —she's trippy and adorable, if you do say so yourself— two Peter Parkers to your right, and a melting pot of currency lost in the white linen sheets over your legs.  

They get one good look at Miguel and put down their playing cards. 

The Peter Parkers slink off together promising to come and see you again sometime, and your variant stops just shy of Miguel's position to look him up and down affectionately. 

"Go away," he says. 

She beams at him. "Okay." 

"You can't help it, can you?" he asks after she's gone, picking a rogue playing card up from the end of your bed. He twiddles it between his index and middle finger, the card shushing with each turn.

You sit up in bed and try to straighten out the sheets, hoping to entice him. You don't bother answering his question. It barely sounded like one. 

"I'm hurt, you know?" you ask. 

"I know. I told you to retreat." 

"No, I'm hurt it took you so long to visit me," you say. You're putting on airs. Truthfully, you genuinely are a little hurt, but your voice is soft and dreamy as always. "I thought we were friends." 

"Ah, because you need more of those." 

You sink down into your pillows, your knees hiked. "I really can't help it if people like me. And you'd know." 

Miguel surprises you by sitting down. He faces away from you, his thigh just shy of your feet below the sheets, and it's only then you realise he's tense. He's in civvies for a change, a t-shirt stretched tight across his broad shoulders and chest and regular black sweatpants. He's wearing converse. 

You look at him through a squint. "Did you hit your head, too?" 

"I'm off-duty."

"I just never pictured you in sneakers." 

"How do you picture me?" he asks, neck craned to look at you, his chin touching his shoulder. He has dark circles under his eyes and his brows are ruffled on one side. 

You let your knees fall to one side and pull your legs to your chest, hoping to entice him closer. "You're not sleeping well?" 

Miguel doesn't answer your inquiry. In fact, he falls silent. His eyes are on your hands where they're bunched at your chest, his dark flush of lashes twitching as his gaze tracks along the column of your throat, your jaw, and finally, your face. 

"If you were anyone else," he says eventually, "you'd be benched." 

"I'm not benched?" you ask. 

"You disobeyed a direct order," he says, "and your actions affected the people around you. Someone else could've been hurt protecting you. You have to listen to what I'm telling you to do, or this is never going to work." 

You look at the hospital bed railing rather than face his disappointment. 

"But it's my fault." 

"What?" you ask, startled. 

"It's my fault you got hurt. I knew you couldn't handle it, and I let you go anyway. I'm… I'm weak." 

"What are you talking about?" you ask. "Weak? You're the strongest person here, with or without Rapture." 

He flinches at the drug's name.

You lay there, paralysed by your own mistake, your big mouth ruining everything for the thousandth time. If there's one thing you know about Miguel, it's that you never mention his weaknesses. His drug. His last attempt at a full life. You might be light-hearted, a free spirit, but you're far from stupid usually. Your emotional intelligence must've got lost somewhere on Earth-1844. 

"Sorry," you murmur, looking at him from under your lashes. "I didn't mean…" 

Slowly, so slowly, he puts his hand on your leg. It doesn't hurt, you've been medicated and stitched and his touch is far from cruel, but you're so startled that your breath gets caught in your throat. Miguel doesn't touch you unless he's giving you a vague reprimand, moving your hand from a button you shouldn't touch or a door you're not allowed to open. 

"I let you go on that mission, knowing you weren't ready, because you asked me to let you. I put selfish motivations over your safety. It won't happen again." 

You're not as brave as you think you are. You try to hold his hand but it looks so big, and you've never had him this close to you of his own accord. You're a moment away from nervous goosebumps. 

He looks up at your touch, your pinky finger wrapped over his, smaller and shorter but with the same pattern of calluses, skin abraded by tight gloves and rough surfaces. 

"Selfish motivations," you repeat in a murmur. 

"I don't– like saying no. To you." He couldn't sound more unhappy to admit it. 

"You say no to me all the time," you say. You don't mean to, but suddenly you're folding your fingers over his, forcing him to hold your hand. He doesn't stop you. He doesn't let go. "Like, ten times a day." 

"It's difficult." Your complaint is a blessing for him —the atmosphere around you shifts to something less vulnerable, and his permanently chagrined personality rears its head once again. He raises his eyebrows. "You make my life extremely difficult," he says flatly. 

"You make my life difficult, too," you say. 

You can't help but give him your fondest smile, your lashes kissing in the corners of your eyes.  

He visibly softens. His thumb rubs the back of your hand, just once. 

"Fantastic," he says, looking firmly away from you. "Great." 

"Isn't it?" you ask happily. 

He squeezes your fingers gently. It's almost imperceptible. "Yeah, it is," he says. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! also, im sorry if you already speak spanish i realised after that that detail was subjective to the reader, sorry!

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: April 5

2019

dust off your highest hopes [david/patrick, G, 1,183] by sonseulsoleil

Three weeks ago, Patrick broke up with his fiance. Two weeks ago, Patrick left his hometown without looking back. Today, Patrick has a meeting with one David Rose.

Give Me Everything I Need [david/patrick, G, 2,449] by my_middle_name_is_awkward

“I just never thought someone would ever love me enough to want to spend their life with me,” “And I never thought I would love someone the way I knew I was supposed to,” After a long day, Patrick and David reflect on their engagement.

Ladies Night Inn [alexis/twyla, T, 15,848] by yeah_alright

She’d always known Alexis is beautiful. But tonight’s the first time she’s really seen her. And she’s not just beautiful. She’s vulnerable and strong and carefree and thoughtful, and because she’s so open, you can see all of that in her aqua eyes. It’s breathtaking. She’s breathtaking. --- What if Twyla had accepted Alexis' invitation to a ladies night in her motel room after she and Mutt broke up?

you got me good [david/patrick, T, 722] by @startswithhope

Here’s 700 or so words of…kissing. Set at the end of “Dead Guy in Room 4″ just after David and Patrick’s second kiss.

2020

and walk with you through that lucent wavering forest of bluegreen leaves [david/patrick, M, 3,176] by @wi22iou

Patrick asks David to be his date for a friends wedding + only one bed in the hotel room. This'll end well right? Slight AU where Patrick came out to Rachel, friends and parents before skipping town. Also, David is /slightly more easy-going, but not by much. Un-beta'd - all mistakes are mine. EDIT: as of chapter 4, it’s beta’d!

Another Schitt's Creek Prompt Fic Collection [multiple, E, 3,605] by thingswithwings

Nine lil ficlets I wrote previously, all collected here. Stories are: David/Patrick David + Stevie Patrick + Stevie David + Alexis Alexis/Twyla Moira +/ Jocelyn

be my everything and beyond [david/patrick, G, 3,626] by thegrayness

The Hike, but David has tentacles.

I Want You Here [david/patrick, M, 3,454] by agreatwave

Patrick blinks when he sees the name on his screen. David. David is calling him in the middle of the night. Patrick answers quickly, pulse picking up as he sits up in bed. “David?” “PATRICK!” Patrick immediately jerks his head back from the phone, fumbling for the volume button. Ok, so David’s fine. He’s just very drunk. Missing Scenes from 5x04 The Dress

stay stay stay [david/patrick, G, 1,853] by my_middle_name_is_awkward

“What’s so funny, David? She missed an important delivery and she broke our sink!” David nodded rapidly, an amused smile toying at his lips. Patrick frowned at him and apparently, that was David’s breaking point. He started giggling as he made his way over to Patrick. “I’m sorry, honey,” David said in between laughs, rubbing his hands up and down Patrick’s biceps. “You just look so cute when you’re mad,”

Tiny Pink Small Person [david/patrick, NR, 2,360] by WritingInQuarantine

An alternative history for Patrick Brewer and David Rose. I don't think it's a spoiler to tell you that they're always endgame, regardless how they meet... Patrick has a child from his relationship with Rachel. A child who may view the world in a way that challenges David's carefully curated lifestyle and aesthetic. Stand alone one-shot at the moment but the world is quite keen to write itself so I'm leaving it open for further chapters.

2021

A Sight for Sore Eyes [david/patrick, T, 724] by @reginahalliwell

For the first time since Patrick has known him, David shows up to work in a skirt.

All the Ways He Loves Me [david/patrick, E, 10,284] by @delilah-mcmuffin

Patrick has never been one to make a big deal over milestone birthdays, but even he has to admit that the idea of being spoiled by his husband all day just for turning forty is nothing short of wonderful.

everybody knows the secret [david & johnny, G, 5,082] by @fishyspots

After all, how would all of that look? First Johnny put his trust in the wrong person, setting his family up to lose everything because he couldn’t pick a business partner. And then they land in a town that most maps won’t print the name of and he lets the same thing happen to his son? Johnny shakes his head and then shakes Patrick’s hand. A strong grip, practiced. Well-versed in the kind of business minutiae that David had never shown even a passing interest in until after Johnny had paid to ensure he never needed to. “It’s nice to meet you,” Patrick says. Nice try, buddy, Johnny thinks. Or, five times Johnny wasn't sure about Patrick and one time he was.

I know my dreams lie with you [david/patrick, T, 2,986] by @blackandwhiteandrose

David loves nights like this, sitting on opposite ends of Patrick’s couch, stretched out and legs tangled together, pizza long since consumed, trading stories and secrets. There's still a part of him that's surprised by the fact that no matter what he shares, Patrick continues to want to know more.

IKEA [david/patrick, M, 16,824] by resilient_rose

David wants fancy furniture. Patrick says they can't afford it. The solution? IKEA. Flirting and fighting ensue.

It's Funny How You Don't Know You Can Fly 'til You Finally Catch The Wind [david/patrick, NR, 2,371] by sunonyourskin

It had started as a joke, a way for him to rile up his boyfriend. Alexis being there had only added to his plan, her natural ability to wind up her brother playing out perfectly. But that was all it was supposed to be, a joke. Until suddenly, it wasn’t. ---------- An introspective piece looking into Patrick's thoughts during the Rock On! hug. The third part of "The Moments In Between" series.

Italy [ronnie & ray, T, 300] by Rosey_Peach

oh, we've got trouble now [david/patrick, E, 2,553] by @ratchet

The problem with roommates, David has decided, is the illusion of privacy.

this is where i love you [david/patrick, E, 6,706] by @schittyfic

It shouldn't be surprising, really, that Patrick snaps this evening. Or: a few years into their marriage, Patrick tries and fails to carry a burden on his own. Marriage is hard, sometimes, and that's okay.

2022

everything you touch (just feels like yours to me) [alexis/twyla, E, 3,481] by @sarahlevys

It isn't a big deal. Of course it isn't. But Alexis can't stop from fiddling with her hair, staring at herself in the mirror, studying herself from all angles and fixating on Twyla's cooling interest. And it shouldn't matter, since Twyla, like, loves her. Twyla moved to New York for her. Twyla holds Alexis' hair back when she's sick, and cooks breakfast for her in the mornings, and squeezes Alexis' hands when she gets a sudden, unavoidable flash of that thing in St. Petersburg that she really doesn't like talking about, and— What if Twyla's tired of her? What if she regrets uprooting her entire life for someone who still manages to fuck up coffee every time she tries to return the favour? What if she's sick of dealing with Alexis—or what if she's fallen out of love with Alexis entirely? As her relationship with Twyla settles into something more serious, Alexis has some insecurities about their sex life.

Have you tried turning it off and back on again? [david/patrick, T, 11,570] by @a-noble-dragon

"I take it this is the Com-puter Office?" Patrick smiles at David, helplessly amused at his overly expressive face, and the obvious distaste in his voice when he said the word computer. "This is the IT Department, yes. And we do have computers here, so you've definitely come to the right place." David raises a fascinating eyebrow at that, before looking him up and down in a long slow once over that makes Patrick's toes curl inside his hiking boots. “Okay. Well, thanks for that. Can't wait to start working here, it's going to be so much fun," David drones, with more sarcasm than Patrick has ever heard used in his life. Patrick bites his lip hard to contain his laughter. David's snarky, and gorgeous, and— Wait a minute… Did he just say, work here?

I'm Gonna Be With You Right Here 'Til the Very End [david/patrick, T, 916] by @weathereyehorizon

A fluffy, texting-only fic where Patrick makes everything okay.

The Angry Red Rooster [david/patrick, E, 5,159] by obsessedwithdavrick

David looked around the bar and wondered how he had fallen so far. How had Stevie convinced him that, not only was it his turn to be the designated driver, but brought him to this cowboy bar? There was so much double denim he was struggling to comprehend any other fashion choices. Cowboy boots worn with anything other than irony? It was all so incorrect. OR// David meets Cowboy!Patrick at a Cowboy bar, and might have to rethink his stance on Cowboy Fashion. Just a little bit of smut to wet-your-whistle, as we await the arrival of Billy Tillerson.

Tomorrow's a Whole 'Nother Town [david/patrick, T, 2,046] by @mostlyinthemorning

What if David and Patrick ran away at the same time and it was Patrick, not the Amish, who rescued David when Roland’s truck broke down?

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, 2023, or 2024 2019: 4 fics/20,202 words 2020: 6 fics/18,074 words 2021: 9 fics/47,830 words 2022: 5 fics/23,172 words Total: 24 fics/109,278 words

[lsunstreakerl]

In the spirit of Mer-May please could we have some more tentacle au?

this is not the only tentacle verse request, so I don't feel bad that it's short— there'll be more substance to the other one. 600 words (the length I naively used to think was typical), max POV. if you haven't read the tentacle verse before, go check it out on the masterlist and then come back <3 obviously, explicit.

pairings: charles leclerc/max verstappen

relevant heads up: tentacles, aphrodisiacs, max shaming, breeding kink, mind break, everything is consensual! but the conversation max and charles have about limits and all that happens offscreen.

"What do you mean, you're sick?"

Charles scowls at him from the other end of the couch, pathetically blowing his nose into a tissue.

"I mean, I am sick. Exactly what I just said."

Max furrows his brows, shifting.

"But it's breeding season."

Charles rolls his eyes heavenward before glaring at him.

"And I am sick. Which means I cannot give you any eggs right now."

"But..."

Charles takes a deep breath, blowing it all out in an annoyed sigh.

"You are impossible, did you know that? Impossible. If we go to the private cove, and I fuck you so stupid you forget about the damn eggs, will you let me recover?"

Max perks up, heat simmering in his gut.

"Yes, I promise, I will let you rest, I will—"

------

"Charles— Charles, too much, I can't—"

Max cuts off with a loud wail as another tentacles shoves inside of him, stretching him further than he thought was possible, eyes rolled back into his head. He can't take anymore, there's no room.

He opens his mouth to try and tell Charles, only for another tentacle to worm its way down his throat, stretching it wide open as he gags, eyes wide.

"Mmph—!"

Charles coos, human hand brushing at his face gently.

"You asked for this, don't pretend like you don't want it. You were incessant, don't you remember? All 'Charles, when is breeding season?' 'Charles, when are you going to feel better?' 'Charles, when can I have eggs?'"

Max sobs as the tentacles flex inside of him, pleasure tipping into pain as a smaller one curls around his cock.

"Well, here you go. It's breeding season, and you're fucking crying for it."

His eyes widen in panic as the tentacles inside of him slowly pull out, dragging against his walls. He tries to shake his head, but Charles has him held down, and the tentacle in his mouth prevents him from doing anything besides moan helplessly.

He shakes as he feels them drag out near completely, eyes squeezing back shut in anticipation as the grip on his thighs tighten—

Max screams when they slam back into him, coring him in out in an instant, uncaring of how he's sobbing. He's nothing more than a warm, wet fuck to Charles right now, reduced down only to what he can provide.

He's choking on his own spit, gagging around the tentacle in his mouth as Charles presses his fingers against his stomach.

"You're such a good brooder, taking all of me like this... I wish you could see yourself."

His palm presses flat into Max's abdomen, and he writhes, caught between the pressure and pain, overwhelmed by the sensation of the tentacle dragging rhythmically against his prostate.

The tentacles are moving in a slow, grinding pattern, and Max only realizes as the pressure inside him worsens what's happening.

Normally, Charles drops eggs, and then fertilizes them. But without the eggs...

Max struggles against his hold, trying to get away from the inescapable filling sensation pressing up against his skin. Charles grips him tighter, pulling him back onto the tentacles.

"You asked me for this, Max. Begged me for it, so you're going to take it, yes? You are doing such a good job already— you'll be too cum drunk to do anything besides sleep."

Max hangs limply in his grasp as the tentacles slowly start to withdraw, eyes unfocused and head fuzzy. He feels like he's floating away from his body, supported only by Charles.

He moans brokenly when Charles carefully brings him underwater, and Max dutifully inhales, gills fluttering to life.

Charles creates a divot in the sand before curling up in it, sulky as he tugs Max into his chest.

"Are you going to let me rest now? Fuck's sake, you better. I do not know what I'm supposed to do with you, seriously."

Max knows what he's supposed to do— he's supposed to keep him here, full of eggs year round, supposed to bring Max fat fish and let him writhe on his tentacles whenever he wants.

Max is a good brooder. Max deserves it.

He means to say all that, but all he can manage is a soft rasp of bubbles floating up to the surface, and Charles rolls his eyes fondly as his tentacles wrap around him further, settling them both comfortably.

"Yes, yes, whatever you want. I am aware."

[carriedawatermelon]

Ronance kinktober ficlet, the second. Used a random kink generator and couldn’t not do role play for the DND show, so here’s some college Ronance, in which Nancy finds that Robin’s DND swagger really fucking does it for her. As always, soft filth only for these two.

Thanks for being so kind about the last one, y’all. I’m having fun with these and it makes me happy that maybe you are, too.

Prompt: Role Play/AU

She’s supposed to be reading. She has an essay due in a week and a half that’s worth a third of her grade, and she needs to finish her outline by Tuesday, which means she needs to finish The Bluest Eye this weekend. It’s not long, and it’s not tedious, and Nancy actually gives a shit about this paper and this professor. 

She’s supposed to be reading. 

She’s not reading. 

She’s not reading because she is, somehow, at the age of 22 and years out of her parents’ house, back in their basement watching her little brother and his friends play Dungeons & Dragons. More accurately, actually, she’s watching Robin and her little brother and his friends play Dungeons & Dragons. 

That, of course, is the problem. Because Nancy is in love with Robin, and she knows this about herself, the same way she knows that Robin can turn anything into something Nancy cares about. Scallop farming? Sure, yep. The minutiae of the latest debate on the translation of a passage of The Iliad? Absolutely. The evolution of lighting in horror movies? Fascinating. Never mind that Nancy doesn’t watch horror or keep up with Homer or that scallops make her throat swell.

It’s the Robin effect, and Nancy’s three years into it with no intention of stopping. Almost four years if you count the denial and pining, which Nancy doesn’t for the sake of anniversaries but does, mostly, for considering how long Robin has had Nancy’s heart and brain and everything else, really.

Nancy should’ve known better, is the point. Nancy should’ve known better than to come down here with her book like she could be in the same room as Robin doing something that required her to talk and think and interact with other people and not immediately become distracted. This isn’t the two of them on Robin’s couch working together. (Not that that doesn’t sometimes end with Nancy getting distracted.) This is Nancy trying to work while Robin impresses a table of disgruntled teenage boys and makes Eddie laugh and plots to defeat some kind of tentacled monster with a scheme involving a slingshot (Lucas is thrilled) and a lyre.

This is Robin the Bard, apparently, and Nancy is deeply, embarrassingly, into it. 

Robin’s spot at the table means Nancy can see the profile of her face perfectly, but that Robin can’t really see her unless she turns at an awkward angle. She does a few times, just to smile at Nancy or, once, to wink like a massive nerd, and god help her, that did it for Nancy, too, her stomach flipping as she pretended to go back to reading for about ten seconds. It’s impossible, though, Nancy’s eyes always finding their way back to the table, back to Robin. 

She just got a haircut, the shag now above her ears, and she keeps running her hand through it like she can’t quite believe there’s not more. It looks good, looks amazing, which is exactly what Nancy told her before using it to guide Robin’s head between her legs before she could even make it past the entryway to Nancy’s place. The hair’s not helping things, anyway. Nor is the way she sits, legs spread as she strategizes intensely, her knee and part of her thigh exposed by her ripped black jeans. Nancy can’t look away, not that it would help if she did, because she’d be left with Robin’s voice and laugh and then she’d look again, and, well, it’s a vicious cycle, really. 

Nancy knows Robin plays at school sometimes; the queer art kids have a running game she dips into on occasion, but Nancy’s never seen it before. She knows now she’ll have to go, because she wants to see this again. Robin’s invested, her cadence shifted to match her character. She talks and jokes and helps plan but she does this thing where she makes space for the others when it seems like someone has been quiet for too long. 

She does it for Will, especially, leaves these intentional gaps for him to fill with suggestions or thoughts, makes sure he doesn’t sink into the background. Eddie’s good at that, too, but he’s so much, almost all of the time, a force, and Robin isn’t anything less but her energy feels less like a hurdle to clear and more like a lift, like cupped hands at the start of a climb. It floods Nancy with fondness and with admiration and with the desire to do things she absolutely cannot do right now. 

They break, eventually, Nancy having made about three paragraphs’ worth of progress, and Robin comes to kiss her quickly, both of them flipping off Mike as he makes a disgusted noise, before running to the bathroom and the snack supply upstairs with the rest of the boys. She turns to her book, desperate, but the cushion next to hers sinks and a tattooed arm reaches across her shoulder. Nancy sighs and slots her bookmark into place.

Eddie’s grin is shit-eating in the extreme when she turns to him, and she knows she’s caught but she still has some dignity, at least when it comes to people who aren’t Robin, so she raises her eyebrow expectantly and asks, “Can I help you?”

“I think you’re the one that needs some help, Wheeler.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His eyes flash, delighted. “Oh, you definitely do. You’ve turned exactly one page in the last hour. And you smile every time Robin says anything. It’s disgusting. It’s amazing. I’m obsessed.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be paying attention to the game?” She manages to sound bored and fights the urge to tuck her hair, a tell he’ll sink his teeth into. 

He waves her off. “I’m paying plenty of attention to the game. Everyone’s having a great time. Which you know, because you’ve been drooling over the party bard’s every fuckin’ word. Got a thing for musicians, Wheeler? Thinking about playing her lyre?”

“Classy,” she says, and he looks like she’s given him a present. “Oh, shut up.”

He cackles, removing his hand from around her to clap loudly. “Oh, I definitely won’t. I’m gonna get her to make you play next time.”

The her in question nearly stumbles from the top of the stairs, grabbing the railing with one hand as she tries to balance a plate of cookies and a can of Coke, a bag of chips dangling from her mouth. It’s a disaster waiting to happen, but before Nancy can intervene, Lucas has plucked the soda from the crook of her arm. Whatever she says, or tries to say, through the cargo in her mouth makes him laugh. 

Eddie pokes her bicep. “Incredible.”

“This is nothing new.” She tries changing tack, bored tone still in place. It’s not new. He knows her. He knows them. 

“No,” he concedes, leaning closer to keep their conversation from drifting. “But I’ve never gotten to see it like this. Does she know she has super powers? Turning the Nancy Wheeler into mush?”

“She doesn’t,” Nancy says, fondness taking over. “Even though I’ve told her.” 

“Disgusting,” he repeats, fondness in his own voice. “Try not to fall out when your girl kills the big bad.” 

And then he’s up and headed back to the table, hands clapping and rubbing together eagerly. “And we’re back.”

Nancy’s girl does kill the big bad. Her plan works, and the boys cheer, each standing to receive some applause for their role in the fight. Eddie bows in concession and then suddenly, they’re cleaning up, and Nancy doesn’t even know how long she’s been sitting there, but she hadn’t even bothered to open the book back up for the last part of the session. 

Robin makes her way over, grinning big, and falls down against the opposite arm of the sofa, her feet tangling with Nancy's where they’re tucked up beside her. Sighing, she throws an arm over her head and says wearily, “Hard work defeating an ancient eldritch being. I might need a nap.”

“Very impressive.” It’s affectionate and teasing and Nancy’s grip on Robin’s ankle is equally soft, thumb pressing in just slightly. “I especially liked the part where you danced at him.”

“Were you watching?!” She’s propped up now, blue eyes big and attentive.

“I might have been.” 

“She was!” Eddie calls, like an asshole, and Nancy feels her cheeks go red.

“It was gross. She smiled, like, the whole time.” Mike’s got his patented scowl on, but it’s the mostly kidding version. “Weren’t you supposed to be reading?” He rolls his eyes at her as he moves toward the stairs. 

“You’re just jealous that your sister bags hotter girls than you. Maybe if you smiled every once in a while you’d get a date.” Dustin calls before looking guiltily at the couch, eyes moving between Nancy and Robin. “Sorry?”

“You’re just telling the truth,” Nancy says, and Mike’s scowl deepens while the others laugh, loud footsteps carrying them upstairs. 

“Ladies,” Eddie says, hefting his backpack onto his shoulder. “Have a lovely evening.”

“Don’t be a pervert,” Nancy says, at the same time Robin says, “Thanks.”

He laughs loudly and tips an imaginary hat before he leaves. 

Robin’s biting her lip now, obviously delighted, and Nancy rolls her eyes even as she crawls across the sofa and braces herself against the arm, looking down at Robin’s smile. 

“Might have been watching, huh?”

“A little.”

“A little,” Robin repeats, looking smug, which Nancy finds unbearably attractive. 

“You’re very cute,” she says, lifting a hand to tuck some of Robin’s hair behind her ear and trace over her nose. “My bard.”

Nancy sighs into the kiss, Robin’s hand splaying wide over the small of her back while the other wraps around her forearm. 

“Adding ‘DND does it for Nancy Wheeler’ to my list of ‘Things I Never Would Have Guessed.’”

“More like Robin Buckley does it for Nancy Wheeler.”

“Also on the list,” Robin says proudly, scratching lightly at Nancy’s back in affection. 

“Are you interested in further evidence?” The question comes with a kiss to Robin’s jaw, and Nancy can feel her nod her head, the dork. 

“Always. Um, super important actually, because what if it’s on the list and not true, you know? Like, it needs to be accurate, and-“

Nancy kisses her jaw again, takes her earlobe into her mouth and sucks gently, and Robin’s hips buck just the way she knew they would, which makes it no less rewarding. Her hands move to clutch at Nancy’s hips, a whimper escaping as Nancy kisses and licks at her throat. 

“Fuck,” she breathes out, and Nancy smiles, nips gently at the skin above the collar of her t-shirt before slipping a hand underneath it. 

“Yeah, baby? Feel good?”

“Yes.” She arches into the teasing route Nancy’s taking with her fingers. “So good.”

“Good,” Nancy murmurs, palming her over her sports bra before pushing it up, rocking her hips forward at the feeling of Robin’s nipple pebbled in her hand, again at the noise she makes when Nancy takes it between her fingers. 

“Nancy,” Robin gasps, and that’s all Nancy can take, her self-control worn to nothing after god knows how long sitting and watching her girlfriend in this fucking basement. She tugs roughly, the way that makes Robin lose it, and then pulls away, breath heavy as she sits back on Robin’s legs. 

“Sit up,” she says with force, and Robin does, immediately, going exactly where Nancy puts her, which is against the back of the sofa, without any kind of fight. 

When Nancy settles, straddling her lap, she takes Robin’s hands and puts them just under her shirt, pressing until Robin gets the hint: stay. She does, fingers flexing hot against her skin as Nancy works her way back under her shirt and bra, pulling and grasping at her eagerly, tongue licking at the back of Robin’s teeth. 

When she shoves her shirt up, bending to take a nipple into her mouth and suck, one of Robin’s hands flies to the back of her head as she cries out. Nancy pulls away for long enough to kiss her, whisper, “Shh, baby. Be quiet so I can make you come, okay?” 

Robin nods, almost pained, biting her lip, and Nancy’s chest burns, hot with want and affection. “So good for me.” She knows what she’s doing, knows she’s made it that much harder for Robin to stay quiet with those words. She doesn’t care, loves the way Robin shakes with want, the little noise that escapes as Nancy lets her smile be sharp. 

Her own hips roll when she takes Robin’s nipple back into her mouth, teeth grazing lightly, and Robin bucks into her. She sucks a mark into the soft skin under her collarbone, fills herself on greedy, inelegant touches across her tits and stomach, her mouth and hands roaming and taking, lingering where Robin makes a pretty noise in the back of her throat or grips hard at Nancy’s waist. 

“Nancy, Nancy, Nancy,” she chants eventually, desperately. “Please. Please.”

Nancy pushes herself back, stares at Robin. Her head’s thrown back, chest heaving, and when she whines and meets Nancy’s eyes, her pupils are blown, dark pools in blue. Nancy wants to take her, wants to keep her, and she slides to her knees easily, settling between Robin’s spread legs and moving immediately to undo her button and fly, pressing kisses to the skin of her belly. 

Robin’s hips lift to assist as Nancy pulls her jeans down her thighs, past her knees and off of one foot with a kiss to her ankle because she hates feeling trapped. A hand plants itself in her hair, barely tugging, and Nancy smirks and kisses her calf, her knee, the insides of her thighs. 

“Nancy, please.”

She mouths over navy briefs, moans at the sharp sting of Robin’s desperate encouragement and the smell of her through the cotton. The briefs come down quickly, and Robin’s legs spread that much wider, and Nancy looks at her, at the sharp line of her jaw where her head’s tilted back, the red mark blooming on her chest, still visible where her shirt’s caught in her sports bra, a tangled mess made of want. Robin’s hand smooths through her hair, and then Nancy’s placing a kiss below her belly button, over the dark hair that covers her, to the crease of her thigh.

A whine escapes Robin, a plea, but Nancy’s already answering, licking into her and moaning at the taste, tongue dipping into wet heat and then coming up to lap at her clit. Robin tugs her t-shirt into her mouth, biting it to keep quiet, and Nancy brings two fingers up and presses into her, her own hips moving at the feeling of Robin tight around her. 

Fingers tighten in her hair, Robin’s hips rolling to meet her thrusts, and Nancy can’t help but slide the fingers of her free hand into her own jeans. It’s too tight, and she’s uncoordinated, but it’s enough for the moment, a temporary relief as she works at Robin, adding a third finger and flattening her tongue to let Robin rut the way she wants to. 

It doesn’t take long, blue eyes looking purposefully down at her as Nancy makes a show of sucking at Robin’s clit, and then Robin’s arching, eyes slamming shut, clenching around Nancy’s fingers. When the shaking stops, her hand tugging Nancy away, she goes reluctantly, pulling her own hand from her jeans as she stands. 

Robin’s breathing hard, pulling her shirt from her mouth and tugging Nancy into her lap, shoving her shirt up and the cups of Nancy’s bra down so that she can get a nipple in her mouth. Nancy undoes her pants, Robin’s hands busy on her ass and tits, and pushes them down with her underwear. Before she can even reach for her, Robin’s got two fingers curling into her perfectly, mouth still sucking eagerly. Her other hand rocks Nancy’s hip in suggestion, and Nancy takes it gratefully, too gone to start on her own. 

She rides Robin’s fingers slowly at first and then faster, hand holding her to her chest. “More,” she says, close to begging, and Robin gives her more, a third finger slipping in with ease as Nancy slides a hand down to circle her clit. It’s quick after that, Robin moving with purpose, and Nancy falls apart above her, hand moving to brace on her shoulder. 

Robin wraps her arms around her waist, pulls her close and kisses at her neck and jaw. “God, I love you,” she says into the air by her ear, making her shiver, and Nancy melts against her further. “So fucking hot. Jesus, Nance.”

“Evidence,” Nancy says, and Robin laughs, pulling them both back against the sofa. Nancy is inordinately glad she’d spread a blanket earlier, is absolutely going to have to sneak it in with her wash. 

“To be clear, is this evidence for the Robin pile or the DND pile?” Nancy swats at her shoulder. “I’m not above getting tights and pointy ears, Nance, honest to god, and how hard can a lyre actually be, like, I have my guitar, right, so-“

Nancy kisses her into silence.

“Maybe the ears,” she murmurs into the space between them a few minutes later, and basks in Robin’s laugh. 

[aurumacadicus]

23 for the ficlet

Came back wrong werewolf Steve <3

--

The last thing that Howard ever said to him was 'I'm sorry.' Or at least, that was the last thing Steve had understood.

The transformation hadn't been finished, apparently. Steve's body hadn't finished changing until he'd been in stasis under ice water. The lupine serum had taken deeper hold as he'd floated, unconscious, until he was found and thawed and more wolf than man. Peggy couldn't even look at him. That was when Howard admitted he should have left him in the ocean.

Steve didn't remember much after that. He suspected the rage and confusion in him was too much. He'd attacked. He'd tried to rend. He'd gotten his claws in Howard's leg. Peggy had shot him, and her husband had used Steve's own shield to club him in the head and knock him out.

Now he ran in a forest. He killed and ate things warm and bloody. He chased off bears and other wolves. Sometimes, on the coldest, loneliest nights, he wished he'd been left in the ocean. At least he'd been unconscious. Maybe, after the transformation had finished, he would have even died. Now he healed within minutes, even after being shot in the chest.

Peggy had shot him in the chest, he sang to the moon mournfully.

He was aware enough that he knew the territory he called his own actually belonged to Howard. A misguided attempt to make up for not letting him die a hero. A desperate attempt to protect humans from him by erecting tall no-trespassing fences. Steve eventually decided he was fine with that. Howard would have done it even if he protested, and at least this way, he didn't have to try and be Steve Rogers. He wasn't Steve Rogers anymore. He was a monster. He couldn't even go completely human anymore.

So Steve was aware the moment someone had stepped into his territory. He didn't understand. No one had come into it before. Even Howard had stood outside the fence to observe him. And they weren't bothering to be quiet, either.

Someone was wounded, maybe. He could smell the iron tang of blood in the air. Pained yelps. A wounded pup? the wolf part of him thought. Perhaps whoever was trespassing was trying to hide from a greater danger?

Then there was the sound of flesh hitting flesh, another yelp, more blood on the wind, and his legs were moving before the fact that the injured party was being attacked again in his territory even registered.

The emblems on the uniforms the men were wearing shocked him to a stop. A skull. Six tentacles curled beneath it. Hydra. He felt a rush of heat, rage flushing through his body, quickly replaced by cold, calculating fury as he realized he hadn't wiped out Hydra in the war. They were still around. And he was just out here, howling at the moon and eating deer when he could have been crushing the bones of Hydra between his teeth instead. A growl rumbled from his chest, out his curled lips. The group turned as one.

His eyes locked with brown ones, and Steve snarled, hackles rising, teeth bared. Challenger, his wolf brain growled. Him first.

The man dropped his eyes quickly, as if realizing the danger he'd put himself in. Then, he lunged away from the rest of the group, tripping over his feet and onto the dirt. Foolish, Steve thought, muscles coiling, ready to leap.

The man grabbed the bottom hem of his shirt, dragging it up over his head, before he dropped onto his back, hands up near his head.

Submitting, the wolf in Steve realized with approval. Flashing his belly and its soft innards on display for him to choose whether to bite through or leave alone. Deferring to a more powerful wolf. His sharp eyes caught bruises along the man's side, a split lip and black eye. A bloody nose. A victim of Hydra.

Hydra, the wolf in him roared, enraged again, and Steve barely felt the heat of the bullets cutting through them as the rest of the group opened fire on him. He needed to rend. To tear. To bite and claw and kill and kill and kill because Hydra needed to die and die and die

Human blood didn't taste any different from deer blood, Steve thought, finally licking his chops. Coppery. Hot. But he didn't have any inclination to eat them like he did the deer. Just kill. That was all Hydra was good for, he thought. Killing.

The man who had submitted was still trembling on the ground. Some of the blood had splattered over him when Steve had bitten and torn. His eyes were wide, showing the whites all the way around, but he had the wherewithal to turn his gaze away when he realized Steve was looking at him.

A clever man, Steve thought with approval. He stepped closer, sniffing along the man's side to gather his scent. The man giggled reluctantly as Steve's wet nose trailed along his ribs. He smelled familiar. Like hot metal that had nothing to do with the blood trailing from his nose and lip. Steve found it in himself to shift, front paws turning to sharp-clawed hands, fur shortening, mouth shaping differently. He slid his hand over the man's soft belly, considering.

The man shivered, but he kept his eyes carefully downcast as he whispered, "W-what are you doing?"

Steve pressed his other paw--his hand. To the man's face. The man's exhale shook against his palm, but he turned, greedily leaning into his warm skin. He was cold. He didn't have a fur coat to keep him warm. A cold spring night in the New York woods was no place to be without a heavy coat.

"S. Steve-?" the man asked, more breath than air. "Steve Rogers?"

The man recognized him. Steve wondered at that. The only people who knew he was here was SHIELD.

Or. Steve remembered curious eyes in the window of Howard's car the last time he had been to visit. That had been years ago, though. He hadn't seen Howard since.

"Stark?" he rasped, voice rough from disuse. That would explain why Hydra was after him. If he was even half as smart as Howard, he would have been an asset to them.

He was Steve's now, though. He would protect the man with his life. He had submitted, had given Steve the choice of rending his tender belly open, had trusted him not to. Even Peggy hadn't trusted him enough to offer her hand for him to sniff, and here this man was, letting him snuffle along the soft, pale skin, as if he'd known the submission would convince Steve not to kill him. As if he'd expected it, instead of hoped.

"I'm Tony," the man offered, carefully lifting a hand to cover Steve's against his cheek. "You know my dad."

Steve didn't know Howard. Not really. He'd learned more about him as a wolf than he had the entire war. He curled his hand over Tony's hip, angling his body closer. He knew more about Tony now, here, the way he thought, how Hydra wanted him and he'd calculated he'd be better off with Steve, even if Steve decided to kill him. He had to admire Tony's thought process. Better dead under Steve's claws than under Hydra's thumb.

"Steve," Tony whispered, finally daring to look up at him, eyes darting to meet his and then away, as if afraid he still might challenge him. "What... what are you doing?"

"You're mine," Steve couldn't help but growl, more wolf than man no matter how hard he tried to be human. "You submitted to me."

Tony met his eyes at that, startled. "I... You can't be serious, Steve, I'm--"

"Mine," Steve growled, curling his hand over Tony's hip so his claws dug in lightly, just enough to remind him they were there and that Steve not using them was a choice. "You're mine."

"Okay," Tony whispered, other hand reaching down to cover the one on his hip. He was starting to shake. "Okay, Steve."

It was too cold for him out here, Steve figured. He cast a glance at the Hydra bodies, confirming what he already knew--their clothes were too shredded to wrap Tony up in. Not that he ever would have. His mate deserved better than Hydra scraps.

He turned back to Tony, leaning down to drag his tongue over the blood spatter across his collarbone. He didn't need Hydra's blood on him, either.

"Oh," Tony gasped, hands gripping Steve tighter, and Steve couldn't help a rumble of approval. Tony seemed smart. Capable. He must have known Steve had just enough humanity left in him to tell friend from Hydra. Steve would do him proud as a protector and mate.

[arachne4]

May I request a lil ficlet with a soft Wesker and he's cuddling you with his uroboros tentacles 🥺 👉👈

wesker x reader

He cuddles you

Most days, Wesker woke up long before you. In the early hours of morning before it was even light out.

But today was not one of those days. Instead you found yourself wrapped up in your lovers tentacles. Alberts arms were draped around you, your legs entwined with his. The tentacles around you rhythmically squeezing you tight. It wasn't unpleasant by any means, though it was odd to say the least.

It reminded you of octopus, how he practically latched onto you. His embrace warm and snug and comforting to no end. Especially considering how he laid on you like a weighted blanket

"Darling..." He mumbled into your shoulder, Alberts head tucked into the cook of your neck. His voice is low and raspy, almost an unintelligible hum.

Your hand lazily petted his hair and you mumbled a 'good morning' to him.

"What time is it..?" He groggily sat up, now looking down at you. Vermillion hues staring down your plainly average, at least compared to him, eyes.

" 'm not really sure, but it has to be at-least eight or somethin'."

He let out a groan, almost 2 hours late for work already.

"Just stay home, you're running the place anyways." You murmured in his ear, pulling him to lay down. And he rolled his eyes but still cuddled up next to you, feigning annoyance as he squeezed you tight.

hope you liked, still working on that wip I posted the other day. Might consider making it a series where wesker wins, but god knows I'm awful at writing consistently

[gravehags]

what the water gave me

Pairing: Rain x f!Reader (Ghoul Bicycle Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Words: 1,900-ish

Tags: tentacle dick, water sex, brief mention of breeding kink, rain being a sneaky little shit, brief mention of murder ghouls

Summary: Rain better have a good excuse for waking you up in the middle of the night.

a/n: Well. You know how it is. A sweet little ficlet idea turns into a horny monster etc etc.

~~~

You're dreaming of wind and water, your hair whipping around your face as you struggle to see when you feel your body being gently jostled.

Chalking it up to your bedmates - who was in your bed tonight? ah, Dewdrop and Aurora, that's right - you shrug and nestle further into your pillow. The jostling happens again, a little more aggressive this time, and you hear your name being whispered. Blearily, you open one eye and lift your head and nearly shriek aloud. Rain is crouched next to you, eyes glowing in the darkness, holding his finger up to his mouth trying to pacify you. You glance over your shoulder and see the two ghouls curled into one another, unaware of their near rude awakening.

"Rain," you hiss, "what are you doing?"

He says nothing, but instead stands up and gestures for you to follow him. When you frown deeply, shaking your head he gives you such a look that even in the darkness of your room you can feel his stubbornness. With a deep sigh you quietly slide from the comfort of your bed and follow him out. He has you tail him down the hallway, past everyone's doors, before turning around and smiling.

"There's something I want to show you."

You tilt your head and furrow your brow.

"At...whatever time this is? That's not ominous or anything."

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before reaching down and taking you by the hand.

"C'mon," he says, tugging you towards the door. You sigh, yet again. Even if you did tell him to fuck off, you know he'd be hurt and you also know you wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

"Should I get my robe or something? My shoes?"

"Won't need them," he grins, urging you to follow.

"Again, ominous," you mutter and allow him to take you down the corridor. It's a warm night - right at the cusp of spring and summer - and you marvel at the smell of jasmine in the air in the courtyard. He's leading you in a confusing series of turns until the two of you are standing outside looking out on the Ministry grounds. It surprises you how much you can actually see until you glance upwards and note a heavy full moon hanging in the sky. You can only enjoy it for a moment before your late night kidnapper pulls you down the grassy hill and towards the shore of the lake.

"Rain, are we hiding a body or something?" you ask, still suspicious. You're not stupid, you know what your ghouls get up to when they go on hunts. Ministry has to get rid of its interlopers and rejects somehow. Your lips twitch as you remember Sister Tamsin. Rain doesn't respond, doesn't make a sound until the two of you are at the water's edge, your feet sinking into the small pebbles.

"Here we are," he announces, before grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling it over his head. He continues to disrobe, shucking his pajama pants and underwear and you're left...confused. Confused and very, very intrigued. You get your answer when he steps forward and enters the dark water. He doesn't turn back around until he's shoulder deep and then he gives you a wide, sharp grin.

"Skinny dipping? Now?" you say, hands on your hips. He nods enthusiastically.

"Come on baby, take it off!" he catcalls. You roll your eyes and scoff loudly. It's a ridiculous notion but...you've done worse things on the Ministry grounds and in broad daylight at that. Something about the way the water ghoul looks at you as he bobs in the distance makes you soften. When your hands reach for the hem of your nightgown he whistles.

"Shhh!" you hiss, grinning as you pull it over your head. Your underwear comes next and you toss it in the pile of his clothes before tentatively dipping your toes in the water. It's...warmer than you anticipated. You've been in toastier waters, certainly, but the chill feels nice in combination with the warm night air. Slowly and gracelessly you slosh out, a shiver running through you when your nipples hit the surface. You don't miss the way his eyes dart to the hardened buds, his tongue snaking out to lick his lips.

"Come out further," he says, crooking his finger at you.

"What are you, some kind of mermaid luring men to their doom?"

He laughs before tilting his head back and soaking his hair.

"Not men, you. And I don't think you'll complain once you get here so hush and hurry up."

You're at the point where the bottom of the lake can only be skimmed by the tips of your toes.

"Rain, I'm not that strong of a swimmer and I can't see my feet," you say, anxious, "Meet me in the middle?"

He nods and glides over to you, slipping his hands around your biceps.

"Trust me?" he asks, as he slowly pulls you deeper in.

"Yeah," you say, a little apprehensive. He tuts and pulls you in close, your body flush with his.

"Wrap your legs around me, dove," he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear. You do as he asks and immediately feel more secure in this position.

"Thanks," you breathe, pushing damp strands of hair out of his face. Suddenly you're aware of how intimate the situation is - the two of you, all alone with the moon hanging high, his breath mingling with yours. Your eyes dance over his face, down to the gills in his neck that flutter in the water with each inhale and exhale.

"Unholy fuck you're beautiful."

You've told him this before - how could you not when he looks like that - but every time his eyes light up and he smiles.

"You're not half-bad yourself."

You snort, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"A ringing endorsement."

He brings a hand up to your face and presses his thumb into your bottom lip.

"I'd rather show you than tell you," he breathes, moving his thumb and replacing it with the tip of his tongue. Sneaky Rain, you think to yourself as your slide your lips against his. Always knows the right thing to say. When he cants his hips against you and pulls you in even tighter, all other thoughts are banished from your mind. He's smiling against your lips as you gasp into his mouth.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, snaking a hand into your wet hair. How could you not feel it, the gentle and slick prodding at your folds?

"Is that...?"

"Uh huh," he grins, rutting against you so you feel that insistent slide right along your clit.

"Is it--" you're cut off by your sharp inhale when it continues to rub against you, "--like this because we're in the water?"

"Mmhmm," the tip of him nudges your entrance and you instinctively spread your legs wider.

"Remind me to--ah--remind me to take a bath with you. I--"

You forget what you were about to say as he enters you, making your jaw hang open.

"Fuck, Rain," you whimper as the length of him just keeps going, "I-I don't know if I can take it all."

He laughs in your ear, almost a little sinister. The timbre of his voice makes your cunt clench around him and he hisses.

"Of course you can, dove. You're made for us. So perfect and--ah--tight."

When he finally, finally bottoms out you're left panting, stars blooming across your vision because fuck you've never had anyone that deep, not even Mountain. When he begins to pull out you whine, already feeling the loss but before you can say anything, he slams back into you. He repeats the motion over and over as you mouth at his shoulder, your hips bucking into his. He grunts as he fucks into you with such force the water undulates around you. When he lets go of you with one hand he brings it to your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers before pinching down with a growl. The buck of his hips against yours is hypnotic and you feel somehow lulled and electrified as he uses you.

"Always wanted you like this," Rain pants, leaning into suck your earlobe between his lips, "Always knew how--fuck--how good you'd feel. From the first time I had you I--"

His voice cuts off, as the movement of his hips becomes frantic. He's angled himself just so and you can feel the underside of him--were those suckers?--as he grinds it against your swollen clit.

"Rain, fuck, please," you pant, your arms tightening around his neck, "Please I need it, need you to fill me up, fuck a kit into me--"

Your last statement makes him moan loudly, hips now fucking into you at an impossible speed. You can't catch your breath at the way he uses your body, too fucked dumb to form another sentence. All you can do is wait as you feel the familiar tightening in your spine and the fire in your belly, your back arching into him and your head thrown back. Something about the whole situation - the water, him, the monster currently inside you - makes you lose your mind and you cum with a scream. Somewhere in your mind you know that someone had to have heard that but can't bring yourself to care as his cock continues to use you.

"So good, so sweet," he grunts, grabbing you by the back of the head and forcing you to look at him. His eyes as black as onyx and when he cums inside you, it's with a broken moan. He's filling you up - even in the dark water you know he's spilling out of you. Even as he collapses against you, making you dip deeper, his hips still stutter against you, desperate to milk every drop out of him. The two of you pant into the warm night air, your bodies entwined. When he shifts his hips and pulls out of you, your jaw falls open as you feel the length of him slip away.

"Can't believe I took that," you breathe, making him grin.

"Hey, you took Mountain and Aether. That was nothing."

You laugh, leaning in to brush his nose with yours.

"You're too modest," you say, peppering his cheek with kisses. Gently you unwrap your legs from around him and sigh.

"Let's get you back to bed, huh?"

You don't know if you have it in you to swim to shore, but Rain's got you. When your feet finally meet the pebbled lakebed, the jolt of gravity makes you stumble.

"Easy," Rain murmurs, guiding you to a standing position and holding your hand as the two of you slosh out of the water. When you approach your clothes you swear loudly.

"Didn't bring any towels," you grumble, looking sideways at the water ghoul. He smiles at you.

"We could...stay a while. You know, air dry."

"Uh huh," you nod, already knowing where this is going. You damply stumble to the edge of the grass and plop down inelegantly. Rain follows suit, squeezing his wet hair out.

"Rain, that was..."

"Yeah?"

You whistle low.

"Ah, I see. Don't know if you'll ever be able to have me on land again?"

"Oh, I don't know," you say, falling backwards and propping yourself up on your elbows, "I've forgotten what that's like. Care to refresh my memory?"

When Aether, always up early, sees the two of you stumble into the den giggling as the sun rises, he shakes his head with a smile.

[velvet-games]

ficlet inspired by this post @theautotrophic made. it ended spiraling into something very different lol but it's still kind of the same idea? I just needed to explain why vox joins the hotel in my universe.

“Ugh! How is this still happening?” Charlie moaned, turning off the TV. “I don’t think we can make any progress if we don’t start creating our own news coverage.”

“What was that?” Alastor stepped closer to the couch she and Vaggie were slumped on, suddenly curious. 

“It’s Vox. He’s making almost every channel about how much of a failure the hotel is – even though we just proved redemption is possible – and I think it’s actually gaining a lot of traction.” Charlie sighed. “It’s just … I thought everything would get better after we saved the day and my dad could help out, you know? But we’re still fighting just to get people to give us a chance.”

Vaggie put a hand on Charlie’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re the ones with actual proof. I’m sure if we make our own announcement–”

“Wait! Alastor, you made that commercial last time, right?”

“Oh, uh, about that, Charlie–”

“You can make more to counter Vox’s stuff. Hey, and you were friends with him at some point too, right? So you know how to deal with him–”

“Charlie.” Vaggie spun Charlie around to face her. “Sorry. It’s just …”

“Vaggie made a deal with me so that I would never have to work with those picture boxes again,” Alastor finished cheerfully. 

Vaggie visibly deflated in shame. “Uh, yeah, something like that,” she mumbled. “I’m sorry.” Her expression became even more miserable as Charlie seemed to deflate too.

“Oh,” Charlie said. “Well, maybe you could–”

“But!” Alastor interjected, holding up a finger. He was far above drawing any attention to the Vees unprovoked, but this was about as good of an excuse as any. “The purpose of the deal was to prevent me from having any obligation to use the medium for producing entertainment. I would be happy to … take care of the interference from Vox.”

“Great!” Charlie’s eyes shone for one perfectly naive second before her face twisted in suspicion. “Wait … what are you gonna do?”

“Oh, just mess with his wires a little; nothing extreme, dear.”

—

A loud BOOM shook the building as Vaggie failed for the third time to get the TV to turn on. She sighed. “Goddammit.” None of the TVs were working, the Vees’ website had crashed, and Alastor had been gone for the last 24 hours. Vaggie could almost see the expression of horror on Charlie’s face when she found out Alastor had absolutely done more than “mess with his wires a little.” Vaggie rushed to the window, and yep. There it was: a giant red deer demon with shadow tentacles shooting out of it as a much smaller blue smudge darted around with trails of electricity following it. She sighed again. “Charlie? Come down; Alastor’s being an asshole again.”

—

“And I had a great idea for a new show that was gonna air today too!” Vox narrowly dodged another hit from Alastor’s shadows. 

“Another new show? My dear, you really are proving just how much you’re throwing rocks at the wall in the hopes that they’ll miraculously stick.” Alastor turned as Vox appeared behind him in a shower of sparks. “And was it really your idea? Or did you just have your little unpaid underlings come up with it for you?” 

“Fuck you!”

“Oh, I think we’re far past that possibility, darling.” Alastor chuckled, finally managing to grab Vox before he could jump into another streetlamp. “What was the idea? Another reality dating show with manufactured drama? Really, is anything you produce even remotely original nowadays?” The shadow tendril threw Vox into a nearby building. What remained of the terrified pedestrians scattered like ants as Vox fell, several bricks going with him. “What a pity. You used to at least come up with half-decent stories, even if the endings were always laughable.”

Vox groaned, trying to hold several shards of his broken screen in place. “N-No one cares. No one fucking cares what you think; I’m the one who built the empire. You have like, three listeners on that ancient radio show.”

“And each one of them has told me how much they like it, that it’s their favorite, even!” Alastor leaned down. “Would anyone watch you without the hypnosis, without other people’s hard work masquerading as your own?” He smirked. “Would anyone love you without manipulation?”

That last part caused Vox to look up, teeth bared. Several wires shot out of the building behind him and attached themselves to his head, lifting him up to be at eye level with Alastor. “Would anyone love you without manipulation?” Alastor kept smiling despite the surge of electricity that hit him; he quickly batted Vox out of the air, cutting off the attack. 

“I’ll have you know that nearly everyone who meets me adores me, whether they admit it or not,” Alastor replied smoothly. “Including you.”

Vox was on his knees, wires falling as he coughed up what became a puddle of blood. It was always startling how red it was, despite the mechanical nature of most of his body. “Yeah, have a fucking laugh.” His voice became quiet, muffled by static. “Have a fucking laugh about the fact that I loved you and you threw me away like a box of scraps.” He sniffed, standing up shakily and wiping a trail of red from his mouth. “Well, I’m the one with all the influence now, aren’t I? I’m the one with an actual team. You were fading even before you left; I bet you really did ask an angel for help, just to stay fucking relevant. Most of the other overlords aren’t scared of you anymore, and they’ll fucking kill you when none of them are.” 

Alastor narrowed his eyes. “You loved me? Is that why you ran away with that moth to make ‘entertainment’ even you won’t watch?” He started shrinking to his usual size, stepping forward. 

Vox scrambled back, one hand generating a few weak sparks. “Val loves me.”

“Valentino knows you’ll gnaw on any affection you get like a starving dog with a soup bone.” Alastor pushed Vox to the ground again, reaching down to wrap his fingers around Vox’s throat. The sparks in his hand died. “He knows you’re too selfish to make a real connection with anyone.”

Tears welled in Vox’s eyes, round and filling up nearly all of what was left of his screen. “I-I still love you,” he managed to choke out quietly. 

Alastor tightened his grip. “You love money. And I was stupid enough to care for you before I realized that.” Vox’s eyes managed to get even bigger as he started to really choke. “But you’re just dirt underneath my feet, and I’ll kill you every day that I have left here so you remember that.” Alastor just watched Vox’s face for a moment, then pulled out a small knife with his other hand. “Actually, you know what? I have angelic steel with me. I think I’ll just finish you here.” He drove the blade into Vox's side before he could respond, prompting a pained, strangled sound. It wouldn’t kill him quickly. He’d feel it for hours as he bled out if no one helped him. 

“Alastor!” a shrill voice called. He turned to see Charlie’s panicked face, her chest jumping with labored breaths as she stumbled to a stop. “Stop! Stop; I’m sure he’s had enough.”

Alastor stood up, giving one last petty kick to Vox’s leg. He put on an upbeat tune. “Hm, alright. I was just about getting bored with him anyway. How about we go get lunch at that new place around the corner? I’m absolutely starved!”

“I–” Charlie blinked. “No, Alastor, he–” She looked around his shoulder, flinching when she saw the state Vox was in. “Shouldn’t we help him?” she whispered. 

“And whyever would we do that?” 

“Well, I mean …” Charlie started, then appeared to brighten a little. “Actually. I have an idea.” She straightened her shoulders, putting on her “aggressively-kindly” face and voice. “As princess of Hell, I command you to leave the Vees and come help with the hotel. And make up with Alastor.” She glanced at Alastor apologetically before mumbling quickly, “onlyifyouwanttothoughyoudon’thavetodoanythingyou’renotcomfortablewith.” 

Vox blinked, managing to look unimpressed despite bleeding profusely and only having a quarter of his original face visible between all the cracks and glitching. “I would literally rather kill myself.”

Charlie blushed all the way to her ears. “O-Oh.” 

Alastor just burst out laughing, making a show of spinning his cane as he stepped closer to Vox. “Well, old friend,” he said, lifting a heeled boot above Vox’s chest and pressing down. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary if you refuse our help.” Vox sputtered a little as Alastor continued to push. “How about this: Lucifer can heal your wound, and you take a temporary break from working with the Vees, just long enough to help us create a presentation for the angels.” He let his gums show with a smirk that probably contained enough smugness to kill a horse. “And I would love to have you for dinner the night you leave. Is that a deal?”

Vox immediately blushed despite clearly being too lightheaded from blood loss to fully understand what Alastor was saying. “You bastard” – Alastor pressed harder – “Fine! Fine, yes. It’s a deal justliftyourfootholyshitfuck–”

“Wonderful!” Alastor lifted his boot, leaving Vox coughing and bending over on his side. “Now. you two have fun; I’m afraid I need another visit to the tailor,” he said. He brushed off his lapels and straightened his cuffs. “Oh, and Vox? It wasn’t angelic steel; I just think desperation suits you.”

Alastor was gone before the cries of indignant surprise assaulted his ears.

[glitchedoutpxie]

“Soft Muscle”

TMNT 2003 - Raphael ficlet series - Episode 18

Genre: slow burn romance

Pairing: Scientist fem!reader x captive Raphael

Read episode 1

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･*

Episode 18: Tartaruga Brothers

Raphael slumped against the wall. Blood. So much more than you'd realized. A clean shot, buried deep in the soft tissue between the plates of his side.

You didn't hesitate. You tore both sleeves off your lab coat, hands shaking as you bundled the fabric and pressed it hard against the wound.

"Shit—okay, okay," he hissed, trying to lean back against the wall. "No need to give me an attitude."

"Shut up and keep pressure on this," you ordered, guiding his hand to the makeshift bandage. Your fingers brushed his. Cold. Too cold.

The elevator clanged to a stop, old gears groaning like they might give way. The doors hissed open. You supported his body against yours as you walked out into the sewers. You were far from safe. Stockman's tech was way too close by and the guards would be behind you any minute now.

You hadn't made it more than ten steps into the tunnel before the elevator behind you screeched, gears reversing violently, sparking.

Slowly, you both turned.

The metal groaned like something alive. The control panel split open, wires slithering out like vines. The floor retracted. The whole damn lift lurched forward, dragging itself on hydraulic limbs that bent the shaft doors open with a howl.

"Oh my God," you breathed. "Stockman's back..."

"You thought you could escape me?! I am done with you, vermin! Both of you! No more mercy!" the distorted mechanical voice bellowed, sending chills down your spine.

The entire platform shifted, part spider, part scorpion. Wires snapped into tendrils, curling toward you like they could smell blood and fear. A red sensor light blinked in the center of its ‘head.'

Raphael forced himself upright beside you, swaying. "You gotta be kiddin' me."

"Move!" you shouted, throwing his arm over your shoulders and hauling him forward. "Go, go, go—"

A mechanical limb whipped out, slicing into the concrete where your legs had just been. Another jabbed out ahead of you, cutting off your path.

Too fast.

Too many limbs.

This was the end.

You turned to cover Raph's body, knowing it would strike from that side—

And then boom!

The sewer wall behind you exploded inward, concrete raining down as a heavy-duty, shell-covered truck crashed through the tunnel with roaring headlights.

"TURTLE TRUCK, BABY!" a turtle with an orange bandana shouted from the wheel.

Twin grapples launched from the front, wrapping around two of the elevator-monster's legs and yanking it sideways with a mechanical scream.

Another turtle with a purple bandana burst out from the hatch above, staff already sparking as he leapt into the fray. "Step away from my brother, you toaster-faced freak!"

A third turtle with a blue bandana followed with two blades, diving into the chaos.

Raph sagged against you, a delirious laugh catching in his throat. "Took them a damn while."

*⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･⁠* *⁠･⁠゜ﾟ⁠(✿⁠) ゜ﾟ⁠･

Author's Notes:

WOOHOO TURTLES IN THE HOUUUSSEE honestly elevator tentacle scorpion monster? Ai could never 😩

Should i keep posting here or move to ao3/wattpad? I really want to post the original Rosie version somewhere + uploading there would be much faster hmmm idkkkk would yall prefer to finish reading on ao3 or wattpad or tumblr? Help i do not fare well with the freedom of choice

[infiniteeight8]

"You mean you have a bunch of Goose’s here in the Sanctum?"

The first two IronStrange and Goose ficlets can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/series/4367431

I’m basing the Flerken reproduction on what I remember from The Marvels, but I didn’t rewatch those bits, so if it’s inconsistent… *shrugs*. Regardless, for consistency with previous ficlets, I’m using male pronouns for Goose (since I started with those in the first ficlet, before I saw The Marvels).

-

“Tony,” Stephen looked harried as he hurried down the steps to greet Tony in the foyer of the Sanctum. “This might not be the best time to visit.”

“Problem?” Tony asked. “I know Carol said she was dropping by today. Maybe I can help?”

“Carol came and went early this morning,” Stephen says. Tony can’t help a stab of disappointment. Goose may be an eldritch horror in an adorable package, but… he grows on you. “She was dropping off Goose,” Stephen goes on, rubbing his forehead. “Apparently he decided that the dimensional energy in the Sanctum made it the perfect place to lay his eggs.”

Tony blinks. “Eggs? Right. Flerken are not cats. Any idea when they’ll hatch?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Stephen says dryly. “Flerken eggs have remarkably short incubation times.”

“You mean you have a bunch of Goose’s here in the Sanctum?” Tony asks, grinning.

“They swallowed two apprentices before we sent everyone to Kamar-Taj,” Stephen says, pained. 

Tony laughs, only breaking off when interrupted by a surprising loud mew. There’s a tiny black and white kitten sitting at the top of the Sanctum stairs. It yawns, tentacles longer than its own body lashing at the air. “Please tell me I can call Steve,” Tony says.

Stephen glares. “No.”

“Please!”

“No!”

(FRIDAY calls for him. She’s the best.)