#drabble fill

[jokeringcutio]

DRABBLE/ Insomnia!READER X THE GRABBER

Fandom: Black Phone 2022

Pairing: The Grabber/ Albert Shaw x Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dark!, Non-con/Dub-con, Forced!Blowjob, Smut, Insomnia!Reader, Kidnapped!Reader, Victim!Reader. Implied age gap/ older man/younger woman, somnophilia, use of Little/good Girl.

AN: for @ninakuli How would the Grabber react if the reader couldn’t get to sleep? Well, this might be one of the ways.

->

“Can’t sleep?”

The rough voice made you look up from your position lying on the moldy mattress. You wondered how anyone could sleep here. A stranger’s house, a damp basement, an unknown environment. The walls were bare except for the painting peeling down. The tiny barred window that let in the only light, whether it was day or night because of the lamp that hung in front of it, was up too high. The walls absorbed any sound. It was a prison made with hellish barriers.

And then there was that stranger who came watching. You never knew when he would be down here. Never knew what he would do next. It had you on edge. How could anyone ever sleep when he was around?

So far, he’d mostly been down to watch you, talk to you, work on your mind until his words confused you and you started to believe you’d ended up here all because of your own doing. That you deserved being here.

But there had been that one time when you had pretended to have been asleep, eyes closed, in hopes he would become bored and turn away. But instead of leaving, you had heard his breathing deepen. And then you had felt his hand between your thighs, fingers pressing deep into your clothed skin until one finger curled against your covered cunt. You could still feel his fingertip press against your sensitive bud. The touch hadn’t lasted long, for you’d shot up instantly and his hand had been back by his side almost just as fast. But you were certain it had not been a dream.

And now you were scared of him. Frightened, that if you were to go to sleep, he might take you in it. That he might claim your body as his own when you could not fight back.

Anxiety ate you, piece by piece until it wrecked your nerves and made you shiver with fearful anticipation. Any sound would trigger a panicked reaction and would have you sit up and open your eyes. Because he is here again, isn’t he? Even when he wasn’t. You were constantly alert, ready to shy away from any advances he might try to make.

And so, you blinked up at him fearfully while you wondered what he would be doing next. He’d commented on your lack of sleep the past few times he’d been down there, annoyed that he couldn’t watch you sleep like he had the others. You didn’t know how many had been here before you, only that he somehow seemed to enjoy observing them when they weren’t awake.

Creep, you thought. You wondered if he got off of it. And why he couldn’t just enjoy you while you were awake?

Perhaps that had been a wrong thought to have, because what he said next made shivers run down your spine.

“I know just the thing.” Just the thing for what? To make you sleepy? You wondered for a moment if he referred to some kind of drug, or if he might just knock you out with one of his fists. But he did neither.

He cocked his head to the side, the mask’s chin pointed at his right shoulder. He was observing you, his stance pensively. What was he thinking? But then you regretted that thought when the man came over to you, coming closer than he had in the past few days.

“An ancient old medicine,” he said, voice low and gruff, while he started to unbuckle his belt. And that was the moment you realized what he might be implying. What he might want from you. He probably had wanted this all along.

Your eyes grew wide with fear as you tried to crawl back on the mattress until your back hit the wall and you couldn’t back away any further. “It has proven to be very effective over time,” his husky voice sounded. Then a chuckle emerged from behind the mask as he pushed his pants and underpants down to reveal an achingly hard cock, pre-cum dripping from the tip and glistening in the faint light that fell in from the window above.

The belt was wrapped around his right fist, the end of it dangling in front of you.

You tried to shield your eyes with your hands. “Please,” you begged when you noticed he’d stepped even closer and completely ignored the fact that you had tried to get away. “No, please,” his hand was upon your wrist, yanking it away to uncover your eyes. You looked up at him, tears glistening in your eyes, while you pleaded for him to spare you. “I’ll go to sleep,” you said, voice choked by tears. “Please, I’ll be good. I’ll go to sleep. You don’t need to do this.”

He paused in his actions and there was that tilt of his head again as he studied you through the hole-eyes of the mask. The belt dropped from his hand and fell to the basement floor with a clank.

His right hand came up to your cheek and you flinched, afraid he might slap you there. But his touch was gentle, his palm lightly upon your skin. You opened your eyes again to look up at him mistrustingly and wished you could tell what kind of expression he held behind that darned mask he was wearing.

You couldn’t tell. All you knew was that he was taking his time, standing there, only inches away from you. He was gently caressing your cheek, his thumb tracing circles. The motion was soothing as if he was trying to comfort you. It worked as well, for you felt your shoulders relax somewhat, despite your brain being on full alert.

His other hand was holding his cock. The aching hard member twitched in his grip as a new spurt of pre-cum droplets emerged from the tip. You tried not to look at it, which was hard as his shaft was on eye-level with you, ready to be brought to your lips.

Would he do it? You wondered how far he would go. He hadn’t touched you before like this. He’d been mostly at a distance. Except for that one time. But it figured he would eventually succumb to these primal desires. Why else had he taken you? If it had been just to kill then he would have done so already. Why keep you alive if not for this?

You whimpered, slightly trembling under his caress. A low hum escaped the masked man, then he stood straight again and you saw him move his upper body. The vest he was wearing fell open, his naked stomach showed. Round, you thought, pudgy. Yet, the muscles that showed on his chest betrayed your kidnapper was a man of strength. A strength that was confirmed almost instantly when he suddenly reached for you.

You felt your head being yanked towards him, and his shaft that had been angled at your lips was now pressed against them, begging you to spread them wide. He kept pushing, roughly, until the meat was between your lips and the head of his cock was upon your tongue. The salty taste of flesh mixed with the bitterness of the pre-cum filled your mouth and you hollowed your cheeks. And then he started to thrust.

You looked up at him, pleading silently for his mercy. But at the sight of your tear-stained eyes, his thrusts grew even fiercer and his grip on your head even tighter. You were left with no alternative but to suck, accepting his cock deep inside your throat.

Low, deep rumbles came from the depth of his chest when you started to cooperate. He was pleased, humming and moaning ‘oh yeah’ and ‘just like that’. Sounds that vibrated through his cock until you felt them in your mouth.

Dirty, your mind provided you while he moved you up and down his shaft. The salty and bitter taste of him filled you completely. The curly hairs around his manhood pressed into your nostrils when he pushed your head forward, blocking off your chance to breathe. You sputtered around him, feeling the tip at the back of your throat, feeling his cock spasm between your lips.

You gurgled and sputtered, trying not to choke. A moment of respite when he slid your head back again and his cock nearly left your lips, but then he pushed forward again until his hips met your cheek and your nose was nestled deep within his pubic hair.

You gasped and tried to claw at his hips, but all you felt was how he kept a tight grip on your head and stilled his movements, leaving his cock deep between your lips, the head pushing the back of your throat.

The process repeated itself a few more times, until his cock finally slipped from your lips and you were left gasping for air. A trail of sperm and saliva dripped from your lips and ran down your chin. You moved your hand up to wipe it away, but he caught your wrist before you could get there.

Staring up at him with wide eyes, you heard a chuckle derive from behind the mask. “Na-ah,” the man tusked, his low gravelly voice making something twist deep inside you. A longing, a tingle that had you squeezing your legs together. A foreboding feeling washed over you, that he wasn’t finished just yet. That this was only the beginning.

“Leave it there,” the man hummed. The pause that followed felt too long, making you writhe uncomfortably while you waited for him to either speak or let go of your hand. In the end, he did both, nearly at the same time. “I think I will have to cover your face in a layer of my spunk next time,” there was that rasp again. You had heard it before, how he could slide from a normal, almost gentle tone, into a demonic rasp that was usually used when he was angry and full of curses. “Paint your face a nice white with my cum,” he clicked his tongue behind the mask. His voice became lighter again.

“But for now, there’s another way I have in mind to tire you.”

You shivered at the promise and tried to back away again. The man in front of you got hold of his throbbing cock, wrapping his left hand around it. You saw how his fingers curled around the glistening shaft, still covered in your saliva, and watched how the veins throbbed when he moved his hand up and down at a firm but gentle pace. The ring on his finger glinted in the weak light, skin rippling as he pumped his hand up and down his throbbing cock. Still hard. Balls underneath heavy with cum.

“Undress, sweetie,” he cooed, voice soft like honey.  But when you refused to do as he said, his tone turned drier and more menacing again.

What happened next was much of a blur. He made you undress for him, tweak your nipples for him, rub your hands up and down your bare chest for him while he watched and laughed and licked his tongue past his teeth at the show. His hand never ceased moving up and down slowly, hardening himself underneath his touch until he thought it was enough.

 “Spread your legs, sweetheart,” it took only one command and you were back on your back on the mattress. Your bare back scrubbed along the mold. Even covered in the dark shade of the mask, you could see the glistening of his eyes, pupils wide. You hesitatingly spread your legs for him.

He crawled over you, cock still in his hand, and pressed your legs apart to fit himself in between. His right hand was on your thigh, palm pressed against your soft skin. His left hand guided his cock to your quivering cunt until you felt the head kiss your labia. A wet feeling against your pussy lips and you realized he was smearing his pre-cum at your entrance, deliberately rubbing the head of his cock up and down your entrance while some of the pre-cum came seeping out.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders and your lips parted in a gasp. “Please,” you begged, knowing it to be futile. Then he dipped in, just the head. Careful fingers pressed the tip in. Not enough to hurt yet, just enough to tease.

He paused in his actions just to bend down, his hair brushed against your cheek as he whispered near your face. “That’s my good girl.”

Then he thrust forth without mercy.

You were speared upon his cock that night, in the basement that was your prison. He left you sore and tired as he forced orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling body beneath him.

He’d been right. You closed your eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber afterward, relieved when he finally rose from the bed and left you alone. You were too tired to notice when the Grabber returned for you in the midst of the night to get some more relief. Until you faintly awoke to wet sounds and the odd feeling of something thrusting deep inside you.

“Hush, pretty girl,” the low voice whispered in your ear, hips moving relentlessly while he kept pushing himself inside. One hand was on your breast, squeezing it tightly while he toyed with you. His other arm was around your waist, his knee between your legs as he held you from behind, your cunt squeezing down on his cock which was covered in your mixed juices.

“I’ll make you go to sleep soon, little one. Don’t you worry. I’ll make you sleep real deep.”  

[wadesunderwater]

T4T Ororo/Jean

@that-final-garnish as you requested, kind sir. Note that this contains mentions of transphobia and transmisogynoir. Also, this is my first time actually writing Ororo, so I would love to hear (constructive) feedback if anyone has any! (:

---------

“You look beautiful,” Jean tells her, peering at Ororo’s reflection in the long, ornate mirror. Her gaze follows down the line of Ororo’s body and the heavy satin gown draped upon it. Its single sleeve wraps tightly across her chest, its asymmetry helping to camouflage her broad shoulders, and below the high waistline the loosely pleated skirt falls to pool at her feet. One of her legs peaks out where a pleat is cinched to sit higher than the rest. Pearl white, the dress almost glows against Ororo’s deep complexion.

It’s perfect. Accentuates her body in all the right ways. With her thick, full curls cascading from above her head down across her shoulders, she’s perhaps never felt more beautiful.

And yet.

“I am not sure that the men at this gala will see what you are seeing, my dear.” She tries to say it with levity, like it’s nothing more than a little joke between them, but fails to conceal the sadness underneath.

Jean, on the other hand, manages to keep her tone teasing and light. “Since when does Ororo Munroe, the great Storm Goddess, care what men like these think?” Ororo watches as she glides her finger down a curl before tucking it sweetly behind Ororo’s ear.

“Since securing their favor is crucial to securing our freedom.”

Though this is true, Jean is right. She does not usually give more than a passing thought about what others see when they look at her. It has taken many years, but she knows who she is, and she walks with confidence in that identity now.

Despite that, though, moments like these still creep up on her, when shadows slither from the dust-covered corners of her mind and make her see herself the way she knows that they do. Even in this lovely dress, she’s thinking of her height, her strong jawline. All the little features they will pick up on, and because of them, determine that she is nothing more than a man playing dress up.

Jean’s warm hands slide down her exposed arms, and Ororo sighs at the comforting touch, leaning back into the other woman.

“You are a goddess, Ororo. Don’t let these ignorant fools make you forget that.”

“How do you never seem to waiver in the face of it?” she asks.

Jean looks away to ponder, and Ororo takes that moment to examine the redhead in their reflection, as she has done so many times before.

Jean is shorter, only 5’8”, an acceptable height for a woman, and her features are softer. More than anything, she has the benefit of her whiteness, which affords her the opportunity to be seen as someone soft, delicate. Ororo, with her warm, dark skin, does not have this luxury.

She knows that this is what lies at the core of their differences, even if they so rarely name it.

“Because,” Jean turns her gaze back to Ororo, having found her answer, “I know that if I waiver, I’m letting them win. And I’ve worked too hard—we’ve worked too hard to survive, to just let them steal a victory like that.”

Ah, Jean. Forever the motivational speaker. Always there when Ororo needs one most. The truth of her words inflames her, drying up the melancholy in her chest and sparking Ororo’s tenacity back to life.

She takes a deep breath, then turns to meet Jean’s green eyes, a determined storm brewing in her own. Bringing her thumb to Jean’s cheek, she swipes over the silken skin and watches as the other woman’s eyes flutter closed for a moment. “Thank you, darling.”

Emerald glimmers back at her. “Any time, my goddess.”

---------

Read on AO3.

Ororo's dress inspo below the cut! (':

i spent so much time researching to find the perfect dress lol, but GOD i'm happy i did, because i'm obsessed with picturing ororo in this.

[cartwrong]

“why does this stuff keep happening to you?”

-louisaguy (annabel)

thank you my wonderful friend! @exomal you sent the same one in later (thank you as well!) feel free to send a different one or I’ll try to do another fill with the same prompt :)

from this prompt game

“So, you were just walking over, minding your business, and a random person came out of nowhere, punched you in the face, knocked you down and stole your wallet and your phone?” Louisa asked.

River opened his mouth, to object, then closed it just as quickly.

“Yeah, that pretty much sums it up,” he said.

Louisa shook her head. He was sitting on Louisa’s couch as she fussed over him with her first aid kit, River having abandoned the idea of picking up the pizza he promised to bring over when a stranger mugged him on the way. He was just lucky he hadn’t gotten the pizza already then that would have likely been collateral damage.

“Why does this stuff keep happening to you?” Louisa asked, shaking her head slightly as she moved to clean a cut near his temple.

“Just lucky I guess,” he said as she secured a butterfly bandage to the cut.

She gave him a look and then binned the remnants of the supplies she used before walking to her freezer, taking an ice pack and handing it to him wrapped in a tea towel. River held it to his swelling eye, sighing in relief at the coldness. His eye would be impressively black tomorrow and he hoped it wouldn’t swell shut completely.

“Okay, what else hurts?” she asked, returning with a second ice pack.

“Why do you have so many ice packs?” River asked instead of answering her question.

“Because my best friend is a magnet for trouble. Now, what else? Ribs? Were you limping earlier?” Louisa looked him over appraisingly and River had the feeling he was being x-rayed.

“I’m fine,” River deflected, shrinking under the scrutiny of her glare and single raised eyebrow. “Okay, not fine, but—” he cut off again as her eyebrow raised seemingly higher and River knew he wouldn’t be getting anything past her.

“River,” Louisa crossed her arms and waited for him to surrender.

He did so immediately. “My ribs,” he mumbled.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear over your deflecting.”

“My ribs,” he said slightly louder and Louisa dropped down beside him on the couch, pressing the ice pack to the exact spot he had been favouring earlier. “Thanks, by the way, for this.”

River inclined his head towards the ice pack on his ribs, wincing slightly as he did so and pressing the other ice pack more fully to his eye.

“Yeah well,” Louisa said, pulling out her phone and opening the deliveroo app. “When you get your wallet back, the next pizza is on you.”

[lunar-wandering]

Hey can you do shadowpeach with 7 3 10 17 and 21 pls (sorry if I put to many

7. “I know you’re here.” / 10. “I’m not scared.” / 21. “That’s it, you’re getting a hug now.”

Wukong woke up in the dead of night to pure silence.

That...that was strange. Wukong didn’t normally wake up in the middle of the night for no reason after all. If he’d been sleepwalking then maybe, but he was still in bed in the same position he’d fallen asleep in.

Which meant there had to have been something that had woken him up.

Slowly sitting up, Wukong’s red eyes flickered gold as he activated his true vision and let out a faintly visible breath, taking in the state of the entire mountain.

And then he...paused.

The golden glow faded from his eyes, and he let out a tired, irritated sigh as he pulled himself out of the bed, glamouring away any traces of the fact he’d been asleep.

He opened the window and flew down to beach.

He landed on the sand with enough strength to send bits of it flying as he dispelled his cloud. Upon a first glance, it seemed like there was nobody there.

But Wukong knew better.

“I know you’re here.” He said, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited. After a few seconds, there was a small noise of a bush shifting, and then Macaque slowly stepped out from behind a tree. Wukong let out another tired sigh at the monkey’s appearance. “What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through.” Macaque said, and Wukong raised an eyebrow as he watched Macaque’s hand twitch for his scarf, before he used his other hand to grab his own wrist, stopping the movement. “I didn’t mean to trip your magic monkey sense or whatever stupid shit you’ve got set up.”

“Macaque, your house is on the mainland in the outskirts of the city.” Wukong deadpanned, Macaque’s fur bristling, though whether it was from being caught in a lie or from Wukong knowing where he lived, Wukong couldn’t tell. “Give me the real reason why you’re here, and maybe I won’t toss you out into the ocean.”

Macaque let out a huff, leaning against the tree he’d been hidden behind, an evil smirk appearing on his face as he opened his mouth, likely to give some random excuse-

But Wukong knew that smirk, that look.

“Ah.” He said, interrupting Macaque before he could even begin. “You’re scared.”

“Wha- I- hah!” Macaque stuttered, before letting out a singular laugh, and Wukong watched in faint amusement as Macaque’s eyes briefly flashed magenta, though whether the shadow monkey had noticed that or not was up for debate. “I’m not scared.”

“I remember that expression Macaque. You’re scared.”

“You’re misremembering things.”

“C’mon now, tell me what’s got the ‘great Macaque’ all freaked out.” Wukong leaned forwards slightly with a smirk on his face- which turned to a concerned frown when Macaque glanced away. “Hey, seriously, are you okay?”

“Fine.” Macaque hissed, pushing himself off of the tree and walking towards the shoreline, Wukong quickly following him. Upon noticing the Monkey King’s proximity, Macaque startled, whirling around-

And bumping into Wukong, who, not having prepared himself for the impact, fell down into the water, a wave gently hitting him and soaking his fur and clothes.

Both of them paused for a moment.

And then Wukong was slowly standing up.

“Right,” He said, “That’s it. You’re getting a hug now.”

“Wait- wait- Wukong hold on- you’re all wet- hold on no-” Macaque held up his hands in surrender, and, upon seeing that Wukong was being completely serious, turned to start running down the beach.

He didn’t get very far.

Wukong tackled him to the ground, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close, succeeding in getting Macaque’s clothes and fur wet, as well as getting the both of them practically covered in sand. Macaque hissed and struggled, kicking his legs and hitting Wukong’s chest with his hands, but despite his wiggling and squirming could not break free from Wukong’s grip, and ended up accepting his fate, stopping his struggling and just... laying there.

“Ready to tell me what got you all freaked?” Wukong whispered into Macaque’s ear, making him let out a strangled noise.

“Don’t do that!” He hissed, wiggling a little again when Wukong laughed, before settling back down with a sigh. “...It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if it made you come here in the middle of the night.”

Macaque was silent for a few more moments, and Wukong waited patiently.

“...The ice made things...quiet.” Macaque eventually whispered. “On that side. It was just...quiet. I made my house quiet so that the noise of the city wouldn’t bother me, but now it’s...too quiet.” 

“That still doesn’t explain why you chose to come here though.” He said, and Macaque’s fur bristled as he tried to adjust to hide the lower half of his face within his scarf. With Wukong’s arms blocking the way, he only half succeeded.

“The mountain..has this kinda...song to it.” Macaque muttered, before continuing, even more quietly, like he was somehow hoping Wukong wouldn’t hear; “You have a nice song.”

Wukong let out a small inquisitive hum. Macaque didn’t say anything further, and Wukong could feel Macaque’s tail shift underneath of him from how it wanted to wag back and forth. He watched in slight amusement as Macaque’s ears took on a faint glow.

He must be pretty flustered if it was breaking through his glamours.

“Ugh, just, forget I said anything!” Macaque eventually yelled, once again struggling to escape from Wukong’s grip. “Just let me go and I’ll leave.”

“Hm. No.” Wukong said, and Macaque just barely had a moment to process that Wukong was shifting-

And then Wukong was lifting him up, bridal style.

Macaque let out some sputtering noises, and it took all of Wukong’s will to not laugh again.

“I don’t know if I can believe you.” Wukong said, shifting his grip when Macaque tried to struggle free again. “So I should probably keep an eye on you for the rest of the night just to make sure you’re not up to anything.” 

Macaque let out a noise that was probably supposed to sound offended but honestly just sounded a bit pathetic. Wukong allowed a bit of a smirk to slip onto his face, and Macaque responded to that by turning and hiding his face against Wukong. 

Wukong actually did let out a laugh at that.

“Come on you scaredy cat, I’ll keep you safe tonight.”

[feedmecookiesnow]

WINTERHAWK AND 47 (no one needs to know)

Of all things, Clint does not expect the Winter Soldier to like poetry.

Knives, definitely. He’s almost jealous of the collection Bucky’s got, and the fact that it takes up a whole chunk of wall in his room. Guns as well—his stash almost rivals Natasha’s, something Clint finds slightly amusing. Jumping out of airplanes, brooding like a bat in the lounge, glowering at people who get too close to him on the street—these are all very Winter Soldier-y things, and Clint’s not surprised by any of them.

Poetry, though. That’s a new one. 

“Never took you for the type,” he says, holding up the book of poems.

Bucky glares at him before yanking it out of his hand. “That’s mine.”

“I’m just curious,” Clint says. “What do you see in it?”

“Leave it alone,” Bucky snaps. “I’m not in the mood.”

Clint sighs. “I’m not trying to tease you,” he says. “I honestly don’t—I’m not a poetry guy? I just want to know why you like it. Because you do, clearly, if you’re bringing books of it on missions.” He means it, every word. He likes Bucky, likes him too damn much, and the guy so rarely reveals things about himself. Clint’s practically desperate for information.

Bucky hesitates. He still looks annoyed, but there’s a softening in his expression. Clint tries to keep his body language open and sincere, knows Bucky trusts that more than words. “You always listen to me go on about archery,” he adds after a moment. “I’d like to hear about something you’re interested in. I mean it.”

That hits it. Bucky looks down at the book in his hands, thumbing over the crease in the spine. “I don’t know,” he says softly. “It’s hard to explain. It changes by the day. By the poet. By the poem, sometimes. But I suppose the big reason is that poetry itself is always...evolving. Changing.” He looks up, meeting Clint’s eyes. “I was frozen, for a long time.”

He doesn’t say anything else, but Clint doesn’t need more than that. He gets it, suddenly, gets in a way he didn’t before, and he finds himself struggling to breathe through a knot of emotions in his chest.

“I’m happy for you,” he manages. “I’m—that’s good, Bucky. I’m glad you found something you like.”

“No one needs to know,” Bucky says. “Or—I don’t want anyone to know. Please. I just...this is mine.”

“Secret’s safe with me. I promise.” He sits on the bed. “On one condition, anyway.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“Read me one. Your favorite.” Clint pats the bedspread next to him. “Please?”

Bucky looks confused. “You...want me to read to you?”

“I do,” Clint says. “Please?”

Bucky smiles. It’s unexpected, and heartwarming, and Clint’s helpless to do anything but return it. Then he settles on the bed next to Clint, opening to a bookmarked page. “I have a lot of favorites. If that’s okay.”

“We have time,” is all Clint says, and he settles in to listen.

[betheflame]

For the prompt list you just posted : "sunbathing" and ship Stuckony 😍

“Quick question,” Tony said as he walked back up to the beach chairs from his quick dip in the ocean. 

“Yeah, doll?”

“The serum. We’re sure you can’t-”

“We cannot get cancer, Tony,” Steve interrupted, his eyes not leaving his book. 

“We also can’t really get sunburned,” Bucky added, still intent on constructing his sand… well, it was really more of a city than a castle at this point. 

“But it’s not like melanoma was big on Erskine’s radar and -”

Bucky and Steve shared a look. While Steve got the reputation as mother hen in their relationship, Tony was really just as bad. 

“Will you be happy if we put on some SPF 30, baby?” Steve asked. 

“I just think it would be wise,” Tony said primly. 

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Bucky replied, rising from his place on the sand and ambling over to Tony. Pressing a quick kiss to Tony’s mouth, he grabbed the sunscreen from the bag. 

[oldtestleper]

drabble about... grief

“Go away,” Ash said.

“You look fucking awful,” Carver said in the way of greeting. He didn’t feel bad, because it was true and because he hadn’t had to say anything or do more than stop for two fucking seconds in front of Ash in order to get barked at. “Are you okay?”

Ash was silent for long enough that Carver got worried and knelt down in front of him. From there the blood and grit on him reeked even worse.

“Get away from me,” Ash said at last, but it wasn’t very convincing. It wasn’t very much at all. He might as well have been reading off crop yield data for how invested he sounded. “I don’t need your help.”

“You need somebody’s help,” Carver said, and risked a hand on Ash’s knee. Ash’s face twitched a little but nothing else in him moved. Looking him up and down, Carver saw that it was worse from up close, the blood caked on thicker, the skin of his face grayer. There was a subtle tremor in his hands, the rotors whining a little under the strain of the chaotic, rapid-fire neural impulses Ash was subjecting them to.

“Not yours,” Ash said. He looked down and his eyes met Carver’s. A thin spasm crossed his face, something that might have been a glare, or trying to be anyway. It took too much out of him and his chin dipped a little; his eyelids shuttered. Carver was inclined to agree with him. He didn’t really want to babysit his least favorite commando either. But seven hells, the state of him—Carver had never seen him like this, had never really seen anyone like this. He couldn’t just leave the man, not when Ash seemed as likely to eat plasma as just fall over dead on his own.

“Who else do you have?” Carver asked. “Who can help you?”

“I don’t have anybody,” Ash said in a dull voice. Carver wanted to peel his eyelids back and test them for light reactiveness, that was how fucking dead he sounded. Ash’s head dropped forward onto his chest. “I don’t have anybody.”

“Okay,” Carver said, breathing out hard. He squeezed his eyes shut for one heartbeat, two, the same amount of time that he let himself wish that Kelly were there with him, or better yet, Kharro—Carver had only been on the receiving end of that trick she did once, but it was a true thing of magic the way it took everything you were feeling and opened up a drain, let it all flush itself out until the inside of your head felt as bleached and scoured as bone in a desert. Anyone would have been better than him.

“Listen.”

Ash didn’t move. He didn’t look like he had ever moved, really. He looked like he had been carved out of the durasteel bench. Carver wet his lips nervously and tried not to think about the ache that was building behind his eyes.

“We’ve gotta get up, okay?” Carver said. “We’ve gotta get up. We can go to your bunk if you want or we can go to me and Kellys’ but you’ve been going too long.”

“I don’t need you,” Ash said, the words grating out of him. “Stop trying to fucking look after me.”

“It’s been hours and you’re still sitting here in your armor,” Carver snapped, his ire rising. He felt hurt. He wanted to hurt Ash, a little bit. But that was a pretty shitty thing to think about someone who had just lost everything. “Come on,” he said, gentling his voice as much as he could. “Stand the fuck up, trooper.”

Ash’s head jerked and his hand squeezed into a fist, but then he got up.

“Attaboy,” Carver said. He clapped Ash on the shoulder and without thinking about it slid his first two fingers between the epaulet and the gorget, pressing hard over the thick muscle of Ash’s trapezius, hard and knotted up underneath the bodysuit. It was a soothing sort of thing he did to Sal, sometimes, when he was keyed up and armored and needed a little soothing. Carver didn’t realize that he had done it until it was already too late. He jerked his hand away.

Ash shivered and the corners of his mouth turned down hard. It was all the expression he’d made that whole time. Carver looked away, hot-faced and guilty for some reason, for having seen it.

[jokeringcutio]

Little Bunny (A Black Phone Drabble) - Grabber x (F) Reader

Drabble fill for the Anon who so kindly donated to me. Anon Wrote: My prompt will be a girl gets nabbed by the grabber, & when he goes through her backpack, he finds she carries around a yellow comfort plush bunny (mocks and coos at her for it?) srry if thats weird lmao AN: Thank you for your donation. With your money I am already on my halfway goal of buying a new pair of glasses :D Which I really need, so thank you loads. You have no idea how much this means to me <3 Rating: NC-17 Due to themes, smut-related words and references. Little Bunny – Grabber x Reader

When you opened your eyes it was to the hunched form of a man. His lean, slender frame was bent over something, his back to you. You could faintly see the traces of his shoulder-length hair. Like Gollum hunched over his most coveted treasure.

Your vision was blurry, so you sat up and rubbed your eyes. Something sturdy was beneath you, not as soft as it should have been but no stones either. The room around you was dark and murky. There was a dull pounding in your skull and your lungs ached as if you’d inhaled too much smoke. Vague flashes of memories suddenly hit you. Of a man. A van. Black balloons. And you, polite and kind as ever, offering to help him.

Had your own kindness gotten you into this predicament? It did not seem fair.

Once your gaze slid back to the man, you noticed that he had turned around to look at you. But instead of meeting a human expression, you met the artificial smile of a pale devil with horns. No human face was visible. The man was wearing a mask to obscure his features from you, a sign that whatever he had in mind for you wasn’t going to be something good.

Devilish intentions, you thought, while a shudder of fear ran down your spine. A monster. Not a man. 

“Ah, so you are awake,” his low voice groused. But there was a certain playfulness to it. As if he was somehow twisting his voice into a caricature version of his own. He was toying with you. You brought your hand up to your chest at the realization, breathing rapidly while you tried to remain calm.

“Where am I?” You asked the first question that came to mind. Your sight was still returning to you, but you’d quickly noticed your surroundings. The same plain walls stared at you, all around. The only piece of furniture, if it could be described as such, was the mattress you woke up on.

“What are you doing with my bag?” you asked, sitting up and scooting to the edge of the blotted mattress. You noticed something sticky beneath your hands and glanced down shortly to see the many spots that must have been created by fluids. But what kind, you didn’t wish to give a thought.

You quickly looked up at your captor again. He was squatted next to your bag. The horrendous mask was directed at you, his eyes glinted behind it.

“Where am I?” you asked once more, as he still had not replied yet.

But it was as if your words were absorbed. You frowned slightly, aware that something wasn’t quite right – other than being abducted. Still, the man did not reply. Instead, he seemed to let out a heavy sigh - judging by the way his shoulders rose and then slumped again. And then he finally turned his head away from you to bring his focus back onto the contents of your bag.

You watched how the man removed a pen from the bag and seemed to study it. The mask tilted to the side while his finger stroked sensually past the plastic pen. Then, his hand up until his wrist disappeared into your bag again. A low breath could be heard, muffled behind the mask’s lips. Was he excited? A shudder, then his hand slowly emerged from your bag again. You half expected to see the pen again, but he had taken out your phone instead.

He studied it with a quiet curiosity. And you watched him with the same silent morbid curiosity. His thumb stroked past the edge until it pressed the power button. Your screen flashed to life shortly before it was silenced and darkness consumed the screen. The man was studying your things, you realized, as he tossed the phone back in and pulled out the next of your belongings.

His hands stroked with reverence past each item that he took out. He rattled your keys gently, then revealed a few items you always carried with you, then your wallet. There was an erotic kind of curiosity to the way he studied each little thing. You thought he had touched everything inside.

Everything, except one thing.

“Now, what do we have here?” The man’s voice made your breath hitch in your throat. It was low, ungodly so. You felt how a spark of longing shot deep into your core. Slick gathered between your folds and you quickly pressed your knees together, forcing your legs to rub against each other in an attempt to ignore what his voice was doing to you.

How could you get this aroused from sound alone? Once again, it wasn’t fair.

You shyly glimpsed away, afraid that he would notice your reaction or see the blush that must be on your cheeks. Apparently, it did not work, for the man had turned towards you fully now and took a deep breath. You heard it. Heard the inhale, heard the slight rasp to it. Then a low chuckle.

“Isn’t that cute?” the man continued, and you would have tried to avoid looking his way if it hadn’t been for the plush bunny he held in his hands. Reverently, as with all of your belongings, he held it, carried it almost on his palms. A yellow plush bunny that gave you comfort when times were harsh – and they had been lately.

If your cheeks hadn’t been red before, they certainly flushed now. Ashamed, you stared at him and bit your lip, biting down any comments you might have wanted to make.

“Why would a big girl like you have a need for a thing like this?” And it was a good question he asked, one that you often had asked yourself during your weaker moments. But then you always reminded yourself of the comfort it brought you. Was owning a plush animal such a bad thing for an adult? Did it make you weak or foolish?

If anything, you thought daring to carry your bunny around with you had always made you stronger.

Then his voice broke you out of your thoughts. Any leering comments you had expected were swapped aside for something far more sinister.

“Is it that you want to have something to cuddle with?” he hummed, the tone’s implication clear.  “Or someone?”

A shiver ran down your spine as you realized what he must be hinting at, and you carefully scooted farther away from the stranger and as far back onto the dingy mattress as you could, until your back hit the hard wall. Eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief, you held up an arm in front of you as if to stop him from getting any closer.

“Ah, suddenly getting shy?” the man cooed before you could even utter a word in your defense. You watched as he moved his arms to his sides. Your plush bunny was pressed against his hip, flattened with its soft face against the hardness of his hipbone, its ears tapped against the cold metal of the man’s belt.

And you winced. Your poor bunny.

“Please, sir,” finally you found your voice and the opportunity to get a word in between the man’s rambling. “It’s mine, my comfort bunny. Could you give it back?”

The mask tilted but there was no mistaking. His eyes were directed at your outstretched hand, your arm still in front of you, muscles slightly trembling. And something started to smolder in them. Some kind of perverted dark pleasure was visible in his eyes.

“That’s all right,” the man’s voice was low and leering. For a moment you expected him to hand back your plush toy. But then you saw him raise the bunny to his mask and heard the rough rasp of his voice. “You won’t be needing this any longer. If it is comfort you seek, then it is comfort I shall give you.”

And against all of your expectations, down the bunny went, onto the dirt-covered stone floor. Without thinking you dove forward to catch it, ending up in front of the man’s feet on the floor.

Your hand came to rest upon the plush fur of your most beloved toy, when suddenly a shoe was upon it, crushing the back of your hand under the rubber soles of a sturdy shoe. You lay vulnerably in front of the man, completely at his mercy. A pained groan escaped you through gritted teeth, and you looked up to meet the devilish silhouette that towered above you.

Your kidnapper seemed nothing more but a shadow, the mask’s features hidden in the darkness of the room. But his eyes, oh! They glinted like embers in the night. A pure evil shone within them; the promise of a devil.

“I think,” the low murmured words fell silent on the basement’s tiles and he added a little more weight onto your hand, just enough that the pain became unbearable, but not enough to crack bones. “You and I are going to get real comfortable around each other, sweetheart.”

Then, his foot lifted from your hand, making you gasp in relief. Your other hand cradled your hurt one, bringing it close to your chest, your bunny as well – no way you were going to let go of it now.

Your kidnapper looked down at you, hands on his hips, and huffed. “Oh yes,” his voice lowered another notch until the low vibrations sent tingles of pleasure down your sopping cunt. Despite being scared, you felt the thrill of being in this man's hands. Especially when his low murmur brought another promise:

“Real comfortable.”