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Anonymous: Hannigram, conjugal visit.

(I’m a little nervous bc i’m still new to writing Hannigram, so bear with me)

Will doesn’t really know what to think when he’s told that he’ll be allowed a 12 hour conjugal visit with Hannibal. They’re partners, they had been before this, but now it’s different. And somehow the outside world all thinks it’s normal—like they’re doing Will a favor even by allowing this—to assume he’d want to be in the prison version of a run down motel room with Hannibal.

He’s not going to have sex with him, he tells himself and grits his teeth. He is not going to let Hannibal control him again, just as he has started to feel like him again. There’s a storm raging in Will now, and it’s heading toward Hannibal; he wants to destroy everything that Lector has carefully built, down to the very foundation.

And he really wasn’t going to give in, but the visits through bars where he can’t feel him, can’t reach out and decide if he wants to become his own brand of killer by wrapping his hands around his throat or to grab him and kiss him, to wrap himself up in what he knows is an illusion just because Hannibal makes him feel safe and needed.

"I’m glad to have this time with you, Will," Hannibal states softly when they’re alone together, and he had thought about all the things he would say. He thought about using this time to lure out information to use against Hannibal, he had had resolve until Hannibal touches him. And he had forgotten how the doctor had groomed him into bending to his every touch, how every cell sings out that this is home.

And Will can’t help it, he bites his tongue and lets himself fall under him against the stiff mattress because deep down he knows how much he has missed this. And he damn well knows what Hannibal had done to him, but his empathetic gift doesn’t fail him when he also knows that there is something genuine to the touches, to the look of adoration in Hannibal’s eyes.

As Hannibal takes him, Will wrapped around him and arching toward him like he’s the damned sun, Will sinks back into that insanity where the world was alright and safe and Hannibal had been protection. Because those statements had been an illusion, but he realizes as Hannibal leans his forehead against his, gently rocking into him, that Hannibal does love him. And it’s so fucked up, so twisted, but this Hannibal’s genuine form of love.

And he wonders what’s more fucked up: that Hannibal’s love involves framing him for his own murders, or that Will knows he loves him too.

Anonymous: Team Red shower? I think you can make it happen...

(OHOHO I CAN INDEED. NSFW.)

Peter is going to have to start showering at night, he thinks, as he’s crammed against the cold shower wall. He shivers and can’t help but scowl and push back against the merc who is shamelessly trying to hog the entire stream of hot water. Because every time he announces he’s going to shower, Wade ends up naked and at some point Matt feels obligated to join.

Three grown men do not fit well into a small apartment shower.

"Wade, move over," Peter hisses before feeling firm hands on his waist. All he wants to do is just wash off the grime and sweat from being a good superhero, but instead he has to worry about not slipping and cracking his head open when someone is pulling him against their chest.

"Peter, you’re not exactly a statue in here, either," Matt points out and Peter cranes his neck to look back and see Matt crammed up against the opposite wall of the shower with his red hair soaked against his forehead. It’s a good look for him, he has to admit, and alright maybe Peter isn’t too opposed to showering with his boyfriends when he gets to watch the shower water run down their muscles and he thinks about lapping the droplets up with his tongue—

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gothiethefairy: hurray! i've had this prompt in my head for a while so maybe you can do it better than i will! spideypool: a week after peter saw wade die in a p gruesome way. wade acts like everything's normal bc it is normal for him but it was the first time peter saw something like that so he's jumpy around wade and nervous. a bit angst and then fluff? i hope i'm making sense. ;w;

(GOTHIE DARLING~ YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND. SORRY IT GOT A LITTLE OUT OF HAND I REALLY HAD FUN WITH THIS PROMPT. ALSO WARNING FOR GORE)

Peter hasn’t exactly been sheltered as a kid; he grew up with the internet, he saw R rated movies well before he had been 17. To some extent he would have considered himself fairly strong when it game to more graphic material. Granted, the majority of that had been theatrical and nothing like watching his boyfriend’s brain actually splatter across the pavement.

He had screamed, the world had gone still and all he could hear was ringing and gunshots that reverberated in his skull with the thud of his own heartbeat. And he couldn’t have stopped it, Wade had taunted the criminal to the point of pulling the trigger against his temple and laughed at the first bullet. Peter lost count of the number of gunshots but he felt sick, god he was going to vomit and he couldn’t stop looking at the blood and brain matter and the image would never really leave his head.

Of course, more help arrived in the form of the Avengers and someone had picked up Wade and he thinks it had probably been Steve who led him away, still shell shocked. He knew, logically, Wade is immortal, he’s lost limbs before and nothing is going to take him out much to the world’s chagrin. But Peter had watched. He had watched him die.

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[Marvel Red Team Drabble] Bandages

I haven’t written my boys in forever but Arra inspired me and I miss them so muchhh. I’m really rusty but here’s some shameless fluff.

"My everything hurts."

A few seconds of silence pass before Peter makes this whining noise again and starts to announce that really, his everything really fucking hurts. But Matt grabs his head and pulls it down on his shoulder—Peter hisses because it hurts remember—and runs his fingers through the messy brown locks. “I know,” Matt says, exasperated, “We heard.”

"I don’t know about you guys, I feel fucking great," Wade grins and sprawls out to be a little closer to the other two. Matt’s bed isn’t small, it’s big enough for the three of them and yet there always manages to be so much empty space like there’s something magnetic about their bodies that refuses to leave any space between them.

Wade is lying with his head in Matt’s lap and over Peter’s thighs, prodding at the youngest hero’s belly, mapping out the discolorations in his skin. The kid looks like shit, but hey, who is he to talk when he looks like he’s been in a fight that escalated to a warzone and back—and that’s on a daily basis. Regardless, he makes sure to affectionately tell each of them just how awful they both look donning bruises.

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[NSFW fem!Destiel]

((Just wanted to write fem!porn pretty much ahhhh~ I am excited to get back into the writing groove??))

“I needed you, Cas.”

It’s a pretty heavy declaration as far as Deanna is concerned and she can’t imagine admitting to it if it weren’t muffled between the space of the angel’s shoulder blades; it’s as if she’s mouthing the words and printing them on her skin instead of articulating it through broken syllables and a faltering voice.

Deanna isn’t weak, she doesn’t need anyone. But she whatever this is, she has an angel of the lord quivering on her fingers and she feels like she’s the one about the fall apart. She’s had woman and men alike in her bed—hell, she’s had a plethora of creatures including one fallen angel. But having Cas like this is different because she can feel the heat of her skin and the muscle tightening underneath her fingers, she can feel her ribs as her hands slide down and over the jutting hipbones.

Sex humanizes Cas in a way that scares Deanna a little. Sex makes her feel like she’s obtainable and not this supernatural being that could crush the hunter in some holy mojo mystic way before she could even comprehend it. That this holy concept has been literally embodied in a form that Deanna is allowed to touch her and leave speckled scarlet reminders on her throat that she had in fact taken Cas.

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[Spirk Drabble] Freckles

oh my god it has been forever since I have posted anything but I am starting to write drabbles to get back into the groove and Spock with freckles is just so cute?? slightly nsfw.

Jim doesn’t realize that Vulcans could even have freckles until he finds himself dragging his tongue between green hued speckles across Spock’s skin. He traces lines like connecting the dots, the tip of his tongue slowly tasting its way from his neck and collar down to his hip bones where he finds that the bones jut out more than the standard uniform lets on. And Jim pulls back a moment and is almost giddy with the realization there is a leafy freckle on his First Officer’s hip.

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[Fem!MorMor Drabble] i. The Curves of Backs and Hills

Trying to get back into my writing groove and flow back into style again, so practising with my murder ladies and werewolves today. I’ll probably have a companion drabble for Sabrina for this soon.
Jen’s shoulders are like planes of untouched snow, the blades subtle hills that roll into the small of her back, coming to a sharp, bony point. They’re divided by the river of her spine, protruding through the white skin like a road to her core. There are no scars here, and Sabrina explores the valley of her back with her mouth. A brush of her lips to the peaks of her should blades, the flat of her tongue worshipping the straight of her spine.
Cold, barren, and so white. Jen isn’t pure; the things this woman have done are enough to twist stomachs—but Sabrina sees her like something a little divine. Uncorrupted by the filth of the world, the scars of humanity.
So she mouths at her shoulder blades. Tries to consume a portion of her blessings—and Sabrina has never felt very close to a god of any kind so she should feel ridiculous for how Jen Moriarty has turned into this goddess figure that she immediately drops to her knees for.
But now she faces her back, one arm loose around her waist and the other on her throat like she’s touching something sacred with the tips of her fingers. There’s a gentle strum under her fingers, the only reminder that Jen is actually mortal with human blood coursing through her veins instead of black ice.

Sabrina’s lips close over her skin and follow the shudder from the small of her back to the dip of her hips, the way that her spine arches and bends for her. She leaves angry red petals on her shoulders, proof that she had worshipped here.

[NSFW Spideypool] Tethered

I miss my babies;; top!Peter, bratty!Wade, and fluffy, fluff, fluff smut. 
Quick 30 minute drabble before I go work on real things.

Peter thinks that Wade might be serious this time, when he hisses that he’s going to kill him and damn it Peter, stop. Because he’s straining against the grip on his wrists desperately and it’s not often that Wade is rendered helpless and that might scare the hell out of him, but the thing that terrifies him more is that Peter is ignoring him as he shakes and threatens him with a hint of a quiver to his voice.

It’s just enough that he can pick up on it, just a twinge of fear to his tone. Because Wade isn’t afraid of things, but Peter’s mouth on his skin slow like a flame lapping at his flesh, a slow, burn, it terrifies him. He had told him not to, and he reminds him again with a buck up his hips and tells him that he’s going to break his fingers, the ones that are languidly dancing down his stomach while his other hand grips Wade’s wrists above his head.

Peter is far too flexible for his own good, which is useful when Wade has him contorted into ungodly positions for him to fuck him into, but right now, he’s able to curve and bend his body to reach the expanse of Wade’s body; all of the scarred skin, to see all of him at once.

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[Soulmate!Spideypool ficlet] Creature Fear

Valentine’s Day is coming up and I had this itching at me to be written. Sometime after Your Name Like An Epiphany. A prequel to this one, how it happened, is in the works.

"Peter, come on."

He doesn’t answer, he doesn’t know how to respond to something like this because this is so monumentally huge that the sheer weight of it all is crushing his rib cage. Peter lets his back slide down the locked door, fingers shaking as he lets his head fall into his hands. The bathroom tiles are cold against the skin of his feet, there are goosebumps raised on his skin and he thinks he should have at least locked himself in the bedroom.

"Peter, please.

Has he ever actually said ‘please’ before now? It really took this much for him to use a rudimentary gesture of politeness—it would be funny if it were any other time but now. Any other time but Peter so overwhelmed with the little letters screaming up at him on his wrist. He’s a war between conflicted opinions, his biology and instincts flushed with satisfaction, his mind and free will barking that this isn’t right, that this is not only betrayal but against everything Peter has built for himself.

"It’s not like it wasn’t genuine."

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[Spideypool Ficlet] How to Care for One Wade Wilson

Idea from a post by christy. Feelings and care and nice things.

The clock flickers to 2:37 and Wade wants to go home. Except home is three hours on a bus or hijacking a plane away, and so he knows that he might as well set up camp in a dirty motel. Because maybe Wade hasn’t ever been the most hygienic, or far from it more accurately, but he wouldn’t mind stripping off the spandex and laying out in front of Real Housewives for a bit.

He’s got a wad of money in his pocket and less ammo in his gun. It’s easier for him to do this when he’s away from Peter, when he can separate himself from the irritating thoughts that itch at his brain because Peter is more of an influence than he knows. And Wade partially works on a reward-punishment system, where the disappointed expression that falls on the younger’s face is just enough to make him think twice.

The voices in his head insist that it really is crowded enough up there, that Peter’s conscience needs to stop leaking into his brain because they’re getting a bit claustrophobic and good intentions won’t pay the mental rent.

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