Open RP Post

[wuzzafuzzle]

↪ Pick one of my characters (make sure to specific which version) OR drop any character of yours in and get a random choice.
↪ Find a meme, roll something, idefk
↪ Or cheat and just pick something.
↪ You can also just throw a picture, quote, or whatever kind of prompt you want.
↪ Or just leave a TFLN.

Comments

plasmabitch bc i just might miss him.

[aphrodisiacs]

( idc if you set it in abax or somewhere else. i miss this cr. making you do all the work too bc i am not easy tyvm. )

Jackson Whittemore | Teen Wolf

[adoptalizard]

[misjudge]

Alex Summers ➟ X-Men: First Class

[doomhoops]

UM UM UM. HI. 8D

[brbinvading]

Stelios ➟ 300

[fightsintheshade]

[thracian]

Jake Muller ➟ Resident Evil

[godreallyhatesme]

[ofwonderland]

Jack ➟ Mass Effect

[hellodeadpeople]

I DON'T EVEN KNOW

[sentinels]

Thor Odinson ➟ Marvel Cinematic Universe

[godofshawarma]

idek

[phrenesia]

Christopher Hitchcock ➟ Everworld

[smartassing]

[sororicidium]

Owen ➟ Original Character

[besets]

[falsifies]

Deucalion ➟ Teen Wolf

[deucebag]

sobbing at myself

[clawstrophobic]

Now hang me up to dry
You wrung me out too, too, too many times
Now hang me up to dry
I'm pearly like the whites-- the whites of your eyes

HEY HEY VERGIL

[scions]

you know.

[reparo]

one day i'll use one of that million prompts in here but until that day, bambi

[battleshipping]

rescue for Thor? |D

[tiptoeing]

[The Hulk barrels through the compound where Thor is being held captive. Whoever is holding him there has taken great pains to ensure that Thor can't escape his cage or access his hammer. But what they didn't count on was the Hulk smashing it (and everything else). He lifts him up and carries him out of the crumbling compound, leaping great distances to get Thor to safety.

The other Avengers (and Sif) take care of any threats who aren't smashed in the process. Eventually the Hulk sets him down in an unusually gentle way, mindful of any injuries.]

( jack. )

[reclaim]

[cicatrize]

[ 'Enemies I understand. You - I don't know what you are.' The words echo in his head as Jack holds himself under the blazing hot water of the generous tub. He thinks, sometimes, if he should just stay here. The sounds and sights of the world all drowned out - no crown, no kings, no lies and wars and masks to wear and secrets to carve from himself and bury. Just floating, ambient and silent. Only him and those words, turning them over and over again in his mind.

He does know. He's felt that before - that ache and bright burning admiration. That urge that has his eyes lingering over David Shepher, our savior, overlong. Telling, if anyone caught him doing it, but no one looks at the prince anymore. Not long enough, not deep enough. Not when he's given them so much else to get tired of. He knows what this feeling is and he knows it's dangerous. It's lethal. It's some sickness that grows in him that he has to suffocate or bleed out. Or suffer in silence and abscene of any that might witness and sneer. That's what he's doing here - sunk below the scorching water of Shepherd's bath, given to him in the palace once he gained all his fame. Shepherd himself is off on one of his errands, supposed to be gone for another week, and he can't help the want to covet what's not being watched, while he's not being watched. These small things make the rest lighter. If only minutely. That's about when he hears the door creak open, and sees the very man he's coveting in thought standing in the doorway, looking equal parts shocked and confused. Ah. Awkward. ]

Shepherd. You're supposed to be gone. [ He's a little shellshocked for a moment, caught in something like that, but jack clears his throat, his act sliding easily into place, as an empty smile pulls his lips the country finds so pretty, as it spews lies with them. ] They always give the heroes the nicest baths. Silas can't help it. Has to pamper his pets while his children get cold shoulders and impossible expectations.

Sorry. [ It's a sorry that's pretty obviously not that sorry, as he skins back in the wide, spa like tub, kicking bare feet up on the edge of it to look settled in. He's really so good at wearing these masks these days. ]

( jack. )

[mitigates]

[cicatrize]

[ Jack Benjamin hates TJ Hammond. Hates him for all he has that Jack is denied, and it makes his skin crawl with envy and his blood turn with a shame he doesn't really understand. He couldn't handle what Jack did, he knows that, he wasn't built for it, but he was still given it. All that acceptance and love and support - hailed as a hero by his people. Jack's people would scorn him and cast him out. Mock him openly and to his face like he wasn't a lion among men. Something sinful.

TJ Hammond isn't toxic. His lover won't be put six feet under because of the chains around Jack's neck, and the razor wire he speaks with. The shield he weilds like an ax. TJ Hammond is free to know love, gain it, and lose it. He's free to have it, where Jack will die without it. And he despises him for it. They sit in the piano room, TJ peacefully playing a beautiful piece that Jack doesn't know and doesn't feel as deeply as he should. Doesn't feel anything as deeeply as he should for all he's had to numb himself to it. It's a pause between measures when he speaks, eyes stinging and throat tight, but with venom dripping. ]

You have everything. And you cast it away. Waste it. [ He leans forward in his plush, expensive seat like a throne, narrowing eyes at him. ] You have no idea what it means to have to bury something in you and walk like a criminal in someone else's skin.

para jack

[sklent]

[cicatrize]

[ The Gilboian secret service is a force to be terrified of. Jack's know that since he was small and watched enemies silently disappear in the wake of his family. Watched people buried and forgotten. It's also not a place you're allowed to depart from with secrets. Secrets like Natasha Romanoff has, who stands in the royal muesum like there isn't a target on her head and a price lingering in the wings. But she's something fierce and terrifying in her own right - they don't come for her because they know she'll bury them like all the others. Jack's seen her do it. He's sent her to do it before, and as they stand in front of an ancient statue of some hero that's ashe and dust right now, he knows she'll have a freedom he'll never have, and he envies her for it.

She's been with them for decades - since she was too young for her to be outwardly employed. He grew up with her stalking the halls with the impassive face schooled perfectly. He'd admired her then and admires her now, as he stands with his pockets and thinks of his pregnant wife back in the palace - his punishment. His chains. Not even his son will be allowed to him, taken to be fitted for the iron cage they'll stick him into, just like they did him. He wonders if it'll be the same one. He'll bring that boy into the world knowing he's damning him, and if he had the freedom to abort him, he'd do it. Save him from a living hell. ]

How'd you do it? [ He asks her quietly, with a sickness and a shaking in his voice. He knows she knows it. He knows she's felt it. ] How'd you get out alive?

hey, jack c:

[essentiality]

hey boo c:

[cicatrize]

[ He wanted to push him out, drag him kicking and screaming and pleading out of him like a panicked animal and shove him as far away from him and this toxic life and all the things that'll poison that perfect, carefree soul, but it's an addiction. As sickly and warped and wrong as he is, Colin touched him like he's the prince he wishes he was. Like he's something divine and treasured and it's the only time he's ever known something like that since birth. Not from Silas, not from Rose, not even from Michelle, for all her care she gives him. No one, and it's lethally addictive.

His hips roll, meeting every sinking thrust of Colin's cock deep inside him, and he wished that healing feeling would hold and stay with him and give him the strength he needs. But he knows, when he leaves and the world starts to turn again, it'll cool and dissipate. It'll be him and the monsters and shadows that follow him. Colin will be worlds away and it'll be better for him. Safer.

But for now, for now he's basking in it. Knowing he'll be telling him before he leaves that it's the last time, and maybe, maybe, it really will be. So he treats it like it is, with nails dragging over the soft skin of his back and torso arching up to slide against his firm, solid chest. He wonders what he's done that God dangles this in front of him and tells him he can't have it. That he has to look but not keep. He wonders what sin stains him that he has to endure this torture.

But while he can touch, he will, and he'll gasp and writhe and plead for the perfection of it. Lips press desperate against his, like he wants to drink him in and never let him go, and he knows Colin would allow it. He knows he would and that brings a whole new ache to him. Ecstacy echoes all through his body with each time Colin's cock drives into him and drags out - a world of perfect sensation and heat building unbearably sweet in him. A stuttered cry leaves him and he shakes all over, pushing back greedily and wanting more - always more for his starved soul. ]

oh jack

[fallenson]

:< hey there steeb

[cicatrize]

[ Silas Benjamin has enough secrets to full all of Gilboa and then some. His secrets have secrets. The Winter Soldier just happened to be one Jack was able to sneak out from under his father's finger, listening in here, glancing at the right moment there. He'd found him in a military bunker far outside of Shiloh, at the edge of the country, and Jack spent a long time just watching him, suspended in cryosleep, looking peaceful and something like innocent. He knows what this man was made to do. He also knows this man didn't exactly have much of a choice in it. How does under Silas's reign? You do what you're meant to or you're taken away and never seen again. He knows that better than most, and Jack imagines the Winter Soldier does as well.

It's an easy thing to engage the releases, catching the man as he falls heavy and shivering from his stasis. His skin was like ice all over and Jack can't believe something like him is real for a long moment. He's beautiful, really. In a way Jack doesn't want to admit to, but his fingers brushed through frosted strands of hair as the soldier regained himself. From there, it was rivers of red and Jack's vengeance against a king that promised him a crown and made him a pawn. A court jester. Silas thought he would wall him into his own hell. Silas didn't see looming shadow of the monsters he created, freeing one another as they stalked back through Gilboa. It was more than easy to find an army willing to follow them to Silas's doorstep. It's a path of destruction and scorched earth that heralds them back to Shiloh, as there's a bizarre rain on a sun fill day, making everything look gleaming and crystalline as Jack's military boots splash in the puddles on the outskirts of the city. Falling rain patters against the canopy above, and he can see the smoke of the encampment that is Shiloh's last blockade, lips pulling into a satisfied smirk, wolfish and hungry.

The Soldier stops in front of him, no less mystically enchanting now than he was suspended in the cryogentic frost. He carries something impossibly sharp and vibrant in him, and Jack's hand is stretching out to him, palm up and open as an invitation to help him up onto the rock outcropping he's viewing the smoldering camp from. ]

Having fun yet?

obligatory smut option.

[debts]

[kulak]

[ it might have been a dumb idea to go prancing around the tower with a self-satisfied smirk on his lips that morning, standing around in boxers and a sleep shirt in the kitchen with Natalia. Coffee in hand, he'd spent a good twenty minutes detailing (in Russian (thankfully Steve hasn't learned it yet)) how he'd had Steve writing and whimpering under him the night before, while he gave him the best blow job he'd had in all his life, chin tilting up as he went on to how he'd ended up begging for release, pleading with him to crawl into his lap so he could fuck up into him. Steve's so so pretty when he's desperate, and they both know that.

Or maybe it was his best idea. Who knows. But the way he's dragged through a door as he's making his way through the halls and coming face to face with one Natalia Romanova, with an impressive strap on jutting out from her bare hips, he's thinking it'll be on the better side of his idea list. At least, that's what he's decided once he's on his knees in front of her, sucking at the smooth flesh on the inner side of her thigh, her lithe fingers curled tight in his hair and urging him towards the false cock rubbing against his cheek. Bucky's pretty sure he knows where this will be going, after he's spent a while getting it slick. He can't say he's that worried about it.

Obediently, he's dragging his tongue flat across the side of the shaft, leaving a wet trail before he comes to the tip, full lips sliding over where a slit would be, only lightly suckling as his eyes blink open to look up at her - fiercely bright hair framing her features as she looks down at him, kneeled like her own little toy to play with. He can't say he minds as he slips further down the silicon prick, red lips sealed around it with hollowed cheeks as he makes it a portion down before pulling back up, head tilting and tongue swirling as he pulls back with lips twisting over the shaft. If there were anyone with the super power to magically gain a cock, it should be Natalia. She'd probably be better at using it than most of the men would, honestly. Hands slips lower on her, seeking out the crux of her legs and he slides fingers along the slick heat he finds there languidly. He can multitask okay. ]

anyone u waaant (i'm cheating)

[fossils]

hurr durr gives u a tooth thief

[kulak]

[ The sides of the off white porcelain sink stain a pinkish red color as flaked blood parts from his hands, mixing with the black and gray of dirt, grime and gunpowder residue. It wasn't an easy fight, and it never is these days. Even Captain America's looking worse for wear, as Bucky's eyes lift from the sink to the smudged mirror, looking at the man hunched on the side of the mattress in the compact, cheap Prague motel. So out of place, looking larger than life, even covered in cuts and blossoming bruises and damage from the fight, squeeze into this little hole in the ground. Something the Winter Soldier would have blended easily into, gone unnoticed in the shadows. Rogers doesn't even have his uniform on, and the hat that had been pulled over straw blond hair sits ignored on the motel room floor. Even so, it's an odd picture. Just doesn't fit.

A wash cloth in one hand dabs over a large gash across Bucky's chest, teeth grinding to bit back the hiss that wants to escape his as the alochol soak cloth sterilizes the wound. They have plenty of bad injuries, but nothing they'll need a hospital for. Nothing they won't heal from, the way they are. But injection is another issue entirely. Not worth the risk, out here and off the grid. It's been months since Steve hunted him down here. Months since he'd reluctantly agreed to let the soldier handle the remnants of HYDRA still wanting to reel him in in his own way, only sticking around to support. Let them out themselves coming after him. No walking into the den. They can spend their best trying to hunt their best, and when those are gone, it's just smoking out the anthills of the workers left. That means waiting it out in a shitty Prague motel. A bunker in St. Petersburg. A suburb of Vienna. Most of the time it's a slow trickle, sometimes it's a battlefield. Three guesses what this one was.

Rinsing out the cloth in the sink, dulled blue eyes watch the stream of red water circle the drain before he drops it there, reaching for a new couple cloths to soak, one in water, one in the grain alcohol he'd picked from a convenience store a few days ago, before pacing out of the room. Steve sits with shoulders squared over his knees and Bucky wonders if he's always as stable as he looks - solid and firm and unwavering. Or if they just built him that way. He remembers glimpses of a skinny kid in Brooklyn, bent over behind a roller coast booth at Coney Island, puking his guts up. He also remembers the same kid telling off a guy three times his size like he was nothing. ]

This'll sting. [ A muted warning as he crouches down in front of Steve, still human hand pushing his chest some to have his straighten, as he peers at a deep puncture on his upper abdomen. From placement, everything vital should be missed. They'd likely know by now if it wasn't. He'll survive fine. Tearing at the fabric of the shirt some, he makes space to get to the wound before wiping at blood crusting over the skin, cleaning, and then there's the alcohol. This is the stinging part. A brief glance is spared up to Steve before the hand on his chest pushes him back a bit more, more careful than it is insistent, because just dabbing at a wound this deep with a soaked cloth isn't going to work. Fingers of his right hand curl over the Captain's shoulder as the metal hand raises up the glass alcohol bottle, and he begins to pour before giving warning. Try not to spasm, pls. ]

( jack )

[ex_serum683]

[cicatrize]

[ jack loves nights like these. when it's all torrential rain and the streets are empty - no one wants to be out in this. for as often as jack feels all alone in crowds of people, it's something like darkly relieving to actually be alone, in a world of stinging streams of rain like icicles puncturing his skin. sinking down to his bones and freezing him from the inside out. it's quiet, like this, just the constant static of rain drowning out all the rest. it feels almost like the end of the world, as he walks through deserted midnight streets, feeling like the only one for miles in a desolate city scape. his clothes - expensive, custom, featured in vogue - are completely soaked through and he left his phone at home. as aching and heavy as the solitude and isolation is, it's fulfilling, for once, to feel like it's real. not just being sealed away in his mind alone. time feels frozen and jack can just be. scream all he likes (he does), cry all he likes (he does), and laugh himself hysterical.

he looks like a mess, hair plastered against his face, and nothing really close to recognizable as the prince, heir to the throne. the few that do pass him while rushing for cover don't so much as glance twice at him, and jack loves it that way. his head's spinning a little, from what he's been nursing from his flask, but not enough that he's close to falling over and drowning in a puddle. eventually, he finds himself under a familiar overpass, knowing it as a sort of secret meeting place for people that want their lives to be the utmost of private. there's always someone stopping by, and jack flops down heavily against the gritty, grime crusted underpass sidewalk, among the litter and mud. he wonders how it'd be to sleep down here. just never go back to the palace at all. his thoughts are interrupted as a civic pulls up, window rolling down, and jack tilts his head back to lean against the dirty bricks behind him, eyeing the driver impassively.

'Hey, you okay over there?' is what comes, not a come on, not a proposition, not a quietly pushed open passenger side door for him to slip into. It's too dark where he's sitting, and his face is too wrecked to really be recognizable, but maybe he does. It's happened once or twice and Jack has had to threaten blackmail to keep lips from flapping. either way, he doesn't sound like he knows what this place is, or what jack's doing, and that alone drags a giggled, drunken laugh from him before he answers, calling out over the pounding of rain. ]

I'm waiting for my knight in shining Buick to come whisk me away and fuck my brains out. [ A moment's pause, and he shuffles his way up, not the most graceful of shows, and paces up to the open passenger window, leaning his forearms heavily against it as he sticks his head a little in the care, face clear now. still, he's a far cry from Prince Jack Benjamin. His skin is pale, bags under his eyes, red rimming his eyes from the crying before, and lips a bright, bright red, a little shining with the coat of rainwater on them. ]

Civic works too, if you want to take his place.

[cicatrize]

[ it had been that stupid grin. jack had been riled up in annoyance and anxiety, and when he'd glanced to david, finally, in his tirade, he saw that smile that lights up rooms and charms the pants off of reporters. in that singular instance, with just the two of them in the room, it occured to him acutely that he's the only one allowed to experience that smile in that moment. he has david and all of his beautiful radiance to himself, and he couldn't really help where his body led him next.

there's a kind of delicious and perfect warmth and affection in the way David kisses, slow and precise, languid and savoring every slip of lips and press of tongue. like jack's some exquisite dessert that he's in no hurry to finish. but jack's always fast and hard and passion like a crashing wave, and he can never stick with the pace too long. david's perhaps the only person he'll surrender control of things long enough to experience the sweetness of how he kisses, but even that has its limits. he never claimed to be patient. jack likes to possess him, likes to feel like he's the sole center of david's world and drag as much shudders, shivers, gasps and moans from him as possible.

jack sucks at his heated skin along the column of his neck, bringing up pretty rosy red marks that someone will have to dab make up over tomorrow, before lapping over it, kissing along the mark like it's something treasured. he can feel the flow of blood just barely beneath his warm skin, and every twitch of muscle and gasp for breath against his lips as he trails along David's throat, leaving open mouthed kisses and nips of teeth at the points he knows are most sensitive. he's traveling back to his lips again, possessing and swallowing everything that is so completely david down with every press of their lips and every brush and tease of their tongues meeting, exploring and tasting. it's not enough, and jack's so consumed with the soothing, warm desire for him that sits in as a heated weight in the bit of his stomach that he's pushing for more. fingers tug at his shirt and slip beneath to slide along the so smooth skin of his back, along his hips, wishing he could strip all of the annoying fabric between them away in an instant and have absolutely all of him.

but he knows when david says stop, that he means it. maybe with someone else, someone he didn't care about outside of carnality, he would have huffed and walked away at that point, looking for what he wants elsewhere. but david is what he wants. all of what he wants. he pauses, taking a moment to catch his breath and slow his ridiculously aroused and wanting body down (likely pretty evident to david with the way jack's pelvis is pressed up against his hip). after a moment, he nods, smoothing david's shirt back down and giving it a cute little pat. ] Okay.

[ it's breathless and husky, laden with lust, but he's not going to push, pressing slowed, sweet kisses innocently against david's cheek, nuzzling his nose behind david's ear. though, he is curious. it's not the first time david's stopped him from moving farther, and while he knows this is something new to david, and he's not near the kind of... experienced... jack is, it still worries him a little. there's a lack of trust there, and he knows, even with as close friends as they've become, it's there. thinking on it as he kisses along the side of david's cheek, down along his jaw, he mumbles some questions to him. ] Nervous? Afraid?

[ not with any kind of accusation or complaint. just concern. he hasn't ever been the most trustworthy, but of everyone, he wants david to believe in him. hands at his back knead at his muscles, and jack moves back to give him more space, away from the desk, and lets david lean more of his weight against him instead. the kisses he trails along david's throat as soft and simple, uncharacteristic of him, but not unsincere. ]

It won't hurt, I promise. Doesn't even have to be you. [ that's what most who haven't had sex with another man are worried about. david doesn't even have to bottom, if he doesn't want. not something jack offers a lot of people, but david's someone he trusts with it. ] We'll go slow. Nothing more than you want.

[cicatrize]

[ Jack knew from the second it was proposed that David take the throne that this would happen. He'd known from the nights they'd spent lying around and talking in his aparment, and David's murmured annoyances with how Shiloh runs that Jack only smiled at as he pushes his fingers through David's hair. From the fact David couldn't comprehend Jack's fear of being outed to Gilboa's free press, and couldn't stomach the things he learned as more and more of Silas and Rose's nature were revealed. As much as Jack believed that David would be an incredible king, and the best thing to happen to this land, he knew there would come times that it would break him. He wasn't raised for this life, and while that is what makes him perfect for it, it's also what makes him too vulnerable for it.

Michelle and Jack, who were bred for court, can be someone they aren't in front of a camera as easy as breathing, help as much as they can. Are quick to step in when David's grasp is slipping, and take as much of the unnecessaries out of his hands as they can. It's not always enough, and Jack recieves a text from his sister as a warning, a simple summary of some new disaster, and it's a long moment Jack takes, leaning back in his office chair and running the back of his knuckles across his lips. He wonders if this will be the breaking point. Even Silas had had his secrets, and while Jack's fairly sure David's too honest to have a secret misters and a child hidden out in the country from him and the rest of Shiloh, it does concern him that he doesn't have something. Refuses to. Wants to carry the world on broad, overly strained shoulders. Well, if Jack is committed to anything else, it's to protect David when he's too dense to do it himself.

He doesn't move from his office, only waits for him. David knows where to find him, and if he needs him, David knows he's more than welcome to come. The pound of graceless footsteps on the marble floors outside resound, as do the voices of the guards, and their retreating taps before his doors are flung open, revealing the King himself.

The door locks, and Jack stands, having mentally prepared himself for this before David arrived. There's no smoothing out of his suit jacket or tie, no regal fixing of buttons, just a lift, and his arms held out to meet the hand reach for him, and the body that crumbles against his chest. An arm folds under David's, wrapped aroud his ribs to run his open palm up and down the length of David's spine, soothing, as the other weaves into his hair and Jack's lips press against his King's temple, linger with eyes closed. He holds him tight and close, steady in his footing so that David can lean as much weight on him as he likes. Unconsciously, he rocks some, side to side, like a mother soothing a child in the way Rose never did to him. ]

Shh. I'm here. You're alright. [ He mumbles comforting words against his cheeks, pressing kisses here and there; his forehead, his temple, his jaw, his cheekbone, his ear. When he eventually feels David's breathing even out a bit, he speaks up. ] Come on. I made something for you.

[ He lifts David's face enough that he can see an adoring, soft smile on his lips, before pressing a kiss to him, sweet and simple, and absolutely in love with him. ]

for little king trash mouth

[withers]

Chase is running high off the magic. He always is, these days. And why not? He grins, just thinking about it. He's laying sprawled on Jack's bed in his rover, feet on the wall, head dangling off one side, and lazily perusing the prince's comically large ring collection. They all dance and shimmer in the air above him, plucked from their resting places with magic, and now turning to catch in the light when they float by: each looks meticulously clean, bright like they were almost before they were new. Chase had wanted to see them. See them see them. "So what's with all these, anyway?"

[cicatrize]

How he ended up being Chase's new babysitter, Jack really can't say. But there is the moment between 'do I let the scrawny stray cat living under the bridge freeze to death, or do I take it in and end up responsible for it'. Sometimes he really wishes he were more heartless than actuality. Life would be easier, at least. Glancing up from the rifle he's reassembling, Jack sees his rings floating around in the air above Little Chase Potter, The Wayward Wizard Delinquent, and rolls his eyes before he comes to pluck them one by one out of the air.

"Aside from the fact they were put elsewhere for a reason?" He reaches out and snatches the younger boy's pant leg near an ankle, pulling his foot close enough to pry his mud covered shoes off and toss them aside.

"I like rings. Get your shoes off my bed." Emphasized with one of Chase's socks dropped onto his face.