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[case]

Someone requested another crossover meme, but -- why stick with just crossovers? Here's your chance to request things from any fandom you like -- especially if the fandom is small, obscure, or has no request type of meme available. Hopefully someone else will come along and fill it out, or someone else's request will spark something off in your head that you just have to write --

So here you go!


PAN-FANDOM FANWORKS MEME


Anon is on like always!

<b>Fandom(s):</b> <b>Character(s):</b> <b>Pairing(s, if any):</b> <b>Summary:</b> <b>Preferred Rating:</b> <b>Preferred Medium:</b>

ETA: Sorry, link list's gone. Realizing it'd exceed the character limit.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

Fandom(s): Venture Bros
Character(s): Molotov, Brock, Molotov's Black Hearts
Pairing(s, if any): Molotov/Brock/the ladies
Summary: Molotov captures Brock and under her guidance, the ladies top Brock, pleasuring him, but with slow torture in the knowledge that it's not Molotov, leading to tension and perhaps sexytimes with Brock and Molotov. violence and femmedom ahoy! this is porn it's not supposed to be real :(
Preferred Rating: anything
Preferred Medium: fic pleaseeee

part 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

yeah, no, it's probably not what you were looking for, but i couldn't bring myself to write anything more explicit. also, it's pretty tough to write for seven characters when you know them as only 'the Black Hearts'.


Everything was moving a little too quickly for Brock to know what had happened, exactly. He had been in the hangar, that was certain, but then there was gunfire and knives and lots and lots of women, and now he was here, tied to a sort of makeshift cross in the middle of an empty room, blindfolded and chained and just not very happy.

A door opened, and then there was the clicking of heels, followed by the footsteps of heaver boots, many of them. Brock tensed up, but stayed quiet, because it was better to wait and see than overreact while already incapacitated. All of the noise stopped after a moment, and he was surrounded, he could tell, but still no one spoke, for several long minutes, until finally, Brock could contain himself no longer.

“What the hell do you want?” he asked, his voice steady.

No words answered this, but several feminine giggles did, which set him more on edge, because goddamn it, he could not kill women. Someone reached out and untied the blindfold, and, once his eyes had adjusted to the light, Brock arched his brow, confused.

The Black Hearts stood in front of him, in a semi-circle. All seven of them wore blank expressions, their eyes hidden by their mirrored sunglasses. Brock was tempted to look around for Molotov, but each of the Black Hearts was holding a knife, and he preferred not to take chances. “Hi,” he said instead, hesitantly.

Behind him, Molotov laughed, coldly. “Hello, Samson,” she answered, while her subordinates stayed silent. “Comfortable? I hope we were not too rough with you.”

“Be more comfortable if you untied me, Mol,” he replied, flexing his arms a little. The Black Hearts tensed visibly, clutching their knives a little more tightly.

Chuckling, lowly, Molotov leaned forward to rest her folded arms on one of his shoulders, perching her chin atop them to look at him. “Oh, but then everyone would miss out on the fun.”

“What fun?” he asked suspiciously, and then she stepped away, snapping her fingers. The Black Hearts immediately stepped forward to take her place, and all of a sudden there were a lot of hands and mouths and kissing and cooing and knives cutting away his clothes. Brock was, understandably, distracted by this, and was so busy focussing in on the top of a blond head as it leaned in to bite at his collarbone that he didn’t notice Molotov circling around, didn’t see when she walked back out of his line of vision.

In fact, Brock got so busy biting his lip and trying to ignore the Black Hearts, who were throwing shreds of his jeans to the floor, that he almost forgot about Molotov until she leaned over his shoulder again, murmuring into his ear.

“Isn’t this what you want?” she asked, voice soft and dangerous as the Black Heart with the dreadlocks expertly sliced the zipper right out of Brock’s jeans. “The instant gratification? The grabbing and the pulling and the fucking, that is all you want, right? You don’t look happy, baby, I am giving you want you want.”

And that was when Brock got it, when the pieces snapped into place -- she was tormenting him again, nothing more, nothing less, it was just that this time she had a bunch of other women to help. Women who would do whatever Molotov told them to.

Goddamn it.

“Mol, no,” he managed to say, though his breath caught as the Black Hearts more or less ripped the remainder of his jeans off, leaving him naked except for his briefs and boots. “This isn’t -- “

“It isn’t?” she cut him off, reaching over his shoulder to grab someone’s hand and redirect it, placing it higher up on his chest. “But what about the Cold War? Poor baby, the hegemony war, isn’t that what is stopping you?” She was mocking him now, her tone acid and sarcastic, and still the Black Hearts weren’t stopping, and Brock was seriously about to go out of his mind.

part 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

“No, I -- my job, Mol, the assignment and I -- “ he said, but cut himself off with a groan as a few different hands reached down and grabbed at his cock. He was getting kind of desperate for her to stop this, because, while it felt good on a physical level, it was mentally killing him for her to be there and not touching him, driving home the fact that she was locked away like some kind of goddamn princess in a tower, and he was never going to get anything but cheap substitutes.

“You what, Brock?” she breathed, closer to his ear this time, so close that he could feel the heat of her exhales on his neck as the Black Hearts continued stroking at his cock, their mouths still actively biting and sucking at his chest and arms.

“I don’t... I don’t want this,” he answered, swallowing hard and choking somewhat. “It’s not sex, I don’t... I want... I want you, Mol. You.”

All of the hands and mouths instantly left him, and Molotov shifted enough for him to see part of her face, her eye and cheek. “Oh,” she said, then turned and walked toward the door, the Black Hearts following along behind her, leaving Brock bare and hard, with his mouth agape.

“Hey, I didn’t mean leave!” he yelled at their backs as they left, curling his hands into fists. Glancing over her shoulder, Molotov smiled at him as the last of her team closed the door, which locked loudly.

Growling for a moment, Brock glared at the door intently, willing her to come back. When she didn’t, he sighed and leaned his head back, looking at the ceiling as he waited until his blood flow relocated, so that he could focus on breaking the chains that held him.

Those fucking cockteasing bitches.