#but i really do think that if brother got his dick wet he’d stop scrapping with fifteen year olds

[mikichko]

sukuna’s evil and all but he stutter steps when he hears you ask, “why go beat up innocent civilians when you can beat this pussy up instead?”

like did he hear that right? yuuji’s pretty little girlfriend would never say something like that.

right?

he does a comically slow turn to look at you and you’re just scrolling through your phone, sipping your tea. his eye starts twitching cause, there’s no way.

but he’s gotta make sure.

walks over real slow to the counter you’re sitting at, he’s gotta be real careful not to spook you. just in case y’know.

asks in a low voice, “what was that?”

you don’t even give him the decency of looking at him, just pull a condom from your pocket and slam it on the counter.

“i forgot you’re a little slow when you’re using the head on your dick. brought a visual aid to help you out”

sukuna licks his lips, tapping the little square before a sly grin spreads across his face.

you’re right, after all.

why would he waste his time doing something so primitive when he can make better use of his time to teach you some god damn manners.

[butwhyduh]

Air bubble

Featuring all the batboys and batdad.

Probably came from the fact that I was genuinely trapped in a house with a propane tank for a heater that could have killed me at any point for a week with no water, electricity, car, or phone and dwindling food supply as tree branches crashed on my roof and porch loudly as I hoped it wouldn’t kill me during a once in a lifetime snowstorm.

Also probably triggery. Water, darkness, claustrophobia, blood.

Tim toook a deep breath and observed his situation. He was in a basement. He wasn’t hurt. Drug runners had filled up ice chests with crack that would be sold to the poorest area of Gotham soon. Dick was there with him. But the ceiling had collapsed as a small propane tank in the floor above burst.

Was it a bomb?

Was it an accident?

More importantly, where was Dick?

“Nightwing?” He called out. There was shuffling and a groan. Tim dug in his utility belt and pulled out a glow stick. “Nightwing? Call out!”

“Here,” came a pained voice from across the room. Tim got up carefully and walked over to check on Dick. He was sitting on a workbench. A piece of rebar was stuck in his calf and there was a small pool of blood around it. Dick had a pale pained look on his usually glowing tanned face.

“I’m gonna- I’m going to check for more injuries,” Tim said after pressing both of their emergency buttons. The comms didn’t work down there. Dick nodded roughly. Tim looked at Dixk from the top down. His assessment found a nasty bruise on the chin, one broken finger, rebar in the left calf and Dick moaned when Tim pressed on his other leg. There was probably a break.

“I’m going to look for something to wrap your ankle up with,” Tim said. He moved back to the middle of the room before he felt cold. Cold water poured into his boot and Tim gasped. He looked down to see 2 foot of water that he had missed while on the bench.

“There’s water coming in here from somewhere. Just keep pressure on your leg and I’ll find the water leak to stop it,” Tim said. Dick made a little sound of agreement. He didn’t tell Dick that he had no idea where the leak came from or how to stop a massive leak like this one. It must have been a main line.

“Wow, that’s uh... fast there Timbo,” Dick said. Tim felt almost frantic. Dick was never the type to panic. Okay, breathe normal, find the leak.

“I’m going to find it,” Tim said. He did find it about a minute later. About waist high was a pipe that had burst. Water bubbles out quickly. Tim didn’t have to be a genius to know that this water was going to quickly fill the room and kill them. He looked for anything to slow or stop the flow.

The glow stick wasn’t great for visibility and it took a few minutes of digging to find anything. The water was just below the table Dick was sitting on and Tim was thigh deep. He didn’t want to think about what was in there.

A flexible piece of plastic sat on a workbench and Tim had no idea what it was but he might be able to slow or stop that water for a while. Hopefully their emergency trackers were working. Tim went back over to the pipe and wrapped it tightly. He was soaking wet when he was done.

Dick had part of his ass and legs underwater by the time Tim wadded back over to him. Thank god Tim wore boots rather than the flexible shoes Dick wore because he was pretty sure his feet would have been cut up by the debris otherwise.

“Hey Timbo, you did good,” Dick said with a grimace. Tim climbed up to sit beside them. They both shivered a little. Neither of their suits were water proof or heated. Dick wrapped an arm around Tim to warm him a little more.

“Batman should be here soon. He’ll be here,” Dick said. He was calmer than he felt. Both he and Tim were shivering as the water slowly filled the room. It was hip high on Dick now. Tim didn’t even want to think about the nasty water getting into his poor leg. It must have hurt terribly.

There was movement in the ceiling. They both looked up in the darkness. Tim hadn’t even thought of the possibility that there was more propane tanks that could explode until that moment. In fact, now that he thought about it there was some canisters of some kind. Propane or maybe oxygen. All highly flammable. And that’s not counting any sort of flammable liquid and building material in the room. And 2 men. Trapped.

“Birds! Nightwing! Red Robin! Call out,” came the undeniable voice of Jason Todd. He was almost right above them.

“Down here!” Yelled Tim. “Be careful!”

“Shit! Hold on,” he said and they could hear boards moving. Dust fell on them both. “Be careful. There’s a big piece I’m moving,” Jason yelled. Tim ducked his cap over both him and Dick. A horrible scrapping sound could he heard.

“Stop!” Tim yelled as a support beam wavered. “Wait!”

But Jason didn’t and there was a bone curdling snap and a body fell through the board. Jason lands on his side in the water before flinging himself upright. The water was almost waist high on the big man. He groaned and pulled out a proper waterproof flashlight. He looked at Tim and Dick.

“What the hell is with the water?” He asked, scanning around before flashing on the pipe. The water was again gurgling around it. The piece of plastic was bent and freely let the water flow. “I’m going to stop it.”

He walked through the water and groaned about halfway across before continuing. Tim looked up to see and opening. It was big enough for people to get through but the wood around it was so unstable there was no way to climb it.

“Did you get our location out before you fell, Jaybird,” Dick said quietly.

“Well... no,” Jason admitted as he wrestled the plastic back over the pipe. “But my tracker is still working. Should be,” he added.

Dick sighed quietly. Jadon wadded back over to them. Tim noticed a notable limp.

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. What’s wrong with dickface?” Jason said shinning his light through the water. “Jesus,” he said and Tim couldn’t tell if it was because of the red tinged water or the rebar impalement.

“Not as painful as it looks,” Dick said Jason all but rolled his eyes.

“Dickolas, I know that’s horribly painful,” Jason said. “I’m going to look for a way out. You’re losing blood and both of you are freezing.”

He started moving in the space, his limp still present. Tim climbed down to join him. Dick adjusted his seat as the water was waist high and made a little strangled moan he tried to cover. Tim gave Jason a knowing look. Dick was in a ton of pain and wasn’t climbing out on his own.

“I found something!” Tim said, pulling out a life vest. He wadded over to Dick and started putting it on him

“Wait, why me?” Dick resisted.

“You’re hurt. Don’t be a hero right now,” Tim said. Dick sighed and slid it on.

A few seconds later the plastic on the pipe was ripped off by the force of water and it swelled to chest high on Tim. He gulped. Jason inhaled quickly and his eyes flashed green.

He wasn’t trapped. He wasn’t trapped. They were getting out. He wasn’t dying an a fucking exploded warehouse again.

“You okay, Jason?” Dick asked. The water was almost to his arm pit. He was shivering pretty strongly.

“Yeah. That’s the only vest so me and replacement will have to swim soon. Ironic really,” Jason said coming over to the pair. “Waiting on Batman and Robin to save the day.”

“Let’s hope they get here quick. The water’s moving pretty fast,” Dick said. Jason looked to see it over his shoulders and Dick was floating slightly in the vest.

“Help me get him up,” Jason said climbing on the table. He and Tim got on either side of their older brother and pulled him up. Dick made a gasping moan at the pain. They held him up and he panted with closed eyes for a minute.

“Okay if we’re stuck in here, we’ll go to the hole and we’ll push Dick through first. Then you get out and go find help,” Jason said.

“We’re not leaving you,” Dick protested.

“I outweigh you by a good 20 lbs and replacement? 50 or more. There’s no way that the boards will hold me or that he could pull me out. Nope. I’m well fucked in here,” Jason said. The water was once again waist high on him and chest high on Tim.

“If we toss our trackers out the hole, do you think they’ll get signal?” Dick asked. Tim thought for a second.

“Can’t hurt to try.”

“Give me,” Jason said and Tim stared at him.

“Why are you going to throw it?”

“Better aim. Come on. We have one chance,” Jason said, waving his open hand at the pair. Tim glared at him.

“I’m only doing this because I have to hold Dick up,” he said slapping his tracker in Jason’s hand.

“Rude,” Dick said groaning as he grabbed his and give it to Jason, who quickly tossed them both up to the ground floor.

Dick was wavering in pain at this point. Tim was almost up to his neck in water. Jason was a hair from a pit fueled panic attack. They really were well fucked. And just as Tim thought this, a wave of more water splashed in their face and his feet no longer touched the ground when his head was underwater. They were maybe 3 or 4 feet from the ceiling where hopefully help was on the way. Tim pulled off his cape quickly and Jason had lost his helmet a while before.

“Okay,” Dick said and he was on his tip toes with the water lapping at his chin. He was panting and thank god for the vest because he certainly couldn’t keep swimming.

“Yeah, not a fan,” said Jason. He felt the water on his neck and it felt suffocating. He kicked off his heavy boots. He’d drown in the damn things.

“At least you aren’t swimming,” Tim said, treading water. He could swim for a while but it wasted so much energy and he had already been in an explosion after a full patrol.

Another wave of water came over them and Dick and Jason were also unable to stay on their feet. Jason angrily treaded water and Dick simply floated with the life vest. It was more complicated for both Jason and Tim as they had to continuously grab Dick so he wouldn’t be pushed against the wall with the current.

“Replacement,” Jason started.

“Really? You still call me that?” Tim said with a frown.

“Yeah, I’m trying to be like sentimental,” Jason said. “Look, if this shit gets too high, cuz I’m not floating here forever, fucking shoot me.”

“Why would I shoot you??” Tim asked. Dick made a confused groan.

“Because Dickie is sentimental. I tried to kill you. You kill me. We’re even.”

“That’s not how it works,” Tim started.

“No one is shooting anyone. Just shut up,” Dick said with a whimper as he straightened his leg. “Rebar is a son of a gun.”

“Yeah,” Jason said with a nod.

They floated for a few minutes silently before Tim sighed. His natural thinness and added muscles made him at a disadvantage to floating in water and it was tiring to continuous swim. Jason was having similar issues but had a higher energy reserve.

“Tim, are you okay?” Dick asked noticing his issues. Tim looked at him with a confused look. He was handling it.

“I’m fine,” he said and Jason rolled his eyes. Of course the kid was willing to die just like the rest of the family.

“Come here,” Dick said and Tim swam over.

“Do you need anything?”

“Lean back,” Dick said and Tim confusedly complied. Dick slid him back into floating on his back, reminding Tim of swim class when he was a kid. It did give his body a needed break and Dick wasn’t having trouble floating.

“No offense, but I’d rather you shoot me before I float in your arms, Dickard,” Jason said slyly.

“You know what,” Tim said with an irritation in his voice. Jason’s eyebrows rose. The kid was usually pretty meek around him. “To hell with you. I’m not drowning.”

“Wow, Drake. That’s such a good look. In fact you all look amazing,” A voice from above said before a camera flashed. Tim quickly started swimming again. “Father, they fell in a wet hole.”

“There are so many jokes in there. Dick, I’m disappointed you haven’t said any of them,” Jason said. “He threw a home run pitch.”

“He’s a kid. Plus, that’s what she said is low hanging fruit,” Dick answered quietly.

“That was on purpose, wasn’t it? You just added on right?”

“Alright boys,” came the gravelly voice of Batman. “Hang in there and I’ll send a rope down one at a time. Okay? And uh... Red Robin? I can’t wait to see your water aerobics back at the pool.”

“Even you? It’s to prevent leg cramps!” Tim protested.

“First harness down,” Batman said. Tim and Jason strapped in Dick. He was looking so tired. He practically hung on the ropes as he was pulled up. A piece of the roof fell close to Tim and Jason after Dick was out. Jason cursed and Tim shivered.

“We have to reattach it to another spot,” Damian called down. Jason practically growled.

“Okay,” Tim called and his voice was tired. Both were getting close to exhaustion. A few minutes went by and the water steadily rose. By this point, Tim was impressed that the basement was that waterproofed. Was it a pool?

Damian’s face appeared above them both and the rope was sent down again. Jason pushed it towards Tim who looked at him confused.

“Get out of here, kid,” he said not unkindly.

“But you hate being trapped,” Tim said. Jason sighed again.

“Yeah, well I might pull the whole damn thing down. And you’re shit at treading water. Just go before I change my mind,” Jason said before basically putting the harness on Tim.

“Okay. Fine,” Tim said, relenting. He was pulled up next.

There was a loud crack and the room started filling even faster with bubbly rough water. Jason was practically shoved against the wall. He cursed loudly as a shelf cut his back. He could touch the ceiling and grabbed it and pulled himself closer to the middle. His arms strained against the flooding water. His breaths came out in fast huffs and he tried to not think.

He was trapped in a flooding room, alone, in the dark. He could practically feel the green coming out of his eyes and he growled. Panic was starting to rise as well. He was going to fucking drown.

“Okay, last one,” Damian said and the rope was thrown down. It was pushed against the wall across the room with the current and Jason growled another curse. He pulled him along the roof that was now almost scraping his head in spots to grab the rope. The water touched his lips as his head touched the roof before finally being pulled up. He could hear the other men grown in effort of pulling his weight against the current trying to pull him under. The roof groaned and shook but held as he was unceremoniously dropped on the ground.

Jason coughed a few times before a foil blanket was wrapped around his shoulder. He looked up to see Tim placing it. Jason scanned the room to see Dick sitting on a chunk of concrete with a tourniquet on his lower leg. Blood stained his leg and a small puddle. Jason got up quickly.

He wavered on his feet and Tim grabbed him. Jason almost snarled at the younger bat but the black spots in his vision had him sitting down.

“We need to leave,” he said. “Dick...”

“Robin is bringing the car around to get you both,” Tim said. Jason nodded. Tim helped him up and despite, or maybe because, Dick laughed at the sight of Red Robin helping Red Hood into the batmobile back seat that Robin was driving. The bigger man almost bent them both over with his weight. Dick’s laughter was cut short when Batman picked him up and he had to resist the urge to scream.

Dick drifted out of consciousness as they were driven to the cave. And when he was carried to the table in the med bay, he promptly passed out. Jason was feeling better and his feeling of terror had started to calm. He was tempted to leave but Alfred practically shoved him into a bed too. At least he’d be there after Dr Leslie’s surgery on Dick’s leg. Tim and Damian came in the cave riding on Tim’s bike arguing and almost fighting before falling silent when seeing Dick unconscious.

A few hours later, Dr Leslie came to talk to the family about Dick’s surgery.

“It went well. He’ll be sleeping for a few hours. Stitches in the muscle and of course skin that it went through. Luckily no bone. 6 weeks and 2 months of physical therapy to be expected. This isn’t your first rodeo,” she said with a smile before leaving.

Alfred assessed the other boys and declared them all exhausted and Jason needed a few butterfly bandages for an injury he’d gotten earlier in the night. Finally safe and warm, he slept for 12 hours straight.

[asthesamcroflies]

Hi can I get an imagine with Happy. The reader works with Gemma and Happy has a crush on her. One night they run into each other in a bar and they're a little drunk he takes her home where they get it on. She thinks its a one night so she gets up to go but he stops her and tells her he likes her and to stay. Definitely smutty with a cute ending please

So, I also had a separate request which just stated Happy Lowman/smutty/#26 and thought I’d incorporate the two... Enjoy!

Prompt 26: “You’re a little hostile right now...”

Night One

He didn’t usually get drunk, not in the traditional sense. He’d have to let his guard down for that and Happy Lowman did not let his guard down. Not usually anyway.

But he’d agreed to catch up with some fellow former nomads in a bar they used to frequent back in the day and had ended up drinking more than he’d intended. Not that he couldn’t hold his liquor. But yeah, all things considered, it had been a weird night. So much had changed. Just not for him.

Tank cutting out early had been the final straw. It turned out the burly biker who’d left the nomad life behind to land with the Samdino crew a couple of years ago, a man who had once swore he needed nothing more than his bike and his cut, now had an old lady and twin babies to consider. Tank, for Christ’s sake. Two babies.

Happy – fearless, intimidating Happy – found the mere thought mildly terrifying.

Actually, of the six of them – six guys known to put the fear of god in those who dared cross them or their club, six die-hard bachelors who lived their lives on the road – four were now firmly tied down in a way they’d always vowed they never would be.

That left Mouse and Happy himself still free to indulge in whatever the hell they pleased.

Where once that would have made Happy smug though, now it rankled at him. Not least because he knew nothing would please his ma more than to see him finally settle down. Landing in Charming with the mother charter had been the compromise that allowed him to check in on her, given her advancing years and sometimes poor health. But where his Samcro brothers had old ladies, kids and community ties, he still might as well have been a nomad in all but name – living out of the clubhouse, indulging in the easy pussy that flocked to the place, but never letting anyone get too close. There just wasn’t anyone who—

“Watch it,” he growled, as someone bumped into him, sending his drink sloshing over his hand. “Or I’ll… You.”

“Uh, Happy, hey. Sorry, shit, I’m such a klutz.”

The tall, gruff Son had no idea what to say to the woman stood in front of him. He never did. Not when she was holed up in the Teller-Morrow office with Gemma, not when she was casually strolling across the yard or through the garage, and especially not when she was stood before him in some dive bar in a tiny dress that barely covered her ass, those big eyes slightly hazy with alcohol as she gazed up at him.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, genuinely surprised to see her out of her usual habitat, but realising too late that the simple question unintentionally sounded less like small talk and more like some kind of interrogation.

“Uh, you’re a little hostile right now…” she said, somewhat defensively. “I am allowed a life outside TM, you know.”

Was she? Of course, she was. Well, it depended on what she meant by a life. The concept hadn’t really crossed Happy’s mind until now, and he found himself frowning at the thought of it. As far as he was concerned, her place was in the TM office. And unwittingly starring in the vast majority of the fantasies that drifted into his mind when he wasn’t entirely focused on work.

Obviously, he realised that the scenarios he pictured all too vividly were utterly incompatible with reality. She wasn’t some croweater, easy pussy. For a start, unlike most of the club girls, she had absolutely no idea the effect she had on him. For all he knew, this life she was apparently entitled to could include a boyfriend. Husband even. The thought rankled him more than he cared to admit, even to himself.

“Just… didn’t expect to see you here,” he muttered, realising he was just staring at her and shifting his dark gaze almost guiltily from those tantalising bare legs. Taking in her plump, glossy lips instead didn’t help in the slightest.

“I’ll get you another beer,” she offered, with a little eager-to-please smile, swaying on her heels just a little as she flagged down the barman. “Since I made you spill…”

And in the end, he’d let her. That was how they’d ended up talking most of the night, slow though the conversation was to ignite. Turned out she was there with a girlfriend who’d abandoned her in favour of some guy. Going back to the clubhouse had eventually been Happy’s idea. He was just surprised it was one he’d voiced out loud – and that she’d agreed. Maybe that life of hers didn’t actually include another man after all…

So that was where they’d ended up, back at TM. Both of them were now on more comfortable turf in familiar surroundings and, having raided the clubhouse bar, well on their way towards a new level of drunkenness.

“This might be the most we’ve ever talked,” she giggled, leaning against his shoulder as they sat on top of one of the picnic tables outside in the growing darkness. “You never talk to me, Happy. Don’t you like me?”

The Samcro enforcer didn’t know how to answer that. How could a man with his reputation admit that he didn’t have the courage to talk to a woman he actually liked the idea of for more than a quick fuck? As it turned out, her own Dutch courage negated the need for an answer from him.

Instead, her mouth simply crashed onto his.

She tasted of the vodka she’d been knocking back and something sweet that might have been whatever was slicked on her lips to make them look so damn irresistible and he kissed her back with a hunger that wasn’t exactly a familiar sensation for him. For once, he didn’t just want to get his dick wet courtesy of the first willing body – he wanted her. Specifically her.

“Not here,” he growled, drunk on booze and the intoxicating scent of her perfume, but not too drunk to register that they were too close to the main door to avoid an audience for long. And he wasn’t okay with that, not with her.

Making it to his dorm room was something of a blur though, as if the world flipped into fast forward, only to grind back down to slow motion when somehow she was under him on his bed in just tiny scraps of hot pink lace. He was pretty sure those delicate panties ripped in his big hands in his determination to get them off her, but he had to have her before she drove him out of his goddamn mind.

The groan he drew from her when his tongue plundered her wet heat went straight to his cock.

“Oh god, Happy…” she moaned, her short, neat nails raking over his shaved scalp and practically sending a shiver down his spine.

Part of him wanted to just eat her out until she screamed for mercy, but another part – the part of him that was achingly hard for her – needed something more. And it seemed that was what she wanted too, as instead of complaining when he pulled away, she simply lay there breathless and taking in the sight of his lean, inked torso while he retrieved a condom from the night-stand.

His hand curled lightly around her slim throat and, in one long, slow thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, muttering dark curses at the feel of how tight she was around his throbbing cock.

“Happy…”

His name on her lips was practically a whine as her legs wrapped around his pistoning hips, her heels digging into the backs of his thighs and her hands reaching back to grip the headboard of the bed, stretching out her gloriously naked body for him.

“Fuck, yes,” she groaned, her laboured breath hot on his ear. “Harder…”

For once, Happy did as he was told.

The hand around her throat slipped downwards the fullness of her tits, cupping, squeezing the firm flesh, pinching her dusky nipples as he slowed the pace of his thrusts, wanting this to last if it was probably going to be the only chance he got.

She bit her lower lip, her head thrown back and her hips meeting his perfectly as she focused on chasing the orgasm that seemed to be brewing low in her belly.

“Happy, please…” she ground out, one hand leaving the headboard to trail down her own stomach and between her legs, her fingers grazing his slick cock as it slipped in and out of her, before finding the tiny bundle of nerves they had been seeking out.

He only let her rub frantically at her clit for a second, then firmly gripped her wrist and drew her hand away, guiding it back to the headboard with a glare and a shake of his head. If she wanted to cum, he didn’t need any fucking help getting her there.

The biker picked up the pace again, slamming into her hard and fast as she cried out in pleasure, her eyes squeezing closed. His hand cupped her cheek at that, getting her attention.

“Look at me,” Happy demanded roughly, his own breathing getting ragged with his exertions.

Her eyes opened, meeting his and he swallowed hard, letting his thumb trace over her full lower lip, prompting her to gently suck on the digit. When his hand finally slipped away, it trailed down her body, over skin flushed and covered in tiny beads of sweat, and sought out her clit just as she had.

It was somehow too much and not enough all at once and her hips arched helplessly towards his, her thighs clenching and her body trembling as she cried out.

“Oh, Happy, fuck, fuck, fuck…” she all but sobbed. “I’m… I’m gonna cum… I’m… Oh, fuuuuuck!”

With a flare of masculine pride at the response he could induce in her, Happy held out for as long as he could, jaw clenched as he fucked her through the intensity of her orgasm. But the vise-like grip of her soaked pussy around his cock quickly won out and he soon came hard and with a roar that he muffled against her throat, before collapsing down on top of her.

“Jesus…” she sighed breathlessly, as he shifted his weight off her to lie on his back by her side, trying to get his breath back and dashing sweat from his brow with his forearm.

Neither of them spoke. Nothing that came to Happy’s tongue seemed right and the silence soon stretched out between them uncomfortably, even as his brain berated him and told him he was in danger of completely fucking up whatever the hell had just happened.

Sure enough, she started to shift away from him, awkwardness creeping in and, despite what had just transpired between them, making her wrap herself in the tangled sheets and clutch them to her chest.

“Uh, I guess you probably want me to go…” she said softly.

His head snapped towards her at that, but she already had her back to him and didn’t see the look on his face.

“It’s okay,” she continued, obviously not wanting to make the whole situation any more awkward than it had to be. “I’ve been around enough to know how it works, Hap.”

“Stay.”

His low voice was rougher than ever, more hesitant than he’d ever been about anything. He cleared his throat and tried again.

“Stay. Uh, please?”

She turned, wide-eyed. The Tacoma Killer didn’t say please.

“You… You don’t have to do this,” she tried hesitantly, trying to second-guess what was going on here. “One night, that’s the deal, right?”

He shrugged, feigning a casualness he really didn’t feel. “Doesn’t have to be.”

“So… not just one night?” she said, quiet and unsure, clearly mulling over what that might mean.

“Maybe just… night one?” Happy suggested, a rare little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached for her again. They could figure it out later.

[rocket-roach]

Shadows We Know

request from everyone’s favorite fandom mom and queen of knowledge who i admire very much, @fuyunoakegata 

I wanted to write more of this and I think I definitely will at one point, because I love all the boys in this fic and I feel like there’s a lot more for me explore in this story.

ANYWAY. without further ado: here’s dick, jason, and tim dealing (and struggling) with their father and losing someone else very important

Word count: 2133

He’s always had nightmares. They just got worse after his parents were killed. Then they were catastrophic after Bruce died.

Tim running around the manor while he hunted for the ghost of their father didn’t help any.

Patrol had been quiet. Damian didn’t complain as much as he used to, even with Tim’s return to the manor. It had been months since Dick had fired Tim and started the youngest as Robin. But it was nice to have Tim back. Even if he was quickly and drastically reducing the amount of espresso in the house.

His mind was flying. Tim was back, but Jason had been spending nearly every waking hour in Crime Alley. Dick had gone there to bring him home. But the sight of Jay leaving sacks of Big Belly Burger on the fire escapes and at the entrances of the cardboard lean-tos, he left him alone. It didn’t feel right to ask him to come home then. Jason was still healing, and he didn’t want to force open those wounds.

He laid in his bed, aching to go across the hall and ask Bruce for help.

But that was what crazy people didn’t, wasn’t it? Ask the dead for advice. He wasn’t crazy, he rationalized as he slid his feet into the Superman slippers on the side of his bed. He was just out of options. Dick padded across the hall. Bruce’s door opened with its usual soft groan.

Lit only by the full moon outside, the massive master suite was spotless. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the desk, the bedside table, the dresser, or even in the bathroom. Finding the room to his liking, he sat on the bed and laid down. Bruce’s grey comforter was just as fluffy as the day he left it. The former acrobat wiggled underneath it after a beat, wrapping it around himself in a cocoon of warmth.

Dick fell asleep moments later.

He was standing under the big top, the spotlights aimed at the platforms above. His parents stood on the far right one, waving their hands as an invisible crowd cheered loudly. On the left, stood Bruce. He was shouting, Dick could tell from the way that one vein was straining on his forehead and how the tendons on his neck were taught. But he was making no sound.

He was trying to stop the Dick’s parents from leaping. He finally caught sight of Dick in the ring, and Bruce’s glacial eyes pinned him to that spot.

 Over the roar of the crowd, Dick heard Bruce say four words.

“Crime Alley devours children.”

John and Mary’s bodies hit the ground with two wet thuds.

Dick shot awake in his father’s bed, his hair soaked with sweat and tears and snot covering his face. Songbirds were heralding the new day outside of the bay windows, and bile rose in his throat. Dick charged to the bathroom; his hands gripping the porcelain bowl as he vomited. Alfred had started knocking on the door. Dick was too busy dry-heaving over the puke to answer. Then he felt a gentle hand smoothing his hair away from his face.

“Master Dick,” Alfred said softly. “It’s alright, sir. You’re okay.”

“I saw him, Al,” Dick finally said. “in my dream.”

Alfred tried to muffle his groan as he joined Dick on the floor, but from the worried look Dick shot him, he hadn’t been successful.

“Should we move to the bed?”

“I’m old, Master Dick. Not an invalid. Do you want to tell me about the dream?”

“He said something really weird. He said, god, what was it?” Dick bit his lip as he thought. “Oh, that’s right. ‘Crime Alley devours children.’ That’s pretty off the wall, even for him.”

“He might be onto something,” a deep, smoke ruined voice said from the doorway. “Three of the kids under my protection have gone missing within the past three weeks.”

“I came to tell you Master Jason was home,” Alfred spoke.

 They were in the cave after breakfast, with Damian sticking close to Dick’s side. Tim was in the evidence corner, muttering to himself as he putzed with various spoils of intergalactic battle. Jason’s hands kept going to the front right pocket where a pack of Camel blue cigarettes sat, his lighter just barely visible.

“A lot them move down there because they know it’s a favorite spot of ours. I tried scarin’ em off at first, didn’t want them running into any of the usual assholes who hang there. But that only encouraged them. Three weeks ago, 17 kids were living in that alley. As of this morning, there’s only 14. At first, I just thought they’d moved to a better place in the city. But there’s this one kid, Jules Adams. Told me all about how she saw a shadow with fangs take Colton Taylor. He was the first kid who vanished. Then told me that she heard Hank Giaccione yelling about fangs. She told me that, and when I brought her a coffee this morning--”

“You gave a kid coffee?” Tim asked.

“Quiet, Tim. The adults are talking,” Jason waved him off. “Anyway, I brought her coffee and donuts, but Jerome said she vanished just before sunrise. Jerome said he saw giant sharp teeth dragging her down the alley.”

“You’re like four years older than me,” Tim griped.

“We’re supposed to believe that shadows that have teeth are stealing street rats, Todd?”

“I came back from the dead, in case you forgot. I basically raised you.”

“You did not!” Damian shouted.

“Then who wiped your ass when the other ninjas wouldn’t?”

“The ninjas didn’t want to wipe his ass?” Tim asked as he emerged from the evidence corner with a time gun. “Jesus, how much did you poop?”

Dick intervened as Damian began turning beet red. “We’re getting off topic,” He wrapped an arm around Damian, drawing him fully against his side. “What do you think it is, Jay?”

“Sounds like some witchcraft stuff to me,” Tim interjected as a yellow blast of energy blew out of the barrel of the gun. A bat who had been unlucky enough to be downrange suddenly exploded into a giant bat, to which Tim noted: “Huh, guess they really are evolved from Megachiroptera. How ‘bout that.”

The next round fired was neon green, and a very startled and confused bat crashed into the nearest cave wall.

“Tim, stop shooting the bats.”

“I need to figure out how this thing works,” Tim muttered as he wandered back to the evidence corner.

Jason watched as Tim’s mop of messy hair vanished around the wall.

“Is he still looking for Bruce?” Jason asked once it was just the three of him.

“He’s still convinced that he’s not dead.”

“I mean, the boss man thought I was dead. So, did you, Dick. If there’s anything this family is really bad at, it’s staying dead. Anyway, I thought it was witchcraft like Tim did. I talked to Swamp Thing while I was down in Florida vising Roy and he said it didn’t sound like any magical being he’d ever heard of. Then I was thinking about it; the shadow only comes out at night. There’s no report of a shadow with fangs appearing during daylight. I don’t think it’s witchcraft. I think it’s just some psychopath.”

 Dick’s dreams were worse that evening. He was back in the big top. His parents and Bruce were standing in the same spots they were the night before. But the crowd was a writhing mass of black, twisted shadows roaring for a jump. A whip of the black shadows rocketed from the nosebleeds, connecting with Bruce’s back. He was shoved off the platform, his face as stoic as ever as he plummeted down. Feet away from the dirt, he turned his head and looked Dick in the eyes.

“The shadow knows,” He said before his neck broke.

 The next night found Red Hood, Robin, and Batman perched on the various run-down buildings that guarded Crime Alley. Beneath them, kids dressed in ratty old clothes both too large and too small for them scrounged about in the alley for scraps of food. They were all quiet as they watched. If the kids knew they were there, they didn’t acknowledge them. For that, the assembled bats were grateful. It helped them in their hunt. Hours passed. They switched buildings. Ate some Jokerized burgers. Damian beat Jason in four games of rock, paper, scissors. Jason gave Damian a noogie. Dick had to remove a shuriken from Jason’s side.

They did this for 6 days straight.

It had been a week since Jules disappeared. Jason was becoming frantic. The shadow would strike again tonight, he was sure of it. He could taste it like he could taste the staleness of the cigarette he was currently plowing through.

And Dick was nowhere to be found. He’d been trying to hail him all night on the comms, even going so far at one point as to send one of the kids to the police station to turn on the signal. There had been no response.

“Hood to cave,” he murmured. “Tonight’s the night. I could really use some backup. Or, whatever.”

“You know, you’re really bad at asking for help,” Tim responded, the sound of his grapple firing over his comm. “Bats can’t make it tonight. Robin said he had a bad night. He’s down for the count; or at least till the knock-out gas Agent A gave him wears off.”

“Jesus,” Jay breathed. “That bad?”

“He nearly clocked Robin. He’s in a bad way. Don’t worry about briefing me, I’m all caught up.”

Jay noticed one of the cardboard boxes was now leaning to the right, when it had been drifting left towards collapse at the beginning of the evening.

“For the record,” Jason said as Tim landed to his right. “I believe you. I don’t buy it that Bruce is dead.”

The white covered eyes of Tim’s cowl narrowed as he watched his older brother. “Do you really?”

“Speaking as a former dead person myself, yes. Now, I think our perp is down there. Let’s move.”

 The next morning found Jay and Tim, sitting at the table covered in bandages and brooding. Dick joined them. He had dark circles under his eyes which only made the paleness of his face stand out. He sat in his usual spot, to the right of the head seat. None of the boys said anything. They just sat. Alfred entered quietly, serving each one their favorite breakfasts. Chicken and waffles for Dick. Pancakes buried underneath breakfast sausage, bacon, and hash browns. Eggs benedict with a side of yogurt and strawberries for Tim. Cheese stuffed kaek for Damian, with a nice cup of tea.

They ate in silence.

Damian’s plate remained untouched.

 Alfred left the room to go retrieve Damian for his morning repast.

Jason sighed. He really wanted a fucking smoke.

Tim finished his yogurt. He needed to get back to finding his dad.

Dick swallowed a bite that was too big. He wanted his dad to be alive again, so he could get some sleep.

“Master Damian is missing.”

“There were 14 kids this morning,” Tim jolted in his seat.

 Dick decided that he was going to fight off sleep until he could find his youngest brother. It didn’t feel right to see Bruce in his sleep while his son was missing. The bats tore apart Crime Alley, asking every kid for help, taking every piece of evidence. Any criminal unlucky enough to mouth off to Batman that night got a taste of their own teeth.

“It’s almost as if he’s back,” Red Robin whispered to Red hood.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Hood responded.

Eventually, they end up in the Iron District. The snarling of the Batmobile echoed through the derelict buildings. All the clues and evidence they’d collected in their fear and rage was leading them to the original Wayne Enterprises factory. Where their father’s wealth had been quintupled during the industrial revolution.

All the signs were pointing them to the smoke stacks that loomed higher than any others in that area.

The car drove through a loading dock, then straight to the center of the building where the stacks sat. They were out of the car before it was completely still, charging towards the man-sized opening at the bottom of the middle one. Dick charged in first, Tim right on his heels. Jason checked his guns, then stepped through.

 A long haired, very bearded, Bruce Wayne was leaning against the wall with a regular tenant of Arkham Asylum unconscious at his feet. He held a bruise covered Damian in his arms. Those glacial blue eyes were filled with fire.

“He brought me back,” Bruce whispered.

[arysafics]

Dreams

Rated E, ~3,900 words

Summary:  Bellamy is home from college for the summer, and it's both a blessing and a curse that his gorgoues step sister, Clarke, wants to spend time with him. Written for the 2019 kink meme.

Bellamy wakes up to a body landing on top of him, jolting him out of his dream, which he’s pretty sure was just about to get dirty. He groans, opening his eyes one at a time to find out who his small but violent attacker is. Ah, the subject of his dream. His stepsister, Clarke. He should have guessed.

“Wake up,” she says, grinning. She’s got him pinned to the bed, her legs straddling him, wearing a flimsy little nightie and, quite clearly, no bra. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers himself, and he’s just thankful there’s a nice thick duvet separating the two of them.

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, he makes sure he’s looking at her face.

“What time is it?” he groans. He’d gotten in late last night, after the long drive home from college. His mom had been up to greet him but Jake and Clarke were both in bed asleep. Aurora had made them go to bed, since it was going to be after one by the time Bellamy got home.

“It’s just before seven,” Clarke tells him.

“Why?” Bellamy whines.

“You should have woken me up when you got home last night, so I’m waking you up now.”

“God, you’re such a brat,” Bellamy huffs.

“You know you love me.”

He does love her, that’s no question. He’s sure he’d let her get away with pretty much anything, although that hasn’t always been the case. He was fourteen when his mom married Clarke’s dad, and gaining a twelve-year-old sister was probably the worst thing he could have imagined. Clarke hated him too, and they spent most of their time getting each other and themselves into trouble.

But they grew close in the six years that followed, and now Bellamy can’t imagine his life without her. So yeah, he definitely loves her. Sometimes he’s sure he loves her like a sister, like he’s supposed to. Other times… his eyes fall to her protruding nipples, and his cock twitches. The dream she’d woken him up from isn’t exactly an anomaly either. And he’s pretty sure most brothers aren’t using their sister as their go-to wanking material.

Worried she’ll guess what he’s thinking, Bellamy moves quickly flipping her over so she’s the one on her back, and tickling her sides. Clarke dissolves into giggles, squirming underneath him, trying to bat his hands away. They’re probably too old for this now, but Bellamy can’t help himself. He loves to hear her laugh, and he loves to see her squirm. He especially loves the way her huge tits jiggle with every movement.

Her nightie rides up her thighs and Bellamy’s heart speeds up, sure he’s going to get a glimpse of her panties. But Clarke quickly grabs the hem and pulls it down.

“Bell, stop,” she says, still laughing. “Oh my god, stop, I’m not wearing anything underneath! You’ll see my pussy!”

Bellamy stops, his face growing hot, his semi-hard cock jumping to full attention. He pulls away quickly, putting an acceptable distance between him and Clarke.

“Sorry,” he says. He doesn’t know what else to say. The only other things going through his brain are god please show me your pussy and what kind of tease comes into her stepbrother’s room wearing only a scrap of silk and no underwear? Both options seem less than appropriate.  

Clarke sits up, her own face redder than he’s ever seen it. “I should go and get dressed,” she says. “I’ll see you downstairs for breakfast, big brother.”

With two words, she puts him in his place, reminding him of why he can never have her, no matter how much he wants her. Sure, biologically they aren’t really related. But in every other sense of the word, they’re siblings. They grew up together like siblings. Their parents expect them to behave like siblings.

If Clarke knew the things he thinks about her, she’d probably be scandalised. She’d think he was a disgusting pervert, lusting after his stepsister like that. It’s not her fault she grew into the sexiest woman he’s ever seen. But then again, Bellamy also can’t help it if he gets hard every time he so much as thinks about her.

After she’s gone, Bellamy throws himself back onto his bed, covering his face with his hands. God, it’s so much easier to pretend when he’s away at college. Yes, he still gets hard when she’s talking to him on the phone, but he can pretend it’s because of external factors, and not her husky voice sounding like some kind of phone sex operator. And as soon as she hangs up, he can distract himself with some other woman.  

But here, she’s in his orbit at all times. She usually walks around the house in barely any clothing, teasing him, whether she knows it or not. It’s absolute torture. He doesn’t know how he’s going to get through three months of this before he goes back to college.

His cock throbs painfully. He tells himself he’s not going to masturbate over his little sister. He’s not an animal, he can control his urges. But another voice in his head reminds him that they aren’t actually siblings, and that there’s nothing wrong with finding her attractive. Nothing wrong with getting himself off to the thought of her writhing around in his bed.

He looks to the door, making sure it’s shut. Then he sneaks his hand into his boxers, letting his fist close around his aching cock. He leaves his boxers on, just in case Clarke decides to come barging back into his room. He strokes himself slowly, letting himself imagine what would have happened if Clarke hadn’t made him stop tickling her. If she hadn’t noticed her nightie riding up, and she’d exposed herself to him. God, he wants to see her pussy so bad. He wants to touch her there, taste her, push his cock inside her and fuck her senseless. She could do with a good fucking, he thinks.

Bellamy picks up the pace, continuing to fantasise about fucking her while she’s wearing nothing but that nightie. He imagines ripping the flimsy thing to pieces so he can see her tits bounce as he fucks her. He imagines getting his mouth on her pretty pink nipples, sucking so hard she cries out. He imagines her begging him to let her come, and then begging him to fill her with his come. When he comes into his boxers, he imagines he’s coming inside her, that his hand clenching around his cock is her pussy, though he knows his rough hand could never compare to her soft wet cunt.

He feels ashamed of himself for a moment, lying on his bed, panting, his boxers full of his own come. He gets up, peels them off and throws them into his laundry basket, before heading towards the shower, where he knows he’ll probably get himself off again.

  Bellamy has organised to catch up with some of his old high school friends that night. Clarke gets all sulky when he tells her he’s going out.

“I thought you were going to be home, otherwise I would have organised to do something as well,” she says, pouting. They’re in her bedroom, which is weird for him. He can’t remember the last time he was in here. He’s avoided being in her room ever since he first realised he had a thing for her. Three years.

“I thought you’d be sick of me by now,” Bellamy jokes. They’ve already hung out together all day. Mostly binge-watching Clarke’s new favourite show, her legs across his lap, wearing a crop top and a tiny pair of shorts, while he tried not to touch her too much or stare at her very noticeable camel toe. If he doesn’t get away from her for a few hours he thinks his dick might actually become permanently erect.

“Are you sick of me? Is that why you’re going out?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bellamy says. “It’s just one night. You and I have all summer to hang out.”

Clarke doesn’t seem in any way placated by this information. Bellamy loves that she wants to spend time with him, he really does. She makes him feel wanted, more wanted than anyone, even his own mother, has ever made him feel. But he really needs to let off some steam if he’s going to be around her all summer.

He thinks one of his friends from high school, Roma, might be down for some action this summer, no strings attached. Exactly what Bellamy needs.

“You could invite some friends over,” Bellamy suggests. “Mom and Jake are out, so you’ll have the whole place to yourself.”

Clarke sighs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t be mad at me,” he says.

“I’m not mad.”

She lets him pull her into a hug, stiff for a moment before she melts into him. He loves the way her breasts feel, pressed against his chest. He pulls away. Over her shoulder, he notices the large teddy bear lying on her bed, one he’d given her years ago after he won it on some game at a carnival. He grins, walking over to it.

“You still have this?” he asks, picking it up off the bed. It’s a little worse for wear now, the once pure white fur is yellowing, and it’s missing an eye. It looks well loved. He taps its little plastic nose. “Isn’t eighteen a little old to be sleeping with a teddy bear?”

“It’s comforting,” Clarke says defensively, grabbing the bear’s arm and pulling it from Bellamy’s grasp. She does seem a little embarrassed about it though. Bellamy thinks it’s cute. He likes that she still sleeps with something he gave her, that she finds it comforting.

“Okay,” he says. “I didn’t mean to judge. I’ll see you later. Tomorrow, maybe. I might stay at Miller’s.”

“Fine.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes at her before he leaves. She can be exasperating sometimes.

  The truth is, Bellamy’s high school friends are less fun than he remembers. Sure, it’s great to catch up with them, but he’s ready to go home by nine-thirty. And even though Roma seems keen, Bellamy can’t bring himself to go through with it. So he heads home. Clarke will probably still be up, and he kind of really wants to know what happens next in that show they’ve been watching.

When he gets home, he’s disappointed to find the lights downstairs are all off, and he figures Clarke either went to bed early or found something better to do than sit home alone all night. He heads straight to his room, intending to maybe read a chapter or two of his book before he goes to sleep.

He pauses when he gets to the door of his room. It’s closed, but there’s a sliver of light underneath. Did he forget to turn it off before he went out? He puts his hand on the door handle, and as he’s about to turn it, he hears a moan. His stomach flips over. Clarke. She’s in his room. Moaning.

He debates with himself whether to go in or leave. Is she alone? Was that a sex moan or a something else moan? And most importantly, why is she in his room? He has to know. He swings the door open. He’s so not prepared for the vision in front of him.

Clarke, naked from the waist up, on his bed, her eyes closed and her mouth open. He manages to tear his eyes from her naked, bouncing tits to trail down her body. Between her legs is that fucking teddy bear. She’s humping it desperately, it’s plastic nose against her clit. Her pussy is hidden by a pair of boxers. His boxers, he realises, and he almost has a heart attack. He stares at her a little longer, watching as she fucks herself on the bear. Then it hits him. Those aren’t just any pair of his boxers. It’s the pair he was wearing this morning, the pair he came in and then threw in the laundry basket.

God, he thought she was so sweet and innocent, at least when it came to sex. But now he’s watching her masturbate using a teddy bear he gave her, on his bed, wearing nothing but a pair of his dirty, come-stained boxers. She’s filthier than he could have imagined. His heart is racing and his cock presses painfully against his zipper. He should probably either leave, or alert her to his presence, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away.  

She moans again, pressing herself harder against the bear’s face. “Bellamy,” she moans, and his stomach drops, thinking for a moment she’s realised he’s standing there. But no, she’s still focused on fucking herself, whining, her face contorted in desperation. She’s thinking of him. Bellamy feels like he can’t breathe. It takes all his self-control not to go over there, wrench the bear from between her legs and replace it with his cock.  But he has to see her finish.

She gasps for air, dropping her head, still grinding her pussy down on the bear with an urgency that let him know how desperate she is to come. But it seems like she can’t quite get there.

“Please, please,” she whines, echoing Bellamy’s thoughts. He wants to watch her come so badly. Needs to see what her face looks like when she orgasms, knowing all the while she’s thinking about him.

She opens her eyes. Her gaze falls on Bellamy and her eyes widen, panicked.

“Oh my god,” she cries. Her arm flies across her chest, trying to hide her tits from him, as if he hasn’t been watching them bounce up and down for the last five minutes. “Oh my god, oh my god.” She turns away, rolling off the bear and onto her stomach, hiding her bright red face from him by pressing it into his pillow. “Don’t look at me!”

Bellamy steps into the room and shuts the door behind him. “Why not?”

Clarke groans. “You aren’t supposed to see me like this. You’re my brother. It’s wrong.” Her voice is muffled by the pillow. She’s clearly totally humiliated by him catching her.

Bellamy walks over to the bed and sits down beside her. “And yet you were thinking about me, weren’t you?”

Clarke doesn’t respond, just squirms with embarrassment. Bellamy’s eyes rake over her. He can’t really see anything he’s not supposed to, now her tits are hidden from his view. But she’s left a nice big wet patch on his boxers. She really is soaking. Does she know she’s sitting in his dried come? Surely she must. She’s not that naïve.

“Clarke, look at me,” Bellamy says softly. Clarke reluctantly turns her head towards him. Her face is still a brilliant red, and she looks like she might actually cry. “I’m not mad or freaked out and I’m definitely not laughing at you, okay?”

Clarke nods. “How long were you there?”

“A while.” Bellamy reaches for the bear. “So that’s what you use this for, huh? You use it to get yourself off?”

Clarke nods again. “I named it after you.”

Bellamy flushes. Fucking hell. Knowing she wants him too, it’s a lot to handle. He knows he absolutely should not fuck his step-sister. But he can tell she wants so badly to be fucked, and by him.

“How often?”

“I don’t use the bear that often,” Clarke whispers. “It feels really good because it feels wrong to do that to a toy you gave me, but…” she trails off, squeezing her eyes shut, like she can’t believe she’s telling him this. Bellamy swallows.

“And how come you’re in my room?”

Clarke won’t look at him as she answers. “I was just going to sleep in your bed,” she says. “Sometimes I do that when you’re not here. And I knew it would smell like you because you just slept in it last night.”

“And then… you went through my laundry?” Bellamy asks, reaching out to finger the bottom of his boxers.

“They were just sitting there on top,” Clarke says. “And I couldn’t help myself.”

“I came in them this morning,” Bellamy tells her. Just in case she doesn’t know.

“I know,” she whispers. “I—I wanted your come. I think about you coming inside me all the time.” Bellamy just about combusts when she says that. She’s so fucking filthy he can’t stand it. “I like knowing you got yourself off in here this morning. I was pretending you thought about me when you came.” She buries her head in the pillow again. “I’m really sorry, I know I shouldn’t think about you like that. I’ll stop, I swear—”

“Clarke,” Bellamy says hoarsely. “I was thinking about you.” He can hardly believe she doesn’t know this already. Otherwise, why confess all that stuff?

She turns back to him. “You were?”

Bellamy huffs out a laugh. “God, yes. Clarke, you were in my bed wearing no panties. It’s all I could think about for the rest of the morning. You’re all I ever think about. For years. You have no idea how much self-control it takes for me not to touch you inappropriately. Fucking hell, I nearly died when I saw you tonight, in my boxers, humping that teddy. And when I heard you say my name…” He groans, dropping his head down. His cock is throbbing. He wants her to know what she does to him.

“Bell,” Clarke whimpers. “I was so close, I—”

“I know,” he swallows. Clarke bites her lip. He knows what she wants. It’s what he wants. She rolls over onto her back, putting her tits on display for him. She watches him, looking sultry, as she slides her hand down the front of his come-stained boxers. Fucking hell. She’s even more brazen now that she knows he wants her too.

“That’s it,” Bellamy says, unable to help himself. “Play with your clit, baby. You were so close before. Come on, faster.” Clarke fingers herself rapidly, quickly working herself up to where she was before, panting, desperate, ready to come.

“Come on, Clarke, just a little more,” Bellamy says. “You’re nearly there. Does it feel good?”

“Uh huh.”

“I love watching you play with yourself,” Bellamy continues. “You look so pretty like this, all flushed and desperate. Are you gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yes. Oh god, yes,” Clarke moans. Her hand stills, clutching her pussy as she comes, arching off the bed, her mouth open as she comes almost silently. “Bell,” she gasps. “That was so good.”

He can’t help himself then, she looks so beautiful post orgasm, half-naked in his bed. He leans down to capture her lips with his, sucking her bottom lip into his mouth. She moans into his mouth, and he slips his tongue into her open mouth while his hands grip her waist tightly. She clings to his neck, pulls him closer, letting him devour her, kissing him back just as hard. Bellamy pulls away, breathless.

“You’re not done, are you?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“I’m so fucking hard, Clarke. I need to fuck you. Can I fuck you?”

“Please,” she says. Bellamy’s hands shake as he pulls his shirt over his head. Clarke reaches for his chest, tracing her fingers over the hard planes of his torso while Bellamy fumbles with his belt and fly. He sheds his pants, and Clarke’s fingers trail even lower, over his waistband, circling the tip of his cock through his boxers. His breath hitches, and he swears he nearly comes right then, with her touching him so gently.

She tugs on his boxers and he helps her get them off, revealing his erection. Her eyes are heavy on his cock, but she glances up to meet his eyes as she runs her finger along the underside, making him shudder.

“You’re so big,” Clarke murmurs. “I imagined you’d be big.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t scare you?”

Clarke shakes her head. “I want you inside me.”

“God, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. He leans down to kiss her again. He reaches between her legs, slipping his hand into the boxers she’s wearing to feel her soaking cunt. Clarke whimpers as he presses a finger into her. She drags the boxers down her thighs, wriggling out of them until they reach her knees, where Bellamy catches her wrist.

“Leave them there,” he growls. Clarke nods. Bellamy bring his lips to her neck, on top of her now, his hand back between her legs. But she’s wet enough already, and she’s already come once, and he doesn’t think he can wait any longer to put his cock in her. Clarke seems just as impatient, reaching for his cock, teasing him with her fingers. She spreads her legs as wide as she can with the boxers around her knees. Bellamy removes his fingers from her cunt, pressing his cock against her instead. And fuck, he’s so close to fucking her.

Clarke moans as he enters her. She’s so fucking wet, and her tight walls feel amazing clenching around his thick cock.

“Fuck, Clarke,” Bellamy groans. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“I know,” Clarke says, but she thrusts against him, desperate for his cock deeper inside her.

“You feel so fucking good. I don’t know how long I can last.”

“I don’t care. Just fuck me.”

Bellamy can’t resist that. He pushes all the way into her, and she lets out a small whimper.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pulls out. Slams into her again.

“Fuck,” she gasps. Bellamy can’t hold back any longer. He fucks into her, and she meets him with every thrust, humping against him they way she did with the teddy bear.

“You gonna come again?” Bellamy asks, his voice strained, desperately trying to hold on as long as he can.

“Yes. Just—” Clarke puts her hand between her legs, rubbing her clit while he fucks her. “Yes, Bell. I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Her thighs tremble and she shuts her eyes, and her walls clench around him as she comes, squeezing his own orgasm from him.

“Me too, Clarke,” Bellamy pants. “Fuck. I’m coming inside you.”

“Oh god,” Clarke moans. Bellamy spurts his come into her, satisfying some animalistic need to fill her up with his seed. He tries not to crush her as he falls on top of her, spent. He rolls away from her, their combined come coating his dick. His come leaks from her pussy, and Bellamy feels a pang of sick pride.

“I want to taste it,” Clarke says. She slides her hand between her legs, gathering his come on the tip of her middle finger. Bellamy watches in awe as she brings it to her lips and sucks it into her mouth.

“Fucking hell, Clarke. Are you trying to kill me?”

“Maybe,” she smirks. “You taste so good. Want to try?”

“God, you’re so depraved,” Bellamy says. Clarke laughs.

“What about you? You just fucked your own sister.”

“You’re not my sister.”

“I was your sister this morning,” Clarke smirks.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Good.” Clarke leans over, sinking her teeth into his bottom lip. “I’m keeping your boxers, by the way.”

[klove0511]

At Any Cost Chapter 4

“No, Dean, I know what I saw. I’m done. He has to go, now,” Lisa said, throwing her arms up in frustration. Sam stood off to the side, offering no defense for himself. “He’s not human! And that thing—” She took a steadying breath, crossing her arms in front of her. “Ben was in danger because he was here.”

Ben piped up. “But he saved me! He protected me, Mom!”

Finally, Sam spoke. “Your mom is right. I’m the reason you were in danger in the first place.” To Lisa he said, “It’s ok. I’ll go. Just let me go grab my bag.”

She nodded tightly, chewing her lip, and Sam hurried up the stairs. Dean couldn’t believe it. It felt like his world was falling down around his ears. The argument in the kitchen had been one thing, and he’d understood where she was coming from. This. This was something else entirely. He still understood, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Sam wasn’t human. He wasn’t human, and he’d hidden it from all of them. It was the demon blood all over again. They were going to have to have words about this one.

That didn’t mean he was prepared to just let Sam waltz out of his life.

“You don’t have to go, Dean. This isn’t about you,” she said, quietly, already knowing what his answer was going to be.

“He’s my brother, Lisa. I can’t—I just got him back. And now something is gunning for him. I’m not saying you’re wrong. We’re putting you in danger, and we’ll leave, but I can’t let him deal with this on his own.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe Bobby’s. Maybe not. We’ll figure it out.”

 They were on the road less than an hour later. Sam looked pissed that Dean had insisted on leaving too, but Dean couldn’t figure out who he was pissed at. With the rumble of the Impala soothing the worry in his bones and the roar of the road under her tires, Dean felt happier than he had in a long time. He could argue with Sam later. For now, he just wanted to enjoy being back on the road with his brother.

Dean drove vaguely north, vaguely west. They would end up near Sioux Falls eventually, and then they would stop and see how Bobby was. He didn’t broach the subject of what had happened that morning until after they’d stopped for gas and food and were back on the road, Indiana in their rearview mirror.

“So, Sam, you want to tell me what the hell happened?”

Sam didn’t look at him, just kept staring at the road. “Got my ass kicked by an archangel.”

Dean glanced at Sam. He hadn’t known that was another fucking archangel. Briefly biting his tongue before he spoke to try to keep this civil for as long as possible, he felt the anger bubbling up now that they were safe. Safe enough, at least. “Care to elaborate on that? For example, how are you even breathing right now? Or let’s try: when did you get wings? Speaking of your wings, what happened to them?”

Sam sighed tiredly. “I brought grace with me out of the Cage. Not—not either of them. Just bits and pieces. Cas said it was basically harmless. The wings are new.”

Dean’s jaw worked. “You didn’t think this was information to share with the class?”

“And do what? Drag you out of retirement earlier? I wasn’t using it. I wasn’t—” He looked down at his hands and swallowed hard. “I thought it wouldn’t matter as long as I didn’t use it.” Dean looked over at his brother. Sam’s eyes were wet, and he kept opening his mouth like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“You still should have told me.”

This time Sam did look at him. His voice was edged with anger when he said, “That’s really easy for you to say. You aren’t the freak in this family.”

 Later, when they stopped for the night, Dean sent Sam out for food. They’d been sniping at each other all afternoon, and Dean knew they needed a break before they came to blows. Besides, he needed to have a word with Cas. He perched himself on the edge of the bed, closed his eyes, and prayed.

“Castiel, you feathered asshole, I’ve got questions for you. For starters, why the hell is a winged arch-dick coming after Sam? Second, how did Sam—”

“Where is Sam?”

Dean opened his eyes and found Castiel standing far too close. The angel looked haggard, but his eyes were bright with concern. “Where have you been?” he asked instead of answering the question.

“I am fighting a civil war. One which Raphael apparently has decided to make personal. Now. Where is Sam?” Power radiated off the angel. It was impossible to mistake the overt hostility in his voice.

“Grabbing food. What the hell are you talking about?” He managed to resist stepping back from the angel.

“You said Sam was threatened. He shouldn’t be out alone. Raphael may be able to find him through his grace, despite the warding imprinted on his ribs.” Castiel shifted his weight, seeming uncharacteristically nervous.

“His grace. Right. About that. How did he end up running around with freaking grace? Or better yet, can you get rid of it?”

Castiel whirled, staring at Dean until the hunter awkwardly broke eye contact. “Why would I want to do that?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Cas, maybe because Raphael definitely can use it to track him. Has, actually. He wasn’t threatened; he was attacked. So being able to keep a low profile would be nice. That a good enough reason for you?”

Castiel’s eyes widened and his voice dropped even lower. “He was attacked? What happened?”

Geez. Dean could tell he wasn’t going to get anything useful out of the angel until he filled him in. He did, just giving the broadest strokes, then asked again, “Can you get rid of the grace?”

Castiel shook him head. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Dean frowned. “Why the hell not?”

Castiel spoke slowly, as if trying to explain a difficult concept to a child. “His grace is deeply entwined with his soul, likely more so now that he has used it and manifested wings. Removing it could cause irreparable damage.” He gazed steadily at Dean. “It may kill him.”

Dean blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. “How did he even end up like this?”

“I don’t know. Given the way it is threaded through his soul, I would say that he did it to himself while he was in the Cage. Has he discussed his time in Hell with you?”

Dean shook his head. “No. I haven’t pushed. He seems to be dealing ok.”

“You know how long he was there. With the damage he sustained, to be functional now—” Castiel pursed his lips. “The grace is likely dulling the memories, protecting his mind from the damage his soul sustained. I believe his soul gathered scraps of Michael’s and Lucifer’s grace as a means of defending itself, but I can’t be sure without a closer look.”

Dean tried to understand. “What, like—like some civilian that finds themselves in a warzone and picks up some dead soldier’s gun they don’t know how to use because it’s better than nothing?”

Castiel tilted his head to the side. “That seems excessively dangerous.”

Dean rolled his eyes and made a “that’s my point” gesture.

After a moment, the analogy seemed to click for Cas. “Yes. That is…an accurate assessment of what I believe has happened.”

“My soul is being held together by grace?” Sam asked from the doorway.

Cas nodded, apparently unperturbed by Sam’s stealth entrance. His freaky angel hearing had probably heard the giant come in.

“So there’s nothing we can do about it,” Sam said definitively. “I just have to learn to deal with this.”

“Sam,” Dean said, then stopped. Dean’s heart ached for his little brother. He still had nightmares of listening to Sam detox from the demon blood. Still remembered the hopelessness on Sam’s face when he talked about what Azazel had done to him as a baby. He hated that Sam had hidden this from him too, but the way Sam had called himself a freak earlier had raised his big brother protective instincts.

Still. Maybe this could be useful. Cas’s powers had helped them out of tight situations plenty.   Dean couldn’t complain about some healing mojo instead of stitches or hospitals. He may not like that Sam was one step further from human—ok, he hated that part—but it was a damn helpful set of tools if Sam could use them. Dean looked from Sam to Cas. “In that case, I guess Sam could use some flying lessons. What do you say?”

Sam had protested, but with Dean on board it was hard to argue against Sam learning how to use his new abilities now that Raphael had painted a target on the younger Winchester. Castiel, for his part, had readily agreed to teach Sam what he could, but he’d been called away that first night before anything could be taught.

 “Stop trying to force your grace to function, Sam,” Cas said with exasperation in his voice.

“I am. Or I’m trying to. This isn’t exactly easy for me.” They’d been working for an hour in Bobby’s junkyard, and so far, Sam had managed little more than manifesting his wings once.

Castiel frowned. Sam’s grace glowed brightly, but it seemed to shrink every time Sam attempted to use it. “It would be easier if you were not fighting with yourself.”

Sam threw his hands up. “Sorry. I don’t have much Zen today.” His unspoken desire to not do this at all was clear even to Castiel.

Castiel tried not to be offended. He knew both Winchesters valued their humanity, and this was a difficult adjustment for Sam. His affection for the younger brother aside, he had been pleased when they asked him for help with Sam’s powers. It just seemed that he was not a very good teacher. How does one teach what has been instinct since the day they were born?

He opened his mouth to speak when he received a summons from Rachel. Raphael had attacked another flight—the third attack this week to interrupt a lesson with Sam. He growled in frustration and looked to Sam. “Rachel is calling. I’m sorry. Keep practicing, and I will be back when I am able. Possibly not for a day or two.”

 Sam understood Cas was fighting a war. He did. He tried to practice on his own, moving things, stalking Dean to be there to heal any minor injury his brother managed to accrue while working on a car in Bobby’s garage. His results were sporadic at best. Healing his own injuries happened without thought, but he had yet to successfully heal anyone else. He even tried flying once or twice—terrifying, when he wasn’t doing it on instinct. He’d ended up across town the first time, and halfway across the state the second. After that, he had decided he wasn’t practicing flight again until Cas had a chance to give him a real lesson, lest he end up in Norway with no way back into the US.

Besides, his heart wasn’t really in it. Even though Dean was on board, apparently, a little voice in Sam’s head kept whispering Freak! Freak! Freak! anytime he reached for his power. Cas showed up when he could, but their lessons were erratic as Raphael stepped up his aggression. None of them were sure what it meant, but Cas had received word that Raphael may be making moves to reopen the Cage. No details on how that was going to happen, but they all knew enough to be wary. Sam had opened the Cage from this side not once but twice, and he was the only one to also somehow escape from the inside. If Raphael was looking for a way in, Sam was a target.

Sam knew Dean feared another attack on them, and that plus the added stress of trying to master powers he’d rather ignore was starting to wear on him.

“I’m just frustrated, man,” Sam said, throwing a shirt into his duffel. Sitting still at Bobby’s for weeks was making everything worse, no matter how much they loved their foster father. Dean had finally agreed to hit the road that morning. No hunts, just driving. It would feel good for both of them to be on the road again.

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I thought you said you understood. You afraid he’s just not that into you, Sammy?” He chuckled at his own joke, stifling the laugh a little when he caught Sam’s glare. “Come on, untwist your panties. He’s doing his best.”

Sam swallowed hard. He was not about to tell Dean about his crush on the angel. “I just feel like I’m not making any progress, you know? I know he’s trying, but—”

“You think Raphael’s going to come after you again?”

Sam shrugged and continued packing his bag for a moment. “You don’t?”

Dean hummed noncommittally.

Sam didn’t say anything. He was worried about Cas, with Raphael’s increasingly frequent attacks. And yes, he was worried Raphael was going to attack them before he had a handle on his abilities. Right now, his powers were unreliable at best, and Dean, while an incredible hunter, was just a man. An archangel on a mission would squash them both like bugs. Sure, they’d survived encounters with archangels before, but never an archangel that wanted them dead.

 Dean cautiously watched his brother packing. Sam was struggling, and Dean was keenly aware that Sam hadn’t denied his implied feelings for Cas. Whatever Dean had thought might be happening between them had stalled out after Raphael’s attack, and Dean could be the bigger man. Regardless of his own feelings toward Sam, he knew the role he had to play here: tease Sam mercilessly like the big brother he was, then help his little brother out by being the best damn wingman he could be.

He could bide his time, though, and did. Two days later as Sam was brushing his teeth before bed, Dean decided it was the perfect moment for a little ribbing. “So, is it Cas’s ass that does it for you?”

He was rewarded by Sam choking on his toothpaste and turning bright red. Dean grinned, pleased with himself. When Sam could finally breathe again, he managed a strangled, “What?”

Dean plastered an innocent look on his face. “I mean, I suppose it makes sense. He’s an angel. You’re kind of like an angel now. Hey, can you see his wings?”

He turned to face Sam and found him staring at Dean openmouthed. “Is that why?” Sam asked.

“Why what?” Dean said, shooting his brother a genuine look of confusion.

Sam shuffled and stared down at his feet, suddenly nervous. “Why we—Why you’ve been sleeping alone.”

Panic threatened to flood Dean’s senses. They didn’t talk about this. Regardless of what they might or might not have been willing to do, this was not a topic of conversation Dean had ever been prepared to discuss.

Sam sighed. “I—Sorry. I know. I figured with the grace—” He paused, trying to compose himself. “I figured you didn’t want that, anymore. Whatever it was we were doing at Lisa’s. But if—if it’s because you think Cas—” Sam closed his eyes, missing Dean’s very loud thoughts telling him to shut the fuck up already, and barreled on. “I do. I want—what we were. But if you—”

“Dude, stop,” Dean choked out. “I can practically feel myself growing a vagina.”

There was Sam’s trusty bitch face. Dean beamed at him. “So, not Cas?”

Sam blushed. Dean raised his eyebrows. Finally, almost so quietly Dean missed it, he managed to say, “Not just Cas.”

Ah. Now that was interesting. Dean thought for half a second before deciding he’d be game for pretty much anything Sam could throw his way. Break one major taboo and the rest just didn’t seem so bad in comparison. “Kinky.” The word was out of his mouth before he even really thought about saying it, but he wasn’t going to backtrack. It was kinky, and if Sam interpreted it as Dean’s interest, then he wasn’t about to dissuade him. Dean grinned suggestively, and Sam blushed harder. He chuckled. Flustering Sam was going to be his new favorite pastime.

After that, they started enjoying their time just being brothers on the road so much that they were completely blindsided when one day Raphael appeared behind Sam, angel blade held to his throat. Dean had no time to react before the archangel had gripped a chunk of Sam’s hair, tilted his head back, and used the blade to slice a wound in Sam’s neck. The wound glowed blue, and Dean was horrified when he realized Sam’s grace was leaking out, right into a small vial Raphael held to the wound. The angel shoved Sam’s limp body forward with a wicked grin. Dean was already screaming for Cas as the arch-dick disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

Dean caught Sam, clamping a hand across the wound in his neck. It now bled only red and looked shallow enough that it might not be fatal. He levered Sam to the ground and realized that though Sam hadn’t really lost much blood yet, the attack had left him dull and glassy-eyed. Dean remembered Cas’s warnings about irreversible damage and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that Cas was wrong.

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