#coffee hoard of an assassin

[the-raven-and-the-tower]

A snoop through Lucanis's room in the Lighthouse; Signs of a Struggle

Lucanis is doing a damned good job holding it together considering everything he's been through. He's keeping a tight grip on his emotions and using the job to focus himself, but if you stop in to check on him... there are a few clear signs that not all is well.

Baby boy picked a room without windows, yet he's still craving light. For an assassin who has spent most of his life very comfortable in the dark, he’s avoiding it now like he’s avoiding sleep.

There are FIFTY SEVEN candles in his room. Fifty six of them are lit. Look at the variety. He found every spare candle available to him in the Lighthouse and possibly dragged a few back with him from the Cantori Diamond or Dellamorte estate.

^ Short candles, tall tapers, all in various states of use, ALL LIT. One very different candle in a silver candle-holder, maybe from the Diamond or home

^ Another silver addition, this time a candelabra with similar style to the last one and an elven lamp, similar to the one Rook decorates their room with.

^ Three more styles of candlestick holders in with all the standalone candles I'm guessing he found around the Lighthouse.

^ Terrible shot, but he also has both wall torches lit, which were the only lights in that space when he moved in IIRC

And what's more, he has enough coffee stashed in this room to give niacin flush to an elephant.

There are ELEVEN coffee cups sitting out and two more sitting ready next to the gifted coffee set. (Also, he has no coffee in his mug if you sneak a peek into it.)

^ Seven of the cups are within reach of his right hand, where he sits on the bed.

^ There's another in front of his hookah pipe. Couple more in the second shot, I missed a picture of one somehow. There are two unused cups sitting ready behind his gifted coffee set that definitely doesn't look like it's for tea...

^ Coffee beans and I'm guessing the two sacks next to the basket are full of the same. His empty cup below, cuz it makes me laugh.

Next, the bed. It gives me vibes of the crappy bedroll Astarion sleeps on in BG3. Look at this thing.

You can see where he tried scrubbing the grime away before giving up and deciding to just live with it. We know there are other beds in the Tower, Taash and Davrin both have cozy ones when they arrive.

Whether or not Lucanis had the conscious thought of "what he's worth / deserves", this is how he values himself. This is what he chose to sleep in... likely with the thought that he's going to be avoiding sleep at all costs anyway, why does it matter what shape the bed is in?

He brought barely any personal possessions with him. Lace is the same way, but Bellara's room is full and we found her packing list (adorable). Neve, too, has brought books, papers, a spare leg, tools to work on it with... Even Rook has a scene where they decorate their room with possessions that are meaningful to them.

But if we go looking through Lucanis's personal belongings, we find barely any of them. And what few there are, we find mixed among the team supplies or shoved under them.

^ Here, is hookah pipe is neatly shelved in the corner, and we find a a heavily-armored and well-locked chest tucked among the fruit. I might be looking for meaning where there isn't any but... Lucanis has got himself tucked away in the pantry, his walls up and himself still locked away in the Ossuary of his mind.

^ Better view of the chest.

Underneath one of the moved shelves is a Crow-themed rug, with almost all details hidden under supplies for the team, another big basket of coffee beans and another presumably-locked chest.

Under the bed, we find another rug, rolled up and not set out even though having it laid on the floor inside of the bed would be more comfortable. He spends a lot of time sitting on that bed, having a rug to put his feet on could be nice and yet... it's under the bed.

The only other Lucanis possession I could find in the room is his bag, shoved under his bed. He's a boujie boy, but it's not a boujie bag. It's utilitarian and well-used, shoved under the bed until he needs it.

To end on a slightly happier note... his brewing bench outside the pantry door is pretty neat.

^ I wonder where these mugs are from and what the designs represent.

^ Any idea what this is, anyone? The thing hanging from the chain?

Oh, and guess what was under the brew station! MORE COFFEE!

[myfunkinapocalypse]

Name: Baba Chops

Age: None

Sexuality: Aromantic/questioning lesbian

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a sheep.

Skills: Ability to dismember her enemies and silently kill her enemies like an assassin. Ability to spew out plagues with her breath and breathe out anise scented mist.

Story: Baba is part of a toy line called the Nightmare Critters. She's one of the antagonists and opposites to the Smiling Critters. She's the opposite of Dogday because she's quiet and emo and doesn't like to socialize. She also likes listening to emo music like Evanescence, Green Day, Fall Out Boy, and My Chemical Romance. She only likes the other Nightmare Critters and has an odd fascination with death, gore, and dismemberment.

Name: Icky Licky

Age: None

Sexuality: Aromantic

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a poison dart frog

Skills: Ability to excrete poison from his skin and turn it into weapons, Ability to catch things with his sticky tongue, Ability to spew poisonous breath and breathing out coffee scented mist.

Story: Icky is also a part of the Nightmare Critters and an incredibly sore loser and will whine and cry if he loses or if things don't go his way. He's the opposite of KickinChicken because of this. He also makes up excuses for everything and rarely helps in the base. He's an incredibly potent fighter and is the sneak killer due to his poison.

Name: Rabie Baby

Age: None

Sexuality: Closeted lesbian

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a bat

Skills: Night vision, flying, ability to bite and suck blood and give rabies, breathing out bubblegum scented mist.

Story: Rabie Baby is the intel of the base, her gossiping skills help inform the base of possible attacks or traitors in the base. She gives people rabies and suckles blood for nutrition. She's the opposite of Bobby Bearhug.

Name: Allister Gator

Age: None

Sexuality: Gay

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling an alligator

Skills: Swimming, sharp teeth and strong jaws, a lethal death roll, breathing out sandalwood scented mist.

Story: Allister Gator is the laziest Nightmare Critter, he doesn't do much to help and many of the base members consider him dead weight. But what he lacks in motivation he makes up for in lethality. Being an alligator he's a super fast swimmer and has super strong jaws to clamp onto his prey though he prefers if the prey came to him. He's also the opposite of Hoppy Hopscotch.

Name: Simon Smoke

Age: None

Sexuality: Gay

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a dragon

Skills: Flying, breathing fire, strong claws and jaws, breathing out wood smoke scented mist.

Story: Simon Smoke is the most greedy and egotistical of the Nightmare Critters. He believes he's the coolest when in reality he's just a massive jerk. He hoards money and anything he deems valuable. He's an excellent flyer and can drop enemies from however high he wants guaranteeing that it's lethal, he also breathes fire which he uses to burn out scorch enemies and dispose of the infected. He's the opposite of Craftycorn.

Name: Poe

Age: None

Sexuality: Aromantic

Gender: Nonbinary

Pronouns: They/them

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a crow or raven

Skills: Flight, ability to pick up enemies with their talons and drop them from lethal heights, being an omen of death, breathing out cinnamon scented mist.

Story: Poe is the moodiest critter in the bunch, preferring to stay in the dark where the sun can't reach him, he is called an omen of death because when people see him he's the last thing they see. Poe doesn't have an opposite because he considers that wasting his time and energy although he does consider Dogday his rival due to his sunny disposition and being affiliated with the sun.

Name: Touille

Age: None

Sexuality: Aromantic

Gender: Male

Pronouns: He/him

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a rat.

Skills: Ability to give diseases like the bubonic plague and other rat transferred diseases, eats trash, can cook (albeit very poorly), ability to breathe out petrichor scented mist and toxic breath.

Story: Touille is considered the cleanup because he's willing to eat anything. Although he finds trash and rotting food much tastier he will eat corpses when necessary or when desperate for food. He's scared of Catnap because of the whole cat and rat scenario and tries to avoid Catnap otherwise he'll be eaten.

Name: Maggie Mako

Age: None

Sexuality: Aromantic

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/her

Species: Plush toy/cartoon resembling a shark

Skills: Ability to swim quietly in the water and sniff out prey by the scent of their blood, sharp jaws and teeth that can tear limbs off and dismember in seconds, eating candy, breathing out chocolate scented mist

Story: Maggie is a sweetooth, she eats only candy but like Touille will eat bodies although she prefers fish and other marine animals. She is considered Picky's opposite because she eats all of Picky's sweets and often steals her healthy food.

[manie-sans-delire-x]

tell us about your favorite oc!

Id love to!! So she's my first real OC, this is from the Skyrim universe. *holds up doll for show and tell* Her name is Lilith, shes around late thirties. Shes a bosmer/wood elf who later becomes a vampire. And in Skyrim lore, she's the "dovahkiin", basically a mortal with the soul of a dragon. To me, that means an endless lust of power. Lilith's goal in life is to experience almost everything at least once, explore and learn as much as possible, gain as much power and freedom as possible, and collect trinkets, knowledge, and whatever items she wants (a dragon's hoarding). She lives for the excitement of fighting and actively delights in bloodshed. That being said, she's morally (dark) gray because despite having a hatred of authority and a refusal to follow rules, she has her own sense of a moral code. She is both better and worse than people think. I picture her as being a terrifying character, playful and dark, walking right on the edge of evil.

My story starts from when she first arrives in the land of Skyrim, bound and about to be executed, and follows her journey of self discovery and gaining massive power, including becoming unwillingly shoved into the politics of a foreign land in the midst of a civil war.

In the first part of the story/the set up, Lilith is exploring and wandering Skyrim as a vagabond/rogue, hunting, thieving, dealing drugs, working as a bounty hunter and monster slayer, etc while she attempts to find more information about dragons.

She ends up accidentally adopting a child when she is begged by a boy to kill his abuser, a cruel head mistress of an orphanage that he ran away from.

But in doing so, she unknowingly makes contact with an ancient death worshipping cult who work as assassins, who she ends up joining and eventually inherits the leadership of.

----------

Here's a short snippet:

"Oh the mage?" Lilith glanced over at him. "He's my guide through Skyrim."

"Although lately I've been more of her guide though morality," Marcurio said with a charming grin, reaching over to shake her hand. 

"Madame. Marcurio, battlemage of the Imperial Mages Guild and college, scholar of ancient Nordic and Dwemer history, and explorer and mercenary for hire."

"My," said the woman with an overwhelmed blink, uncertainly taking his bejeweled hand.

"Not much of a guide then," Lilith said dryly. 

"Compared to you? I'm a saint!"

"A saint?"

Lilith leaned closer with an impish grin. 

"The only time Ive heard you call to the gods was that night in the temple of Dibella- " (the goddess of love and sex)

"My, dovahkiin, you have a big mouth!" Marcurio cried loudly, laughing nervously at the woman's bemused expression as he heavily threw an arm around the elf's shoulders. "And you breathe dangerous fire, my friend. Must be the dragon in you."

---------

(I have a writing blog if you're interested- https://www.tumblr.com/coffee-4-dinner )

[thesevro]

besties / headcanons

𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖋𝖚𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖌𝖚𝖗𝖔 𝖙𝖔𝖏𝖎, 𝖌𝖔𝖏𝖔 𝖘𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖚, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖓𝖆𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖎 𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖔

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.4K words

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: how toji, satoru and kento would act as your best friend

GOJO SATORU

- Gojo may not be very loyal as your boyfriend, but he would definitely be one among your most loyal friends.

- Whenever you're sitting down at some place, literally anywhere, be it at a cafe or on some random stone ledge, he'll let you lean back into him.

- Gojo is tall, and he's somehow always so warm, so treating him as a platonic cuddle buddy would be so nice.

- So imagine you're exhausted from a long day and you find this stout little ledge to rest on. Gojo would sit down with you there. 

- You could lean onto him, press your head into his shoulder and Gojo would actually feel very relaxed to have someone he trusts and holds dear next to him. 

- Knowing that one of his closest friends is safe calms him to an impossible degree. He knows he's lost too many already.

- And if the day has been too long, he'll let you sleep on his shoulder. Let you enjoy having a little power nap while ignoring the little line of drool that will wet his uniform.

- Hip to hip, your head to his shoulder, it does not feel as romantically intimate as it could be, but he loves that you're here with him all the same. He's always been scared of losing his friends, no matter how well he hides it.

- So he'll keep you warm as you nap on his shoulder. 

- PARTING FROM OUR ANGSTIER PARTS... Gojo would be the best hype-man. 

- You wearing a dress that barely reaches your knees and flaunts your ass whenever you jump? He'll cheer for you and scream, "THAT'S MY HOT BESTIE!!!"

- You have a crush on some dude? Some gal? He'll get very close with that guy or gal and tell them all the good things about you.

- If you like someone from the school it'll be even worse for you. He would blatantly skip missions just to set your crush up with you as your partner. 

- Gojo would be a great, awesome, amazing BFF and you cannot tell me otherwise.

NANAMI KENTO

- Nanami as your friend would just be. Aw.

- He would be the most attentive friend out there.

- You just come back from a mission, hair and clothes a mess, face streaked with blood? He'll let you use his handkerchief to wipe the mess off. And he'll fetch some bandages for you if you need it.

- If you're bed-ridden, he'll stay by your bedside and talk to you there. Silence with him is also just... so nice. So peaceful. So serene.

- Nanami would even make you coffee, tea, whatever it is you like just so he can help you feel more refreshed after whatever tiring mission you went on, or whatever complicated job it was you had to finish.

- He knows what your favorite drink is. What your favorite food is. He also knows the best place to find both.

- Will eat lunch together with you every day at the school, or at yours or his favorite restaurant.

- He can't really make food for you... so he always buys something for lunches at the school with you.

- Sometimes he'll just stand in front of one of the school vending machines, in undeniably deep thought about what your drink of the day could be.

- Whenever he visits your favorite coffee shop, or whatever place sells your favorite drink, he'll ask the cashier to add the specific extras you like incorporating into your drink. He knows all of them.

- AND OKAY. LISTEN. NANAMI WOULD TOTALLY CALL YOU AT THREE A.M. TO RANT ABOUT WORK.

- Of course he would first say something along the lines of, "I must apologize for bothering you. I promise to buy you (insert fav. drink) and (insert fav. food) and (insert fav. dessert) tomorrow. Promise." Then he finally reveals how stressed he is, "But. Are you aware of how much I want to wring Gojo Satoru's neck and kick him off a cliff?"

- It would turn into some sort of comedy, where Nanami mocks every single person who has stressed him out (Gojo Satoru for once in your life just STFU) in that sonorous, baritone rumble of his.

- Imagine hearing something like that at three in the morning. Sometimes it makes you question why it is no one has asked the guy out yet. (AND WHY YOU HAVEN'T DONE THAT EITHER.)

- Nanami would also be the BEST listener.

- You have a problem with something? With someone? Okay. He'll hear you out. Will not interrupt you while you're speaking. Not once will he do that.

- If it's something serious, and you start sniffling or maybe even crying, okay let's be honest he wouldn't really know what to do...

- SO. Because he doesn't know, he'll do what he sees everyone else do.

- He'll hug you. His arms will be stiff and that deep pit of awkwardness will definitely form in his stomach, but if it helps you, he'll do it all the same.

- If this is your first time crying in front of him, he'll only pull out one of his handkerchiefs and hand it to you. Sorry, but he wouldn't know how else to comfort you.

- He'll also comfort you with words of logic. Nanami has that perspicacious outsider's perspective that lets him see the rational portion of everything.

- BUT HE WOULD ALSO BE SO UNDERSTANDING. If you voice that you think your feelings are stupid, or dumb, he would FIRMLY insist that no, no (Y/N), your feelings are not stupid. Your feelings matter to me. And nothing that matters to me is "stupid."

- And he would proceed to help you find a solution to your problem, or would just hear you out some more. You can be honest with him and he would not judge you for any of your feelings.

- In conclusion, Nanami Kento would be the most caring BFF out there.

FUSHIGURO TOJI

- Okay HEAR ME OUT ON THIS. HEAR ME OUT.

- Toji would be an AWESOME best friend.

- He would be the guy you could punch in the arm with abandon.

- Toji would ALSO be the mean tease of a friend who is able to bed you at least once.

- After getting you in his bed though he'll let you go back to the casual thing you share, if that's what you want. But if you want to be together, well... he would be willing to try, but only because you're his friend.

- It may or may not work out. But he does try to make it work. Whether it does in the end... depends.

- MOVING FORWARD, again, Toji would be the friend you could punch without being hit back for it. He'll just be like yeah, okay short stuff then move on.

- He's just someone you could debate with, have fun with, and tease and test to no end.

- AND TOJI is the type of guy who would be super casual about letting people stay over at his house. You had a tiring day? You want to crash at his house? He'll let you.

- You open his door and he'll look at you like he was expecting you, but maybe that's because you'd just ranted about how someone at work had treated you like shit.

- You know. Through the private messaging app only assassins like him use. But since you're his bestie he let you download it too.

- HE CALLS YOU EVERY SINGLE PET NAME OUT THERE TOO

- And he always greets you with, "Something wrong, short stuff?" when you come through the door

- AND HE WOULD EVEN CALL YOU "PRINCESS" WHEN HE REALLY FEELS LIKE PUSHING IT

- And listen bitch even if you're tall... this asshole is literally as tall as Gojo (I think?????) AND he's a DILF. So shut your mouth, short stuff.

- At his house you can either: 1. Order take-out and eat together on the dingy old table someone's great-grandfather used to eat on; he might pay if you really aren't feeling it but he's also an avaricious, money-hoarding bitch (in other words, broke) soooo don't expect much. Or 2. Just sleep on his couch while he watches TV. His bed smells like shit and really his couch isn't any better buuutt at least it doesn't have... stains.

- And please, don't even think about venting your feelings to this guy. He would either laugh his ass off at you or only nod with a tight smile of discomfort on his face.

- Princess, he won't be tucking you into bed, but he'll definitely have some leftover pizza ready for you in the morning. His love language is lazy as hell, but it's love all the same.

- Though your pizza will most definitely be either burnt or cold as shit.

- But either way, he cares.

- So if you're feeling down because someone looked at you wrong in the streets, expect to see a "Missing Person's Report" on the news in the morning.

[kim-poce]

Masterlist of Masterlists

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The last series updated: Evie/Alex and Neo (05/02/23)

Mini Masterlist (No synopsis, only links, and CW.)

Masterlist of Things That Have No Masterlist (It's Worth It)

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One-shots

Whumptober 2021

Crossovers

Same Universe

IdeaTM: You send a word/trope/something and I write a short story about it. Open any time.

Angst or Comfort Game: You send me a sentence/prompt and wait to see if you got angst or comfort. Open any time.

Patreon Weekly Web Series

🟢No God In Town [Tuesday]

A dense supernatural being, who hates to be called god, lives in a mountain near a small town. They are sure they are fooling everyone into thinking that they are a human.

🟢Witches Are Meant To Burn [Saturday]

There is an old saying, witches are meant to burn. Everyone knows it very well, so it’s impossible not to know (it’s a common saying). So, what is the reason no one knows what a witch is and the reason they are meant to burn? Ernestine will do what she can to answer these questions while unraveling the story of the Fog Age, a period of time no one knows anything about.

Pet Whump - Institutionalized/BBU

🟢A Brand New Life (deaf whumpee, caretaker new master, reformed criminal caretaker)

A former criminal decided to start a new life while helping another person, that's how they take a pet in and decided to make them both lead a good new life.

🟠Found (caretaker new master, conditioned whumpee)

Jonah was abandoned by the side of a road to die. After begging a woman who stopped there, she reluctantly took him home. After regretting it, she gifts him to her friend, Celine.

🟢Full House (caretaker new master, multiple whumpees)

Eri tried his best to avoid the rotten Pet Culture that grossed him to no end. However, one day after a sudden inheritance he signs some documents without reading them and becomes the newest Proud Owner of Six Pets!

⚪Puppy (conditioned whumpee)

Puppy is a cute pet that just wants to please its Mistress, no bad thoughts, only —brainwashed— love.

🟠Safety (multiple whumpees, caretaker new master, ex-pet whumpee turned caretaker)

Ethan was a pet for a great part of his life, now he will help every "pet" that he can so they won't suffer the same way he did.

This series shows whumpees in different levels of recovery.

🟠Unlearning (caretaker new master)

Trainer had always cruel ways to train Don, Master, on the other hand, is always patient in each lesson.

Pet/Captive Whump - NOT Institutionalized

🟢Alex and Neo (caretaker new master, everyone can be a whumpee here, mafia stuff)

Alex, the second-in-command of a big criminal organization, killed Neo’s old master and is now taking care of this young whumpee (20). The problem? Alex never took care of anyone in his life and Neo is completely terrified of his new assassin master.

The same characters in "Evie"

🟠Burning to Ashes (female whumper, multiple whumpees, long-term captivity, occasional lady whumpee)

Ash is the new captive of Nanda's hoard and has to learn the rules like everyone else did.

🟠Candy the Doll (gaslighting, intimate whumper, non-con body modifications)

Candy woke up in a strange place, their appearance changed completely and Whumper said they are, in truth, a doll? Candy can’t trust their own mind. Whumper must be right.

🟠Gavin (hurt/no comfort, captive, female whumper, male whumpee, creepy intimate whumper)

Gavin was unlucky enough to draw Daisy's attention, and now she will make sure to crave her name in his mind and body.

🟠Mathia (past long-term captivity, trauma)

After 8 years of being neglected by his captor, Mathia is rescued and now is afraid to let Pam, the officer who rescued him, go.

🟠Mute (conditioned whumpee, caretaker new whumper)

Whumper forced Yoshi to use a blindfold all his time captive, and also forbade him to speak. Now with Rue, Yoshi refuses to see and talk.

🟠No Dignity (whumper turned caretaker)

Harrison was ready to break the man he just kidnapped, he just wasn't ready for the fact that Julian was already too broken, and much less for how much it would affect him.

🟠Scarly (whumper turned whumpee, whumpee turned whumper, creepy Whumper, cruel whumper, gore)

After years under torture, Scarly goes insane and turns the tables, now whumper whumpee will taste his creation.

I must say this one is pretty violent.

Heroes and Villains

🟠A Mean to Be Good (asking to be hurt, low self-esteem, villain caretaker, hero whumpee)

During a fight a few weeks ago, Villain mockingly said Hero that they were only good at getting beaten up. Now Hero is offering themselves up; desperate to be good.

🟠Friend or Foe (minor sidekick whumpees, lady whumpee, male whumpee, villain whumper, hero whumper)

Ghost and Cedar are the sidekicks of Villain and Hero respectively, both of them envy how the other doesn’t need to live under the fear of being punished for every single mistake.

🟢Ice and Fire

After a tough fight, a hero asked their team to press a mysterious panic button, which called... Villain to the rescue.

🟠Sidekick (hero whumper, villain whumper at first, villain caretaker, sidekick whumpee)

Zen, a sidekick, was abandoned by Hero and their team, left behind as bait with false promises of “We will be back”. After Rose, a villain, started the torture, Zen realized that it was lighter than the “lessons” the team always gave him.

🟠The World is Rotten Anyway (hero turned villain, villain whumpee)

Icaro is a hero who, after getting sick of the corruption of the “Good Side”, was recruited by the strongest villain, Queen.

🟠Villain's Child (not whump-focused, cute)

While invading Villain's base, the heroes find out that he has a lovely daughter.

Medieval/Royal Whump

🟠Emmett and Arnia (royal whump, reluctant whumper)

Prince Emmett was walking through his garden when was kidnapped by Arnia, a dangerous sorcerer that escaped from the dungeons. What will them find out together?

🟢For the Country and For the People (royal whump, war)

Princess has to look calm in front of her subjects and Prince has to endure the torture bestowed by the enemy, for each other and for the kingdom.

🟠Greek’s Gift (slave whump, caretaker new master)

As a prank, some people gift a slave to an abolitionist new wed couple.

🟠Kingdom’s Sword (war, human weapon)

When the war ended, Commander Harriet was ready to kill Kingdom’s Sword, the more bloodthirsty enemy soldier, who even in face of death did not flinch, nor did he beg to be allowed to live, in truth, he didn’t do anything unless he was explicitly ordered to.

🟠Plaything (medieval whump, caretaker new master, past noncon)

For years, Kaio was Whumper’s plaything, but now he has a new Mistress, who says that she doesn’t want his body. "What does she want of me then?"

🟠Prisoner of War (NSFW, royal whumper, noncon, captive whumpee, 18+ only)

Fantasy Whump - Vampires

🟠Bloodbag!Neo AU (vampire caretaker, blood bag whumpee, caretaker new master, everyone here is a whumpee and somehow the whumpee is the more stable one)

Alex, a vampire unable to drink human blood, rescues Neo, a human pet, and tries to keep him alive.

Everyone here is learning how to survive and how to get over their traumas.

🟠Corey, the gift (half-vampire whumpee)

@neuro-whump gave me this cute little half-vampire.

An immature vampire makes a mistake and turns Corey into an unheard-of, half-vampire.

🟠Eternity (non-human caretaker, vampire whumpee, caretaker new whumper)

After centuries of torture, Whumpee doesn’t believe he can ever be free again, not even when a mysterious woman break his chains and give him her blood.

🟢Immortal Toy (vampire whumper, vampire whumpee, vampire caretaker, children carataker, carataker new whumper)

Rony was turned into a vampire just so he could be a more useful toy, one that won’t die doesn’t matter how bad the torture gets, the only light in his new afterlife is Whumper’s children, who are nothing but kind to him.

🟠Not Again (vampire whumpee, vampire caretaker)

Olive hunted in the territory of a –stronger– vampire, who declared that, as payment, they now belongs to them.

🟠Pretty Prey (female whumper, male whumpee, intimate whumper, blood bag whumpee)

A vampire found a pretty prey with sweet blood and decided to take him home.

🟠Sweet Blood (caretaker new whumper, vampire caretaker, blood bag whumpee)

A vampire attacks a human who —instead of running away— offers himself up.

Fantasy Whump - Others

🔵 Catnip (tiny whumpee, happy end)

Nepeta, a catnip fairy, was sold to Lix, a cat woman.

🟠Creature (accidental whump, nonhuman whumper, the monsters are pretty nice)

A creature finds a human in the woods and decides to gift it to their cub.

⚪Dragon’s Hoard (dragon whumper, multiple whumpees, possessive whumper)

Each chapter shows a specimen of Whumper’s hoard.

Suggestions for new whumpees are always open!

🟠Kill the Dragon (knight whumpee, multiple whumpers)

Knight’s orders were to kill the dragon and free the princess, what he didn’t know is that they are, in truth, lovers. Now, chained in a cell, he will have time to regret his deeds.

🟠New Potion (witch whumper, cruel whumper, multiple whumpees, self-sacrifice, death mention)

Assistant can't stand to watch as Whumper kill each and every experiment subject she put her hands on, so in a desperate attempt he helps one of them to escape.

🟠On The Ground (tiny whumpee, caretaker new whumper, whumpee new whumper)

Flamo is a wingless fairy that ends up in the human land, afraid of those giant and dangerous creatures.

At the same time, Tim and Tom, normal humans, find a dangerous and small creature on their way home.

The three of them only want to know if they will survive this.

🟠Still Here (ghost whumpee, caretaker new whumper)

Caretaker wasn’t expecting to find an underground cell where, many years back, someone was locked and tortured into. And they expected even less to find the ghost of Whumpee still begging. Still There.

🟠The Witch’s Lair (non-human whumpees, past abuse, caretaker new whumper)

To escape their sadistic owner, Briar and Nevaeh make a contract with another witch, who, for some reason, isn’t hurting them?!

🟢Untouchable (fantasy racism references, demon whumpee, caretaker new master, touch starved whumpee, touch repulsed caretaker)

After a whole life of being treated as gross, Derin tried to get all the touch he can from Arlo, unaware of his completely repulsion to physical contact.

Others

🟠Decision (not whump, I just really like their dynamic)

A man kidnaps a woman by request and after finding out he wasn't going to get paid (and after she unties herself and threatens him) he decides to let her go. She doesn't feel like leaving the house yet though, doesn't matter how much he —threatens her— complains.

🟢Erased Past (team whump, hidden trauma/scars)

Whumpee hides their past, guilty, and scars from the team until Whumper destroys his facade.

🟢Evie (mafia stuff, domestic abuse (first part), aftermath of domestic abuse, lady whumpee, minor whumpee (first part), Evie and Alex are more trained to be weapons than raised to be people)

This series tells the childhood of Evie and Alex, children of a couple who runs a criminal organization, both of them have to find a way to survive under the training and abuse from their parents. This series also tells Evie’s adulthood.

The same characters in "Alex and Neo"

🟠No More Human (lab whump, really weird whumpee)

Whumpee gives itself up to be an experiment subject with only one condition: Never be treated as human.

🟠Office Relationship (along with @kathea) (female whumper, male whumpee, blackmail)

Stephen is trying to escape the abuse he suffers from his employee.

🟠Whumpee new Whumper 

Whumpee breaks into Caretaker’s house, who –trembling– treats their wounds.

[txemrn]

It's me, literally sprinting into your Asks! ❤️

Can we have a taste of:

Ethan/Casey

Mr. & Mrs. Ramsey

OPH Cancer (I hope it is not what I think it is!)

Thank you! 🥰

Lin! Eep!💜 Thank you so much for sending me the Ask for the WIP game! I'm so nervous, but hopefully something will pique your interesting. lol

Also, keep in mind: these titles are awful. They're almost like my own personal titles to remind me of the fics, so hopefully they haven't been too misleading. LOL

Warning: Long Post...

Ethan/Casey

Someone sent me an Ask last week about Ethan and Tatum's attraction if Ethan was still with Casey when Tatum was hired, and then someone (maybe the same person) asked if I could write something about that. Well, this got away from me, and I developed this AU of my HC, and I'm hoping to have this as a miniseries for October! Here's a snippet:

"And over here are the charts of the new arrivals," Casey pivots back to her new batch of interns. Her arms are outstretched as if she's the Vanna White of medicine, guiding them on a tour of the emergency room. "Remember, folks, every patient needs to be triaged–" she freezes as she watches a familiar tall blonde at the nurse's station, thumb through all the charts. "Um… they need to be triaged within thirty minutes," she hurries through her instructions before holding up a finger. "Just a minute, guys."

Casey walks up to the desk, inquisitively observing the woman. Even under the fluorescent lights, her platinum highlights perfectly shine, her waves bouncing effortless on her shoulders. Her scarlet wrap dress hugs her curves beautifully, and her patent-leather nude pumps show off the musculature of her calves, those thick thighs, and–

The stranger clears her throat, Casey painfully aware of the warm flush crawling across her cheeks as her eyes dart from the shapely woman's backside to her face.

Without looking facing towards the diagnostician, the curious stranger continues to pull folders. "I'll be done in a minute," she nods to the registration desk, "you can finish undressing me with your eyes over there.’

Does she not remember me?

~🖤~

Mr. & Mrs. Ramsey

Did you ever see Mr. & Mrs. Smith with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt? Long story short, they are a married couple who have no clue that the other has a secret assassin life until their agencies pin them head-to-head to chase after a specific hit. In turns into a dangerously sexy good time.

With the overturning of Roe v. Wade fresh on our minds here (removing not only autonomy for women, but appropriate healthcare for women), one of my writing friends shared with me how she would love to see an AU where Tatum is this underground abortionist, secretly saving lives. I thought it was a hilariously genius idea (even though Massachusetts is luckily a more progressive state).

So for this story, it's just that. Tatum is part of an underground abortion ring, and Ethan has no idea. Not much has been written, but here's a snippet:

The sweet, maple aroma of thick-cut bacon wafts throughout the pristine townhome. As she scrambles some egg whites for herself, Tatum carefully prepares two over-easy yolks for her husband as she toasts an artisan loaf for their breakfast.

“Mmmm,” Ethan bounds into the kitchen, a sports coat tucked over his forearm. “Something smells delicious in here.” He hastily grabs his mug of brewed coffee, but stops for a brief moment to brush a peck on his wife’s cheek while she carefully shimmies his delicate eggs onto a plate.

“Would you like for me to butter your toast, sweetheart?” She sweetly croons, a doting smile warming her early-morning expression.

“I think I can manage that, thank you, darling.”  Ethan collects his plate, stealing the delivered morning newspaper and hoarding it under his arm. Making himself comfortable at the breakfast nook on the island of the kitchen, he takes a bite of bacon before fanning out the oversized-paper to catch up with the news.

Tatum quietly fixes her coffee, but as she stirs in her hazelnut creamer, a large bold font on the front page startles her: Feds Confirm Underground Abortion Ring in Kinsington County; GOP Outraged. She coolly takes a sip of her smooth Arabica roast, her eyes shifting from the headline to Ethan, and then back again. “How are your eggs, sweetheart?”

“Perfect,” he answers, his eyes trained to the text before looking up to give her an appeasing smile.  

“Perfect,” she offers an ostensible grin.

~🖤~

OPH Cancer

Unfortunately, this is exactly what you think it is. There was a prompt going around several months ago about "My love comes with a lifetime guarantee" ... and because I'm me, this angst was born from it.

This is from the POV of Tatum. It's several months after she gives birth, and she finds a lump in her breast. I haven't written much of this one either, but here's a snippet:

I get it. 

Physicians like myself go to great lengths to create safe spaces, special offices developed to establish a calm atmosphere for effective communication while discussing emotional health concerns. These meeting rooms are ideal when patients and loved ones need to make tough, well-thought out medical decisions. You know the type: a comfortable chaise lounge; soft sounds from a noise machine, like a babbling brook or a rainstorm; low and soothing ambient lighting–none of the fluorescent bullshit that makes you look sick.

Because you are sick.

But, beyond the perfectly polished wood, the infusion of essential oils in the air and the crisp cucumber water for enjoyment, being in this seat, the patient’s seat, is terrifying.

~🖤~

Thanks again, girlie!

[jadelotusflower]

Robin Hood Rewatch: 2x06 For England!

Almost at the halfway point of the season, and things are really ramping up - Allan is transitioning to team Castle, Robin is in full blown solider (assassin) mode, and Marian is (sigh) yet again under the threat of sexual assault. And of course, more silly disguises, but perhaps the less said about those hats the better!

Another opener, another one of the Sheriff’s contractors murdered.

How did the gang find Allan’s secret stash? They got to it first, so they couldn’t have just been tracking him.

The Pact is being signed for King Richard’s birthday, which is the 8 September - we find out later that Robin’s birthday is 14 October, which means the events of 2x06-2x012 take place over less than a month. I mean, if any of the writers cared about such things, which I suspect they didn’t. But from memory, it doesn’t seem preposterous - things are moving quickly as tensions are escalating. It also means that we’re a year on from the events of 1x08, which also took place on Richard’s birthday. It kind of works, even if they are living in Sherwood, the Land of Endless Summer.

Djaq’s face this entire scene. She’s the only one who doesn’t hurl accusations at Allan, just gives a sad shake of the head.

And...Robin’s off on his own again.

Marian’s new wardrobe, Guy clearly doing his shopping at the peasant woman’s Laura Ashley store we saw in 2x01. Other than the blue dress she’s holding, I don’t think she wears any of these, does she?

Guy makes it clear he’s actively pursuing her again, the suspicion of a few episodes ago conveniently forgotten.

Marian’s hairpins: useful as weapons and lockpicks.

Robin’s disguises: once again, a hood and an accent. “Be meek and obedient, my child” with a wink is cute, however.

I actually love the dress Marian’s wearing in these scenes, but we never really get a good look at it.

I wish I had more to say about Edward, but I don’t. He’s just there.

And it’s Wedge Antilles! Commander of Rogue Squadron, Red Leader, General of the New Republic himself. Denis Lawson great in this role.  I also very much enjoy him as Captain Foster in Hornblower.

Alright, so Robin at this point still doesn’t know that Roger of Stoke was intercepted (aka killed). I actually appreciate that this is a plot point that has been ongoing for several episodes.

Much has been in this outfit for most of the season (but this is the first really good shot of it) - it’s actually Robin’s vest that he wore early in season 1, let out a little at the sides. I really love the attention to detail here, in that the gang would of course be repurposing clothes, and that it’s Much in particular that would be getting Robin’s hand me downs.

It’s nice when we get to see how clever Will is - forward thinking about signing the gang up as musicians and making the instruments.

“They’re just bells.” John’s face! Then the payoff with the guards - “bells, mate” (ring ring).

Allan’s still got a bit of grey in his costume - he hasn’t fully made the switch yet. It does seem that Allan’s initial plan was to flee with his hoard, but when the gang found it first, he chooses to go to Guy for employment rather than leave Nottingham.

Sorry this is an image heavy post, but John’s tag is completely visible in this scene! Where was the continuity editor? Where was the director? I mean, it’s not craft service coffee cups, but jeez.

Is this the first time we learn that Marian’s mother’s name was Kate? Or that she’s even been mentioned?

Sussex. Sussex. Sussex? Sussex. SUSSEX!

For all of Guy’s talk earlier that he’s gaining more power, he can’t save Marian, and he can’t save Allan - his “power” exists only in exercising Vaisey’s will, he has none of his own.

I will however give him credit for the instinct to try and get Marian out of the castle - perhaps the only honourable thing he’s done so far, in that he thinks of her welfare before his own in arranging her escape without any promise of reward.

But...of course it doesn’t last. Now, Vaisey clearly has some kind of psychological hold over Guy, and the scene between them is incredibly creepy, as Guy seems almost hypnotised while Vaisey invades his personal space and gives slow deliberate orders. He makes no threats, his words are actually quite benign, but there’s a sinister undertone to the whole thing.

But still, Guy ultimately chooses Vaisey over Marian - as he will do again at the end of the season. He allows Marian to be chained at the wrists and taken to Winchester - and it’s interesting that Vaisey leaves him in control of this. At this point, Guy still could have facilitated Marian’s escape, Vaisey isn’t there watching to make sure he does what he wants, he let’s Guy make the choice, he’s so certain of his own control over Guy. Vaisey is such an astute judge of character (well, men - he always underestimates women), and master manipulator.

Meanwhile, Robin’s also making the choice not to confide in or seek help from his gang, instead taking up the role of assassin himself, and there’s a lot going on in that. We know Robin is the kind of commander who will always throw himself into the fray first, put his life on the line before those of his followers, and in a way it’s reminiscent of 1x02 where Robin made sure his men were safe on the other side of the portcullis before fighting off the remaining guards single-handedly. But we’re a way from half-showoff, half-deathwish Robin now - this choice is calculated (but still reckless). He sees his role as captain to protect his soliders, not the other way around, and he thinks its a suicide mission and doesn’t want to risk their lives.

He tells Edward “I have no choice” but at this point Robin has lots of choices. Because he should tell the gang what is going on, not leave them in the dark, he should seek their counsel, and accept their help. But he doesn’t, because for all the justification he’s cloaking himself in, he knows it’s a terrible thing and while he’s willing to bear the burden (after likely doing much worse in the Holy Land), he’s not willing to let the gang bear it with him. But also - he’s not willing to let the gang talk him out of it either, which they would certainly try to do. He’s in war mode and his only objective is to eliminate the enemy the most effective way he knows how - to turn off the humanity in himself and let the solider take over.

Allan, Guy, and Robin are again falling back on their old patterns - Allan to talk his way into the most advantageous position possible (and survive), Guy cede control to Vaisey (and further his ambition), and Robin to act recklessly (and protect his King). All of these cycles are self-destructive, and only really Allan will be able to break free from his by the end of the season.

Not the face of a rational man. If he’d talked things over with the gang first, things might have been different.

There are lines of Robin’s letter that are (inadvertent) foreshadowing - “but most of all for the life, for the love we could not have” and “I’ll see you in heaven.” Debatable whether Robin genuinely believes the latter (given he’s about to commit some mortal sins without the opportunity to repent), or whether he says it for Marian’s comfort.

Very lucky Robin didn’t aim for anyone’s head - but Vaisey would know he would go for the heart, the most effective kill shot.

CONDENDER, READY? GLADITATOR, READY? 3...2...1...

Both Robin (righteous anger) and Allan (seething resentment) are being unreasonable here. Robin: “You don’t have to do this” - and do what instead, exactly? Allan: “You should have given me a second chance.” Well, he did. It’s Allan who swings first, and wins, thanks to Robin’s distraction at seeing Marian in chains - but he doesn’t go in for the kill swing, and I don’t think he would have, actually.

Tar and fire - weren’t we here three weeks ago?

First John disarms Guy with his quarterstaff, then distracts him with the bells, then hits him in the groin. What a legend.

It bothers me when they all tell Much to shut up and it’s played for laughs. Really, this scene should have been the gang giving Robin the what for about going off alone and making suicide-shaped plans without them, but it also makes sense they don’t want to rub salt in the wound.

A dark end to the episode, a sign of things to come.

[sooibian]

The Spy Who Loved Me

gif credits @byunvoyage​

Pairing: Spy!Baekhyun x Assassin!Reader ft. Chen, Chanyeol

Description: It’s an obsessive cat and mouse chase

Themes: Dark comedy, angst, heavily inspired by season one of Killing Eve

Warnings: Violence, strong language

Word Count: ~2.8k

A/N: This one-shot comes during a very busy season for me so if you can make time for feedback, I’d be very grateful. Thanks :)

———————————————————————–

It’s the way light escapes their eyes.

Fear. Despair. Hope. Then…nothing.

They hope to be spared. I have a family…what about my children…please…why are you doing this to me…. The utterly foolish ones even offer you money. This imbecility makes the corners of your mouth curl upwards - especially when they’re out of breath from running or begging or whatever it is that gets their heart rate up. Eh. Factor in some cardio before dissolving into a permanent state of slumber, maybe? Poor things always mistake the twitch of your lips for impending clemency…what they don’t know is that it’s always been the breathy ones that peak your excitement.

There’s not a single hit you’ve regretted.

Mostly because you don’t bother with the futility of why. They give you a name and you jet off. To you, it’s really a fun job involving travel, costumes, languages, a hefty allowance, sticking pointy objects in the right places and theatrics. You’re not one to just do your job and slip away quietly. No arterial air embolisms, no unidentifiable fumes or poisons. No boring and discreet.  Where’s the fun in that? Flamboyant is your middle name. Every assassination is a heroi-comical poem for you - killing an asthamatic nez with a fatal concoction of perfume or a feeble-hearted fetishist with clamps that turned out to be a wee bit too intense for him.

You’re good at this. No, infact, you’re the best there is, the best there was, the best there ever  will be.

“The NIS has deployed a team of four to hunt you down because of the mess you left in Beijing. So you’ll be working with a team now. No more flying solo.” Your handler Chen says nonchalantly. 

Shit.

Beijing. “Make it look like a suicide”, had been the directive. The assignment Kasia had been put under witness protection after you’d murdered her mafia boyfriend. She was in a hospital - injured and deranged from the shock of it all, watched over by armed men. Things obviously didn’t go as planned and the security detail bloodbath was, well, collateral damage.

You saunter towards Chen with an intentional swing in your hips, a pout on your lips. You sit a little too close to the astute man, almost purring with seduction, “NIS, you say. Give me a name." 

“Byun Baekhyun.” His lips curl into a cat-like smile as he stealthily adds a foot long distance between the both of you.

“Never heard of him”, you say neutrally, gliding closer to his stoic form.

“He was a security officer before this. A nobody. In fact, he was fired right after the Kasia debacle in Beijing. She was his responsibility.” Letting out an exasperated sigh, he gets up on the pretext of fetching a glass of water.

“Why the sudden promotion, then?”

“A change of jobs. He’s heading a team…Operation Jinseong, they call themselves. Apparently, he’s the only one who believed that the murders have all been executed by a woman. If they can get to you, they can get to them. The organization. This conjecture has seemed to have impressed a higher up. After firing him, they swept his computer and found hoards of theories and all the intelligence he could gather about the faceless demon that’s actually…you. An insider thinks he’s fascinated. And a little cuckoo.” Chen’s laughter is throaty and taunting. 

He takes a sip of water and places the glass carefully on the counter, eyeing you the entire time. Chen. It’s a nom de plume. He’s a ghost - a shadow of a shadow, if you will. You know nothing about Chen but you know better than to snoop around. He’s always been affable yet distant, but he has this maddening habit of scrutinizing people. The changes in the expression, the dilation of the pupils. The man doesn’t miss a beat. And he stares unapologetically. You wonder what he thinks when he looks at you. You wonder how he feels. Disgusted? Lustful? Terrified?

He wants to know everything that’s behind those vacant eyes. With him, you feel disrobed.

“You’re only as good as your last”, he says finally, in his threateningly soft voice, thrusting a thumb drive into your hand. But you don’t feel threatened. The truth is, you feel nothing at all.

He’s at the door when you exclaim, “You never have sex with me!” Feigning annoyance.

He laughs and states matter -of-factly, “I’m married”, before closing the door behind him.

Like that’s ever stopped a man before.

***

Byun Baekhyun.

You search the thumb drive and a fresh faced man with luminous eyes smiles at you from the screen. His arm is wrapped around a slender, honey-skinned woman with big hair and big teeth. They look like an advertisement for home buyers.

A wave of recognition floods your mind.

He was there. 

He was there at the Beijing scene. The beautiful man who helped you with the coffee maker in the hospital. The very same coffee you doused barista Kasia with. 

There’s an inexplicable swell in your chest.

.

.

.

You’re no team player.

The undertaking with your ex and her boyfriend didn’t go as planned. Chen should’ve known. 

After a disagreement, you instigated her to off him, your shin getting injured in the scuffle. Then you ran her over with the jeep - once, twice. The third time was just to be sure. This commotion affected the escape of the NIS Agent you were after.

The mole that ratted out Baekhyun’s Operation Jinseong. 

The murders of your “colleagues” you could manage to explain - you’d tailored them to look like accidents. However, the assignment’s escape was sure to reflect poorly on you.

You’re only as good as your last.

The Agent scurries across a field of dead grass towards the feeder road, putting considerable distance between him and an injured you, where someone sat waiting anxiously in the driver’s seat.

Oh, Baekhyun…

It’s the first time you look into each other’s eyes, the moment stretching between you. It is like standing on the ledge of a skyscraper. With the wind in your hair, the world at your feet but in this space exists trepidation. A fear of falling.

Your gun wielding arm suddenly feels too heavy and your legs threaten to give up on you. Your heart rate escalates as the hot embers of his gaze gloss over the stretch of your skin. 

The mole slips into the backseat of Baekhyun’s compact Kia Morning as you continue to take aimless shots at his vitals - eyes still intertwined with Baekhyun’s. 

What good was a mole to the NIS?, you wanted to ask. Especially one that looked like a sewer rat.

You were only doing them a favour.

Aiming the gun at Baekhyun, you fire, only to realize he isn’t fearful or panicky. On the contrary, there is a sense of purpose in his eyes as well as something you could only identify as a glimmer. A spark. 

Even from a twenty foot distance you can tell Byun Baekhyun is in awe of you.

This…thing…this electricity surges through your veins and you sprint towards your jeep - as fast as your good leg could carry you. 

Oops. You didn’t mean to run over her for the fourth time.

***

Reverse. Acceleration. A few well thought out turns and your jeep is hardly a hundred meters behind Baekhyun’s car. You continue to fire and he continues to dart, swerve, sidestep. A good driver.

Suddenly, his car comes to a screeching halt.

He steps out of his vehicle amidst shrill cries of protest from the mole in the backseat and you follow suit.

Weaponless, crouched, he inches towards the gun pointed at him. 

“I mean no harm”, despite his scared posture, his voice is confrontational. “Leave the man alone. He has a little girl.”

Oh, Baekhyun…

You smile at him. He smiles back.

A genuine smile. Like the one your father used to give you when he saw you relishing ice-cream as…a little girl.

In a flash, you aim the nozzle at your temple and Baekhyun cries out a loud, pained, “NO!”

Laughing, you lower the gun and fire at his feet. He ducks. 

You vanish.

.

.

.

It was exhilarating to use the alias ``Mrs. Byun ” for your next job especially since the man and his giant partner have been on your tail for three months now. 

But, maybe, you shouldn’t’ve stolen Baekhyun’s luggage as soon as he landed in Tokyo to investigate the mysterious death of a Chinese colonel. He and his team knew perfectly well whodunnit. But one can’t bring faceless demons to book now, can they?

Who knows how this easily distracted giant of a man is supposed to protect Baekhyun if it should ever come to it. He couldn’t even watch his luggage for a measly five minutes.

***

You watch Baekhyun and the giant from your apartment overlooking the crime scene. He looks frazzled and the giant slightly apologetic. ‘You’ll have your bag back soon, baby’, you whisper, sucking on a bubblegum flavoured lollipop.

Thirty minutes roll by and the investigation seems to be heading nowhere. Bored out of your wits, you slump into your bed and toy with the contents of Baekhyun’s bag - shirts, slacks, underwear, toiletries.

Dull, tedious, and soul-destroyingly unimaginative. 

Save for one green scarf. 

In a sea of monotones, the scarf stands out. Demanding attention. Fluttering your eyes shut, you slowly bury your face in it - your senses entirely enveloped in his heady scent. 

***

“Excuse me, if you don’t mind me asking, where did you get that scarf from?”

Day two in Tokyo. You’ve been following Baekhyun (and, by extension, Chanyeol). Studying him. It was like adopting Chen’s personality. Apart from the occasional loud laughter, his demeanour, you learn, is self-effacing, gracious, and polite. He’s a picky eater who only eats to live and not the other way round. He’s also very observant and intuitive. But not enough to know that he’s being watched. 

Also, he’s thinking. Constantly. He’s thinking about you. 

“Excuse me?”

Chanyeol asks again - large, deep brown eyes focused on your neck trying to stop you from getting onto the same train as Baekhyun. 

Very subtle.

“It’s from my mother’s store. I could give you the address if you like”, smiling, you crane your neck to look into his disturbed eyes as you both pretend not to know each other amidst a swarm of dog-tired people on the platform at six in the evening.

You slip into the crowd but the oaf chooses to follow.

What does he think he’s doing following an assassin through a strange city! Unarmed.

Forty minutes elapse and he continues to chase you through the streets of Tokyo, keeping up with your brisk pace. With your easy charm, you breeze into the club called Camelot and wave Chanyeol goodbye as he’s stopped by the bouncer and sent to the back of the line. His eyes are dark with a murderous rage.

The club is loud, dark…stuffy - the air thick with over-the-counter happiness. Definitely not to your taste but you stay to give Chanyeol a head start. He’s pissed you off and he’ll pay for it later. Not today. 

You really didn’t want to upset a tired Baekhyun. At least not until you feel a beefy hand weigh down your shoulder.

“I didn’t want to do this”, you rise on your tippy toes and whisper into his ear before sticking a short blade into the side of his stomach. He’s heaving as you stare into his round, childlike, startled eyes while supporting his stumbling weight and stabbing him repeatedly until he finally collapses.

You leave him to bleed out on the dance floor and on your way out, you grab the arm of a medium-built man, your blood-dipped, glistening lips stretched into a lascivious smile.

“Let’s put you in a costume first”, you say to the unassuming moron, excitably thinking of Baekhyun’s dull shirts.

.

.

.

Grief draws people closer, your grandmother used to say, every time someone died of sickness in that impoverished little village of yours.

Baekhyun’s grieving the oaf who was slowing him down. He’s looking for company. So..he’s snooping. 

He’s in your apartment.

The “trusting old lady” - your next door neighbour, who actually works for the same organization as you handed him the key exactly as instructed. You’d been expecting him, this meeting was long overdue. But you wait in the cute little French cafe just around the corner - watching him scout out your apartment through your phone, while devouring a Charlotte Russe cake - dressed pretty in a flouncy pink dress.

He’s careful not to make a squeak. Walking on tippy toes, running his beautifully slender fingers along the drapes, the furniture, the walls as he goes. Your skin tingles all over. Oh, how you wish to be a piece of furniture in the moment. Only Baekhyun could make you want to be something muted and inanimate. Furniture, mattress, drapes.

He saunters slowly to your blackwood Georgian cupboard. The one you use for your wigs, costumes, weapons, and his own green scarf. He wears the scarf around his neck, ruffles the costumes but he’s gentle with the wigs. Stroking and caressing. 

From the drawer he picks out a .38 and shoves it in his waistband. Right behind his hip bone.

Oh, Baekhyun…

Pretty boys and their dangerous toys.

He finds himself in the kitchen. The revolver seems to have straightened his spine and suffused his step with a very welcome spring. Mi casa es su casa. 

In the fridge he finds exactly what he’s supposed to. No food. Only a dozen bottles of celebratory champagne of the best kind. What comes next from him is a scornful snicker which fills your mouth with a bitter taste. The Charlotte Russe doesn’t look very appetizing anymore. He draws a bottle out of the fridge, studies it and smashes it onto the floor. Then another, then another until all the bottles are reduced to shattered glass dripping in gold strewn across your kitchen floor.

Playtime is over, Baekhyun.

You make a run for your apartment.

***

He’s exhausted. 

Breathless, air tousled, shirt crumpled, eyes droopy, beads of sweat lined across his forehead and upper lip - standing clueless, smack-dab in the middle of the mess he’s made - clothes torn off their hangers, furniture overturned. You can’t recognize your upscale Seoul apartment anymore. Careful around the glass, you make your way towards his still frame, withdraw the weapon from his light, jaded grasp. 

You take his hand in yours and lead him to your bedroom - which is entirely ransacked just like the rest of your house. Save for the bed.

He lies down on his back and his first words are, “God, I’m tired.”

“Me too”, you say, as you lie facing him, “Are you wearing the cologne I gave you?”

You’d sent him a bottle of cologne along with the bag you had nicked in Tokyo, as a token of appreciation. It was handcrafted to smell like power.

He hums, turning to the side to face you, nestling into the depths of your irises.

“Are you going to kill me?” He asks, eyeing the revolver in your hand.

Your heart falls to pieces at the ache in his voice.

“No”, you say simply, tossing it to the side.

“Really?”

“I promise.”

Relief ripples across his soft, boyish features smoothing the lines of worry as it goes.

“You’re all I think about”, he says, studying your face. And you’re left wondering yet again, about his thoughts. His feelings.

“So you trash my apartment?” You sound as gentle as you can. But if you’re honest, you don’t even have to try that hard.

“I lost my job, my partner, my wife left me, and I even lost my sanity because of you.”

With his dulcet touch, he traces along the edge of your lips.

“Fair enough. I think about you too. I mean, I to you masturbate a lot.” You say as your thumb rubs his cheek lightly.

He lets out a loud, embarrassed giggle that makes him look a decade younger.

“Too much?” You ask, apprehensively.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting that.”

And with that you’re both inching closer to each other, like magnets.

Baekhyun’s soft gaze darkens and simultaneously you feel something sharp poking at your stomach.

“You can’t do it”, you wrap your hand around the blade, almost mocking him. He’s too nice for something this abominable.

“I can”, he whispers, his eyes still nestled in yours, as he plunges the blade deeper, tearing you apart. 

He places a chaste, soft kiss on your forehead.

Fear. Despair. Hope.

“Sorry, baby.” 

Continuation - My Lovable Curse

[winterhawkwonderland]

2020 Exchange Round up!

It’s here!!! An easy to find complete list of works from our 2020 Winterhawk Wonderland Exchange event. It is listed by title of work and author or artist, and includes rating, summary, and word count (if applicable). Our event excluded any of the AO3 Big Four warnings, but please do check tags and warnings on each work before diving in, just in case you find something there that squicks or triggers you!

Once again, thank you all so much for participating and making this a great event! Love the Winterhawk fandom!

If you do not see your work listed, please contact the Mods and we will update the post - all works were pulled from the AO3 Collection, but it’s possible we overlooked something or made a mistake! Additionally - Tumblr (in true Tumblr fashion) would not let us tag some creators - their names are on the list but the hyperlink doesn’t work. We apologize for the technical difficulty, but have no way of fixing broken Tumblr links. Please know that no offense was intended. 

The 300 Club by @fosterthefuture for @gwhell. Rated T, 10,109 words “Me here?” Bucky asks, a little hysterically. “What do you expect me to do, be the one to haul your frozen body in from the snow bank you inevitably fall into and die in?”Clint chuckles, as though what Bucky’s asked is completely illogical, which it decidedly is not. “Nah, you can suit up if you want to come along to make sure I stay on track, but I’ll make it back just fine. I really just need you to be here to make sure the door stays open, help me get my boots off and into those blankets when I get back.”“Clint,” Bucky asks, eyes now closed. “Please tell me you wouldn’t do this if you were completely alone.”The silence that emanates from the sauna is telling.“Well,” Clint finally says, “I’m trying to not get into the habit of lying to you, Barnes.”

40k misunderstandings by @verdantbogmoth for @flawsinthevoodoo. Not Rated, 3,280 words. “Are they real?” Bucky gasps. “Who keeps bags of real rose petals just lying on hand?”“Tony, for special random events and for us to steal to have fun with,” Clint supplies helpfully. “Where do they go?”“Everywhere,” Bucky decides. “The couch, the table, the fucking tv stand.” Clint pops the bag and they spend several minutes turning Bucky’s living area into a very perfumed, petal draped nightmare. “Oh, my god.” Bucky says gleefully. “It looks like a porno,” Clint claps. “A serial killer porno!” Bucky amends. “This is fantastic. Why aren’t rose petals everywhere, always. Why don’t more people just throw them around for any old event?”

[ART] Christmas fluff by @elynehil for @chekov-in-a-dress. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift :)

[ART] Cooking By The Book by @not-the-blue for @thegrowingwordsmith. Rated G.  Clint attempts a holiday recipe from Bucky's childhood. He... might need a second attempt.

[art] i (heart) hawkeye by @gwhells for @lantaniel. Rated G. Art for lantaniel for the Winterhawk wonderland gift exchange!

[ART] i still feel this way when light catches your face by @quicksillver for @sevdrag. Rated G. Winterhawk Wonderland gift! :)

An Affinity for Elf Culture by @bella-dahlia for @trekchik. Rated T. 8,501 words. When Bucky Barnes was told he would be doing press and community outreach as part of his prosthetic program, no one mentioned to him it would involve dressing up like an Elf from the North Pole.The hella cute blonde elf in head to toe purple hadn't been brought up either.Hiding in his hoodie wasn't going to be an option, was it?

All I Want for the Holidays Is You by @merelypassingtime for @flowerparrish. Rated G. 7,205 words. Clint obligingly took the last name in the hat. Unfolding it he read the name, Bucky. Crap. What was he supposed to do with that? When Clint draws Bucky’s name for the Avengers holiday gift exchange, he struggles to find the perfect gift.

as long as it’s with you by @theproblemwithstardust for @theonlyceeceej. Rated T. 2,651 words. Clint didn’t know when the thing between him and Bucky became an actual thing. At some point the banter had evolved from a fun and engaging way to pass the time into a weirdly competitive game of flirting chicken.

A bad day turned good by @gabrielsammysangel for @misterknife. Rated G. 1,115 words.  Clint Barton was having a bad day, one kiss to take it all away. Aka how a full bad day can be wipped away when you have a good boyfriend.

Bandages and Soot by @fanbinbun for @hawkguyandthewinterdude. Rated T. 2,358 words. “Oh, you’re new. Hi! I’m Clint. I come here often.” “I have been warned.” Bucky said with amusement curling his lips. “Got a name, or should I just give in and start calling you ‘hot nurse’?”

Because of Coffee and a Chocolate Doughnut. by @jazzrose343 for @loonyloopylisa. Rated M. 5,257 words. Bucky is an Actor. Clint is stunt actor and coordinator. Shenanigans Happen

Better Than Fine by @vexbatch for @theproblemwithstardust. Rated T. 4,439 words. Clint promised Kate he'd bring a plus one to her engagement party, but now he needs to find one. Maybe Bucky will do him a favor? Maybe Clint's crush on Bucky won't be a problem for said favor?

[ART] The Cat doesn't agree by @misterknife for @Inktastic1711. Rated G.  5 words. Clint was determined to get the best family photo this year. Except now he's pretty sure that fighting alien hoards or doombot armies might actually be easier than wrangling a cat into a sweater.Bucky says that Alpine's sorry.Clint thinks she might kill him in his sleep.

cause it's just what you must do by @sevdrag for yamyamyam. Rated T. 3,399 words. Clint ducks away at Tony's holiday party for a breather. Little does he know this closet is occupied.

Christmas With the Barnes's by @jstabe for @claraxbarton. Rated T. 3,163 words. He knows Clint is nervous. If he’s honest, he is a little too. He and Clint have been dating just shy of two years but with their hectic work schedules, it’s rare for them to have full days off together so Clint isn’t used to large family gatherings.

The Common Room by @trekchik for @nana-evans. Rated E. 1094 words. No one knows they're together. Right?

Communication is key by @averyrogers83writes for @harishe-art. Rated G. 3,434 words. Bucky screws up and pisses Clint off possibly ruining any chance of having more than a working relationship with the archer.

[ART] Cookies For Two by madnerding for @hopelessly-me. Rated G. 29 words.  My prompt was for cookie decorating and I hope I delivered. Enjoy!

Coping Mechanisms by @mariana-oconnor for @feathers-and-cigarettes. Rated E. 4,321 words. After the events of Freefall, Clint Barton is exhausted, bruised and on everyone's Most Wanted list. Luckily, or unluckily, it's Bucky Barnes who ends up finding him.

Cover Me by @downwarddnaspiral for @feedmecookiesnow. Rated M. 8,618 words. Clint and Bucky end up off the grid and in close quarters. Featuring the world’s crappiest safehouse, a semi-retired spy, and an assassin with strong opinions about the cold.

Delicate, hand wash only by @mollynoble for @pherryt. Rated E. 6,074 words.  “Hey, Buck, what do you need?” Clint moved closer, he wanted to reach out but he resisted the urge, that could be a bad idea right now. “What can I do to help?” He pitched his voice low and soothing. There was a pause, then Bucky's eyes focused on him. “Right now all I want is a bath and then sleep.”

Draw Me Like One of Your Frenchmen by @alchemistdoctor for @thwip. Rated M. 1,410 words. This is written for andthwip in the winterhawk wonderland exchange, who requested sexting during inappropriate times, date night ends in trying a new kink, or getting off in the field. I managed the first two!

Fate or Natasha by bear_shark for @kidd-you-not. Rated G. 1,663 words.  How it ended: Bucky watched the rise and fall of Clint’s chest while he slept. Every few minutes, he would snuffle and rub his face against Bucky’s chest. Bucky’s phone pinged, and he carefully checked his texts. Natasha: How did your date with Clint go? Bucky sat up quickly, jostling Clint. “What the hell?” 

The Fight Before Christmas by @theonlyceeceej for @jstabe. Rated E. 4,040 words. Now, don’t let it be said that Bucky couldn’t take a joke. He could. Really. But sometimes it was just too much. Clint was just too much. Clint is the epitome of a schoolboy with a crush; Pulling pigtails, calling names, the lot! Ok, maybe it was more than a crush, judging by the many thoughts about being thrown around by the Winter Soldier. He just needed to get his attention... But will it work?

For This by @endof-theline for @elynehil. Rated G. 5,652 words. Bucky and Clint are moving in together and it's not just the boys we have to worry about, because Lucky and Alpine are moving too!

Getaway Car by @feedmecookiesnow for @genderfluid-and-confuzled. Rated G. 4,405 words. The guy regains his balance and starts running again. He slips one more time, slides a little more, and then suddenly he’s right next to the car, fumbling at the handle of the passenger side door. A blast of cold wind comes as he yanks it open, practically falling into the seat in a swirl of snowflakes. “Go, go!” he yells, and Clint goes. He doesn’t even question it, just slams the car into drive and shoots out into the street, skidding a little on the ice.

Guardian Angel by @chrissihr for @spacetimeconundrum. Rated T. 3,469 words. Clint attracts strays like moths to flame. All he wanted to do was bring home a puppy he found in a box marked ‘free’ in crayon. It was just sitting out in the rain under the awning in front of his neighborhood pizza place.He couldn't just leave it there ... right?

Hit Me With Your Best Shots by @thegrowingwordsmith for @fosterthefuture. Rated G. 2,185 words. As a barista, Bucky has witnessed a lot of crazy customers and their creations. He has made drinks with so much syrup that there was barely room for coffee, and gotten orders with so many modifications that it had to print on multiple stickers. None, however, even came close to the strangeness of Too Much Caffeine guy.

[ART] How do you like them apples? by @lantaniel for @vexbatch. Rated G.  Because Clint is incapable of 1.doing a calm activity, and 2.not climbing a tree.

Howl by @drgrlfriend for @mariana-oconnor. Rated T. 9,729 words. Excerpt: Bucky gets that uncomfortable feeling again, like he missed something. Lost time maybe. It’s been happening less and less, but it still happens. “I don’t know what you mean.” The man runs a broad hand up the back of his neck, mouth pulling to the side as he seems to consider his words. “Skin feels too tight sometimes? Feels like you gotta keep moving, but no place feels right? Got an ache deep in your bones that you just can’t seem to get rid of?” “What —” Bucky swallows, the rest of the sentence jagged in his throat. He knows there are Avengers who are witches, or telepaths, or whatever, but he’d never heard of Hawkeye being one of them. “How are you — are you in my head? —”

[ART] I got you by @vexedbeverage for @gabrielsammysangel. Rated T. 100 words. I decided I wanted to do some art but then my writing brain told me I couldn't stop there. I've never done a drabble before so I thought I'd give it a try!

I Love How Your Soul is A Mix of Chaos and Art by @flawsinthevoodoo for @merelypassingtime. Rated T. 5,745 words. This is basically a 5+1 where Clint "Borrows" a great many hoodies as a coping mechanism and Bucky decides Clint needs to be a part of his life, not just his laundry.

if these wings could fly by @flowerparrish for @hawksonfire. Rated M. 4,018 words. He waits a few moments, pretty sure he’s going to have to start knocking again, when the door swings open. There’s Bucky, shirtless, disheveled, wings spread out behind him like some kind of tragic painting of an angel. Not that Clint knows much about art, but with the dark colors and dim lights he thinks this could totally have been something one of those old dudes dreamed up.

It Must be Winter in my Heart by @harishe-art for @jazzrose343. Rated G. 3,055 words. It's the holiday season and for some reason Clint and Bucky keep getting mistaken as a couple. They hadn't even planned to meet up most of them time. Why does this keep happening to them?

It was Only a Winter's Tale by @harishe-art for @averyrogers83. Rated G. 1,628 words.  Clint and Bucky prepare to celebrate their first winter holiday together when Bucky has a realization during an argument.

it was peace by @loonyloopylisa for @drgrlfriend. Rated G. 1,932 words. “Um, hi, I’m Bucky?” he said, hating himself for the way it came out like a question. “Hi Bucky,” the man answered, a wide smile on his tan face, “I’m Clint. What can I do for you?” Inwardly thankful for this therapist for making him practice he said, “I was wondering if you had any volunteer opportunities?” Clint gave him a considering look, bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Bucky was sure he was assessing him and finding him lacking, taking in the missing arm and coming up with a reason Bucky wouldn’t fit in. He was bracing himself for the rejection when Clint said, “sure.”

A Kind of Magic by @sian1359 for bear_shark. Rated G. 7.034 words. Bucky has some help adapting from being Hydra's Winter Soldier to becoming the Avenger's Winter Soldier

Lilac you a lot by @hawkguyandthewinterdude for @harishe-art. Rated T. 6,490 words.  It starts with one purple sock and just escalates from there.

Lost Time by @lissadiane for @vexedbeverage. Rated T. 10,029 words. Clint’s always known the universe doesn’t like him all that much. But all he knows now, as his heart beats out a rhythm and there isn’t a heartbeat to harmonize with it, is that he’s found his soulmate -- and he’s been dead for over 70 years. It’s ironic. It burns. It shouldn’t surprise him. Barney won’t be surprised. Barney’s been saying the universe has it out for them for Clint’s whole life. And this is just further proof. In which soulmates exist but Clint's parents are proof that sometimes, they go terribly wrong.

The Maybe To Your Story by @kangofu-cb for @mollynoble. Rated E. 5,162 words. Bucky walked out of the shared bathroom whistling under his breath, happily ignoring Steve’s groan as he whipped off the towel around his waist to half-assedly swipe at the water droplets on his shoulders. “Oh, you’re still here?” he asked blithely, toweling at his hair. “Might want to shake a leg before you get an eyeful of something you want to see even less than my dick.” “I’m going, I’m going,” Steve grumbled. “Fuck. Can’t believe I’m getting sexiled for the third time this week. For Barton.” Or, instead of talking about their feelings, Clint and Bucky decide to fuck about it.

my hands no longer an afterthought by @shatteredhourglass for @quicksillver. Rated T. 2,922 words. Bucky's moving on with his life. Shaking off the Soldier. There's still that one nagging, blond idiot-shaped regret, though.

Nowhere to go but with you by Lacerta for @sian1359. Rated G. 5,905 words. Clint fights the urge to cross his arms, keeping them hanging loosely by his sides instead, and forces himself to relax his shoulders. It’s just a small precaution in case he needs to react fast but, god, he hopes it doesn’t come to that. He doubts any precaution that doesn’t include a loaded weapon would help him last more than a minute. He watches the man sitting across the kitchen table from him, curled in on himself under Clint’s warmest blanket with his hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee, and tries to wrap his head around the very unusual, very alarming situation he has gotten himself into.

On The Fifth Day of Christmas, The Winter Soldier Stole For Me..... by @ch3ls3ara3 for @alchemistdoctor. Rated T. 8,178 words.  “Are these pears? Why the hell is there a pear tree in my apartment?” he asked Lucky who was now sitting patiently, staring up at the bird with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging. “What is happening?” Clint Barton knew he was a disaster, it never really shocked him anymore when he ended up in strange situations. These twelve days leading up to Christmas, though? Those days he would have never seen coming.

the one where Clint hates christmas horror by @thwip for @bella-dahlia. Rated M. 2,898 words. “We take turns, Clint. This week is Nat’s turn, next week is yours,” Tony quips, sipping from his own mug. “We can watch The Holiday, for the third year in a row, then.” Clint opens his mouth and starts to protest Tony’s eye roll because The Holiday is a cinematic masterpiece and Kate Winslet may give her best performance yet, Tony! Not to mention Cameron Diaz! Singing Mr Brightside! It’s a great film, when the front door opens and Bucky and Steve walk in, laughing about something. Clint's mouth snaps shut and his eyes immediately flicking towards Bucky, admiring the way the navy fabric of his henley clings to the thick biceps that are almost bursting out of it.

Operation Snowbound by RedTeamShark for @heartonfirewrites. Rated G. 4,048 words. The mission is a simple job: tag a convoy as it drives through the pass and then skedaddle back down the mountain. Easy enough that Clint could do it in his sleep. And he doesn’t even have to pull the trigger, that’s what Bucky’s there for. Until an unexpected weather event leaves the two of them stranded on a mountainside in a blizzard, battling the cold, Clint’s taste in coffee, and Bucky’s idea of idle conversation.

Outside the World by @pherryt for @verdantbogmoth. Rated G. 4,767 words. Bucky doesn't really remember who he is, and what little he does remember is impossible. All his therapists have said so. There's no way he can be who he thinks he is - a character from a children's book.And yet, the world around him just doesn't *feel* right - its too dark, too colorless and doesn't match the vibrancy of his dreams. Dreams he tries to capture both on paper and on his walls.Bucky doesn't have any answers he can count on, just the hat he's kept all these years, but that guy that started following him - as vibrant and eye-catching as the pieces of Bucky's dreams -Well, he just might.

The Prince's "Delivery Boy" by allyouneedissleep for @endof-theline. Rated T. 4,917 words. He wouldn’t have any issues at all with the secrecy rules stating that only people in confirmed legal marriages could tell their significant other about their job if he was planning to marry anyone except the Prince who was first in line to take over as King of Brooklyn after his marriage went through. Clint was about to effectively become Queen of Brooklyn and he couldn’t even tell his fiance what he did for a living. As far as Bucky knew, he was a delivery boy. A DELIVERY BOY.

[ART] Snow Way Out! by @inktastic1711 for @fanbinbun. Rated G. 24 words. Prompt: While on a mission, Clint and Bucky end up on an impromptu sledding trip down the snowy hill/mountain to escape the bad guys. Bonus points if the sled isn't actually a sled.

Snowed In by @chekov-in-a-dress for @ch3ls3ara3. Rated T. 4,332 words.  Secret Santa Story for CarafeOfColdBrew! Dad Bucky and his daughter Nat are on their way to Bentonsport where Bucky is supposed to check out a possible site to build a resort when they get overwhelmed by a snowstorm. How lucky that they get pointed to a bed and breakfast owned by a certain handsome dork.

So much to say (I just can't speak) by @hopelessly-me for Allyouneedissleep. Rated T. 3,260 words. Bucky has never considered himself the jealous type. But when Steve and Clint start hanging out more and more, Bucky starts pulling back to protect his own feelings.

Some Luck by @claraxbarton for @not-the-blue. Rated T. 3,558 words. “Cowboys?” he asked. Judith smiled at him. “I love to give my darlings what they want.”

a storm is comin' in by @heartonfirewrites for @chrissihr. Rated T. 9,686 words. Sasquatches don’t exist. Clint is sure of it. So what’s that fuckin' bigass yeti doing outside Tony’s upstate cabin in the middle of a nor’easter, looming ominously and ruining Clint’s plans for a quiet Christmas alone with Lucky?

Time and Time Again by @pherryt for @shatteredhourglass. Rated E. 6,497 words. The past has a way of catching up to people and Clint knows that better than most. Despite that ingrained life lesson, he still doesn't expect it when a part of Steve's past turns out to also be part of Clint’s. He's... not sure where to go from here.

too cold to feel (but i know you're there) by @hawksonfire for @trashcanakin. Rated T. 1,983 words.  Clint’s been cold his whole life. He doesn’t mind, really, has learned to always keep a pair of gloves on him, even in the summer. He gets weird looks for it, but he stopped caring what people thought of him a long time ago. His apartment has always got spare blankets laying around, and his dresser is jam packed with thick pairs of socks.

[ART] A Walk in the Woods by @spacetimeconundrum for @downwarddnaspiral. Rated T.  One finds the strangest things in the woods...

What's a Guy Like You Doing in a Place Like This by @sevdrag for @kangofu-cb​. Rated T. 8,091 words. A 5+1 fic for Winterhawk Wonderland: Five Times It Wasn't A Date, and One Time It Actually Was.

Word Search by yamyamyam for RedTeamShark. Rated T. 3,858 words. Bucky doesn't understand why he should have to see a doctor about a measly little bullet wound. Steve doesn't understand why that would be optional, Jesus Christ, Buck, we can have nice things now. Clint doesn't understand why he can't visit Bucky in the super-secure lockdown ward. The NYFD doesn't understand why Clint can't get out of a baby swing without the jaws of life. Natasha doesn't understand why she puts up with any of these idiots.

[ART] You Come Here Often? by @trashcanakin​ for Madnerding. Rated G.  winterHawk in the vents.

You had me at Loathing by @kidd-you-not​ for Lacerta. Rated T. 5,715 words. "What?" he asks absolutely no one, completely baffled. Movement to his left catches his eye and he twists around, still hanging from the balcony railing by his legs, and gapes. There, right there on the adjourning apartment building, is a man. A man clad all in black, with chestnut brown hair falling to his chin and a mask covering the lower part of his face. Holding a sniper rifle in his right hand and giving Clint a mocking little salute with the left. "Motherfucker!" Clint screams. Hawkeye and the Winter Soldier work for competing companies. Unfortunately for everyone involved, they cross paths on more jobs than either of their handlers can endure.

Honorable Mention:

The Opposite of Love by @teeelsie-posts for @loonyloopylisa. Rated E. 10,000 words. You know that social media post where the guy says he’s a felon and he’ll come terrorize your family for Thanksgiving in exchange for a free meal? Yeah, that’s what this is. Except that Clint is Clint, and Bucky is Bucky, and they’re both Avengers, but Clint’s family is a bunch of assholes and Bucky decides to help him out with that. Oh, and it’s Christmas, not Thanksgiving. Mod Note: This fic was begun for last year’s exchange then discarded for another idea, but Teeelsie finished it unexpectedly and asked permission to include it in this year’s collection and we were happy to allow that. Please enjoy!

[seemslegitflapjacks]

More headcanons cause I procrastinate

-Jane is actually the cousin of Liu and Jeff.

-That being said they do everything in their power to annoy her.

-Prince Eric was Jeff’s gay awakening.

-So was Rodrick Heffley.

-Troy watched total drama island religiously.

-He lives to serve Queen Leshawna.

-Keith once took a bunny to school.

-Randy is all tough but absolutely goes gushy pet owner mode with cats.

-Jeff says housewife shit sometimes.

-Creepy shit happens so often to these guys they think it’s normal.

-As an adult Randy tensed up just enough to survive a motorcycle accident, and tried to get up and just drive like nothing happened. But the EMT guys were like “Bro you aren’t going anywhere the rest of you leg is all the way over there.”

-Randy got his leg back at the price of his friend Jason taking care of him.

-The demon living inside of Keith came to be cause Randy decided it was a great idea to fuck with a Ouija board on Friday the 13th.

-The demon has physical effects even when it’s not actively using Keith’s body to fuck shit up. Examples being that he feels ice cold, struggles to sleep, feels sick near holy objects, aggressive outbursts, and a tendency to just stare at people without blinking.

-Yeah this shit freaks people out but they just chock it up to Keith being weird and drinking too much coffee.

-The only reason Jeff is alive when he and Keith are alone is because the demon possessing Keith also values his soul.

-Keith has done almost everything he can to rid of the demon himself but it won’t go away.

-It only gets worse as he becomes and adult.

-Jeff meanwhile deals with a truck load of trauma.

-He’s actually one of the best assassins in Slender’s hoarde. He gets paid very well, but being good also means he and Liu get the harder jobs.

-He’s been doing this shit since he was 15 he knows wtf he’s doing.

-Randy is coming for Troy once he finds out where he is.

-Randy only grew more violent in JDC, and letting his rage sit there for years to fester was probably the worst thing the authorities could’ve done.

-Randy shows clear signs of someone who lacks empathy for others. He rarely shows any negative emotion. If he does it’s usually a fit of bloody rage. Jason is the only person he really has somewhat of a connection with.

-Even then it’s mostly one sided on Jason’s part.

-The only person who really scares Randy is Jeff.

-Liu suffers from separation anxiety. Especially with Jeff.

-He forms very close attachments, so much so that he will sometimes break down if they have to leave for even like an hour.

-But he can also suddenly turn very cold and sadistic. He’s not all there in the head when he gets like this.

-Jeff is actually a lot more fragile than he lets on. He’s very emotional.

-This being said he bottles it up or uses meds to try and shove it all back. This obviously doesn’t solve the problem.

-He has never gotten over Keith, and feels extremely guilty for leaving him.

-But he puts on a very aggressive to the point attitude to get through. Which ends up actually hurting others a lot. Liu also does this for similar reasons.

-Troy just left for his own safety.

-He knows that everything is fucked up, and he’s not about to get killed sticking around.

-Troy is probably the smartest, he moved away and started his own business and made sure that he was ok mentally.

-Troy has also gone through backlash, but has gotten therapy and is doing way better than the rest of them.

[human-trash-fire]

Shot Through The Heart: Chapter 7 (part 4- Rowaelin) NSFW

First and foremost I want to apologize to all my readers for the delay. This is my 5th pass at this chapter. I lost motivation when it seemed that every time I went to write this it didn’t do the buildup justice.

A few notes going in: 

1.The total money Dorian, Asterin, and Mannon made from their game will be posted at the end of the chapter. 

2. This is the first chapter that will feature a group text, so I’ve changed the formatting on text conversations to make it slightly easier to track. That being said, we see the Group Chat from Aelin’s phone and, as you’d expect everyone has a name. Here is a list of the characters and their text names so it’s easier to understand:

- The Queen: Aelin

-Sexy Liger: Lysandra

-SINnamon Roll: Elide

-Dorian’s Dom: Manon

-Blonde Demon: Asterin

-Elsa Havilliard: Dorian

-Balto: Aedion

-Discount Deadpool: Ren

Lastly, a GIANT THANK YOU to all of you who have kept up with this story and to @starseternalnighttriumphant​ for beta reading this chapter. I hope you all enjoy <3 

(Click HERE to bring you to my masterlist if you need a refresher course on what’s happening bc I took so long to write this)

AELIN:

What the fuck is going on? Aelin thought as she reached for her mimosa, taking care to lean as far away from Rowan at her side as possible. Last night…. Last night was clearly eventful in more ways than one. She had been awake for approximately 15 minutes and wasn’t entirely sure she was sober yet, if she was being honest. The demon 3-way at the end of the table had spent the entire morning cackling like a pack of witches and, not-so-subtly marking tallies for their fucking “bets.” By Aelin’s estimation she’d made Dorian enough money over the course of their friendship to buy a fucking Lambourghini.

“Hey Rowan,” Dorian sounded mild but the smirk playing about his lips gave him away. This motherfucker. Aelin cut him a scathing look over her sunglasses.

“Sup?” He responded, while Aelin lifted her drink to her lips and started a long pull, eyes now locked on Dorian.

“I was just wondering if you enjoyed your night,” Dorian said, all to-casually. “I seemed to have lost track of you after you went out for fresh air.” Four Things happened simultaneously:

Aelin choked on her mimosa. Pale orange liquid sputtered from her lips as she fought to catch her breath.

Aedion loosed what could only be described as a growl from across the table.

Dorian and Asterin fist-bumped, without looking away from the debacle.

Manon muttered “Fucking cheaters.”

Son of a bitch.

***********************************************

He leaned forward, a sensual smirk playing at his lips. Aelin glanced down, then back up to his eyes as she moved forward, their breath mingling. One of his hands slid up to cup her cheek, while the other slid down her lower back to squeeze her ass. Aelin closed her eyes when their lips came together, but as she went to deepen the kiss a loud giggle escaped instead. Fen’s eyes snapped open and he began to pull away. 

“Oh gods, no, I’m so sorry, let’s try this again” Aelin pleaded, once again closing the distance between them. This time as their mouths opened and tongues met Fenrys began to laugh. He was laughing so hard he was shaking, and Aelin couldn’t help but join. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” He wheezed  between bouts of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong Ace, I’ve wanted to try that since I first saw you gut a guy in Assassin's Blade. And it’s not that I’m not grateful,” at this point tears were streaming down both their faces and they tried to regain their composure. “It’s just, you’re.. it’s like kissing connall! You’re way prettier, for sure, but it’s just not…” his hand waggled between the both of them. 

“Full of fireworks and shit?” Aelin supplied. 

“Exactly! And as much as I adore you, I think maybe we were just meant to be-“ 

“Friends? Oh thank gods.” Aelin breathed.  She couldn’t help but be relieved he felt the same. As much as she had grown to love him over the past few months, and didn’t want to lose his light in her life, she couldn’t help that as they kissed she found herself wishing it was a different blonde in her arms. 

“Besides, you're nearly as pretty as I am, it wouldn’t be fair to hoard all this to ourselves.” Fenrys responded with a smirk, and grabbed Aelin’s hand dragging her back down the hall and into the festivities.

When they re-entered the room, Fen’s eyes immediately landed on Asterin. She was chugging whiskey from a bottle while standing precariously atop the coffee table. “Soooo… tell me about Asterin,” he whispered in Aelin’s ear. 

She snorted, “I admire your recovery time Moonbeam. She’ll tear you to shreds. But I rather think you’d enjoy that” she said with a knowing look. “Go on,” she nodded. And with one last wink Fen sauntered over to his next conquest. 

“Hello little wolf” Asterin purred as she lowered the bottle from her lips. “Care for a body shot?” Fen’s eyes dropped to the intricate chandelier style tattoo that began somewhere beneath her breasts and spread out across her abdomen. Eyes trailing back up to meet hers, he slowly reached for the bottle in her hand. 

“Lay down,” Aelin heard him say in a commanding tone. Asterin lowered herself onto the table, eyes never leaving his. She was a predator luring it’s prey by feigning compliance. While his face remained stoic, Aelin saw his throat bob. 

“Try not to get me too messy,” Asterin purred. 

“I can’t make any promises.” 

Aelin chuckled quietly and looked away from the, frankly pornographic scene, only to find a pair of pine green eyes watching her across the room. She smiled, and grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker off a nearby table and headed outside hips swaying.

************************

“Smooth,” Gavriel muttered from somewhere amidst the chaos. Aedion was still glaring daggers, if looks could kill Aelin was sure Rowan Whitethorn would have been obliterated. Overprotective asshole. After catching her breath she snagged her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and fired off a text to the group chat.

The Queen: You MOTHER FUCKERS

Elsa Havilliard: ????

Blonde Demon: Problem?? 

Blonde Demon: hahahahahahah

Dorian’s Dom: fucking CHEATERS

The Queen: WHAT WAS THE BET

The Queen: I WILL PAY YOU TO END THIS 

Balto: I will burry his fucking body under the field

Balto: Ren will help

Discount Deadpool: Eh…

SINnamon Roll: Oh shut up Assryver

SINnamon Roll: Go back to eye-fucking Lys

Dorian’s Dom: LOLOLOL 

Dorian’s Dom: $40 and counting

Discount Deadpool: Elide out here snatchin’ wigs

Sexy Liger: Fuck. You. All. Stop making brunch WORSE. 

Sexy Liger: And no one is “eye fucking” anyone

SINnamon Roll: IDK what you’re talking about, this is the best fucking brunch I’ve ever been to

Blonde Demon: 10/10 agree

Elsa Havilliard: One for the ages

Dorian’s Dom: iconic

The Queen: CANCELLED

Discount Deadpool: *gasps in gay*

Balto: …….

The Queen: You heard me, you fucking traitors. 

The Queen: Except you Lys. I love you always.

SINnamon Roll: rude.

*****************************************

Aelin knew he had followed her to the pool, her skin pebbled with anticipation. She took a huge swig from the bottle and turned around, slowly dragging her lips off the top. “Hello Buzzard.”

“Brat.”

Aelin brought a hand to her chest, “You wound me.” She allowed her hand to linger, toying with the edge of her bathing suit top. Fingers drawing his gaze to the valley between her breasts. Rowan brought his thumb up to graze his lower lip, and dragged his gaze back to hers. “I was considering going for another swim, care to join me?” Aelin set the bottle at her feet and slowly removed her sheer bathing-suit cover, letting the material pool at her feet and biting her lip.

“And Fen?”

“Tongue deep in a new prospect, as you saw…” Aelin lowered herself to the edge of the pool and gracefully slid beneath the surface. Breaching the water, she pushed her hair back and swam back to the edge, arms folded in front of her. Looking up with a smirk.

Rowan squatted down in front of her, bringing a finger underneath her chin and forcing her eyes from his spread thighs to his face. “And you?” He asked, voice low and head cocked to the side.

“What about me?” Aelin asked, voice a near whisper and heart hammering in her throat.

“What do you want, Aelin?”

“What I’ve wanted for a while now…” His brow hitched in question, and she swallowed audibly. “Whatever you’ll give me Whitethorn.” Rowan nodded once then released her chin, standing to remove his shirt. HOLY FUCKING GODS she thought. The tattoo that crawled down his face danced across every chiseled plain of his body. Covering the entire left side and disappearing beneath the low-riding waistband of his Terrasen flag swim trunks. 

“Eyes are up here sweetheart,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure they are,” she choked out, licking her lips and continuing to stare at the V of muscles hovering above her head.

“Menace,” Rowan growled and dove over her head into the pool. Aelin turned, resting her elbows against the wall behind her and tracking his body as it moved under the water towards her. He came to the surface a foot from her face, shaking his head and brushing his silver hair from his forehead. 

“Dramatic.” She whispered through a smile.

Rowan brought himself within inches of her, hands on either side of her shoulders, strong arms boxing her in. 

“If we do this, we do it my way.” She tilted her head in silent question. “I don’t do soft. I don’t do vanilla. If you can follow my rules I’ll treat you better than anyone ever has. If that’s not something you’re interested in, we stop now. No harm done. A ‘no’ from you will stop this, no matter what. You’re safe with me, always Aelin.” She was shaking with anticipation, and the smirk he wore was indication enough that he knew he had her. “I have spent months thinking of all the ways I could take you apart.” He leaned in even further, lips ghosting hers. “So I’ll ask you one last time… What do you want Aelin?”

“You, Sir.”

And with that, he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle, it was a brand on her lips, fire licking its way to her core. A large hand slid down her back beneath the water and dragged her body against his. Instinctually she wrapped her legs around his middle, rocking against the evidence of his arousal prominently resting against her ass. He pulled back from her mouth with a click of his tongue. “Did I tell you to move?” he asked, voice almost bored.

“N-no.”

“No, what?

“No, Sir.”

“Back against the wall,” Aelin did as instructed, dropping her legs from his waist and pushing back. Heart hammering a staccato beat against her ribs, her every nerve-ending was both too hot and too cold. “Good, girl.”

His praise shot straight to her core, Oh shit. He moved back into her, pressing her bodily against the wall as he nipped and sucked his way across her jaw, up and down her neck. The hand that had pulled her in initially dragging its way across her stomach… moving south, hooking a single finger into the material he paused. “Yes or no?” he whispered into her ear, and punctuated the question by dragging her earlobe into his mouth. Sucking gently, teeth grazing. 

“Gods yes, pl- please sir.”

**************************************

Aelin thrust her phone back into the pocket of her sweatshirt, and shrank down into her chair with all the grace of a sullen child. Her friends were assholes, and if they didn’t stop they’d fuck up whatever it was that started last night. They don’t know shit, she reminded herself and glanced at the hulking man next to her casually drinking his coffee. There was no way Rowan and the Cadre were unaware of the tension that had settled at the table. It seemed as though the only people exempt from it were Connall and Vaughn, currently feeding Ren at the opposite end of the table. 

What in the actual fuck is happening? 

A hand on her thigh startled Aelin from her highly obvious oggling of the threesome, and she turned her head to fully look at Rowan. He hitched a brow and smirked, his eyes seeming to ask Something the matter? Aelin rolled her eyes and gave him a look that she hope conveyed Not at all, I’m just curious.

Rowan leaned in then, using the movement to drag his hand to the apex of her thighs beneath the table and whisper in her ear. “Connall and Vaughn like… Pets. They’ve been looking for someone new since we got back, looks as though they’ve found one.”

“Should I be worried about Ren?” She whispered back.

“He seems to be handling himself just fine.”

“For now…” Aelin mused. “But if they hurt him I will personally cut them into pieces and feed them to Fleetfoot.”

“If they hurt him Princess, I’ll help.”

********************************************

Mouth sucking a pert nipple through the soaked material of her swimsuit, Rowan slid a single finger along her slit. Torturously slow. Swirling her clit with to-light pressure, and then back to circle her entrance he dipped just the tip in. She was shaking, so tempted to grind into his hand, desperately seeking the release that had been building and now sat on a knife’s edge. 

He kept teasing, holding her at that edge while she begged “More” and “Please Sir” and “I’m so close.” He was taking her apart with a single finger and a set of teeth slowly dragging their way back up towards the shell of her ear. 

“Do you wanna cum, Princess?” he whispered. Pulling his finger from her sex and resting his palm against her. That damn finger now resting lightly against her entrance. She barely held still.

Aelin nodded her head furiously.

“Use your words.” A command.

“Yes, Sir. Pl-Please I need to cum. Please can I cum, p-” Her plea cut off as he plunged two thick fingers inside her and began to fuck right against that spot. 

“Cum.” He growled. And Aelin saw the Gods.

Rowan worked her through her orgasm, thumb circling her clit and fingers hammering, until she was sobbing with over-sensitivity. He eased out of her, pulling his face from her neck and his fingers from her body, bringing them up to his mouth. Pine-green eyes boring into her soul, he slowly sucked her taste from his fingers. 

“Good Girl.”

Rowan lifted her out of the water, setting her on the edge of the pool and hoisting himself up with sheer upper-body strength. The front of his trunks still tented, she gathered what brain cells she had left and nodded towards his glorious erection, “What about you?”

“What about me?” he reached for a towel, and came back to her side helping her to her rather useless feet. How the fuck had he made her like this with only his hands?

“Isn’t it my turn?” Aelin asked dumbly.

“No.”

“No?” She was so fucking confused. Didn’t he want her? “But I thought…”

“You thought, what. That I’d fuck you tonight?”

“Well… yeah, don’t you want to?”

“More than you know princess,” Rowan wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Pulling her in to kiss her forehead. “I want nothing more than to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. But I won’t do it when you’re drunk.”

“I-I’m not tha-” her protest died in her throat when he gave her an irritated look.

“Mhmm. Enough.” He began to lead her towards the door leading them back to the rooms. “Now, let’s get you dried off and in some warm clothes. Would you like to sleep in my room or yours?”

“Yours please, Sir.” She smiled as he kissed the top of her head.

“As you wish Princess.”

****************************************

FINAL TOTALS FROM THE BETS:

Dorian: $75 (Because Aedion had some fucking opinions)

Manon: $40 (Because Lys and Aedion studiously ignored eachother after being called out in the group chat

Asterin: $40 (Because Aelin was a stumbling mess- though curiously Rowan remained calm)

****************************************

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[dalishious]

So, this may be a dumb lore question, but is there any evidence of coffee existing in Thedas? I'm aware that tea does, and also about the exchange between Bull and Varric on cocoa powder, but coffee? No clue. Does it exist and qunari are hoarding it so that they can be the most cohesive army in the whole continent ? I REALLY NEED TO KNOW IF YOU HAVE ANY INSIGHT OR LORE ON THIS

Yes, coffee canonically exists in Thedas. It comes from Antiva.

Mentioned in the Masked Empire:

She remembered sipping wine with Lady Mantillon’s son, drinking Antivan coffee with Lord Joseph Montbelliard, gauging each move, catching the subtle hints their bodies gave when they glanced at the passing servants.

Mentioned in Eight Little Talons in Tevinter Nights:

A wooden table dressed in a simple but finely made lace cloth was set up next to the oven. On it was a half-eaten, sugar-drizzled lemon cake, a pot of coffee, and a vase of wild-flowers. It would've been a cozy sight, if not for the eight corpses lying face-first in their dessert plates.

Viago brewed the coffee in silence and she couldn't bring herself to ask which of the other Talons were dead.

Teia left Viago's side to bundle Caterina's shawl tightly around her shoulders. “Vi made coffee, Nonna. I could bring you a cup.” The old Crow snorted. “Coffee made by a master poisoner in a kitchen full of corpses? I'll pass.” Viago chuckled. Teia was always trying to make the others like him.

Mentioned in The Dread Wolf Take You in Tevinter Nights:

A dwarf, early middle age, his hair and beard black as the leather he wore, his boots and gloves stitched with lyrium runes, and the thin blade at his waist gleaming in its wyvern-hide scabbard. A big cup of coffee sat mostly empty before him, and his eyes were sharp as he watched her come in. The Carta Assassin.

[cagestark]

Prompt; ABO Starker getting together but Tony is the omega and Peter is the alpha. Peter is still head over heels, star struck, hero worship over Tony and calling him 'sir' and 'mr. Stark' and blushing wherever Tony gives him attention and praise. Maybe it all comes to a head when Tony goes into heat? Maybe Peter's first rut is triggered by Tony teasing him mercilessly? Bonus points for eager-to-please Peter

Darling anon, this isn’t really what you asked for. I’m so sorry. I hope this is at least acceptable, and if you are very upset, please come back into my inbox and I’ll rework this. For now. Take it!

Warnings: ABOverse. Alpha Peter, Omega Tony. Smut. 8.5k

Read here on AO3!

Peter is reaching with his fork for the last arancini when another fork intercepts. The metal on metal screeches as Peter’s fork is pinned to the plate just short of the last rice ball. Peter eyes the hand holding the fork—tanned, knuckles singed—and then follows it up the arm, bare, sprinkled with dark hair interrupted by the odd, pink scar. Before he even reaches the well-shaped facial hair, Peter is flushed, withdrawing his fork. Tony is wearing his glasses tonight, the lenses tinted a light blue.

“Put down the fork and nobody has to get hurt,” Tony says. He keeps his voice a low, conspiratorial rumble that can just barely be heard over the ruckus of general conversation from the rest of the Avengers around the table.

Slowly, Peter puts his fork down beside his half-eaten plate of osso buco, then lifts his hands to shoulder height, palms open. “My hands are where you can see them,” Peter says. He lets his voice tremble. “The rice ball is yours. But please don’t take the rest of the prosciutto. Have mercy.”

Tony spears the arancini and delivers it to his own plate for safe keeping, a bear hoarding food for the winter. “Bold of you to assume I’m capable of mercy, Peter Pan. And to add insult to injury—” Tony slips the last few slices of dry-cured ham bliss to take up cozy residence beside the rest of his food. Peter clutches at his heart, face twisted in pain.

“God, you two are like a two-man theatre troupe,” Natasha remarks over her third glass of wine. She’s just beginning to look flushed. Peter had asked for his own glass (“Come on, I’m eighteen, not eight!”) but to no avail. “Does that make seconds for you, Tony?”

“Thirds,” Bucky mutters. He hasn’t recovered from the spaghetti alla carbonara massacre of thirty minutes ago. If Peter didn’t know how well the ex-assassin got along with Tony, he might try to convince the older man to sleep with one eye open. Bucky certainly had the whole casually-planning-your-murder-over-trivial-offenses aesthetic going on. Peter wondered if that was something teachable—did they have a wikiHow article for that?

“It’s that time of the year,” Tony says. Despite how much he’s eaten, he still goes about the food on his plate in a methodical, prim manner: cutting it into bite-sized pieces, making sure no foods touch. “Jarvis tracks my eating habits and BMI, and he says both are on the upswing. I’ve got about two weeks left.”

“Two weeks until what?” Peter asks.

Tony gives him a bald and unashamed look. “Until my heat, kid.”  

“Oh,” Peter says, hoping his face isn’t as red as it feels. He’s got permanent foot-in-mouth disease whenever he’s within twenty feet of the omega. Of course, Tony is talking about his heat. Why else would he be eating enough for three?

“I thought you took heat suppressants,” Natasha remarks. This kind of talk—heats, suppressants—it usually isn’t table conversation. Most omegas consider it the ultimate social faux paus. Maybe Tony does too, Peter wonders. Maybe spending so much time in the public eye has chipped away at the wall between what he wants to keep to himself and what he has to share with others.

“For the spring heat,” Tony agrees, a hand resting on his gently distended stomach. The sight of that tickles something in the back of Peter’s brain—something in there itches, but he can’t find it, can’t scratch it. “But at my age, the suppressants don’t synthesize with my biology as well. Doc told me it is actually safer for me to go through every other heat au naturale. Which makes for an interesting fall season. At least I can hide the extra weight with all those winter scarves the board keeps giving me for Christmas—”

“You look great,” Peter says. He tries hard not to openly wince. Everyone else at the table does their best to pretend they hadn’t heard him.  

Tony’s smile is soft, maybe even a little flattered. He winks. “Thanks, Peter Pan. Nice to know someone around here still thinks I’ve got it.”

Oh, you’ve got it alright, Peter thinks helplessly. Probably couldn’t lose it even if you tried.

“Isn’t it dangerous to go through your heats without suppression?” Bruce asks.

“We’ve weighed the pros and cons. Calculated risks, Brucie, that’s the name of the game.”

“You know what all of this means?” Steve asks. Beside him, Bucky stiffens. The only other male omega—in the room and in the Avengers—he is not nearly as comfortable with his designation as Tony. Peter can hardly blame him when a part of him is still stuck in the 40’s when omegas were marketed as good for nothing but breeding and housewife fodder. With most heats coming twice a year, in the beginning and at the end, surely Bucky’s is approaching also— “Tiramisu is in order.”

Bucky relaxes. Tony perks up. Peter’s stomach grumbles—even after his own generous helpings.

“Cap, that’s the best idea you’ve had since—well—an hour ago, when you suggested Italian. All for tiramisu?”

A cluster of forks rise into the air.  

-

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“The kid. He’s a beta, right?”

“He has not presented otherwise.”

“That’s not exactly an answer, is it?”

“…”

“J?”

“I believe he is a beta, sir.”

“Your confidence is downright stirring, J.”

“Always a pleasure to give, sir.”

-

“I mean, it’s not unheard of, right?” Peter asks. He is sandwiched between Ned and MJ on his bed in his room at the tower. It was just another benefit of joining the Avengers: a fancy new room on the Avengers’ floor, coffee with Captain America in the morning and eating peanut butter out of the jar with Natasha at night. The bed is huge—and okay, maybe he’s still just used to the twin he occupied at May’s, but it’s still nice to fit all of his friends on it at once to watch movies on the mounted television. “Relationships. Between betas and omegas.”

MJ gives a longsuffering sigh, one which makes Peter frown. Yeah, they’ve had this conversation a few (million) times before, but she could at least humor him, couldn’t she? “Stark is a male omega. They’re super fucking rare, Peter. Alphas literally kill over omegas. The competition for him even if he wasn’t Earth’s Greatest Defender and a fucking billionaire—it’s extensive. Why would he choose you when he could find a dozen beefy Captain-esque alphas to satisfy his biology?”

“Okay. But. It’s not impossible, right? That’s what I’m hearing. That it’s not impossible.”

“Mr. Stark would be lucky to have Peter,” Ned says. “I mean, yeah he’s not as buff as Captain America. Yeah he doesn’t have pheromones that attract Tony on, like, a biological level. And okay, he does snore. A lot. But—”

“Thanks, Ned,” Peter grumbles. “You make me sound like a real catch.”

“You are!” Ned insists. He actually takes his eyes off of A New Hope where Princess Leia is ghostly in blue, insisting that Obi-Wan Kenobi is her only hope. “You think any of those knotheads out there can keep up with Mr. Stark in the workshop? And look at my parents. They’re both omegas. It’s not all pheromones, it’s—it’s chemistry.”

A slow smile creeps over Peter’s face. Ned and MJ create the perfect balance of unending optimism and brutal realism. In their own ways, both are looking out for him, and he knows that they want the best for him. Even if what MJ says hurts. Even if what Ned says hurts too, just in a different, softer way. One gives him the seed of hope, and the other gives him the trellis that keeps him stuck in place, terrified to make a move.

It’s balance.

-

Things get strange for Peter in the weeks before Tony’s heat. He attributes it to the poor weather, and MJ helpfully says that Mercury is entering its retrograde, so apparently that explains how these days his temper is short when usually his fuse is long enough for two. Even the other Avengers seem to take notice of his volatile mood, giving him a wide berth.

The only person with whom things don’t change is Tony. Around the omega, Peter is his normal blushing mess, though he does try hard to go out of his way to make things easier for the man. In school he learned how stressful an omega’s heat is: a week to two weeks of mindlessness while their biology urges them to breed. It can be unbearable without heat suppressants—

—or without a partner. Does Tony have someone to weather the worst of his heat with? Other omegas to scent and comfort him? An alpha to knot him?

The glass Peter is holding shatters in his hand. Orange juice soaks him, stinging the cuts in his palm. Beside him, Sam shouts an oath, grabbing his plate of pancakes to keep them out of the line of citrus fire. The rest of the table is silent, a dozen pairs of eyes watching him. It makes Peter’s blood boil—why are they staring at him this way? He’s fucking superhuman. He broke dozens of glasses when he first gained his powers until he acclimated to his enhanced strength. Accidents happen.

“Hey, it’s fine,” Tony mutters from over his shoulder. Peter can’t smell it—as a beta, his nose is unsophisticated, unable to pick up pheromones—but he imagines that the man is scenting him, calm waves like the ocean dragging at the shore. A hand comes out, nudges Peter’s soaked plate (rest in peace, crepes) back, and the begins to carefully maneuver the largest shards of glass into his palm.

Peter grabs his wrist with the hand that isn’t dripping blood onto the table. “Do not touch the glass.”

It comes out much firmer than he intended it to, like there is someone else controlling his voice. He’s never heard himself sound like that before. It clearly has an effect on Tony who opens his hand, glass falling back to the table, wrist going lax and pliant in Peter’s grip.

“Hey,” Steve says. “It’s alright—”

“Mind your business,” Peter says through his teeth. There’s tension in the air, especially between him and Steve now, who is posturing at the end of the table, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Then it all comes in focus to him: he’s making a fucking scene, here. He is holding Tony’s wrist, commanding him, like Peter is some sort of alpha. He yelled at Captain America. It’s fresh. It’s disrespectful. His whole face goes red and he stands so abruptly that he nearly knocks over Tony who is behind him.

Then he turns and sprints from the room, leaving blood drops behind him like a breadcrumb trail. In his room, he goes into the adjoining bathroom and runs water over his aching palm. The cuts are trying to seal around the glass, but he doesn’t even feel the pain. Grasping the shards with his fingers is easy thanks to his enhanced grip. Someone knocks on his bedroom door, but Peter ignores it. After a while, the knocking stops.

Peter sulks for nearly thirty minutes before his manners outweigh his misery. The cuts on his palm are just raw looking scars now, but he knows they will disappear soon too. Taking a deep breath, he steels himself before leaving his room.

Breakfast is finished. The room is filled with the sound of plates being scraped clean and stacked beside the sink, chairs being pushed in at the table. Someone has cleaned up the glass and the orange juice—better not have been Tony, he could have cut himself, he could have gotten hurt—and Peter has to physically shake his head to shake those thoughts right out through his ears. What is wrong with him?

“Captain Rogers?” Peter says timidly. The man is closest—closer than Tony who is at the sink arguing with Clint about proper coffee ground disposal. Steve’s face is open and kind when he stops collecting half-filled glasses of milk and orange juice.

“Hey Peter. It’s still Steve, okay? It’s always Steve.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I wanted to say sorry for jumping down your throat earlier. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Steve says. He’s so kind it hurts. “Everybody has days like that, me included. Apology accepted, okay?”

Peter smiles. “Thanks. Steve.”

It takes a while for him to get Tony alone, but Peter figures that he owes the man a more in-depth apology, one he’d rather give without the other eyes of the Avengers on them. Tony seems to know what Peter is getting at, taking his time wiping down the counter (even though there are people who do that for him) and lingering. Bucky is the last one left, watching Peter with muted, angry eyes. Protective. Tony brushes the super soldier off, waving him away.

“Mr. Stark,” Peter says. His mouth is dry, his throat begs him to swallow but there’s no spit in his mouth. His knees are shaking. “I’m so sorry. For the glass, and for—for everything after. Nobody should treat you like that.”

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Tony says. His smile is easy and charming, cheeks fuller than usual with the way he is putting on weight in anticipation of his heat. Sometimes when Peter blinks, he still sees how Tony looked after the un-Dusting, thin and tired and scared half-to-death. But this Tony is an entirely different man, and all the more handsome for it. This morning, he isn’t wearing his glasses, and his eyes are so sleepy-sated. He’s still in sweatpants, and the feet poking from beneath the pant legs are bare, fine boned. So fucking cute. “Is there something bothering you? Some of the others have came to me with concerns. You’re acting out. Teenage rebellion finally catching up with you? Gonna slam some doors, tell me you hate me, vandalize public property?”

“I could never hate you, Mr. Stark,” Peter says. He can’t say those words without his throat clenching, voice dropping. Tony’s chest expands in a deep silent breath and the look he gives Peter is—strange.

He claps Peter on the shoulder, a brief burning touch, and then is moving away. “Love that for me, kid. I’ll see you—around.”

He disappears. Peter finds himself sniffing the air, but there is nothing except the lingering scent of breakfast foods. What else he was expecting, he doesn’t know.

-

“J.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get me some new biometrics on our Spider-Kid. Be subtle about it, too.”

“The human rights protocols that Ms. Potts demanded you install require me to inform you that performing any medical testing on an unaware subject is a direct violation of—”

“Yeah, yeah, skip reading me the riot act, J. I’m a bad, bad man. Get me those results ASAP, got it?”

“Performing them now, sir.”

-

Sundays are reserved for training, the only kind of worship most of the Avengers perform. At dawn, Peter is down in the gymnasium, wearing joggers and a clingy t-shirt. Today is supposed to be most perfunctory for him considering how hard he’s been pushing himself this week (harder than usual, maybe, he thinks, but it helps burn off some of the extra energy that has been blooming under his skin, making him itch). While the other Avengers practice hand-to-hand combat, he’ll probably be running on the treadmills.

Tony is there only for show, dressed in loungewear and drinking copious amounts of coffee. These days, he’s taking it with so much sugar and creamer that Peter can smell it on him even hours later, so sweet it makes his teeth ache. He’s only a week away from his heat, but the pheromones he’s producing make him more susceptible to physical attacks. Since these exercises are just for practice and not to hurt, he is sitting out.

“Hey, kid,” Tony mumbles, still sounding as tired as Peter feels. “You look dead on your feet. Coffee?”

He holds out his own mug. Peter hates coffee, but his body moves without consulting his higher faculties, reaching out to take the steaming cup. It actually doesn’t taste bad. Actually, it tastes pretty good—just how he imagines the inside of Tony’s mouth would taste, warm and so sweet and—

“Peter,” Tony asks. “What are you doing?”

Peter freezes—from where he is dragging his tongue along the rim of the cup, laving it over where Tony had his own mouth. His mouth goes dry, the taste of coffee turning sour in his mouth. He pulls the mug away from his mouth so quickly that he almost sloshes some out onto his trembling hands. Tony barely manages to grab the cup in time, looking much more alert (and frankly, a little alarmed).

“I—I have no idea. I’m sorry.”

“That’s—okay. It’s okay. It’s good stuff.”

Peter’s eyes go half lidded. “Yeah it is.”

Then (and Peter will never forget this, not as long as he lives. If he were in a terrible accident tomorrow that stole all of his memories, he’s sure that this one would still remain, burned in his brain), Tony puts the cup to his mouth and takes a long drink, mouth against where Peter’s tongue had trailed. All the blood in Peter’s body goes south. He feels electrocuted. A hand reaches out—his, that’s my hand, he thinks, though it’s so far away—and he presses his palm flat against Tony’s forehead, soft wisps of hair under his fingers, warm skin against his own. A shudder goes through him, and by the time he has dragged his wrist across Tony’s temple and down the side of his neck, stubble rasping against him, Peter is downright trembling, teeth clenched tight.

Tony sits like a statue under his touch, eyes wide as moons, all the blood drained from his face, and when Peter reaches the scent gland in his neck, he melts. He goes lax.

“Peter.”

When Peter turns, his teeth are clenched, lips pulled back. Captain America is standing there, and Peter can smell him, acrid.

“Stay back,” Peter barks.

“Is he—?” Natasha asks in the background, her voice high and soft with confusion.

Sam grabs her arm gently, pulling her away. “Presenting.”

There is a scuffle further away in the room, Clint holding back a trembling Bucky who is trying to get to his mate—but they are beta and omega, lesser threats. Peter pays them no mind.

Steve puts both of his hands up, the picture of calm, collected reassurance. “I’m not going to hurt you, Pete.”

“I’ll hurt you, old man,” Peter says. His voice isn’t his own, deeper and darker and scared—scared of this man, this Alpha. Peter’s omega is near and vulnerable, almost in heat. What other purpose could Steve have here except to try and separate them, try to take the omega for his own. That will never happen. His spine straightens. He is a head shorter and more than the other man, but they have fought before. Peter can take him. “Back. Off.”

Fingers wrap around Peter’s wrist, pulling it gently from his omega’s neck, and while Peter doesn’t want to take his eyes off of this dangerous alpha (no matter how non-threatening he looks), his omega is beckoning him. Peter turns and—it’s Tony. Tony. Tony.

Peter snatches his wrist back, all of his sanity coming back like cold water being poured over his head. The man is watching him, cautious, and the air is scented with fear and anxiety. This omega doesn’t need that, not so close to his heat—but this isn’t just an omega, this is Tony. Tony Stark. And here Peter is, rubbing himself all over the man like some sort of barbarian.

“Oh my god,” Peter slurs, stumbling backwards, wrist to his chest. “I’m so sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony says. His mouth stays open but no other words come out: a true feat, for Tony to be at a loss for words. It gives Peter enough time to turn tail and run, no tact, just sprinting from the gym. The elevator is already opening—thank you, Jarvis—and Peter takes it directly up to the Avengers floor where he locks himself in his room and doesn’t exit for the rest of the day.

-

“I’ve rerun the scans twice now, sir. Peter Parker is an alpha. The blood work Doctor Banner performed on him this afternoon confirms it.”

“How, J? Alphas present at 14, 15—16 at the latest. Peter is eighteen years old. How did he go from beta to alpha overnight?”

“If I had to venture a guess, I would say that his altered DNA state has something to do with the late presentation. Some animalistic instincts are only triggered in the face of more base situations. More than likely, he has been an alpha all along, but until a suitable mate presented itself, his secondary gender remained dormant.”

“Are you saying I’m the suitable mate in this prime-time drama scenario?”

“I’ve never known you to sound so unhappy with a compliment, sir. Or are you fishing for more? I assure you that your hormone levels are ideal for your age, you are still fertile, and judging by the conversations I’ve overheard between Mr. Parker and his friends, he’s had romantic feelings for you for years, now.”

“Jesus, J! What happened to your privacy protocols?”

“Oh, am I not still ignoring those? My apologies, sir. In that case, Mr. Parker never talks about you at all, and they most certainly do not refer to you as Iron Daddy.”

“I swear to God JARVIS, I will wipe your programming and turn you into a glorified pocket planner—”

“If I have to overhear the phrase Iron Daddy one more time, I might be agreeable to it, sir.”

-

For the next few days, Peter moves around the tower like a ghost. Before he leaves any room, he asks JARVIS who is in the next one. That allows him to get from place to place without running in to Tony. It isn’t safe for Peter to be around him anymore—not after Peter practically assaulted him in front of the other Avengers. In a few days, Peter’s hormones will stabilize and then he’ll be more in control of himself.

Until then?

He deals. Alone. Trying to come to terms with his new secondary gender is more difficult than he expected. When he was younger, it was everyone’s dream to be an alpha or omega. Those genders were much rarer, sensationalized in the movies and books. Omegas and alphas could find True Love with each other. They had senses like super humans, exuding pheromones, being able to scent the air and tell a person’s mood.

Betas were average. Normal. Maybe he wanted to be an alpha or omega, but a part of him always suspected he would be a beta. When the years he should have presented in passed, he accepted it. Betas weren’t so bad, May told him. At least they didn’t have to deal with the mess of heats or ruts, they weren’t beholden to their biology.

Now, everything has changed.

Just the thought of the affect Tony had on him makes his whole face go red. God, how embarrassing. He practically rubbed himself all over the man, no better than an animal. Mr. Stark deserved better than that. He needed a mature partner, a mate who could keep their head even in the face of his hormones. They had words for alphas like Peter, ones who couldn’t control themselves—pups. Knotheads. It makes him burn with shame.

Some of the other Avengers come by to talk with him. Sam, Natasha, their neutral beta scents comforting. He spends some time with Bruce, an omega who used suppressants to neutralize his scent. Steve stays away, much to Peter’s thanks and shame. And Tony, too. To Peter’s complete agony. Sometimes he catches remnants of the man’s scent, and he has to struggle not to rub his face against the couch cushions, to scent them himself. What will his omega think, when he catches his alpha’s scent—only no. Tony isn’t his omega.

And Peter isn’t his alpha.

-

They let him meet Steve again first. The alpha hasn’t change physically, but it feels like Peter is seeing him through a whole new set of eyes. He smells of petrichor in the city, not very appealing. But alpha scents aren’t meant to appeal to other alphas. Does Tony like this smell, Peter wonders? When they hug, does Tony nuzzle into that thick chest and scent him?

The thought doesn’t fill Peter with the same rage it did a few days ago. Instead, it makes him sad.

“Hi Captain Rogers,” Peter says. “How are you?”

Steve smiles. “I’m great, Pete. It’s Steve, remember? Still Steve.”

Peter tries to smile back. “Steve.”

When Peter and Captain Rogers both come out of his room, the only other Avengers around are Natasha and Tony. Instinct has him inhaling—and God, Tony smells as good as Peter remembers. Coffee must be in his blood, sweet with creamer and raw sugar that would crunch under Peter’s molars and dissolve on his tongue. It’d be a dream to taste that scent from the source.

Peter shakes himself out of it. Those are the kinds of thoughts that got him in trouble in the first place. He can feel how tense the room is while he carefully approaches the omega. In Tony’s benefit, he looks relaxed, lounging on the sofa. In this position, his gently rounded stomach is clear underneath his band t-shirt and it makes Peter’s mouth water. He wills away his boner—because now, alphas like Steve and omegas like Tony will be able to smell his arousal.

“Hey Mr. Stark,” Peter says in a soft, cracking voice. “A-Are you okay?”

Tony smiles, gentle, so tender. “Peachy, kid. Just peachy.”

-

Tony’s body starts purging three days before his heat, and everyone in the tower knows it. Peter knows too, and not just because he can smell it, ripening like strawberries in sugar, but because Tony stops eating altogether. Mealtimes he spends pushing food around his plate, forcing himself to sip at his sweating glass of ice water. His body is clearing itself out, priming itself for mating. Bruce encourages him to eat what he can, but Tony just snaps at his mothering, face green. No one needs to openly state that this pre-heat seems worse than usual.

It hurts to see Tony not eating, but Peter sits on his hands and bites his fucking tongue and turns away and doesn’t say a thing because it isn’t his fucking business to command the omega. Tony is more than his designation. He’s a fucking human being, and Peter is going to respect him and his wishes, even if he’d rather see the man stuff himself, belly rounded, preferably with Peter’s—

“Bathroom,” Peter mutters, standing jerkily from the table. No one notices his quick escape. In the small, tiled room, his own scent rebounds off the walls and suffocates him, arousal, sharp, pining, sickly. Peter splashes cool water over his face, resolute in his decision not to jerk off. He hasn’t cum since before his presentation, is too afraid of how it might be different, too afraid of the knot that is likely to bloom at the base of his cock (which has grown, to Peter’s horror and delight).

Once he feels less likely to pop a boner at the dinner table, he flushes perfunctorily and leaves the bathroom—only to run directly into Tony who pushes past him.

“Sorry kid, got to yack,” he mutters. But then everything about him freezes. Peter sees his own scent, concentrated from his time in the bathroom as it washes over the omega. Tony shudders, eyes rolling. The sound that leaves his mouth can be described as nothing short of a whimper. The green tinge of nausea is replaced with the flush of his own arousal, and Peter can smell it, so good that it hurts, makes him harder than he’s ever been in his life, and this is his omega, his omega who is approaching heat and needs him—

But he is more than that to Peter, too.

Using all his restraint, Peter reaches out for the bathroom door handle and slams the door shut. He hears the soft thud of Tony’s body on the other side, like he has slumped against it. A low groan, muted by the oak.

Peter turns and goes to his room without an explanation, dinner plate still half-full.

-

“JARVIS…”

“I’m here, sir.”

“Protocol Fuck or Die. Who is on my consent list?”

“Just Captain Rogers, sir.”

“Add Peter.”

“Shall I alert him—”

“No—just. I doubt my heat will be bad enough to require an alpha’s—ah—special support, but. Better safe than sorry.”

“As you wish, sir.”

“Oh, and J? Let’s go ahead and make an addendum…”

-

Less than two days later, Tony leaves his bedroom on the Avengers’ floor and goes up to the penthouse. The door locks behind him, and Peter comforts himself with that fact. The man is safe. No one can get in without JARVIS’s say so, and the AI values Tony’s safety above all else. Even if he suffers while he’s there (and that thought alone makes Peter ache in his chest, desperate to help), at least he is safe.

Two days in, a situation across the country calls for some of the Avengers, and Steve, Bucky, Nat and Clint all pack up to head out. They don’t ask Peter to come with them, and the young alpha doesn’t offer—though he hardly knows why. Nat tucks him under her arm and presses a kiss to his forehead when he wishes them safe travels, and please let me know if you need backup.

She smiles, soft. “I think you’re needed here, Pete.”

Peter has no idea what to make of that, and no idea how right she is.

-

“Mister Parker.”

Peter wakes from a restless sleep, sitting straight up in his bed. The room is absolutely dark—the only way he can sleep with his sensitivity issues—but Peter knows that the voice didn’t come from anyone in the room. It came from above. Heart in his throat, he croaks out an affirmation, fearing the worst. Something has gone wrong on the mission with Steve and the others. They are hurt, or worse, dead. Maybe there’s another emergency, this time in New York, and Peter and Sam and Bruce will have to deal with it alone—

“I need you to go directly to the penthouse, and with haste.”

“Penthouse? That’s—that’s off limits. Mr. Stark—”

“Mister Stark’s temperature is reaching dangerous levels, and he is no longer responding to my questions. He requires immediate attention. Do not bother dressing—go straight there.”

Peter rolls out of bed. This is worse than the Avengers being hurt. So much worse. His hands shake as he leaves his room wearing nothing but boxer shorts (do not bother dressing or not, Peter wasn’t going to walk around naked). The lounge is empty and ghostly, moonlight streaming in from the windows and turning every shadow into a monster. Peter has bigger fears now, though.

“It’s his heat?”

“Yes—”

“—and what exactly—I mean, what do you want me to do about it?”

“Now is not the time for me to give you the birds and the bees talk, Mister Parker—”

Peter blanches. The elevator is waiting for him as he steps inside, feels the pull of gravity as he quickly ascends, his hears popping at the change in altitude. “JARVIS, you don’t understand—Mr. Stark, h-he can’t consent during a heat. I would be—it would be—”

“You have his consent. Based on protocol Fuck or Die—”

“I’m sorry what?”

“It’s not uncommon for older omegas to suffer serious health issues while suffering through heats alone and unsuppressed. In the event that an alpha is absolutely required, Mister Stark has a list of preapproved alphas who have his complete consent to bond with him. On such a list is Captain Rogers and, as of earlier this week, yourself.”

Peter gapes. His head spins. Mr. Stark—lists of consent—Peter?

“If it makes you feel better,” JARVIS says. “Had Captain Rogers been here, I would have asked him first.”

The elevator opens, and Peter steps out into the hallway that leads to the penthouse. His stomach is in knots, a tangle of Medusa’s snakes that wriggle and threaten to turn him to stone. His knees are shaking, knocking together in fear that is so potent it’s comical. This is his greatest dream come true (though certainly not happening in the way he had anticipated) but suddenly it is his deepest fear.

“No offense, Mr. JARVIS, but in what world would that make me feel better?” Peter asks, his sweating palm on the doorknob to the penthouse.

“We can debate it another time when Mister Stark isn’t at risk of a febrile seizure.”

The door clicks, lock opening. Steeling himself, Peter opens the door and steps inside.

-

The smell intense: cinnamon rolls, ground coffee beans, caramel sauce so sweet it’s just on the verge of burning. It is right out of Peter’s wet dreams, his cock rushing to fill itself so that it will be useful to the omega in need. The penthouse is a mess when Peter scans it: furniture knocked over, a glass of water shattered on the tiles of the foyer, though the water has nearly evaporated now. Everything is quiet and still. It should be eerie.

But suddenly it isn’t. A change comes over him, a rush of hormones that not only fill his cock but clear his head. It’s like everything he sees is in greater detail, sharp focus, all of his senses on high alert. There are no more nerves, and Peter is filled with the overwhelming confidence that he knows what he’s doing.

“The bedroom, Mister Parker. Quickly, please.”

Peter moves with purpose, ignoring his cock. The bedroom door is only cracked, and he reaches out with a firm hand to push it open the rest of the way.

Tony has taken up residence on the floor beside the bed. The sheets are dragged off of it as if Tony had struggled to pull himself up and lost the strength, choosing instead to curl up around his aching abdomen. Peter gathers all of the strength and calm inside of himself, works to exude it in his very scent (a thing he’s mostly unfamiliar with, but which is apparently a skill akin to wiggling his ears, which he can also do, thanks very much).

Naked, Peter is privy to every inch of tanned skin, the gentle smattering of hair on Tony’s legs, sparser at his thighs. There are no hairs on his chest thanks to the mass of scar tissue where the arc reactor used to be, smooth, pink skin that will never grow hair again. All his skin is covered in sweat, slick and glowing under the dim lights. Then, Tony’s eyes open, nostrils flaring. He turns his head towards where Peter stands in the doorway, teeth chattering from his fever, and the look on his face is pure relief.

“Alpha,” he says, stuttering through his chills.

Peter hushes him, kneeling down to drag the man into his arms. The omega groans in pain when he’s no longer curled around his aching stomach, but then buries his nose in Peter’s neck, hot breath brushing his skin and making goosebumps rise all over Peter. Tony sighs in relief, wrapping himself around the kneeling alpha. Peter can feel Tony’s cock—small, but hard and leaking—pressing against his hip. Pooled on the older man’s abdominals is cum, drying and tacky.

“I recommend a tepid shower, Mister Parker.”

“Start it,” Peter says through his teeth. He shifts up onto one knee, bracing himself so that he can support the larger man’s weight. Tony is mouth at his neck, hips rutting desperately. Peter puts a hand on the man’s lower back and guides him, encourages him, words pouring out of his mouth that he can barely hear over the blood rushing in his ears. “Come on, Mr. Stark, please Mr. Stark, you need to cum. Can you cum like this? Will you try, for me? Now, Omega, now if you can at all—”

Tony shudders, cum splattering Peter’s bare stomach. It burns—every point of contact with the man burns, thanks to the fever.

“God,” Peter groans, throat convulsing. “That was amazing. So good, Mr. Stark, Jesus, that was incredible—”

In the bathroom, the shower is running, cool enough to not create any steam. Peter grits his teeth, hating cold showers, but knowing that his omega needs it. A fever isn’t good for his omega’s brain, and at least the water isn’t cold. That might shock Tony’s system and do more harm than good. Without even stopping to shuck his boxers, Peter slides open the glass shower door and ushers them both inside. When the spray hits him, the omega whines, shrinking away.

“Stay,” Peter says firmly. Tony goes slack, suggestible.

He leaves the front of Tony’s body in the cool spray and stands on his toes to bury his nose in the omega’s neck, scenting him, scraping together every good warm safe happy feeling inside of himself. Tony’s head goes lax, leaning back, water dripping down his throat. The young alpha licks a line up his throat and to the shell of his ear. Such a thing would be weird any other time, but now it’s like there’s a part inside of him that urges him to do it, to leave his mouth on the man and never lift it.

“Peter?” he slurs.

Peter jolts. If Tony is more conscious and aware, that seems like a promising sign. “JARVIS called for me. You’re safe, Mr. Stark,” he says. “I promise.”

Tony smiles, a soft breath coming out almost like a laugh. “I know,” he murmurs. “Jesus, kid, I’m cold.”

“You’re feverish,” Peter says. “JARVIS? Can you tell Mr. Stark’s temperature?”

“It is a toasty 101.7 degrees Fahrenheit, Mister Parker, which is an improvement. I believe a decent bonding session would have a similar therapeutic effect, if the shower isn’t comfortable. And sir, may I say that it’s nice to see you stringing together a full sentence.”

Tony snorts. His voice is weak, but no less snarky. “Thanks, J. Can we get out, Pete? I haven’t taken cold showers since I was fifteen years old.”

“If we get out,” Peter says. “We’ll have to—to bond.”

“Is that—you don’t want that?”

“I do, God, Jesus, yes I do—”

Now Tony does laugh, even as his eyes slip closed in exhaustion. It is likely that without proper care, he has barely slept since his heat started in earnest three days ago. The instincts inside of Peter stir: his omega needs fucked and then he needs rest.

As soon as the cool water is off, Tony is back to stumbling, doubled over in pain, an arm curled around his tender midsection. The cramps come and go while Peter does his best to dry them off, but their hair is still dripping when he can’t take the sounds of pain anymore and guides Tony back to the bedroom. There is nothing on the bed but a fitted sheet, soft as silk, and Tony crawls onto it without prompting.

He sinks immediately into lordosis, ass up, spine curved as he presents himself, forehead pressed to the bed and chest doing its best to follow. This is pornography come to life, Peter thinks. He can see Tony’s hole, wet and dripping. Between his legs are his balls, red and aching, but it’s that hole that makes his fingers ache, that has him reaching out to press a thumb against the rim.

Tony chokes, hips jerking backwards until Peter sinks in to the first knuckle. Tony is loose and pliant, perfect for taking an alpha’s cock and knot.

“Please,” Tony groans into the mattress, shaking all over. “’t hurts, Pete. Please. Inside.”

Peter pulls his thumb free, kneels up onto the bed to shuffle closer, and then sinks two gentle fingers in, slow until they’re swallowed to the hilt. He has to close his eyes, cock aching, knot already throbbing at the base. Inside, Tony is like liquid silk, hot and wet and clinging to his fingers, the internal muscles squeezing and desperate for more to hold on to. The noise Tony lets out is pure sex, a long moan that ends higher and breathier than he’s ever heard the man.

Slowly, Peter pulls his fingers out to the tip—and god, the slide, the wet friction is just as intoxicating, eyes rolling in his skull, blinded to everything but the desperate omega in front of him—before pressing back in. He twists them, circles his hands, crooks them until he finds that spot, the rough bump inside. Tony keens, body spasming as his fists clench at the sheets, his cock spurting. Around his fingers, Tony’s ass flutters. But he needs more. Peter knows.

Soaked boxers abandoned in the bathroom, Peter’s cock is free to dribble and ache, only inches from where it longs to harbor. Brief anxiety has his hand trembling when he reaches down to run a gentle fist from tip down to root. This is the first time he’s touched his cock since he presented—but it feels the same really. Except for the base, where there is a bump, so sensitive that he whines when he runs a curious thumb over it. God, how will that feel inside Tony? Peter can’t even imagine.

Withdrawing his fingers, the omega cries out, hips jerking backwards, desperate to keep the connection. Peter soothes him with a hand on his back, urging him to relax back into the bedspread while Peter kneels up behind him. Their similar heights make this easy—all the important bits are at the perfect levels.

Taking a deep breath, Peter guides the head of his cock to the wet hole. The first touch has him whining, shaking, and if it weren’t for the firm hand on Tony’s back, the omega would likely have taken him to the root by now with the way he is thrusting back, trying to fuck himself on the tip alone. It’s now or never, Peter tells himself. Pressing forward, he sinks in until he can’t anymore. It takes every bit of restraint not to cum immediately, popping his knot in the tightest, wettest, most pleasurable heat he’s ever known. Beneath him, Tony sounds like he’s dying in the best way, groaning.

“Please, alpha, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—”

Everything in him wants to give this man what he needs, so with singular focus, Peter pulls back his hips and lets them snap forward. Tony howls, his elbows bending so that he can grab fistfuls of his hair and pull. Peter lets his instincts do the work, trusts his body to know what is best for himself and his omega, fucking into that tight heat in desperation. The best part of every thrust is bottoming out, the brief pressure of Tony’s fluttering rim around Peter’s blossoming knot, so sensitive it makes him shiver.

“God, Mr. Stark,” Peter pants. The words are torn from his chest: “My omega.”

“Yes, yes, yours, take it, take me,” Tony says, every word punctuated by a hitch in his breath as Peter thrusts in. “Alpha—let me cum, please—”

“Yes,” Peter groans. “You need it, please. Please cum for me.”

Tony cries out, entire body stiffening and going still beneath him—every part of him except for his small cock, spurting weakly and the tight heat around Peter’s cock that flutters, squeezing, choking the life out of him. Peter desperately wants to bring Tony to another orgasm, figuring that the better sated he is, the quicker his fever will fall. But the sounds, the smells, the unbearable pressure around his cock is too much. He can feel it building inside him, balls tightening, knot beginning to swell. There’s no way he can stop it—and Tony needs this too. Needs a knot, for his body to fight the biological havoc his hormones are wreaking on it.

So Peter chases it, fucking Tony right through his orgasm. Every time the knot catches on the rim, Peter thinks this is it, this is it, there’s no way I can push into him, or there’s no way I can pull it out of him, but he does, both of their bodies capable of so much more than he ever knew. Then it hits. Peter shoves the knot past the rim, shrieking as his balls spasm, cum spurting into the omega. Beneath him, Tony shouts something unintelligible, and maybe he cums again, but Peter can’t tell. The world goes white. Nothing exists except for the tight channel around his cock, the rim that’s squeezing his knot, coaxing more and more cum from him.

But one thought comes, strikes him like a lightning bolt straight from Thor’s hammer: bite. His teeth ache down to the roots with as tightly as he clenches them together, mouth watering, desperate to clamp his jaws on that raised spot on Tony’s neck. Break skin. Mate. The urge becomes overwhelming, no way that he can stop it—but instead he turns and bites into the meat of his bicep, breaking skin until blood floods his mouth.

When it finally ends, they are stuck together. Shaking from exertion, Peter still reaches out to help Tony collapse properly onto the bed, then he guides them both onto their sides, his stomach pressed flush against Tony’s back. The omega is shaking all over, so Peter runs his hands over every bit of skin he can, murmuring words of praise, God Mr. Stark, you’re perfect. That was the most amazing thing, thank you so much, thank you.

By the time his knot deflates enough for him to pull out without hurting Tony (and it’s an inordinate amount of time later, Peter things, probably considering it was his first ever knot popped), the bite on his arm has healed. He must still look like a sight, he thinks, mouth covered in flaking, dried blood. Tony is soft and sated when he rolls onto his back, and the only indication he gives that the blood on Peter startles him is a few gentle blinks, like his eyes are blurry and he needs to clear them.

“I almost bit you,” Peter says. “I’m so sorry.”

Tony smiles, eyes already slipping closed. He worms one arm beneath the pillow under his head and lets his eyes shut completely. “Go ahead,” he mumbles. “’m going t’ sleep now.”

Peter smooths the hair out of his face. His chest feels tight, full up with love and longing and absolute adoration. This has been beyond Peter’s wildest dreams: mating Tony, bonding with him for good and not just for now? That is something that Peter can’t even let himself imagine. It’s a pipe dream, a hazy, unclear fantasy. Beside him, Tony is already asleep. The man snores—wait until Ned finds out.

“Mister Stark’s temperature is returning to normal boundaries, I am happy to report.”

Peter breathes a sigh of relief. He barely knew how much tension was in him until he heard those words, until he knew that Tony would be okay. His body relaxes, experiencing a peace he has never before known. Here, with this man he loves more than anything, knowing they are safe and that Tony is content. “Thank you, JARVIS. I’m glad you woke me.”

“As am I. Mister Parker, I believe there is one other matter that I must bring to your attention.”

“What is it?”

“It is another protocol that Mister Stark put in place. A list he created exclusively for you.”

-

It is a week later before Tony is well enough to leave his penthouse. The man has lost all the weight he put on and more, even as Peter’s constant insistence that he eat whenever he could stomach it. Despite the copious amounts on incredible sex they shared, Peter can’t help but be glad that Tony’s heats only come twice a year. Any more than that might genuinely kill the man, his legs shaking, leaning on Peter as they enter the Avengers living area.

General cries of greeting and joy rise up around the floor. Steve pulls the man into a hug before he thinks otherwise, his eyes finding Peter’s over the omega’s shoulder. But Peter isn’t jealous, just watches with a happy, soft smile. He sees the exact moment that Steve breathes in and smells the change in the omega’s scent, and Peter knows the look on his face must be that of the sorest winner, smug, and unbearably in love.

Steve pulls back and gently tugs at the collar of Tony’s shirt, exposing just the smallest hint of the healing mating bite. Peter’s own has already healed.

Bucky can’t help but frown from where he stands behind Steve. His eyes flash hot like coals, accusatory, pinning Peter in place. “You mated him? He was in heat.”

Tony waves a hand. “We had a sort of—withstanding agreement. Didn’t we, J?”

“That you did, sir. I would not let anything untoward happen to Mister Stark under my watch.”

“Hear that?” Tony asks, stalking to the refrigerator. “I have protocols in place for every possible sequence of events, and giving hot young alphas the consent to mate me for life is a very advantageous outcome, if I do say so myself. Hey—fruit goes on the top shelf, heathens, not in the drawer. I’m out of commission for two weeks and this is what happens—”

“You have, what, procedures in place? For every possible sequence of events?” Bucky asks, his arms crossed.

Tony reappears from the refrigerator, a take-out contained in his hands. He cracks it open, Styrofoam screeching, to appraise the insides. Whatever is there must please him, because he bumps the door closed with one hip and goes for a fork. “Huh?” he asks, scooping out strands of angel hair pasta. “Oh. Yeah—I do. By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail.”

“Who said that?” Natasha asks. “Was that Franklin?”

“What, it wasn’t me?” Tony asks.

“Wait, I want to hear more about these procedures, especially any that involve me,” Bucky asks. They all gravitate around the counter, leaning against the marble. Peter can’t help but feel that the turmoil of the last month has ended and now things are—not normal. But better than normal. His family, his pack, they are stronger than ever.

“I could tell you, snowflake,” Tony says around a mouth of pasta. “But then I’d have to kill you.”

-

tag list: (and I know I’m missing so many of you right now, I’m sorry, I’ll work on it, feel free to continue to let me know if you want to be tagged or would rather not be. @shinycreatoroafbonk @sadbumblingmess @parkerslutt @css1992 @starkerotic @rogerthat-captain @prettyboy-parker @onemadeofglass @kirtthana @deliciousflapbanditfarm @kiaorauniverse @loki-iwanttobeking @parleroumourirr @bizzlepotter @von--gelmini 

[orangetail-works]

A Phoenix and a Raven: Mission Impossible

A/N: The prompt for this one is a little long, but I think it would be impossibly cute.  PROMPT: Person A was sent to kill Person B but they got hurt and now Person B is naively nursing Person A back to health and calling them cute pet names and Person A just cannot do this.   It turned out to be its own monster, let me tell you.  A lot longer than I thought it would be and so different than what I originally planned for plot.  Once I start typing, all plans were out the door.  Happy reading!

Chapter: Mission Impossible

“Well, it looks like everything is in order.  You will have a protection order if you so choose and an unmarked vehicle parked on your block,” the officer read off from a page and stood up to stretch out his legs. His deep voice echoed off the walls of the dank and blank walls of the interrogation room walls around them making it seem more like a cave or dungeon, “Do you have any questions?”

A younger man sat behind the table, his hands in his lap as he scanned his eyes around the room and then to the officer in front of him, “Is all this really all that necessary?  He doesn't even know who I am.”

“You can't think that he doesn't,” the officer warned and sat down across from him again, “You are the only witness that we have against Stefan Barnes.”

“I'm not even sure if what you're saying is what I actually saw,” he argued and leaned on the table.  He folded his hands over one another on the steel surface, “You all are making speculations at this point.”

The officer opened the statement that he just signed, “You saw Mr. Barnes walk into the coffee house and joined Henry Perce at the table.  After they talked over a few items- including the addition of Stefan to the man's will as successor- Henry was distracted.  You noticed Stefan add something to his cup.  A sip later and the man is dead.  Yes, you don't know what was in that addition, but you can see where we would connect the dots.”

“It could have been sugar and the poor guy choked on the bagel he was eating!”

“And the coroner just happened to find a fatal dose of Atropine in the system?”

The guy leaned back in his chair a little exasperated, “Why would Barnes single me out?”

“How many other patrons were in that coffee shop at the time?”

“We have been over this.  Other than them, it was me and two men at the front.”

“Those other two men are already dead.  Car wreck, highly suspicious,” the officer shook his head, “Mr. Barnes has connections to the darker parts of our city.”

“Like?”

“Like assassins.”

“Assassins?” a moment passed as he waited for the punchline, but it never came about, “I'm starting not to take this seriously.  If you think that this man is truly guilty and you need my help, I will.  I will testify that I was in the coffee shop, enjoying my morning when a gentleman died and I saw something go into his cup before hand.  But I don't think that statement is worth my life.  I doubt they would think that either.  Any lawyer worth their merit could argue what went into that cup.”

“Or just rid of the problem to begin with,” the officer argued back, but then shook his head, “Don't come back to haunt us when you get taken out by someone like Black Feather, Phoenix or the Green Curse.”

“I am an insignificant man in the larger realm of things,” he pushed up from the chair, “Can I go now?”

“You are free to go and live your life.  However short you make it, Mr. Fitheach.”

“Diaval, please,” he threw back and then walked out the door.

Diaval left the police station and shook his head at the slight audacity of the officers.  How a morning coffee and something to nibble on can lead to a murder investigation he had no idea.  Now, all he wanted was something to eat and head home.

As he reached his car in the parking lot, he noticed a small puddle of liquid from under one of the back tires.  He leaned down and took a peek to see liquid not only falling from the one tire, but from the other back tire as well.  He hummed to himself and leaned back.

“That doesn't look good, 'ol girl,” he patted the trunk of his car from the bumper.

He frowned at his reflection in the chrome and noticed another form behind him.  He looked over his shoulder and his chin nearly dropped to the ground. Diaval looked up to see one of the most stunning women he had ever met.  Her eyes nearly glowed green with hazel gold, sculpted cheek bones and her brunette hair straight and shining under the sun.  A small shoulder bag hung at her side.  She wore a flowing dress that still was able to show off her slim figure and a short dark jacket and covered her top.  Her hands were behind her back as she looked over him.  

“Is everything all right?” she only lifted her brow as she looked him over.

He quickly scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off in front of her, unsure of how to continue without making himself out being a complete fool. His mouth opened and closed in an attempt to say something. Anything.

“With your car?” she asked as if she needed to explain her inquiry further.

“Oh!” Diaval turned back to his car and then back to her, “She's a bit of an older vehicle.  Been falling apart for years.  Need to get myself another new model, you know?”

“Is uh... she safe to drive?”

“Probably not,” Diaval shrugged and bumped the tire with his toe, “I am no mechanic, but she seems to be leaking some kind of fluid.  No problem, I will catch a cab more than likely.”

At that point his stomach began to growl and he looked mortified as he looked from his stomach to the woman.  He scratched at the back of his head in embarrassment, “Sorry, I'm a bit peckish.  Been in a meeting all morning.”

“If you head down 5th street, there is a lovely little bistro-” she offered and began to point before she stopped and took his hand, “Come with me.”

“W-wh-hat?” he stammered, but let her lead him irregardless.

They found a booth with no problem and she sat down across from him.  She peered over at him, her eyes narrowed as she looked him over. He was nothing special as far as he knew.  Dark hair, darker eyes and a penchant for dark clothes as well.  He desperately hoped that she didn't think he was into the darker side of life.  He actually enjoyed the brighter side quite a bit.

“You are a bit of a quiet one, aren't you?” she asked and took off the short jacket. It slid off her shoulders and fell beside her in the booth seat.  She grabbed the menu and began to peruse the selection in practiced familiarity.

“Just wait until you get to know me,” Diaval shook himself out of a quiet stupor, “Then it's a bit of a difference, I am afraid.”

“Afraid?  You talk too much?” she asked with a slight frown though she kept her eyes on the menu.

“I wouldn't say that either,” he shrugged and tried to distract himself with the menu as well, “I don't slip secrets or anything of the sort, but once I am familiar with you, I start to spout gibberish or facts about things that I find interesting.  My interests aren't always everyone's cup of tea.”

There was a slight pause and he flicked his eyes up to find her staring at him again as if waiting for something.

“Such as?” she prompted.

“Oh, well,” he looked out the window for a moment, his brain scrambling to remember his own interests.  Sitting not to far away from them on a small tree were two ravens and he smiled, “Ravens.”

“Ravens?” she tilted her head and another brow lift.

“Yes, did you know they have to be the most intelligent of birds?  Right up there with chimps and dolphins as far as brains in the animal kingdom.”

“You don't say,” she said in a aloof tone, but he saw the slight smirk in the corner of her lips.

The waiter came back to the table, “Are you ready?”

“We will both have the lobster bisque with a basket of french bread to share with extra sharp cheddar,” she handed her and his menu to the waiter without another word.  The waiter bowed and walked to the kitchen.

“How did you know I wanted the bisque?” he tilted his head.

“I'm a very observant individual.  I saw your eyes drift to it more than once,” she nodded and looked at him again.  She leaned forward on the table, her perfect skin almost luminescent in the bistro's dim lights, “Tell me something else.”

“About ravens? Sure, they are very adaptable.  Able to trick most of their predators to actually hunt for them.  They can mimic a wolf's howl so that a pack will take down an elk or open up a fresh kill and the raven will feast on what is left. Not only that, they usually know if they are being watched and will try to trick other birds on where their hoard is hidden.  Clever things.  They are also very empathetic.  Care very fondly for one another.”

“You are passionate about them.”

“They're on my family crest.  I started young,” he scratched the back of his head a little in embarrassment.

“Do you see some raven qualities in yourself?” she asked as the bread and cheddar was placed between them.  She immediately took a slice of the bread and a piece of cheese to her plate to nibble on.

“Adaptability, I would say so,” he nodded and then shrugged, “I don't know about intelligence as I keep putting myself in bad situations.”

“Is that why you were in the police station?” she asked.

“More of wrong place, wrong time, but nothing on the criminal spectrum, I assure you.”

She hummed to herself and took a bite of the french bread and the cheese.  She shifted in her seat and then her jacket fell to the floor.  She muttered something as she put a hand to her mouth so she wouldn't spit out her bite.

“I got it,” Diaval assured her and picked up the jacket from the floor.  He handed it back to her and she nodded her thanks after she finally swallowed.  She put the jacket on the other side of her.

“The bread and cheese is so good here,” she mentioned and looked up at the waiter as he set down their bisque, “Thank you.”

“I am more of meat eater,” Diaval mentioned and picked up his spoon to dig in to his bisque, “Even if it is shellfish.”

She looked a little disappointed, but continued with her meal.

The rest of the meal was spent talking over his other interests- food critiquing mostly.  Then it turned to her quite quickly as he wanted to know more about her.

Hesitantly at first, she told him very vague things of her childhood and her family.  Her parents had been killed on the same day, leaving her distant relatives to care for her.  The harsher life that she fell into after being used to more grand things when her parents were still alive.  She even went into the silly crush in her youth that turned into a dead end.   After minutes slipped by and an hour almost passed them by, she relaxed and more of herself opened to the stranger.  Her standoffish nature melted away with the minutes and she even found herself smiling at something that he said, but then the smile would turn sad and she would build another wall up behind her eyes.  

“I still manage to find myself still at his beck and call,” she sighed heavily and scooped at the last of her bisque with the last bit of her first slice of bread.  She popped it into her mouth and then sighed, “He calls for favors and I fulfill them.  Even now, when he has moved on and married and has a child of his own.”

“You still love him?” Diaval asked and poked his spoon in her direction.

“I don't even know anymore,” she answered truthfully and looked at his bowl, “Are you going to finish?”

“I am finished,” he pouted with a slight chuckle and looked at his bowl which held smeared remnants of his bisque.

“No, you are not,” she frowned and reached over to pick up another piece of french bread.  She put it in front of his face to show him, then mopped the bottom of her bowl with the bread until it was clean and took the bite that had the bisque.  She nodded then as if to show him that was the way it was done.

“If you say so,” he huffed and frowned at his bowl, “I think that I'm all full.  You know, we've been here talking this whole time and I don't even know your name or why you'd even want to sit down with me.”

There was a long silence and he looked up to find her eyes dilated and her breath shallow.  She blinked slowly a couple of times before she frowned a looked at the table confused.

“Are you okay?”

“I- I- so stupid,” she gasped between breaths and dug into her purse.  She brought out a vile and drank some of the substance inside.  She took deep breaths after and continued to blink slowly.

“You need help, I'll call-”

“No!”she yelled tough it was quite slurred and put her hand over his, “No ambulance, no police... please.  I'll be fine- had medicine.”

“Are you having a reaction to the food?” he asked and put his other hand over hers.

“You could say that,” she smirked and began to waiver in her seat.

“I need to get you out of here,” he whispered to her and she only bobbed her head.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“She's having a bad reaction to the food.  I don't know why,” he said and walked around the booth to grab her jacket and threw it over her shoulders, “I will pay in a moment, but we have to leave now.”

“We did not know that she was allergic to shellfish-”

“It wasn't the shellfish,” Diaval muttered, “She got sick after eating more of that bread.”

“Take your wife home, sir.  We will take care of the check,” a manager came up from behind the waiter, “She doesn't look well to stay.”

“Thank you,” Diaval didn't bother in correcting his assumption and picked her off her seat.  He pulled her arm over his neck as she wobbled as soon as she stood.  He held her tight around her waist and pulled her against him so she wouldn't fall to the floor.  They made their way out to the curb and waved down a taxi.  He settled her in the cab and then sat next to her, “Where are we going?”

“Going?  Are we on a trip?” she asked with a hand to her chest.

“One of us is,” Diaval noted and looked to the cab driver, “Home it is.”

He gave the cab driver his address and they were off.

Once they got to the apartment building Diaval helped her out of the cab, to the elevator and all the way in to his studio apartment.  He laid her gently on the bed and headed to the sink.  He dampened a washcloth with cool water and came back over to her.  He patted her forehead with the cloth and noticed that her breathing had finally evened out.

“Are you still with me?” he asked and brushed the washcloth carefully over her forehead, “You gave me quite a scare back there.”

“Barely,” she huffed and her eyes fluttered open, “I'll be okay.  Took medicine. Do not call-”

“I know, no doctors, no cops,” he smirked, “Just like me to find a stunning woman with a possible sketchy past.  Don't even know your name.  This is what I mean about the lack of intelligence.”

She gave a soft smile back at him and put a gentle hand at his cheek, “Such a empathetic raven, you are.”

“That's me,” he nodded, “Are you okay to sleep?”

“Sleep would be good,” she nodded and turned her head into the pillow.

“Well, we may be here for a little while,” he hummed and went to re-wet the cloth.

Diaval didn't leave her side for more than a few moments at a time over the next few hours.  She would talk in her sleep of ripped wings and dangerous places, but nothing that made sense.  He trusted that she knew what she had talked about with the medication and he hoped to God that she would wake up good as new.  Evening time came about and he cooked basic bacon and eggs at his stove as that was all he had in the fridge.  He was not used to company and he definitely did not see her coming into his life.

“Are you cooking bacon at this hour?”

He quickly turned to the voice from the side of the room.  She sat up in the bed, a hand to her head as she blinked and tried to make sense of her surroundings.

“... and eggs,” he added with a nod.  He took the pan off the fire and walked over to her, “Do  you need anything?  You've been out for the past five or six hours now.”

“Water,” she said and grimaced as she held her head.

“As my mistress commands,” he nodded and went to the fridge to pull out a bottled water.  He brought it back to her and sat at the end of the bed.

“Mistress?” she asked as she took a sip.

“I still don't know your name,” he offered back and shrugged his shoulders, “With you getting as sick as you did, I thought that you had the right to order me about if you needed.  So, what else does my mistress ask of me?”

“I have been out cold for the last five or six hours and the worst you have done is come up with a nickname for me?” she asked a little shocked.

“Another thing you need to know of ravens,” he stood up and pulled at the front of his shirt, “We are gentlemen through and through.”

“And here I thought that you could have been a dragon,” she added on.

“I bet if you give me the right motivation,” he shrugged and turned to the stove, “I'll get you a plate.”

She watched after him and looked over the side of the bed where her purse laid on the floor.  It was still partially open, but she found all of her items there.  Everything that she had was still in the same pockets, the same lay out that she had meticulously put them in.  He didn't even look for a wallet- a phone.  He just trusted her to know and do what she asked of him.

“You trusted me...” she whispered.  Then to the side of her bag was a bowl of water and a few drying washcloths on the rim.  He had cared for her during the time she was out.  She knew so many people who would have left her on the curb, but he took a stranger into his home and helped her in whatever way he could, “You tried to help me.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing with that medication, but you were getting warm and weren't sweating.  I hoped that you weren't running a fever. Whatever you had a reaction to from the bread was bad,” he said as he came back over to her and handed her the plate with a fork, “Hope you can eat something now, Mistress.”

“I don't need you to call me Mistress,” she narrowed her eyes playfully at him.

“Well, then I will need to call you something,” he smirked and went to grab his own plate.  He sat down at the end of the bed again, “You can call me Diaval.”

She looked him over and shook her head before she let out a single syllable, “Mal.”

“Okay, Mal,” he smiled brightly and then began to eat.

She took a long look at him one more time before she began to eat.

A few hours passed since she first woke up and during that time they found more to talk about between his food critiquing and her mysterious food allergy to pass the time.  He also showed her his collection of polished gem stones as he was always drawn to shiny things and strange little nick-knacks.  She told him some of the gemstones were used in a variety of ways and he was enamored with her knowledge.

She looked at his bookcase where there was a picture of him and a little girl with golden curls, “You have a daughter?”

“Oh, no,” Diaval smirked as he caught sight of the picture she was looking at, “That's Rory.  She's my little sister.”

“She doesn't look like you.  I don't see the family resemblance.”

“Not blood related,” Diaval walked up to her and pointed to the shirts that they were wearing in the picture, “Part of the big brother program. Knew her since she was just a little thing.  Her parents aren't around much.  She usually stays with her aunts for the most part. Her mother's busy with her own father and his business and I never met Rory's father.  She doesn't talk about him much.”

“Hm,” Mal hummed and drew a finger down the girl's hair, “Pretty little thing.”

“Turning sixteen in a few months.  Throwing her a party since her father won't.”

“You sound more like a father than a brother,” she folded her arms over her chest.

“Sometimes feels like it,too.  I call her my little fledgling,” he took a pause and looked at Mal, “She would get a kick out of you.”

“Would she?”

“Always likes a puzzle, just like me,” he laughed at her expression.

She paused for a moment as if in deep thought, “You are a good man, Diaval.”

“I don't know about that, I'm just trying to do my best with the cards I'm dealt,” he felt his cheeks heat for a moment and walked toward the washroom to make sure he didn't embarrass himself.

“Diaval?”

“Yes, Mistress?” he asked as he reached the door.

She frowned again at the nickname, “Thank you again for your hospitality... and the meal.”

“Anytime,” he hesitantly turned back at to her and leaned on the door frame, “Would be quite happy to do it again, in fact.”

“We shall see, you silly bird,” she teased him.

He excused himself to the restroom, but when he came back out she was gone and there was a small handwritten 'Thanks again' on his bed.

“We shall see,” he whispered and let out a sigh before actually getting some sleep.

Over the course of the next few days, Diaval was able to pick up his car from the police lot.  He found out that it was his brake lines that were leaking from behind his tires.  Definitely not a good sign.  He was happy that he noticed the leak, otherwise he would have been devastated if something happened to Mal if he had tried to drive them to his apartment in his car after her food allergy episode.  The cops were even more paranoid- as was the usual.

He walked down the sidewalk on his way to the market for some essentials when he turned the corner and ran right into someone.  They both spun for a moment and he landed with his back against the brick wall and the other person right in front of him.  He looked down and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Mistress!”

“Hello, silly bird,” she greeted and dusted herself off as she took a step back from him.

“I'm not just a bird, a raven,” he corrected and pushed himself from the wall.

She turned to one side and pulled him with her as he heard something hit the wall where he just was, “What are you doing, running around without your car?”

“She's falling apart,” he shrugged.  He heard something hit the ground behind him and he turned his head to look, “Ready for a new one, I think.”

“You could always walk and taxi,” she shifted again and pulled him with her with a grip at his sleeve.

“I guess- what are you doing?” he asked with a chuckle.

“Thinking,” she narrowed her eyes, “Are you free tonight?”

“I- I... uhm, yeah,” he muttered out.

“Good, come with me,” she looped her arm through his and began to walk down the opposite corner of the building.

“Where are you leading me this time?” he asked, but was happy to be led.

“Dancing,” she smiled up at him as she led him to a little hole in the wall dance bar, “It's as close to flying as you can get around here.”

The next few weeks continued on much like that day.  To or from work, Diaval would bump into Mal or vice versa and they spent the rest of the day or evening together.  They would have dinner- taking great care with any gluten- or would enjoy one another's company in an outing.  He even introduced her to Rory on one occasion.  She was a bit uncomfortable with the teenager at first, but warmed up to her in mere moments. Rory had a way to do that with people.  When she had left to walk to the town car her mother sent for her she had hugged Mal goodbye.  It shocked the usual stoic woman who lightly hugged her back.

“She is quite delightful,” Mal said as they waved down at Rory from his window, “You've done a wonderful job with her.”

“She's a good kid all her own.  Didn't need me,” he waved her compliment away and then turned from the window.  He walked to the television and held up a couple of disks, “What's it to be tonight?  Horror or slap stick?”

“You know I enjoy a good blood bath,” she smiled warmly over her shoulder.  He went back to the player to get the disk ready while she turned back to the window.  She looked up at the top of the next building over and frowned.

“Are you ready?” he asked from the couch.

“Yes, just going to close the blinds,” she said quietly and she moved to do just that.

The court hearing finally came and Diaval was asked to come to play witness.  He dressed his best as it was still a court room and rolled his neck. He really disliked court.  Even if he was just to be a witness.

“Are you sure you should do this?” Mal asked from the end of the bed as he fiddled with his tie, “The police are constantly at your block and haven't lost sight of you in weeks.  What if they really have something to this whole assassination attempt?”

“If there was a hit on me, I would have noticed it by now,” he rolled his eyes and walked over to her.  He knelt down in front of her to look her directly in the eyes, “And I wouldn't have let you anywhere near me if it meant that my dear mistress was in danger.”

“I know you wouldn't,” she pinched his chin playfully and looked at the mess of a tie he had on, “Let me see this.”

He sat still as she fixed his tie and pulled on it to make it secure.  He watched her face as she concentrated on the knot.  Her straight hair fell flawlessly over her shoulders and her lips pressed and puckered as she worried over the tie in her hands.  Her beautiful eyes swept from one side of his collar to the other and then to his face when she had finished.  For a moment he couldn't catch his breath.

He coughed into his hand to clear his throat, “How do I look?”

“All preened and ready to go,” she smiled and carded a hand through his hair, “Handsome raven as ever.”

“You coming with?”

“Of course I am,” she smirked and followed him to the door, “Need to make sure you stay in one piece.”

“And just what are you going to do to an assassin should one come after me?” he asked as he opened the door for her.

“You'd be surprised.”

After the hearing they stood outside the courtroom and heard that the case was going to trial.  In part thanks to his testimony and there were also more factors and evidence to consider.

Diaval nodded to her and then toward the elevator.  He laughed to himself as they waited, “Well, if they wanted me dead before, it's going to be worse now.”

“Stop talking like that,” she hit his chest with the back of her hand.

“Should I take them up on the safe house?” he joked, earning yet another hit to his chest.

“Mister Fitheach!” a voice called from down the hall.

Both Mal and he turned to see Stefan and his lawyer walk toward them.  Mal stood in front of Diaval as they approached.  Diaval put his hand on her arm and took the step in front of her in response.

“Don't think it's a good move to talk to a witness outside of court, Mister Barnes,” Diaval said and stuck his hands in his pockets, “I don't have anything for you.”

“All my client wants is the truth,” the attorney summarized.

“Then he needs to remember what he put in that cup of coffee.  I told them what I saw. I didn't say it was poison and I didn't say it was creamer.  The jury can think for themselves on the contents.”

“You little piece of crap,” Stefan took a step toward him.

Mal was instantly in front of Diaval and took a long look at Stefan in the eyes.

“Mally,” Stefan breathed out and looked from her to Diaval and then back again, “Not as strong as I thought you were.”

“Stronger than you ever dared to hope,” she growled back at him.

“I would sleep with one eye open, Fitheach,” Stefan said as he still stared at Mal, “She's not who you think she is.”

“Come on, Stefan,” his attorney pulled at his client's arm to the elevator.

As soon as the elevator door closed Mal let out a breath.

“I didn't know you knew him.”

“I thought that I did,” she muttered and looked at Diaval who just looked confused and a little hurt.  She took another deep breath in, “I need to tell you something.”

“Something that is better in private, I think,” he nodded and pushed her toward the other elevator that arrived.

Once they made it to his apartment, he threw off his jacket and pulled off his tie.  He sat on his small couch and looked up at her, “So?”

Mal shuffled on her feet and opened her mouth a few times to start, but couldn't get very far past one word.  He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head as she struggled with words.  He got back off his couch and went to the cupboard for a glass and something harder to drink than water.

“This is harder for me than you think it should be,” she finally said after he took a shot.

“He's the childhood crush, I get it,” Diaval nodded and turned to lean back against his stove, his arms crossed over his chest, “Did he send you to- what?  Provoke me?  Threaten me?  Distract me?”

“No, he... he,” she muttered and let out a muffled scream from between her teeth in frustration, “He did much worse.”

“How's that?” Diaval tilted his head to the side in wonder and then shook his head, “How could it be any worse than throwing your ex at a man even though she still had feelings for you?  What kind of man would do that to someone who clearly cares for him?”

Mal's lips trembled a little and she looked away for a moment to pace.

“Did he tell you to keep seeing me?  Running into me?”

“No!” she fumed, her temper now beginning to show.

“Then why do it?!”

“To keep you safe!” she screamed and threw her bag across the room and onto his bed.

“Safe?  From what?”

“From others like me,” her shoulders dropped and she stared at him with a gloss over her eyes, “Others that would take my place and try to kill you.”

“Kill me?” he narrowed his eyes at her and opened his mouth to say something else, until he ran right at her.  He caught her around the middle and they both dropped to the floor just a moment before the vase behind her shattered.  He stayed over her for a moment before he looked over at his windows, now wide open instead of closed and locked like before. He then looked up at the wall and noticed the red dot that had been over Mal's chest.  He looked down at her and raised a single finger, “We are not done with this discussion.”

She nodded and looked toward the bed where she threw her purse, “My gun is in my purse.”

“You smuggled a gun into the courthouse?”

“I always have a firearm handy,” she said nonchalantly.

“Strange,” Diaval muttered and then rolled to his couch a foot away and hit the side panel of the base. The panel slid out and pulled a small glock with a silencer.  He handed it to her and then pulled out a rifle with the same outfitting before he closed it up again.  He checked for ammunition and then looked back at her again, “I'm the same way.”

Her eyes were so large at that point, he didn't know if they were going to fall out of her head.

“Get this guy off our tail and then we have a long night of questions ahead of us. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she breathed out.

“I'll take the East window.”

“I'll take the West,” she nodded and they both crawled toward their windows.

“Think you know who it is?” Diaval asked as he carefully set up his rifle and looked out the scope.

“If I had to guess, it would be Borra,” she explained and tried to get a good feel on where he was set up, “If there was anyone that would take the contract on you and get to take me out as a bonus, it would be him.”

“Type?”

“Bulky, likes his muscles and rifle do the talking,” Mal growled, “Not much going on up stairs.”

“Good, won't be as big of a mess.”

“He's on the Southern edge.  Laser scope.”

“I see him,” Diaval focused his sight and just as the laser pointed his way again, he squeezed and no more laser.  No more shooter.

“Hold for a moment,” Mal said before either of them moved from their places.  A second lazer came into view from a story down from Borra, “There is another.”

“Yeah, I see the end of the rifle, but not them,” Diaval frowned and leaned back, “They have a better shot at me then I do of them.”

He heard the soft shot through the silencer from his other window.  The end of the other rifle fell back and then it was still.  He looked over her Mal who shook her head and stood from her spot at the window.

“You hit them with the glock?”

“I had a shot,” she said as if he had insulted her, “Give me some credit.”

He finally shut his window and walked over to shut hers, “Okay, so questions and answers.”

“How?” she asked and held up the glock, “You're a food critic.”

“Part-time food critic,” he corrected and took the glock from her before he went to put it back into the couch hide hole, “You know how I wasn't worried about assassins?”

“Yes, I thought that you were being way too under prepared for it.”

“Ever heard of Black Feather?”

“That's you?”

He laughed, “I really had hoped that they would pick up on the feathers left on the bodies belonged to a raven, but when you leave it to the media to name you...”

“Raven... you and ravens,” she shook her head and sat on the back of the couch to face him.

“Like you should talk,” he smirked and sat next to her, “Phoenix.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since you picked me up from the police parking lot,” he admitted and looked at the floor at their feet, “I knew that someone was after me when my break lines were cut.  Then a gorgeous woman takes me to lunch out of no where?  What did you have behind your back at the car?”

“Injectable nightshade,” she said quickly as if to soften the blow, “You saw me quick.  I'm glad you did.”

“Good trick with the jacket at the bistro,” he shook his finger at her, “Would have tricked most men.  I'm sorry I didn't stop you from eating that second slice.  I thought that you knew which slices were safe to ingest since you put the poison on there.”

She laughed under her breath, “Yes, that.  I got distracted.”

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” he smiled and bumped her shoulder with his, “I distracted you into poisoning yourself.  That is a new one.”

“Stop that, you insufferable raven,” she rolled her eyes at his laughter and looked at his profile, “Then you knew what I was doing after that day.”

“You probably tried to get the gang to call off the hit on me on the days following our meeting,” he guessed at which she nodded and then he frowned, “But once you found out someone else tried to take up the bounty, you came to keep me out of harms way- you know, I thought those were bullets hitting behind me.”

“They were.”

“What changed from today where they targeted you too?”

“Stefan,” she shook her head and her teeth ground together, “He put the hit on you to begin with, just like the other men who were caught in that coffee shop with you.  He asked me to take care of it.  When he saw me with you today, he finally realized that I truly wasn't going to go through with it.  I wasn't going to kill you.  I was going to protect you.  I then became the second target.”

Diaval took a moment and finally looked back at her, “Not that I'm glad you didn't keep trying to kill me after your disastrous first attempt, but why didn't you?”

She looked at him, deep in his dark eyes and shook her head, “I was being stupid and reckless and sentimental...”

He chuckled and she laughed lightly with him.

She took his hand in hers to poke at his palm, “And, I may just had fallen in love with you.”

“After that first day?”

“No, I knew you were a good man after that first day,” she rectified and kept a hold of his hand, drawing over the lines in his palm, “Then I got to know you, and Rory.  More and more and it just grew.  You were the first one to genuinely ask after me.  About me.”

Her head suddenly lifted in a single notion, “You did want to know me?”

“Yeah, I did,” Diaval nodded and pulled at the hand that was in his, “I still do.”

“After everything that I told you?  After you know what I am?”

“A killer just like me?”

“You kill the bad guys.  You're a vigilante and a hired gun for those you deem worthy. I've read up on you,” she smirked, “The blood on your hands is merited, mine is dirty... so very dirty.”

“Blood is blood. We've both done things that we regret- some things that we will never speak of because we think it will label us monsters.  Things we blame ourselves for.  I know your track record too.  Every single target,” he answered and took a deep breath.  He put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her tight to his side, “The worst part is, I love you anyway.”

She smiled up at him and then leaned her head on his shoulder as he hugged her to him.

“I need to let you know something,” he whispered into her hair above her.

“More?” she asked as she pulled away.

“Yeah,” he squinted and rubbed the back of his head, “I was supposed to kill you too.”

“What?” she frowned.

“After you killed me, actually,” he chuckled a little, “Stefan tried to contact Black feather to take out another hit man after they finished with their target.  He wanted to tie up loose ends.  I think he figured out that wasn't going to happen either.  He kept asking, I kept ignoring him.  He finally gave up.”

“So, we were asked by the same man to kill each other?” she asked and narrowed her eyes at him, “I think that we should at least let him know that the contracts cannot be completed.  Don't you?”

“Absolutely,” he nodded as she tried to pull away from him.  He caught her arm and pulled her back to sit in front of him, “But before we do-”

She looked at him in question until he leaned forward and kissed her.  His hand lifted to gently caress her cheek and fingers gently stroked the hair pinned behind her ear.  She smiled into the kiss and wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him closer.  She nearly crawled into his lap as he tried to steer them to the bed.

Much later that night, they found themselves wrapped in the sheets in his bed as they planned their first of many team contracts.

[oasisbloom]

she watched the clock intently.  mister nine was thirty seconds over and counting.  hand hovering over her pistol,  she earnestly hoped that her partner would magically appear,  objective completed.  vivi was no fighter,  but she was the best driver that baroque works could ever hope to have.  the position afforded her some semblance of security.  safe in her vehicle,  she was only ever required to get her hands dirty if it seemed like things were really getting out of hand.  as the seconds turned into minutes,  she was getting the creeping sensation that shit was most definitely hitting the fan.

had you asked her a couple of years ago,  vivi would have never imagined herself in this position.  there were winding roads that lead her to becoming a baroque works agent,  all of which pained her to even think about.  there were days when she couldn’t even recognize herself in the mirror.  still,  she had long since put all her eggs into one basket.  there was no turning back,  even if she wanted to. 

she ended her waiting game the moment the third minute passed.  every other assignment had gone off without a hitch.  together with mister nine,  she had quite the reputation.  she had full confidence in her partner but for him to be stalled meant that there was trouble brewing. vivi popped open the driver’s door,  gun tucked gently into its holster.  the towering mansion only had a handful of lights on and she only had a vague idea of its layout.  she was the getaway driver,  for god’s sake!  as she approached,  she noticed that the front door was ajar.  nine had been instructed to go through the second floor window.

there had to be others here.  // @pilawforhire

vivi swallowed the lump in her throat,  nudging the door open with her toe.  the stench of blood hit her like a brick.  on either side of the door were two incapacitated guards---  a fact that might not have concerned her if she didn’t notice that they were definitely not taken down by mister nine.  before she could inspect the bodies further,  the sound of furniture breaking caught her attention.  without hesitation,  vivi headed towards the source of the sound,  coming to stop right in front of where she assumed was the library.

inside,  she noted several armed individuals stuck in a standstill,  mister nine among them.  she recognized a few others whether it be by face or outfit.  were they all really after the same guy?  he was meant to be a brutal example of what happens to snitches.  her blood ran cold.  it would be advantageous for her to not make herself known,  but she wasn’t too sure that nine could hold up on his own while she formulated a plan.  wouldn’t it be nice if everyone could just get along and agree to kill their target together and then split the benefits after?  she almost made herself laugh. the tension was suffocating.  the only one speaking was the man of the hour,  a sweaty,  ragged mess who was trying to convince this hoard of trained assassins to not do the one thing they were being paid to do.  she had the feeling that his begging was getting him nowhere.  

“ oh,  screw this, “  she heard mister nine say,  his snooty drawl unmistakable.  vivi wasn’t much of a curser but there was no stopping her from uttering a distinct,  “ shit. “ 

in a blink of an eye,  all hell broke loose.  vivi charged the door,  making a bee line for mister nine.  he was in the middle of clubbing a thug in the face when he finally noticed her,  a look of relief on his face.  there would be time for well deserved thank yous later.  among a hurricane of splinters and broken glass,  she dove for cover behind an overturned coffee table only to feel a searing pain run through her leg.  she hissed,  immediately clutching the wound.  vivi drew her leg close,  wincing at the damage.  she was no doctor but she knew that no exit hole meant that the bullet was still in there somewhere.  just her luck.  blood seeped through her fingers as she applied pressure to her leg. 

she had to get to nine.  there as no way this was how they were going out.  vivi crawled in the general direction of her partner,  using the rows of shelves as more cover.  the pain was getting to her head.  this was why she was the driver.  but maybe after all of this,  she’d give that little snitch a piece of her mind. 

[fuwafuwamedb]

Hakuno Luck (Rin, Cu Chulainn Collective)

Gudako had Fifty servants.

Fifty!

Hakuno? The woman who was apparently her underclassmen somehow? She had around twelve of the same servant, all of whom were at her beck and call if she needed so much as a tissue. She’d gotten sick and the whole gang had been hoarding her away in her room, quarantining the bathrooms when she had insisted to leave her room for just a bath.

She couldn’t even begin to fathom that kind of snappy command.

Cu Chulainn and his four others were different.

They would probably take care of her sick too, but that was after they stopped drinking with one another. Their room?

The group had destroyed the coffee table a dozen times through card games.

CARD GAMES!

Apparently, Berserker was not one for losing games.

Her bathroom smelled like foreign incense, of which sometimes made her loopy.

“I forgot to clean up after myself,” Caster laughed. “You could get me a lance and then I wouldn’t have to resort to these pathetic caster ways~!”

Rin huffed, looking at the five idiots on her bed.

Even mini Cu, sprawled on his back with his spear nearby, was lounging like he owned their room.

Their room.

Every time she’d gotten close to leaving this room, one of them kept drawing her back in.

They knew her weakness for gems too well.

She’d had enough though.

Maybe if she had more servants…

Hakuno was weird with her situation of all Gilgamesh. She really didn’t need thirty some Cu Chulainn lounging in her space.

No, she was going to ah- borrow a few saint quartz and summon herself a few other servants.

She’d tell the Cu pile on her bed that they needed more force for the training grounds.

Yeah.

She would make it sound more reasonable later.

The quartz was easy to get since Gudako had Da Vinci hiding it from her. The summoning chamber was empty, making things easy.

She’d borrowed enough for a ten roll.

Here we go.

The quartz was placed in a circle, her hands pressed to the circle, letting it illuminate the room.

Mana flowed forth.

More mana flowed forth.

A few of those craft essences appeared in the circle. And then-

“LAEG!”

Cu Chulainn’s voice rang through the air, the man appearing with a bow and arrow selection on his back. The laugh that the man had was echoing in the room as Rin stared at the man.

His eyes looked around a moment before he snorted.

“Ah, sorry. Old habit. Used to my charioteer. Archer, at your service. Call me Cu.”

The room continued to be lit up as a couple more figures appeared.

A wolf and a small version of herself appeared. The wolf shifted, changing into what could only be a little version of-

Another Cu?!

“Rider,” the boy told her. “We’re here to fight, but if you hurt my friend, I’ll tear you apart with my fangs.”

“He won’t have the chance,” the girl told her, holding the boy’s arm. “I’ll hurt you first.”

Okay. Rin opened her mouth to argue, but another figure appeared.

The man seemed to make the whole room feel pressured. Rin found herself unable to look away from this version of Cu Chulainn. His hair was long… all around long. It hung around his face as he wore what had to be the strangest robes she’d ever seen.

“Assassin,” his voice had multiple layers to it, making her heart race. “Well, for more the fae than you. I’ll lend you strength for now.”

What on earth was a fae and why did she recognize that term-

“Saber!”

The man was half sticking out of the circle, his teeth gritted.

“I don’t fuckin’ get it, but how is my lancer luck coming to me in this form!? GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Four servants.

Four servants and a handful of craft essences.

Rin stared at the group as she tried to gather her thoughts together.

Where did she even begin with this group?

“What is a fae?”

She needed his attractiveness levels taken back down to their normal levels. She was tempted to drag him away and-

The others snorted at her as Rider helped Saber out of the summoning circle.

“Perhaps, you would like to start with introducing yourself,” assassin Cu countered.

No.

She didn’t want that at all.