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soshirohoshinasimp · 6 months ago

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"Are ya alright...!?"

Synopsis: Savior!Hoshina x Civilian!Reader

Author's note: Thanks @hoshinaideas4all for the list of ideas, and for curing my writer's block.

This was really fun to write, mainly because I was trying to patch up on writing falling in love scenes, describing things and poetry. (Mainly destruction, sadness, depression and just describing things in general.) So this was very fun writing. I hope you all really enjoyed this one, and especially enjoy the poetry at the top! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wc: 1500 (whoopsie doo)

To love something means you feel an endless wave of excitement. It’s like when you’re glued to a romance movie and can’t wait for the main couple to finally be together. Every scene has your heart racing and your emotions bubbling over.

To love someone feels like you’re living in that movie. It’s like you’re the main character, and everything around them feels magical and special. Even the smallest gestures become epic moments.

But these two kinds of feelings, while both thrilling, are different from each other.

One day, you were managing your new restaurant. It was a busy, exciting time for you, as you were sending out orders, crafting drinks, and handing out menus to customers. You had just opened the place a few weeks ago, so it was still just you working there. There were no employees yet, just you, living your dream of owning a restaurant. You’d worked hard to get this far, and it felt amazing to finally call it your own.

But then, Once a dream turned into a nightmare.

It was a regular afternoon when the chaos began. You were in the middle of preparing an order when you heard a loud crash. Your heart skipped a beat as you looked up to see a group of yojus —huge, monstrous creatures— not a lot though, around five to ten -- bursting through the restaurant’s front window. The once-glass window shattered into a million pieces, sending glass flying everywhere.

The kaiju were terrifying. They were massive, shaped like mushrooms with crimson red spots on their heads, They thrashed around, causing destruction with every movement. The walls of your restaurant, which you had carefully decorated and maintained, started to crack and splinter. You could hear the ominous creaking of wood and the groaning of metal as the restaurant’s structure began to give way, as more yojus came rushing through.

You ran to the back, trying to stay out of their path, but the kaiju were cornering you. Some were even coming in and out into the ceiling, and a huge chunk of the ceiling fell right where you had been standing just moments before. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your breathing became shallow and erratic. You could feel the panic rising, squeezing the air out of your lungs.

In the midst of the destruction, you tried to call for help, but the noise of the kaiju and the crumbling building drowned out your voice. You stumbled, almost falling as the floor shook beneath you. The restaurant, which had been a symbol of your hard work and dreams, was now a chaotic, dangerous mess. The walls were closing in, and pieces of the roof were falling in different spots, creating a maze of debris.

Fear gripped you tightly, making it hard to think clearly. You saw more parts of the ceiling start to buckle, and you knew you had to get out, but your legs felt like you had weights in your pockets. Every time you tried to move, the ground shook violently, making you lose your balance. The sense of impending doom was overwhelming. It felt like everything you had worked for was crumbling in front of you, and you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

The last straw came when a massive piece of debris fell dangerously close to you, and you saw the entire section of the roof beginning to collapse. It was like a scene from a disaster movie, and you were trapped in the middle of it. Despair and resignation took over, and you felt as if your whole world was falling apart. With your heart racing and tears streaming down your face, you just sank to the floor. You sat down on your bum, closing your eyes tightly and bracing for the worst.

In that moment of absolute terror, you felt completely helpless. You could hear the kaiju’s roars and the sound of the building breaking apart. It felt like time was stretching out, and every second was a mix of fear and anticipation. You were sure you were going to die, and you prepared yourself for the end. But what you weren’t expecting, silence. No more sounds of the kaiju. Or was your mind playing tricks on you?

Then, through the chaos, a heavy accent pierced through the din.

“Are ya alright..!?”

Loud and Commanding

You opened your eyes to see a man with striking crimson eyes and a bowl cut of midnight purple. He was wearing a JAKDF suit, and held a sword in each hand. He moved with incredible speed and precision, slicing through the kaiju with expert skill, cutting through the monstrous creatures effortlessly into bits.

His eyes werefilled with concern as he looked at you. The contrast between his calm demeanor and the chaos around him was striking. His presence was like a beacon of hope in the midst of the disaster.

You watched in awe as he fought off the remaining kaiju, his movements fluid and graceful. It was like he was dancing through the chaos, and you felt a strange sense of calm as you saw him taking control of the situation. His confidence and strength were reassuring, and you couldn’t believe someone like him was there to help you.

With the last kaiju defeated, he sheathed his swords and extended a hand towards you. You took his hand hesitantly, and he helped you to your feet with surprising gentleness. His touch was firm but careful, as if you would break on any sort of impact, and it grounded you in a way you hadn’t felt since the attack started.

“Yer not injured are ya..?” he asked, his voice gentle but full of curiosity.

You nodded, still feeling a bit dazed and flustered. You could hardly believe what had just happened.

“Thank…thank you,” you managed to say softly, your voice trembling with relief.

“Anytime, ma’am! Comes with the job,” he said with a smile that made you feel all warm inside. His smile was like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Even though the conversation lasted less than a minute, it felt like it was in slow motion. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a wave of emotions washing over you. It was like the world had paused just for that brief moment.

It felt like roses were blooming when he spoke.

As quickly as he had come, he was gone. He walked out of the restaurant, leaving you standing there with your heart racing and your mind spinning. You gathered all your remaining courage and called out to him, “Uh! When you stop by, your first few orders are free of charge!!”

He turned back and looked at you with a playful grin. “Aren’t ya sweet? Guess I’ll be expectin’ to see ya real soon.”

With that, he left, and you watched him go, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite put into words. His departure left a significant mark on your heart and mind.

In less than a bit, the ambulance arrived and was taking some of your customers into the vehicles, and just like that the “eventful” day was finished. When you arrived home to your little apartment. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and his voice seemed to echo in your ears every day. With the restaurant being repaired, you spent the rest of the night in your tiny apartment researching who this hero was. You pulled out your computer and began searching for information about him.

You figured he was part of the defense force, but you weren’t sure which division. After two hours of digging through profiles, you finally found him. In a group photo with the division’s captain and the entire division, there he was.

Soshiro Hoshina — Vice Captain of the JAKDF Third Division.

You dove into his social media pages, learning everything you could about him. You replayed the scene where he saved you over and over in your mind. You found yourself doodling pictures of him and daydreaming about him with a smile on your face.

Was this just a crush?

Probably not. You fell for Soshiro Hoshina so quickly and so deeply that it felt like you deserved a medal for the fastest in record time to fall deeply in love. You eagerly awaited the day when the cleaning and remodeling would be finished so you could see him again and hear his voice.

Man, getting over him is going to be really tough.

#kajiu no8 x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina #soshiro x female reader #kaiju number 8

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theartsynebulawhodoodles · 7 months ago

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Wasn’t feeling drawing much today lol, so here’s some headcanons!

-Dream Sans likes to play the harp. It is soothing for him. However he likes intense and loud music, like heavy metal, since he believes it releases negative emotions healthily.

-Swap Sans has a punching bag in his room.

-Ink Sans always has a miniature container of watercolor hidden in his scarf.

-Fresh Sans likes the gaming console Gameboy.

-Error Sans secretly likes dress up dolls. Especially ones with a large section of outfits. He never will tell anyone since he thinks it would ruin his ‘scary and threatening’ persona.

-Cross Sans would not hesitate to chug down coffee, even if it’s scolding hot. He doesn’t care. Sometimes he drinks it to where steam is still coming from it and the steam travels through his eye sockets and skeleton.

-Killer Sans would sometimes dance tango. He would definitely 100% have a rose in his mouth while doing so.

-(Sorry this one’s a little sad, the others aren’t that sad) Horror Sans likes to feed others. Like a lot. Even if you don’t wanna eat, he will make you food. He still has the fears of letting his brother starve in his AU, so he makes food for everyone a lot.

-Dust Sans secretly likes the nickname “Dust Bunny”. He finds it cute.

-Nightmare Sans’s tentacles twitch when he sees someone he enjoys (platonic or romantic). For example, if he sees someone he likes his tentacles twitch and whirl around similar to some creatures with tails do when they are happy. He doesn’t know why he does so.

-Epic Sans would always be a cookie for Halloween. No matter if it’s a group costume. He would still be a cookie.

-Geno’s favorite animal is an arctic fox. He likes how swift and pretty they are.

-Reaper Sans had once touched something/made something that didn’t die and was so happy he kept it sealed away and hidden in his cloak.

-Outer Sans’s favorite snack would be pocky. He would just eat pocky while looking at the galaxy skies.

-Fell Sans secretly watches animation memes. No reason why I think this. I just do.

-Color had tried using his colored flame things to color his outfits. Instantly regretted it.

-Dance Sans eats soup with a very large cooking spoon.

-Ocean (or pirate sans) loves mermaids. He sometimes sings at night while all the crew mates are asleep to try to see if a mermaid would respond.

-Bird Sans sometimes like to fly in lazy loops for hours. Papyrus has to get him to stop by flying up to him and getting him out of the cycle of it.

-Lust Sans sometimes likes to visits florists and learn about flowers. His favorite is hydragena.

THANK YOU ALL FOR SO MUCH SUPPORT! I LOVE AND APPRECIATE YOU ALL!!!!!!!!!

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cursecuelebre · 6 months ago

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Devotional Playlist For Lord Ares there is going to be mostly heavy metal and about destruction and war. This tributed to his aggressive, bloodlust, and anger.

Literally a song that talks about charging and dying in war very epic.

Other war themed song very fast and loud and very high vocals this thrash metal very more fast than regular heavy metal like Iron Maiden. Aggressive and panicked kinda like how Ares is represented as.

This is a classic hymn to Ares in Greek!

A song about the great conqueror Alexander the Great and his campaign

It’s literally a imperial Latin march song in Latin from the movie Ben Hur. Mars was very popular among the Roman Army for obvious reasons.

Very rebellious and aggressive song also thrash

It’s dark but it’s not aggressive, it’s a song about despair and loss

End of civilization resulting in chaos and disorder.

I know I put this with Athena but the themes is very prevalent in war like ptsd and wounds that can never heal nor recover.

#hellenic polytheism #paganism #witchcraft #hellenic community #hellenic pagan #ares god of war #ares #ares deity #hellenic worship #helpol #hellenic polythiest #Spotify #SoundCloud

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ossiethegreat · 5 days ago

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Hii!! Idk if someone asked before, but what kind of music genre or artists do u think the chromatic crew would listen to?

I don’t know the names of like any genres because I listen to the most random crap but I can attempt to explain my ideas ☝️

For Color, I think he’d listen to stuff like folklore and acoustic rock, maybe like AJJ, The Front Bottoms, Alex G, Jeffery Lewis, Kimya Dawson, etc etc… though that’s probably me projecting cause all of those artists are in my color playlist

I also think he’d occasionally just listen to really loud music to keep himself grounded, or possibly the opposite with white noise or just slower music

Also he secretly enjoys Taylor swift

For Killer, I think it’d take him time to develop an actual music taste, so he listens to so much random stuff when he feels like it… he’d probably stick to things that tickle his brain or whatever, maybe even just listen to instrumentals instead of songs with words. He listens to whatever other people listen to, and it also heavily depends on what stage he’s in and I don’t feel like getting into that 😭

In general I think he’d like breakcore, maybe Machine Girl, hell even the Yume Nikki soundtrack or other weird music like Nero’s Day at Disneyland

But also punk rock, metal, freaking Will Wood or something . Nightcore

Don’t ask why but I feel like Delta would have the most millennial ass playlist ever . I’m talking like AJR, Twenty One Pilots, Lady Gaga. No hate no any of those artists obviously

I think he’d also enjoy punk rock and numetal like Killer, honestly I see him listening to phonk too. He plays like fuckass car edits on repeat because he likes the music and cars

Cross would listen to Get Scared, Set it Off, Pierce the Veil, literally any emo band that I can’t remember the names of. He’d listen to playlists like “POV: You’re an alpha wolf” or something . Honestly I don’t know enough about Cross to think of much. I see him listening to workout stuff with Delta (whatever that means)

And finally Epic, I’d say nightcore/daycore, vocaloid, literally any anime intro. Probably general pop music as well, Taylor Swift. A whole lot of internet pop culture and memes I feel like.

Of course he’d also listen to emo bands with Cross, they probably know every word to Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing. He also feels like a phonk type of person. Don’t kill me

#yapping #Oz answers #color sans #killer sans #delta sans #cross sans #epic sans #utmv headcanons #chromatic crew #shuffles away sheepishly

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mothiir · 6 months ago

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eyes full of stars

the reader is a diplomat working with roboute guilliman to try and broker peace with the local craftworld, and she has a somewhat strange moment with one of her aeldari counterparts.

cw: finger sucking and lewd thoughts.

—

“Hush,” Taleath says, fingertips coming up to rest on your mouth, and you lapse into silence at once, completely thrown by the unexpected contact. “The actions of Cato Sicarius have no bearing on your life, nor on mine. His tumultuous emotions are his own storm to bear, and their rain will only chill you if you get too close — which, as you are uncommonly intelligent for your kind, you will not.”

He keeps his gauntleted fingers resting on your lips, the metal chilly against your skin, smoother than silk. You are very rarely lost for words — it is, after all, an integral part of your job as diplomat — but the physical contact has shaken you. Aeldari do not touch humans, unless at war, or under considerable duress; Taleath’s actions, to another Aeldari, would be obscene as a human bearing his genitalia at a conference table.

The corners of his smile curl up into a smile, and your cheeks burn: in your confusion, you momentarily forgot that your companion can read minds. And then, you recall that Aeldari are at great pains to state how they must shield themselves from the ‘brutish, ugly, loud wailing animal thoughts’ that humans emit almost constantly. And then you realise that if he read your thoughts, it was because he did so deliberately, and —

“It is far more complicated than that,” Taleath says mildly. “A mind is not a book to be opened at leisure and perused. And yet I understand your meaning — you cannot help the limitations of your language, after all.”

You are in one of the many libraries aboard the Macragge’s Honour: this is one of the smaller ones, designed to house books on cartography that are more works of art than useful tomes. It is rarely visited, because despite Roboute Guilliman’s best efforts to encourage a variety of interests in his sons, most Astartes prefer to study strategy or to read great historical epics, rather than study stylised images of long-vanished constellations. You, however, adore it here. It is a circular room, the shelves coveringthe walls, the ceiling painted deep rich navy blue, with stars picked out in shining gold. There is one window, circular and high, that shows the endless void of space beyond. It feels like a fairytale room, something plucked fresh from a different, gentler time, when space was full of promise, and the shadows held nothing more sinister than cobwebs.

“I appreciate that my language is limited to your ears but —“ You are normally very good at countering Taleath’s arrogant asides with a witty riposte. Sometimes, you wonder if he riles you up intentionally, simply because it amuses him to see you frustrated — certainly his teasing has led to some serious issues of your own, long nights practicing hiding your thoughts, wondering if that would even work. Your a celebrated diplomat, pride of the Ultramarines, reporting to the Primarch himself — and yet a pointy-faced smirking knife-ear has you thinking things. Heretical, shameful things.

Taleath lifts the gauntlet to his own face, and — tentatively, delicately, like a cat trying a new food it is unsure of — runs the tip of his tongue along the tips of his fingers.

He makes a strange, bird like chirrup. You’ve studied Aeldari vocalisations, but in that moment everything you have ever learned about them seems to have exited your head via your ears. With the same effortless, leisurely grace that he does everything, Taleath shucks his gauntlets off, setting them down on the desk beside him. Then, with a tremendous amount of care, he removes the silk gloves beneath, revealing a pair of pale, spidery hands.

Imperial propaganda describes all Aeldari as scrawny anaemic mutants, with limbs stretched to ridiculous disproportionate lengths. The decidedly heretical texts you studied as part of your diplomatic education waxed lyrical about their ethereal inhuman beauty and grace. The truth is somewhere in the middle. Some bits of Taleath are disconcerting to say the least: he moves too swiftly for your eyes to track, giving him the uncanny appearance of a glitching cartoon come to life. His expressions are almost-human-but-not-quite; something about his smile seems to suggest that he knows exactly when the world will end. His hands remind you of knives. And yet there is an uncanny beauty to him, like a glacier viewed under moonlight, or a distant star burning in the black flank of night.

“Come here please,” he says, and you — knowing better, knowing so much better — obey. It has been months of negotiation with Iyanden, in which you have built up a civil relationship with Taleath (not friendship; you have to remember that; it is what your training drilled into you. Aeldari are not to be trusted; they play games with human lives, and even the kindest knife-ear will gut you like a fish if it is to their advantage).

You are allies only because of the mutual peril you face, from a galaxy that would see you burn, from factions who care little for the petty squabbles of xenos and human — what is the point of humanity’s supremacy, or Aeldari arrogance, if Chaos eats you all?

And yet. And yet. You stop one pace from Taleath, heart thrumming like the wings of a held bird, and the Aeldari reaches for you. His palm presses against the small of your back, urging you forwards that last little bit, so his robes brush against your bare arms. He’s so much taller than you; you have to crane your neck to look him in the face, even as he bends over.

His thumb runs across your lower lip. You always thought Aeldari would be colder than humans, their skin as chilly and perfect as ceramic, but his flesh is fever-hot. He rubs the digit back and forth until you open your mouth, your eyes fixed on him the whole time. His breathing is still slow and calm, and part of you resents him for that — so you rebel in what small way you can. You part your lips, but you don’t chase after his thumb with your tongue like a dog begging for a treat. Instead, you wait — wait so long that it starts to feel vaguely ridiculous, that you are just starting there open-mouthed and panting — and then — oh —

He slips two fingers into your mouth, sliding them first along the blunt edges of your teeth, then onto your tongue. He’s curious, explorative, stroking over the slick muscle, before prodding delicately at the roof of your mouth, where textured skin gives way to your soft palette. You try very hard not to gag as he pushes deeper, rubbing at the velvety insides of your cheeks, bulging them outwards. He utters that bird like chirrup again, and you wonder if he’s even aware he’s doing it. He looks utterly transfixed on you.

It’s just a trick, you tell yourself, it’s what they do, it’s what they do —

“Do not insult me,” he says, his voice lower. Rougher. “I would not need to resort to such — such base measures to trick you, if I wanted to, if —“

You hollow your cheeks and suck, drool starting to gather at the corner of your mouth. Taleath’s breath catches, and you feel an absurd swell of power.

“Don’t read my mind,” you say, the words coming out in a slurry of sound and drool around his fingers. “Jush — keep doing this —“

You start to move your head, keeping your hands loose at your sides despite the overwhelming desire to grab his wrist, to encourage him to keep going, to fuck your throat with his fingers, to prepare you to take —

Taleath chirrups again; this time the sound fades into a constant burbling coo. He pulls you closer, hand splayed on the small of your back, pulling his fingers out of your mouth — and this time you do chase after them, saliva strung between his fingers and your lips.

“I should not be doing this,” he says, half to himself, the words blurred and distorted by the constant vibrato coo. You lick at his knuckles, dopey with passion. All that time fighting down your absurd schoolgirl crush — all that time wasted. “You are human,” he continues, his voice strained. You kiss his palm.

“Yes. And you want me,” you sing-song — only for the world to blur as Taleath moves with a warrior’s swiftness, his hand sliding down to cup your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the wall. Bookshelves dig into your spine as he wrenches your head to the side, your hair pulled taut, your scalp singing pain. His teeth graze your jugular, his body presses between your eagerly spreading thighs and —

Then he’s gone. You collapse to the ground in a heap, panting for breath, reeling. Taleath stands on the other side of the library, clinging to his gauntlets like a safety blanket as he stares at you with open, flagrant hunger. Prey-animal fear sparks up your spine, even as your cunt slicks with arousal.

“Taleath —“

“No. Stay there.”

His mouth is red. Why is his mouth red? You suddenly become aware of an ache in your neck, of warmth on your collarbone. You reach up, and your fingers brush a deep bite mark. Taleath licks his lips clean as you probe the damage carefully.

“I — I hope this is not a diplomatic incident,” you say, attempting levity, and he offers you a thin smile. It sits oddly on his face; at odds with the ravenous look in his dark eyes.

“No. But it could be. My kind do not engage in carnal pleasures casually — “

“—and not with mon-keigh,” you say, wondering if this is when Taleath will treat you to yet another lecture on the shortcomings of your species.

“Not often. Not usually. I do not want you to be hurt,” he says.

“I’m fine. It barely stings — it will heal up soon enough,” you say, holding up your bloodied fingers. Taleath licks his lips.

“You do not understand. I do not want you to be hurt by anyone who is not me.”

You know you should retreat; every instinct screams at you too. But even if Taleath was not standing in the only exit, you wouldn’t attempt to flee.

”You…you want to hurt me?”

“Typical human — reducing complex feelings to such banal sentiments,” he says, like you weren’t just parroting his own words back. “I want to consume you. I want to own you. I want every cell in your body to remember my name.”

You — you should not find this attractive. You really should not. And yet all your life you have been told that you serve a greater purpose; that your duty is to others. You have never had anyone look at you with such naked desire and tell you that it is you they want — you alone.

Aeldari lie, you tell yourself. Aeldari lie.

“I would not lie to you, you stupid little prey-thing,” he snaps, and this time it isn’t just his voice; his accent changes, sliding from the polished vowels of an Aeldari into something more jagged, something that you don’t recognise. He visibly gathers himself, and when he speaks again it’s with the voice you are used to: “I mean — human. Girl-child.”

“I’m not a child.”

“You are more than five hundred years my junior — hush. I — I need to go. And meditate. And — and think on things. And meditate. And you need to go and stop bleeding before I do something that we both regret.”

With that, he vanishes, leaving nothing but the throb of arousal between your thighs, and his teeth marks carved into your throat.

#my writing #reader/aeldari #reader/drukhari #though that tag somewhat spoils the twist lol

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darnell-la · 5 months ago

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𝗧𝗔𝗞𝗘 𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 (ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ)

pairing: the wolverine x assassin!reader

warnings: toxicity, abandon (for a reason), fight, blood, swords, crying, yelling, begging, near death, treated, depression, growth, smut, claiming, etc.

request: Well again sorry if you do decide to do a part two. Maybe female y/n does end up going with them cause she can't exactly walk and when the big epic fight happens she actually like helps Logan and uh..darn it you have her name in the story and I already forgot so yeah so female y/n gets injured protecting her..and like after that logan manages to finish the fight due to his rage about it. Uhh like maybe a small time skip with female y/n fully recovering and basically it's logan claiming female y/n as hia forever - @reeeeee3737388

note: this is a rewrite of the Wolverine move when Logan howlett is in Japan. Here is part two.

———

The next morning, Logan woke up first, surprised after he wiped his eyes and yawned, realizing that he hadn’t had a bad dream, or woke up in the middle of the night.

“Fuck,” the man dragged low as he turned his body, facing y/n that was lying on her back. Logan scanned the girl's body that wasn’t covered in the blanket he had thrown over the both of them.

He couldn’t help but think about yesterday. He had gone on for so long. Of course, he took a few breaths due to her blacking out needing a break.

She was too fucked out to speak and tell him she couldn’t anymore, so she laid there and took it. Gripping him every time she came.

“Logan!” Mariko yelled from inside of the safe room he had locked her in. Her speaker still worked, and she had just woken up after being there for almost twenty-four hours.

“Shit,” Logan rolled his eyes with a loud groan as he got up from the bed. He fixed himself up, making sure his zipper wasn’t down and his belt was buckled. He didn’t know how to tell the princess he fucked the assassin to submission.

“Stay back!” Logan yelled before running into the stew metal door. He continued until the door opened, revealing a tried Mariko with snacks in hand as well as a drink.

“What was taking you so long, Logan? Are they gone- Oh my god!” Mariko gasped as she saw the bodies on the ground. “W-What — Oh my god,” she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Don’t worry, we’ve got a hostage,” Logan said. As Mariko gave Logan a confused look, they heard a thud in the room he left y/n in. “She’s awake,” he said before showing Mariko.

As the two walked into the room, they saw y/n on the floor, pushing her upper body off of the floor as her legs stayed crossed and twitched.

“Fuckin’ fell,” y/n said, upset that her lower body ached this bad. She had no idea how it could be sore and numb at the same time. “Had to — Interrogate her?” Logan shrugged, trying to find a good lie.

“Why is she naked?” Mariko asked, just now making y/n realize her breasts were out and her skirt sat up so far, they could see her mound.

“Fuck,” y/n said under her breath as she pulled her skirt down and covered her breast. “Look-“ Logan went to say but Mariko passed him an eye roll to go help y/n.

“I’m sorry so sorry he-“ Mariko went to speak, but y/m but her off. “It’s okay — H-He didn’t hurt me, I’m just a little-“ y/n tried getting up but she fell back down, making Logan feel bad.

“Shit,” the man said as he walked over to the younger lady and picked her up, placing her on the bed she fell out of after trying to maybe escape, but what would she say to her master?

If she hadn’t come back with Mariko, he’d probably kill her. He needed Mariko to lore Logan to him.

“Sorry,” was all Logan said as he stepped back, seeing the state he had left a stranger in. “I — I needed to eat some steak loose, and I didn’t want to kill you,” Logan admitted.

“Well, isn’t that charming,” y/n faked smiling before turning her head to lay down, away from him. “Hey, if you hadn’t barged in her, actin’ all innocent at first, this wouldn’t have happened!”

“Oh, so I can’t look good or else the Wolverine will find me and fuck me!” Y/n yelled the last two words, making sure he felt how stupid he sounded.

“Well, maybe, yes — You fuckin’ liked it anyway. Could tell the way you squeezed my cock,” the man said through his teeth before leaving out of the room.

“Is he always like this? God,” Y/n rolled her eyes as she flopped back into the soft pillow. “I’ve only known him for a short time, but you’re the only one he’s been nice to, so far,” Mariko smiled.

Mariko has never seen anything like this before. She didn’t know if having sex with an assassin was normal, but she didn’t judge Logan. As long as the girl lying on the bed was fine, Mariko was fine.

“Alright, get up — We’re gettin’ out of here,” Logan barged into the room after an hour of Mariko cooking whatever she could find and serving it to the two.

“Ian goin’ nowhere with you,” y/n said. The way she spoke was different than yesterday. He didn’t know why, but she did. For the past hour, she’s decided the best thing to do is not work for Mariko’s grandfather anymore.

If she went back, she’ll be killed. She needed to vanish and make it seem like she had died trying to fight the Wolverine.

“Oh, yes, you are, and you’re gonna tell us who you work for,” Logan said as he grabbed the girl's arm and pulled her off of the bed. She instantly fell to the ground. She felt like a newborn dear.

Logan rolled his eyes as he dropped his hands. The groan that left his mouth, annoyed y/n. “This is your fucking fault? Like, don’t you know how to take a fuckin’ break you rabid beast,”

Y/n tried getting up by herself, but she couldn’t feel her legs only tingle. Her cunt had throbbed as well, reminding her of last night. Fuck, he fucked her good.

“Ain’t like you stopped cumin’ either,” Logan said, looking right into the girl's eyes. “Body reaction, dickhead,” y/n lied, knowing she felt too damn good when she came around his cock.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna fuckin’ bet on that, Bub?” The man asked as he walked over to y/n, then picked her up. “No, you fuckin- Hey!” Y/n yelled at the man after he threw her on the bed.

Logan hovered over Y/n, not making a move, but looking down at her, eyes dark and cock picking through his jeans.

He’s supposed to be taking this situation seriously. He’s supposed to kill her and run off with Mariko to get her to safety, but instead, he’s pussy-whipped over an assassin sent to weaken him.

“Tell me you like it,” Logan said, voice sounding a bit like a beg, but he wasn’t going to make it more obvious. “Why? You get off on it, big boy?” She asked with a smirk, knowing he did. He is right now.

“Maybe I do — Whatcha gonna do about it, Bub?” Logan’s face leaned towards her, making their noses touch. The low growls Logan let out, only made it harder for y/n to deny him.

“Names y/n — Maybe ask before you try gettin’ in my pants again,” she said, making the man chuckle under his. “Try? Baby, I did,”

His cocky reply left y/n silent. It was true. He did get in her pants. He did get through her slit and made her cum on his cock multiple times.

“You’re a dick,” y/n said, voice low and shy all of a sudden. Even though her lower body was numb, she couldn’t stop her cunt from throbbing. “You like it — Can smell ya,”

“Get off,” y/n said in a serious tone she forced. Instead of arguing, he did as told with a chuckle. “Gonna come back with some clothes and carry you today. You piss me off, and those legs will stay dead longer than they have to,”

“Her grandfather’s alive, and you didn’t fucking tell us!?” Logan asked. It’s. After a day of Logan carrying the woman, she finally told them who wanted Mariko, and why.

Logan wasn’t happy about it. He had thrown y/n to the ground as they walked the streets of Tokyo.

“Why would I!? I wanted to leave!” Y/n said as she slowly got up, able to walk now, but Logan insisted. He said she would walk too slowly. In actuality, he just wanted to carry the woman around.

“Let’s go, Mariko,” Logan said as he turned around to head to where Mariko’s grandfather was hiding out. “No! H-He wants you there! If you do, you’ll give him what he wants,” y/n got up and tried pulling the man back to save his life.

“Get the fuck off of me!” Logan shouted as he yanked his arm away from her. “Don’t act like you fuckin’ care for us now. You came to kill me,” Logan growled in her face.

“I didn’t come to kill you, I came to weaken you. A-And I know that’s not better, but- You know how this life goes,” y/n said, making Logan chuckle.

“You had a choice,” Logan said, which she did, for this mission. She wouldn’t for any other. “You know I didn’t. I-I probably still don’t,” she said.

“Then leave — I won’t follow, just fucking leave,” Logan said through his teeth, mocking what she said a couple of days ago.

The face he gave looked serious, but he wasn’t anywhere near. He just needed y/n to get the fuck out of here before things got bad. She has no power, and they wouldn’t kill Mariko. She and Logan would be the only ones in danger.

“A-Are you serious?” She asked low with a crack in her voice. “Do you see me stuttering?” The man said, making y/n’s face twitch with different expressions.

She knows they don’t know each other, but the hint Logan has been giving and the way he fucked her that day — She thought her care about her at least a little, but her stilling her to fuck off.

“Logan, I don’t think she should-“ Mariko tried saying but Logan turned around and grabbed her arm, pulling Mariko away to go fight.

Y/n stayed behind, standing in the street as her eyes began to water. Logan could smell it. He felt horrible, but he can’t show it. He had to leave her. There was no other way.

“You don’t need her anymore, you need me. So fight me!” Logan shouted as he brought out his claws. Mariko’s grandfather had finally revealed himself after Logan told him he knew he was alive.

“Who told you it was me?” The old man asked, genuinely wanting to know. He began saying names until he stopped at y/n, seeing the way Logan’s eye twitched.

Y/n had only me ruin her name to Mariko, but he over heard. He was curious, but that might’ve put her in danger.

“Oh, y/n — She’s a wonderful soul. Kind and obedient, but too pretty to send on a mission against the Wolverine, I see,” the old man said, lightly feeling the tension between Logan and just her name.

“You leave her alone,” Logan said, making the man chuckle. “Now, why would I do that? She works for me. She means nothing to you,”

Logan had gotten pissed off from his comment, so he attacked him. The two started fighting as Mariko tried thinking and looking around for ways to stop her grandfather.

Y/n had followed the two from a distance earlier today. Now she’s hiding behind objects, hoping Logan would win the fight he’s in right now, but he’s struggling against the man in the metal suit.

Y/n quickly ran over to the computer section she had scanned for. His suit had to be connected to something right?

“Y/n!?” Mariko yelled as she ran over to her, surprised at her appearance. She shouldn't be here. She knows her grandfather will kill her if she sees she’s snooping around, and going against him.

“Don’t worry, I’m just doing the right things,” y/n said, trying in the computers to shut anything down that was on. “You’re a good woman, y/n. Go help, Logan. I’ve got this,” she said.

Y/n nodded her head before she ran towards where the two were fighting. They had fallen down a couple of stories, so she ran down those stairs until she made eye contact with him. The silver samurai.

“Well, look who’s come back. Couldn’t abandon your old man?” The older man asked as he threw Logan across the room. “Logan!” Y/n shouted, seeing how weak the man was.

“You’re pathetic. Worthless! I send you on a mission, and betray me — Do you know what I do to traitors!?” The older man asked as Logan slowly looked up, seeing who the old man was roaming to, and once he did, his eyes widened.

“Y-Y/n,” he said low as he tried to get up, but he slipped, legs feeling weak and his ribs in pain. “I show no mercy,” the silver samurai said before he lunged at y/n slicing her clean across her stomach before she could react.

“No!” Logan shouted, trying to gain strength but his regenerating powers were weakened and slowed than usual. The silver samurai was prepared for tonight.

Y/n tried fighting, grabbing a sword that was on the floor, but it was soon taken from her. The old man used it, stabbing the young lady through her stomach.

Y/n gasped, hands falling down as she looked into the man’s eyes. “You were a good assassin while it lasted. May you pass and do better in the next life,” was the last thing the old man said before he pulled the sword out.

Y/n fell to the ground, slumped and gushing blood she thought she could stop, but her hands were too weak to lift. She couldn’t move.

“No!” Logan yelled, voice growling as his eyes darkened. The man’s claws came out as his veins popped throughout his whole body. With one loud animalistic yell, the man ran towards the old man in the suit.

Logan felt bad at first for what he was about to do, but y/n was innocent. He was an innocent young lady who grew up, forced to think she had to work for the older man.

Logan let all of his anger out and finished the grandfather off, throwing him out of the tower they were fighting in. His suit broke apart as it hit the ground way below.

Logan huffed and puffed, still feeling anger until he snapped back into reality, thinking of y/n. He quickly turned around and ran to the wounded lady on the cold ground.

“Y/n,” the man said as he dropped to his knees. His hands instantly pressed down on her wound, trying to stop the bleeding. “Get help! Now!” Logan yelled at Mariko who looked down at him from upstairs.

“Hey, hey, look at me. Look at me! It’s gonna be okay, okay? Hey, it’s alright,” the man couldn’t stop speaking as he watched the girl's head move and mouth part. She wanted to speak, but couldn’t.

“Take your time, what is it? C‘mon, Bub, just get it out. What is it?” He asked as one of his hands came to her cheek to keep her head steady. Her eyes met his, allowing her to see how glossy they were.

“I- sorry,” she choked, feeling like this would’ve never happened if she had just kept her mouth shut or told the princess about what her grandfather had planned. Y/n was in the middle of it all and stayed quiet for her master.

Y/n’s eyes slowly began to close, making Logan's heart speed up. “N-No - No, y/n — Y/n, no!” The man slapped her face, but she couldn’t stay up anymore.

Months passed, and Logan did everything he could to keep y/n up and running, making sure she ate what she had to, drank what she had to, walked as much as she had to, and rested as much as she had to.

Y/n would argue with him almost every day about it, crying into his chest about how hard it was living like this. Living slowly and not being able to train like she used to every day.

“You were forced to train. Now you can finally rest — By me,” was something Logan would say all the time to call her down.

Thankfully, y/n was now fully recovered. She apologized to the man many times about how she acted towards him while she was healing. All he did was laugh at the girl as he told her he was fine and never felt any different about her.

“They’re gone,” Logan spoke, breaking the silence between the two after she had woken up from a long nap. Today was day one of her full recovery, and she looked as beautiful as ever.

“Yeah — All thanks to you,” Y/n smiled as his hands tiptoed around her half-naked body. The panties and bra set he gave her were cute, and she decided to wear them to sleep last night, not thinking she’d wake up to him right next to her.

“It’s all you, Bub — You’re stronger than you think,” he said, making her giggle. “And how would you know that, mister Wolverine?” She asked, making a low chuckle slip from his mouth.

“You healed me,” he said after the seconds of laughter between the mouth. “Come again?” She asked the man. “You healed me — Saved me from being in the gutter. It takes a strong person to the that. A strong human, and you’ve managed to do that when we first met,”

Y/n shyly smiled at the man, not knowing what to say. “You know, I can’t let that go, right?” He said. “Let what go?” She asked. “Let you go — I worked my ass to keep you well. For me. Of course for your own self but — Y/n, I need you,”

Y/n’s hands stopped stroking the man’s hair at the shocking words. She thought this might only be a fling, but apparently, he thought otherwise.

“I’ve been alone and hurt for too long, carrying around anger, and beating myself up, but when I’m with you- It seems to all go away. You make me feel whole — I need you,”

“A-Are you sure it’s not just some attachment issue-“ she tried saying, but he cut her off with a long kiss, hoping she’d get his serious this situation was for him.

“Ain’t no issue, Bub — Just you,” Logan said, hoping she wouldn’t turn the old man around. “Logan — We’re so different,” Y/n said, but Logan didn’t care.

The man’s hand traveled to her face, cupping and rubbing at it. “Don’t turn me down, Bub — Please,” the man’s voice came out low. She could tell this was a huge jump for him.

“I — I could never turn you down, Logan,” she smiled, as his eyes widened. “Thank god,” Logan quickly hovered over the young lady as he smashed his lips on hers, kissing her roughly and sweetly.

“You gon quit that assassin shit for me, Bub? Can’t have you goin’ out endangering yourself,” Logan began nibbling along the girl's cheek and neck. “I retired,” y/n giggled.

“Good girl,” the man continued kissing down her body, hooking his fingers on her panties until he ripped them off. “Need this pretty girl safe and sound,” the man smirked down at y/n as she looked up at him.

It didn’t take long for Logan to have the young girl squirming and whining his name as he repeatedly hit her right spot.

“Mhm hm — Right there? Gettin’ to the right spot?” He asked, making her nod with a cry. “R-Right there,” her hands wrapped around the man’s neck.

“Gonna be good for me, and cum?” The man could feel her tightening around her every second. “Y-Yes,” was all she said before she came around him with a shake.

The growl he let out buried inside of her head. He couldn’t get enough of her. “Treatin’ an old man so good — Gotta keep you forever,” the man said in the crook of her neck, rolling his hips just right.

“Ain’t never lettin’ you go,”

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

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moderator-monnie · 1 year ago

Text

Before The Ritual (A COTH Story)

Dr. Ivo Robotnik, otherwise known as Dr. Eggman, was currently sitting in his lab, infuriated as always. He threw some papers off his desk and sighed heavily.

One hand was on his chin, and the other was tapping against his table, mumbling some things to himself quietly.

"Drat that damn hedgehog... Always getting in the way of my plans, he is truly a worthy adversary, but if I want to get rid of him for good, I need the ultimate plan! What haven't I tried? What could I use? Now that is the question at the end of the day."

"Perhaps a doomsday device? Hmm, not too predictable. Maybe I could touch upon the metal virus in a new light? ... No. Not too dangerous. I made some mistakes with that attempt. I didn't even think about my own safety."

"Maybe upgrade Metal Sonic or bring Tails Doll and Mecha Knuckles out of retirement? Could I even make some robot copies of the rats' other friends? That lemur would make an interesting machine. NO NO, none of these plans work!"

He soon laid back in his chair, rubbing his temples. He didn't want to work himself, but Sonic was a powerful foe and quite intelligent too, even if Eggman wouldn't admit it out loud.

"Just what can I do? What would really wow him? WHAT CAN BEAT HIM FOR GOOD? THERE MUST BE SOMETHING I'VE MISSED, IN MY RESEARCH OF MOBIUS!!! AN ULTIMATE WEAKNESS!"

Suddenly, a red light flashed in the room, and Sage appeared, sitting on his work bench, kicking her legs before clearing her throat with a gentle smile and a wave and speaking. "Hello Father, I see you are stressed over finding a way to, and I quote, 'crush that blasted hedgehog' may I offer my assistance?"

Eggman sat up in his chair, letting out a hearty chuckle before looking at his AI daughter. He took her words carefully and rubbed his chin before responding. "Ah, hello, Sage. Hello, it's nice to see you. You know what? You might just be what I need; a fresh eye on things would definitely help me figure out exactly what I need to defeat Sonic once and for all."

Eggman put his hands together, striking a pose. "You have access to my data banks along with the internet, correct?"

Sage nodded softly. She then teleported away, inserting herself into the main computer and combing through it rather quickly.

A sudden dinging noise was heard, and Eggman could see some files being downloaded, but he allowed time for Sage to explain what they were for.

"Father, I have discovered something you may have overlooked. You are aware of Grandfather Gerald Robotnik's research into the gods of Mobius and of humanity, correct?"

Eggman's eyebrows rose, wondering where his daughter was going with this, but he was quite curious as well. "Why, yes, Sage, I'm aware of all this; why did you bring it up? I've tried using god-like creatures against Sonic before, like with Dark Gaia and Chaos."

Sage soon pulled up some semi-corrupted files she had dug up. She is in the deepest parts of the internet, and Eggman's own files are on the main computer screen.

"Well, Father, you may have overlooked something. Its origins are not exactly clear. It's commonly unknown if humanity or Mobians discovered this entity, but unlike many other gods of Mobius and Earth, this one has not only been proven to exist to some extent."

"This God, or rather god-like entity, can control dreams themselves and is not physical, at least not without a host body to call its own; it has the ability to interact with solid objects, but with a host body, epically one with a high enough chaos energy.

And given enough time. This entity could possibly even put all of Mobius into a slumber of its own control, one they can't wake up from without its consent."

Eggman began to smirk very widely as he got up out of his chair and looked at the screen widely, seeing all the files Sage showed him.

"What a very interesting find, Sage! I'm very proud of you, but what makes you think we can control it and have it help us get rid of Sonic?"

Sage blushed. She had stars in her eyes for a moment; she was always happy to have her father be proud of her, but she soon cleared her throat and continued.

"Ahem, ah, right, you are father. The reason why I believe this entity would help us is due to its documented nature. It has been shown in the past to love pure chaos, and what would be more chaotic than helping you take over the world?

"Sonic would have no way to stop it either, due to it being far more powerful than him. And Sonic can't simply attack something while he's asleep now, can he, Father?"

He nodded along, listening closely before using a virtual glove he made to be able to pat Sage on the head softly, and then sat back down, carefully reading all the information Sage had brought up.

"Correct, you are Sage; that hedgehog would stand no chance of something he can't even interact with. I shall begin preparations. I see this 'god' has some ties to the chaos emeralds.

So perhaps I can build a new robot, one that can harness chaos energy without directly needing the emerald, in order to create the perfect host for our friend to take possession of, and with us working together, friends can finally win! I'll need to be careful though and build in some safety features so I can control the robot once our friend takes it's new body."

"Though I shouldn't make the controls too obvious, otherwise strike this 'god's ire."

With a few clicks on the screen, a few images and historical documents showed up, revealing something quite interesting to the doctor himself.

A strange golden arch was under the site where Angel Island once stood, back when it was just a normal land mass.

"How in sweet mother Gaia did I ever miss such a thing during my many trips to Angel Island?"

He zoomed in on the photos, inspecting them closely, and wrote a few things down on his notepad. Not much information seems to be known about this historical sight, but a few tablets were recovered from the sight itself, written in a language similar to the ancients themselves but different.

All Eggman could gather from the rough translations he could figure out was one word: 'Zepperaith'. He would need to travel to the historical site, inspect this golden arch up close, and figure out its secrets.

"Zepperaith... I will unleash you upon this land, and SONIC THE HEDGEHOG WILL BE GONE FOREVER!"

Dr. Eggman began to laugh loudly, with Sage joining him quietly, with a new plan in mind. Perhaps this will be Sonic's downfall once and for all.

#Curse Of The Hedgehog AU #COTH AU #Sonic The Hedgehog #STH #Sonic Horror AU #Short Story #Dr. Eggman #Sage Robotnik

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transformersclandestine · 2 months ago

Text

Identity

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

D-16 sat at his usual spot in the Iacon Vaults. The table he was sitting at had become worn out from continued use by its current occupier. The chair that accompanied him was also on its last legs; the hovering technology used to keep it upright was inching closer to the last of its battery. The young miner had strewn an assortment of data tracks on the table and was furiously reading through each and every one. The topic of his research today was the fall of the Covenant of Primus, a legendary unit of Transformers who legends claim were the first to inhabit the planet, seeding life through all its provinces and cities and ushering in the first true pillars of Cybertronian society.

“These ‘bots were the beginning of everything. All that we know came directly from their hands. It’s just…amazing.” D-16 gazed longingly at the data track’s holographic display, showcasing a mural of an epic conflict with twelve warriors engaged in battle with alien forces. One was clad in shining metal armor, wielding a glowing blade of pure light, another in darker armor with a blazing inferno seemingly flowing from his skin. D-16 fixated on this particular ‘bot and stared in awe.

“The Fallen…what did you ever do to be banished from this beautiful world?” he wondered out loud.

“That, I’m afraid”, said a calm yet jovial voice approaching D-16’s table, “is a question the archives are unable to answer.”

The voice belonged to Orion Pax, D-16’s closest comrade. A data clerk at the Iacon Vaults, Orion was the first individual that D-16 had met at the library of knowledge and after many visits by the curious miner, the two had become fast friends. During D-16’s break periods, he would visit the Vaults and read everything he could about Cybertron’s history. From the great skirmishes in the Age of Expansion to the legendary exploits of the Covenant of Primus, it all was absorbed by the young ‘bot. Orion had taken to jokingly referring to him as “Cybertron’s Biggest History Nerd”, a playful jab that D-16 himself embarrassingly accepted. D-16 appreciated Orion’s company; the archivist was an extremely patient listener and one with similar world beliefs as D-16. Orion was just happy to have another person he could talk to about the things that he was interested in.

D-16 greeted Orion as he sat down in the chair opposite. He too stared at the mirrored image of the mural that D-16 was fixated on.

“Nobody really knows what happened to the ancient Primes. The records simply say that each went their separate ways after the Primal War. All except The Fallen, whose true name was stricken from history. He was the only member of the group to be forcibly exiled. Whatever he did…it was nasty enough to warrant erasure.”

D-16’s gaze turned from intense adoration to solemn acceptance. He swiped through the data track, replacing the battle mural with an image of a stone carving of a natal chart, each with the symbols of the Covenant on their ends.

“I just don’t understand it. The Fallen, by all current historical accounts, was Cybertron’s greatest military mind. He commanded a legion of troops so disciplined and powerful. They expanded Cybertron beyond the stars. The colonies! Interstellar travel! Space bridges! All stemming from The Fallen’s military prowess. I just…I want to know where it all went wrong.”

Orion looked at his friend solemnly.

“That’s the thing, D. Sometimes history’s greatest achievements are burdened with insidious intent. I trust the judgement of our forefathers. Like you said, look at what they gave us.”

Orion waved a hand to the large glass windows of the Vaults. Outside, Iacon bustled with activity. Flying ‘bots streaked past the panes, lights flickered and Energon flowed through visible pipelines. On the highways in the distance, vehicular ‘bots raced across at blinding speeds. From an outside perspective, it was utopia.

“This peace had to come from somewhere. I’m sure even The Fallen, whoever he was before his banishment, would have agreed to sacrifice whatever it would take to achieve this.”

D-16 had to admit that Orion was right…again. For a librarian, Orion was bridled with undeniable charisma. Any issue that D-16 had, Orion usually had a speech in place ready to right his nerves. In the right system, at the right time, he would’ve made an excellent leader. But they both knew that their place in the world was here at the bottom rung. D-16 a miner and Orion a data clerk. Eventually, Orion broke the small silence.

“Anyway, thought these might cheer you up,” Orion said. Protruding from his clenched fingers were another set of data tracks. He slid them across the table to D-16 who activated them. Inside the tracks were historical records of The Fallen’s mighty armada. Accompanying the text were images of brightly designed flags and propaganda posters featuring mighty soldiers. Things D-16 had never seen before.

“It’s the complete story. At least, all we had. I know they were your special interest, D. I gathered all I could.”

D-16 couldn’t believe his eyes. While some of the text was repeated information from other tracks, the wealth of knowledge Orion had unearthed would keep him occupied for days on end.

“Sweet Kaon, this…this is a goldmine!” D-16 exclaimed. He impatiently swiped through the screen of every track, taking no time to absorb the concrete data, instead simply basking in the gift that Orion had offered him.

Orion smiled, enamored with his friend’s childlike innocence and excitement. D-16 calmed himself for a moment and smiled back at Orion.

“Thank you, Orion. I don’t know what to say.”

“Think nothing of it, friend. Consider it a thank-you present for your continued support of the archives…and for all the good company too.”

The two shared a fist-bump, then D-16 went back to his research. It was hard for him to pick a spot to begin. Everything he had ever wanted to know about The Fallen’s personal squadron was at his fingertips: the members, their battle records, even the official name of the squadron which he hadn’t come across in his archival binges until now: the Megatron Corps. Reading the name gave D-16 a strange feeling, almost a connection of sorts.

“Megatron…” D-16 repeated softly to himself, “...Megatron…”

He sat at the table in silent contemplation. Then, in one swift motion, he closed the data tracks and collected them to be returned to their proper place. Something inside of him had suddenly overtaken his joyous reading, replacing it with a bizarre feeling. It felt to D-16 like a call to some previously-unknown responsibility.

Suddenly, a miniature vibration went off in D-16’s internal systems. It was his alarm. Breaktime was over. As he began to leave the Vaults to return to the Kaon mine, D-16 turned to Orion who was busy returning data tracks to their proper servers. Orion noticed his friend was leaving and gave a wholesome wave.

“Breaktime’s over already, huh? Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll keep those special data tracks on hold for you.”

D-16 smiled at his friend and waved back.

“Thanks, Orion. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

——

The miners of Kaon were having a brutal workday. Due to an Energon malfunction in one of the lower sublevels, production was behind by 33%. The foremen of the mine, furious over the falling output, were working the miners twice as hard as before. More than a few collapsed from exhaustion, to which they were swiftly replaced by willing, yet unskilled, newcomers. This further added to the veteran workers’ frustrations and made the work take twice as much time to cover the newbies’ mistakes.

“Keep at it, scraplets!” yelled Nitro, one of the foremen of the mine. Walking behind the miners, he sealed the ceiling of the cave with his arm-mounted nullification ray to prevent them from collapsing as his workers dug further. His anger with the production setbacks was being taken out on his underlings and he regularly kicked dirt at their backs as they worked.

“I don’t want a single drop of Energon left untouched in this cavern! You’re behind on your quota and the faster you work, the faster you can all leave!”

D-16 toiled rigorously at a stubborn outcropping, drilling through a thick bed of rock. Suddenly, his drill bit hit a large deposit of obsidian and stalled, spinning out of position and locking up. Frustrated, D-16 slammed his fist on the component to try and start it up again. Nitro noticed the miner’s interruption and zeroed in on D-16.

“D-16, what is the malfunction?!” Nitro screamed. D-16 looked up at the foreman with an exasperated expression. Nitro continued berating the panicking miner.

“Get it working, cog-grinder or you’re going home!”

D-16 struck the bit once more and it whirred to life. Nitro shot the still-nervous miner a nasty look and moved on to other victims. D-16 relaxed a bit and returned to his outcrop, taking care to drill around the obsidian deposit.

——

Four hours later, the day’s operations came to a close with the beginning of the work curfew. Enacted by Cybertron’s Senate, the work curfew forbade any extra work-related activity after a certain hour, put in place to prevent ‘bots from overextending themselves beyond their capabilities, potentially damaging themselves in the process. To most of the working class, however, it was simply a means to cap the workers’ salaries by reducing hours.

The Kaon foremen, Nitro among them, lined up the miners for an end-of-the-day speech before they were sent home. Sureshock, another of the foremen, stepped forward.

“You scraplets did alright today. We’re back at optimal proficiency. But tomorrow starts a new work order, put in place by the energy commission themselves: double the output, double the depth.”

Murmurs echoed throughout the cave as the miners questioned what Sureshock was relaying. One spoke up from the back.

“Are we gonna work past the curfew?”

Sureshock didn’t look towards the inquisitive miner and continued pacing in front of the lineup.

“Same hours.”

Frustrated shouts swiftly replaced the quiet uncertainty. The miners began protesting the absurd requirements. One stepped forward: D-16. He spoke above the crowd, directing all his volume towards the foremen.

“We don’t have the botpower and we especially don’t have the skill with all the newbies you’re throwing in. How on Cybertron are you expecting us to make this new quota?”

The rest of the miners cheered in agreement with D-16. Nitro stepped forward, feeling a sense of obligation as D-16 was part of his sector. He pushed past Sureshock and stood in front of D-16.

“Get back in line, D-16.”

D-16 stood his ground. He dug his heel into the soft sediment of the cave floor. He looked Nitro directly in his single-eye.

“I am D-16 no longer. My name is Megatron.”

The miners behind D-16 quieted down, shocked at their comrade’s sudden insubordination. Nitro chuckled and stepped closer.

“I said,” Nitro’s face moved closer to D-16’s, “Step. Back. D-16.”

Nitro placed a hand on D-16’s chest and shoved him back. Immediately, D-16 retaliated, lunging forward towards Nitro.

“MY NAME…IS MEGATRON!”

The two began brawling in the cave, crashing into pillars of stone and wrestling into equipment. Nitro clearly had the upper hand when it came to strength and size but Megatron pounded at the bigger ‘bot with tenacity and raw fury. Foremen immediately ran into the escalating conflict to separate Nitro from his worker. The miners in turn went towards Megatron and tried to calm him down.

Radioed in by Sureshock in the ensuing chaos, two large security detail ‘bots stormed into the cave and immediately honed in on Megatron. One grabbed the miner’s arms and held them behind his back while the other brandished an energy baton.

Megatron struggled in the grasp of the security enforcer before his vision faded as he was knocked unconscious by the swing of the other’s bat.

——

The piercing buzz of an alarm woke Megatron from his stasis. The door outside his cell unlocked and a red-and-white security ‘bot stepped forward into the room. Holding the door behind him, he was followed by a visitor: Orion Pax. The security ‘bot closed the door behind them, locking it securely, before stepping forward and deactivating the door to Megatron’s cell.

“Your bail’s been posted, D-16,” the security ‘bot uttered. Megatron looked up at Orion who was shooting the miner a concerned look. Megatron stood up from the cell’s recharge slab and exited, Orion following suit. Once outside, the two began to speak.

“What happened, D?” Orion asked with an immense concern Megatron had never heard before. Megatron shook his head and then chuckled to himself.

“A simple mistake,” he uttered back. “A lapse in judgement. One I don’t plan to make again.”

Orion sighed and placed a concerning hand on Megatron’s shoulder.

“This ‘simple mistake’ cost you your job, D. You’re lucky I convinced Nitro not to press charges.”

Megatron perked up. It wasn’t his sudden unemployment that caught his attention, but Orion vouching for his character and paying his bail admittedly got to the former miner.

“Thank you for this, Orion. I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me. I’m sorry to drag you into this mess.”

Orion stared compassionately as his friend slowly regained his composure back. He knew D-16 wasn’t a criminal, but he worried for him. With a dangerous former career and an uncertain future ahead of him, it was up to Orion to steer him back on a steady path.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you back on your feet soon.”

He smiled and playfully slapped Megatron on the back.

“Now come on, let’s go to Maccadam’s. You can pay me back with a drink, D.”

The two shared a joyous laugh, but Megatron stopped, feeling the need to softly address Orion’s unintentional mistake.

“I actually, uh, changed my name Orion. I’m no longer D-16. I’d like to go by Megatron now.”

Orion stopped and looked at his friend quizzically, before continuing to laugh jollily.

“Haha, Cybertron’s Biggest History Nerd at it again! Come on then, Megatron. Maccadam’s awaits.”

#transformers #transformers fanfiction #maccadams #d 16 #orion pax #megatron

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abyssal-ali · 2 months ago

Text

Love Finds You (Even) in Gotham, New Jersey

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown Rating: E (mdni) WC: 5.8k Ao3 Masterlist

A teasing moment between Jason and Steph causes some revelations (and breakdowns). The Bats, tired of the duo’s avoidance and rivalry but unsure of its origins, set them up on a stakeout so they can get over their issues with each other. And you know what they say, the best way to get over your issues with someone is to get under their - oh, no one says that? Well, these two do. Is it a stakeout, or is it a shagout?

A/N: Alphabeta'd by @pioneertothefalls and beta'd by @sarcasticbambi <33 Thank you so much!! Inspired by this post by @bebatzelbub and these tags on it by @the-mad-dame

CW: Minor swearing, explicit sexual content: oral sex, PiV sex, thigh riding

JASON

Late Friday night/early Saturday morning, post-patrol

BatCave, Bristol

Jason sighed, cracking his neck and pressing the keyboard keys harder than necessary in an attempt to drown out his way-too-loud background monologue.

“Not gonna lie, that was not your finest moment.”

The crinkle of foil sounded, far too loud yet also far too quiet to drown out the sound of the bane of his life mocking his wipeout. He’d hoped no one had seen him eat bricks, yet the unmistakable whoop of laughter coming from one purple-clad vigilante had immediately alerted him to the fact that someone had, in fact, seen it–even worse, they weren’t someone intimidated by the helmet on his head, thus negating any threats he breathed if they spread the story and/or continued laughing.

Said continued laughter had lasted the rest of patrol and now haunted him even back in the BatCave, where he was, unfortunately, updating files for B.

Steph swung her feet in an off-tempo rhythm against the drawers of the desk of the BatComputer, the metal thuds echoing in a more than irritating duet with the foil wrapper of his fruit snacks that she had appropriated. How, he didn’t know, but that was not his #1 problem with the purple-suited menace at the moment. They were not close enough to make jokes like these, he’d decided.

“Will you just shut up?!” Jason snapped his head towards Steph, brows lowered in a glare that showed his annoyance at her continuing to poke fun at his epic fail on patrol.

“Make me,” she retorted, flipping her blonde ponytail over her shoulder and settling her hands on her hips in a power pose.

Unfortunately for her, it also left her plenty open to attack.

Jason stood abruptly, his hand whipping out, fingers settling gently around her neck as he pulled her off the desk and into him, so close their noses brushed

Only then did he realise how much shorter she was compared to him as she balanced on her tiptoes.

Her blue eyes met his teal ones, both pairs blown wide with shock and arousal. He could feel the above-average thudding of her pulse through his fingers, matching his suddenly spiked heart rate.

Oh.

Oh no.

She swallowed, the last of his fruit gummies disappearing down her throat. He could think of other things he wanted to see go down her throat.

Carefully, she placed her hand on his pec, pushing off and stepping away from him. His hand remained hovering mid-air, his system rebooting as the stare-down continued.

He licked his lips, imagining licking the sheen of fruit gummy residue off her suddenly unbearably tempting mouth. One step and she’d be back in his arms and her mouth would be on his–

Clearing his throat, he broke the staring contest and wiped his hands on his pants so he wouldn’t do something stupid like grab her and choke her and kiss her and ask her to marry him. “Okay, my report is all updated for Bruce, I’m gonna go grab some shuteye, seeyoulaterbye!”

Without a backward glance, he legged it to his bike and kick-started it, eager to escape that surreal scenario, get a nap, and make sense of his life again.

~~~

JASON

Early Saturday morning, post-patrol

Crime Alley, Gotham

The pillow was not stuffed enough to drown out the anguished groans he was currently producing at alarmingly frequent intervals. (He’d strangled it far harder than his earlier debacle with Steph.)

Why had he done that? Why had he thought it was a good idea to (playfully) choke a known menace? Why had that one little hitch in her breath when he’d done that cemented her status as “MAJOR CRUSH” in his brain? Why did it have to be Steph, of all people?!

Jason turned over and screamed into the pillow again.

~~~

JASON

Monday night, pre-patrol

BatCave, Bristol

“Red Hood, Spoiler, you can work together in the North End, from Otisburg to the Bowery,” Batman directed as he outlined patrols two nights later.

The colour drained from Jason’s face. The universe (Bruce) was conspiring against him, he just knew it.

He simply nodded, not daring to look at his newly-assigned partner. Batman eyed his unusually quiet response suspiciously but simply moved on to dividing up the other groups.

“Black Bat and Red Robin can take Midtown, and Robin, Nightwing, and I will take the South End.”

Patrol sections divided, the groups set out on their various vehicles, whizzing out of the cave to work in their natural habitat, Gotham after 5 pm.

—

JASON

Monday night, on patrol

Crime Alley, Gotham

“Behind!” he called, warning Spoiler of an attacker sneaking up on her unguarded back. She whirled, taking them out with a neat uppercut, then expertly restrained and deposited them out of the heat of the fight.

He noted her efficient moves with admiration and something resembling…pride?, easily handling the group of attackers stupid enough to take him on. They were lined up beside her row in ten minutes or less, their collected fingerprints running through Oracle’s database at the moment.

He was curious what he’d stumbled upon, but their records would pop up on his in-helmet screen in a minute and help him decipher their reason for meeting in his territory.

“Nice work there, Blondie.”

“‘Blondie’? Really?” She tugged her void-like mask down to her nose, not enough that anyone could take in her face, but enough for him to see the scorn at his unintentional nickname sparking her eyes.

“You don’t like Blondie?” He popped the clasp on his helmet and tucked it under his arm, shaking the sweat off his curls in her face, just to get her back for stealing his snacks the other night. “What would you prefer then, Your Highness? ‘Purple’? ‘Curls’? “Menace’?”

“Must you use adjectives to nickname me?” she replied, stepping out of the spray zone. “I’m impossible to contain in one word, you know.”

The flickering streetlight behind her provided an angelic radiance, though her shadowed face was devilish. Her stance was offensive but her silhouette alluring, her costume practical but balanced by her whimsical glitter-fied batarangs hanging from her utility belt.

“I know,” he agreed under his breath.

SHIT THAT WAS WAY TOO SOFT! ABORT! “What about Kitten?” WHAT THE FUCK, TODD?

He may not have Cass’s abilities, but even he could see Steph’s stance shifting as she processed his most recent brain-to-mouth filter error.

“What?”

“You’re small and feisty like a kitten, but also pretty fluffy.” Honestly, her hair was amazing. He should find out what shampoo she used.

“Are you calling me fat, Hood?” She stalked towards him, twirling a batarang between her fingers.

He sputtered, eyes jumping between her hand and her face. “What- No- How- Absolutely not! I would never! I was referring to your hair, I swear! It looks really good lately and that’s all I was meaning!”

Her stone-faced mask broke as she flashed him a grin. “You’ve noticed my hair?”

Fuck.

“...Yeah.”

“Well, thanks for the compliment! I’ve been trying out the new L’Oreal Wonder Water shampoo the past few washes. Does your helmet mess up your hair? I noticed since I went back to my Spoiler cowl that my hair got more frizzy and broken, so I had to up my haircare routine.”

“Um, yeah, sometimes it gets pretty bad when I’m wearing the helmet more often than usual.”

“Mm, the lactic acid build up,” she nodded sagely. “I assume you shower after patrols, since you always smell good-”

It was Jason’s turn to grin. “You think I smell good?”

“Not the point, Hood,” Steph waved her hand airily, turning on her heel to leave. “You should try the Wonder Water shampoo and let me know how it works.”

“Okay, I’ll pick up a bottle on my way home tonight.”

“Also, I just remembered you called me small,” she spun again, marching towards him. “Rude, much? I’m above average, thank you.” Leaning into his personal space, she pressed the bat on his chest, waving one hand up and down his body. “Just because you’re big doesn’t mean I’m small.”

“Oh I’m big alright,” he smirked. “Would you like to prove if you’re small or not?”

Her gaze dropped to his lips as she leaned incrementally closer. He could smell the watermelon on her breath from the gum she’d been chewing earlier. He was eager to find out if she tasted like watermelon, too–her chapstick was also watermelon flavoured.

“All clear in Mid and South; head back to the Cave once your routes are completed.”

They jumped apart, hands flying to their in-ear pieces instead of each other’s bodies, coughing awkwardly to dispel the tension as they headed back to their bikes.

Batman was such a cockblocker. Jason was gonna steal his tires again, just watch him.

___

STEPH

Monday morning, post-patrol

Wayne Manor, Bristol

What was up with Jason lately? Steph mused as she changed into her pyjamas, finally ready for bed after the long night. That was the second time in about as many days that they’d almost kissed.

She wasn’t sure what had changed but he seemed to be seeing her in a new light, lately. There was some definite tension there. Her bratty attempts at gaining his attention by annoying him had paid off when he’d grabbed her and choked her the other night. As soon as he’d left she’d also gone home and proceeded to get herself off as she imagined what might have happened if he hadn’t stepped back.

Now that he was really seeing her, she needed to find out what he wanted and what he was going to do about it.

___

JASON

Monday morning, post-patrol

Wayne Manor, Bristol

Jason paused on the doorsill to the kitchen, then silently backed away in large steps to evade the blonde dancing around her waffle maker as fast as he could. Not today, Steph-an.

—

STEPH

Tuesday night, post-patrol

BatCave, Bristol

The distinct sound of Jason’s motorbike pulling into the Cave coincided with Steph’s decision to head to the showers and proceed with her thirty-minute seven-step skincare routine in the Cave shower rooms instead of the comfier surroundings of the Manor bathrooms until the sound of his bike faded in the distance. Yeah, she was going to up the ante on her psychological attacks, but she needed to give him a little space so she didn’t scare him off by coming on too fast!

—

CASS

Wednesday night, post-patrol

BatCave, Bristol

“Spoiler, can you swing by Crime Alley on your way home tonight and drop off this file for Red Hood?”

“Sorry, B, I’m going home with Cass tonight to have a sleepover in the Clocktower. Totally wrong direction,” she shrugged.

“Since when were we having a girl’s night?” Oracle asked Cass through her in-ear comm. Cass shrugged and watched Steph’s retreating form suspiciously.

—

DICK

Thursday afternoon

Grayson Apartment, Bludhaven

“Hey, Jason, can you make it to dinner or at least movie night next family night? Our schedules are finally all lined up so we can all make it!...Yeah, even Steph’s gonna be there, she’s going to join Cass on a Birds of Prey mission after….Oh, you’ve made plans with the Outlaws already?...Okay, have fun, Little Wing.”

Dick hung up and looked at Tim, who was obviously listening in from where he was typing on his laptop on the couch. “Has Jason been acting weird…er than normal lately?”

~~~

JASON

Saturday evening, pre-patrol

BatCave, Bristol

“...and that leaves Spoiler to join Red Hood on this stakeout.” Batman glanced between the two, waiting for the inevitable argument. “Everyone else is busy with their own missions or plans, you are the only two left to do this. Whatever grudge you’re holding against each other, either get over it before the stakeout or set it aside until the stakeout’s over. Your personal issues should not interfere-”

“-with the mission, yeah, B, we know. Fine. Spoiler, surely we can get along for one night, yeah?” Jason twisted to stare at Steph condescendingly, noticing her teeth digging into her lip and suddenly immensely jealous of her fucking incisors.

The smile she graced him with did not meet her eyes; he could practically hear the screaming behind those baby blues. “Of course, B-man, Jason and I are the epitome of adult maturity and will not allow holding anything against the other to detract from your mission.”

Her saccharine, agreeable tone for some reason did not inspire trust and agreeability in Jason.

Bruce’s lips thinned at the obvious placating, but left them off with one warning glare, which both of them were accustomed, even immune, to.

—

STEPH

Sunday morning, stakeout hour 00:00

Brooklyn, New York

Steph tossed her purple Bat-grade duffle on the bed nearest the window, eyeing Jason over her shoulder.

Predictably, he opened his mouth. “I call the bed nearest the window!”

“Nuh-uh, I put my bag on it first!”

“I called it first!”

“My bag, my bed.”

“I put my foot on the carpet first. That’s mine. Get around the room by not using the floor, then.” Jason crossed his arms, practically daring her to fold.

Steph scoffed. “What are you, six? The floor is lava? Fine, I will. I’m a gymnast; not touching the floor is easy.” With a huff she turned and bounced onto the bed nearest the door, then jumped to the bed she had claimed. She shot a look of pure victory over her shoulder, which he missed, because he was busy unpacking his black duffle on the other bed. Looks like he’d given up the bed debate after ‘winning’ that stupid point; victory was hers!

“Is that duffle Bat-grade?”

He glanced up, giving her a thoroughly unimpressed look. “No, I prefer to use unmarked duffles, and I just grabbed the closest one I had lying around when I packed.”

That was a lie, Steph knew. There was no way Jason ‘Mr. Organizes Recipe Books by Title Alphabetically’ Todd just ‘grabbed’ a duffle and threw his things in it.

Yep. Peeking over the beds, she could see his neatly packed bag arranged like one of those wooden pressure-fit puzzles.

He glanced up again at her unintentional scoff. “What?”

“You are such a liar, Todd. Look at how neatly that bag is packed.--Are those MREs?”

“Obviously.”

“Why?”

“In case we run out of food and it takes us a while to make our way back to Gotham.” The duh was implied.

“We’re five hours from Gotham, and in one of the largest cities in the world. You think we won’t find food in New York?” Steph questioned incredulously.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” he replied, nonplussed. “With so many people, food might be scarce if something happened.”

She couldn't argue with that. Pulling out her binoculars (actually useful things she packed knowing she’d actually need them for this overnight stakeout), she settled on her bed and began her lookout for their target.

—

JASON

Jason closed the door to the bathroom, leaving Steph and her luscious watermelony scent behind as a smirk crossed his lips. Hah, she’d taken the bait. Now he could sleep closest to the door and she wouldn’t protest. Also, he’d get to watch her innovative ways of traversing their room to avoid stepping on ‘his’ floor.

Could he have simply let her claim the window-side bed without making a fuss? Yes, of course, but that was boring. She was rather fun to rile up and argue with, and if he was arguing with her he was focused on the argument instead of her lips. Okay, he was focused on the argument coming from her lips. Fine, he was still focused on her lips, but he liked to pretend he wasn’t so he could ignore the fact that he was falling in love with the most obnoxious, fascinating girl on Earth.

Returning to the bedroom part of their suite, he immediately noticed Steph mid-jump from one bed to another. She landed on all fours, a bag of trail mix dangling from her mouth. What a view.

Closing his mouth and quirking a brow, he leaned against the doorframe. “Surprisingly honourable of you to maintain your floorlessness even when I’m not around.”

She turned, spitting the bag from between her teeth and returning the brow raise. “Of course, I’m not a cheater.”

What a bare-faced little liar she was–he’d seen her schemes in Monopoly last game night he attended. She wasn’t half bad at manipulating the card decks. He nodded agreeably.

“Of course you aren’t…and I’m not a zombie.”

“How dare you?!”

“Quite easily, sweetheart,” he drawled, settling against the head of his bed. Pulling out his phone, he began searching for good hole-in-the-wall restaurants nearby. Maybe they could go if they finished their stakeout early…maybe even call it a date?

A weight landed on his lap and the air whooshed out of his lungs as he stared at the girl of his dreams kneeling over him, a cute frown on her face as she glared at him in offense.

“Um, can I help you?” he asked slowly.

“Yeah, you can start by not insinuating I’m a cheater.”

“Oh, I didn’t insinuate, Kitten. You are a cheater.”

“You take that back, or-!”

“Or?” He leaned his head against the padded headboard, baring his neck mockingly. “What will you do, eat all the snacks? Good thing I brought my MREs,” he taunted.

WIthout warning, she bit his neck and jumped back to her bed before he could register what happened.

He slapped a hand to his neck over the bite, staring at her in shock. She blinked back at him innocently. He knew ‘Kitten’ was the right nickname.

“Oh, you have no idea what you just did,” he growled, launching himself onto her bed and caging her between his limbs.

That hitch in her breath was back, and so were her wide blue eyes.

“Oh yeah? Watch this.”

Muscle by muscle, she leaned up and bit down purposefully on the other side of his neck, meeting his stare defiantly.

“If you don’t stop I’m gonna lose it,” he warned her lowly, the heat from her body melting through his clothes until all he wanted was to burn by her heat.

“Looth wat, yor burginity?” she scoffed, as best she could with her mouth occupied. “I akthept.”

“I am not a virgin,” he informed her firmly, enjoying the feeling of her teeth on his neck. “There’s nothing to accept, except that unless you say stop, you’re not gonna be touching the floor because I fucked you so well your legs won’t work for 2-4 business days.”

In lieu of response, she grasped his hand and dragged it up her body until it rested at the base of her neck, where their whole situationship had started. Firming his grip, he reluctantly pulled her off his neck and met her eyes.

“Do your worst, not-a-zombie boy,” she taunted.

A dark chuckle escaped him. “Oh, you asked for it.” Tugging her back to him, he kissed her fiercely, her lips immediately parting so she could bite down on his lower lip. She did taste like watermelon–watermelon and glitter and strangely–yet unsurprisingly–like home.

Her arms wended around his neck, pulling him even closer to her. He obliged, settling even more of his weight on her, hands gliding down her body to cup her ass and pull her legs around his waist till she clung to him like a koala, their bodies melded to each other as much as they could.

He released her throat to comb his fingers through her hair, angling her head for a better angle to continue kissing her. Now that he had started, he never wanted to stop.

His other hand made its way up her body, slipping under her shirt to caress her bare skin. The rough yet smooth feel of scars underneath his fingertips reminded him yet again that she was one of the strongest women he knew.

Moving away from her delectable lips, he brushed a strand of hair back from her forehead so he could see her eyes clearly. “Can I take your shirt off?”

~~~

STEPH

Her heart swelled three sizes as she met his gaze. Usually, she kept her shirt on if she hooked up with someone, not ashamed of her scars but not wanting to deal with the stares and questions and pitying looks, whether she explained what happened, fed them a line, or simply refused to elaborate.

With Jason though, she already knew he’d read her file, he knew what had happened. He had his own scars, there would be no reaction like she got from civilians. It was simply a hazard of the job.

She nodded, brushing back a lock of his own hair. “Thank you for asking, and yes.” Sitting up a little more, she tugged her shirt up and over, letting it fall somewhere on his floor. He leaned back enough for her to kick off her leggings, too, which met the same fate as her shirt. Her underwear followed. At this rate, she was going to run out of clothes (oh no, whatever will they do).

Jason swiftly had his shirt off and sweet mother of Caroline, his musculature was even more delectable than his gear showed.

He grinned at her speechlessness, the smug man, brushing her mouth with his thumb. “Careful there, you got a bit of drool on ya.”

She was drooling more places than one, but he couldn’t be smug for more than thirty seconds or the room would implode from containing his ego, so Steph quickly settled the score. Hooking her leg over his and hugging his back and shoulder, she flipped them so that she was now the one straddling him.

“Jeans off,” she commanded, flicking the button open and undoing the zipper.

He obliged, kicking them off (oh no they were stuck around his thighs she had to feel him up help him get unstuck).

Steph stared at his more-than-decently sized cock, perfectly veiny and already flushed. “You go commando? That can’t be safe.”

“Not usually,” he replied, reaching up to fondle her breasts. “Special occasion: stakeout with you. Who knew if you’d want a quickie if you got bored or something?”

Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she slid down his body (fuck, those thighs, and also, hopefully soon, fuck those thighs?) until she was face to face with his di -nope- his cock was definitely the better word.

Hm, slow and edgy or fast and mindblowing?

“Gonna do something down there?” his fingers twisted in her hair, providing the perfect amount of pressure. She may have let out a tiny moan. Okay, that settled it. Opening her mouth, she took him in as far as she could immediately.

His hips jerked and his hand tightened around her hair. “Fuck, warn a guy!”

She pulled off and smirked at him. “But that would take all the fun out of it.”

A second time she took him deeply, more prepared now to go even a little further. Setting a steady pace, she began bobbing up and down, swirling her tongue and using her teeth (gently) to pull a symphony of moans and curses from him. It had been a while, but it was nice to see she hadn’t lost her touch, as soon he was pulling her off him by her hair, looking thoroughly wrecked.

“You are far too good at that,” he rasped.

She preened smugly at his pronouncement until he settled his hands on her hips and he yoinked her up till she was straddling his face. Teal eyes twinkled up at her. “Hold on.”

“To wha-oh fuck-fuck you!” Her hands instinctively landed on the headboard and his hair as he steadily licked at her core, his nose stimulating her clit in the most spine-tingling way as he ate her out. Did he just moan?

“Did you just moan?”

He moved off her just long enough to confirm that she was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted before returning to his self-appointed task.

“A little lighter, please,” she gasped out, gathering her bearings and beginning to swirl her hips.

He obliged, gentling the pressure and licking her steadily into an orgasm that made her whole body shake in pleasure. Riding her through it, he added a finger, giving her something to clamp down on while he expertly stroked her g-spot. Done with one, he immediately started for a second, adding another finger, then two, while avoiding her clit so she wouldn’t experience unpleasant overstimulation. It crested much quicker the second time around, overtaking her and leaving nothing but his name on her lips.

~~~

JASON

She was absolutely stunning when she came in his arms, hair wild, skin flushed, whining his name. He felt incredibly accomplished at that moment. He could die (again) a happy man.

Steph slid bonelessly off him to curl into his side, her fingers tracing some of the scars on his torso as she caught her breath. He tugged one of her legs between his, wanting to be as close as possible.

After a couple minutes’ rest, she had regained her bearings and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. Her hand slipped a little lower, finding his still-erect cock and pumping it slowly. “What’s your favourite position?”

He shrugged. “I like doggy. And cowgirl. And missionary. And standing. and -”

“-okay, okay, you like having sex, got it,” she rolled her eyes in fake annoyance but he caught the smirk on her lips anyways.

“What’s yours then, Miss Judgy?” He tweaked her nipple, enjoying the little gasp she let out.

“Probably cowgirl or wall sex. Mmm, I bet you’d be good at that. But later. Doggy now.” She got to all fours, brushing her loosened hair over one shoulder.

Jason happily obliged, rolling a condom on and getting behind her, adjusting her hips as he wanted. Any excuse to touch her, he’d take. Pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, he began pushing in, eyes closing in bliss as her wet heat welcomed him.

She let out a moan, hips moving back to take him in quicker. “Fuckkk you feel so good.”

“Just wait till I start moving,” he told her, gathering her hair around his fist and moving back out. He started slow, getting used to the feel of being with her, and also enjoying her impatient little whimpers as he refused to speed up.

Steph began moving her hips back with more force to meet his, moaning his name in irritation. “If you’re not gonna go faster will you at least go harder? I need more stimulation!”

Relenting, he began thrusting harder and a little faster, occasionally tugging her head up so he could better hear her pretty cries. This was an experience he never wanted to forget, imprinting it in his memories. “Damn, you’re tight; you’re squeezing me so well, babe.”

He reached around to rub her clit, rubbing two fingers in fast circles as he felt his own release approaching. “That’s it, come for me, babe.”

“Ffffuck, Jasoonnn ‘m coming!” was all the warning he got before her release overtook her with powerful spasms, pushing him over the edge. He quickly pulled out and took the rubber off, painting her ass and lower back in white.

Fuck, he hadn’t come that hard in a while. Once he regained use of his legs, he headed to the ensuite to dampen a towel and returned to wipe Steph down.

She rolled over once he was done, giving him a sleepy smile. “You okay if I nap a little? You really know how to wear a girl out, damn.”

He smothered a smile, tucking her hair behind her ear and smoothing the sheet over her bare body. “That means I’ve done my job right, Kitten. Enjoy your nap, I’m good for now.”

___

STEPH

The slant of sunlight dancing across her eyelids darkened, making her curious enough to finally open her eyes. The shadow of Jason’s hand covered her face, as he sat perched on the edge of her bed, the binoculars in his other hand focused across the street.

A soft smile played on her lips as she took in his messy hair, white tank top, and grey sweats that he must’ve pulled on after she fell asleep. He looks so domestic. I want to domesticate him. Whoa, down girl! Was that not enough to satiate you?

“Hey, handsome. What’s up?”

He turned, hand lowering as he saw she was awake and adjusted to the sunlight, an unconscious smile on his face. “Just people watching. Nothing new happening where we want it to be, yet.”

Yawning, she scooched up to lean against the headboard, wrapping her arms around her knees as she gathered her bearings. “Good to hear, I guess. I didn’t miss anything exciting.”

“Nope.” He leaned back, hands finding her feet through the blankets and beginning to rub them. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” she shrugged. “As long as it’s not an MRE,” she added suspiciously.

He laughed, his head falling back onto his shoulders. “No, I was gonna order from a Vietnamese place down the street.”

“Hm, that sounds good. Whatever you order is fine. I’m gonna take a shower, then.”

He waved her off and returned to his people watching, so she rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom to freshen up.

___

JASON

By the time Steph emerged in a cloud of fruit-scented steam, he’d gotten the small table dragged over to the window and their respective settings in order. That way they could enjoy their lunch and keep an eye on their suspect at the same time.

She paused by his bed, fiddling with the ties on her white robe.

Glancing up, he summoned her with a wave. “Lunch is ready, Your Highness. I figured we can share, or if you don’t like something I’ll eat it.”

“It all looks good,” she demurred, sitting in the chair with its back to the bed. “Good choices.”

“I’ve been craving Vietnamese all week, specifically from that place on North Holden, but I’vebeen too busy to stop by and pick something up. I figured the Melting Pot would have some good pho.” He cracked open the lids on the containers, the savoury aromas wafting around them.

“That smells amazing,” Steph moaned.

He side-eyed her at that suspiciously tantalizing sound but simply continued setting their lunch up. “Dig in,” he offered, settling into his chair with a glance out the window.

She did, ignoring the aromatic and piping hot steam to begin wolfing down her meal. Jason ate more slowly, blowing cool air over his noodles before slurping them up. Their meal was mostly silent, but it was comfortable, neither one pressured to say something or act differently despite their previous actions.

He liked it. He wanted to stay like that for far longer than a weekend stakeout.

___

STEPH

After they ate, Steph offered to take her turn watching for their mark while Jason stacked the empty containers neatly on the counter and moved the table back to its hotel-ordained spot.

The time passed slowly, as there was no indication of anything remotely connected to their mark or investigation. Steph did see two pickpocketings happen below her but that was hardly uncommon, whether she was home in Gotham or visiting in New York.

Bored, she flopped on the bed and wiggled until she could see Jason on his bed, reading. From her angle she couldn’t make out the title, so she decided to spice up their afternoon by being a brat about it.

Rolling off the far side of her bed, she crawled to the border of his, peeking up to see him ignoring her, thoroughly invested in the novel. He turned a page, the sound loud in their quiet room.

Steph almost reached up to tickle his feet but paused at the last second as he shifted, thighs flexing as he adjusted his position and planting evil ideas in her mind. She surfaced by the head of the bed, laying her head on his thigh as she nudged her way to the front of the book to see its cover and title. He lifted it out of her way, looking down at her with an arched eyebrow.

“Something the matter, Blondie?”

“Yeah. I can’t see what you’re reading.”

He huffed out a soft snort. “And that’s why you’re invading my personal space? Sure.”

“It’s an awkward angle to see!” she defended herself, shifting so her hair wasn’t pulled by the weight of her head (and incidentally, further up his thigh).

“Riighhtt,” he drawled, closing the book with a snap and placing it on the night table, spine away from her. “I think you’re just bored and being a brat. Getting awfully comfy here, aren’t you?”

“Nice pillows,” she shrugged, blinking innocently up at him. He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the white bangs in a way-too-hot manner. Of course his biceps flexed and of course his collarbones looked more biteable than ever and of course-

“Pillows? I think they make a better seat, personally.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“Since when did you need an invitation to do anything, Spoiler?” he taunted.

…Fair ‘nuf.

Steph climbed up and settled over his thighs, running one hand through his hair and one up his arm to his shoulder.

“You’re right, it is a good seat. Would be better if it was one of those massaging recliners,” she hinted, slowly rocking her hips.

“Oh, that comes with the premium package, not this free trial.”

The seam of her shorts finally hit all the right spots and made her ride more enjoyable. “Oh yeah? What else does the premium package come with? And how much does it cost?”

He leaned back, baring his throat to her (of course she had to take advantage and lick a stripe up). “The premium package costs daily kisses and requires sleeping in the same bed every night, plus it comes with the title of ‘boyfriend’ and regular date benefits.”

His eyes met hers, unguarded, serious, vulnerable.

She paused, frozen. “Are you serious?”

“...yes.”

She tilted her head in thought. “That’s a steal, for sure. Can I take the deal now before the offer runs out and/or products run out of stock? I’m kind of attached to this model, you see.”

“Deal. Just made it before the sale ended. Fortunately for you, it only comes with this model.”

The smile on his face made her feel too many things, and her heart hurt a little. “Good.” She leaned back, resting on her behind instead of her knees, laughing in relief at their shared silliness. “Hey, boyfriend.”

He leaned up, nuzzling his nose against hers. “Hey yourself, girlfriend.”

“Do you think you could show your new girlfriend some of the benefits she can expect to receive?” she leaned back just enough to count the freckles on the bridge of his nose-a soft detail on his otherwise rough, masculine features.

His answering grin was devious. “Your wish is my command.”

A/N 2: if i didn't end it there it'd be another two months+. also for those wondering about the small thread of plot in there yeah they got the evidence they were looking for on that stakeout in between rounds 👍they dropped it off at the cave and then set off to pull a Mary Shelley. Interested in JaySteph? Check out the 18+ JaySteph Discord server! Whether you're an author, artist, silent fan, or just curious about these two and why we ship 'em, there's a spot for you!

#jaysteph #fic #ali writes #jaysteph fanfic

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whumpninja · 4 months ago

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W.M.D., Part 2: Search and Rescue

I haven’t written a team dynamic in forever so this chapter took a bit. Finally done!

Featuring: living weapon, winged whumpee, drowning, unconscious whumpee, team dynamic

Taglist: @whumperofworlds @mysticalburntpaper @scoundrelwithboba @paperprinxe @fruitypineapple00 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @lancedoncrimsonwings @1seaweedbrain1 @whumppsychology @ziptiesnfries @maracujatangerine @whumpsoda

“Luke. Luke. Hey, Luke.”

Luke groaned, opening his eyes. “What, Shane?”

His friend stood over his bed, grinning. And shirtless. Luke grimaced. “Dude, it is way too early for you to be in trunks.”

Shane bounced on the balls of his feet, his sandy hair fluttering up and down. “I’m going surfing. Wanna come?”

“Man, is there a day you don’t go surfing?” Luke glanced over at the alarm clock, his eyes widening. “Shane, it’s five in the morning!”

“Come on, man! Dawn patrol! It’s epic surf right now, and no one around! Please?”

Shane was unfairly difficult to resist when he wanted something. His big green eyes and even bigger smile just…couldn’t be argued with. He put Luke in mind of a puppy begging for a treat- a Labrador puppy with messy fur that loved surfing too much and never wore shoes. Too early for metaphors, Luke decided.

He threw back the blanket and sat up. “I’ll go with you to the beach, but I am not going into the water this early in the morning. I’m gonna lay on the sand and catch some more Z’s while you try to get the ocean to kill you.”

“Meet you outside in five minutes!” Shane shot out of the room with entirely too much energy for five a.m., forgetting to close the door on his way out. Luke sighed.

Still half-asleep, he fumbled for a shirt and a pair of shorts, tugging the shirt on twice because he put it on the wrong way the first time. How does Shane have so much energy in the morning? Luke found his sandals and a beach towel, throwing one more longing glance toward his bed before he headed out into the hallway.

Shane stood by the stairs, spinning the keys to his station wagon on one finger. “Do we have to take that thing?” Luke asked.

“Yep!” Shane replied cheerfully, because he was basically incapable of being anything else.

“If it falls apart on the beach, you’re pushing it back.” Luke stretched his arms up, unable to resist another yawn. “Also, dude, are we even allowed to go off to the beach without telling anyone?”

Shane shrugged. “Jones knows I surf. Recruited me at a competition. He can’t get upset with me for needing a little practice.”

Luke snorted. “If he buys that you need practice surfing-“

Shane flashed a grin at him over his shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get out of here.”

The hallways were quiet this early, and Shane stepped so softly that Luke couldn’t even hear him. He was so busy trying to hear Shane’s footsteps that he ended up tripping over a chair. “Shh!” Shane hissed.

“Sorry!” Luke whispered back. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t wear shoes? Shane’s bare feet were quiet, while his own sandals made a flup-flup-flup noise that seemed loud enough to wake up the whole base.

Luke had always thought that base was a bad term for the building. Base meant security and soldiers and barbed wire fences and all of that nonsense. Their “base” was just an old building that had gotten fancy locks put on the doors and the windows nailed shut. Sure, it was more secure than a regular apartment, but it wasn’t that state-of-the-art.

The locks were still going to be a problem, though. Jones locked the doors when he left for the night and unlocked them when he came back in the morning. “Shane,” Luke whispered.

“What?”

“Do you do this every day?”

“Pretty much.”

“How do you get out?”

Shane fumbled in his pockets and held up two little metal sticks. Luke almost fell over his own feet. “You know how to pick locks?”

“Yeah.”

“And you do it regularly?”

“Dude, I’m usually already at the beach by now. I’m back, dried off, and making myself breakfast before the rest of you even wake up.” Shane bent down to the lock on the main door, slipping his picks in and turning them carefully.

“So that’s why your hair’s always wet in the morning,” Luke said. “I thought you were just really particular about showering before everyone else.”

Shane snorted. “No, dude, it’s the ocean. The only mornings I don’t go are if it’s flat or too stormy. Also, shut up and let me break us out of here.”

Luke watched as Shane manipulated the lock picks one way and then the other, wondering when-

“Got it!” Shane swung the door open, grinning like an idiot. “After you.”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you learned that,” Luke muttered, and shuffled out of the building.

Shane’s car sat waiting by the street, two surfboards lashed to the roof. Luke didn’t even really feel like car was the right word for the ancient, rickety, wood-sided station wagon Shane had allegedly bought off the side of the road and fixed up himself. It definitely drove like he’d fixed it up himself- the thing was prone to jostling around and bumping anyone who dared ride in it until they wished they had walked. Shane loved the car. Luke hated it. Shane called it Leroy. Luke called it a death trap.

“I’m still not going surfing,” he said, sliding reluctantly into the passenger seat.

“Aww, really? It’s gonna be epic waves!” Shane started the car, which meant putting the keys in the ignition and whacking the dashboard until the engine turned over.

“It’s gonna be cold, is what it is,” Luke grumbled. “I’ll watch you get eaten by a shark instead of risking it myself.”

Shane laughed, pulling the car out onto the main roads. “Wouldn’t mind that.”

“Huh?”

“What? It’s a cool way to go. Besides, it’s their ocean, I’m just playing in their front yard. There’s a reason we call ‘em the landlords.”

“You’re worried about whether or not your death will be cool enough?”

Shane flashed him the Shaka sign along with his signature grin. “Sure. What sounds better- ‘Here lies Shane Carter, who died at eighty-five from slipping in the bathtub and breaking his hip’ or ‘Here lies Shane Carter, who surfed an epic wave straight into a shark’s jaws and it was crazy sick’?”

“You’re crazy, man.”

Despite Shane’s terrible car, the drive to the beach wasn’t so bad. Shane hummed something that sounded jazzy and was only a little off-key. Luke watched the sun come up and thought about sharks. “Where are we going?” he asked when Shane drove right past the public beach.

“Secret surf spot,” Shane replied. “Gets the best waves.”

They went about a mile or so down the coast, out into the sand dunes. Shane’s car actually drove smoother once it was off the paved roads, and Luke wondered if he’d somehow rigged it to do that.

Finally, Shane pulled over, and Luke had to admit it was a good spot. Shane had found a little stretch of beach, shielded from passersby with a tall dune and a rock outcropping. Waves crashed on the shore, which made Shane’s grin get even bigger.

While Shane hopped out to get his surfboard down from the roof of the car, Luke climbed out at a more reasonable speed and watched the ocean. Maybe this was worth waking up early for. The last of the sunrise had turned the ocean golden, and the roar of the waves was actually a peaceful sound once you got used to it. The smell of salt hung in the air, and Luke was almost tempted to go in the water.

Almost.

He shaded his eyes and looked out to sea, wondering if there might be a pod of dolphins or a whale enjoying the morning the same as him. And to his surprise, he did see something. “Hey, Shane!” Luke called. “There’s a seal out there!”

“Really?” Shane had his surfboard tucked under his arm, locking the car and coming to Luke’s side. “Where?”

Luke pointed towards the dark spot in the water. “Right there!”

Shane looked where he was pointing. His grin faded. “That’s not a seal.”

“How can you tell? And what is it?”

Shane gripped his surfboard tighter. “That’s someone in the water, man.”

“What?”

Shane took off running for the edge of the water. “Come on!”

“Shane!” Luke raced after his friend. Shane was unfairly fast, even running barefoot on sand. Luke just barely managed to catch him before he plunged into the water. “Shane, what are you doing? We should find some way to call the Coast Guard or something.”

“Whoever that is out there, they need help a lot faster than that. Are you coming with me?” Shane’s usually cheerful face had turned to something determined and serious. It didn’t look right on him.

“But- what are we going to do?”

“I can get out to them with the board and hold it steady. If you can help them onto it, I think we can get them back to shore.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Luke stripped off his shirt. “This is crazy, Shane.”

Shane handed him the surfboard. “Here.”

“What’s this for?”

“Paddle out on it. I can get to them faster if I swim.” Shane took a few deep breaths and ran into the ocean without hesitating. Luke gripped the surfboard and followed. Man, how do I get myself into these predicaments?

Shane was already swimming by the time Luke got the surfboard floating with him on top. The ocean didn’t seem to like him the way it liked Shane- a wave smacked him right in the face. Cold, salty water filled his mouth. Luke spat it out, shaking out his hair. How does Shane do this every morning? His friend was swimming like he had been made for it, already halfway to the motionless dark spot bobbing in the waves. Luke kicked as hard as he could, trailing far behind.

Shane reached the person first, treading water around the still form. Luke saw him go under once, resurfacing on the other side. "Are they alive?" he yelled.

"Don't know!" Shane called back. "Get the board over here!"

Luke slid off the board and into the cold sea. Man, I hope sharks aren't awake this early. He positioned himself next to the body and pushed the board over to Shane. The person was at least floating face-up- Luke saw pale skin and dark hair. He couldn't see the face very well beneath the strings of hair covering it, but it looked like it might belong to a guy about his own age.

"I'll hold the board still, you get him on top," Shane directed.

Luke slipped his hands under the person's body. Something limp and wet and oddly soft met his fingers. Grimacing, he lifted it out of the water. "What the-"

Shane's mouth dropped open. "Is that a wing?"

It was. Huge, black, and feathered like a bird's, soaked with the sea. "Gotta be some kind of flight suit, right?" Luke asked. But the guy was shirtless, and the wing felt...attached.

"Don't think so," Shane replied. "Can't worry about it right now. Gotta get him out of the water. Come on, help me."

——————————————————————————

Paul stared in dismay at the picked lock on the main exit door. "Shane, you idiot," he fumed under his breath. "And you had to take Luke with you. If Jones doesn't kill me, I'm going to kill you."

"Who are you killing?" asked Ana behind him.

Paul jumped, putting a hand to his chest. "Don't do that! Shane, if he comes back. He's run off with Luke. Jones'll be here in about ten minutes, and if they're not back here-"

Ana raised her eyebrows. Her hair was damp, and she ran her fingers through it. "There'll be trouble."

"Tons. Especially for me."

"Well, at least it's only those two," Ana said. "Viv's in the lab, Diego's in the kitchen."

Paul ran his hands through his hair, slumping down against the wall with a sigh. "I just- I'm the leader. Whatever you all do reflects back on me. So Shane running off to go swimming or whatever it is he does- I'm the one responsible for that. And Jones knows it. Ugh, I just wish he'd think for once!"

"Jones? Or Shane?" Ana stuck out her hand.

"Shane." Paul accepted Ana's hand, standing up from the floor. "Let's go. I'm going to eat Shane's share of whatever Diego's cooking."

Just as Ana had said, Diego was in the kitchen. The radio had been tuned to a Spanish-language station, and Diego used a spatula as a microphone as he sang loudly along. He spun around, spotted Ana and Paul in the doorway, and grinned. Ana snorted as her twin brother wiggled his eyebrows and jiggled his hips, grinning all the while. "You're loco," she told him.

"Completely," Diego replied, still smiling. "Hey, where's Shane and Luke? Their eggs are going to get cold."

Paul sighed. "They're gone. Shane dragged Luke off to the beach, probably."

Diego sucked in his breath. "Ooh, el jefe isn't gonna like that."

"Since when is Jones the boss? I thought I was the boss." Paul stole Diego's spatula to get himself a serving of eggs.

"You're boss-y," Ana teased.

The joking of his teammates made Paul feel better. They sat around the kitchen eating breakfast and talking animatedly among themselves. The absence of Shane and Luke still tugged insistently at the back of Paul's mind. He was the leader. He knew that the responsibility would fall on him the moment Jones arrived.

Jones, naturally, took that exact moment to do so, flinging the kitchen door open with a bang. As always, he was in uniform and already scowling at them. His sharp dark eyes did not miss the absentees. "Where's Carter, Evans, and Tai?" he said gruffly.

The question wasn't directed to anyone in particular, but Paul answered it anyway. "Viv's in her lab. The other two snuck out. Shane probably dragged Luke off to the beach."

Jones raised an eyebrow slowly, his jawline tight and a nerve standing out in his forehead. But all he said was "I see."

Paul grimaced inwardly. Oh, we're in for it.

As if he could read Paul's mind, Jones snapped out orders. "Ten minutes to get downstairs. Alvarez- both of you- clean this up. Price, if Carter and Evans come back, I want to know before they get in the door. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!" Paul answered. Ana echoed him half-heartedly. Diego didn't bother.

Jones left with just as loud a slam as before.

Paul slumped into his chair, sighing. "He's furious."

"Duh," Ana replied, dumping her plate into the sink. "We're gonna be sore tomorrow."

Paul brushed brown hair out of his eyes. "I don't care how long he makes us train. I care about him thinking I'm a bad leader because I can't control my team. Can't stop them from running off whenever they feel like it. Maybe he shouldn't have picked me."

"Hey." Ana dropped down into the chair next to him, wrapping her hand in his. "You're a good leader, Paul. It's not your fault Shane hasn't gotten with the program yet. Jones will blame you anyway, of course, but it's not your fault. You're doing a good job. And he might yell and bluster and make us all run laps until we drop, but I know Jones knows that too."

Paul offered her a smile. "Thanks, Ana."

"Por supuesto." She tapped his hand and got up to help Diego with the dishes.

The main door banged open. Paul shot to the hallway, almost skidding into Jones, who had come up from the basement. Their commander's face was grim. "Is that them?"

"Hey! Guys!" Luke's voice rang out loudly.

Paul moved to stand beside Jones, folding his arms and making as stern a face as he could.

Shane barreled around the corner and nearly into them, Luke hot on his heels. Both of them were soaked to the skin. "Jones!" Shane gasped, his hands on his knees. "We-"

Jones cut him off. "Where were you?" His voice was flat and cold.

"The beach. But we-"

"Your idea, I assume."

Shane seemed to realize that neither Jones nor Paul looked happy. He straightened up, shoving a string of wet blond hair out of his eyes, and faced Jones directly. "Yes. It was."

Jones nodded tersely. "Evans, clear off," he said to Luke.

Luke gulped. "Um, sir-"

Jones had already moved on. "Why?"

Shane shrugged. "I needed some practice."

"Don't even try that," Jones snarled, flipping from cold disdain to hot anger in the space of a second. "You know what, Carter, I am sick and tired of your disrespect. You're the only one here who-"

"Jones," Shane tried to cut in.

Jones bulldozed him and kept going. "-hasn't gotten their head on straight. You'd rather run solo than be part of a team, is that it? You've got nowhere to go if I throw you out, remember. I saw potential in you, but if you want to waste that-"

"Jones, I-"

"And if I don't expel you from the program, you can be sure that you are in a whole mess of trouble, Shane Carter. You are going to wish that you had never met me, starting-"

"Jones!" Shane shouted.

Paul's eyes went wide. He'd never heard Shane raise his voice- and certainly never at Jones.

Jones' eyebrow arched. His voice dropped to an almost soft, dangerous tone. "Did you have something to say, Shane?"

Shane's eyes were blazing, and Paul saw his fist clench. "Yeah," Shane said, his own voice trembling with effort as he fought to keep it steady. "Yell at me later, because I've got an unconscious guy in the back of my car!"

"What?" Paul blurted. Even Jones looked startled.

"We pulled him out of the ocean!" Luke added from over Shane's shoulder. "He's alive. But he's in real bad shape."

"Paul, can you get Viv?" Shane asked. "This guy needs serious help."

"Just a minute." Jones crossed his arms. "Why did you bring him back here? Why not the hospital?"

Shane glanced to Luke. "That's the other thing. Whoever he is...he's got wings."

#living weapon whumpee #drowning #unconscious whumpee #team whump #whump #whump writing #wmd #jack be whumpy

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impala-dreamer · 1 year ago

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Tourniquet - Chapter One

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

All The Damage That This Dark World Does

It had been raining on and off for days and the ground was little more than a muddy expanse that swallowed up the soles of their boots like quicksand.

The forest was dark and the air rang loud with the requiem of nature. Birds sang low and sad; branches crackled underfoot. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled and the hunters froze. Each set of ears turned towards the sound and eyes darted about while tired minds calculated distances.

Bobby’s gruff whisper broke through the rain’s symphony. “‘Bout a half a mile east.”

Dean nodded and Y/N squared her shoulders.

“And where’s the rest of them?” she asked, tone a little harsher than it needed to be as she glared at the old man.

Dean shot her a look but she didn’t flinch. Mary shifted uncomfortably between them, not wanting to get involved.

Bobby adjusted his cap and shrugged. “Gotta be close. They’re hunting us as sure as we’re hunting them.”

She sighed. “So which way do we go? I’d rather not run right into the pack.”

Dean cleared his throat and cocked a brow her way. She wasn’t going to let up and he knew it.

“Why don’t we split up,” he suggested, looking at Bobby and his mother. “You guys go south, we’ll keep heading west.”

Mary nodded. “OK. Just stay safe.” She smiled and Y/N half returned it.

Bobby huffed. “You two be careful and holler if you get in trouble.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and set off before Dean could spin around.

“Why are you such a bitch to him?” he asked, easily catching up to her with his long stride.

“You know why.” She swatted at a low hanging branch and groaned. “That’s not Bobby and it’s fucking creepy.”

Dean laughed at her. “It is Bobby-”

“Not my Bobby.”

He sighed. “You get used to it.”

“No thanks.”

Another howl, this time closer and followed by another.

Y/N stood still and tall, listening with her entire being. Dean came up behind her and she held a finger to her lips, ordering him to be silent.

The earth was damp. The fallen autumn leaves were too wet to make a sound, but she heard the squelch of mud as a creature ran through it. The being gained speed, and the wind picked up, chilling their faces as sure as the adrenaline prickled their skin.

She nodded towards his right and Dean raised his pistol, gripping it tight and following the line of sight into the dank woods. He squinted and a mess of black, matted fur moved behind the trees.

“Shit.”

Y/N flipped off the safety on her gun and steadied herself. She took a breath, gave him a wink and set off to the left.

He knew her well enough to understand the plan without conversing, and Dean moved off to the right. They’d wrap around in a circle and meet behind the beast, hopefully catching it off guard and raining silver down upon it.

It was a good plan. Solid. Proven.

Y/N moved swiftly through the trees, careful to tread lightly through the muck and avoid the fallen soldiers of the wood. The rain picked up and with the distance now between them, she lost sight of Dean, but she wasn’t too worried. They were professionals, after all.

Another few yards and the tree line gave way to a clearing. Y/N wondered for a moment if she’d gotten turned around in the forest, but her internal compass told her she was going the right way.

A wolf’s cry made her sure.

The grass was tall and free, untouched by blades or trampled by tires. She pushed through the weeds and a flash of memory struck her.

The sweet smell of spring; the tickle of grass against her cheek. Rusted metal and chrome gleaming in the sun. The smell of burgers burning on charcoal. Perfect green eyes.

Y/N shivered at the sensory overload and blinked into the clearing. She was taller than the grass now and so much older than her days in the junkyard.

She took a deep breath and heard her name.

From across the field, Dean emerged from the trees and shouted her name. He spun his hand in the air and she cocked her head, staring at him, confused but smiling. He was just as beautiful as the first time she’d seen him, though a bit more broken down and tired.

Again, he yelled for her, and the slow motion world around her cranked back up to full speed.

“Y/N!”

She heard it then- the horrid, hungry growl. She smelled the dirt, the wetness. Felt the fear as her body tensed.

Y/N turned and the wolf attacked. She pulled the trigger but it only made the beast more aggressive.

Powerful jaws clamped down on her defending arm; razor claws ripped through her flesh. The wet ground accepted her body as they fell, the mud curled up around her as the grass gave way.

Two shots rang out and the wolf was hit. It reared back and leapt over her, gunning for Dean.

Y/N flipped over in the mud and tried to get up to help him, but her arms gave out and she sank down, her face cradled by the soft grass.

One more blast from the gun and she heard the monster fall. Boots splashed through the mud and she felt Dean’s warmth as he fell to his knees beside her.

Big hands turned her carefully and Dean scanned her face. Her eyes were rolling, her lips curled into the sweetest smile.

“No. No. No.” His bottom lip trembled as he peeled back her jacket and saw the damage. Her chest was torn, her stomach ripped open and gushing blood. He pressed his hand into her middle and she cried out.

Pain spread through her at his touch and then subsided.

She grabbed at his arm, wrapping her fingers around the canvas sleeve.

“I… I’m sorry, Dean.”

Her voice was quaking as badly as his hand and he closed his eyes, shook his head.

“No.”

She smiled, laughed a little. “Yeah.”

Again, he shook his head, refusing to let her go. “No.” He sat up a bit, craned his neck over the tall grass. “Bobby! Somebody! Help!”

Weakly, she lifted a hand to his face and guided his gaze back down to her.

“Hey. It’s OK.”

He raged inside. Grit his teeth. “It’s not OK!”

Blood rushed beneath his hand like a dam had burst on a river. Her skin paled, her eyelids fluttered.

His heart raced, breath quickened. “Please don’t. Don’t leave. Please.”

Her shoulders twitched inward and the pain returned. She cringed but kept her smile, unwilling to go out like some terrified victim, some damsel in distress.

“Dean…” She pet his cheek, wiped away a hot tear.

“Please.”

“Do you remember when we met?”

He chewed his lip, closed his eyes, and took a breath.

“Yeah, Y/N/N. Of course I do.”

Her fingers tensed on his cheek. “You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. You still are.”

“Don’t say goodbye to me, Y/N/N. You can’t.” He turned his face and kissed her palm, grabbed her wrist with both bloody hands and kissed her fingertips, kissed her knuckles, kissed every inch. “You can’t leave me.”

With her free hand, she tugged at the chain around her neck and pulled the necklace free.

“Here. Take this back,” she whispered, hardly able to spare the breath to speak any longer.

Dean gasped and dropped her hand, ran his fingertips over the old lug nut pendant. “You… you still have this? After all this time?”

She laughed painfully. “Of course I do, you idiot. I never take it off.”

He closed a fist around it and shut his eyes, trying to erase the tears and be strong for her. It was all ending and he knew it. She had just moments left and he couldn’t let her go without letting her know the truth.

“It’s my good luck charm,” she said under a harsh breath. She coughed and the taste of iron flooded her mouth. She swallowed it down and held on.

“Didn’t do you much good today.”

She smiled and closed her hand around his.

“I’ve always loved you, ya know. You… you were always it for me, Dean. Always. I’ve… I’ve loved you since that first day by the stream. I’ve never not loved you. I just need you to know that.”

He shuddered, sucked in an uneasy breath. “I knew, Y/N/N,” he confessed. “I always knew. I… I love you, too. So fucking much.”

Her eyes lit up for a second and she shook her head sadly. The tears broke free and refused to leave.

“Then why? Why didn’t-”

She couldn’t finish the words, but he understood.

He pressed his hand lightly to her forehead and smiled. “Come on. I’ve told you a thousand times, Y/N/N. I don’t deserve someone like you.”

He leaned down, held her cheek, kissed her forehead, her cheek, her lips.

Y/N closed her eyes, safe in his arms, and felt the sweet pull of sleep yank at her limbs.

“Shut up, Dean,” she whispered.

He laughed gently.

She smiled.

He would be OK.

Dean stared into the fire, watching through bloodshot eyes as the flames licked at her silhouette.

Her necklace gleamed in the pyre’s glow and he closed his fist around it, holding it tight. Despite the heat of the fire, the metal was cold against his palm.

She was really gone.

She’d been there almost his entire life, always at his side when he called, always there to stitch him back together. But now she was gone.

He’d watched a hundred bodies burn over the years, said goodbye to every friend he’d ever had, but this was too much. There was a piece of him gone, a wound had been carved out of his chest that would never heal.

So many things he should have told her, so many times he’d taken her for granted. Guilt pulled at him and grief chewed at his veins. So many years wasted. So many nights he could have been alone with her, happy and loved.

The blaze burned hot, the wood crackled.

Dean stared silently, drowning in his pain. Forever the man she loved. Still the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

The boy with the green eyes.

Tourniquet Tags: @prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!) @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#tourniquet #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #series #angst

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briarberrythornedhart · 8 months ago

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Acts of Service

One December morning you rolled over, feeling gently for him in bed. Hoping to feel his arms enclose you, hoping for a little more time (it was never enough), hoping to get tugged into the bend of his body and the warmth that he emitted at night. Hopes dashed because for some reason Eddie had gotten up before you!!?

You soon heard him singing in the shower. Surprisingly happy sounds for him well before his more preferred wake up time —11am.

But your job was 9-5 so you rolled reluctantly out of bed to start the coffee and make some oatmeal.

Sorry, porridge, Eddie would only eat it if you called it gruel or porridge and covered it in something sweet. Today would be brown sugar and a dash of pumpkin pie spice.

You nursed your coffee and ate your porridge and flipped through this month's Rollingstone magazine to find the article on Corroded Coffin’s return tour. “A reanimation into wild magical theatrics, well worth the wait” was the consensus- put artfully by Kurt Loder.

“That smells so fuckin’ good, you’re spoiling me!”

You were hit suddenly by the icy spell of Eddie pressing his very large but very cold hands into the small of your back.

“Oh my gawd! Eddie!!!”

“You promised.” He chastised you. Speaking into your hair as his fingers slid to your stomach. “You said you’d warm me up if I’d scrape the windshield and start the car up, remember?”

“I didn’t promise not to react to your frost fingers.” In 11 years you’d only shied away from Eddie’s touch maybe three times. Usually because of illness. You didn’t move away. You held his hands still and kept him close.

“You’re so warm.” Eddie moaned and rubbed his cold, cold nose low into your neck.

“Take all my heat, baby, you earned it.” You twisted yourself like a turned-on pretzel to get close enough to press into Eddie’s lips and his 2 day stubble and his perfect scent.

“All of it?” Eddie murmured after a long kiss. “Make you late for work?” He kicked up his eyebrows and his big brown eyes flashed with particular interest. Last night had been epic, but he wasn’t worn out, apparently.

“Being on time to my job is not as vital as making sure the dynamic front man and songsmith of the…” you flipped a page and read… “most influential metal band of the late 80’s and early 90’s gets warmed up.”

“Did they really print that about little old me??” Eddie asked, smirking, as if he hadn’t memorized the whole issue.

You picked up the magazine and gestured C’mere. “You read it out loud to me while I warm you up.”

#eddie munson x reader #older!eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #stranger things #fanfic #mine #love languages

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hantaslittlearsonist · 8 months ago

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❤︎ 𝐹𝓁𝓊𝒻𝒻 ❤︎

ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜɪɴɢ ᴄʜᴇꜱʟᴏᴄᴋ ᴘᴜᴛ ᴏɴ ᴍᴀᴋᴇᴜᴘ

Watching Cheslock put on makeup is... A whole experience. He prances around his room, blasting music so loud there's no way it doesn't bother his neighbors. Not that he cares. He doesn't have a vanity or a small mirror of any sort he can sit at to do this no, of course not. He stands or sits at the silver-framed full length mirror that leans against the wall at the end of his bed. He sings along to whatever song his phone pops up from his shuffled "liked songs" whether it be Motionless in White or Seb Lowe, he knows all of the lyrics. Sometimes he even fingers out the melody into the air, pretending to hold his violin with his left hand as his right buffs on more black eyeshadow.

Once he's done with the eyeshadow though, the real fun begins. He whips out his trusty eyeliner pen (NYX Epic Ink, obviously), leans in as close as possible to the mirror and oh so carefully drags the tip of the pen over his skin from the outside of his eye to just before the middle of his eyelid. He does the same for his lower lash line, careful, mediculous, quiet, for once, staring at his reflection open-mouthed with more focus than he has for anything else. Well, maybe one or two other things but pretty much anything else.

When he's managed to get his eyes to look like sisters (not twins), he moves on to accentuating his scar. The one on the left side of his face, light pink, indenting a three-ish inch (7cm) line over his eyebrow, eye and the top of his cheek. Honestly, he was lucky to make it out with the vision in his left eye intact... Whatever. He traces, less carefully now, over the line with his eyeliner, dragging the scar out all the way down to his jaw and making a fork at the bottom.

'Like one of those old Victorian dolls, see?' He had jocked a couple times, 'The porcelain ones that crack like that when you drop them.'

After doing a once-over of his outfit, little top-big bottom or big top little bottom, depending on his mood, he usually stacks on a miriad of necklaces and bracelets and rings and tightens the balls on his piercings, taking special care of his tongue ring. He swallowed it one time and it would not happen again. He moves on to his hair, making sure every spike is in place and sometimes complaining about how dry it is because of the bleach...

Next is your favourite part, when he gives you a little spin, the various chains on his clothes clinking together merrily. And even better, when he slinks over, wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close with his usual confident cat-like grin. And he's so warm — a space heater, really — and even though his chains and the studs on his jackets dig into your skin, you don't mind, you want to wrap yourself up in him and never let go.

His lips are a little chapped, a little dry when he kisses you. But they're gentle, careful but still firm. He licks into your mouth, only for a moment, enough to let you feel the sleek hard metal of his piercing.

'Alright, you ready?' He checks. You grin. 'Let's go, I'm starving.'

#kuroshitsuji #black butler #cheslock #fanfiction #cheslock x reader #Fluff #Cheslock putting on makeup is a whooole thing #A performance almost #AAAsdrabbles

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birboon · 8 months ago

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CIRCUS BOY

ACT 1 - Chapter 3

PAIRING: Peter Parker x Dick Grayson

WORD COUNT: ~5k

PREVIOUS CHAPTER: chapter 2

HOW HE'D GOTTEN himself into this situation, Dick didn't know.

One moment he was sitting back against the leather interior of Mercedes's newest sporting model, the next he was sitting in the vents of the new Wayne Tower and staring down through the metal grating at the lead-lined floor, still as a mouse and cursing his super-stupid friends for not shutting up. Every time his phone vibrated in his pocket he winced, knowing the rattling of the metal around him was just as loud and audible to those who weren't inside it.

They hadn't cared about his epic escape from the clutches of an evil fashion corporation (well, no one except Connor but Superboy cared about everything) and now - although he was too scared to move to reach for the device to silence it - he was pretty sure Roy and Wally were having a battle of non-existent wits. When he got the time, Dick was going to make a new groupchat with only the girls of his team.

The 'men' were all idiots. He needed culture.

Looking at his watch and squinting through the half-light, Dick concluded that there was a half-hour before the grand opening of the new Washington office. The receptionist preparing the front desk for the event had told him that 'Mister Wayne' was in a board meeting with some foundation sponsors but Dick had gone there to surprise the tricky man and found nothing but angry, tired businessmen and women at their wit's end because Brucie Wayne had charmed his way from the room before it'd even started.

So now Dick was stuck hiding in the ventilation systems of Bruce's office, waiting for the man to come and collect the real copies of the ledgers he'd left unsigned so he could jump down and throttle him for giving Alfred even more reasons to lecture them. Besides, it would be a nice surprise for the big guy! He loved when Dick visited him in the office; a not-so-rare occurrence whenever the teen was on break and bored.

And Dick Grayson got bored a lot.

Another buzz from his pocket and he gritted his teeth, frustrated, risking a grab for the phone. Just as his nails slid across the glass screen, elbows slamming into the sides of the cramped crawlspace as he twisted round, he heard a click. Lightning quick - though Wally would beg to differ - Dick spun back around, eyes wide, to watch the door slide open with a twist of the handle. Soft hair brushed against the metallic ceiling, gathering static as he leaned forward to peer carefully through the narrow slits below:

A surprise rally from above. That's what he wanted to do - get the drop on Bruce, if only to hear the man congratulate his stealth. Dick grinned to himself; he'd never see it coming. Or hear it coming, for that matter.

"Dick, come out and say hello to our guests," came the ever-familiar voice, dark and rich. Expensive footsteps echoed through the sizeable room until a tall, handsome head of dark hair came to a stop next to the desk, directly below him. Dick blinked.

"What?" He whispered and could almost hear the man roll his eyes.

"Get out of the ceiling," Bruce replied sharply, looking over his shoulder to check for company. He cast the classic playboy grin towards whoever was approaching and waved meekly. "Shouldn't be a second. Feel free to, er, touch whatever you want. Except the walls - I don't want to pay someone to repaint them."

"I wasn't aware you were having visitors," Dick snapped, grunting as he shifted the loose grate off to one side. His fingers latched onto the side of the vent as he gently lowered himself down, swinging to a perfect stop in front of Bruce. The man sighed and folded his arms, watching with warm eyes as Dick slotted the vent cover back in place. "How'd you know I was up there?"

Bruce levelled him with a stare that said all Dick needed to know. A classic i'm-batman look that he was all too familiar with. Bruce held up a tiny, beeping device. A schematic of the building's ventral system glowed on the screen, a single portion highlighted in red:

"Aren't you supposed to be modelling right now?" Bruce supplied, pocketing the new WayneTech prototype. He dusted off Dick's shoulders, spinning the boy around the face their 'guests'.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a meeting right now?" came the reply, more of a huff than a biting remark. Dick let Bruce maneuver him towards a group of people that instantly left him feeling more embarrassed than he had been in a long time. He'd not felt this tortured by a social interaction since Barbara had invited him to that sleepover with all her girlfriends.

Needless to say, he was not feeling the aster.

The striking mustard-yellow blazers looked a stark sickly-green beneath the quality lighting of Bruce's office. Dick didn't realize the new Wayne Enterprise building was some sort of attraction but then again... he was in and out of them all the time. And this wasn't Gotham. Bruce Wayne leaving his city to set up shop somewhere else was always a novelty.

And here he was, Wayne's ward and heir, standing barefoot with dust-bunnies on his expensive clothes and smudged make-up on his face. With no way to escape the awful situation, Bruce pinning him to the spot with a hand firmly on each shoulder, Dick swallowed his pride and raised a hand awkwardly towards the small group of teens.

"Uh, hi," he croaked out towards the stunned crowd. The silence was deafening. A familiar face turned a bright pink as his gaze raked over them. "I'm Dick."

"This is my ward, Richard Grayson," Bruce clarified. "I ran into this wonderful group on my way to Starbucks, Dick! Can you believe it?"

Some of the students snickered and Dick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He never liked the version of Bruce that he put on show for the world: "I can believe it."

"We're in town for a competition," a man - presumably the teacher - supplied. Dick raised a brow, scanning over the sea of yellow-clad faces. Peter no-surname looked a little nauseous, refusing to meet his eyes.

They didn't seem the sport type. Far too... well, he didn't want to say nerdy because he knew a couple nerds and Wally West was one of the fastest people alive (and if that's not sporty then Dick didn't know what was). But this group wasn't going to be competing for college scholarships in football, that's for sure.

"Mathletes?" He guessed.

"No, we're- close enough. It's close enough," the teacher supplied. He was wearing a cardigan despite the heat outside and his mousy, thinning hair was beginning to stick to his forehead.

"Mister Harrington, we're not mathletes."

Mister Harrington suppressed a sigh, chest jumping with the action, pushing his glasses up his nose. He turned to one of the students, a girl with impressive curls draped over her rather pretty face. "We don't need to bother the Wayne's with specifics Michelle."

Dick couldn't find it in him to remind them that he technically wasn't a Wayne. He may be Bruce's foster kid, but he wasn't is son. Not biologically, anyway. He loved Bruce, he did, but he wasn't going to start calling him daddy. Michelle shrugged and popped her headphones back into her ears. If he strained, Dick could just make out the tinny sound of Black Sabbath blaring from her phone.

"It's a decathlon," Liz added, ducking away from Dick.

"Wasn't the Olympics last year?" Bruce queried, smiling handsomely behind Dick's head. The boy pulled away from his guardian, trying and failing to dodge the hand that shot out to ruffle his hair as he did so.

"It's academic, Bruce. You know that," Dick muttered, folding his arms over his chest. He caught the eye of one of the students closest to him - a kind-faced boy whose eyes were wide as the sun as he stared at Dick. "Can I help you?"

"Oh my god, Peter - he just acknowledged my existence!" The boy whispered, a hand shooting out as if he needed to steady himself on his friend's shoulder. Peter didn't seem too impressed, stance awkward as he decided between crossing his arms in an imitation of Dick or letting them hang loose by his side. "Do you know what this means? I'm friends with a celebrity!"

"Friends?" Peter contained a laugh, eyes darting nervously towards Dick. "Ned, I don't think-"

"We're totally best friends now, Ned. Don't listen to him," Dick butted in with a sly wink towards the non-believer, watching Peter's jaw tense. He held out a graceful hand, encouraged by the other boy's forwardness and grinned as Ned shook it excitedly with both hands. Dick gathered he was something of a fan. "Do you have snapchat?"

"Yes! Yeah I do," Ned exclaimed, digging through his jeans for his beat-up iPhone. His smile was contagious. "Dick Grayson wants to add me on snap, wow."

Ned's bitmoji looked impressively like him, Dick noted. They'd even coordinated outfits, wearing the same shitty t-shirt. He was suddenly conscious of his own, glancing down at the cashmere shirt that lay airily against his chest, unbuttoned and elegantly fascist: "Sorry," he said suddenly, voice bordering on shame. Peter quirked an eyebrow towards him. "I've just come from a shoot... I'm not exactly dressed up for the occasion."

"Occasion?" Peter coughed out, tone what Babs would describe to be 'playing coy'. Dick just found it venomous.

"Meeting guests is an occasion."

"Right, because you care so much about first impressions."

Dick felt his mouth settle into a firm, begrudging line, as his lips pressed together. He willed himself not to frown as he watched Peter aberrantly look away. There was a stale tenseness in the air that Ned seemed unable to comprehend, because he kept sunnily speaking as though he didn't even notice the uncomfortable atmosphere:

"A shoot? Like a photoshoot?" Ned repeated excitedly, ignoring everything his friend had said. He was practically buzzing on the spot. "That is so cool."

Dick scratched at the back of his neck sheepishly, turning the entirety of his attention towards the teen he hadn't met before. "It's pretty sick," he agreed. "So... a decathlon, huh? You guys must be pretty smart."

"Not really," Peter began. As if he hadn't earlier boasted to Dick how he'd won awards in science. His contradictory words were cut off by Ned quickly, almost as if it were a common, practiced occurrence.

"Peter's super smart. Like, if he had a superpower, it would be intelligence. Definitely not something else, like super strength or reflexes or whatever."

"I don't have any sort of powers," Peter reassured, glaring towards his friend through the corner of his eyes. Dick hummed, not missing the silent communication. That was something to keep in mind, then. He watched as an unspoken promise swept between the two teens.

"Right. Me either," Dick announced diverting his attention from the boys towards their classmates. Brucie wasn't finding it all that difficult to rally the troops, it seemed. The students - as well as their teachers - were hanging onto his each and ever word as though he were some sort of prophet foretelling an arbitrary second-coming.

"- and so that's when I told her that the champagne wasn't Dom Perignon but actually Lois Roederer! You should've seen her face, she looked as though... Oh, Dick! Dick, come here - you know this story. Remember when St Cloud -"

"No one wants to know about Silver's alcoholism, Bruce," Dick sighed, turning into the man's addictive aura. "Why did you bring them here?"

"They're from a Technology school Dickie! What better experience for a bunch of nerdy students than a tour through WayneTech's science-y parts?"

Dick sighed. Upon bringing back the rag tag group of high schoolers there was no doubt in his mind that Bruce had forgotten to mention that the WayneTech branch wasn't actually supposed to be starting full operation until next week. He must've had a good reason for leading them here: Bruce had a good reason for just about everything. But Dick was either too close-minded or not observant enough to see what it was.

"Follow me then. You'll never get your tour if you keep pandering to his ridiculousness," Dick announced, spinning on his heels and catching Bruce's eye. The tall man gave him an almost indiscernible nod as he moved to bring up the rear of the herd.

Dick led the way from Bruce's extravagant office, through the winding, grandiose halls of the new Wayne building. He knew where he was going well enough after his little adventure across the grounds searching for the man who'd gone to Starbucks, and tried not to feel hurt when Peter dragged Ned towards the back end of the queue instead of upfront with Dick himself.

WayneTech was the biggest division of Wayne Enterprises - specialized in retrieving and researching alien technologies outside of the public's knowledge, and in security detailing inside of it. It was no surprise to Dick, then, that they had an entire five-floor spread dedicated to their laboratories in the new Wayne Tower. If the new D.C office had been up and running for longer than five days, no one would have been allowed access to the main labs. Mister Harrington and his class were lucky they'd caught Bruce in a 'good' mood, despite whatever ulterior motive he had planned.

"This is the first floor's entrance to the test center," Dick explained as he led the gaggle of wide-eyed students to a dead-end. The wall opposite was embellished with a large painting - a façade of Alfred's favourite piece called The Ghost of a Flea. It was a William Blake special event, the original art hanging high and proud in Wayne Manor.

Dick stepped aside as Bruce swam through the shoal of people, movement fluid and calming like a deceptive predator. With a calculated flick of his wrist the entire wall rippled and plunged inwards, falling away like puzzle pieces to reveal a ringing, metallic decontamination vault with heavy steel doors and hazard symbols plastered all over it.

"I hope you all have insurance," Dick joked, reveling in the momentary look of fear in Mister Harrington's eyes and snickering with the rest of the students as he stepped inside. "Company policy states you're all going to have to take off your shoes and wear these -" he jutted a thumb towards the right wall, hydraulics hissing as it folded upwards to reveal racks of lab coats and white sterile plimsolls. " - Totally monochrome, I know, but it's regulation."

Dick shrugged on one of the embroidered WayneTech coats and donned a pair of protective goggles. Amongst the exchanging of shoes and frisking of all personal items - phones, keys and anything else that could prove to interfere with experiments in the lab weren't allowed past that point - Dick noticed Bruce loitering near a particular tray of belongings.

Peter was busily untying the laces of his worn-out converse, Ned shuffling eagerly beside him. It didn't avoid Dick's notice that as one of the lead research scientists came to collect the high schoolers with a tired smile and the pair looked away, Bruce took the split-second to slip the tip of his finger beneath the solo of one of Peter's shoes.

Dick narrowed his eyes at the singular red flash that emitted from the beacon, petering out of existence as it activated. He grabbed Bruce's arm as he attempted to follow the class through the laboratory, grip like iron as it closed around the man's straining wrist:

"A tracker Bruce? Really."

"It's precautionary," the man replied with a wave of his hand. Dick could see the muscles moving beneath his suit. "It's Stark's kid."

A wave of surprise swept through Dick's blood, ice cold and sharp. Schooling his features to what he hoped could pass as indifference in the eyes of Bruce Wayne, Dick raised an eyebrow, releasing the handful of bespoke material:

"I wasn't aware he had a son."

"Because he doesn't. The kid's an intern," said Bruce. Dick studied his mentor's face carefully, meeting his steely eyes as recognition dawned on him.

"You think he was there? At the Avenger's pity-party?" Dick asked, bewildered. He stumbled back from Bruce, raking a hand through his hair brashly. No Way. Peter somehow-not-a-model? Absolutely not.

"The Sokovia Accords are a serious problem, Dick."

"Please, you're just jealous you're stuck with the league," Dick snickered, bouncing after Bruce as the man shook his head and continued into the lab. "Face it, B, there's no way Supes is going to start a revolution. Maybe you could try and rile Hal up, but -"

"That's enough work talk, Dick," Bruce cut him off sternly. They lingered behind slightly before rejoining the others, Bruce's steady hand gripping his shoulder. Dick wasn't particularly interested in another lecture on xenobiology by one of Barbara's brain-crushes. Not that Doctor Lovell wasn't worthy of being listened to - it's just that Dick had heard it all before. He'd experienced it first hand, he didn't need to be told how Amazo's copy-catting worked. "Remember where you are."

"Yeah well, I still don't think you should bug a high schooler, Bruce."

"You're a high schooler," Bruce insinuated. Dick wrinkled his nose as he leaned into the man's space.

"Your point is? I wouldn't want to be tracked by you," he retorted. He absently felt around his collar and cuffs, checking for a similar device. "Or by anyone, for that matter. You've never planted one of those on me have you?"

"Planted what on you?"

Dick froze. The dynamic duo, Peter and Ned, were staring at them from across a workbench and were flanked by the Michelle girl. She didn't look half as interested as the two boys, absently glaring into the distance with her head in her hand. Peter just appeared to be bored... probably of Ned: the teen was practically swooning at every action the Wayne Heir took. Dick wasn't supposed to be caught off guard like this - why the three of them weren't watching the awesome display of Green Lantern's cosmic constructs was beyond him.

Bruce squeezed his shoulder and Dick stared up at him. The slight pressure told him to keep quiet; the Bat would do the work for him. "My ward's always trying to avoid using the phones made by my company - which gets kind of expensive when he keeps taking them places he's not supposed to." A subtle dig towards Dick for that time he took his phone on patrol. It hadn't ended much better than a dislocated shoulder and a furious Bruce. Dick felt his cheeks heat up at the man's decisive stare. "Silly as it is, I've resorted to slipping the blasted things into his pockets when he's not looking."

Dick nodded mutely, pushing his hands into his pockets. The cold glass screen of his WayneTech phone pressed at his finger tips. "And he always succeeds," Dick said through his teeth, parading the phone for all to see. It wasn't even on the market yet.

"I thought phones weren't allowed in here," Peter recalled and Dick rolled his eyes.

"There are exceptions to every rule," Dick muttered. He looked up through his eyelashes towards Peter's frowning face. "It may be pure favoritism, but, well... I am his son."

This just deepened the other boy's expression, much like the laugh elicited from Ned made him slump further down the table. Bruce sighed: "You're not supposed to be in here barefoot either, Dick. What happened to your shoes?"

"I lost them in the studio. They were giving me blisters."

"Oh. Saint Laurens?" Bruce assumed, face twisting as his ward nodded. "Understandable."

"Couldn't you have just worn a pair of these?" Michelle interjected, flicking her leg to rest on top of the table. The stark-white trainers cut a bold contrast atop the onyx workbench. "We all had to."

"Obviously you all don't have any taste. No one who knows anything about fashion would willingly put them on their feet. Why would I?"

"Because it's protocol?" Peter suggested. He seemed almost offended. Dick couldn't see why he would be. It was a perfectly reasonable observation to say that he had no dress-sense - a no-brainer. The dude was wearing the type of t-shirt Wally would wear, one of those with the dorky science puns. There was no way anyone who dressed Kid Flash on his days off had good taste.

"Not for a Wayne," Bruce replied coolly, steering the conversation to the left. He checked his watch, eyebrows knitting exaggeratedly as he frowned. "Well then, Dick. I've got to be off. Time really does fly, kiddos."

"You're leaving?" Ned asked somberly. Bruce flashed him his 'Person fo the Year' winning smile, laced with regret as he looked to Dick.

"I have business to attend to and an opening to attend," the man sounded sincere. Dick wondered if he'd been contacted by the league, because there was no way Bruce was actually going to go to the Tower's christening. Maybe Diana had buzzed in for a date. Or Selina. Or- "My CEO wishes to remind me that Wayne Enterprises doesn't run itself. Mister Harrington-"

"Call me Roger, Mister Wayne -"

"Alright, Richard. I'm afraid I'm going to have to cut out time together short," Bruce said solemnly. "Doctor Lovell, if you could finish this up rather quickly and have Dickie show these lovely people out? Thank you, dear."

His embellished his words with a wink, face melting into one of irritation as he turned so only Dick could see him 'Clark' he mouthed, face grim-set as he swept away. Dick's stomach churned - it must be important, then. Unless Clark had offered to take Bruce on a date. Dick always had wondered about the two of them. He grinned, watching the hulking figure of Bruce Wayne abandon the theoretical ship through one of the emergency exits - one that lead to a stairwell onto the roof, Dick noted.

As Doctor Lovell wrapped up her explanation of whatever theoretical science she was explaining, shutting down the hologram display of the Justice League's last fight with Amazo, Peter finally turned to face him. The eye contact was awkward and Dick had to refrain from looking away as the other boy pushed himself from his seat. It was almost as if Bruce's presence had been a dampener on whatever he'd been meaning to say.

"Does he always just walk out like that?" he asked. Ned almost tripped over the legs of his stool in his effort to be the first to stand beside Dick.

"Mostly always," Dick countered, waiting for the disappointed students to swarm towards him in an orderly fashion. "Sometimes he lasts longer than five minutes though, if you can believe it."

"Can't say I can," Peter said, staring off in the direction Bruce had ventured. "How does he run a multimillion dollar company?"

Dick frowned, looking over his shoulder to follow Peter's gaze: "Multibillion dollar company. He does a lot for Wayne Enterprises - you can't begin to understand the work he puts into helping this business succeed."

Peter had prodded one of Dick's more tender issues with Bruce's public persona. He couldn't stand people thinking the man was an idiot. Bruce was- Bruce was amazing. The most capable man Dick had ever and would ever meet. With everything he did to protect and serve... all people like Peter saw was Brucie.

"I didn't mean to offend," Peter retreated quickly. His eyes were warm and Dick felt somehow lighter as he stared into them. "It's just, with people like Tony Stark in the business how does he manage to stay afloat?"

"You're awfully talkative all of a sudden," Dick snapped, not un-kindly. Peter reeled back ashamedly:

"I... I'm sorry?"

"Apology not accepted. Maybe if you stop scowling at me I'll rethink," Dick said. "Y'know, I thought we were getting on okay earlier, but I guess not. Ned seems cool though."

"Ned is cool," the man himself supplied from his position on the floor, pulling off the white abominations from his feet.

"I just didn't clock who you were before I saw you in Wayne's office, that's all!" Peter replied, ignoring him. "And then I was like... oh god, he's rich and a model and famous - It's kind of a lot to take in, y'know?"

"A lot to take in?"

"'Cause I said all that stuff to you and I never would have if I'd know, I swear!"

Dick felt his chest deflate. Of course. He wasn't just another teenager to Peter anymore: He was Richard Grayson. Heir to the Wayne fortune, with far too much status to even consider speaking to. Dick's intrepid eyes scaled the walls opposite, thumb running over the material of his sleeve. "It's okay. I get that."

"You do?" Dick didn't enjoy the relief he heard in Peter's voice.

"Yup," he replied, voice strained, and he leant against the doorway to decontamination to watch the boy struggle to remove his lab gear. His eyes flickered to the beat-up trainers Peter began to pull from his tray, mouth dry as he watched the boy begin to undo the laces. "Uh, hey Peter -"

"Yeah?"

He had half a mind to let Bruce's schemes alone. What did he care if Bruce's tracker was stuck to the guy's shoe? But a guilty feeling rose uncomfortably up his throat, threatening to choke him, as he observed the tying of grimy shoelaces. "Er, about your shoes -"

"What about them?" the boy replied, not bothering to look up. It was a good job he didn't, too, otherwise he might've seen how obvious Dick was being as he went about this whole thing. He didn't exactly have a plan: He was flying by the seat of his pants here.

"I need them."

"What?"

"Give me your shoes."

"What?"

"Look, you heard me," Dick hissed, and he was pretty sure any friendliness recovered between the two of them was destroyed at that exact moment. He could feel his onw cheeks beginning to flame. Forget earlier, when he'd crawled from the ceiling in front of everyone: This was embarrassing. But he couldn't just let Bruce track the poor guy. What if it were Dick being tracked? He'd never let it happened, of course - Bruce would (figuratively) murder him. But he couldn't shake the bad feeling away. Someone knowing his every move? Possibly the grossest thing ever. "Hand them over."

Peter stared at him as though he'd grown a second head and for a moment Dick wished he had. It would've been easier to explain.

"Are you serious?" Peter said, letting out a nervous laugh. Mister Harrington was beggining to shoo the other students from the boxy room single file.

"Why do you want his lame-ass shoes?" Someone asked. A taller boy, with dark hair and a confused look on his face. "You can have mine, they're way cooler."

"Let's go, Flash."

"But Sir-"

"Beat it."

In the boy's defense, Dick did think the kid's Nikes were cooler than Peter's worn converse. Although he wasn't sure he'd want to wear anything from someone named Flash. He'd never hear the end of it from Wally.

"Peter, I'm not joking. I'm tired of being barefoot and you- you have socks on!"

"Look, Di- can I still call you Dick?" Peter asked uncertainly. The other teen nodded rapidly, fingers twitching. "Er, I'm not sure why you're asking for my shoes but I'm definitely not giving them to you."

"But I need them," Dick pleaded.

"Sorry, I guess? Bi I 'need them' too. I have to walk back to our hotel," Peter said, standing up straighter. He still hadn't successfully put on both trainers, the left being wedged poorly onto his foot with the laces draping dangerously on the floor. He peered over Dick's shoulder towards the rest of his class slowly walking away nervously. "Hey wait- Ned, wait for me?"

"Look, Peter I'm sorry but... you're really not leaving me with many options here, man. I really need those shoes."

"Can't you just buy a new pair like them?"

Dick rolled his eyes, pushing away from the wall. He could see the faint glow of Bruce's tracking device lodged into the material and inwardly cringed. He could envision what he was about to do and it was not going to look good on record: 'Dick Grayson, Wayne Heir, assaults Academic Decathlon student'.

Had he no shame? Of course he did! Was the shame going to stop? Of course not.

"You're not understanding me here," Dick said slowly, voice a low treble. He tried to add in a bit of gravel, like Bruce did when he spoke as Batman. It only served to confuse Peter more greatly.

"Look, Mister Grayson, you're kinda starting to freak me out - can you let me pas-" Peter's frankly shitty attempt to de-escalate what he hadn't known to be an escalated situation didn't fill Dick with any comfort as he lunged for the boy.

His quick movement obviously took the boy by surprise because the shriek Peter let out as he was barreled to the floor was nothing less than fantastic. "What are you doing? Get off me!"

Dick had to hand it to the guy, Peter was strong. Much stronger than he looked. After only a few attempts he was able to shove Dick off of him and scramble to his feet but Dick's work was already done: he grinned up at Peter from where he was laying on the floor, waving those terrible converse in hand, and bounced up to his feet with triple the grace of Peter, daring the high schooler to do something.

The teen's chest heaved rapidly with adrenalin and alarm, and he lurched forward to grab the objects from Dick's hand but with all the dignity of a gymnast Dick spun away and wheeled out of the room. His laughter echoed down the hallway as he sped away. Peter's eyes were wide as he watched him get away.

"What the hell?" Peter breathed out. He made eye contact with Ned, who was standing stock-still with his phone out. A terribly angled selfie was displayed on the screen:

"Do you think he'll send streaks?"

[Next chapter]

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