#like somehow he's all obscured but so shapely

[simple-persica]

Send me $100 USD and like, a good sandwich and I'll do it

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

🧠🪱Wiggly Wednesday🪱🧠

(This one ran away with me, whoops)

Batboy_Kas: Um ... dude, what? 🤨

This is the dm that greets Steve when he pulls his phone from his back pocket to check his Instagram. One confused frown, some scrolling, and one near-heart-attack later, he concludes that he forgot to lock his screen when he put the phone away earlier.

Which caused him to somehow end up on this random stranger's profile.

And go to his DMs.

And send him a GIF.

Not just any GIF. One of a grotesquely round and jiggly, animated ass. There's a text beneath the GIF. It reads: 2iggnag lg9gajdgka hfhdgjy.

"Aw, fuck!" Steve swears, neck prickling with heat as he types his reply.

Steve_Hairington: Shit, sorry. My ass typed that 😅

Batboy_Kas: Fitting choice of gif 🍑

Steve_Hairington: Yeah I guess

Batboy_Kas: You could say it's a ... smart ass

Steve snorts a laugh. What a dork! He's still debating if he should reply or leave it at that when Batboy_Kas sends his next message.

Batboy_Kas: So ... not even the tiniest chance you were flirting with me?

Steve_Hairington: Sorry dude. I prefer my men-

(He pauses to squint at the guy's profile pic. A cute little cartoon bat.)

-a little more human-shaped.

Batboy_Kas: Hey! That's just bc you've never had a creature of the night b4 🦇😉

Steve_Hairington: 🤣🤣🤣 Nice try, bat boy!

They end up texting (and flirting) regularly. Kas - named after some vampire dude from that dungeons and dipshits game Dustin enjoys - is a huge fantasy and music nerd, can keep up a string of banter for hours, and his dms quickly become the highlight of Steve’s days.

He knows better than to meet random faceless and nameless strangers from the internet, he really does. But when Kas says he's in town for work some two months later, Steve is a bit embarrassed at how fast he agrees to a date.

Kas doesn't really beat the vampire allegations when he shows up at their meeting point, skittish and nervous, clad in an oversized Metallica hoodie, drawn all the way over his head inspite of the sunny weather, dark shades obscuring his eyes.

He's cute, though. Sweet and almost shy without the distance and a screen between them, but still with that quick wit and edgy sense of humor Steve has come to like so much. A deep, rich voice that makes something inside Steve’s belly tingle, a hint of dark curls spilling out from his hood, and strong, calloused hands covered in rings, the edges of black tattoos disappearing into his sleeves. It makes Steve wanna take the stupid hoodie off him so that he can see all of him.

Which is exactly what he does when they take it to Kas's hotel room later that night. And God, the man is gorgeous. Dark, messy curls framing a pair of insanely dark brown eyes and the poutiest lips Steve has ever had the pleasure of kissing. An intricate web of tattoos that are just begging to be traced with his tongue.

Later, when they're lying together in an exhausted tangle of naked limbs and sweaty sheets, Steve snaps a photo and saves it as his phone background. He doesn't think much of it.

Until a week later, when Dustin opens his phone to read out a message while Steve is driving and starts shrieking so loudly they almost crash into a tree, bc why the fuck does Steve have a selfie of himself and Eddie Munson - frontman of the world famous metal band Corroded Coffin - on his phone and are you both naked, Steve???

Tagging some friends to share a brainworm of their own:

@cuips-not-cute @steddiecameraroll @postmodernau @oh-stars @steddie-island

@wynnyfryd @pennyplainknits @medusapelagia @hotluncheddie @sidekick-hero

[hauntingrabbits]

Batman my little pony AU. Part 2 here, Part 3 here

More info on these under the cut!

1. Sundown Mane/Batpony (Bruce Wayne)

His backstory & general situation is pretty much identical to every other batman out there so I wont get into it.

Other notes:

-His cutie mark is a masquerade mask that I tried to make vaguely bat-shaped. The general public sees his Cutie Mark through the lense of his reputation, and he leans into it heavily to obscure the truth. In interviews, he presents it as being tied to hosting galas (it’s the reason he started hosting those huge masquerade balls in the first place) and/or his fashionable looks, but in truth it’s far more representative of his stealth and disguise capabilities, as well as his masked night time hobbies as a whole.

-He’s not an actual bat-pony in any way, the bat wing appearance is just the costume (intentionally designed that way for intimidation, battle, and obscuring his identity further). Though most citizens assume he’s a true bat-pony, other rumors range from him being a vampire, to an Earth pony with false tech-based wings, to a magically disguised alicorn, to a spirit of the night.

-If Batman were actually to be a pony I think he’d 100% be an earth pony, because his big thing is relying on skill and tech rather than power and he has the whole “normal guy amongst gods” thing going on. HOWEVER. There are actual bat ponies in this show. How am I not supposed to utilize that somehow for the guy whose name is BATMAN? Also with Sundown I think being a Pegasus just fits the playboy personality front he puts up. I don’t know why, its just vibes.

-I think he just doesn’t fly much while patrolling as batpony, instead using his wings for extra jump or for intimidation and cover like with his cape. They’re probably steel-tipped or something too. He doesn’t rely on flight for advantage and trains entirely grounded because he doesn’t want to be dependent on flight and find himself lost if his wings are ever incapacitated.

2. Apollo Honeyscales/Two-Face (Harvey Dent)

Fascinated by the Equestrian legal system and craving a more organized society than what was offered by his generally disorderly and solitary fellow Chimeras, Apollo moved to Gotham to pursue higher education. Unfortunately, ponies are often intimidated by, if not downright terrified of Chimeras, so though Chimera cultures usually give each head equal social weight and three individual names, Apollo quickly adapted to instead try to present himself as pony-like as possible. He used a singular name and pronoun for his whole body, presented the less intimidating, herbivorous-looking goat as his “main” head, and eventually even took to having a faux Cutie Mark applied for media and court appearances. Prior to the attack, the lion and the snake head were never seen talking in public, and even in private the only ponies to have heard them speak were his close friends Sundown Mane and Glider Gold.

After being attacked with acid in court, Scales succumbed to injury and had to be amputated, while Honeybite was left alive but severely scarred. With this event, Apollo’s and Honeybite’s already fragile mental states from years of pony society othering them, the weight of their job, and personal repression finally snapped in their grief and anger, leading Honeybite to fully take the reins and create the criminal persona of Two-Face. Attempts from both Sundown and Glider and to reach out since have been unsuccessful.

Other Notes:

-According to the wiki only one chimera shows up in the whole show so. I made stuff up. -Chimeras typically being solitary is based on the fact we only ever see one in the show. This solitary nature would make it hard for them to have a widespread legal system at all, let alone to enforce it; thus Apollo’s original fascination with the foreign pony legal system. The Chimera in the show also has individual names for each head, each with a slightly different style (the goat following pony name conventions with the name Pumpkin Cake, the tiger following a slightly more violent version of pony name conventions with the name Sweetkill, and the Snake bluntly just being named Snakey). I tried to follow similar conventions for Apollo. I was most happy with the name Scales, because it followed the blunt snake naming convention while also sort of doubling as a scales of justice reference. Apollo is just a reference to Harvey’s nickname in some of the comics, and Honeybite is just for fun.

-His perfectly split coat is unique even among other chimeras, and as Apollo he was generally considered attractive and “exotic” by Equestrian media outlets.

-The temporary Cutie Mark application was done professionally. (Surely ponies have perfected this art, right? Like this has to be something pony society does and has services for, right? Ponies covering up embarrassing Cutie Marks, blank flanks covering up an embarrassing lack of a Curie Mark, Ponies getting Cutie Marks done for costumes, theater, movies, etc… you get it.) Apollo’s choice of a faux Cutie Mark is meant to serve as both a way of further integrating himself into pony society and a proclamation of his legal skills.

-Apollo was a genuinely great lawyer. Ponies on defense were often so preoccupied at the terror of having a lion and a snake silently stare them down that they wouldn’t realize it was actually the goat they should’ve really been afraid of until their entire case had already been ruthlessly torn to shreds.

3. Glider Gold (Gilda Gold)

Even prior to their relationship and subsequent engagement, Glider had long been Apollo’s closest friend and confidant. She saw the way his job and keeping up his image was tearing him apart long before the acid attack, and she deeply regrets not trying harder to get him the help he needed before it was too late. Multiple news outlets have been trying to get an interview with her and their efforts only increase every time Two-Face shows up in the news (despite Sundown’s efforts to dissuade them). She hasn’t been the same since the attack and Apollo’s disappearance, losing interest in her work and finding her friendship with Sundown heavily strained as they both feel the weight of Apollo’s absence.

Other notes:

-I wasn’t even going to draw Gilda originally because she’s such a minor character in Batman stuff but as I was writing out Apollo’s background she nudged her way back in. I like her too much.

-This version is based on her very first iteration where she was a sculptor. Her green coat is a reference to that version’s accompanying Two-Face (also his first iteration), who had green scarring.

- The choice for her to be a pegasus was mainly just to go with her silly name, but I do think being a pegasus would be beneficial to a sculptor. No ladder required to work on high details just fly up there.

-I am not immune to the bruce/harvey/gilda agenda

[luveline]

Ahh I’m so obsessed with stripper!reader and Spencer!! Do you have any more thoughts about them you’d be willing to share, maybe just a snippet of their life together? So so in love with them and your writing in general

i got a different request for them that I lost about reader struggling to afford essentials and so I thought I’d combine them, I hope that’s ok!! <;3 fem, 1.1k

cw food insecurity/ poverty 

You attempt to save money, but the ten dollars you don't spend on shampoo and conditioner gets used on painkillers. You hide fifty dollars in a book and try to forget about it, but your shoes split open on the walk to work, and it takes all afternoon to find it again. You try so hard to stretch your paycheck and something new makes it impossible. 

So it's a cold night in late December and you spent all your money for food on the gas bill. Your stomach hurts, but at least your nose isn't that horrible stiff cold that distracts. 

It's not just that your stomach hurts, though. You feel miserable about everything, and you know you need to ask someone for help. You've thought about selling something, but you already pawned your watch, and everything else is inconsequential. 

I could sell my phone… but how would I talk to Spencer? 

It's the stupidest thought you could've had. More importantly, how would you communicate with work? How would you call your electric and gas company, or talk to your landlord? 

Spencer would be so sad if he knew you’d sold your phone to pay for food. He’d probably be upset knowing you considered it. And you won’t get paid for another three days, so unless you can somehow live off of olives and cherries from the club bar, you have to ask Spencer for money or get a loan. With your credit score, one situation is more likely than the other. 

You bring your phone across the pillow and sigh before clicking on his contact. He’s practically the only number you call. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

“Hi, Y/N.” 

“Hello, handsome,” you murmur, staging an affect of someone who couldn’t be more unbothered by the world. 

“Yeah, hi. You okay?” 

You don’t want to butter him up. It feels dishonest. You should be straight forward. “Spencer. You know I hate asking you for things.” 

“Yes, it’s the only bad thing about you.” He sounds like he’s smiling. You can imagine him on his couch reading something obscure, or watching one of his sci-fi shows, curls in his eyes, grey pyjamas too short for him riding up his calves as they tend to do.

“But I need– um. I don’t have any money?” You don’t mean to phrase it like a question. “Like. Okay, so, I promise you I am not an irresponsible person, just, my gas bill went up and I didn’t know, but it’s so cold I paid it anyways, and now I have three dollars. Um. Total. And I haven’t eaten all day and I’m sorry I’m asking, but I just need like twenty dollars until I get paid on Tuesday. Could you let me borrow twenty dollars, please?” 

“Do you want to get takeout?” 

You cringe. “No, like, twenty dollars for groceries, Spence.” 

“No, I understood. That’s fine, I’ll happily give you twenty dollars. But you said you haven’t eaten today? And I miss you, so it’s an excuse?” Now he’s the one making questions out of statements. “I can get us Thai food.” 

Your stomach pangs at the thought. No matter how much you hate this, you know he loves you enough to want to bring you dinner, and you really will pay him back, so he might as well. “Yeah, please. I’d love to see you, Dr. Reid.”

“I’ll be quick,” he promises. 

He isn’t. You wonder if he’s forgotten you and your rumbling stomach, curled into a c-shape under the sheets. It’s warm, at least, nearly too warm, the blade of your hunger threatening to drive you mad. It’s not a nice feeling, depending on the kindness of a friend to see you through, nor is it very pleasant to be this hungry. You’ve gone hungry a hundred times, and this is the only time you’ve ever had someone you trusted enough to turn to during that time to ask for help. What if Spencer’s decided he isn’t comfortable with your lending after all and he doesn’t come over tonight? 

You’d been looking forward to seeing him again. It’s almost worse than the hunger. 

Just as you’re thinking he’s decided he doesn’t want to be your friend anymore, he lets himself in. 

Your apartment is small, consisting of three rooms. The bedroom, the bathroom, and the living room kitchen combination. He lets himself into the living room with a cacophony of rustling and a called, “Hello!” followed soon by a muttered swear. 

You laugh under your breath.

“Are you coming out here, or do you want to eat dinner in bed?” he asks. 

“I haven’t decided yet.” 

It’s quiet enough besides his arrival that you’ve no need to shout.

“Well, stay there if you want. Have you been drinking anything? I brought iced tea and some stuff for you to have breakfast tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” You force yourself to sit up. One moment you’re looking at the closed door and the next you’re squinting against the light of the kitchen, Spencer in the doorway like a silhouette against it. “Hey, Spence. You’re taller than last time.” 

“I’m the same size as always.”

“You’re still wearing your shoes. That must be it.” 

Spencer takes off his shoes and crosses the short distance to you. “Hi,” he says, taking your hand as he sits down. His fingers are freezing. “Sorry I took a while.”

“Sorry for asking you for money.” 

“It’s okay. It’s not something to worry about. Everyone has to ask a favour sometime.” 

His hair is wind blown, his eyes watery. The cold weather has nipped his pert nose a rosy pink and he’s smiling at you with chapped lips, unaware of or uncaring about his own circumstances in the face of yours. “You okay?” he asks, his pretty brown eyes narrowing, eyebrows pinching together at the starts. “You can’t just not eat all day and not tell me.”

You nod tightly. It’s humiliating to be in this position. 

He softens. “Did they tell you the rate was rising? It’s illegal in Virginia–”

You take your hand from his. “They sent me a letter I didn’t open. I knew it would be bad news.” 

Spencer looks down at your knees. “I know that you’re used to doing things by yourself, but you don’t have to anymore.”

“‘Cos you look after me,” you say quietly. 

“I’m trying to.” 

You laugh and jog your joined hands to make him look up. “Okay. Look after me some more then and give me a hug. I’m too warm, and you’re freezing.” 

He hugs you tightly, quick to rub your shoulder blade with his thumb. “Stay here, okay? I’ll bring you a plate.” 

You cling to him for a few seconds, until hunger wins, and you send him off into the kitchen again. 

[wri0thesley]

cw: non-con, dark content

There is nowhere safer to be, everyone you know has always told you, than under the protection of a Silvermane Guard. Those are the people who have devoted their lives to the protection of the citizens of Belobog, after all; those who have forsaken others in the name of Preservation, those who are somehow better and stronger and cleverer and purer than anyone else could ever hope to be. 

The captain of the Silvermane Guards, then, ought to be far beyond reproach. He ought to be the best and the strongest and the purest; you should feel utterly at ease with his presence. You should know, instinctively, that you are truly shielded by him. No harm ought to come to you when it is his gauntlets you see shining in the snow-blind whiteness, his proud Landau face beneath the visor--

Your breath comes out of you in an uneven whimper as Gepard moves atop of you, his fingers digging hard into the softness of your wrists, his body above yours stiflingly warm even in a tent in the middle of the eternal blizzard of the snow plains. 

You cannot even look at his face; cannot bear to see the flush on his cheeks, the way his teeth dig into his lower lip, the half-lidded blue gaze as he looks down at you. And he is looking at you - you can feel that, too, like hot firebrands on your skin. Even now he is looking at you like you hung the moon; like you are some pure perfect thing, even as he defiles you--

It had been Gepard Landau you had been trying to get away from. His insistent courting, and the way that other people looked at you like you were lucky - the fact nobody ever stopped to ask you if you had any feelings for the dashing Captain, and instead your family had begun to whisper behind their hands about how the Landau family fortune would improve their standing, about whether they would be expected to pay for the wedding--

“You’re so cold,” Gepard murmurs, dropping his mouth against your cheek. You do not feel cold; you feel the very opposite, in fact, even in your thin little nightgown that offers no protection from the elements. You had thought it better to freeze to death of your own accord than to be chained to a man you did not love and would never choose to love . . . but it had not been so easy, had it?

You should have known! Gepard groans and you feel him against you, the stiffness at the placket of his trousers against your bare thighs where he has slotted himself into you. You should have known he would not let you rest; should have known there would be no escape from him! He is like a guard dog with a scent; he would never have allowed you to slip away into obscurity and freeze in the snowdrifts. 

“Please,” you say to him, your voice broken. Tears trembling on your lashes. “Gepard, don’t-- just let me go--”

“Shh,” he hushes you so tenderly, an emotion that some might erroneously call love writ clear in his eyes. “It’s alright, darling. I’ll warm you up. It’s alright, I promise.”

He transfers his hold to one hand, and you are humiliated that even one of his hands gripping your wrists is enough to keep you pinioned helplessly beneath him. His other hand pauses for just a moment, before it slowly travels down the length of you, caressing the curve of you through the thin cotton, the shape of your chest and your hip and your stomach. You keen helplessly and try to twist away - but it is for nothing. His hand fastens about the hem of your slip. 

“Gepard!” You say again, with mounting fear. “I-- I can’t, Gepard, we aren’t even courting--”

“I’ll marry you,” he says, his eyes bright and hungry. “I promise. You don’t need to worry about that, angel. I’d marry you right now, you know that . . . But you’re so cold, and I know the best way to keep you warm--”

“No,” you whimper, as his big hand curls between your legs, as he spreads them apart. As he hooks a finger into your plain underwear and tugs them down, ripping them open without a thought to the idea that he’ll have to carry you back to Belobog proper without them, leaking his seed--

No. You can’t let yourself think that. His brow wrinkles as he sees that you aren’t wet for him, and he pushes his head down insistently and forces you into a kiss that makes your breath catch in panic. At the same time, clumsy thick fingers stroke your outer lips, slipping between the plump slit of your labia to find your clit and clumsily work on that. You whimper into his mouth, hips twisting away from him, but he mistakes it as a wriggle of excitement and pulls away to murmurs something sweet and unintelligible against your mouth. 

A hot twist inside of you; the dull ache of arousal, quite against your will. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and take away the sight of him. His cheeks are pink, his eyes so full of adoration it makes you feel sick. 

“There we go,” he murmurs softly. “Good. Sweet thing. Angel . . . Oh, I’ll be so careful with you--”

The clank of armour. The sight of the tent above you. Something wet and hard smearing against your inner thigh, your breath caught in your throat, helpless beneath Gepard’s ‘protection’. 

“I promise,” he murmurs, warm and big and suffocating. “I promise.”

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 1.5 - Before

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending. (Standalone series - not related to any other of my stories/characters)

Hello! I know I said this would be a 2 part series but this part of chapter 2 felt like it's own section, so I've created a mini chapter to bridge the two parts and keep us fed - this is a flashback. Part 2 still to come! Thank you all for the love and engagement you've given this story, as always reblogs and comments are appreciated!

💔

Around 18 months earlier…

This was the shift from Hell.

You must’ve accidentally cursed yourself; it was the only explanation for the non-stop chaos the day had wrought. Apologies to any magical being you may have offended.

The kitchen were somehow out of both maple syrup and hash browns. Roscoe must’ve messed up the inventory order again. The customers affected by this egregious error were certainly making themselves known when you broke the news, while Roscoe sheepishly hid back at the grill. You understood their anger, what kind of diner doesn’t have hash browns or maple syrup?! Sure, you shared their pain – but throwing a spoon at your head seemed unnecessary.

The soda machine had leaked all over your arm an hour into your shift and you couldn’t shake the sticky, goopy feeling no matter how many times you had washed your hands. Your shoe broke, the sole flapping against the floor with every step. A table who had spent their entire two hours there demanding an array of elaborate substitutions and ‘softer napkins’ stiffed you on the tip, despite you bending over backwards to help them out. You found yourself counting the minutes until you could clock out, go back to your shoebox apartment, and bury yourself in bed. Not long to go.

“Hon’, sorry…” Lou called out to you, in that tone he always used when he was breaking bad news, “I know you’re swamped – but can you take care of the gentleman in the corner booth? Marcy just went on break and I gotta cover her other tables and whip that jack-off in the kitchen into shape…”

You sighed wearily, you were due to clock off soon and were closing out your section. But you took a deep breath and nodded over at him, “alright, Lou, but only cos it’s you…”

“Thank-you Hon’,” he beamed at you gratefully, disappearing into the kitchen to go yell at Roscoe.

You wandered over to the corner booth Lou had pointed to, swallowing your frustration and fatigue. There was a man sitting by himself, his face obscured by the menu he held up to read. His fingers curled over the sides of the paper, littered with gold rings and scars. One of his hands seemed to be…metal? A strange glove, perhaps? You could see from the sleeves alone that the dark suit he wore was expensive. Not to mention what appeared to be diamond encrusted cufflinks…

Huh. You at least hoped you’d get a good tip out of him.

“Good afternoon, Sir, I’ll be taking care of you today,” you said sunnily as you pulled your notepad and pen from your apron. “What can I get you started with? Some coffee maybe?”

The man didn’t move. The menu remained upright. He was so still it wasn’t almost eerie. You briefly had a crazy thought that he may have died and nobody had noticed, then dismissing your silliness as quickly as it arrived. Besides, dealing with a corpse in the diner was the last thing you needed today.

A few beats passed, but he still didn’t respond. You cleared your throat and tapped your foot to alert him to your presence. Still nothing. You frowned, maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe he had airbuds in or something.

“Sir…? Would you like to order?” you asked again, your tone a little more strained this time.

Silence. But you saw one of his fingers twitch so you knew he was still alive, at least.

You were used to rude customers, the ones who were outright hostile towards you, and the ones who treated you as if you weren’t there. This was nothing new. But the stress of your shift with the combined fuckery of everything that had gone wrong meant you were hanging on by a thread. Your usual hardiness and thick skin were weakened, and your customer service mask slipped.

“Look buddy…it’s incredibly rude to just ignore your waitress you know…” you snarkily told the hovering menu, “are you gonna order or what?”

You realised what you’d said too late, clapping your hand over your mouth as an amused chuckle came from behind the menu shield. Just as you went to apologise, the paper dropped to the table, revealing the mystery man behind it.

You blinked, a little stunned at the sight of him.

His chestnut brown hair was slicked back into a perfect bun, complimenting the light dusting of stubble on his cut-glass jawline. Pouty pink lips curled into a smirk as his large, bulky frame manoeuvred in the booth to get a better look at you. But you were most struck by his eyes, so blue and piercing that you could drown in them. Better women than you probably had.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-” you flustered.

“Don’t be,” replied the man commandingly, his voice low but soft, “you were right. That was rude of me, I’m very sorry. I was lost in my own world there for a moment. I hope you can accept my apology”.

You gawped at him, surprised at his reaction. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. “Uh…yeah. Sure. Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you; it’s just been a long day…” you admitted sheepishly.

He nodded and studied you carefully, his gaze sweeping you from tip to toe. It felt exposing to be looked at like that, but you couldn’t deny the hint of a thrill it gave you too.

“Well, I’m sorry to have added to it,” he smiled at you.

And what a smile. A knee-weakening smile. All white teeth and warmth. And maybe something…darker?

“My name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes…” he extended a hand towards you to shake, his smile dangerous yet enticing, “Doll, I’d love to hear yours…”

💔

[moodymisty]

Based off this post sorry I fucking HAD to

Warnings: Vaguely NSFW, Sicarius walking in on you and Guilliman

Why must all his men break protocol? Sicarius wonders if the Codex is merely kindling to them, if they are so willing to break the sacred rules so easily.

Titus, Uriel, and now new men of second company have decided to be a pain. He only hopes reporting this to Guilliman himself will prove to be enough of a threat to his men and whip them all back into shape; Both current and future troublemakers.

In his frustrations, so wrapped up in his own mind on how to deal with this consistent issue, he fails to do a proper knock at Guilliman’s door. Instead he simply walks in, slamming the controls with more force than needed.

Within moments he freezes, as a musky, heavy smell hits his nose and the full noises of the room echo in his ears without the soundproofing in the way.

“Roboute!”

You squeal, hands wrapped tight in the short crop of Guilliman’s thin blonde hair. Most of his head and face are obscured by your skirt- and thighs, which wrap around his head like a vice. The holotable is on but unused, symbols placed randomly from your accidental touches as you sit on the edge.

Sicarius stands frozen, unable to will his body to move as his ears are suddenly filled with the sounds of you and his primarch’s moans- accompanied by then odd, wet sounds of whatever his mouth was doing. What is only two seconds is plenty to him, given how fast his mind moves in comparison to a baseline.

He… was aware of all the basics of sex and reproduction, but the intricacies of pleasure beyond that were spotty at best. He had no need to delve into such useless things, unlike some other, less proper Astartes.

He was also unaware you could do such things with your mouth.

How beneath a primarch’s holy stature; Guilliman’s words have guided armies but now he’s on his knees in penance and using his tongue like its just a-

A loud scream rips through your throat as you spot him and sit up, and Sicarius’ two seconds of internal thought is interrupted as you see him frozen in the doorway with a hand still on the door’s controls.

Guilliman of course is instantly on the defensive hearing your scream, rising to his feet- and removing his hand from his trousers - before reaching for his blade.

Until he realizes it’s Sicarius.

Guilliman relaxes with an angry look on his face; Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before using the same hand spread flat outward to try and shield some of you from Sicarius, and reserve some of your modesty, while you adjust your clothes.

“Did your time in the warp remove your ability to announce yourself before entering, Captain Sicarius?”

Sicarius is angry at his primarch now, and has zero care for you behind him hot faced and attempting to cover yourself to some level of decency.

“I, I did not think it was needed, my primarch. I have an urgent issue that needs addressing.”

Guilliman angrily breaths through his nose, and Sicarius can see the veins in his neck.

“Go. Leave. Whatever you came here for I am sure it can wait until we both forget this encounter ever happened.”

They are both painfully aware that each other have eidetic memories, but they can only hope this moment somehow slips from their minds.

“Yes, my primarch.”

Sicarius finally manages to get his armor to move, and Guilliman sighs. Sicarius swiftly takes two steps backwards and closes the door, facing it at it closes.

He stands there for a moment, the image of his primarch on his knees between the legs of a simple baseline, and a hand doing something in his trousers is seared into his mind. Why is his primarch doing such things when there is work to be done?

“Are you alright Captain Sicarius?”

A marine says as he walks by, looking at his dead expression as Sicarius turns to face him. He points the door.

“Is Primarch Guilliman busy-“ Sicarius quickly speaks, cutting him off.

“Yes he is busy, do not disturb him.”

Sicarius has a far off stare that makes the random Astartes look at him oddly.

“I need to leave. Do not go in.”

Sicarius walks off, rubbing his hair with his gauntlet and grumbling to himself.

[perlelune]

Oxytocin | Coriolanus Snow | iii.

One act of kindness from a peacekeeper may be your salvation or your doom. Possibly both.

Warnings: NON-CON, Blackmail, District 8 Reader, Stalking, Kidnapping

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Staccato breaths mingle with the wild drumming of your heart as Coriolanus takes you to a place unknown, so far from where you live on the outskirts of town.

The freezing air sneaks under your skirt, causing your legs to tremble. Wherever you look, you’re surrounded by darkness, a cluster of clouds cloaking the moon now.

It reminds you how utterly alone you are.

Your tears soak the blue shirt of his uniform but he doesn’t seem to care. In your current upside down position, you can’t see his expression and it scares you even more. 

You wonder what he’s thinking, why he’s doing this and, most importantly, what his plans are for you.

“Where are you taking me?” you inquire, your wavering voice dripping fear.

“It’s a surprise,” he announces, readjusting you on his shoulders.

You don’t like his tone, not one bit. It’s taunting with a sliver of resentment. 

Somehow, you pissed him off at the bar and he wants to make you pay for it. Punish you for…for what exactly? It eludes you. All you did was dance with some guy and Coriolanus saw red.

You knew the peacekeeper was strange, but this is a step beyond that. He stole you. In public. It’s insane, deranged.

Lights finally pierce through the veil of the night, twinkling through the hazy obscurity. A faint shred of hope glimmers inside you. If there are people here, maybe you could shout for help, appeal to basic human decency. Back at the bar, no one would help you.

Part of you understands. This is the kind of fear the Capitol has instilled in everyone in Panem.

Still, a hint of bitterness lingers inside you. Not even Yara lifted a finger to help you. You thought she was your friend. But you suppose even that is asking for too much for someone like you. Even that is a luxury far beyond your means. 

You confine tears. You do not wish to give the peacekeeper the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart. 

He enters a building with bright lanterns scattered at its front. The smell of incense, cigarette and expensive perfume engulfs your senses, so overwhelming you can hardly breathe. A woman appears in your line of sight. She’s strikingly gorgeous. Glossy, raven curls frame her heart-shaped face and heavy makeup adorns her delicate features. She wears a low-cut red dress that must cost at least two months of your wages. 

You frown, dull remembrance tugging at your brain.

Something about her is vaguely familiar. 

Then it dawns on you, and your stomach coils in dread.

You’ve seen her before, at a bar in the northeastern part of town. She was working her charms on a man who slipped her a bag of coins before they disappeared together.

The urge to puke tickles the back of your throat. A brothel. Coriolanus has taken you to a brothel.

“Is our room ready?” he addresses the woman, impatience bleeding through his tone.

“It’s all been prepared like you asked, Mr. Snow,” she trills.

“Help me, please…” you beseech. 

She tilts her head, a wide grin unfurling on her crimson-painted lips. 

“She’s a pretty thing, your lass. Almost as pretty as you.”

Coriolanus reaches inside his pocket. The clinking of coins resonates as he drops a tiny purse in the woman’s hand.  “Don’t disturb us,” he instructs.

She grabs the purse and beams at him.

“Wasn’t planning to.” Her cheerful inflection makes your stomach sink. “Our clients’ privacy is of the utmost priority.” 

“Let me go you mon-”

The woman giggles. “She chirps an awful lot, that bird of yours.”

He heaves out a deep sigh, both weary and resigned. “She needs discipline, which is exactly why we’re here.”

His words do nothing to reassure you. You thrash again, legs flailing and hands reaching for any parts of him you can. He groans but doesn’t release you. He stomps upstairs.

Your mind runs wild as your fear grows. Soon, the blond reaches an ornate black door. He kicks it open with his boot. Once inside, he tosses you onto the canopy bed in the middle of the room. He slams the door closed and locks it. Your blood runs cold.

Without much thought, you clamber off the bed, awkwardly getting to your feet and heading straight for the door.

He grabs the back of your neck and yanks you away from the door. A strangled shout leaps from your throat.

Coriolanus peers down at you, bent in an uncomfortable position beneath him.

A look of mild annoyance decorates his handsome face.

“Still trying to run away? You never learn your lesson, pretty bird.”

“Let me go,” you croak, your pleading eyes searching for pity in his icy gaze. But you’re only greeted by contempt. Tears swell under your eyelids. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He snorts, like he can’t believe you’d ask something so ludicrous. He narrows his eyes at you, the fingers clamped around your nape squeezing harder.

“Why? Because you’ve been ungrateful,” he hisses.

Befuddlement trickles within you. “Ungrateful?”

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks.

“I help you, I save you.” A storm gathers in his enraged tone. “I do so much for you but you bat your lashes at some pathetic district scum?”

You cower beneath his accusing stare, in disbelief at what you’re hearing. Your lips clamp shut, your mouth quivering before you retaliate, “I’m district scum too.” You squint at him. “I’m district scum too so what do you even want with me, Coriolanus?”

He chuckles darkly, wrenching your head so far backwards, your neck starts singing in pain. He sinks to one knee, scrutinizing your shaking form on the floor. 

“What do I want with you?” he echoes. His hold on your neck loosens to latch around your jaw instead. His scorching blue gaze dives into yours as his voice dips, whisper-soft. “Tell me, sweet bird, am I that repulsive to you?” Puzzled, you blink. Why does he even care what you think of him? 

Your silence has him jostle your frame, as if trying to shake a reply out of you.

“Answer me,” he growls.

An hasty, breathless response tumbles out of you. “No.”

You hardly had to think, needing to simply utter the truth. Of course, Coriolanus is handsome, a feast for the eyes like a prince from a fairytale, with his smooth skin, free of any blemish, bright blue eyes and angular features. It’d be hard to deny how beautiful he is.

…But he’s not a prince, and you're not in a fairytale.

As your eyes lower, his fingers dig harshly into your cheeks.

“Look at me.” There’s a sharp edge of authority to his words. You lift your gaze, too terrified to dare divert your attention from him. He continues. “Do you find my face disgusting, my voice unbearable?” His mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s my smell. Is it atrocious?”

Tears dangle at your lashes as you mutter, “No.”

“Then why?” A blend of dismay and anger paints his features. “Why do you always run away from me? Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

“I don’t need you. I never needed you.”

His orbs flare dangerously. You shriek as he hauls you from the floor and hurls you on the bed. 

“This is where you’re wrong. You live because of me. Your cousin lives because of me.” He begins removing the blue vest of his uniform, his motions irate and rushed. A lump nestles in your throat as you watch him zip down his pants next. “You owe me, and it’s about time you show me some gratitude.”

This time your attempt to flee is curtailed by a steely grip on your ankle. A knife-like sensation pierces your limb as he twists it cruelly. The pain knocks the wind from your lungs. You freeze and go limp over the sheets.

The blond’s forehead puckers, a contrite look flickering over his features.

“You’re making me do this. I don’t want to hurt you, but you’re making me.”

He squeezes your shoulder and forces you to sit up at the edge of the bed. The air chills around you as he tugs down his white boxers, revealing his long, thick girth, glistening at the tip. You gulp the lump in your throat.

Your fingers clasp around the end of the bed as you gape at his erect cock. The vein along the shaft seems to taunt you. Cupping the side of your face, he nudges his tip against your wobbling lips.

“Open up,” he orders. He sneers when you don’t move an inch, “So stubborn…I can’t tell if I love or hate that about you, pretty bird.”

“Please…” you mumble, your glistening eyes rising to meet his.

He purrs, lust clouding his sky blue orbs. His thumb skims over your bottom lip.

“You’re even prettier when you beg me, birdie.” His tone mellows as he offers, “Open your mouth and I’ll make sure you never want for anything.”

Your mouth remains adamantly sealed. 

Studying you, he ponders, “I’ve always found the punishment for thievery needlessly harsh.” He unleashes a dragged out, ponderous exhale. “For shame, I’m not sure your cousin will last very long here without you.” Your heart threatens to spill from your chest. A wicked, lopsided smile blooms on his lips as he fondles your cheek. “It’s a tough world, especially for a little girl all on her own, wouldn’t you say?”

Your chest collapses at his blatant threat. Even if your own fate mattered little to you, you can’t imagine Tilly fending for herself here. You’re all she has now and if she can’t rely on you, who will she be able to rely on?

Besides, she might be better now but she always had a fragile health. Someone needs to look out for her. And it has to be you.

It’s as if Coriolanus could hear every thought bouncing in your head, smugness oozing off him as he observes you. 

Your lips part slowly. Victory illuminates his features.

He pumps his shaft, excitement bouncing in his orbs.

As he pushes his tip into your mouth, a hum of pleasure vibrates in his chest. You feel it through your own body and a shudder passes through you. 

You quiver as you swirl your tongue around his leaking tip, silently wishing he’ll be quick about it. Maybe if you do it well enough, it won’t last long and he’ll leave you be.

Still, embarrassment pools in your gut. You’re letting a peacekeeper treat you like a common whore. You doubt your dignity will ever recover from this ordeal.

He grabs both sides of your face, impatient, pushing more of himself down your throat. Your mouth aches at the corners, the size of him nearly too much to bear. 

“Fuck, your mouth feels good,” he rasps, his Adam’s apple bobbing. 

He slides his entire length down your throat until it tickles the back of it. You fight your gag reflex. The salty taste of him spreads on your tongue as you choke on his cock, air flailing in your lungs. He licks his lips, gently stroking your tear-stained cheeks.

“Good girl”, he praises.

He starts fucking your mouth, bruising your throat with each forceful thrust. Tears and spit mingle around your mouth as you take him as well as you can. You grow numb, eyes half-seeing as you let him use you.

Coriolanus’s throaty moans fill the room. The echo of his blunt thrusting reaches your ears. You feel sick. 

You close your eyes, hoping to forget, but all you can see is him, hear is him, feel is him.

You wish you could climb out of your own skin.

His pounding turns more feral. Cradling the back of your head, he shoves himself more urgently inside you. His chest ripples as he grunts.

You weep, suffocating on his length. Your stifled cries join the lewd sounds he makes. Your fists tighten around the sheets as your vision dims.

His motions become sloppier as he snarls, a look of sheer bliss decorating his handsome face.

His cock twitches, his eyes rolling back. A warm stickiness glazes the inside of your mouth. A groan leaves him as ropes of him pour down your throat. When you try to pull back, he firmly keeps you there, framing your face so you can’t escape.

The excess trickles on your chin and neck.

You shudder, quaking sobs wracking your body.

A wet sound resonates when his softening cock finally exits your mouth. You inhale a wide lungful, thankful to be able to breathe again but disgusted by the bittersweet aftertaste still coating your tongue. You wish you could bleach the inside of your mouth many times over. 

He collects your tears with his thumbs, his smile growing as he basks in the sight of the mess he made on your face.

“I’m going to take such good care of you, my sweet bird,” he croons.

You plunge your hands in the frigid water, roughly rubbing the clothes against one another. You focus on a willful beer stain that won’t come off no matter how much you try. Frustration blooms inside you as the brown lingers on the beige fabric.

You grimace. This was one of your nicer blouses. Now it’s forever ruined, tainted beyond recovery.

Yara wrings her skirt above the bucket, her attentive eyes clinging to you. When she offered to do laundry together this morning, you expected a plethora of questions. Instead, she spent the last hour mirroring your silence.

You’re grateful. While her presence soothes you, there are many topics you’d rather not broach. One in particular. A memory you went to great lengths to bury but won’t let itself be erased. You feel branded, like you don’t belong to yourself anymore.

It’s a ghastly prospect, one you have no desire to mull over too deeply. 

You’d rather focus on laundry today. Washing, rinsing, drying and repeating. The tedious routine keeps the scary thoughts at bay. At least for a little while.

“Tilly’s doing a lot better.”

Yara’s abrupt words stagger you. Your head snaps up. Your focus veers to your younger cousin. She’s sitting by the fire playing noughts and crosses with her friend. The two little girls are wrapped up in the thin lines they’re drawing with white chalk on the stone floor, concentration etched on their small features.

She has been doing better. Much better than she has the entire year, though it guts you to admit it. She can laugh, play, run and be a normal kid.

…And you have the little care packages Coriolanus has been dropping on your doorstep to thank for that.

It stuns you that he even found out where you live so easily. You thought you were careful.

Now you don’t even feel safe in your own modest home.

There is nowhere to hide from the peacekeeper.

While he hasn’t shown up in person, his presence hovers over every aspect of your life.

You live because of me.

“Yeah,” you reply tritely.

Hands going still in the water, Yara observes you for a while, hesitation wrinkling her features. 

Eventually she dips her head, averting her gaze as she mumbles, “I shouldn’t have let him take you away.”

Guilt bleeds through her tone. Sighing, you peer at her. While you resented being on your own, you’re also keenly aware there is nothing she could have done.

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure. “I’d be scared too. I am scared,”

Though sadness still glistens in her eyes, she nods.

“Did he…” She trails off, sucking in a deep breath as if to gather the courage to speak again. Her gaze meets yours head on. “D-Did he hurt you?”

Goosebumps erupt at the base of your spine, spreading outward as your mouth trembles. 

“In a way,” you answer belatedly.

Shock covers her features.

“We should tell Commander Crane…”

You scowl. “We can’t.”

Not only does the ruthless Commander of District 8 harbors little to no sympathy for anyone’s plight, he may be more concerned about your thievery charges than any misdeed carried out by one of his Peacekeepers.

Such are things in District 8. Unjust and bereft of any morsel of hope.

“But we have to do something, report him,” she insists.

Irritation nips at you. You wish she’d drop it. It’s not like anyone will come to your rescue. You’re not some damsel in distress, a precious lady from the Capitol in trouble. 

You’re no one. Some might even say district garbage.

“Yara, he’s some rich kid from the Capitol, and I’m…we’re just…” The words shrivel on your tongue, hopelessness cresting within you. “It’s best to leave it alone, trust me.”

“But…”

“It'll only get worse if I fight him,” you snap.

A puzzled expression appears on your friend’s face. “Worse in what way?”

In what way indeed? You’ve no idea how far Coriolanus Snow is willing to go to torment and toy with you. There’s a glint of madness in his blue eyes which haunts your nightmares.

You go quiet. 

You pick up the drenched blouse from the bucket of water, wringing it until your hands start to hurt. 

Yara’s soft voice rises, encouragement laced in her tone.

“Hey, I’m sure he’ll get bored at some point, move on,” she says. “I mean he has to, right?”

She smiles at you and you return it.

“Right.”

But deep inside, you’re not so sure, dire thoughts of pretty boys with devilish smiles swaying in your mind.

[razorblade180]

Union

In the midst of going over blueprints for their future home, Jaune’s concentration gets interrupted by flowing petals. He cracks a smile before turning around to see Ruby completely obscured by her cloak.

Jaune:Have you come for my soul?

Ruby:Might as well. Already have your heart.

Jaune:Heh, then I kindly ask for you wait. Your payment will be paid in full down the aisle.

Ruby:How stingy. I’ve already given you both of mine; and a little extra~

Jaune:*red* How was work, you gremlin?

Ruby:Patrol duty was fine. Starting to think crooks know my schedule.

Jaune:Or you threw most in jail.

Ruby:Organized crime calls for chaotic heroism. Anywho, house plans going well?

Jaune:More or less. If all goes well then we’ll be living outside Vacou before our anniversary.

Ruby:Always thinking ahead. Meanwhile I’m struggling with awesome vows.

Jaune:You brought a world together. I’m sure you’ll think of something.

Ruby:Feelings are a little harder than a battle cry or call to arms. Speaking of feelings, I have a little something for you.

Jaune:*looks at cloak* Is that so~

Ruby:*blushes* It’s not what you think! Not this time. This gift is way better!

Jaune:I don’t know Rubes. Last gift that started like this was pretty amazing. *smiles*

Ruby:Just close your eyes and hold your hands out!

The knight chuckles as he does what he’s told. Immediately something weighted and cool to the touch lands in hands. Jaune opens his eyes and stars at a white scabbard. Somehow, this took him by surprise. It had his symbol in the middle and was surrounded by red thorns.

The grip of the hilt was this dark blue with a spiral of fierce red that went up and outlined the golden hand guard that was modeled in the shape of his symbol. He pulled out the gift from the scabbard to reveal cold, shining white steel that had its double edge and tip run red like hilt. If Jaune was being honest, he’s never seen a sword look more like a work of fantasy. Ruby stood right in front of him and put her left hand in the hilt, showing that his symbol had subtle thorn and rose engravings that matched her gold and red on her engagement ring.

The accomplished and proud Huntress then took a step back and started twiddling her thumbs while swaying, finding it hard to meet Jaune’s gaze; so she pulled her hood over her head. At this point it probably matched her face.

Ruby Rose:So uh yeah, that’s a Ruby Rose Original.

Jaune:You made this!?

Ruby:*nods* I’ll be honest. I spent so long shopping for wedding bands with Weiss helping. I’m still definitely getting one! But none of them really… felt like they were saying how I feel. There’s not a moment I want you feel like you’re fighting alone; even when we’re far apart. With this, I’m always by your side ready to help. The scabbard is a shield too but if I’m being honest I’m still a rookie when it comes to that kind of smithing. Consider this my own form of engagement to you.

Jaune:Ruby this is…I don’t even know what to say.

Ruby:*trembly* I uh..it’s fine if you treat this as a ceremonial blade too. After all…there’s history in Crocea Mors and I don’t want to step on that or make you feel like you have to stop wielding it because of m-

Two hands gentle hands pull back her hood and reveal teary, anxious eyes. Honestly, Ruby felt so ridiculous right now. All this effort into a heart felt token of affection and yet anxiety gripped her mind on how he’d take the jester. His thumbs run across her cheeks to catch a few stray tears.

Jaune:Hey, talk to me. What’s with the tears? This is an amazing.

Ruby:I just…Crocea Mors is its own vow. It has been for years and I know I shouldn’t be feeling guilty or nervous but I do. Gods, it’s so dumb hehe. Pyrrha would totally give me an earful for being so-

Jaune:Thoughtful? *smiles*

Ruby:..Heh, yeah. Yeah she would.

Jaune:Well, I don’t know if your beautiful brain and smithing skills have noticed, but you’ve really gotten good at knowing my style.

He briefly lets go of her and grabs his sword along with the new gift. Jaune pulls out both and puts them against one another. Yeah the hilt is different but it’s wide enough to work. Without hesitation, Jaune took the scabbard of Crocea Mors and slid it on the new sword easily; right down to the satisfying click in place that took Ruby by surprise.

Jaune:If you really feel guilty, then I can do this! Not gonna lie, I’d feel like shit getting that scabbard dirty in the future. It’s my first Ruby Rose original! Also gives you time to hyper fixate on shield crafting. As for the blade, I know this bad boy will keep me safe and sou-

Once again, petals flowed. Each one danced around him while the rose itself pressed her lips against his with gratitude and overflowing joy that dispelled fears like magic.

Ruby:Jaune Arc, you truly are my fairytale ending. My happily ever after.

Jaune:Hehe, And you said your vows would be hard? C’mere.

He pulled his loving fiancée into a deeper kiss before matching her smile. She was right. This present was the best.

Jaune:Does this engagement sword have a name?

Ruby:The deepest part of my soul wants to call it Bloody Moon but that doesn’t inspire luck as wedding gift.

Jaune:I kinda like what you said a few moments ago.

Ruby:Oh, so Ever After?

Jaune: Tale’s End

Ruby:That’s so- damn I’m marrying the right person. That’s such I good name! When our house is done I think my first order of business is mounting the scabbard with Crocea Mors somewhere nice and proud. Gonna need your height though.

Jaune:Naturally. And who knows. Maybe it’ll protect the both of us in a new way someday?

xxxxxxx

Several years later

Jaune:Alright squirt, ready for your first real sword sparring!?

A foolish question for a young girl waiting to dives out the front door and slide across a sand dune into a wide battle stance, her grin in full bloom with Crocea Mor ready to aid her first step towards greatness.

Carmine:Born ready!

Ruby:Do your best! Show him who’s boss!

Carmine:Ha! With this by my side, I might as well be invincible.

[lunamugetsu]

I see a lot of people going with the idea that if Danny were to be captured and tortured by the GIW, that the main people that would find him are Young Justice, Teen Titans or the Justice League main heroes.

So I raise you this idea.

The one who finds the GIW facility that's keeping Danny prisoner is The Question. The resident faceless conspiracy theorist hero that works for the Justice League. (the one I'm thinking of is the guy from Justice League Unlimited. The one that got together with Huntress. You can imagine this with the Renee Montoya version if you want, but I'm just thinking of the guy Question)

Now hear me out. The Question is known for having crazy conspiracy theories and in the the cartoon, Supergirl asks Green Arrow why they have the Question on the roster for the Justice League since he has such crazy theories, he must be insane. And Green Arrow replies with that some of his theories have actually turned out to be true.

So couple that with how The Question gets crazy theories and he does investigate them on his own time. It wouldn't be a stretch that he finds out that there's an obscure government agency that he instantly starts getting suspicious of as there's very rarely any documentation he can find about it. But what hammers his suspicions in is the obscene amount of money that's being pumped into that agency and a serious of facilities that somehow exist and yet also do not exist but he knows it's real because some of them required a humongous power grid to be able to have the facility function.

The Question starts investigating the facilities. Going undercover finding obscure ways to get into the building. He gets in finds a super secure, heavily fortified area that he could tell where most of the energy is being powered to keep locked. He finds the lab areas where he can see the autopsy tables all with machinery that are definitely raise some eyebrows. He starts downloading information about the facility from their servers and finds that the codes to unlock the area that was blocked to him before.

He goes to investigate that area and low and behold, who does he see but an imprisoned Danny who has clearly been tortured. The Question would then go "well I'm breaking him out" and just does an impromptu jail break and takes the kid which sounds the alarm. They're getting the heck out of there. The Question contacts the Justice League gets him and the kid to the Watchtower.

Later on Danny is staying with the Question, because Danny need a place to stay and he's cool with the faceless dude that saved him from his prison. The dude is like super chill with all of the stuff he talks about and actively listening to everything he talked about. Even adding comments of his own like

"I knew it! Lunch Ladies are connected with creation of the mystery meat! And they're funded by the government so they can use it as a brain control weapon to control the future generation!"

or

"The politicians of today could possibly be possessed by the ghosts of the past. They're unwilling to relinquish any power they possessed even in the afterlife!"

Plus, Danny's like completely cool with making food and cleaning up after Question. Because one, the food doesn't come to life and try to attack him like it does at home. And two, the man keeps all of his conspiracy stuff pretty organized so there was hardly anything for Danny to clean up. And sure the guy has a weird lifestyle with things such as brushing his teeth with baking soda because he says fluoride is used by the government to be able to see the people better from their satellites. Or that he'll look through everybody's garbage and would sometimes drag Danny with him to help, which he later learns is a great way to gather information about someone. And having conversations with the dude is kind of creepy when he can't see the dude's face, but he gets used to it and then starts practicing his shape shifting to see freak out the other heroes when they see he has no face.

Meanwhile The Question would have moments while working where he's like "Wait! Did I feed the kid this morning?" also Huntress is there because she doesn't trust her boyfriend at keeping a human being alive, even if they are half dead.

[raichett]

Scarian kiss from an Arranged Marriage AU that will never be written any further than this, enjoy <3

The Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire's mouth, when Scar finally presses his lips against it, is all wrong. For a human, he silently appends, as his thoughts scatter and waver, trailing away with part distraction as he tries to make some sense of the feeling, and, honestly, part disassociation. It's probably completely right and normal for a Watcher, one to whom Scar is now forever tied to, so he guesses he might as well start getting used to it sooner or later.

In front of a solemn audience is not the way that Scar would have wanted to first kiss his new - husband? Wife? Partner, he's going to go with partner, because he and the Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire (gosh, that's a mouthful of a name, and he didn't even get told it until a mere three hours before the ceremony) had never even met before they were both inside this grand hall - and it's beautiful, stunning, it truly is, but Scar's not been able to fully appreciate it - and certainly have never held a conversation. The first time he heard his partner's voice was the wedding vows, for crying out loud.

The Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire's lips buzz against Scar's, like the air before a thunderstorm turned physical and solid, pins and needles muffled and without pain. Their lips are not damp and their mouth is not wet when Scar dares to swipe his tongue briefly inside; but somehow the suggestion is there, like reaching out to grasp clothing hung out to dry to check whether you can start folding it up yet, and thinking that no, it's not ready, it's still a little damp, but then realising a second later that it's not damp, it's just cold.

The lips Scar is kissing aren't cold, nor are they warm, the temperature of a room where one is not particularly aware of the temperature inside because it simply isn't of note. Scar wonders how his mouth feels, how it tastes to his partner, because their taste is all wrong, too. It tastes like a sunbeam, like if Scar could pool the streams of golden light filtering through a window and cutting a shaft through the air, illuminating all the dust, into his palms and then drink from them - that would be the taste. It isn't sweet, or sour, or spicy, or - anything in any word Scar could try to apply. It's just warm; warmth without temperature, wrongness without malice, inhumanity without monstrosity.

When Scar reckons enough time has passed, he breaks the kiss and leans away. They can't have been kissing for more than a few seconds, really. A stuttering applause starts to fill the room, but Scar's only looking at the Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire's face. It's half hidden behind an elaborate mask over the nose and eyes, extending out into an array of wavy stylised sunbeams, inset with jewels and gems, the whole thing moulded from precious metals. The gaze behind isn't visible, darkly tinted crystal or glass obscuring it, preventing Scar from truly catching it. Likewise, there are other such dark shapes, ovals with pointed ends and pointedly outlined in the complex pattern of the mask - Scar wonders if there are eyes behind all of them. The face, otherwise, looks human enough, with pink lips and pale skin, a smattering of maybe-freckles peeking out the bottom of the mask, glinting the wrong colour, and he knows he felt teeth and a tongue in the other's mouth.

The formal ceremony - some mix of human traditions and Watcher traditions, Scar knows, but he just does what he's told to when he's told to do it, having been too mixed up in tying up his own life neatly to have taken much part in the logistics of the marriage itself - disperses into an adjacent courtyard. Amongst the guests, Scar can hear distant murmurs of rote congratulations and conversations, all of them probably precise and polite and political, carefully thought out ahead of time. Suddenly, he's alone with his new partner, both of them the afterthoughts of those with far more power than they; trinkets swapped about, put on display, admired momentarily, and then left behind.

Bold, Scar takes the Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire's hand - four fingers and a thumb, mostly human except for how they have no fingernails, only a vertical slit running around the fingertip from which Scar supposes the talons are unsheathed - and presses another kiss to the tops of the fingers as they curl, unresisting, into his gentle grip. "My name is Scar," he says, softly, wanting to get to have his own introduction. He usually flourishes here, starts spouting off an energetic script, but the sudden emptiness and quietness of the room presses down, and he can't; it doesn't feel right.

The Watcher of the Eclipse of the Sun over the Third Spire seems to observe him for a moment, watching in that heavy way their kind are known for. Then, they tighten their hand a little, holding his in return. When they reply, the words are picked out and pronounced carefully, unlike the recitation of the scripted vows, spoken in a way that puts Scar in mind of someone communicating in a language they are still learning: "My name," they say, "is Grian."

[chasedeys]

i've decided to lump all my shippy rpf au/non au thoughts together so. some nsfw btw, some non bengals, and like several ships you'd maybe have to brace yourselves for idk.

(also feel free to ask abt/share your thoughts on these or even other ships hehe maybe i'll get inspired! there's like 15 ships here goodness)

joemarr:

avatar au - airbender jamarr, firebender joe i knowwww some of you would think its the opposite but no i am finitely correct. the way jamarr would be bouncing around leaping around that man is an airbender!! not of the acolyte variety though 😭 while the deadset focused single mindedness of joe is for sure giving firebender hiding his scalding inner feelings. highly talented jamarr running away from the air temple in a very its-not-a-phase-nobody-understands-me-esque way and joe never getting the due diligence over his abilities in the fire academy so post graduation he's training hard under some obscure master (coach o lol) and getting outrageously good at his bending from sheer petty stubbornness and need to prove himself. they team up for that avatar korra organized bending fight thing i can’t recall and kick ass. and make out etc etc.

time travel au - old and greying married joemarr heaved with fresh out of the oven just won a natty joemarr. jamarrs tearful face clutching his ball staring in shock at ja’marrs unimpressed face clutching a margarita bowl in the middle of his and joes fucking kitchen. baby joes on top of the kitchen island bc somebody high up fucked up the calculations. older joes in the back trying to water their honestly dying plants. comfortable in their skin older joemarr reminiscing their years together tangled on a love couch while ten feet apart in the L shaped couch baby joe and jamarr red in the face just would not look in each other's direction like at all. jamarrs still clutching his ball. they’re still wearing their gear. joe would not stop staring at their gigantic ass framed wedding photo on top of the fire place. the emotional rollercoaster of being faced with the reality of possibly not playing together again steamrolled by the slap of imagery of them being married. being in one team. being a team. being more than what they thought they were together. and that time travel is real joes nerdy ass quantum mechanics enjoyer would be pissing himself in excitement probably. some crazy 'im gay for my qb/wr?' dilemma.

joemarr endgame with jjmarr fuckbuddies fwb extraordinaire :) except jamarrs very obviously to everyone but joe in love with joe, but he’s a slut (affectionate) so him and justin fall into bed very easily. one morning joe randomly dropping by jjs apartment greeted by justin making coffee etc he’s sitting in the kitchen island and jamarr walks out of justins room in just boxers yawning scratching at his belly with marks all over his body very obviously having gotten laid (pressing his hands against his eyes so he doesn’t see joe he just smells coffee and asks aloud if he can suck justins dick as a treat this morning lmao). cue horrific faces all around! cue misunderstandings! angst! why would you two hide this from me me! feelings realizations! tee having to suffer through joes breakdowns!! justin being exasperated through it all as joe be his stupidly loyal self congratulates him for his and jamarrs thing before cutting the man off by saying he’s in love with his coach fuck of jb fr. joe avoids jamarr for a hot minute before suddenly getting pushier and handsier with jamarr and that somehow leads to a cinematic fight and subsequent Great Big Confession in the middle of nowhere in a field of orange and purple flowers and green grass and hiding peeking woodland creatures and rain falling down heavy on them when they’re yelling only for it to suddenly clear and a rainbow to shoot right above them when they kiss end scene. cut scene to them sitting on a couch knees touching very bravely telling an unimpressed tee how they got together as tee shits on them for getting the flu of all things.

others (bengals/bengals or /nonbengals):

23 rookies poly - suchhh interesting dynamic between them alllll. drunken night of celebration of their touchdowns calling each other little tiny baby leading to chase getting spitroasted. waking up horrifically sticky and spent the next morning but charlie just goes right for the kill and climbs on top of yoshi for round four. social admins favorite targets yoshi and charlie being scrutinized heavily by the admins the next day wondering if they should be on that days segment 😭✋ (they really shouldn’t)

tee/justin - that one vikings vs bengals game where justin points/pokes at tee saying that his insane tuddy was crazy. that he was crazy for that one (it was. he was. tees sooooo). help me. help meeeee. (justin jamarr competency kink do you feel me) I’m thinking sonnets and ballads here guys they just talked and complimented each other for 1 (one) minute but I’m hearing wedding bells. no but okay so they just casually like each others posts and reply emojis to each others stories and start dming cute shit like hey heard u like this guys music or hey whyd u make a face like that in this one ad lol or hbd bro keep grinding or joe and jamarr said this insane shit abt u is it true or hey u in la right lets link up etc etc finally having each others numbers and texting near 24/7. joe and jamarr get suspicious when justin knows exactly what they’re talking abt tee when they have their random catch up sessions with him before it clicks like hm. theyd be good for each other huh. justin erratic yet pin straight demeanor vs tees calming affectionate accepting nature huh. both their outrageous babygirlism. huh. the two promptly get down to business (setting them up) but like all their efforts are literally already done by those two. making and faking cancelling plans only to find out they carpooled together and were planning on spending the night together anyway etc etc.

joemartee oughhuhguhhuhhh secret established relationship joemarr being disgustingly in love but nobody knows they just think they’re like that or like oblivious and bets running around if they’re actually together/getting together/Very Good Friends etc while tees Going Through It falling for joe that one year first (on no he's a hot jock nerd) and getting close with his paramour the next year (oh no he's a hot semi-stereotypical jock) and they're both just oh so sweet and just genuinely going through the wringer with these insane feelings and joemarr oblivious asses oohing and aahing and blushing over tee higgins crying as i picture this i lvoe them your honor. it ends with them holding hands together in the middle of their home field on top of the tiger print b logo (which they all were in college. tigers that is. in college. where they faced each other for a natty. crazy).

tee/tb - both too pretty not to be obsessed with each other tbh. the angst aspect of ducking out of the bengals is there lol but what i want is tb pure class of dining and wining tee higgins like he deserves!! except he’s also a freak so tees constantly getting hit with random sensual touches and the dirtiest innuendos he’s ever heard of in his 20+ years of living.

joe/evan - the afc smoooocchhh being all that evan could think about 😭 joe being absolutely enamored by evans competency and confidence (that guys crazy he’s like looks like we're going to the afc championship or smtg i forgot but joes smile talking abt him is burned into my gyri) while on the other hand evans in his head thinking joes with jamarr and like am i really going to go for a man clearly in with his college bf only to be bamboozled by jamarr barging into his hotel room one night and yapping abt joes adoration for him and how all his 'why doesn't he like me' woes annoy the ever living shit out of him so he drags evan to joes room and locking them in together (how he does it nobody knows)

bayou trio poly - THSI SI SOOOO. there’s actually so many thoughts abt them but i cannot for the life of me even begin to word them out. joe being very obsessed with his receivers is like the entire precursor to this if I’m being honest because this man just would not shut up about jj and jamarr like that one interview about olympics flag football and his first thought is he’s playing with his guys shutttt your faceee. but just him relentlessly pursuing his guys and them fucking with him right back and with each other is so <33

trey/ja’marr - this bitch/bitch pairing has me by the throatttt trey being outright fucking wooing the shit out of jamarr but also unable to keep his smartass comments to himself and jamarr getting his feathers absolutely ruffled but the wooing he’s actually kind of oblivious to is working so well 😭 trey making an effort to be interested with jamarrs likes interests and hobbies, semi perfect gentleman because again he can’t help himself he has to be a smartass, one scene in my mind i can’t let go of is of trey dragging jamarrs plate of chilli he was handed off by someone unknowing for himself and giving his own plate filled with jamarrs favorites to him and that shit flusters jamarr bad but trey just has to make fun of him for his anti chilli agenda. he complains to tee and joe they each have to hold his hands very gently to tell him that that giant man is trying to wife you up and the world rearranges itself in jamarrs head so the next day he flirts disgustingly shamelessly outrageously with trey who’s flustered as all hell when jamarr actually just puts his entire hands all over his belly and waist. tee and joe 20 feet away from jamarr shamelessly feeling his man up with hands over their faces because oh my god jamarr be normal would you.

mims/erick - i don’t actually know them that well but their one instagram interaction, the fact they’re both rookies, and their beauty compels me so.

keon coleman/ja'marr i know this makes ZERO SENSE but let me tell you something x3 😭😭😭 the fact that jamarr stingy ass follows him on insta??? from like a single training (?) session??? this notoriously unwilling to just follow anyones ig followed keon from when is probably the first ever interaction they had together????? adorable. both from nola!! keon being such a sweet emotionally and intellectually intelligent sweetheart people on tiktok calling him dumb just from the way he talks (sincerely and honestly, yall nasty people wouldn't get it) get behind me 𝖎 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖈𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚. no do you get me jamarr getting lowkey obsessed with keons cute ass funny ass 6'4 ass goofy chill ass self and keon slightly starry eyed at jamarr guahagauahuh hear me outttttt (this is literally all i have in me to say sorry)

others (non bengals)

micah/cj - i keep getting these twos interviews and events together in tiktok its crazy micah says the most delusional shit and cj has to stop himself from cussing him out in disbelief its sooo funny. getting ‘casually fucking’ from vibes alone, the sexy way they debated on an imaginary cj offense vs micah defense play in micahs podcast (?) was also very compelling lol. like cj definitely fucked this man from annoyance of his bullshit but also of his brain and also bc he's hot okay.

cj/bryce - watching glimpses of their high school (?) lore and now the black magic shit going on….insane….the angst…..have they met up or talked at all this season. what would they say to each other. the tender angsty horny aspect of it all. haunts me i won’t lie.

bryce/andy - the panthers qb disasterland angst aside, bryce went after that old man like crazyyyy. the ethics of fucking a much younger man youre mentoring whos looking up to you for guidance and going through a very vulnerable moment in his life while you're also weighed down by a franchise calling for blood is so. soooo.

fred/brock - lowkey into the 49ers but their situation rn is. very dire. i wish them the best truly. heal quick and completely. but freds suchhh a gorgeous man and all his mic'ed up moments are adorable and brocks lore of being the absolute last pick and outperforming the other qbs drafted before him just stokes the fire in me and theyre just so. the slight curdle knowing youre the last pick the sudden responsibility shoved into your hands the star player backing you up relentlessly. learning each others ways during training camps and on the road trips gradually realizing theyve talked more about anything and everything that theyve ever talked to anyone before, brock freaking the fuck out while fred gets incredibly down with everything etc etc

koc/jj - constantly getting the vibes of ‘he fuckeddd that old mannn’ when i see gifs of those two with jj just being 🥰😘💞🎀💓🌸💖💝🩰🌷 aughguhgh outrageous levels of besotted he’s WORKING he’s GETTING HIS MAN he’s FLIRTING hes using EVERY weapon in his disposal (competency, beauty, babygirlism, etc) you have to respect that shit. stupid fic idea that won’t leave my head is of them getting into a scandal caught by paparazzi romantic ass dinner holding hands and ending the night clubbing close but they really aren’t anything at that time but ahaha you get where I’m going with this right FAKE DATING!!! except this isn’t really feasible bc lets be real a coach dating his player = fired. period. or the player traded to a different team which. WHICH. but theyre both like invaluable to the vikings so they just go ok fake dating have at it (that makes zero sense but whatever). anyway super fun idea can’t lie justin upping his cutesy lovey schtick and koc quietly dying from it. joe legit reaches out like 'ur not being coerced or anything right' while jamarrs like 'get that silver dickkkk' (hes like 39 but whatever) etc etc.

stosh - i can’t say it. i just can’t 😭😭 the point is stef is definitely vicious as all hell and josh is rightfully protecting himself and post week 5 game they fucked one last time racing against time before joshs flight back to ny and there were tears bitten back words and just like a final goodbye for both of them. for good. forever. or is it. (it is.) (they still think of the other.) (josh sees the ghost of him in every corner of his stadium. in every stool in his kitchen. in every tightened smile around him when he says he's practicing throwing to a receiver.) (stef feels the ghost of his touch every time he throws a ball perfectly to a fan in the stands. when cj tells him to snap his wrist correctly when he jokingly plays the quarterback. thinking of faking not being able to throw just to feel his touch in a crowd of people.) also stef saw that is it in ad meme and has a visceral reaction he barely stops himself from tweeting heinous shit about joshs dick game

okay so brace yourselves:

lamar/ja’marr - LMAOOOO don’t come for me but jamarrs competency kink. the shit he said about playing lamar in madden. lamar being witness to the sexy as all hell 82 yard td and 70 yard td annoyance against his team and being driven to do SOMETHING about it. guys see my vision. see beyond team sports for a minute and seeee myyy visionnnn. but yeah that’s the thing that compels me abt them lol

pat/ja’marr - HEAR ME OUTTTTTT the sheer distaste jamarr has against the chiefs is sooo ???? them randomly meeting each other one day and ja’marr instantly has his hackles up -> pat responding right at jamarrs vibes and annoying ass heckling the shit out of jamarr (his intentions were playful. jamarr does not see it that way) -> ja’marr fight mode activated -> straight up making out and fucking dirty in the backrooms -> never speaking of it again. the narratives!! that’s basically it

joe/pat - lowkey compelling 😔🤚 just imagining absolutely disgustedly affronted ja'marr in the back as joe and pat do a shy blushy demure 4 feet for jesus between them vanilla ass flirting light hearted 'haha i beat you' jabs 'good game bro pal buddy' dance is so 😭😭😭 jamarr spritzing water at pat pushing joe away behind him 'really. right in front of my salad. get the fuck away i swear.' joe trying to advocate for his feelings while jamarr shoots them down saying thats the most toxic shit hes ever heard (its not even remotely toxic hes just saying shit) somehow getting roped to helping set them up and he burns (slight insane thoughts of him and pacheco working together and then ehehe etc bc of that one time pacheco gassed up the crowd to the background of jamarr Going Through It and like. pachecos fucking gorgeous yall look at him. pacheco needling at jamarr like ‘u in love w joe or smtg’ asking semi seriously bc jamarrs like super funny and cute and absolutely incapable of being chill about his team wow and jamarrs dying everybody quit asking if hes in love with his qb he swears esp this gorgeous ass annoying prick)

joemarrpat. no i will not elaborate. (dirty hate fucking. jamarr right in the middle btw shut upppppp)

ok bye

[oneshotnewbie]

Could I please have an imagine where the reader is somehow related to Travis and is transferred to station 19. When she meets everyone they all immediately like her. As time goes on Vic notices herself feeling weird around the reader. She tries to ignore the butterflies she feels and just starts acting weird. The others notice this, but only Maya figures out why. She tries to convince Vic to admit her feelings. And she does so after the reader gets hurt. Fluffy and angsty please?

ᕚ---ᕘ

The golden rays of the mid-morning sun slowly began to obscure the view as the wailing song of ambulance sirens permeated the busy streets of Seattle. Travis Montgomery, a veteran firefighter from the venerable Station 19, steered the emergency vehicle through the maze of streets with calm determination. His eyes were focused on the asphalt as his mind wandered to thoughts of the new recruit's impending arrival. Inside him, the anticipation of the upcoming reinforcements weighed against the uncertainty and excitement that came with each new addition. But Travis was confident that the team would receive a valuable addition to meet the challenges of the coming missions.

For several days, Travis and his comrades had been looking forward to the arrival of their new team member. The atmosphere in the station was electric, full of eager anticipation and quiet speculation about the person who would soon join their team. Yet in all their excitement and imagination, they had no idea of the deep, hidden connection their newest member shared with Travis.

Unbeknownst to them, this new recruit had a history with him that went far beyond the professional. A story that lay hidden in the unexplored depths of the past, now waiting to be revealed.

The ambulance slid smoothly into the fire department yard, accompanied by a muffled crunch as it came to a stop. Travis, fueled by excitement, jumped energetically out of the ambulance and rushed over to help unload the equipment. The other members of the team were already gathered outside, their gestures and looks full of anticipation for the arrival of the new team member.

Amid the hustle and bustle of unloading and preparation, an atmosphere of curiosity permeated the air. Everyone felt the tension that came with meeting a new member of the team and the hope that this person would enrich and strengthen the dynamic of the group.

As Travis and the others went about their work getting everything ready for the reception, they couldn't wait to finally meet you, who would soon complete their firefighter family. They waited anxiously to see who would walk through the door and how this new dynamic would shape their work and relationships.

With a sudden screech of tires, the sound pierced the air, and Travis's heart began to pulse to the rhythm of the excited drumbeats as a car rounded the corner. The door of the vehicle swung open and a young woman emerged from it. You radiated an aura of determination, tall and regal, your hair dancing wildly in the wind as a lively smile graced your lips.

Travis found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you as you gracefully walked towards him. “Hey, Trav!” came your cheerful voice as he walked up to you and wrapped you in a warm hug. "It's so great to see you again."

The rest of the team watched the scene with curious but confused looks as he took you in his embrace and placed a tentative kiss on your cheek. To them, you were a stranger, and the way you hugged and spoke to Travis sparked a mystery in their minds that was waiting to be solved.

Travis cleared his throat gently and then turned to his assembled colleagues, his arm lingering on your shoulder. “Guys, allow me to introduce you to my sister, y/n,” he explained with a wide, proud grin. "She will be part of our team from today."

A quiet murmur of surprise ran through the ranks of firefighters as they realized he had a sister they had never known about. But this surprise quickly gave way to joy when they noticed your lively charisma and intoxicating smile.

"My God, Travis, why didn't you ever tell us about her?" exclaimed Jack Gibson, one of the most experienced firefighters, his eyes full of admiration and curiosity. Travis shrugged slightly, his grin beaming from ear to ear as he let his gaze wander over to you. "I thought a little surprise would be nice," he replied with a mischievous wink.

Vic Hughes, the firefighter with the vivacious spirit and a heart of gold, was among the first to wrap her arms around you. "Welcome to the team, y/n! It's really great to meet you," her voice echoed with enthusiasm as she hugged you tightly. "I can't wait to work side by side with you."

Andy Herrera, the respected leader of the station and a source of inspiration to all, looked at you with a benevolent smile. "Travis told us absolutely nothing about you," she said warmly with a giggle. "But it's wonderful to finally meet you and work with you."

Ben Warren, the former surgeon who decided to pursue his calling as a firefighter, was impressed by your expertise and dedication. Although he had heard a lot about you from the Los Angeles Fire Department, he had never thought that you could be Travis' little sister. “It’s rare to find someone with your level of experience and passion for this profession,” he remarked appreciatively, extending a hand to you, which you gratefully accepted. "We feel truly blessed to have you among our ranks."

Dean Miller, the quiet and thoughtful firefighter, also quickly found a connection with you. “If you ever need help or have questions, I’m here for you,” he assured you with a warm smile. "We stick together, no matter what."

Travis watched with a pride that made his heart swell as his team immediately welcomed you into their community. It was a relief for him to see how smoothly you fit into the dynamic of the station and how strong the bonds of togetherness were already at that moment.

The warm welcome from other team members enveloped you like a warm hug as you were invited to join them and explore the station. It quickly became clear that you were not only Travis' sister, but also an experienced firefighter who was eager to join the new team. They roamed the corridors of the station together with you, and Travis could feel a deep gratitude welling up within him. It was a moment of fullness in which he realized that he could now share not only his passion for his job, but also a part of his family with his closest friends.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Known for her determination and fiery personality, Vic Hughes usually felt confident in any situation. But ever since your appearance at Station 19, she began to feel in a way that confused herself.

It started subtly, with an unusual fluttering of her heart whenever she was near you. Vic tried to ignore these sensations and instead concentrate on her work, but the more time she spent with you, the more intense the butterflies in her stomach became.

She noticed how her thoughts revolved around you more and more often, how she looked forward to every meeting with you and eagerly waited to see you again when you were apart. But Vic didn't know how to deal with these feelings. She had never felt for a woman before, and the fact that it was you, her best friends sister, only made things more complicated.

In her confusion, Vic began to behave in unusual ways. She avoided your gaze and tried to stay away from you, worried that her feelings for you would become too obvious. A reserve and aloofness began to appear in her behavior, which did not go unnoticed by the other team members.

Maya Bishop, the station's mindful soul, sensed the tension between Vic and you and decided to talk to her about it. When the blonde found her alone in the locker room, she carefully put her concern into words: "Is everything okay, Vic?"

Vic hesitated for a moment before answering, her gaze avoiding Maya's eyes. "Yes, everything is fine," she murmured quietly and with gentle determination, Maya placed a hand on Vic's shoulder, forcing her to look at her. "You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Her voice was calm and supportive. "If something is bothering you, let me know. We are here to support each other."

Vic sighed heavily and lowered her gaze to the floor. "It's just... I don't know how to deal with it," she finally confessed. "With these feelings that I have for someone."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "For someone? Who do you mean?" Maya tried to encourage Vic to talk. She hesitated again before answering, her voice barely audible. “For y/n,” she finally murmured and Maya's eyes widened in surprise as she realized what her friend had meant. "Oh," she said quietly, trying to hide her surprise. "And how do you feel about that?"

Vic shrugged, unable to organize her thoughts. "Confused, I guess," she finally replied. "I've never felt this way before and it's driving me crazy."

Maya placed her hand reassuringly on Vic's shoulder again and smiled reassuringly. "It's okay to be confused," she said softly. "Give yourself time to figure out what you're really feeling. And remember, we're all here for you, no matter what."

She nodded slowly, grateful for the blondes support. She knew she still had a long way to go to deal with her feelings for you, but she knew she could do it. She resolved to no longer ignore her feelings, but to bravely face them before she confessed them to you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Weeks passed as Vic continued to remain silent and distance herself from you. Station 19 was in turmoil when the team was called to an urgent emergency call. The report of a man who got into a dangerous fire situation while under the influence of alcohol had everyone ready to go into the danger zone to save lives.

Victoria Hughes felt the tension in the air as she prepared for the mission ahead. The thoughts of you being in danger made her heart beat faster and she fought against the rising fear. Yet at the same time she was determined to protect you at all costs.

The mission turned out to be dangerous and full of unexpected challenges. As you and Vic bravely tried to save the alcoholic man from the flames and fight the fire, the situation spiraled out of control. The man became aggressive towards you and attacked you when you tried to calm him down. In the scuffle that followed, you were thrown against a pillar, which gave way above you and buried you beneath it.

A moment of pure panic gripped Vic as she saw you buried beneath the rubble. She fought desperately against the aggressive attacker to protect herself and at the same time rush to your aid. But despite her tireless efforts, the situation seemed hopeless and Vic felt overwhelmed and helpless.

When the team finally subdued the man and you were carried injured out of the burning building and to safety, a wave of relief ran through her, followed by an intense feeling of despair. She could no longer deny how much you meant to her, time was too short, and in that moment she knew it was time to face her true feelings.

After the mission was successfully completed and they were all safely back in the station, Vic came to see you. She found you in the infirmary, surrounded by Carina and Warren, stabilized, albeit with a few bruises and scratches on your face. Her hands shook with excitement as she approached you, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm.

“Y/n, there’s something I need to tell you,” Vic started nervously as her eyes met yours and waited for the two doctors to left your area. Her voice was gentle, but her words carried a weight of emotion. "I... I have feelings for you, y/n. Strong feelings that I can't deny anymore."

A hint of surprise crossed your face, followed by a warm smile. “Vic, I’ve felt this for a while,” you confessed quietly. "And I have feelings for you too. I just wanted you to start so I wouldn't look like an idiot if I misinterpreted something."

An indescribable feeling of joy filled Vic's heart when she heard your words that she had suppressed for so long. She hugged you tightly, and in that intimate moment she knew she had finally found the courage to face her deepest feelings. As you held each other in your arms, you both felt the certainty that this was the beginning of something special - a love strong enough to overcome the greatest challenges and connect the hearts of two people forever.

[oftenwantedafton]

the new hire | steve raglan x female reader

rating | explicit

part 1/?

words | 2k

ao3 link

You know you’re in trouble the moment you see those eyes.

The smile Steve Raglan offers is rehearsed, false. It doesn’t quite reach the blue; doesn’t match that warm, coarse voice that beckons you further into the office. Later on, you’ll know all too well what makes the smile turn genuine; wolf teeth, sharp and pleased, sunk into prey. But for now there is just the chair that makes your tailbone sore already, that is so much lower than the desk the career counselor sits at, making you feel even smaller than you already do. You’re looking up at the older man, at the facial hair that is marbled steel and white, fuller around the mouth and patchier on both cheeks. It looks new, like something the man’s just trying out, like one of those comically false disguise hair pieces that a spy on an old television program might employ. As if to prove your point he reaches absently to scratch along the sparse growth lining his jaw, the fastened sleeve of his shirt straining just a little at the wrist, revealing some sort of pink scar, or perhaps you are wrong; he doesn’t let you catch more than a glimpse before the hand moves to lift the cover of a folder on his desk.

Those fingers turn over the pages—only three, your entire adult existence summed up on just those scant sheets of paper—and you’re struck by how long those digits are. Artist fingers, pianist hands, the very spread of them dwarfing the documents as his eyes rove over each page. The lighting in the room—ample and yet insufficient, there are still so many shadows tucked into every corner of that office space—glares on the lenses of his glasses, temporarily impeding your view of his eyes. This accessory, too, seems somehow out of place, the shape all wrong for his facial structure, giving the illusion that this was yet another part of a disguise, a mere costume prop. You wonder if you tried the visual aids on yourself if you'd discover the lenses would be anything other than clear plastic, lacking any sort of correction.

There are a few signs of aging, a few lines here and there, most notably bracketing his eyes, but the rest of his complexion is smooth, pure—no, that was not the right word to use for this man at all—unblemished, yes, that was better. Unmarked by the natural ravages of time. Defying it. He’s older and yet somehow still young at the same time. Eternal.

It does not take long for the social worker to reach the end of your file. You squirm in your seat, trying to locate a more comfortable position. There is none to be found. Your hands twist together nervously—yours so much smaller than his, so much less delicate with your short fingers, short nails, you’ve tried to grow them out but they always split, so fragile—and then his face finally lifts to regard you, the reflected light sliding from the lenses so that his eyes are no longer obscured from your vision. You feel as if you are on trial, waiting for the judge to deliver the final verdict that will decide your fate. You had no way of knowing, then, how accurate that analogy would prove to be.

“I’ve looked through your file,” he begins, as if you have not been sitting here this entire time, seeing him do that very thing, “and I’m afraid this does not leave you with many options.”

He does not look afraid at all. He looks quite smug, and condescending. You feel yourself wither, shrinking down further into your seat, making yourself even smaller, but there is no escaping that judging gaze, that stare that pierces you like an insect on a taxidermist’s card.

“I’m willing to do anything.” You realize how this sounds the moment the words leave your lips. If you had just added two more, for work, perhaps it would have come across as a little less sleazy. Or maybe not. Maybe any phrasing would still sound the same—needy, desperate.

“Are you?” Something hot fills your gut. His voice is a soft rasp. Those two short words worm their way right inside you, burrowing into your core. They make you want to slide to your knees before this terrible figure, becoming worshipper and supplicant, and do whatever he instructs you to.

“Yes.” You feel as if you are consenting to something you don’t quite grasp all the details and nuances of.

The long fingers drum on the closed folder shielding your demographic information and employment history from view. You are torn between meeting the piercing gaze and watching those digits tapping in rapid succession. Each beat feels like he is grinding you further and further down, mallets that pound you right into the ground. You’re aware your lips are parted, because there is not enough air, not nearly enough, being drawn through your nostrils. Your lips feel chapped, your tongue dry and stuck to the roof of your mouth, adhered to the soft palate.

“I have a position for you.”

Oh, you’re willing to bet he does. Bent over the desk. The cheap skirt you’d gotten on clearance at a local department store lifted. Fingers scrabbling across the surface of the desk blotter, knocking over the placard bearing his name and title on his desk: Steve Raglan, Career Counselor. He does not look like someone who goes by a nickname. He does not even look like a Steve. You’re beginning to imagine just how that inappropriate session might feel—rough, no foreplay, no affection, just taking what he wants, those fingers digging into your skin, slapping—and you feel heat rise in your cheeks, between your legs. Shameful, except you seem fresh out of that feeling. It’s already been used up, the supply exhausted. That urge to please him, to be submissive, washes over you once more.

“What is it?” You manage after struggling to work moisture into your mouth. You’d never be able to suck his cock properly in this condition, but you’re certainly slick enough elsewhere to make up for it.

“A security gig.”

“I’ve never worked as a security guard.”

“Yes, I’m aware. One of the few career paths you haven’t pursued yet.” The disdain drips from every word. You’ve displeased him. He thinks you’re absolutely worthless. You want to prove him wrong.

“Where is it?”

“Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria.” This is the first time you hear something other than contempt in the bearded man’s voice. In fact, it was quite the opposite. There is a fondness there. A kind of affection and wonder. His features change, the thin press of his mouth softening, the sharp eyes now glassy with some far off look. Lost in some memory, savoring the details.

Then his eyes fix on your features again, so brisk and whiplike you gasp. “Would you like some coffee?”

“What?” You feel as if you’ve awoken from a trance, breaking free of whatever spell had been cast when he’d mentioned the restaurant name. You’re not familiar with it, but then again, you hadn’t lived here long. Had never really lived anywhere long. Army brat, and then a wanderer once you’d reached adulthood. A professional nomad.

“Coffee,” he repeats, rising to his feet. You’d already gotten the impression he was tall, just judging by what you could see of his upper frame, but you hadn’t anticipated quite this much length. Well over six feet. He towers above the worn piece of furniture in front of him, then makes his way around it to the coffee bar set up behind you. You’d smelled the caffeinated liquid brewing from the hallway, long before you’d ever entered the room. There is the sound of the glass carafe lifting from the burner and its contents poured into two mugs before settling back into place. Paper sugar packets are torn. Multiple. A cup is set on the desk in front of you. It has the look of being homemade, some glazed creation from a pottery class. Made by a child, perhaps? Some other family member? You make no move towards it, watching him stand beside your chair, looking down at you, pushing you even further into the earth with that gaze.

“I don’t drink coffee,” you murmur, sounding apologetic.

“Get used to it. You’re going to need to drink it to stay awake. The position is for third shift.”

“I…I don’t work nights,” you protest.

“You don’t work at all,” he returns, taking a sip from his mug. The words sting. “Beggars cannot be choosers, as they say.”

You swallow thickly, struggling with the movement. Maybe you should take a sip of the offering, just to wet your mouth.

“Drink it,” he says again, and the words make you want to cower, to grovel. Your father had always been strict. Dead and buried for years now and you still felt his presence, sharp and commanding. Maybe that was what made you feel so intense about this older man you’d just met. Daddy issues, some might say. Craving discipline. Being told what to do. You obediently lift the mug and swallow. It’s scalding hot and bitter. He’s placed nothing in it to alleviate the taste, nothing to sweeten or cool it, no sugar or cream, just a straight hot black brew to consume.

“Good girl,” he says, and the praise, oh that praise feels so ridiculously good, borderline orgasmic. You’ve finally done something to please him, and you take another gulp, ignoring your burnt tongue and protesting taste buds.

“When do I start?” You haven’t even discussed wages, or the amount of hours you’ll be working. Details you should care about, but don’t. You’ve already succumbed, agreed to what he’s put before you.

“Tonight. So you’d better take a nap and get some rest later today, because you have a long evening ahead of you.”

“I don’t…what about a uniform? Directions? I don’t know the address.”

“You can skip the uniform for tonight. Just wear something…appropriate.” He returns to his position behind the desk, settling back into the leather office chair. Setting the cup to one side, he swivels around to grab a blank piece of paper from the tray in the fax machine behind him, then rotates back around and begins writing.

The cursive is neat, elegant. Every word has little flourishes. Your eyes linger on the curves of the letters while his eyes linger on the curves of your body. Perhaps you should have done up that top button of your blouse, worn a brassiere that was a bit more restraining. He smiles and you feel the drag of those lips burn your skin, searing flesh and melting through every layer, sinking past muscle and bone, seeping into organs, tissues, reaching that delicate hidden place in your center, hollowed and waiting to be filled.

Then he’s back on his feet and you jerk to yours. One of your lower limbs has fallen asleep, making it feel heavy and awkward. You manage to follow him to the door. It’s solid wood, closed for privacy. Had you shut it? You couldn’t remember. Perhaps the woman who had guided you here had.

“See you at eleven. Be on time.”

You frown, not comprehending. “You’re going to be there?”

“Of course. How else are you going to learn what is expected of you?”

“Oh.” Naturally you’d need some sort of orientation. You lack experience. You have no idea why a restaurant would need guarding.

Maybe you should have wondered more about that. Maybe you should have refused the coffee and the job offer and struck out on your own, trying another town, another office.

But you hadn’t. You had come to Steve Raglan, desperate and eager to please, and he had seized on that neediness, trapping you before you’d ever had a chance to realize it.

He sticks out a hand for you to shake, something he hadn’t bothered with upon meeting you, and you reach for it. He doesn’t perform the expected polite gesture of parting, instead tugging on you, your body instantly shifting forward and dragged closer to his. So, so close. You can feel the heat wafting from him. Such strength in those artful fingers. How easily they would peel your clothing off, whatever he’d care to remove. Pinning you. Using you. No one could see, behind this closed door. The slats of the blinds on the window are shut. No one would ever know. Just the two of you. Your secret.

There’s a hungry haze clouding his eyes now. You lick your lips, still trying and failing for that moisture. He abruptly releases your hand and you want to cry out in protest as he jerks on the door handle and you’re ushered through unceremoniously. It clicks shut behind you.

The hallway is brighter. Fluorescent lighting. The air fresher, less stifling, the temperature cooler. Invigorating. It’s like being doused with cold water. You inhale deeply. You’re free.

But only for the moment.

[shiyorin]

#Fulgrim x Reader

#I don't know what else to say but it's just Fulgrim and the way he appreciates your beauty.

#TW: Foot fetish :v

"Hold still." Fulgrim murmured, his voice reverberating with the faintest undercurrent of reverent focus.

You didn't pay his gentle admonition any heed. You lounged indolently upon the sleekly curved divan, hair disheveled and spilling. One shapely leg kicked out at an indolent angle, sole flexing as though to dislodge the embroidered confection of ribbons and organza puddling about your ankles.

Pursing his lips, the Phoenician found himself reaching out to steady that recalcitrant limb, chiding his guest. "My dearest, you must remain composed if I'm to properly attire you."

Your eyes slitted open at that, glinting with indolent amusement. "Must I?" You reply, somehow infusing even those two simple words with silken intimations. "And why should I?"

Had it been anyone addressing him in that tone, Fulgrim might have dismissed them from his presence then and there. But not you. No, toward you he could only sigh with a mixture of exasperation and sublime fascination, conflicting psycho-sculpted vectors tugging him in myriad directions at once.

"Because this night's very important," he explained for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. And for perhaps the hundredth time as well, Fulgrim found his gaze drifting downward over the perfection of your form. From the artful tumble of shimmering tresses to the exquisite hollow of throat and collarbones, all the way down to the ... full swell of...

"You need not demean yourself so, my lord."

Your low, throaty voice rippled as the primarch of the Emperor's Children knelt before your form. Still, you made no move to halt his ministrations or avert your shapely limbs from his attentions.

"Nonsense," the Phoenician throwing you a smile that could disarm worlds. "It is no indignity to bask in sublime beauty and assist in rendering it transcendent."

A delicate smile at that polished retort. "I had expected you of all the primarchs to disdain such... posturing."

If your words landed true, Fulgrim gave no indication. He continued deftly clasping the delicate chains braided from liquid shadow composite to your mirrsilk bodysuit. Each glinting loop spilled outward like baroque silvered vines from the highly articulated armor plates protecting your ankles.

"Posturing?" The primarch arched one perfect, sculpted eyebrow in an aristocratic moue of surprise. "My dear, assisting you in accentuating your exquisite conformation is art of the highest caliber."

Fulgrim paused in trailing his masterful fingertips along the lush, flawless contours of your calf muscle. For a fleeting moment, his noble visage flickered barely perceptible acknowledgment that you had scored a glancing blow with your provocations. Just as quickly, however, that momentary pique faded beneath the Phoenician's typical aura of unshakable poise.

"I don't merely endeavor to enhance your sublime beauty out of empty ritual." he clarified, steadily working the umbrahyde ribbons further up your leg. "Rather, I seek to elevate it to the masterwork it deserves."

The primarch shook his head minutely, allowing several perfectly-coiffed strands of silken platinum to fall charmingly across his brow. He hadn't summoned his entire coterie of beautifiers and augmenated ordators for this affair, only his most trusted serfs. Adorning true, living art required focus and reverence beyond what most anyone could muster.

Pick up the ankle-length indigo striders with the same reverence as handling sanctified gene-wrought. Chemos worked every rivet and nanosynthesized composite fiber with their most skillful arts. Even on the field of apotheosis, no detail was too insignificant nor craftsmanship not elevated into a breathtaking masterpiece.

But compared to the transcendent fleshwork that would soon grace these accoutrements, their beauty paled into vapid obscurity. 

Slowly, reverently, with each appreciative caress and brush of finely wrought material over sacrosanct dermis, he felt himself descending into a blissful rapture few mortals had ever experienced.

Through of his eyes, details of imperfection normally invisible to visual spectra alone burned in blinding clarity through his primogenoid senses. Not the slightest defect escaped his adoring scrutiny as your sculpted perfection unveiled itself in achingly slow ceremony.

First the ankles, those deceptively delicate articulation nodes sutured by intricate hyper-density musculature. How he lavished upon them, worshiping every curve while his psyche greedily drank in their elegant sublimity. Then the calves, wherein bulged and beauty beyond mere human comprehension. Fulgrim's hands roamed across each subtly undulating contour and veinridge.

Next came the magnificence of your thighs, a masterwork of helice and kinesis that stole both breath and soul with its supreme proportions. Such gracious lines and mesmerizing flexion, profiles carved by a billion recursive movements and honed into perfect design.

These were the idealized aesthetics for which any crudely-conceived "masterpieces" could only ever remain a pale imitation. Your body constituted a living canvas of sacred and perfection resonating at the exalted wavelengths of universal beauty....

"You're staring again."

Your voice sliced through the contemplative silence like a razor-edged sibilance. Fulgrim blinked, only just realizing his thought.

"Apologies." the noble primarch offered with an elegant dip of his perfect features. "You'll have to forgive an artist's momentary rapture when confronted with such a breathtaking subject."

Then, with a courtly flourish utterly at odds with his preceding transformation, the Lord of the Third raised your fingers to his full, sensuous lips. Jeweled irises of amethyst glowed with inner luminescence as he pressed a kiss to your silk glove.

"Come." he urged. "They await an introduction..."

[moonspirit]

More Cadet!Aruani.. pretty please? Like, literally tell everything you got, I am willing to read an entire thread of it.

Ohhh anon~ I'm glad you enjoy my cadet!Aruani haha xD I don't do it often tbh, somehow.

But nope, not literally everthing I've got! Only bit by bit, so I can savour and ruminate on the thoughts and eke it out for future posts too xD

For now, maybe... some fluff between the two will do for now?

It's a slow day in the 104th training corps. No training since all superiors are away, no exams (also far away), no titans breaching walls and creating havoc. Everyone's off somewhere or very much in somewhere and being nosy about it, there's nothing to do, nowhere to see, and Annie's sure if she doesn't open her mouth and talk to another human-shaped being, she'll go insane.

Not that she has any energy for it.

But maybe... maybe if she can find him, all she'll have to do is listen.

It's doubtful, Armin is rather popular with the people and for all she knows, he could be making the girls flower crowns and reeling off obscure fact after obscure fact to anyone who listens with gusto. On a free day like this, maybe he's not even in town. Maybe he's been whisked off somewhere by his friends. Maybe he-

And then she stops in her tracks because there he is, sitting by the canal, a book in his lap (how typical, she wants to laugh), but all alone.

Maybe he'd rather not see her though and be bothered by her empty presence when he could be reading the book in peaceful solitude.

Somehow, even if she can't nearly overturn her desire to take his time for herself, the sudden doubt roots her to the spot and she can no more walk forward. Instead she just stares at the back of his head where the pale afternoon sun warms the locks of smooth gold hair with a desolate sensation of longing taking over her heart.

Who knew loneliness could cause feelings like this. Her father would be disappointed.

But maybe she creates a darkness, or maybe she creates a void, it's lost to her which, because Armin seems to think he should turn around at that very moment and look for some reason, only to end up blinking with surprise at the sight of her lurking around the corner like a homeless kitten with "take me home" written all over its face.

It's embarrassing really, but thank god he can't see her cheeks properly at this distance.

"Annie!" he calls, a great big smile spreading over his face.

Oh, stupid. Stupid of her to think he wouldn't want to share his time. Armin's an idiot, carelessly giving everyone his time! She's just another one.

"Hi." She says, stepping into the sun to sit next to him. The canal is like the dozen others just like it in this town, nothing remarkably large or impossible to fathom; if she transformed, she'd step right over it without so much as a glance down. She's also nimble and quick on her feet, qualities her father had made certain she was aware of if only to size up an enemy by comparison - even if she were to stumble sitting down by the edge of the canal, nobody in the military would expect her to fall.

So why then, does he reach a hand out as if to catch her if she falls?

And why can't she look away from the shape of his palm?

Armin's smile is, somehow, brighter than the sun on the back of her neck. "I thought you would've gone to the market with Mina and the rest. What are you doing here alone?"

"I could ask you the same," She retorts. "You're always surrounded. How come nobody needs you today?"

There's a flash of something like the edges of disappointment in his eyes, so quick and fleeting that Annie thinks she imagines it when it's gone.

"Well, you know, I'm glad to have the day to myself," He chuckles. "It's quiet and peaceful."

"Right, and then I intruded."

"No, no," He laughs, shaking his head. "I'm glad to see you, Annie."

Annie looks away, squinting at the flowing waters. The sunshine makes it glitter in a million different ways, dazzling her until all that's left in her vision is a soft, beautiful river of light, flowing to some unknown place. In the corner of her vision, she's acutely aware that the book on Armin's lap leaves its place for the stone ground - a sign that makes her nervous, really, because it means that all of his clever little attention is now on her.

"Pretty, isn't it?" He says softly, making her look at him.

At the shape of his face, framed by a soft molten gold that flutters with the wind; at the blue of his eyes, a shade she doesn't really know the word for as it penetrates deep into her own; at the tip of his nose, always dusted an endearing pink; at the ridge of his brows, a tad stronger whenever the bangs move away in the breeze; at the set of his jaw, the shape of his lips, the-

"W-what is?" She stammers, dazed.

"The water." He laughs, and she feels so silly.

"... Right."

Some of the people back in her hometown used to believe in Gods; said calling upon their names would ease their thoughts and bring them to calm.

Perhaps she should try it, just this once, because her heart-

But then, Armin leans in, a smile just short of bashful playing on his lips.

"There's more water like this beyond the walls."

Oh god, there it is. Again. Somehow, she's glad for it.

Annie can't help but release a sigh. "I was wondering if you'd grown tired of talking about the sea. Haven't heard about it in three days."

There's everything in his laugh, embarrassment, happiness, hope the size of the sun, and then some more embarrassment. For better or worse, Annie decides, it's her favourite sound and can he please continue to laugh?

"Sorry. I'm sure I've bored you by now..."

"No," She hums, drawing her knees to her chest and closing her eyes to the warmth heating up her face. "Tell me about it again."

And he does.

And Annie decides it's her favourite story because it's kind and beautiful and better than any of the ones she grew up hearing.

This story of the sea is sweet.