#mini FIC

[frownyalfred]

"I can't get the shot."

Bruce didn't respond right away, busy dispatching an alien gunner off to the left of their perch. He was covered in thick green slime, his armor glowing softly in the darkness of the planet's night cycle.

Jason kept his eyes down range, even with the sting of disappointment in his throat. Through his scope, he could see the target, but it kept moving. Every time he thought he had a lock on it, it shifted a few feet to the right or left, jerking unpredictably right before he'd been about to fire.

He didn't need Bruce to tell him how important this shot was. One bullet was all it would take to free the planet -- and Superman -- and yet, when it was finally his time to shine, he'd fallen short. Finally, Bruce had reluctantly planned a mission around a firearm, and now Jason couldn't even fucking pull the trigger when asked.

There was another grunt, and then a pained moan from the alien as he went down for good this time. Jason watched Bruce approach from his peripheral vision, tensing slightly as the distance between them closed.

"You have the shot," Bruce said, matter-of-fact. Through the cowl's vocoder, it was even more final than normal.

"I'm telling you I can't get it," Jason bit back, teeth gritted. "You want me to be wrong and risk hitting one of the hostages?"

A hand descended upon his shoulder, bracing against him. Jason looked up from his scope as Bruce positioned himself in front of Jason's body, an arm's length of space between them.

Jason couldn't breathe as Bruce reached out, propping the barrel of the rifle between two armor plates on his own shoulder. He stood impossibly still, one hand braced against Jason's chest and the other on Jason's shooting arm in a vise grip.

"You have the shot," Bruce repeated, quieter this time. The white lenses of his cowl stared into Jason's face. "Take the shot, Jay."

Jason bit back a growl, looking back into the scope. He slowed his breathing, feeling Bruce's measured taps against his chest to indicate the tempo. He went back into that surreal, stretched-out place between him and the target, finger sliding off the trigger guard and onto the trigger itself.

One breath in. Bruce wasn't breathing at all. Hold. One breath out. Bruce was right there. Pull the trigger.

Jason took the shot. The gun kicked back, jarring both of them. Bruce held onto him even as Jason slumped in relief, flicking the safety back on at the very last second.

"You had it," Bruce said, tugging him upright. "Come on. We need to move."

Jason slung the rifle over one shoulder, trying to ignore the way Bruce's grip seemed to linger on his skin, burning through armor and Kevlar down to the skin beneath.

something something about Bruce being anti-gun and anti-killing but when Jason needs him in the middle of a firefight (aliens, or something else Bruce lets him shoot) he's there and bracing Jason's gun barrel with his shoulder when he needs to take a tricky shot. he takes out distractions in Jason's field of vision so he can use his scope without worrying about getting hit. he knows how to fight around guns, how to support a teammate who uses a gun. but he won't with Jason, normally.

[shititsarat]

CW: slightly suggestive themes, (almost) choking?

— ✧ˎˊ˗

Hm... König leaving KorTac and joining Shadow Company. Graves being intrigued by this big guy who normally seems so shy and anxious; who barely speaks and always fumbles with his huge, baggy clothes; who wears a mask to cover the lower half of his face while his brown, messy hair mostly hides the rest.

Getting any words at all out of König is a challenge. The man looks like a unit so it is not hard to guess that he is strong and can hold his ground in a fight, even if his demeanor might not hint at his capabilities and his love for battle. On top of that, when Graves mentions the possibility of them fighting against each other as training, the Austrian's eyes light up and his usual nervousness seems to vanish in an instant.

...

Graves had expected König to be strong but not that he would go down against the taller man this quickly; that it would be so easy for König to trap Graves below his large, muscular body. The Commander's stomach hurts since the new Shadow had rammed his knee into it, and his back aches from having been slammed onto the ground. In addition, Graves' breath catches in his throat now as König's fingers wrap around his neck, holding him in place.

König looks different than before as he stares down at Graves without averting his gaze, now no longer appearing shy and hesitant in front of the Commander but instead staring at Graves almost with belligerence, as if the man is nothing more than König's prey.

And Graves…. Graves feels trapped underneath the giant's body and gaze, small and vulnerable even—despite being on the taller side himself—as he has no way of escaping. His heart beats loud and fast inside his chest because the way König stares and speaks with him—the look in his eyes hungry and oppressive, his voice dark and heavy—terrifies the shit out of Graves…

But it also causes his heart to skip a beat and goosebumps to spread across his skin when König's large fingers squeeze the Commander's neck, a gasp fighting its way over his lips.

Graves is not the type of man who enjoys feeling vulnerable. On the contrary, he loves nothing more than to be in control, to be the one who leads in almost every situation imaginable—it is for this reason that he left the military and created Shadow Company after all. And still, his slightly trembling body and warming up skin betray how this situation causes him to feel, unbeknownst to König though whose focus seems to lie solely on the battle and the life he holds in his grasp at this very moment.

"Why are you not struggling? You want me to choke you to death?" König asks, the dominant and mocking undertone in his voice evoking something inside Graves no one else has ever managed to bring forth.

"Actually…" Graves utters, his own voice somewhat shaky as he speaks—from just having gotten kicked in the stomach, he tries to convince himself, "I'd prefer it if you don't, thanks…"

"Than fight," König demands, his words showing that, despite the position they find themselves in, this clearly is not over for him yet, that he wants Graves to keep fighting, to not give up.

But while a part of Graves tells himself to do as the man ordered, to fight like a caged animal, to struggle, even if it seems pointless considering their size difference, another part tells him that having this big man choke him into unconsciousness would not be the worst outcome of this little training session. And if Graves is honest, he is unsure which option to pick...

[adhd-coyote]

“General Kenobi, you claim an assassin killed the Chancellor?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, neither I nor Commander Fox saw them, as they used a flash bomb to disorient us and fled too quickly for us to follow.”

“And where, exactly, did they flee? No one reported seeing anyone leave this office.”

“Why, they fled through the broken window, of course.”

“What broken window?”

“That one.” Kenobi points. The previously intact window shatters, as if hit by a very strong invisible force. Neither Kenobi nor the Marshal Commander so much as twitch.

“Are you alright, sir?” Commander Fox asks, all concern. “You must be very tired, if you didn’t notice the clearly broken window. You should go rest. It’s okay, General Kenobi and I can take it from here.”

“Yes,” Kenobi agrees, prim and proper. He raises a hand, fingers slightly curled, and his voice takes on a different note. “Go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time you wake.”

“I will go home and take a nice, long nap. This will all be handled by the time I wake.”

“Very good. Have a nice evening.”

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[lovelytsunoda]

the way you kiss me works each time // lance stroll

summary: sexual innuendos and a scrabble board make for a flirty and cosy afternoon

pairing: lance stroll x wife! reader

warnings: 18+, no smut but it’s very suggestive and very flirty (while being cosy at the same time!!)

notes: can be read as a part of the ‘welcome to wherever you are’ verse or as a stand-alone, returning to an idea I had in part two (spill the wine). there's something about this whole concept that just makes me weak in the knees.

the sun was low in the sky as it threatened to dip behind the clouds. the breeze was gentle, coming over the balcony of the villa where the newlyweds were staying, overlooking the ocean as they basked in each other's company.

a scrabble board was spread out on the table in front of them, the low hum of the tv from the sitting room playing an italian travel programme. they had spent the day on a walking tour of capri, before spending the afternoon in an authentic italian pasta making class, and were now relaxing their tired bodies with cold drinks and a game of scrabble.

"and i play 'clever' for eleven points." she hummed, laying the tiles down and connecting them to lance's previous word.

"nice one." lance grinned, taking a sip of his mocktail. "but i think my word is better."

the grin on his face was palpable, a giddy sort of excitement radiating off her husband as he shook the wooden tiles in his hand, rearranging the letters on the board, until, lo and behold, lance stroll had played the word 'penis' for seven points.

she giggled, hiding her face behind her hand. the smooth australian lilt to her voice was like a symphony to lance's ears. "you are such a dork."

the board was full of such words. lance had gotten the brilliant idea that cleverly played scrabble tiles could be considered a way to flirt, filling the board with words like 'penis' and 'boobies' as if he was a teenaged boy again.

all in all, y/n actually found it very endearing. it was the kind of thing that had her heart swelling with love, her limbs going all funny. the kind of thing that reminded her just how much she loved her husband, and just how loved she was by the people around her.

"it's your play, my love."

resting her chin on her closed fists, elbows against the patio table, she looked down at the wooden tiles in her possession, brain scrambling to make words with what was pre-existing on the board. next to the table, her phone buzzed, the screen lighting up with a picture from her wedding day, just two weeks ago.

"hang on, it's kirk. i should probably answer. you know how he worries."

having lost her dad when she was very young, it was her connection with kirk, one of her father's closest friends, that got her through some of the lowest points in her life. and naturally, like any good father figure, kirk worried about her more than he needed to.

while she typed back a response, she could hear lance rooting around in the velvet bag that held the remaining letters, before getting fed up and dumping them out in the lid for the box.

"babe, you can't handpick the letters you're switching." she laughed, looking up from her phone, the reflections of her text screen refracted in the lenses of her glasses.

lance put his finger to his lips, jokingly making a shushing sound. "go back to texting, i need a minute. just wait."

rolling her eyes, she sent kirk another message before turning her phone off and leaving it facedown on the patio table. "come on, lance. i'm winning and i've got a really good word to play."

"but i think i've got a string of better ones." lance smiled triumphantly, pleased with himself as he placed the cardboard box lid on top of the board.

inside, a dozen wooden tiles were arranged to spell out (with many abbreviations and mistakes) wil u have sex w me

"oh my god." she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as her body shook with good-natured laughter. "oh my god!"

"i wanted to spell it out on the board during the game, but alas, i am not that smart, or good at scrabble." lance mused, reaching across the table to clasp her free hand in his. "so...will you say yes?"

"of course i'm saying yes." she laughed, uncovering her mouth. "this is the cutest way you have ever tried to get me into bed with you."

lance wasted no time at all in crossing the table and scooping his wife into his arms, twirling her around as they both laughed, before crossing the balcony to venture back into the suite.

"wait! we can't leave our shit outside, what if it rains?" y/n whined, trying to put her feet back on the ground. "let me go back outside, i'll meet you in the bedroom."

"alright, alright." lance rolled his eyes, placing her back on the ground. "but don't take too long, if i get too comfortable i might fall into a pasta-induced coma!"

still laughing to herself, she crossed over to the balcony and haphazardly packed up the scrabble board and her cell phone, taking a large swig of her drink before clearing the table and moving everything inside, closing the double doors behind her.

true to his word, lance was waiting for her in the bedroom, shirtless underneath the cotton sheets, with a rose between his lips, body seductively draped over the bed.

"i love you." y/n laughed, reaching for the rose. "but i'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to put real life flowers in your mouth."

"there's tape over the bit i was biting." lance shrugged, allowing her to take the flower and place it on the bed side table. "i know how you get about these things."

"shut up." she laughed, playfully jabbing him in the shoulder. "i'm serious. i'm glad you're in my life. you make me really happy."

she didn't wait for a response, although she knew lance would return the sentiment tenfold while they were lying together in the half-light, and again when he brought her breakfast in bed in the morning. she pressed her lips to his, kissing him softly, yet deeply before she reached up to take her glasses off.

"ah," lance said, grasping her wrist. "glasses stay on. don't you know the sexy librarian look is back in style? they look beautiful on you."

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @httpiastri @clemswrld @userlando @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @scuderiamh @cartierre @lorarri

[ddawnee]

hobie’s seen some of miles’ graffiti work and took interest in it himself, so one day he asks miles if he could spray paint a spider on one of his plain tees to give it pizazz.

usually, miles isn’t really worried about his graffiti art being perfect; but this time it’s different. hobie’s cool as hell, what if he doesn’t like the finished product? that’d destroy his ego.

so he’s been circling around the t-shirt that laid on the floor, shaking a can of black spray paint for about ten minutes now. it was simple, really; all he needed to do was a circle and then the spider on the inside, but he couldn’t bring himself to start just yet, because what if the circle comes out lopsided, or he doesn’t make the spider big enough to fit four legs on each side?

it didn’t really help that hobie leaned against the wall in front of miles, observing miles circle around like a nervous mess.

“miles.. you good?”

“huh?”

“you’ve been doing..” unsure of what to call it, hobie motions with his hand, “this, for the past ten minutes. do you like.. need some inspo?”

“oh no, it’s not that, it’s just..” he isn’t sure how to cover it up, so he just is honest, “i don’t wanna mess it up, it’s gotta look nice.”

“it’s fine, no big deal if it’s messy.”

“you sure?” miles stops his pacing, looking down at the blue tee. it was modified, the collar and bottom hem messily torn off to fit hobie’s style more, and now miles felt a bit stupid for overthinking his craft; hobie was all about messy!

“yeah, the shirt don’t got any sentimental value for me yet, so i’m not gonna get mad if you absolutely fuck up the spider.” hobie shrugs.

miles raises a brow. “yet?” he’s really curious about what that means, and even finds himself hoping it means what he thinks it does.

he totally isn’t sure why though, of course.

“yeah, right now this shirt is just like, basic.” hobie starts, and miles doesn’t realize it but his voice gets a bit softer. “it doesn’t really have a meaning, but once you give it your touch it gets its value, because it’s your craft that you’re giving to me, y’know?”

there’s a lot more that hobie wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the courage to do it. he realizes he kind of went off on a tangent, and possibly annoyed miles, if it weren’t for the wide eyed look on the boy’s face. “sorry, that was a bit too much.” he grimaces.

“oh, oh no, it’s fine!” miles reassures the other, a smile on his face. “i appreciate your appreciation a lot.”

he shakes the can of spray paint, a hint of determination in his eyes as he looks at the tee once more.

[konaharts]

RadioStatic Week 2024

First Meeting

[I'm probably not going to do all the days due to work, but I wanted to draw at least this one!

I know they most likely met while Vox was building a video/tv empire in Hell, but I couldn't get this one scenario out of my head of Alastor finding Vox shortly after he arrives in Hell. Enjoy this mini-fic I wrote about it!]

The sinner was scrawny, a picture box laying on his shoulders, the glass having been broken in by the demons Alastor had just chased away. What looked like a face occasionally flashed on the screen.

The Radio Host's eyes scrunched up in disgust, his very personal feelings and opinions about televisions flooding into him. He should have passed on by.

Whoever this sinner was, he was possibly one of the most pathetic-looking sinners Alastor had ever laid his eyes upon.

Even so, a sinner down on his luck was another opportunity for a deal and another avenue to grow his power.

"My, my. You look like you've seen better days! Welcome to Hell, my good fellow!"

At the sound of the Radio Demon's voice, the newest arrival to Hell turned his head, the broken screen flashing, occasionally illuminating Alastor's face. A distorted, filtered voice with uneven volume emanates from the picture box, words occasionally repeating and stuttering due to the damage.

"H-H-Hell? W-W-Wał₮…I. I. I. I. Kn-Know th-th-₮Ⱨ₳₮ voł₵Ɇ."

Alastor paused.

"Oh?"

"A-A-Al₳₴₮ØⱤ ████████. ₣ⱤØ₥ ₮ⱧɆ ███ ███████ RadĐłØ ₴ⱧØ₩. I-I-It's beɆ₦ ɎɆ₳Ɽ₴, b-b-but I re₵Ø₲₦łⱫɆ th₳₮ vØł₵Ɇ."

This was unexpected. With the wave of his cane, Alastor's powers begin to turn the clock on the sinner's face, repairing it, piece by piece.

"You've heard of me?"

"Ⱨ₳ve I?" The last bit of machinery and glass push themselves in, the cracks instantly healing. A flash, and a now-complete face graces the screen. The distorted voice disappears, replaced by the voice of an enthusiastic man with a filter similar to Alastor's own. "Why, you're my inspiration!" The sinner's face beams with excitement.

Finally, some proper recognition in this hellhole. Alastor's grin turns into a wide smile. Dare he say, genuine, for once?

"Well, well, well! What a surprise! It's not everyday I come across someone who's heard of me before falling into the pits of Hell! Tell me,"

Alastor helps up the television man and straightens his antenna.

"What do they call you, ol' chum?"

The sinner hesitates. No doubt someone or something had informed him about how sinners tend to change their names upon arriving in Hell.

"…Vox."

A peculiar name.

"Well, Voxy, I know a place with the best drinks this side of town! Let's have a chat and get you settled in, hm?"

With an arm around his shoulder, Alastor leads Vox away. Despite his reservations with the...asset...Hell had so graciously gifted this poor soul as a head, maybe having someone with knowledge about television that he could manipulate wouldn't be so bad.

[madeofstardust17]

I have absolutely both no energy and no real idea of how to write this but I'm just imagining a scenario where Tim as Robin has been kidnapped and the bad guys give him one of Ivy's pollens. It's basically a watered down sex pollen, used for torture bc the only way to make the burning/painful sensation dissappear even a little is physical touch. What really works is kissing.

Anyways, Tim calls for Kon, bc his comms are down and these guys stripped him of all his gadgets. He's crying and sobbing bc the pain is so much, he's drowning in it. And the bad guys leave him alone for a little while, see if he reconsiders telling them what they want to know. That's when Kon shows up, and the moment Tim is free he grabs Kon and smashes his lips to him. They are NOT together, btw.

In between gasps and kisses he explains just what is wrong and Kon just rolls with it bc hey, they've seen weirded things and he's not complaining about the heavy making out with his team leader/crush.

So the scene I'm picturing with all clarity is Kon telling Tim to tell him when the pain rises up past a 6, so they can stop and fix it as they're trying to sneak out of the base.

Tim doesn't fucking listen, of course he doesn't, and Kon stops on his tracks when he hears Tim whimper. When he looks back, Tim is covering his mouth, eyes shut in pure agony. Kon grabs him by the arm, brings him close.

"Shhhh, shhh-- Rob, Rob, c'mere."

He reels him in, pushes away his hands, thumbs wiping away tears. He holds his face in his hands and ducks a little to catch Tim's mouth in his. Tim gasps a breath, pure relief in his face, his whole body sags into Kon's.

"You're okay, Rob-- Tim, we're okay, just breathe."

He holds Tim as he shakes, tucks him into the shadows, presses his lips against his cheek, his temple, and reminds himself this is necessary, but it isn't real.

Tim doesn't really want this with him. He can't savor this, because his friend is hurting, he's in agony, and this is the only way to help him. And Kon would swallow Kryptonite for Tim.

Tim is thinking the exact same thing. Between tortures, there's nothing but Kon's lips and pure bliss. But he can't savor it, he can't because Kon is doing this for Tim, because he's selfless like that.

[cecilyv]

Graffiti on my body

(buck/tommy, 9-1-1, mini-fic)

Sometimes being multiple time zones away from @liminalmemories21 sucks, and sometimes you have a vision, you write up the basics, and you wake up to a moment of joy. Today we both got to say, "Good morning to me; and yes, exactly."

++

Tommy’s body has always been utilitarian; built and nourished for what could it do, how far it could be pushed. As much as he thought about it at all, he vaguely considered what it needed — food, water, exercise. Mostly it was a nuisance that never did enough, never as much as he wanted, as his superiors wanted — so he focused on how he could build it to hold more, help more, save more.

But now, wrapped in Evan’s sheets, bolstered by Evan’s body, he wonders, maybe for the first time, what his body wants, what his body can accept, what his body can give. Evan’s hands make him question what he’s been missing, what he could have been wanting, asking for. He wants to see what Evan sees; he wants to look down and see more than a job, a soldier, a firefighter. 

Evan touches him like nobody else ever has — there's desire and hunger, and those he's used to. He’s seen them before; maybe not to this degree, and that’s a trip all of its own.  But Evan touches him with wonder, too — like he's precious, like he could be hurt and Evan wants to keep him safe. Nobody's ever touched him like that. 

Evan lays with his head on Tommy’s chest, drawing on his skin with his finger, intricate swirls and whorls, tracing a pattern that Tommy can't see, but Evan clearly can because it's the same each time  — wants to ask what it is, but also doesn't, just feels it, lets it sink in until he can almost trace it himself. He lies there and takes it, skin still sensitive, flushed and slightly sweaty and, over time, he realizes he needs it, he wants it — Evan marking his place, claiming what’s his.

When he looks down at his skin later, he can almost see the love that Evan has inscribed into his skin. 

And one day, when Evan’s on a 48 and Tommy’s just lying in bed, he traces one of Evan’s favorite spots, the one he always goes back to — and he wouldn’t say he’s impulsive; he’d argue that he has good instincts— he pulls on his clothes and goes to the local tattoo parlor. He stands in parade rest, staring at the art on the wall, abstract colors and details and designs that he doesn’t understand but knows are beautiful. When she asks if she can help, he tries to explain what he wants but he can’t get it quite right. She looks at him with exasperation, with pity, and tells him to come back when he’s sure about what he wants; she doesn’t want him to regret his decisions. 

He leaves, buys a pen and when Evan gets home, when they’re lying in bed again and Evan starts absentmindedly tracing the pattern on his skin, he reaches into a drawer and pulls out the pen and hands it to Evan, and tells him, he wants to see what Evan sees, he wants to wear his mark, he wants to be covered in Evan.

And he goes back to the artist the next day, with Evan sketched on his skin and she examines Tommy in a new way, like he’s a work of art, like he’s changed, improved, special. She sees what Evan sees. 

And Tommy points at the design on his hip, just below his scar, and the woman tilts her head, consideringly, just breathes, “Yes.”

And he lies there and lets her permanently etch Evan onto his skin.

Evan’s eyes go wide when he sees it. “You,” he swallows, voice hoarse, “…show me. “

He knows it was actually pretty impulsive, that they haven’t really been dating long enough for tattoos. But he also knows he won’t regret it if they break up. It’ll break his heart — in so fast he can’t feel the bottom anymore — but he won’t regret it.

“I like the way you see me,” he says simply.

[violent138]

A nefarious, as yet unknown Gotham villain sends a message to the Batcave that the annual Gotham Easter egg hunt contains eggs that are poisonous/explosive. Jason and Dick are annoyed that a city like Gotham even has an Easter Egg hunt, while Damian reports that all his classmates and definitely half the city's children will be scouring the streets for eggs.

"Idiots." He scoffed, shaking his head. "Egg hunting is a massive waste of time."

"Yes, thanks Damian, that's what we need to hear right now." Tim smiled flatly at him, predicting where this was going.

In order to avoid panic due to the unconfirmed possible bombs, the Batfamily splits into teams to go find eggs, check them and return them back to the hiding places if they aren't explosive. The news picks up on it, rather confused to see the Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, Orphan and Robin at it, but whatever they're kids. And Orphan looks particularly delighted to find eggs before hiding them somewhere better and Signal lights up the eggs a little and charms the kids.

However, Red Hood and Nightwing look a little more ridiculous, especially since Batman decided to scour the city for the villain instead of the eggs.

"No because he'a a [Censored] coward." Red Hood grumbles to a reporter when asked if Batman will also be participating.

"Oh look I found another one." Nightwing reported excitedly in the same broadcast and Red Hood immediately goes over, both of them examining it.

The side effect of them being out is that more kids decide to look for eggs. There's a mild panic and Steph questions the logic of not telling people the eggs are maybe bombs.

The day comes to a nail-biting end with zero maiming and Alfred reveals it was him and that he threw a pretty extravagant dinner to reward them for their hunting.

Bruce snickers at the look on the kids' faces.

[frownyalfred]

the batkids play the “what’s the most annoying injury you’ve ever had?” game but it’s lighthearted (“I broke both thumbs on a bad landing and couldn’t play video games for a month” “one time I got a cut on my leg that reopened every time I stood up” etc) until Bruce walks in. someone asks him the most annoying injury he’s ever had and he doesn’t even stop to think about it.

“Fracturing my spine.”

“Oh jeez,” Dick said, making a face. “Yeah, that’ll do it. That’s definitely…well, annoying isn’t the word I’d use.”

Bruce, expressionless: “Mostly because I couldn’t walk or complete other daily activities without assistance for an extended period of time.”

Dick, glancing at Jason. “Uh….huh.”

“What about that time Ivy hit you with that leaf and you couldn’t eat legumes for a year?” Jason asked, redirecting the suddenly maudlin group. “Wasn’t that more annoying?”

“Hmm.”

Tim leaned back, looking curious. “Just legumes?”

“Legumes,” Jason repeated, waving a hand. “It got ugly.”

“I’m not a huge fan of peanuts,” Bruce said, thoughtful.

“Yeah, no shit, I wonder why.”

[fanaticsnail]

"Acid, salt, fat, and heat" has me fighting for my life! I was just minding my business at my local laundromat & then bam! I see you've dropped a new story for me to read! Kid & Killer have me weak in the knees! I'm just trying to fold my laundry but it's hard with all these impure thoughts!

Oh nooooooo. Not a laundromat where anyone could just walk in! It would be such a shame if:

Laundromat

Masterlist Here

Warnings: Eustass Kid x afab!reader x Massacre Soldier Killer, MDNI, NSFW, 18+, smut, public sex, cream pie, praise.

In the middle of folding a large shirt you stole borrowed from Killer, Eustass Kid presses your shoulders down with his large metal hand to lie flat on your stomach over the cool benchtop. Face lying flush against that large blue shirt, your pants are pushed down to your knees by Kid's right flesh-hand.

"Kid-... Anyone could walk in-!" you attempt to relay, halting as his flesh hand cards between your glistening folds and gently rolls your clit in between his fingers. Letting out a soft whimper, you couldn't help but buck into his palm while he toys with your pussy.

"Relax, kitten," he whispers, removing his hand from your pussy and igniting the electric magnetism of his devil fruit abilities, "Lemme fuck you. I promise it'll feel good, 'kay?" His belt buckle flickered off and shot across the room, his pants pooling at his ankles. His cock slaps against his abdomen, already built up from the way your hands expertly creased and piled the assortment of clothes in front of you.

Drawing his hand to his shaft, he runs the blunt tip over your needy slit, coating his tip in your arousal. He released a clench-jawed moan, sinking the angry red tip into your cunt with one soft rock of his hips. Allowing time first for you to adjust to the stretch, he slowly begins bucking into you in a regulated rhythm.

Just as you felt the call of your body erupting alongside Kid, the door to the laundromat swung wide. The looming form of Massacre Soldier Killer entered the space with heavy foot falls of his military boots. Your body tensed up, your walls constricting around Kid's fat cock and causing him to let out a hiss-like groan.

"Starting without me, are you, Cap'n?" Killer asked, the arch in his brow tangibly felt in the deep baritone of his husky voice. Sauntering over to you both, he draws himself over to the opposite side of the benchtop and takes your chin in his hand. While trapped beneath Kid's metal arm, you try to move your head up, your throat pressing against the plush material of Killer's clean shirt.

"Go on then, little one," Killer coos at you, caressing your chin with his thumb, "Cum on my Captain's cock. I wanna watch you unravel and drool on that shirt you think I didn't notice you stole." Letting out a soft little squeak, you felt Eustass Kid pick up the pace and hit his blunt tip against your g-spot with expert precision.

"That's our good little Straw Hat," Kid praised you with a proud smirk plastered over his painted lips, "Do as your told and cum on my cock."

Your body rocked and ass rippled against every hard buck from the man behind you, your face now being cradled in Killer's large hands. Biting your lip to halt your more needy whines from falling from your lips, your walls began to flutter around Kid's girth and clench against his velvety cock.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck-!" Kid sobbed, dropping his head into your shoulders and slapping his balls against your puffy clit, "Fuck, I'm cumming!" The feral and unhinged clap of Kid's pelvis meeting your ass contrasted the soft tenderness of Killer's hands caressing your face. The gentle soothing on your skin mixed with Kid's cock massaging your pussy with each hard thrust had you seeing stars.

"A-Ahh f-fu-uck-!" you cry out, lighting flashing in your mind's eye and igniting the flames of ecstasy in your belly. Contracting around Kid's cock, you milked him of his release and had the pearlescent backsplash meet with your cervix. Pulling out his drooling cock, his cum trickled down your leg while attached to his twitching tip.

"That's our Straw Hat," Killer praised you, giving your nose a gentle tap, "Now be a good little thing, and put my shirt on and wear it out. I want to know who you belong to while my captain's cum leaks out of that pretty pussy."

I'm glad you enjoyed Acid, Salt, Fat and Heat! I love those two together and separately.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady

[adhd-coyote]

General Kenobi was antsy. It was hard to see, but vode were excellent at observing and translating body language. Something was making the General nervous.

Should Cody ask? The General wouldn’t keep something from them, right? He seemed to care for the clones, at least from what Cody had observed.

Cody would ask. It should be fine.

“General Kenobi, sir?”

The General startled—just barely—and looked his way. “Yes, Commander?”

“Are you…” Cody searched for the right word, “…alright? You seem… anxious.”

“Oh.” There was that smile, the small one General Kenobi used when he was trying to be reassuring. “I’m alright. I just…” His smile dropped, and his gaze turned distant. “I have a bad feeling.”

-

“I have a bad feeling.”

Cody looked to his left, where Fox always stood. Fox, who had a furrowed brow, a small frown, and a distant look in his eyes.

Cody tilted his head. “What kind of bad feeling?”

Fox’s frown deepened, before he sighed and shook his head. “I dunno. Just… bad.” He looked to Cody, relaxing ever so slightly when their eyes met. “Be careful during today’s exercise, yeah?”

“‘Course, Fox’ika,” Cody smiled and pressed their shoulders together. “I’m always careful.”

Careful didn’t account for a malfunctioning speeder bike. Cody was lucky the crash hadn’t taken his eye out, but he’d be laid up in medbay for a few days and have a wicked new scar.

They all started paying more attention to Fox’s bad feelings after that.

[lovelytsunoda]

i want candy // lando norris

summary: two podiums in a row for her lover boy. it’s time to celebrate.

pairing: lando norris x female reader

warnings: pure smut, but also giggly and kind of giddy.

“I mean, I stopped counting max’s wins like three races ago so in my books, you’re the big winner.” she laughs, settling across from him on the bed.

“if only the fia saw it that way.” lando laughed, clinking his glass against hers before tilting the champagne to his lips. “but two p2s in a row isn’t too bad, is it?”

“I’m proud of you, lando norris.”

lando smiled, leaning in to kiss her softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

they crossed their arms over each others, chugging back their glasses. landos thumb rested on her upper thigh, near the hem of her tennis dress as he rubbed gentle circles on her skin. he leaned in, growling playfully as he sucked a hickey onto her neck.

“lando!” she giggled, jumping slightly at the contact against her sensitive skin, dropping the glass and frowning as the champagne worked its way across her skin, dripping onto the hotel bedspread.

“sorry, love.” he laughs, leaning down to lick up the champagne on her thigh.

she moans at the contact, placing the now empty glass on her nightstand before she leans back against the pillows, going up her skirt as lando sucks and kicks his way up her thigh, leaving hickeys and the stick of alcohol in his wake.

“come claim your prize, podium sitter:” she laughs, opening her thighs wider to expose the glittery orange panties she’s wearing. “it’s all for you, pretty boy.”

lando bites his bottom lip, hungry hands reaching to pull down her soaked panties, trying his best not to tear them.”

“lando..” she whined “you’re going too slowly.”

lando giggled, nuzzling his face into her thigh with a kiss. “I forgot how needy champagne makes you.”

“oh fuck off.” she laughs, reaching over to ruffle his hair. “please, lando.”

the driver crept his way up her thigh, blowing cool air over her clit, relishing in watching her drip onto the bedsheets. he leaned in and kissed her sopping core softly, gently teasing her with his tongue.

“you taste just like candy, love. and I want more.”

he kissed her again with even more intensity, slipping his tongue inside of her as she let out a hearty moan, arching her back from the bed before landos large hands pressed her back towards the mattress.

“lando!” she whined “fuck, god, please keep doing that.”

he grinned, witching his focus higher to suck her clit, sneaking a few fingers inside her while he was distracted. she moaned heartily, thighs threatening to close around his head as he rapidly plunged his fingers in and out of her opening, appendages covered in evidence of her arousal.

“try and keep your thighs open, baby. be a good girl for me.” lando cooed, pinching her clit with his free hand.

she screamed his name, bucking against his fingers and fighting the urge to touch her hard nipples underneath her dress. she settled for clutching the sheets, fingers becoming stiff from how hard she clutches the pristine white fabric.

it still astounded her how quickly lando could reduce her to this babbling moaning mess. she doesn’t beg, ever, but somehow lando could get her chanting ‘please’ like it was the only word in the dictionary, like it was a prayer for salvation.

“I can feel you clenching around my fingers, pretty girl.” lando chuckled, picking up the pace he was scissoring his fingers at, changing up the rhythm for better sensations, ones he knew would push her over the edge. “is my good girl going to come for me? come on my fingers, love, don’t be scared. soak my fingers in your come.”

“oh god!” she whines, things finally closing in around her lover as he uses his thumb to draw desperate circles on her clit, her fingers pulling on his curls, a growl leaving his throat. “lando, I’m gonna-“

“that’s it, pretty one. come for me. come, come. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good.”

“yes, god, lando, only you.” she babbled, unable to say much else as she came, walls contracting around landos fingers. “only you.”

he pulled his fingers out, slipping them into his mouth and sucking her juices off them. her eyes rolled back at the sight as lando positioned himself above her, a noticeable tent in his trousers.

“now look what you’ve done, pretty girl.” he chuckled, kissing her softly, allowing her to pull him into his arms. “I think you should take that dress off and let me unwrap the rest of my prize, because there’s no way in hell I’m done with you yet.”

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @diorleclerc @thatsdemko @sidcrosbyspuck @scuderiamh @scuderiasundays @lorarri @oconso @silverstonesainz @userlando @httpiastri

[threebea]

I'm sure someone has made this joke before but:

Fox: welcome to my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother my brother and me an advice show for the modern clone. I'm your oldest brother CC-1010, Fox.

Wolffe: What up Wolffe-Verse!? It's the leader of the pack ow ow awooo! CC-3636, Woooooolffe!

Cody: Hi Wolffe-Verse, it's me, your highest ranking clone brother, and Marshal Commander of 7th Sky Corps, CC-2224, Cody.

Fox: ..........you know we did discuss how we were going to do the intro. I made notes. Cody you're the second oldest you should be second. Wolffe... I don't even know where to start.

Wolffe: I told my Jedi about the holo-cast and he asked me if I'm an influencer. I decided to go with it. Hi General.

Cody: Hi General Koon. Wait so you've just decided you're an influencer?

Fox: What are you influencing? This was supposed to be a general advice show about armour maintenance and regulations soldiers are unclear about!

Wolffe: I'm making waves.

Fox: what waves? No one is even going to listen to this!

Cody: 7th Sky is. Because it's an order. Influence away Wolffe.

Wolffe: Cody gets it.

Fox: I don't think he does!

Cody: How about our first question, Fox?

Fox: Fine. Hello Brothers, long time listener first time writer-- this is our first episode.

Wolffe: it's the influence.

Fox: (gritting teeth) I'm a commander and I've gotten close with my Jedi. Really close. Like. Really really close. The Regs say you can't fraternize with civis, but is it cool to fraternize with your Jedi--what the--Bly is this you!?

Cody: Absolutely fine, next question.

Fox: No it isn't! It's a significant power imbalance!

Cody: Listen to Mr. doesn't have his own Jedi over here--

Fox: (voice drops) oh no. I have one now. And if you're listening Vos, I will find you. Mark my words. You can't hide forever.

Wolffe: wait, does that guy want to sleep with his Jedi? They're like our dads.

Cody: not everyone has the same relationship you have to your Jedi, Wolffe... And some of us are into dads.

Fox: I quit the show!

[coc0amocha]

Bullying Satoru every year the SECOND November hits has to be one of your favorite activities by far.

"But whhhyyy" He would whine, only for you to laugh at his expense. Never tearing your eyes away from the TV screen as you sat comfortably on the couch

"Because it's November 1st" you'd respond, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world

He'd only pout at you, now crawling onto the couch beside you to get your attention "That doesn't mean anything" his frustrated tone made you snicker, which probably just pissed him off more

"It does mean something, it means no sex until November is over" you quipped with a smug look on your face

"No one actually takes that whole no nut November thing seriously" he said exasperatedly

"I do."

He just stared at you blankly after your answer "you're not serious, right?"

"I'm very serious" you playfully raised an eyebrow at him "why wouldn't I be?"

"You can't just take sex away from me for a whole month because of some stupid thing that's not even real"

All you did was shrug at his statement, causing him to groan and bury his face in your lap with a defeated sigh