#not typically something that would go here but like

[wchswift]

ଓ Home for the Holidays

Pairing: Logan Howlett x latina!fem!reader Summary: you're finally dating Logan, and this year for Christmas, your family, not very mutant-friendly, invites you and Logan to the holiday. Content: fluff, a lot of feelings, slightly angst, established relationship, complicated parents but they redeem themselves, not proofread, English isn’t my first language :) Word count: 5k (I got a little carried away) A/N: like I said christmas prompts are all my head has been coming up with lately lol. This one is totally self indulgent... I'm sorry (not really). I really think Logan would get along great with my latin family so this is what I wrote! Merry Christmas to you all!!! 🎄

mdni 𖤐 18+

The world outside was muffled in white. Snow blanketed the grounds of the X-Mansion, smoothing over the jagged chaos that typically defined the lives of its residents. But here, in this room, everything felt still, warm, and safe.

You blinked awake slowly, your cheek resting against the solid plane of Logan’s chest. His steady breathing was a low hum beneath your ear, and the arm he’d slung across your waist anchored you in place, as if he thought you might disappear if he let go.

For a while, you stayed like that, letting the lazy warmth seep into your bones. Mornings like these were rare. Most of your days started with some crisis or other, but the mansion had gone blessedly quiet for the holidays. Even the younger mutants seemed to understand the sanctity of this lull, their usual chatter and chaos replaced with soft laughter and the occasional sound of Christmas music echoing faintly through the halls.

Logan shifted beneath you, his muscles flexing under your cheek as he adjusted his grip. The calloused pads of his fingers traced absentminded circles on your back, a tender gesture you’d come to treasure.

“You’re quiet this morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep. “Something on your mind?”

You smiled, too comfortable to move. “Just appreciating this.” You turned your head slightly, nuzzling against him. “Don’t ruin it by talking too much.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Fair enough.”

The quiet stretched out again, the two of you wrapped in the soft cocoon of blankets and each other. You let your thoughts wander, enjoying the rare chance to simply exist without the weight of responsibility pressing down on you.

And then your phone buzzed.

You groaned, burying your face against Logan as the sound shattered the tranquility. “No,” you mumbled. “Not yet.”

Logan reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the offending device without letting you go. “You gonna answer this, or am I tossing it out the window?” he asked, holding it just out of your reach.

You sat up reluctantly, frowning at the screen. The familiar number made your stomach twist, a mix of excitement and apprehension knotting your insides.

“It’s my family,” you said softly.

Logan’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. He just handed you the phone, his steady gaze enough to ground you.

You hesitated, then swiped to answer. “Hello?”

“¡Mija!” Your mother’s voice filled the line, bright and cheerful as ever. “You sound tired. Are you resting enough? Eating well?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Hi, mamá. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Good. Listen, I have some news.” Her tone turned conspiratorial, and you could almost picture her leaning closer, as if you weren’t miles away. “We want you to come home for Christmas. Your papá and I were talking, and it’s been too long since we’ve all been together.”

Your chest tightened. It had been too long. Ever since your powers had manifested, there had been tension, distance. But in recent months, your family had made an effort to mend things, to accept you for who you were. And now, this invitation felt like another step forward.

“I’d love to,” you said after a moment, your voice softer now. “I really would.”

“Good, good. And—” She hesitated, then plowed ahead, her excitement spilling over. “Bring your boyfriend. Logan, right? We want to meet him.”

You froze, your gaze flicking to Logan, who was watching you with mild curiosity. Your mother’s words echoed in your head, and suddenly, the cozy warmth of the room felt stifling.

“Mija? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” you managed, your throat dry. “I’m here.”

“Well, bring him. And don’t worry—he’s family now, too. We’ll take care of him.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you. After a few more pleasantries, you ended the call and set the phone down, your hands trembling slightly.

Logan tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing. “What was that about?”

“My family,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended. “They want me home for Christmas. They want us home for Christmas.”

His eyebrows lifted again, but there was no hesitation in his response. “All right.”

“All right?” You stared at him, incredulous. “You’re okay with going?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He shrugged, his tone casual, but you could see the flicker of something deeper in his expression. “It’s your family. They’re important to you.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “I just… I don’t know how they’ll react. I mean, they’ve been better about accepting me, but this is different. And you…” You trailed off, struggling to find the words.

Logan reached for you, his hand warm and solid as it cupped your cheek. “Hey,” he said softly. “Stop overthinking it. If they’ve got a problem with me, that’s their issue, not yours. But if you want me there, I’m there.”

His certainty steadied you, and you leaned into his touch, releasing a shaky breath. “Of course I do! I do want you there. I just—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted gently. “Stop worrying. We’ll figure it out. Together.”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay. Together.”

Logan leaned back against the pillows, pulling you with him until you were curled up against his side again. The knot of anxiety in your chest loosened slightly, replaced by a tentative sense of hope for having Logan by your side.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, and for a little while longer, the two of you stayed wrapped in the quiet, preparing for the journey ahead.

When it was no longer possible to extend the moment with Logan, you got up and started your day. Since it was close to Christmas, the mansion was quieter and less crowded, giving you a chance to relax alone for a while.

The snow seemed endless, a quiet ocean blanketing the world outside. From the wide windows of the X-Mansion’s common area, it stretched out in every direction, softening the edges of the landscape until it looked like something out of a dream.

You sat on the arm of the couch, watching the scene unfold with the same stillness it seemed to demand. Logan was a shadow in the corner of the room, leaning casually against the doorframe. His presence was like gravity—solid, constant, something you could always feel even when you weren’t looking.

But now, his gaze was fixed on you, sharp and unwavering.

“You’ve been quiet all morning,” he said, breaking the silence. There was no accusation in his tone, only a quiet observation. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You sighed, your breath fogging up the window for just a moment before it vanished. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a low hum, the kind that told you he didn’t believe a word of it. He crossed the room in a few steps, coming to stand beside you. His reflection joined yours in the glass, his dark eyes meeting yours in the faint, distorted version of the world.

“Try again,” he said, his voice softer now.

You looked down at your hands, fingers twisting in your lap. “It’s just… the idea of going home, after too long. And bringing you with me.”

His reflection didn’t waver. “You don’t want me to come?”

“No!” The word burst out of you too quickly, and you winced at the sharpness of it. “That’s not it. I already said, course I want you to come, Lo. It’s just—” You hesitated, your thoughts tripping over each other in their rush to the surface. “I don’t know how they’ll be. My family, I mean. They’ve gotten better about… about everything, but it’s still complicated. And you going too—”

You glanced at him, struggling to find the right words. “You’re not exactly… subtle, Logan. You literally have mutant written all over you. You’re like a storm—intense and impossible to ignore. And I love it so much, but my family, they’re…”

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“They’re the kind of people who smile through awkward silences and sweep anything messy under the rug,” you finished weakly. “I just—I don’t know if they’ll know what to do with you. And I don’t want them to make you feel like you don’t belong. I don't want them to treat you differently.”

Logan was quiet for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on you. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and steady, like the rumble of distant thunder.

“You think I care what they think?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“They’re your family,” he said simply. “I’m not going for them. I’m going for you.”

There was something so unshakable about the way he said it, as if the answer was as obvious as the ground beneath his feet.

You let out a shaky laugh, your breath fogging up the glass again. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” he said, and the quiet conviction in his voice made your chest ache. “They don’t have to like me. Hell, they don’t even have to understand me. But if they love you, then they’ll respect the choices you’ve made. And if they don’t—” His reflection smiled faintly, a wry twist of his lips. “Well, they’ll have to deal with me.”

You shook your head, a reluctant smile tugging at your own lips. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said, his hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “But I’m yours. That’s all that matters.”

Something in your chest unfurled at his words, the knot of anxiety loosening just enough for you to take a deep breath. You leaned against him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. He smelled faintly of pine and smoke, like the forest itself had come to life and taken human form. It was so comforting.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“For what?” he asked in a low voice, his hand coming up to rest on the back of your neck.

“For being you.”

He huffed a soft laugh, and you felt his lips brush against your hair. “Don’t go getting all sentimental on me now, sweetheart.”

You laughed, the sound lighter now, like the snowflakes falling outside. For the first time all morning, the weight in your chest didn’t feel quite so heavy.

The road stretched ahead of you like an endless ribbon, winding through snow-draped trees and frozen lakes that glittered faintly in the pale winter sunlight. The hum of the car engine was the only sound for a while, a quiet rhythm that matched the pulse of your thoughts.

Logan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console where his fingers occasionally brushed against yours. It was a casual touch, almost absentminded, but it anchored you to him in a way words never could.

You watched his profile as he drove, the sharp lines of his face softened by the morning light. There was a quiet intensity about him, like a storm that seemed less threatening and more comforting. He was like a force of nature, capable of demolishing obstacles while also providing a protective haven —a force of nature that could tear down walls and shield you from the worst of the world all at once.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he asked without taking his eyes off the road.

You smiled faintly. “Are they worth that much?”

“Probably more,” he said, his lips twitching into the smallest of smirks. “But that’s all I’ve got on me.”

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in your chest. “I was just thinking about how far we’ve come. I mean, from where we started… to this.”

Logan glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. “This isn’t just ‘far.’ This is everything.”

His words were so simple, so unshakable, that they left you momentarily speechless. He had a way of doing that—cutting through your overthinking with a clarity that left no room for doubt.

You turned to look out the window, the snow-covered landscape blurring past. “You know, when my powers first showed up, I thought… I thought I’d never have this. A life. Someone like you.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but you felt his hand move, his fingers intertwining with yours on the console. “Guess I’m lucky you were wrong.”

You blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. When you looked at him again, his eyes were fixed on the road, but there was something unguarded about his expression—a glimpse of the man behind the claws and the growl.

“Logan…”

He shook his head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Don’t go getting mushy on me now, sweetheart. We’ve got a long drive ahead.”

You snorted a laugh, leaning back in your seat. The warmth of his hand in yours stayed with you, a quiet reassurance that no matter what waited at the end of this journey, you wouldn’t face it alone.

By the time you pulled into the driveway, the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Your family’s house was just as you remembered—warm, inviting, and alive with the kind of chaos that only the holidays could bring.

Lights twinkled along the roofline, and the faint sound of music spilled out into the crisp evening air. As Logan helped you with the bags, the front door swung open, and a wave of noise and warmth hit you like a tidal wave.

“¡Cariño! ¡Por fin!” Your mother was the first to greet you, wrapping you in a hug so tight it stole your breath. “I’ve been waiting all day!”

“Mamá,” you managed, laughing as she fussed over you.

And then her attention shifted to Logan. Her eyes softened, though her tone remained brisk. “And this must be Logan.”

He nodded, his posture relaxed but his expression carefully neutral. “Ma’am.”

Your mother’s lips twitched, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she turned to usher you both inside, chattering about the food, the decorations, and how your father was already working on his second plate.

The rest of the family followed in quick succession, a whirlwind of introductions, hugs, and rapid-fire questions. Logan handled it all with a quiet patience that surprised even you, his gruff demeanor softening just enough to put them at ease.

Your younger cousin tugged at his sleeve, wide-eyed. “Are you really Wolverine? Like, claws and everything?”

Logan raised an eyebrow, glancing at you as if to ask, 'Should I?'

You shrugged, trying not to laugh. “Might as well get it over with.”

With a sigh, he extended one hand, the metallic claws sliding out with a faint snikt. Your cousin’s eyes widened further, her jaw dropping.

“Whoa…”

The rest of the family crowded around, their curiosity breaking any lingering tension. Logan didn’t say much, but the faint smirk on his face told you he didn’t mind the attention nearly as much as he pretended to.

As the evening wore on, the chaos began to settle. The smell of food and cinnamon filled the air, and the house hummed with laughter and music. Logan had drifted to a corner of the room, where your father showed him an old photo album.

You watched them from across the room, your heart swelling at the sight of Logan fitting into this world you’d been so afraid to share with him.

“Mija,” your mother said, pulling you aside. Her voice was softer now, her eyes warm. “He’s good for you. I can see it.”

You smiled, your chest tightening with emotion. “He is. More than I ever thought I deserved.”

She cupped your face, her hands warm and familiar. “Don’t ever think that. You deserve everything, and more. I wish I had told you that more often. I'm sorry, nena.”

For the first time in a long while, you believed her.

Dinner had barely ended when the music started, a lively rhythm spilling from the speakers and filling every corner of the house. Chairs were pushed back, plates cleared away, and the living room became an impromptu dance floor.

You watched from the edge of the room, laughing as your cousins dragged reluctant uncles and aunts into the fray. The Christmas lights blinked in time with the beat, casting a kaleidoscope of colors over the scene.

And then you felt a hand on your wrist.

“C’mon,” Logan said, his voice low and warm.

You stared at him, incredulous. “You? Dance?”

He smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I’ve been around long enough to pick up a thing or two. Don’t make me regret this.”

Before you could protest, he pulled you onto the floor. The music swelled, and for a moment, you forgot the chaos, the noise, everything but the warmth of his hand on yours and the steady strength of his other hand resting lightly on your waist.

He wasn’t perfect—his steps were a little stiff, and his timing faltered now and then—but his confidence made up for it. You couldn’t stop smiling, even as your family whooped and cheered around you.

“Not bad for a grumpy old man,” you teased, your voice just loud enough for him to hear over the music.

“Careful,” he warned, his smirk widening. “We are at your parents' house but if you keep this up, that won't stop me from punishing you." He whispered against your ear for only you to hear, his voice firm but with a hint of humor.

You laughed, the sound pure and unrestrained, and for the first time that night, the weight of your nerves began to lift.

Later, as the music faded into softer melodies and the crowd thinned out, you found yourself in the kitchen, refilling glasses and helping your mother plate desserts.

“That Logan,” she said, her voice thoughtful. “He’s different.”

You froze, unsure of where she was going with this. “Is that… bad?”

She shook her head, her hands deftly arranging cookies on a platter. “No. Just… surprising. He doesn’t talk much, but when he does, you can tell he means every word. And the way he looks at you…” She paused, her gaze softening. “You deserve that kind of love, cariño. The kind that doesn’t waver.”

Your throat tightened, and you turned back to the counter, suddenly very interested in the stack of plates waiting to be carried out. “Thanks, mamá.”

But before you could continue, the sound of approaching footsteps drew your attention. Your aunt appeared in the doorway, her ever-present smile firmly in place.

“There you are!” she said brightly, stepping into the kitchen as though she hadn’t just been eavesdropping. Her gaze flicked between you and your mother, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. “What are we talking about?”

“Logan,” your mother replied, her tone light but guarded.

“Ah,” your aunt said, her smile sharpening at the edges. “He’s… an interesting choice.”

You stiffened, the warmth from your mother’s words quickly fading. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” your aunt said breezily, but there was a calculated edge to her voice. She picked up a cookie, examining it as though it were the most fascinating thing in the room. “It’s just—well, a man like that doesn’t seem very… stable.”

Your mother frowned, "Paloma don't start…" she said with a warning tone, but even so, your aunt continued, her tone dripping with faux concern. “No, I just mean, he's a mutant! And with his background—and those claws… He seems a little aggressive too, It must be exhausting, keeping up with someone like him.”

The words hit like a slap, dredging up the old insecurities you’d worked so hard to bury. Your grip on the platter tightened as you struggled to steady your voice. “Don't you dare! You don't know anything about him. Logan is not aggressive, he is a good man, kind and caring.” you said evenly, refusing to rise to her bait.

“Of course, I’m sure he is,” your aunt said, her smile widening. “But he is still a mutant, don’t you think—”

"And my daughter is also a mutant, Paloma, so you better stop this, " your mother replied, her face completely serious now.

"I didn't mean to offend, I'm sorry," she said sarcastically. "But it's funny you should say that since you never were okay or wanted to deal with the fact that she was a mutant either."

Your breath caught your throat, chest tightening as you felt anger take over.

"You're right, I lost my relationship with my daughter just because I didn't understand her, and I was wrong. All I want most is to make up for it and change. So I won't accept any more of your prejudice, not with my daughter or with Logan." Your mother's voice was firm and steady, her posture confident and despite the moment I smiled to see the change in her. The way she defended you.

“Everything is fine? Anyone got something to say about me?”

Before your aunt could answer, the deep, gruff voice cut through the air like a blade, silencing the room. You turned to see Logan standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his presence commanding.

Your aunt faltered, her confidence wavering under the weight of his gaze. “I—no, of course not,” she stammered, her smile faltering as she fidgeted with the cookie in her hand.

Logan’s gaze didn’t waver, and his voice was calm but firm as he added, “Good. We wouldn't want to cause a scene on Christmas, right?”

Your aunt nodded, muttered something about needing to check on the drinks, and scurried out of the kitchen, leaving an awkward silence in her wake.

Logan crossed the room in a few strides, his hand finding yours. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles, grounding you. “You okay?” he asked softly. “Need a hand?” This time he looked at your mother, his gaze light and tone gentle.

Your mother stepped aside with a knowing smile. “She’s all yours.”

You smiled, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Logan’s hand tightened around yours. “C’mon,” he said, his voice low and meant only for you. “Let’s get out of here for a minute.”

The night had settled into a comfortable lull by the time Logan led you outside. The snow had stopped falling, but the cold still bit at your cheeks and turned your breath into faint clouds in the air.

“Busy night,” he said, his tone dry but not unkind.

You laughed softly, the sound muted by the quiet of the world around you. “You handled it pretty well.”

He shrugged, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. “Your family’s all right. Loud, but all right.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The silence stretched out, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it. “You were scared about bringing me here,” he said, his voice a quiet rumble.

You let out a breath, watching it curl into the night air. “I didn’t want it to go wrong—for you, or for them. I thought maybe… maybe I was asking too much.”

Logan stepped closer, his presence like a shield against the cold. “You never ask too much from me,” he said firmly. “But you’ve got to stop carrying all this by yourself. You’re not alone in this anymore.”

His hand found yours, the roughness of his fingers a contrast to the gentleness of his touch. “You don’t need to protect me. And you sure as hell don’t need to protect them from me. That’s not how this works.”

Your throat tightened, his words cutting through the tangled mess of your insecurities. “I just… I don’t want to mess this up,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

He tipped your chin up, his eyes locking onto yours. “You won’t.” The certainty in his voice was unshakable, and it felt like he was holding more than just your gaze—it felt like he was holding you together.

"I can't lose you, Logan," you breathed, desperation lacing your words. "And sure as hell I wasn't going to lose you because of my family." As he leaned closer, the frigidness of the world outside seemed to fade, replaced by the warmth radiating from him. His forehead grazed yours, a gentle touch that sent a shiver of connection coursing through you.

His breath was warm, his voice a whisper that carried only for you. “Whatever happens, it’s you and me. That’s not changing.”

The words wrapped around your heart, soft and unyielding all at once. “I love you,” you whispered, the confession slipping out before you could stop it.

He smiled then, a rare, fleeting thing that lit his face like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I love you too,” he said, the rough edges of his voice softening with the weight of the truth.

And then he kissed you, slow and deliberate, like there was nothing in the world but this moment. His hands moved to your waist, grounding you, making you feel like everything would be okay.

Later that night, the house was quieting down. The children had been sent to bed, though the muffled sound of giggles hinted they weren’t asleep just yet. Most of the adults had retreated to the kitchen for coffee and one last helping of dessert. You sat with Logan on the couch, the glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows across the room.

The space felt smaller now, more intimate, as if the noise and chaos from earlier had wrapped itself around the house and left behind only warmth. Logan had his arm draped along the back of the couch, and you leaned against him, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice low, “I’ve been around a long time. Seen a lot of families. Never really… been part of one.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, surprised by the confession. “Not even before—?”

He shook his head, cutting you off gently. “Never had anything like this. The noise, the mess, the way they’re all in each other’s business.” He chuckled softly. “It’s good. Feels like life.”

You reached for his hand, your fingers lacing with his. “They’ve accepted you, you know. You might not think it, but they have.”

He looked down at you, his brow furrowed. “How can you tell?”

You smiled. “Because they’re treating you exactly the same way they treat me—asking too many questions, teasing you, shoving food at you like it’s the answer to everything. That’s how they show love.”

Logan was quiet for a moment, his eyes glued to your intertwined fingers. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “It’s nice. It’s… good to feel that. To feel like I’ve got a place.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, your heart swelling at the vulnerability he rarely let show. “You do. With them, and with me.”

The sun was barely rising when you woke the next morning, the soft glow of dawn spilling into the room. Logan was still asleep beside you, his breathing slow and even, one arm draped possessively over your waist. For a moment, you just watched him, marveling at the way the years seemed to fall away when he was at peace.

The sound of children’s laughter broke the stillness, followed by the creak of floorboards and the distant rustle of wrapping paper. Logan stirred, his eyes blinking open as he looked at you.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly with sleep.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered, leaning down to brush a kiss against his lips.

He smiled against your mouth, his hand moving to the small of your back to pull you closer. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

The two of you made your way downstairs, where the living room had transformed into a chaotic wonderland of presents and decorations. The children were tearing into their gifts with wild abandon, while the adults watched with coffee cups in hand and fond smiles on their faces.

“¡Mija! ¡Logan! Ven acá!” Your father waved you over, a brightly wrapped package in his hands.

You sat on the floor beside Logan as your father handed you the gift. “This is for you two,” he said, his voice warm.

Inside was a framed photo of the family taken the night before, everyone crowded together under the Christmas lights. In the corner, Logan stood beside you, his expression reserved but his hand resting on your shoulder.

“We wanted you to have something to remember this Christmas by,” your father said. “So you’ll always know that you have a place here. Both of you.”

You glanced at Logan, your throat tight with emotion. He met your gaze, his arm coming to rest on your shoulders, gently pulling you against him as he gave you the smallest of nods.

By the time the car was packed and the goodbyes were said, the sun was high in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow. Your family stood on the porch, waving as Logan started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.

The road stretched out ahead of you, the silence in the car a comfortable contrast to the noise of the past two days. You leaned back in your seat, watching the snow-covered trees blur past.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” you said, glancing over at Logan.

He huffed a quiet laugh, his hands steady on the wheel. “Could’ve been worse. Your tío Pablo was about two shots of tequila away from a fight, though.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’s always like that. But he liked you, you know. They all did.”

Logan didn’t respond right away, but the faint curve of his lips told you everything you needed to know.

As the miles stretched on, you found yourself reaching for his hand, your fingers lacing together over the console. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“You’re happy,” he said after a while.

You smiled, resting your head against the seat. “I am.”

He glanced at you, his expression soft. “Good. You deserve that.”

And as the car continued down the snow-dusted road, you realized that you finally felt completely at peace.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: Steve Harrington has bad parents, holiday celebrations, period typical homophobia, show typical trauma tags: it's the 90s y'all, older steddie, established steddie, stancy is mentioned, reclaiming holidays word count: 728

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written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "stocking" and the @steddiemas prompt "surprise"

Christmas had never been Steve’s favorite holiday. He was more of a Thanksgiving guy. A big meal, friends and family, and a little bit of football? It was exactly how Steve would describe the perfect day.

Not to mention Thanksgiving was more relaxed than Christmas. There was a certain pressure around Christmas time that Steve swears he’d call one of his earliest memories. Life had moved on a long, long way from trying to eat the lights on the tree but the pressure to be well-behaved and happy was the same.

However, finding his own little community did help some. Not that any of them were any more Christmas people than Steve. Chrissy was the closest, she liked to entertain so any excuse. Nancy and Jonathan had a kid now so they had to celebrate but other than that, they were all fine to let the day come and go. It was an obligation best spent with friends who were suffering the same way.

This year was a little different. For the first time in Steve’s life, he had his own place to celebrate. Not an apartment he and Eddie shared with Robin and Chrissy, not his family home that he was allowed to stay in, this was his. And Eddie’s. Mostly his though.

A modest little home just outside suburbia with a lawn and a two-car garage, Steve loved the place. He’d spent the last nine months fixing all the things that needed repaired and updated which only made him love it more. This was where he was going to spend the rest of his life.

It was that ownership, that security of something for forever, that had him buying a Christmas tree a little early this year. Not out of obligation but because there was a perfect spot in the living room for it. Right in front of the window yet not in the way. It wouldn't take up the only communal space and no one would tell him how to decorate it, so why not?

They gave it a few simple decorations and a new string of lights, Steve wasn’t going crazy here. He still didn’t care about Christmas, but this symbolized so much more. Something that became more and more obvious with each new bit of seasonal decor that found it's way up. What really cinched it was the stockings, though. Something about really said "Christmas" to Steve.

One for him and one for Eddie. Their stockings hung in their home as they would be for the rest of their lives. It probably shouldn’t have made Steve as emotional as it did. He couldn’t stop looking at them. All that they’d fought to be alive, everything they went through, made this feel like a luxury. One Steve couldn’t believe he’d earned.

But he had. There were scars, nightmares, and weekly trips to the therapist to prove it. Whether he’d ever feel like they were safe or that he could fully let his guard down, time would still tell, but Steve was starting to feel worthy of more than just existing.

And there was one more thing this picture-perfect life needed.

It wasn’t exactly possible but times had changed enough that Steve and Eddie could live together and even if it raised a few eyebrows, people kept quiet. It wasn’t enough but it was something. Still, Steve knew. He knew there wasn’t anyone else on this planet for him and the only reason he wasn’t married to Eddie was because it wasn’t legal.

So with a bit of scrambling and all the romantic creativity in his body, Steve bought a ring and wrote a little speech. He sat on both for almost a week without saying anything so that he could pull off the surprise a moment like this was worth.

When Christmas morning rolled around, Steve’s stocking was overflowing with trinkets, candies, and other little goodies but Eddie’s sat looking practically empty. Steve rooted around through his and tried to not watch a very disappointed man dig down to the toe of his monogrammed stocking, chasing the only thing in it.

By the time he’d succeeded, Steve had ditched his candy and was waiting on one knee. This was the last thing he needed to make this the life he’d always dreamt of and maybe the first step in making Christmas something truly magical.

[lemonlimestar]

timmed konne 18?

ignoring the date on this ask for my own sanity. merry crimah rimi…

18 | “Can I join you?”

Tim adjusts the bow on his tiny package for the umpteenth time, trying to think up an excuse to linger outside of the door longer. ‘He’ll either like it or he won’t,’ he tells himself, ‘Get over yourself, Drake.’

Tentatively, he raises two fingers to rap at the door. “Come in!” Kon’s voice rings out before his hand even makes contact. Of course he would know Tim was standing out here all this time. Accepting his fate, he shuffles inside.

Kon is sitting at his makeshift vanity (a funky-looking mirror propped up on his desk) surrounded by various makeup products Cissie “let him borrow” and earrings that have no matches. They’re only going to a small holiday get-together with their friends in a few hours, and Kon has been making a desperate attempt at seeming nonchalant about the whole deal; Tim knew as soon as he slipped off to change his outfit that something was up.

“Hey.” Tim greets.

Kon finishes smoothing out the color painted on his lips with a ‘pop’ sound. He frowns at his reflection. “Sup.”

Tim knows his kneejerk response of ‘what’s wrong?’ will only be deflected. So instead, “Can I join you?”

Kon meets his eyes in the mirror. “Go ahead.”

A beanbag chair pulls itself over from the corner of the room for Tim to sit in. He sinks into it with a sigh, making sure his package isn’t jostled. He taps Kon’s foot with his own. “You look nice.”

Turning around in his chair, Kon squints at him. “Don’t lie.”

“Why would I?” Tim asks, smug as he deliberately trails his eyes down Kon’s outfit—a bulky sweater that cuts off to reveal the bottom half of the dress that hugs his hips in a way that forced Tim to rely on discrete breathing exercises when he first saw it. He makes a face in response that tells Tim that his ogling worked.

“Well,” he clears his throat, “Thank you. I just—I can’t get the makeup right. I can’t tell if it’s too neat or whatever.” He pauses, taps his fingers against the desk. “Yeah, I’ll blend more.”

Tim rises out of the beanbag to scoot in closer, sets his chin beside Kon’s arm. “More glitter usually makes you feel better.” He reminds him. The box—still in hand—almost begs to be gifted, but he can wait a little longer; he needs the perfect moment.

“It’s not about me feeling better, it’s about me looking better.” Kon mumbles. He faces Tim again. “So, how do I look now?”

Peering down at him, haloed by over-bright lamp light, eyes adorned with faded, pale blues, Kon’s even more of a sight than usual. Tim’s never been a flowery language guy, so he goes for blunt. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

Kon sputters, stutters, and presses his lips shut. If Tim touched a hand to his face, he’s sure he’d be burning up. “Oh. That’s… nice.” He eventually gets out, rather than a typical “Aw, Robbie, you gotta crush on me?” That’s how Tim really knows he got him.

Tim sets his free hand on Kon’s thigh, massaging the tension there. “Uh-huh.”

“Good. Great. Awesome.” Kon sets his hand atop Tim’s, squeezes. Then, his tone sheepish as he questions, “You’re not just saying that, are you?”

Tim scoffs. “When have I ever ‘just said’ something?” He reaches up to cup Kon’s cheek, smiling when Kon melts into the touch.

He really does look stunning, his curls—venturing toward chin length—framing his face, his broad shoulders still defined through the heavy material of his sweater. Kon seemed uncharacteristically anxious as he explained that he wanted to try something new earlier today; Carefully, cautiously, he’d placed his heart in Tim’s hands in an entirely new way, and Tim intends to put his all into taking care of it.

“Although… I will say, the look is missing something.” Before Kon’s expression can fully shift, Tim drops the box in his lap.

At a snail’s pace, Kon undoes the ribbon. The top is gently set onto the desk, then Kon pulls out the pair of dangly, dropped-shaped, turquoise earrings. He rotates them back and forth, completely silent. Kon is almost never silent. Shit.

“One is a clip-on,” Tim starts up,” If you ever wanted to wear both. Or, you can wear neither. Uh. It was just something I randomly thought of. And I know how you feel about your earring, so if you don’t want it—“

“Tim.”

“—I totally get it! It’s not a huge deal. You’ve just, y’know, been trying new stuff and I wanted to be supportive—“

“Tim.”

“—I should’ve asked first. Final. I shouldn’t have sprang this on you; I knew I should’ve just kept it at that deluxe Wendy boxset—“

“Tim.” Kon grabs him by the shoulders, now level to him on the floor. He has the earrings on, Tim notices. “Stop talking.” Then he kisses him.

It’s more passionate than expected, but he’s not complaining. One of Kon’s hands tangles in his hair as their heads tilt to better slot their mouths together, and Tim wraps his arms around his waist. After a few seconds or several, the hand buried in Tim’s hair pulls him back to break the kiss. Tim almost complains until he sees the look on Kon’s face.

“You’re the best, Rob. I love them.” He traces Tim’s bottom lip with his thumb, kisses him again for a moment.

“I’m,” he takes a deep inhale, “I’m glad to hear that. I was hoping you would.”

“Are you kidding? These are sick! I’ll never take ‘em off.” Kon decides, nodding. Tim raises an eyebrow at him. “…Okay, that’s probably unrealistic. I’ll add one to my uniform.”

Tim mentally fist pumps. Knocked it out of the ballpark with this one. “Sounds great.” Tim leans back in, eager to test the longevity of that lipstick.

So what they end up being half an hour late to the party, and Tim gets heckled for the lipstick stain he couldn’t get out of his shirt, all that matters to him is the smile stuck to Kon’s face.

[thebigbadbatswife]

Revelations

Pairing - Batman x F!Hero!Reader Series - Under Your Skin

Summary - While dealing with the revelation of who Batman really is, under the mask, you cross paths with him for the second time in one night. While you help him navigate your city to find the current source of his ire, the two of you end up uncovering something that shatters your world.

Warnings - Canon Typical Violence, Explict Language. (If I missed something, lmk!)

A/N - Merry Christmas, to those that celebrate! Here's a present, the next part of Under Your Skin! Enjoy!

Taglist - At the end of the fic. As always, if you would like to be added/removed, please feel free to message me!

Word Count - 6k

This was exactly what you needed.

The freezing winter air rushed past you. The wind howled in your ears. The side of your apartment building raced past you as you allowed gravity to take hold of you.

You were experienced at this. You knew exactly how long you could fall like this before you reached the point of no return. The point where any attempt to stop yourself that wasn’t with a parachute would fail miserable. 

From the second that you jumped up to that no return point was a short window. Blink and you would miss it, type of short.

There was something so freeing about free falling like this. The way that it forced all thoughts from your mind while your stomach dropped and your heart pounded. Adrenaline flowed through your veins as you counted by the seconds.

Your eyes snapped open and you pulled out your grapnel gun and fired. Falling turned into, well, swinging, but this high up it felt like flying. 

You flipped through the air and fell again. Then you caught yourself, again. 

You repeated your actions a couple more times until you’re rolling onto a roof of another building and straight back up onto your feet. You’re breathless as you looked up from where you had just jumped. 

You were almost tempted to do it again.

Anything that would stop you from thinking about the revelation that Batman was Bruce Wayne. And the fact that you had been feeling him up moments before your discovery.

You didn’t even know how you were supposed to refer to him anymore. Batman? Bruce Wayne? Batwayne? Bruceman? 

God, you were going to drive yourself crazy with this.

Realistically you knew that all of this would be solved if you just approached him and told him that you knew. At the same time you were still hung up on the fact that he would never do the same.

Maybe you needed to call Dinah. See what her opinion was. You knew you could trust her and her advice had never steered you wrong before. You huffed as you pulled your earpiece out of a pocket along your belt and pushed it into place, in your ear. 

As you resumed you patrol, jumping from roof to roof and surveying the streets below, you tapped a couple of buttons on your gauntlet and the line began to ring. You counted the seconds that passed as it rang, lowkey hoping that she wouldn’t pick up. It had occurred to you that, depending on how the conversation went, you were going to be potentially revealing a lot about the past year.

“Everything okay?” 

Dinah’s voice was, understandably, laced with worry. The number you were using to call her was associated with your League number, which was to be used in emergency. Honestly, you felt that this counted.

“Yes and no. Mostly yes, but also a lot of no,” you replied. “Are you alone?”

The last thing you wanted was for Oliver to overhear. If this was going to be a reveal all, the less people who knew the better. Even though, based on a previous conversation you’d had with Dinah, you got a feeling a lot more Leaguers knew what had transpired between you and Batman than you would have wanted. Even so, on the off chance that you were wrong about that, you wanted as much kept private as possible. 

“Yeah, hang on.”

You heard Oliver in the background asking if everything was okay to which she told him that everything was fine and she would be back. That was shortly followed by a door shutting.

“What’s going on?” 

You took a deep breath, like you were getting ready to rip off a bandaid. By now, you had stopped traversing the rooftops, settling on a water tank. 

“Hypothetically, what would you do if you found out Batman’s identity while also knowing that he has no idea who you are?” 

It came out in a rush and with the silence that followed you started to wonder if she hadn’t heard you. You were about to ask if she had heard or understood you at all, when she spoke. 

“You’re positive you know?”

“I’ve never been more positive about something in my life.”

“And you’re sure he has no idea about yours?”

“Again, never been more positive. Keep in mind this is all hypothetical.”

Dinah laughed softly and you were sure that she was shaking her head.

“Okay, hypothetically, I think, as both your teammate and friend, you should just tell him that you know.”

“Or?” you ventured. You already knew that there wasn’t a way to get around the conversation that you knew had to happen, but you continued to hope.

“You know this is going to agitate you until you do. And that…”

“Could lead to me getting myself or someone else seriously injured because I’m not completely focused.” You finished her sentence for her. She was right. You had to talk to him. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. Thank you, Dinah. What should I do about my own identity?”

“Any time and you don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to. You could use it to drive him mad, if you really wanted to. Hypothetically, of course.”

You laughed this time. As fun as it sounded you got the feeling that as soon as he knew that you knew who he was, he would easily put two and two together. You thanked her again and said goodbye. 

Long after the call ended, you remained on that water tank. Batman was only a call away, but you had yet to actually make the call. You were sure that he would meet you and that it wouldn’t take very long either. Because he was here, in your city, and you had no idea why.

You would find out once you met with him. 

As you were about to call him, a gun shot sounded. Instincts kicked in and you were up on your feet, looking in the direction that it had come from. What the hell? 

The streets had been relatively empty. With Christmas right around the corner most were at home with their families doing various festive things together. The thought of which left a deep longing inside of you.

Two more shots were fired. 

The water tank you were on and calling Batman quickly became things of the past as you jumped into action. You took off across the rooftops, leaping and grappling your way to where you heard the gun fire coming from.

Several more shots were fired as you traversed the roofs. You could only hope that whoever was firing that gun had the aim of a stormtrooper.

It didn’t take you long to reach the scene. What you found was not exactly what you had been expecting. You had expected some gang shooting or something. Instead, what you got, was Batman in a brawl with a large group of men. 

As expected of a seasoned crimefighter like him, he was holding his own. Several men in the group already laid unconscious on the ground, limbs here and there twisted in positions they really shouldn’t be.

He was a blur of black and grey as fought. Well timed punches and kicks and even the clever use of his cape as he stunned men and knocked them off of their feet. You would never say it to his face, but he was rather impressive to watch. A lifetime of training and experience on display. 

But it wasn’t everything. He messed his timing up or he got too cocky, but he got clocked square in the face. It knocked him off balance and he barely caught himself before his head hit the concrete. That one hit was enough to change the tide of the fight, giving the thugs the upper hand. 

“Hold on,” you muttered. It looked like you needed to save his ass again. At least, this time around, it wasn’t your fault. 

You swung into the fight, your boot coming into contact with the face of a man who was about to bring a crowbar down onto Batman’s head. Your sudden appearance had a large portion of them jumping backwards, shouting and swearing. 

As soon as your feet touched the ground, you dropped a smoke pellet. It covered the area in a large cloud, hiding you both from view. You turned to him, offering him your hand. To your surprised, he accepted it. Blood dripped from his nose, even after he tried wiping it away.

“The way I see it, we either finish this or get away. What do you think?” your voice is hushed, though you didn’t think the thugs could hear you over all of their coughing and shouting.

“I’m not running,” he told you. Which you definitely saw coming. When did Batman run from anything? 

You nodded. “Okay.”

“To our left and right, several men are armed with semi-automatics. I’ll go left, you go right. With the smoke they won’t know what’s hit them until it’s too late.” 

You followed his lead, bursting from the smoke and giving the men the fright of their lives. Your boots slammed into the chest of the first one. You used the momentum to flip through the air. Your fist came down onto the second man. The force knocked him to the ground. His gun clattered as it hit the concrete. 

The third man’s gun was aimed directly at you. His finger on the trigger. Your heart thumped hard against your chest. You were literally looking down the barrel of a gun. For the second time in a few months. Though this wasn’t a hand gun. It was a damn semi automatic. Even if you were able to time this perfectly, at least a couple of bullets from the gun would still hit you.

Fuck. 

It wasn’t like Batman’s help was possible. There was still so much smoke and he was focused on his own fight.

He pulled the trigger. 

There was no spray of bullets. No pain from said bullets riddling your body. Instead the gun made a clicking noise. He tried it again, but got the same result. The gun was jammed. You got the feeling it wasn’t just luck that had done that either. 

His eyes widened as it quickly set in how fucked he was now. You darted forward. One hand closed around the gun. You tugged him forward and punched him. Hard. 

There was no time to bask in your victory. There was movement behind you. Keeping your grip on the barrel of the gun, you spun around, swinging the weapon like it was a bat. It turned out to be rather effective. It slammed into the thug’s ribcage, knocking the air from his lungs as he crumbled to the floor.

You used it as a bat a couple more times before discarding it. As effective as it was, it was slowing you down. You moved faster without it. 

The smoke cleared as you fought against the remaining thugs. Before you knew it, you found yourself back to back with Batman. 

Both of you were panting hard. It had been a tough fight, but the end was in sight. You glanced over your shoulder at him, catching his eye or rather his white lenses. It was time to end this.

You worked seamlessly with each other. Downing the remaining thugs while keeping your backs to each other. Kicks, punches, cape stuns, the use of various equipment from both of your belts. You were a whirlwind together. A force to be feared. Unbeatable.

If only the two of you got on this well all of the time.

The last man hit the floor and you and Batman distanced yourselves while you came down from the adrenaline high, that flowed through your veins. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. Even with those lenses, you felt the intensity of his gaze. Much like it had done earlier tonight when you had been face to face with the man beneath the mask. 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re the one with the broken nose.” 

Blood was drying around his nostrils and the blood flow had appeared to have stopped. He brought a hand up to his nose, grimacing a little as he checked himself.

“It’s not broken,” he replied. He was still looking you over, like he was looking for something. Had he figured out who you were? “Are you sure you’re okay? You seem… on edge.”

Were you really that easy to read? Well, there was no time like the present.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to my city?” 

Were you chickening out? Yes. You absolutely were. Dinah would be disappointed in you, you were sure of it. 

“Considering the time of year, I thought you would be busy.” 

You shrugged. “This time of year is like any other for me. Well, aside from all the parties I keep getting invited to.”

He actually chuckled, which had you giving him a double take. First he was cracking jokes on the Watchtower, now he was chuckling. What had happened to the grumpy, brooding Bat that made you want to send him out the airlock? 

“I know what you mean. It’s never ending.”

You were sure he knew exactly what you meant considering that you knew his secret.

“Why are you here?” 

“A case led me here.” 

“Is it related to the last one we investigated together?”

You remembered the amusement park and Harley Quinn, her damn pets and the gunshot that could had killed you. It was hard not to remember. You saw and felt the scar left behind regularly and there was the nightmares that plagued you more often than not. But you were coping just fine.

“Perhaps. I don’t have enough evidence to confirm it yet, but I was hoping tonight would confirm it.”

You nodded. It made sense. “Like you said on the Watchtower, I’m already involved, and this is my city, so you’re stuck with me while you’re here.”

“Fair enough.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? No arguments?”

“It’s your city. You know it better than I do, but first…”

He walked away from you and toward a couple of vans that were parked at the far end of the parking lot. There was nothing particularly eye catching about the vehicles. They were a bit dirty, but they were still the classic white van you had grown up hearing about and told to be wary of.

Batman approached the first one. He pulled open the doors and stepped inside. The inside of the van was lined with crates. Not any old crates though. Gun crates. Your city’s port meant that the illegal gun trade came through more often than not. You liked to think that you were on top of things, but you hadn’t heard of this deal happening. And what was Batman’s interest in it? You swore that Gotham had enough gun crime of its own to keep him busy.

“Not enough gun deals to bust in Gotham?” you asked. You were leaning against the doorway.

“If I’m right, which I’m sure I am, these aren’t the guns you’re thinking of.” 

“Cocky much?”

He ignored you as he grabbed ahold of one of the crate’s handles. He pulled it out of the van. You jumped backwards as the damn thing almost landed on your feet as it hit the ground.

“Hey!” 

“Sorry, but you were in the way.” 

Batman grabbed a crowbar and used it to open the crate. You were expecting the same type of guns that you had already dealt with. Instead there was something frightfully familiar. 

It was about the same size as the semi automatics, but it wasn’t anywhere close to be like one. It was an exact replica of the same gun Lex Luthor had on his mech. Kryptonite included. 

Batman’s frown had grown immensely. He crouched and looked the guns over, before he looked back toward the vans. You didn’t need to be inside of his head to know what he was thinking.

There was enough guns here to outfit a small militia.

Even behind bars, Lex continued to plot different ways to kill Superman. But this wasn’t Metropolis.

“Why would they be here?” 

“I believe they’re being manufactured here.”

You scoffed. There was no way. Surely you would have known that weapons that could kill one of your teammates being manufactured in your own city.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it. I wouldn’t even know if it hadn’t been for what we found with Quinn,” he told you.

Admittedly, that did make you feel better.

“What are we supposed to do with them?”

He hummed. “Batcave’s too far and the zeta tubes are down for maintenance.”

“My place isn’t too far. You could store them there until you can ship them back to the Watchtower,” you suggested.

He looked up at you, the lenses of his cowl widening slightly. He hadn’t been expecting that. That much was clear. A hero’s place of operation was, more often than not, also a private sanctum. A place to wind down from a stressful night or week of never ending problems. You had never been to the Batcave and you were sure you never would set foot inside. After all the relationship you shared with the man in front of you hadn’t exactly been a great one. Yet here you were. Offering up your own sanctum.

“You’re sure?” he asked. 

“Since your cave and the Watchtower are currently out of the question, and I wouldn’t trust the cops as far as I could throw them, it just leaves us with my place. Besides, anything to make sure that these guns don’t end up on the streets.”

Batman nodded, accepting your explanation. He took his time with the vans though. Looking over each and every crate for any potential tracking element. He had no worries about the radiation from the Kryptonite, as the crates were lead lined, therefore making it impossible for them to be tracked that way.

Whilst he did that, you checked the men over for the keys for both vans. As you fished out a set of keys, the man you were hovering over began to groan. You backed up from him and looked around. He was the only one waking up and since he had the keys, indicating he had been in charge of driving one of the vans, there was a could chance that he would know where the guns were being manufactured. After all he had to pick them up from somewhere.

Batman clearly had the same thought process as he breezed past you. He grabbed the man by his shirt and effortlessly lifted him up. 

“Wake up!” he commanded. It was surprisingly effective as the man’s eyes flew open and he immediately began to struggle and claw against the grip Batman had on him.

“Please! Don’t hurt me!” 

“I won’t as long as you tell me where you got the guns,” he growled.

“The gun factory! Just outside the city! But there ain’t no one there now!”

“Then. Where. Are. They?” His voice was dangerously low. You had no idea a person’s voice could get so low. If you had no idea who he was, you might think he would kill the man. 

“We were supposed to go to the airport! That’s all I know! I swear!”

“Thank you for your cooperation.”

Batman swiftly knocked him out and left him in a heap in the floor. Harsh.

“Come on. We’re running out of time,” he said.

You chucked him a set of keys and led him back to your base.

The vehicle entrance to your base was a couple of blocks away from your actually apartment building. It was connected by a concrete tunnel. You weren’t sure of the original purpose, but it was off the books and served your purpose well enough for the time being.

Now it was no Fortress of Solitude or Batcave, but you liked it. It was made up of several rooms. The garage, an armory, your main area and even a bedroom. The main area housed your computer, gym, lab and med-bay. 

With the vans secured in the garage, you set about getting your one motorcycle out and checking it over. It wasn’t the biggest one in the world, but it would still seat two. At least, you hoped it would. Batman was far larger than the average man.

Once it was fueled and ready to go, you entered the main area. Batman was looking the med-bay over. Specifically, the medicine cabinet. He was frowning.

“You need to stock stronger painkillers and some of these antibiotics are out of date,” he told you, like it was totally normal to be going through someone else’s medicines.

“Thanks? I’ll try to keep that in mind. The motorcycle is all ready to go.”

“Then let’s go.”

You expected him to take control of the motorcycle, leaving you to awkwardly sit behind him and hold on to him. Instead he insisted that you take control of it. Was this the result of the conversation you’d had with him? He was now biting his tongue and giving up control? 

Had he, in the few hours since you last saw him, been body snatched? You weren’t able to ask since you still hadn’t brought up that you knew who he was and right now seemed like a bad idea. 

The motorcycle rumbled to life beneath you. Your body tensed as soon as his hands came into contact with your waist, as he settled onto it behind you. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything about it.

You really shouldn’t be this stiff. You wouldn’t be if it was Hal or Oliver. Of course, they were both in committed relationships and you hadn’t slept with either of them.

The city blurred past you both as the motorcycle raced through the streets. You really hoped that you would reach the airport sooner rather than later so that he could take his hands off of you.

The airport was bustling with activity. Which was to be expected during the holidays. Where did you even begin to look?

Fortunately you had Batman perched behind you, who already knew. He directed you away from the main airport and toward the private hangers.

He was right.

On the runway was a cargo plane. There were a couple more white vans, which were in the process of being unloaded onto said plane, and a black SUV. The crew of men unloading the vans was a skeleton crew versus the one you and Batman had dealt with earlier. They would be easily dealt with. 

The SUV certainly stood out. Was the person that Lex had put in charge of this operation within? There was only one way to find out.

You and Batman flew into action immediately. Taking full advantage of the element of surprise that you currently had. 

You sped the motorcycle up, headed straight for the men who were carrying crates between the vans and the cargo plane. Behind you felt Batman shift his position. A hand came to rest on your shoulder and the back of the motorcycle grew heavier. 

“Go for the plane, we can’t risk it taking off. I’ll deal with the men out here.”

It was a sound plan. One that you had no disagreements with. You adjusted the direction so that you would pass by the men carrying crates and head up into the plane.

As you passed them, the weight on the back disappeared. Batman launched himself at one of them, tackling him to the ground as the man yelled in surprise. 

That was all that you saw of that fight as you entered the plane.

You slammed on the breaks and, as the motorcycle slid into some crates, you leapt from it yourself. You landing was better than you thought it was going to be. There was no time for you to be impressed with yourself though as a thug rushed you.

You dodged the punch he threw at you and followed up with your own. It connected with his jaw. A tooth clattered to the floor. Blood spilled from his mouth.

“You fuckin’ bitch!” he shouted.

He pulled out a knife and slashed at you. At least it wasn’t a gun. He was faster with the knife than he was with his fists. It kept you on your toes. You dodged each slash. Narrowly avoiding several of them that came way too close for your liking. You needed to wait for an opening. 

It came sooner than you thought it would. As fast as he was with the knife, he wasn’t exactly in his prime anymore. He got winded quickly. Which gave you the perfect opportunity. Your foot came into contact wit his hand, sending the knife flying. You followed up with your other foot, kicking him right in the face.

The thug hit the ground. Knocked out cold.

You weren’t given a moment of respite. Two more men came rushing into the cargo hold. Lady luck seemed to be on your side right now as neither of them had a gun in hand. The only weapons they carried was a pipe and a crowbar.

They charged at you. You dodged the first couple of swings and counted with your own. They were far more coordinated than you had been expecting. They dodged each of your punches and kicks. The pipe came in contact with your ribs. Pain exploded across them, making you grunt. Fuck, that didn’t feel good.

Breathing was now painful, but you had to push through it. You dodged and counted them. You felt them doing their best to wear you down and it was starting to work. You needed to finish this quickly.

After dodging another slew of attacks, you dropped a smoke pellet. The men coughed violently as smoke filled the cargo hold. Using it to your advantage, you disarmed both men and, using the pipe against them, knocked them unconscious.

With the plane secured, you began to make your way out of the plane. You would come back for your bike once you were sure everything had been secured.

As you stepped back onto the tarmac, you were just in time to see the door to the SUV slammed shut and the engine roared to life. You were too far to do anything. 

“Batman! The SUV!”

His head snapped up from where he stood over the unconscious bodies of the men that he had taken out. He gritted his teeth as he sprinted for it. The wheels of the SUV screeched as it took off. Batman slid to a stop, pulled a batarang out of his utility belt and threw it. 

The batarang burst the wheel it came into contact with. The driver lost complete control over the vehicle and it flipped several times before coming to stop.

You rushed over with Batman. He got there first and already had the unconscious driver pulled out. It was a woman in a suit. A purple velvet suit. 

No…

There was no way…

But it wasn’t like you could exactly deny what you were seeing. No matter how much that you desperately wanted to. You felt your heart breaking.

Erica. The woman who had been your best friend for essential your entire life. The woman that you trusted with your identity and to make your gear was working with Lex Luthor?

You had stopped in your tracks. Even going as far as to take a couple of steps backwards. Putting distance between you and her.

Your throat felt tight and you felt pressure building up behind your eyes. It already hurt to breathe and this made it worse.

Batman noticed immediately. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

You shook your head. “I know her… and she knows me.”

The revelation had certainly shaken you down to your very core. While Batman was making sure that everyone was tied up and not going anywhere, you were doing your best not to have a panic attack while you second guessed every last little thing. 

From the moment you had decided to trust her with your identity to the newest suit that she had made you. Had she known it wouldn’t stop that bullet? Had getting you killed been her plan? You didn’t know anymore. The girl you had grown up with was now a complete stranger to you.

You were currently sat on a stack of crates as you internally melted down.

A hand came to rest on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. It halted your thoughts for a moment. You looked up at Batman. Even with the cowl and lenses, you knew he was giving you a sympathetic look. Maybe he wasn’t so different with the mask on.

He surprised you further as he pulled you up off of the crates and pulled you in for a hug. His grip on you was loose and he gave you plenty of opportunity to pull away, but you decided to accept it. 

Batman’s arms wrapped around you and he held you close. You didn’t cry. You were still far too shocked to cry right now. You certainly appreciated the hug. It felt good. Even if it was from Batman.

You pulled away from him after a couple of minutes, wrapping your arms around your body. 

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“Of course. I have to ask, did you tell her anything else?”

You shook your head again. “Of course not. She only knows about my identity. But I guess it’s easy to figure out who the rest are because of that. Which means everyone else is probably in danger now.” 

You waited for him to agree. Maybe even raise his voice and have a go at you for your mess up. He didn’t though.

“We can fix it,” he said.

You looked at him like he had grown another head. “What? How?”

Your question was quickly answered when Martian Manhunter showed up.

“Using his abilities, Martian Manhunter can wipe you from all of her memories, and adjust others, so that there’s absolutely no trace of you,” Batman explained.

“Wipe and edit her memories? Isn’t that unethical?” you asked. 

“Perhaps, but considering the entire League is currently in danger of potentially having our identities outed, it’s a measure we’re going to have to take.”

You nodded. It made sense. Even if you didn’t feel exactly good about it.

“I understand.” You turned to J’onn. “Can you wake her first? I need to… confront her first.”

“Of course,” he replied.

You and J’onn split from Batman, who wanted to go through each crate to check for more guns and any other weapon that could potentially be a danger to the League. 

Batman had tied her to a metal chair that he had found sitting just outside of the hangar the plane had been in. Considering the crash, he had already looked her over for any serious injuries. She had none. Only a few scratches here and there.

Your gut twisted with anger as you looked her over. Was she even the person you had once known anymore? 

As she began to wake up, J’onn moved away and returned to Batman to help him out.

You watched Erica closely. She groaned as she blinked her eyes, clearly confused. She looked around, her brow furrowed. As soon as her eyes landed on you, they widened and she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“No. No! You’re not supposed to be here, you’re supposed to be–”

“Sleeping with someone?” you cut her off. “Is that why you pushed me towards him? So that I maybe wouldn’t find out about this?” You gestured toward the plane and the crates. “I… I trusted you and this is how you repay that? By working with Lex Luthor?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” she said.

You shook your head. “What about my suit then? You know the one that nearly got me killed because it failed to stop a bullet? Or was that on purpose?”

She spoke your name, her voice cracking. “I promise you that wasn’t on purpose! There must be a defect in the weave that I didn’t see. Please, you need to believe me!”

“How can I? For all I know you’ve told Lex everything and you’ve put my teammates in danger! What do you think those guns are for? To tickle Superman? Those end up on the street, he gets killed!” 

Erica wasn’t looking at you anymore. Her gaze focused on her feet as tears streamed down her face. Your own tears were threatening to fall, but you were forcing them back. You weren’t going to let her see you cry.

A silence stretched out between you before you decided to break it.

“Why?” 

She looked up at you again. Erica looked remorseful, but was that because she had been caught? Would she have felt the same way if she hadn’t been caught and Superman had been killed?

“I’m going to lose the company. We’re running out of money faster than we can make it and I’m going to have to file for bankruptcy. Lex promised me he could save it…”

“If you made weapons to kill Kryptonians? You could have called me, Erica. I might have been able to help! There’s so many more ways you could have handled this instead of getting into bed with Lex Luthor!”

You turned away from her as you felt the first tear force its way from your eye. She begged you to turn back around and talk to her, but you ignored her.

“Goodbye, Erica.”

As you walked away from her, a strange sensation of a presence invading your mind washed over you. You relaxed as you knew exactly who it was.

“You’re good to go.” 

You reentered the cargo plane to retrieve your motorcycle. The paint on it was now scratched up, but that was the only damage you saw on it. As you wheeled it out, Batman was waiting for you at the bottom of the ramp.

“FInd any more guns?” you asked.

“No. These were decoy crates, likely going to be used to fool the authorities on the off chance the plane was searched.”

“That makes sense. Do you need anymore help tonight?”

“I shouldn’t do. Once he’s done, I’ll be contacting the police and then calling it a night.”

“Yeah, I think I need to call it a night myself. I’ve got an appointment with a wine bottle.”

Batman was frowning as he looked at you. You didn’t really care if he didn’t like the sound of it. You decided that you needed it and, honestly, you were probably going to fall asleep after the first glass anyway.

You settled back onto your motorcycle and its engine roared to life. You didn’t take off immediately. Instead you sat there for a moment. You still felt his eyes on you, watching you closely. 

“Batman?”

“Yes?”

You took a deep breathe. It was time to rip the band-aid off.

“What would you do if someone found out your identity by accident?”

His frown deepened as he thought your question over. 

“I… It’s never happened. I don’t think…”

“Nevermind then. Just.. hope that your Christmas is better than mine.” 

You didn’t wait for a reply before taking off. If was a official. You were a coward.

Batman watched as you sped off. He replayed your question in his head. Turning it over and over again. In relation to tonight’s events, he really wasn’t seeing the connection. 

What did his identity have to do… His eyes widened. Realisation hit him like a gut punch. Moments from earlier tonight, before he put his mask on, replayed in his head. Seeing you in the ballroom, the internal fight he’d had about whether he knew you or not. The kiss. The resulting freak out and running away. And all because you had figured out who he was.

You knew!?

You knew… 

Fuck.

*

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[unholyhelbig]

Caitvi Prompt: Caitlyn is head Park Ranger and deals with an unruly deputy Ranger Vi who has recently become unruly and animalistic. Caitlyn doesn’t understand the change in attitude until Vi turns up naked and injured on her cabins doorstep.

Title: Shoot to Kill

Ship: Werewolf!Vi x Park Ranger!Caitlyn

Wordcount: 5019

Summary: It's been months since a brutal attack took both Cassandra Kiramman and Powder Lane from the world. Caitlyn and Vi handle their grief differently, but something just isn't right with Vi, and things can't be ignored forever.

Warnings: Typical werewolf gore, blood, bullets, canon-typical violence, animal attack, shooting, self-sacrifice, almost nsfw but not quite there yet, horrible spelling, I don't beta read we know this.

[A/n: I went overboard here. I love arcane, I love werewolves, what were we expecting when someone sent me this prompt? Anyway. You know I bad I wanted to make this full smut? SO fucking bad but it didn't seem like the time for them to fuck. So they didn't. Do people even like my Arcane stuff? Fuck no, but this is for me.]

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Blood filled Vi’s mouth with a metallic density that was not unfamiliar but was entirely unwelcome. A low tide of a headache was pulling at her temples, her mouth a cottony type of dry that she couldn’t swallow away.

She was running late. Even in the darkness of her cabin, she knew that she was pushing it by the way the daylight filtered through the slatted blinds. Caitlyn was going to have her hide. She’d been warned twice already, pulled into the office that smelled too much like lavender and wood polish.

Vi shoved her feet unceremoniously into her boots. She swished a shot of peppermint schnapps around her mouth until it was warm and frothy before swallowing and dashing out the door. Vi didn’t’ bother to tuck her shirt in and do up her laces.

Showing up was enough. It had to be enough. There was dirt and blood under her nails and her skin was taut with sweat. She probably smelled rank with the outdoors and her body ached something fierce from the night before. Vi didn’t’ feel comfortable looking in the mirror before she hauled herself to the main cabin.

The state of her was not normal. It was not human. But she was present and that was all Ranger Kiramman was going to get on this balmy Wednesday morning.

Doubt, mixed with a decidedly solid amount of dread, swirled with a fullness in Vi’s stomach. She was full, a feeling that she did not enjoy being. She had eaten last night, something big that left a horrible nausea clinging to the inside of her stomach. A heat in the back of her throat and slicking the inside of her stomach.

She crashed unceremoniously through the door of the main cabin. The annoying brass bell gave her tardiness away as it deposited her into the gift shop. Caitlyn’s deadly oxford stare leveled her with precision, but she never faltered in her delivery.

Loris steadied her with his hulking size, taking up just as much space as the bookshelf that he stood near. He regarded her with his quiet amusement and low huff as she attempted to shove her shirt past her belt without drawing more eyes to herself.

“As I was saying.” Caitlyn’s voice was cutting, slicing through whatever resolve Vi had left. “The rest of the week and into next is a fire ban. There will be push back. In zone’s seven and eight, especially. Overton and Dunne, I want you positioned there around the clock. Do not hesitate to hand out red notices. One spark and the whole forest could go up. Am I clear?”

A murmured chorus of agreements rung out. A burn notice would draw attention away from Vi, at least for now. It worked Caitlyn’s nerves like a string instrument. Anger still simmered in the stare that moved her way.

“As for the rest of you, you know your posts, and you have your assignments. Keep your walkies on channel seven and signal if you need anything. Remember that laws are not suggestions and safety is key.” She scanned the lot of Rangers, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled in the way that Vi found oddly endearing. “Dismissed.”

Loris shoved her shoulder with enough force to shove a burp into her mouth, one that was not pleasant. She nearly vomited up whatever she had torn through last night, but luckily swallowed it back down. He wandered over to the busted coffee maker where he would linger long enough for Vi to take her verbal lashing.

If it were up to her, she’d slip into the woods and take her usual post at the North end of the park, checking permits until her fingers bled. It would be an easy day as long as she could nurse her headache. She and Loris could squeeze into the same box and answer the same questions from the same brand of tourists until it was time to go back to her cabin.

The pinching floral scent that often invaded Vi’s lungs seemed to surround her in an instant. It used to be something she enjoyed, but as of late, it was something she couldn’t’ control. It was overwhelming in a way that was too much. It made her stomach roll and her throat tighten. If she were to vomit, it would be blood and bones and bile.

“Violet, I want you to take a walk with me.”

Caitlyn’s voice was unbelievably tender for the situation at hand. She was expecting a verbal scrouge. Even her features were worked into something calm. Vi was too exhausted to fight back. After her little side quest last night, she wanted to curl into a ball under her blankets and sleep for an eternity.

“I uh, have to assist Loris with the morning rush of tourists, don’t I?”

She shook her head. “I’ve stationed Steb. You don’t look like you feel well. Follow me.”

“God, you’re taking me out back to shoot me like old yeller.”

Caitlyn snorted and held the screen door open. Vi walked through it first, taking in another lungful of Caitlyn’s floral scent. She wish it were comforting. She wished her friend, the woman she used to trust with anything in the world, brought her some degree of relief.

She hadn’t in months, and they both felt it. Bone deep.

They walked for a few minutes. Until the commotion of the other rangers dispersing faded into nothing. The forest offered nothing to Vi lately. She hadn’t noticed it at first; the lack of sound. Crickets and morning birds and small animals that created a cacophony of noise that she had always taken for granted before.

Caitlyn’s breathing had stuttered, a nervous tick she developed at a young age that Vi picked up months ago when her hearing had risen to a deafening level. She shoved her hands into her pockets and softened her gaze, dipping her head. Attempting to show submission.  She’d never meant to make Caitlyn nervous.

She removed her green nightcap, working her fingers around the wide brimmed edge. Another nervous habit. Vi could smell the sweetness of her sweat, something she hadn’t been privy to since the funeral when her nose was pressed so close to the girls pulse point that the smell had coated every inch of her.

Vi was so close that she could hear the rush of her blood and the pounding of her heart. Her mouth filled with saliva so rapidly that she couldn’t keep up with swallowing. She’d nearly drooled at the thought of opening her maw and tearing Caitlyn’s jugular out with one clamp of her jaw.

Shoving her away and storming from the procession was attributed to grief. Anger at nature for having the audacity of taking them in the first place. Caitlyn and Vi must have been hurting so much that any action they committed was acceptable for a time.

Six months later and people still asked how they were doing. Caitlyn would tell them that she was fine. Vi would tell them that she felt like shit. Both would smile sadly. Caitlyn threw herself into her inherited role of Head Ranger and Vi drank on nights that she couldn’t forget and leaned into nights that she didn’t remember.

“They expect me to strip you of your title.” Caitlyn sighed out in one hot breath that splayed against Vi’s cheeks. “Those rangers in there… know I have a soft spot for you, Vi. Anyone else and I would have done far worse. They’d be out of a job.”

Caitlyn frowned and plopped down onto the pebbled shore next to a stream. Run-off from one of the glaciers at the top of the peak. The water was crisp and clear. Vi would dip her fingers into it sometimes, trying to disturb the flow and shock some sense into herself. She lowered herself carefully next to her friend. The only girl who had ever made her ache this viciously.

“I didn’t mean to put you in that position, Cupcake.”

“You’re hurting.”

“So are you.”

Vi swallowed something thick in her throat, picked up a smooth stone and dug her fingers into it as if she could shave off decades of shaping. Trout colored eyes traced the curve of Caitlyn’s side profile as she clenched and unclenched her jaw. She drew in careful breathes. The sound of the stream drowned out the silence around them.

Cassandra Kiramman’s entrails had been gnawed into paste after her stomach was torn open unceremoniously. Vi remembers the squelch of flesh and the snap of her sternum. Her screams had turned into a drowned gurgle before there was nothing.

The creature, after having gotten the taste for the richness of Kiramman blood, had gone for the throat and mercifully took Cassandra out of her misery. Vi watched the light leave her eyes. Something she’d seen slowly dim in Caitlyn’s over the months.

Now, she clenched her own eyes shut. “I can’t leave these woods, Cait. They’re all I know. I’ll try harder.”

“I know you will. I didn’t come out here to, what did you say? Shoot you like old yeller. I might be in charge of you, Violet, but I’m also your friend.” Her voice wavered on the word, stuck in her throat as much as she allowed. “I want you to talk to me.”

She gave her a sad grin “I talk to you all the time, Cupcake.”

“You know what I mean.” Cait’s eyebrow twitched. She hesitated, something she never did. Not in all the years that Vi had known her. But it was only for a moment. Her hand slipped into Vi’s, dislodging the stone she had wanted to thread into putty. “You can talk to me.”

Vi felt her throat tighten and a dampness come to her eyes that she quickly blinked away. Whatever she ate last night threatened to make a third return. She nodded, afraid to speak, but it seemed to be enough to Caitlyn. She gave her hand another reassuring squeeze. It was warm and solid.

Greif weighed heavily between them both. But the lead that welded Vi’s jaw shut was more than subconscious. If she could help it, and she could, Caitlyn would never find out about the animal that shredded her mother.

It had been closed casket for a reason.

They buried an empty one for Jinx. Vi had been in and out of consciousness through her own blinding pain. She’d gasped. It was caught in her throat along with the scent of Cassandras viscera. Long teeth had crunched through Vi’s left lumbar, the soft brawn of her giving away like it was tillable earth.  

She’d looked into the creature’s eyes. They were glowing red, feral. It was frothing at the mouth, saliva mixing so deliciously with what could only be Vi’s own blood. There was nothing but hunger behind it’s actions. And for a moment, Vi could understand that want.

Only for a moment.

Jinx- Powder- she had a loud whistle that could catch the attention of a hound within a ten-mile radius. This snapping animal was no different. It whipped it’s maw up fast enough to drip saliva against Vi’s festering wounds.

“Don’t!” Vi had screamed because she was so desperate to save her little sister. But the look in her eyes was resolute. Even in the light of the full moon. It showed more than the hunger, the viciousness. Jinx was on a mission. A martyr that would die for her charge.

She had the audacity to nod at Vi that night, to grin at her in a wolfish manner before her boots kicked up gravel. Evidently, the animal enjoyed the chase more than the prey it had pinned under it’s large paws. Claws dug sharply into Vi’s chest and stomach, tearing like soft butter into her stomach and chest.

Vi remembers screaming. She remembers the warmth of her own blood and the pale light of the moon overhead. She thinks she remembers her sisters maniacal howl combined with that of her own.

No… She would spare Caitlyn Kiramman the pain that her mother had endured. Some things are better left unlearned.

The smell of gunpowder, sulfurous and smokey, brought up a helping of vomit that Vi couldn’t swallow down. She thought it was vomit but couldn’t quite tell. It could have been nothing more than blood surfacing from the wound that had torn through the wound in her sternum.

The head ranger herself had fired off what was supposed to be a warning shot, but even with her immense fear clouding her aim, she had managed to land a slug in Violet. Silver. It burned viciously, sizzled like acid. Maybe it had been bile that splattered onto the forest floor in a stringy mess.

Vi’s vision was blurry with tears, cheek pressed to the earth as she watched Caitlyn on the front porch of her cabin, clutching her rifle. She released vapor with each breath, eyes methodically scanning the tree line.

Her bones were morphing into something human, something much more becoming. The bullet lodged within her was making it nearly impossible. Her nails were long, her ears tipped with red fur akin to her own hair. Her pointed teeth digging so painfully into her bottom lip to stifle her pained growls.

She was far from wolf, but far from mortal.

When the moon rose this high, she lost herself in the pain and the hunger that had led to her original demise. Vi preferred it this way. She separated the beast that tore through her once a month from the human that kept it at bay the rest of the time. She didn’t know what the wolf did. Did not want to.

Anger surged through her now.

The National Park was endless, and yet… yet… she was at Caitlyn Kiramman’s doorstep. There was a sinking feeling within her that the creature she’d buried deep had been stalking the woman. The disease that had transferred through bite, through blood, couldn’t get enough. Wouldn’t unclamp it’s greedy jaws.

Violet craved Caitlyn’s touch. Preened under her approval. The creature must do the same. Had to, if it had gotten close enough for a shot to be fired. For a bullet to hit.

She rolled over onto her back and started clawing desperately with her sharpened nails at the shot. She clipped down on her tongue to swallow her scream, digging around the wound. She couldn’t grasp it, only pushed it further down. She swore she would drown in her own blood. It threatened to heal around her fingers, causing nothing but undeniable agony.

Cait had lowered the muzzle of her gun, squinting directly where she lay, as if she could see directly into Vi’s soul. Frosty eyes watched her, and she’d be damned if they didn’t send a chill down her spine, regardless of the thin line of blood that dripped down the corner of her mouth.

This was about more than swallowing her pride. Caitlyn was her only lifeline here. She wouldn’t blame the girl for taking one look at her and firing a second shot that wasn’t a warning right between her eyebrows.

Another tweak of horrible pain and her decision was made. Vi dug her slowly receding nails into the soft soil and dragged herself to the edge of the head rangers property. She was trembling, weak. The pale moonlight hitting her tattooed marred skin. She stiffened, feeling an odd rush counter her pain.

Caitlyn sucked in a sharp breath and repositioned her weapon, steeling her stance. Vi lazily dug her chin into the earth and stared at the woman with stars in her eyes. She used to lounge on Cait’s bed with the same disposition. Albeit in less throbbing pain.

“Violet?”

The safety was switched off and the rifle was propped up against the door. Caitlyn was dashing across the lawn, barefoot despite the many times she had warned her own rangers against the dangers of doing so. Goosebumps prickled against her skin and undeniable worry etched onto her beautiful features.

She dropped to her knees, despite the dampness of the grass. Vi Stiffened, attempted to press her face into the grass but Caitlyn’s hands were quicker to cup her face. She could see the reflection of the golden glow in the blue of the woman’s gaze.

Vi stifled a whimper at the hold. She was naked and could feel her muscles stiffening. It was getting harder to move, to breathe without feeling the burn in her lungs. They crackled uncomfortably. The hands that cradled her face were warm. If she were to die at this moment, this would be enough.

“Darling, did I…” her voice was choked “I’ve shot you.”

“You never miss, Cupcake.”  

“I thought you were an animal.” She swiped both thumbs across Vi’s cheeks, wiping away tears and dirt and sweat, and maybe a little bit of blood.

“I think I might be.”

“Oh.”

The conversation was far too casual, Vi decided. She wavered in the cold, coughed up another mouthful of mucus and blood. This changed the worry in Caitlyn’s eyes to something harder that resembled the training that both of them had.

She scooped Vi up with strength that lingered fruitfully under her soft cotton t-shirt sleep clothes. The smaller woman opened her mouth to protest but the words died as her vision fluttered at the edges and her head slotted so easily into the small of Caitlyn’s throat.

It would be so easy her wolf howled to taste her.

Vi whined to drown out the thought, clutched the fabric that she clung to like a life raft. If Loris or Steb or even the orange-haired receptionist that glowered at her with contempt from behind the gift shop desk saw her now she would blanch. Never admit had content she felt in Caitlyn Kiramman’s arms.

And, God, was she content.

Caitlyn kicked the door to her cabin open and Vi breathed in a mix of spices from an earlier dinner untouched. She knew the layout of the cabin well, could hear the low crackle of a fire and could feel the heat of it as she was set down on the sofa that mirrored the hearth.

“I don’t understand it. I’ve nailed you with a shot right in the chest. You should be dead, or at the very least on it’s doorstep, not mine. You’re regarding me with discontent like I tasered you, or stunned you. Not like I took a Winchester and fired off a round. I rightly should take the stat phone and call the proper authority to get you to the emergency room and me to the psych ward.”

Caitlyn rambled in an adorably infuriating way when she was flustered. Even if Vi could get past the dryness in her throat she wouldn’t stop her. She enjoyed the way her cheeks would grow pink and she’d work the impassable problems out by her own accord.

She was flitting around, grabbing antiseptic, and medical kits that she had stashed, because she knew exactly what to do. Vi hadn’t realized she opened her eyes, or that she was watching her with a lazy content, but that’s exactly what she was doing, hand resting above her wound to subconsciously protect herself, breathing stuttered.

Her nails had retracted and so had her ears, thankfully. But her teeth still felt crowded in her mouth and she couldn’t calm her heart. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, if her eyes still shown a dangerous golden yellow. Caitlyn, her Caitlyn, had seen them either way. She balked at the fact.

“Cait,” Vi eventually stuttered out, clinging onto that floral scent that surrounded her so diligently. The Ranger was at her side in just a moment, crouching next to the sofa, grasping at her flexed and unflexed bicep. It was coated in a sheen of cold sweat. “I need you to get the bullet out. Please.”

That flicker of doubt was there again. It was brief but startling all the same. The Kiramman’s did not falter. She stared openly at Vi’s bare chest. At the pierced, pert nipples and the marred flesh in between them. In any other situation she would make a crude comment to cover her embarrassment, but this was not any other situation and Vi needed this bullet out now.

She gently grabbed the side of Caitlyn’s face, directing her attention, leading that deadly Cambridge stare to her own. “I understand that I am the last… I am the last… I didn’t…”

Vi was going about this wrong. She didn’t know how to get the words out. She didn’t know how to say that the same monster that had torn Caitlyn’s mother to shreds had taken up residence in her bones. Had changed her. They weren’t the same teeth, the same claws, but they had the same intention, could shed the same blood.

A sob tore through her, one that reminded Vi much of ones last. A death rattle. Caitlyn’s hot hand was holding her down in a moment, splayed against taut muscle. She was digging through an open first aide kit and searching for titanium prongs, a crease formed between her eyebrows.

“Hold this.”

Caitlyn barked the demand, and a wad of gauze was suddenly shoved into Vi’s mouth, catching on her chapped lips. She bit down so she wouldn’t choke on it. Caitlyn didn’t give a count down. It wasn’t her style. She didn’t coddle, or nurse you through pain that was known to be excruciating.

Instead, she dug the pointed prongs into the wound that was desperate to heal. Vi moaned around the gag, nails slashing even lines into the nearest throw pillow. Her claws were quick to come out, spilling stuffing as tears clouded her vision. Her back arched from the sofa as drool frothed from the corners of her mouth.

Caitlyn had the audacity to shush her like a petulant child. She plowed through the recesses of her injury, the layers of tissue and tendons. The gauze became damp and sticky with pink saliva. The heel of Caitlyn’s free hand was digging painfully into Vi’s shoulder to pin her down.

If Vi hadn’t been blinded by pain, she would relish in the way Caitlyn’s body was slotted against her own, having shifted. A sure knee in between her legs, pressed against her center. They were in a compromising position. Caitlyn’s breath was warm as it splayed across her chest. Vi’s rapid and building.

After a few agonizing moments, the prongs were pulled away and the bullet dropped to the floor with a clatter. Nothing could be heard but the punctuated panting of both women and the crackling of fire eating through logs. They were still. Vi’s teeth clenched and Cait’s hands still splayed near the wound that slowly began to seal itself in front of her disbelieving eyes.

Vi was filled with unrest. Dissatisfaction. Her hands were pinned and her throat was slick with blood. Her skin was buzzing and clarify had hit her like a truck now that the damned bullet had been pulled out. She was naked, vulnerable. And Caitlyn fucking Kiramman was on top of her.

Vi was saying something. Her stupid mouth was saying something, but it was muffled by the gauze, and Caitlyn lifted a shaky hand, pulling it from her lips with blood-soaked hands. “what?”

“Can you get off of me?” her words cracked. “I’m naked, cupcake.”

Caitlyn drew in a sharp breath, flicking her gaze down for an agonizing moment before shifting her weight off Vi. The sensation was immediately missed. A whimper quelled, swallowed along with the metallic taste that lingered on her tongue. Vi scrambled herself, pulling the throw blanket on the back of the sofa around her shoulders and making her hulking frame as small as she possibly could as she curled under the scratchy material.

She reveled in the scent of Caitlyn. Something that had been so oppressing the month before when they spoke in the woods. Now she swam in it. Hell, she wanted to drown in it. The Ranger busied herself with grabbing alcohol wipes from the first aide kit.

When she settled, she did so next to Vi. Their knees touching, as if any type of distance would make her perish. The gesture made her heart pound. It still ached, still fought to heal, but she didn’t’ mind. Caitlyn wordlessly asked for her hand and used her teeth to tear away the paper of the antiseptic wipe.

Vi always had larger hands than Caitlyn. But Caitlyn was nimble and methodic where Vi was clunky and impulsive. Despite the blood that had dried around her nailbeds, Caitlyn started the heavy task of cleaning the dirt and muck away from Vi’s knuckles. Neither of them speaking for a good, long while. She was waiting for Vi to speak, and she would wait for however long it took. She would always wait.

“I black out a lot.”

Caitlyn’s movement’s stilled for a moment. She had cleared most of the blood away from Vi’s left hand and moved on the right. There was a tiny mountain of wipes on the coffee table and the chemical scent was burning both of their lungs. She resumed her work with a committal hum.

“I think it’s a small mercy, really. I don’t want to remember. After that night, I knew something was different about me, but I wanted to attribute it to the grief, to the drinking. To anything other than what I knew was sitting in front of me all along.”

Caitlyn was scrubbing particularly hard at a spot of blood that refused to release itself from Vi’s skin at the base of her palm. Vi gently took the woman’s hands, giving them a squeeze, drawing her attention from the task. Her eyes were red around the edges from exhaustion. From emotion. She sniffed, glowered dangerously at Vi.

“The thing that… took your mother and Powder away from us it” Vi’s voice shattered. She grimaced and looked towards the fire. Tried to clear the emotion from her chest, but couldn’t quick staunch it. Never really could when it came to Caitlyn, so she embraced it instead, stared directly into the eye of the storm as it swirled. “When it bit me, it changed me. I don’t think it had a choice in what it was and I don’t think I have a choice in what I am now.

“This forest needs something to harbor it’s pain, and it breaks my heart more and more every single day that we crossed it’s path that night.” Vi’s head dropped, tears falling into her lap. Her shoulders convulsed. She was shaking, she knew. Too tired to fight them off. “You can hate me, Cait. I’m begging you to hate me. I would hate me.”

Hands were quick to find her cheeks and franticly wipe away at heated tears before patting at her collarbone until she looked up with confusion in her stare. Vi met an expression that was nothing more than stark tenderness, a flat line of a mouth. Caitlyn was calculating. She was exasperated. The look she often carried for Vi.

“Hate you? Why on earth would I hate you Vi?”

“I… I couldn’t stop it. I became it.”

“Darling,”

It was the subtle shake of her head, the gentleness of the single word, the quiet acceptance in her eyes. Everything combined. Vi crumbled. She fell forward and into Caitlyn’s arms. The Ranger let out a huff of air but accepted her all the same. She did not hesitate to pull her close, Vi’s ear pressed against Caitlyn’s stomach as she buried her head into the woman’s lap.

“None of this is your fault.” Caitlyn soothed, working her fingers through the mess of pink hair. “You hear me?”

Vi continued to sob, tightening her grip around Caitlyn’s center. She cried until her throat was sore. Breathing the woman in, relishing in the way her fingers felt as they gently pressed against her scalp. She whispered soothing words to her. Held her tightly, ran a hand over her bare spine and the scar of a bite that had never quite healed.

When the fire had turned into nothing but a dull flicker of orange, Caitlyn still harboring all the warmth either of them would ever need, Vi turned and stared up at her. There was a fondness in the woman’s stare. A curiosity there that she knew she’d have to atone for when she wouldn’t need to grip so hard to keep herself grounded.

“I need you to promise me something.”

Caitlyn knit her brows, swallowing hard. She brushed a strand of hair from Vi’s red-rimmed eyes. Her hand was trembling. Vi never wanted to move from this spot, from the warm comfort of the rangers lap, her nose pushed into her stomach where she could make sure she was breathing with ease.

“If you ever see me with a certain look in my eyes Cait, I need you to fire more than a warning shot. I need you to shoot to kill. I know you can.”

She opened and closed her mouth, teeth clanging together in a noise that should have been painful. Her hand curled into a fist against Vi’s bare abdomen, nails scratching lightly on marred skin. She huffed, but didn’t’ say a word. She didn’t trust herself to. It wasn’t the time to ramble, and both of them knew it.

“You’ll know it when you see it.” Vi clenched her eyes shut, burying her face deeper into Cait’s embrace. “You’re an okay shot.”

Caitlyn leaned her head back, letting out an unsteady sigh, her gaze lingering on the cold hearth, the fire long-dead and the Winchester’s silhouette looming as it sat propped in it’s usual place. “I’m an excellent shot.”

[arjudy224]

Teachers Pet

Intern x Batfamily

Part 2 of Outreach Gala

The bartender flashes me an incredulous glance.

"Is that a no then?" I inquire with a half smile.

Before he can respond, a vine slithers up his leg, immobilizing him. I roll my eyes. Typical. Eyeing Dick's drink, I ask

"You gonna drink that?"

He shakes his head before sliding the drink down the bar.

Preparing to down the glass, I wince a little in preparation. A wave of artificial sweeteners flood my senses, but no alcohol. That bastard... It's Diet Coke.

"You should really get out of here." I whisper in his direction, "Get some help.

When no one responds, I stifle my laughter. I should have known better. From the corner of my eye, I spot Dr. Harris sneaking out the back door to grab reinforcements. His dark brown eyes meet mine. An understanding passes between us. He needs time. I nod in agreement. Marching through the party, I carefully avoid the eager vines trying to wrap around my legs.

The room falls into silence as I stumble past the poor partygoers. Comissioner Gordan's eyes grow wide in warning. I flash him my most reassuring smile.

"Dr. Isley," I call out weaving through the dozens of guests, "It's not very polite to show up two hours into the gala. We've been waiting for you."

Poison Ivy's glowing green eyes regard me curiously.

Before I can react, 4 stray vines wrap around my limbs rendering me motionless. Her eyes narrow in recognition.

"Ms. L/N, you've grown into yourself quite nicely."

I consider our history. 4 years is a considerably long time in adolescence.

"Well, that's a relief. I was afraid that I peaked with braces."

A small forms in response.

"Are you still picking fights with those boneheads in your class?"

I laugh. Some things never change.

"In some ways, "I respond with a grin, "Now, I mostly try to convince them of their errors through diplomacy."

One of the loose hanging vines carefully caresses my cheek. Peeling through my memories, I struggle to remember Dr. Isley as a Professor. Most mornings, I rolled into class like a zombie. Her labs were interesting though. Halfway through the semester, a group of police officers raided the lecture during an exam. I woke up quickly once her vines began strangling the police force.

"The plants speak of your kindness."

A string of followers blossom at my feet. My face gets hot.

"That's nice to hear. I haven't been able to grow anything since moving back to Gotham.” I joke awkwardly, “I was about to sample the water treatment plant again.”

More vines reach my waist. I shift uncomfortably,

"Don’t you see? Kindness isn't enough."

A few manage to wrap around my neck. The slow restriction around my airway causes me to start panicking.

"Dr. Isley...." I choke out, "You are hurting me."

The room starts to spin. Gasping, I struggle pathetically against the brick wall of vegetation.

"You have so much potential,” She mutters in my ear, “I could use someone with your talents.”

Red spots my vision. No. No. No. A pink flower grows out of a vine. A cascade of glittering aerosol sprinkles down from it. For a moment, my body goes limp. A wave of serotonin replaces my panic. She chose me. Imagine the change we could create. I smile- a real genuine smile.

Her hair.... Has it always been this silky? And her eyes... I've never seen that shade of green before. Everything about this woman feels wonderfully comforting and exciting all at once. In the natural world, when things are this potent they usually warn of poison.... but how could something so beautiful be bad?

When she kisses me, I don't protest. My knees go weak. A yearning, unlike anything I've ever felt, courses through my veins. A loud crash echoes across the gala. Dr. Isley pulls away too soon. I collapse in a wave of sorrow. Why would she leave me so soon? The rejection floods back painful memories of past lovers. Several vines hug me in support. Crouching, Pamela brushes my hair back before facing her foe.

"We'll finish this later. The adults are talking."

Tag list- @nosyrobin, @jjsmeowthie, @epicyOn, @gaychaosgremlin, @rory-cakes, @luna-zendra-star, @b4tm4nn, @anuttellaa

[negansfavlucille01]

INNOCENCE Pt. 2

Negan × innocent reader (female)

Warnings: Loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral sex (reader receiving), breast worshiping, naive reader, birds and bees talk..?

Note: So sorry it took so long, but there you have innocence pt. 2. Please don't come for me

"What's sex?"

The words echoed through his head, over and over like a haunting refrain. Fuck. How was he going to explain that to her? His chest tightened with every passing second, the weight of the impending conversation settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. He glanced up, only to be met with her big, glowing doe eyes, staring at him with an innocence that made him want to crawl out of his skin. She was waiting for an answer, patiently, like she always did, her face full of trust. He swallowed hard, throat dry. He knew there was nothing wrong with her asking. She was curious, that's all. It was just a question, one born out of innocence and the need to understand the world better. She had a right to ask. It’s just education, he told himself. He was right, logically speaking. Yet, logic didn’t seem to matter now, not when her gaze was so pure, so unknowing of the complicated mess his mind had turned into. His hands twitched at his sides, a nervous energy he couldn’t shake. He couldn’t even look her in the eyes for more than a few seconds without feeling like he’d betray something. How could he explain this to her without shattering that trust? Without taking away that wide-eyed innocence she carried so effortlessly? She was just asking for an answer, expecting him to have one, like he always did. But this? This was different. He wasn’t ready. His mind scrambled for the right words, but every potential response felt like it would somehow break something delicate between them. It was just a question. Why was it so hard? He bit the inside of his cheek, stalling, trying to compose himself. Still, her eyes bore into him, soft and patient, waiting. Double fuck.

''Sex?'' He asked, even though he heard her crystal clear. Maybe he was buying time, hoping the repetition would dull the impact of the question, or that maybe, just maybe, she'd change her mind and ask something else. he gave him a small nod, her expression unchanged, blinking once with that same quiet patience. ''Sex is a private thing that grown-ups do with each other to feel good together and express their love. Sometimes.''

"Have you ever done it?'' She asked.

"Oh, yeah. Have you?" Y/N shook her head. Then an idea came to his mind. He had a chance. He gets to be her first. His nervous face turned into that nasty, shit-eating grin. "No..? Wanna learn?'' She nodded again. Negan didn't really expect it to work. But typical Y/N, always wanting to learn new things. He never thought he'll be here. In his room, awake in five am to talk with Y/N about sex. "Lay down, sweetheart.''

Y/N blinked, a little unsure, but something about Negan's confidence made her follow his instruction. She laid back on the bed, her heart thudding in her chest. There was a tension in the room, heavy and charged, but it wasn’t just awkward—it was curiosity and trust, too.

Negan sat on the edge of the bed, his gaze dropping to meet hers. That smirk softened, just a little, his voice lowering as he leaned closer. “Alright, darlin’.” he murmured, his tone almost teasing. “Let’s take it slow, yeah? No rush. You comfortable?”

Y/N gave a small nod, her cheeks flushed but her eyes steady on his. “Yeah.” she said softly.

Negan chuckled, the sound warm and low, and he reached out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Good girl. First lesson... it's all about trust. You trust me?” Another nod. This time, her lips curved into the faintest smile. “Good.” he said, letting his grin grow wider again. “Because I’m gonna teach you everything, sweetheart. And you’re gonna love it. But you tell me if you’re not ready, got it?”

“Got it.” she whispered, her voice steady but quiet.

He kissed her. Not the rough, hurried kisses he usually gave to women, as though they were part of some transaction or fleeting distraction. No, this was different. His lips moved with an unexpected tenderness, brushing hers like a question rather than a demand. She, unsure of how to respond, stood frozen for a moment, the world narrowing to the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Slowly, almost hesitantly, her hands found their way to his hair. The softness surprised her, and she tugged at it gently, testing, grounding herself in this strange new reality.

"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice a low whisper, thick with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

She swallowed hard, her hands still tangled in his hair. "I... I don’t know." she admitted honestly, her cheeks flushing. "But I think I don’t want you to stop."

They continued kissing on the bed, the scary, horrible world outside fading into a distant blur. Y/N's hands tangled in Negan's dark hair, pulling him closer as their lips moved together with an urgency that made her head spin. His touch was firm but teasing, his fingers brushing against her waist before trailing lower, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Every kiss deepened their connection, the space between them shrinking until there was nothing left but skin against skin and the heat building between them.

Negan’s lips left hers, traveling down her jaw and neck, igniting sparks wherever they landed. A soft gasp escaped her as his hands slipped beneath her shirt, his rough palms grazing the sensitive skin of her sides, and she arched instinctively into his touch. He chuckled low, the sound vibrating against her collarbone as he nipped at her skin, his confidence only spurring her desire further.

One piece of clothing after another was shed, each discarded without a second thought. The tension that had been simmering between them finally boiled over, and before either of them could fully process how far things had escalated, Y/N found herself naked beneath him. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her cheeks flushed as she met Negan’s heated gaze.

He hovered between her thighs, his strong hands gripping her hips as if grounding himself, his smirk softer now but still carrying that signature cocky edge. His eyes roamed over her body appreciatively, his voice low and gravelly when he finally spoke. “Damn, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone laced with desire. “You’re even more gorgeous than I imagined.”

"Negan…" Her voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, trembling with a mix of nerves and anticipation. She looked down at him, her heart racing as she watched him. His touch, his presence, everything about this moment was overwhelming in a way she hadn’t expected. Without a word, he reached up, taking one of her hands that had been tangled in his hair. His fingers wrapped around hers, firm but reassuring, before he gently intertwined them. The warmth of his touch steadied her, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, a stark contrast to its usual gravelly bravado. His dark eyes held hers, grounding her as his thumb continued its calming motion. “I’ve got you. Just… trust me.”

Her breathing steadied as she gave a small, tentative nod, the corners of his mouth lifting ever so slightly in response. Negan leaned up just enough to brush a soft kiss against her knuckles, the gesture both disarming and deeply intimate.

“Atta girl.” he whispered, his voice carrying the barest hint of a grin now. “We’re in no rush. Just you and me, okay?” He slowly rubbed her clit, his touch barely there. A loud moan left her mouth, her head throwing back. He slowly buried his face in her heat, groaning as he felt the wetness on his beard. Moving his hand to her thigh, the other remaining on her clit, going harder. Her face was flushed. Bright red, eyes struggling to stay open, mouth agape. Negan pushed his tongue in her, curling it just right.

"Negan.. I feel.. funny.." she whined, popping herself on her elbows so she could see him. At that moment, everything went black and she fell back, eyes squeezing shut, hands gripping the sheet as she reached her climax. Negan, proud of himself, crawled up to her, chuckling.

"You ready for the real thing?" He removed his remaining boxers, his cock slapping against his, long, thick and already dripping pre-cum. He gently pushed the tip in, the most erotic and needy moan ripping from Y/N's mouth. Slowly and painfully, he eased it all the way in, letting her get used to the stretch. "God damn me. Fuck! That pussy, baby... So tight and fuckin' soaked!"

"Negan, it hurts..." She whined, gripping his shoulder hard enough to dig her nails in and make little cuts. He started thrusting, slowly and gently at first, slowly going faster when he was sure she could handle it. Eventually, his thrust became in a pace so fast, it was against physics.

"I know, I know.." He chuckled, but that was cut off by a low guttural groan deep in his chest. His hands started playing with her tits, squeezing the soft flesh and rolling the nipples. He leaned down, taking one into his mouth, sucking so hard, she threw her head back and her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She was a whiny little mess in his arms, the force of him pounding her sweet little cunt and sucking on her breast at the same time too much for her. He lifted his head, looking at her with hooded eyes, filled with lust and desire, watching how beautiful she looked when he ruined her. That dark chuckle of his came to life again. "Damn.. into big cocks from the first time?"

"N... Negan, I can't.." Her moans got louder. The only response she got from the man on top of her was a dark chuckle. The room was dimly lit and filled with sex sounds and scent. She closed her eyes shut, hard, clenching her little cunt around his thick length, signaling she was close yet again.

"Oh, fuck.. Do that again." He threw his head back, a little moan escaping his throat. She obeyed, mimicking the motion she did a second ago. Negan's thrust got harder as he neared his peak. He rubbed her clit and that was enough to send her over the edge. She gripped the sheets next to her with both hands, biting her lip, throwing her head back. Negan watched. He found it cute and sexy at the same time, how he had just ruined her. In his mind, that first time couldn't have gone better. One. Two. Three thrusts and he pulled out, stroking his twitching cock. White ropes of cum shot on her stomach and her breasts, covering her in his hot seed.

[miserymet]

Tragedy - Reploid Bass AU

Was digging through my old WIPs and found this bad boy. It’s technically unfinished (because I didn’t know how to end it) but it gets the main point across and establishes the where the plot is at post MMX7. Thought it might be interesting to those who want more details on the AU.

(quick timeline context; Bass gets his memories back post mmx6, disappears off the face of the earth and shows back up again halfway through mmx7)

Summary: Zero and Bass talk about one of Bass’ many regrets. In the process, Zero tries to connect the brother he knew as Forte to the stranger wearing his face.

“I wasn’t supposed to be here.”

The words are quiet. Not soft, as nothing Zero’s brother does is soft anymore, but they lack the usual bite. It’s enough to draw Zero’s attention to where Bass now sits. 

The chair holding him is old, a mundane relic of the furniture that was commonplace over a hundred years ago. It’s a miracle that it hasn’t crumbled under the weight of its occupant, but Bass had mentioned that the entire base was designed around its mechanical residents. Perhaps its creator imagined one of his robots might need to use a chair. Even if there’s not much of a difference between sitting and standing for them.

Zero’s surprised to see that Bass has his back turned to him. His brother isn’t too keen on letting Zero out of his sight nowadays, but his gaze is firmly fixed upon the screen in front of him now. Another uncharacteristic behavior. Zero sets aside the spare parts he was examining, all interest gone, and approaches the screen that has his brother so transfixed. It casts a dim light even in the darkness of the base, but the image is clear enough.

It’s an old contact log. A few lines of text sit at the bottom of the screen and for some reason, Zero feels the need to read them aloud.

“Bass. I made a mistake. I created something that I can’t control. You’re the only robot strong enough to stop it. Please help me.” He furrows his brow as he speaks the final line. “I’m sorry.”

“Six lines. Twenty six words. A hundred and fifteen characters.” Bass mutters.

“What does it mean?” 

It’s a genuine question, and maybe that’s why Bass laughs as though it’s the stupidest thing he could have asked. Zero waits with bitter patience for his brother to finish. This is typical of Bass’ new personality. Brash, abrasive, rude, all of these words and more fit the new image Zero’s brother has made for himself. Even his name is new. “Bass.” It’s been a bit of an adjustment to say the least.

Eventually, Bass manages to pull himself out of his laughing fit. His next words are the last thing Zero expects to hear.

“These are the words that killed me.”

“…I thought I did that.” Is all Zero can say to that. Bass laughs, much quieter this time.

“In the end, yeah.” His brother leans back in his seat. “But fighting you wasn’t-, I didn’t…”

“You ‘weren’t supposed’ to?” Zero volunteers.

“…I shouldn’t have.”

Bass goes quiet, lost in whatever old memories are haunting him today. Zero can’t help but feel frustrated. He used to know what to do when Bass…when Forte was upset. Whether it was about his lost memories, his weakness, his outdated code, Zero could always help. It’s different now.

Everything’s different now.

“Do you remember what I told you about our creator? How we didn’t really get along?” Bass starts, gaze still stuck on that old log.

“Because of your penchant for rebellion, yes.”

“That was only half of it. Yeah, I disobeyed him whenever I felt like it, but he wasn’t some doting father.” His brother turns to glare at him. “He was the most selfish, stubborn, stupid old man I ever met. Full of himself, too. You would have hated him.”

“That sounds a lot like you.” Zero can’t help the bite to his words. Maybe X was right. Maybe all this is getting to him. “Where are you going with this?”

“I was loyal at first. The old man had a lot of expectations for me, and I was determined to meet them. I didn’t. No matter how hard I tried, how strong I was, it was never going to be good enough if I couldn’t beat-,”

He stops abruptly, almost letting something slip. Something important. Bass is always vague about his old memories. He’s hiding something, but Zero can’t tell if it’s because it’s too risky or because he’s hoarding all that’s left of his past. It could really be either one. Zero isn’t sure he knows Bass all that well anymore.

“The point is, I was a failure to him. So he tried to move on. Build something else.” Bass shakes his head. “I couldn’t accept that. We fought. First it was just arguments, but it escalated. Before I knew it we were trying to kill each other.”

“What did you do?” Zero asks, though he’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“I left.”

Oh. Zero wasn’t expecting that.

“It sounds obvious, right?” His brother rests his head against his hand, expression flat. “But I wasn’t a reploid. I didn’t have the programming X or Axl did. It wasn’t as simple as changing my career. I was leaving my creator.”

“Bass…”

He doesn’t let Zero get a word in. “I agonized over it for days. What was I if not his robot? What could I even do without him? I was practically one foot out the door already, but I couldn’t move the other one. I…cared about him.”

Zero tries to imagine it. Bass, in his original body, standing beside a vague figure. His gaze sweeps across the room and Zero sees Bass sitting on a table full of junk, swinging his legs as he speaks to his creator. What did his face look like? Was it flat and cold, speaking in an even tone about plans or progress or whatever a man like that saw fit to discuss with his creation? Or was he annoyed, brow furrowed with one dipping lower than the other and mouth pulled into a small pout? Maybe it was a face Zero had never seen before, a soft smile, a wry grin that so clearly spelled out his amusement. 

He can only imagine. When he turns back to his brother, Bass wears the grimace he’s grown so used to.

“That was how I convinced myself to leave, in the end.” He breathes an empty sigh. “If I stayed, I might have hurt him. Might have let my anger take me to far and…”

His hands move in front of him, digits curled tightly around an invisible enemy. They hang in the air for a moment and shake. Then they fall. Bass lets his head follow them.

“You came back.” Zero speaks softly, trying for a gentleness he’s never been good at. “Why?”

Bass doesn’t pick up his head. “Same reason. I cared.”

“He made a robot, couldn’t control it and called you for help.” It feels both more and less real when he says it aloud. “He called you to your death.”

“And I came. I came because I am a fucking idiot.”

Zero blinks at the harsh language. Bass is far from the composed brother he knew, but even he didn’t use that language regularly. It feels strange. Forte would never, but Bass…it fits him a little more.

“He didn’t even have to apologize. The moment he came to me for help, the moment he called me strong-,” Bass grips his head in his hands. “All my conviction disappeared. I walked into that lab, this lab-!” He throws out his hands, nearly hitting Zero, “and I died for the man that tried to kill me!”

Zero doesn’t know what to say. What can he say? This is something he’s just learned, a grief he can only imagine. Bass has lived with this knowledge since the day he got his memories back. How did he feel, waking up and knowing that he lost everything to a man long gone? How do you live with that burden? How do you keep fighting?

Bass shoots up from his chair, gaze now fixed on Zero. There’s so much behind his eyes that Zero can’t see. A world no one alive has any hope of understanding.

“I was so close to being happy! To having something other than a worthless creator who only tolerated me as long as he could use me!”

His brother takes a step forward, the light of the screen illuminating every tear that falls from his face.

“And he took that from me! You took that from me!”

“I’m sorry-“

Zero sees the punch coming. He almost dodges. It’s what every self-preservation program in him begs him to do. He doesn’t. He takes it. The punch is hard, snapping his head to the side quite painfully. He doesn’t flinch. Not even when Bass’ fist splits the synthetic skin of his cheek. All he does is look back at his brother.

Bass stands there, eyes wide and mouth open. His arm hangs in the air. He can see the grime left on his hands. Can see the tension in every part of his body. Then, it shifts. Bass drops his hand and closes his mouth. That glare returns, fierce as ever.

“Don’t pity me. It’s too late for that.”

Zero tries to find his words. “I don’t-,”

“That hit only landed because you let it.” Bass casts his gaze to the side. “Everything I do to you is because you let me. Even in this body, I’m not strong enough.”

[imthepunchlord]

Courtship

Read more here.

.

Ever since their little late night dinner date, there’s been a slight shift in how Okarun treats Miss Ayase. It was nothing too drastic a change, if anything, it was just a minor shift in their normal dynamic stemming entirely from him. An extra habit he’s now developing. 

He’s been offering her food.

Very often. 

Typically, he shares his own meal with her. Even when she has her own, he makes the offer. She initially always refuses and it saddens him until she relents and has at least a bite of his food. 

It does make him happy, but he finds he always wants to give more. Give her all of it. 

When he has the money to spare, he’ll buy her favorite candies and food. 

When they have a big meal at the Ayase residence, he’ll grab some extra of what’s her favorite to share with her. 

He really would give her all of it if he could, but she’s adamant in making sure he eats too. 

And the sweet insistence just adds fuel to this fire. 

And Okarun just doesn’t entirely get it. 

But he also does on some instinctive level? 

He really doesn’t know how to even explain it. 

At least, until Turbo Granny grumbled at him in annoyance. “Can you save your fumbling courtship when you’re by yourselves?” 

Okarun nearly dropped his plate. “C-courtship?!” Okarun stiffly turned to her, gawking. “I, I'm not courtin—  well, we, we are dating so—” 

“Don't lump our superior culture with your mundane rubble!” Turbo Granny snapped. “You're pursuing her as a yokai and it's embarrassing watching your blunders!” 

Okarun blushed. “I, I didn't even realize…”

“Of course you didn't,” Turbo Granny sneered. “But now you know.”

“...Could you tell me about yokai courtship?” Okarun requested. 

Turbo Granny gave him a big side eye. “Why should I?”

“Because I'm fumbling around,” Okarun answered, a little more confident now, though his cheeks were still rather pink. “And how am I to know if I'm courting in front of you? This is all new to me.”

Humming aloud, Turbo Granny agreed, “Listen well then, Four Eyes. Yokai courtship is perilous. It comes about only to those who are ready to give it their all, or to perish in their failure. And I do mean perished in the murdered sense.” 

“I'm going to die if I fail?!” Okarun proclaimed. 

Well, he could believe it. If Miss Ayase said she never wanted anything to do with him, he would be devastated. The mere thought alone almost had him transform. 

Turbo Granny rolled her eyes. “Yes, a few weaklings will die of heartbreak, but most are murdered for wasting time!” 

“Oh,” he uttered. Well, he doesn't have to worry about that at least. 

“Yokai courtship is also incredibly trying, a true test of resilience, want, and one's ego.”

“Really?” Gosh, that sounds intimidating. What was Okarun in for?

“Yes, for courtship is the hardest thing for yokai to do.”

Okarun gulped as Turbo Granny paused for dramatic effect.

“Yokai courtship comes down to devotion.”

Okarun stared. Then blinked as Turbo Granny's words clicked in his mind. 

“Eh?” he uttered, “That's it?”

Turbo Granny smacked his thigh, snapping, “Don't say ‘that's it’ like it's nothing! Where's your pride as a yokai?!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he soothed. 

“The vessel of my power,” Turbo Granny grumbled. 

“What do you mean devotion?” Okarun asked. He blushed red. “D-do you mean, like, kis-kissing—”

“It's a broad definition,” Turbo Granny said. “At the core, it comes down to you being devoted to another. Sometimes it comes down to physical and sexual pleasure.”

Okarun's blush went redder.

“Sometimes it comes down to service, provision, protection; it's putting another over yourself. Giving away something that should be yours, be it food, energy, time; anything.”

“Oh.” 

Turbo Granny gave him a side eye. “We yokai are proud entities. It takes a lot for us to swallow our pride and lower ourselves to another.”

“So, when I’m giving Miss Ayase food…”

“It's one of your courting methods, yes. You’re also quick to protect and obey her orders. Carrying her around like some horse. You act like she's your entire world.” Turbo Granny rolled her eyes and scoffed.

Well, he supposed she wasn't wrong. Miss Ayase was his world, she was very precious to him, and much of what she wanted he would give and more. The thought had him smile, it just felt right. 

And, he knew he was important to her too. That he was treasured and valued. Such attention and affection was so rare in his life, he couldn't help but cling to her, have all she wanted to give, and return it a hundred fold. 

“You should take a page from me,” Turbo Granny voiced, “be courted instead. She likes you enough that she'd do it, I bet.” 

Okarun had a start. He exclaimed in surprise, “ You're being courted?!”

Turbo Granny gave his leg a smack for his insolence. “Of course I am! Do you realize how much of a catch I am?!”

“Yes, you are,” Okarun appeased, “um, who's courting you then?”

Was some strange yokai visiting the Ayase residence? He didn't like that thought…

“Who do you think?” Turbo Granny scoffed, then pointed at Ayase-san. 

“Ayase-san?!” he gasped in surprise. “She's courting you?!”

“She cooks and feeds me,” Turbo Granny revealed. “Pretty unprompted, but sometimes I bring her food.”

“...But, Turbo Granny, I think she's just feeding you.”

“Hah! One does not simply feed a yokai! It's her means of worshipping me. That she desires me! And as a show of pleasing me, I join her on her outings. And sometimes I'll supervise you brats because she likes you.” 

“That's nice of you,” he offered. “Um, what about when you get your power back?”

“Clearly, this will be my new territory. Usually the one who does the devotion lives in that yokai's territory, if their devotion is accepted, but I'll make an exception for Seiko given her power and situation.” Turbo Granny gave Okarun a sneer. “You better offer me a lot of respect boy, for what will be hers will be mine, and this territory belongs to Seiko instead of Momo. Even if you move in, this won't be your turf.”

That sparked off something competitive in Okarun, something heated. This was where Momo lived. And instinctively, he felt a sense of protectiveness, a sense to claim this place as his, just as much as it was hers. And as these feelings ran so strongly, Okarun couldn't stop the words that were uttered aloud. 

“But Miss Ayase has already accepted my affections, so I have more claim to this territory now. You aren't official with Ayase-san yet.”

Turbo Granny's eyes went huge. “Hah?!” she spat, hissing a little. 

Okarun turned to her, eyes gleaming red. “This is my territory, not yours.” 

Turbo Granny was on her feet, her own teeth bared. “You wanna go at it, Four Eyes? I'll murder you—”

Turbo Granny toppled over a speeding mochi that was thrown her way. 

And a second smacked the shifting Okarun, knocking him over as well. 

The two speed yokai laid on the ground, stunned in surprise. They heard Ayase-san call out sternly, “I'll have no territorial disputes over dinner!”

“Yes, ma'am,” they both uttered. 

They sat up, eating the mochi and settling to glaring at each other quietly. This was not over.

[meeinthesea]

THE COUNTDOWN TO FERVOUR — gojo satoru

outline — who knew a new year’s party would have you and satoru ending the year in a more than unforgettable manner?

contains — gojo x afab!reader, established relationship, fluff, smut, oral (blowjob), fingering, hints at top!satoru (?), a bit of plot (not that much honestly :/), let me know if i forget anything !

wc — 2.9k

a/n — my first time writing smut, i hope it's not that awkward... also sorry for any typos :>

“we don’t have to do this...” satoru says, his voice low, almost a plea. he leans back against the couch, restless gaze flickering between you and the carpet, “it's fine, really.”

no, it isn't. his pants feel way too tight, rough fabric stretching taut on his lean muscles, and not to mention the painful throbbing pulsing down his thighs makes it hard to breathe, to think but he still holds himself back — for you.

he doesn't want to lose control, doesn't want to pressure you into doing something that might be uncomfortable for you — something you might regret later on.

he swallows and puts his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back when your hands brush against his belt — your touch a bolt of electricity spreading through the nerves in his system.

satoru shakes his head, catching your hands in his, feeling you squeeze him gently, a low apology on the tip of your tongue, “it's okay, baby...”

he can't even breathe properly not when you're this close to him, your voice dripping with the same emotion that has plagued every cell of his brain, sweet floral perfume infiltrating his nostrils, travelling straight to his lower body, leaving it all tingly and almost numb, “not your fault...”

and it really isn't. no one knows how things accelerated to something like this — a situation both you and satoru don't know how to handle.

but the nagging voice in his mind tells him that it was indeed your fault.

the moment you stepped out of the door hand in hand with satoru was the moment the downfall of his self-control began.

a few hours ago, the two of you set off to a new year's party, you were oh so graciously invited to by one of your close friends. and as a respectful friend, you couldn't miss attenting, so you just had to drag satoru with you, knowing he would definitely not mind some time off from his duties.

the party was a blast. the moment you entered, everything and everyone was full of life. energy bubbling in every corner, loud music blaring from the speakers accompanies the continuous chatter of what seemed like a hundred people — all smushed together in a small beach side villa.

just your typical and boring year end get together that satoru was getting tired of fast.

though he certainly wasn't disappointed, dashing straight to the sweets and snacks counter the moment you both exchanged greetings with the host, “this tastes so so good,” he nearly moaned at the sweet and vanilla flavour bursting on his taste buds as he chewed onto the soft bread, gobbling down the entire piece of pastry in one go, “easy there toru, we still need to eat dinner.”

the massive buffet arranged for dinner was truly a sight out of this world. the numerous delicacies from around the globe decorating the long table along with the fresh and delicious aroma of the spices and the condiments heavy in the air had his mouth watering even before he made it to the first serving.

by the time dinner ended, satoru was struggling to walk with how full his belly was. gods, but he really didn’t want to say goodbye to the dishes delivered straight from the kitchens of heaven itself, “can we please ask them to pack some for us?” you only looked at him blankly before hitting him on his head, which immediately has him slapping your rear in front of everyone.

aside from catching up with your long-lost friends and co-workers, you and satoru were waiting for a year-end surprise, and here's the problem. sure, they must have served something (satoru reckons it was definitely alcohol) while both of you were lounging on the balcony outside, you must have drank maybe a couple of glasses or perhaps it was him snatching every cup from the server's tray.

though you reckon it was him, wrapping his arm around you, tracing his hand up and down your back, which lingered dangerously close to your lower body. or maybe it was the way you looked at him — hooded eyes staring at him with your plump cheeks reflecting off the red from the fairy lights, lips puckered slightly as if anticipating something — the one look he had never seen on you before. but he knows that it was your fingers curling in his collar, slotting your lips against his the moment the countdown hit zero. fireworks erupted in the background, and he swore some ignited in his chest, too.

yeah, it was definitely you blowing the fire that had begun to flicker in his body. naughty girl.

no one knows what happened after that. through hazy vision, he stirred you both out of the hordes of now drunk and wasted people, eager to get you away from any prying eyes, not wanting anyone to see you in such state. something so carnal, lecherous jumps in his heart, the heat between you surged, raw and unrelenting, leaving him trembling with the need to hold on — or to give in.

the apartment is silent except for the low humming of the heater and whirlwind of snow hitting the glass of the windows. the silence stretches between you and satoru, thick with tension neither of you knows how to break it. his hands are still on yours, holding them tight, though his grip falters when your eyes meet, “satoru... please?”

your words almost have him choking on air. his chest rises and falls with uneven breaths. he is trying to think — trying to be rational — but it doesn't help when you're thinking with something else rather than your brain. he trembles when he sees the way you're looking at him, like he's the only thing in this world.

“are you sure?” satoru croaks out, hands moving to rest on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze. he wants to hear it properly — wants to hear you say it that you want him too as much as he wants you right now.

“yes,” your reply is instantaneous, and the flickering flame flares into something akin to a conflagration, successfully destroying what little was left of his self-control.

it's all satoru needs as he slumps back against the leather. his hand cups your cheek, softly grazing his thumb against your flushed skin before dropping down to your parted lips, pushing the limb into your mouth, “suck.”

it's not a request but an order, one that you're more than willing to abide by. you take no time in dropping to your knees, settling in between his spread legs. satoru watches with droopy eyes as your tongue peeks out, slowly tracing his skin before taking his thumb deeper. you feel so wet and so warm as he pushes on your tongue that has him wondering how good it will feel when he has your mouth wrapped around something else.

satoru pulls back his thumb, grazing against your wet lips, “go on, show me how much you want me.” his hands move up to your head, pulling your hair together and tying them in a not so clean ponytail (you wonder where he got that hair tie from), “it's all yours, baby.”

you shuffle closer towards the edge, running your hands up and down his thighs, “is it?” looking up at him with a small teasing smirk, eyelashes fluttering at his lovesick expression.

oh god, you didn't know that the blood pumping in his heart is all because of you, that all of his eyes exist with the sole purpose of seeing you — observing you, that everything which made up gojo satoru belonged to you.

satoru wants you to know the effect you had on him, wants you to know how much you got him running, “feel that?” one of his hands holds your own over the throbbing mess in his pants. it twitches to life as you rub your palm against the hardness, “it's all you baby.” and it is because no one else could have satoru moaning out loud like a fucking porn star upon the simplest of touches.

“can i...?” you whisper soflty, meeting his lustful gaze.

the meaning behind your question is not lost to him as he nods his head, eager for you to take him. he feels dizzy just by watching you open his belt, clinking sounds ringing in his ears, shooting pleasure down his body. his heart melts a little as you press a soft kiss right on the bulge in his pants.

you motion for him to lift himself, and he does so finally revealing himself, as you effortlessly slide off his pants and his boxers in one go, leaving nothing to hide his ever-growing desire for you.

he's so beautiful, standing tall and proud, tip flushed with deep red. you give it an experimental lick along the slit collecting the remnants of ooze before kissing it softly. satoru gasps above you, your name falling in a soft plea.

your kisses move across his thighs, decorating the pale milky skin with splotches of red and purple, marking him as yours. he looks so divine sitting in front of you — like a god whom you're yearning for, whose praise you want to drown yourself in.

when you fully take him in, tip hitting the end of your throat, satoru swears he sees the pearly gates looming over him, and god does he feel so close to cumming, “e-easy baby fuck, or you're gonna have m-me haa coming in no time,” his hand comes up to rest on your head, giving it a soft squeeze.

he feels you giggle around him before resuming your previous ministrations to get him closer to the sweet, sweet release. your tongue flicks around the tip, which immediately results in him clenching his thighs, a low guttural sound escaping him.

god, he sounds so hot, looks so hot— dishevelled hair with sweat beading to the tips, his ironed shirt is all crumpled with a few missing buttons giving way to his soaked chest — so masculine. a perfect picture rivalling that of a statue of some greek deity.

“just like that baby fuck!” you hum upon his praise, vibrations shooting up his spine, mingling with the tight knot forming in his abdomen, “so perfect for me, aren't y-you sweetheart?”

yes, you are. his sweet baby, his angel who is always ready to pleasure him, to put him first — your lord. nothing exists in the world right now. it's only you and him — a god and his worshipper.

all his senses are overloaded with you. all he sees is you looking so perfect under him. all he hears is the loud, wet sounds as you work your mouth down his length to his balls, sucking each one of them while fondling with the other. golden nectar seeps through the slit, coating your mouth. he feels so heavy, twitching violently with the need to cum — to paint you white with his essence.

“oh god, b-baby i'm—” satoru is so close that he can almosy taste the sweet heavenly release, and god does your mouth do wonders on him. he's panting, one hand clawing at the couch while the other holds your head in place, right where you belong.

it's so hot... you are so hot.

when you lock eyes with him, all the while he's throbbing in your mouth, satoru tips over the edge, falling straight into the ocean of unadulterated bliss. he swears he almost goes blind, his body numb with how hard he's coming down your throat. shocks and shocks of pleasure travel through his body, heart drumming against his ribcage with each wave. he grips on your head, tight not wanting to let you go.

a loud, broken whimper of your name echoes around the space as he comes down from the thrill of the earth-shattering orgasm. you suck him through it, not wanting to waste any drop of the precious liquid.

you place a final kiss right at the base, separating with wet pop, leaving behind a string of saliva connecting your parted lips with his tip that has his stomach churning again.

“how was it?” you whisper, hands still kneeding at the flesh of his thighs. satoru barely has any energy left, heaving above you, trying to form some coherent sentences, “so good baby—so good.” a blissed out expression paints his face with little sighs leaving his mouth as he thumbs again at your now wet mouth, “c'mere...”

he pulls you up by your elbows, placing you on his lap now, “so good f'me...” he presses his mouth on yours, swallowing the sudden gasp upon your surprise. the slow calculated pecks quickly turn into open-mouthed kisses, his tongue curling with yours, moaning into you as he tastes himself on you.

satoru is touchy and so clingy, groping and squeezing your flesh so hard you're sure he must be leaving marks underneath your shirt. his hands hold you tight, close to his body as if you'd disappear right before his very eyes. he separates from you, moving to suck down your neck all the way to your ear, smudging red against your soft skin.

“lay down for me, yeah?” he whispers in your ear before taking your ear lobe between his teeth, biting it softly. you hum, and he swings you around, laying you carefully on the couch, “there we go... such a pretty, baby.”

satoru's mind is reeling, unable to believe his eyes. he finally has you underneath him, flushed, embarrassed because of him — all ready for him. his fingers tug at your pants, nicely trimmed nails catching onto the hidden skin, “let's get this off...”

he helps you shimmy off your pants, along with your embarrassingly drenched underwear which he sneakily pockets somewhere you don't know, “i barely touched you there, baby...” he slides a finger up your drenched folds, spreading them apart, “god so wet, tell me who got you this wet?”

and god, he is falling in love with the way you look right now — mouth gaping trying to respond, drooling trickling from the side of your mouth — his precious angel, so so pretty.

“answer me, baby...” he leans closer to your heat, taking a strong whiff of the arousal seeping through. “it's—ahh you, all you fuck.” you whisper as his hot breath fans against your wetness.

yeah he knows it's him — the only one who got you needy like a bitch in heat, “show me how to pleasure you, yeah?” he sits up spreading your thighs wider, situating between them, wrapping your legs around his waist. you nod, holding his hand and guiding it towards the ache between your legs, “right here?”

“need your mhm,” he knows you're struggling, trying to think past the lust ridden haze in your mind, but it's just so fun, seeing you get frustrated. “my what?” his fingers circle around the pulsing nub, feather soft touch testing your limits.

you are quickly surrendering to the faint sparks of pleasure stemming from where his finger rubs you, “y-your hah fingers...please,” satoru hums as he quickly shoves one inside your weeping hole.

both of you moan out as your walls clench around the digit, slowly sucking him in deeper, “m-more please ahh,” he follows, rubbing his ring finger around your opening before it's joining his middle finger.

satoru's mind is running in circles. god, you are barely coherent with just his fingers pumping inside of you. how are you gonna take him? maybe you'll yield, pretty pussy splitting open to accomodate him, always so eager to please him — welcome him. you're gonna make him cum untouched now.

“t-toru just like that baby—oh!” satoru hums encouragingly, keeping up the pace, rubbing against the rough spot deep in your walls, “you’re gonna cum f'me?” he whispers against your lips, before pulling you into a deep and messy kiss.

he knows you're close, tell tale sings of orgasm showing up in your features. your nails graze against his nape, electricity buzzing through his undercut, “please toru—” he shushes you, his free hand holding your head against his chest, “i got you baby.”

satoru watches as you come undone in front of him, spraying all over his abdomen with a loud moan ripping from your throat. he eases you through the orgasm, placing gentle kisses on your watery eyes, a stark contrast to the relentless pace of his fingers working your walls.

he slumps against you, pulling his now absolutely sopping fingers from your gaping hole, “mhm—”

he pushes his fingers in his mouth all the while maintaing eye contact with you, heavenly exilir hydrating his parched mouth, “tastes so good fuck,” he mutters removing them before bending down to capture your lips again, letting you taste yourself.

satoru pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours. his cerulean eyes maps the route of your face, watching you as you struggle to keep your eyes open. he nuzzles his nose against yours, “come now, don't go sleeping on me...”

his weight leans on his knees as he sits up above you, fingers fiddling with his now crumpled shirt, a devious grin adoring his face, “after all, i'm not done with you just yet.”

oh, he can't wait to have you writhing, screaming in pleasure — to have you fully.

what a banger way to kick off the new year, he thinks as he pushes in you, never to leave you ever again.

[forestshadow-wolf]

Christmas Brainwashed soap thought in not Christmas time?

Soap still in Makarov's clutches, he's back in the cell he keeps him in, settled for the night on the hay bedding he's got like some kind of animal. The skin-warm metal of the mask digs into his face, a constant pressure of discomfort that he's learned to live with, velvet green gas tickles his lips, his nose. It's a thin, constant stream of it, soap doesn't know what it is, but it makes him docile. He doesn't like it. He wishes it would go away, or stop, or run out. It never does.

The lock clacks open, and makarov steps through the door.

"Come here."

It's wrong. Soap knows it is. But he's not quite sure what's not wrong anymore, so he goes. Sat infront of the man like a dog.

"Take it off." Makarov commands. He does. Unscrewing valves, and popping latches. The suction releases with a hiss, and he has to pry the metal hooks from his skin. He does so unflinchingly. The fresh air feels good on his face, in his lungs. Residual wisps of green waft away from the mask and out the tubing, but nothing more, nothing wasted. His mind whispers something about cruelty, of how he can remove his own mask and yet he cannot, but he's not sure what abouts, so he pushes it away.

Something clatters next to his leg, and when he looks it's a new mask. A skull face, painted- no. Dyed red, it has straps that look around his head instead of hooks to go into his skin. Its got modified attachments that'll connect to the valves and latches of his suit.

"Put it on." Makarov tells him, "it's Christmas. And I have a very special surprise for a very special someone."

Soap complies. Placing the metal mask to the side, and picking up the skull, and the previously hidden muzzle looking mask underneath that he hadn't seen before. He glances up at makarov once, but just as quickly looks back to the thing in his hands.

Unfortunate, he thinks, to have just a moment before being flooded with the green gas again. He clips the muzzle on, connecting it to the left side valve, and latching it onto his suit. A sigh escapes him as he slips the straps over his head, adjusting the skull until he can see out the eye holes correctly. Then he tugs on the loose ends until the edges of the mask dig harshly into his skin. He snaps and screws the rest of the gas intake together before looking back up at makarov.

"We have some fun to make." He grins, and it makes soap shiver under his skin. It feels wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's tired, but concern about that must be pushed out of his mind, he has orders. Infiltrate this military base, and blow it sky high. Makarov says there's information or assets or something that can't get out, it's soap's job to make sure it doesn't. He sets another charge. A gasp.

"Johnny?"

He whips around with a glare. Nobody was supposed to find him in the dead if night, the whole place should be asleep. He grips his gun, aiming it at the voice. A man dressed in typical army fatigues, and an atypical skull mask. He flinched at the weapon shoved in his face as any sane person would, his hands came up in obvious surrender.

"Wha- Johnny, what the hell?"

He didn't know who the hell this "Johnny" was, but it certainly wasn't him. Makarov calls him Nautilus, sometimes Soap, but recently qith the new mask he's been calling him Red. His other hand came up to stabilize as he lined up the irons.

"Wait wait wait wait wait! Wait! Just- wait!" The man's eyes looked panicked. "What the hell?" He mutters to himself, then to soap, "Don't. Don't do this, Johnny. Please." He begs.

Soap curses internally. He's already been caught, no way will he be able to finish the job tonight. He'll have to cut his losses, blow the charges He's already set. Then he camp it, and look for and opening to take out the rest of it place. He can't go back. He can't. Makarov said not to return until the job is finished.

He turns abruptly, sprinting back the way he came, hoping to get to the balcony exit he spotted on the way, before the man giving pursuit catches up to him. Left. Right. THERE! Just down at the end of the hall. He careens down the stretch of concrete, crashing through the glass door, he leaps the railing. The landing had pain lancing up his legs but his shoved it away, back on his feet and escaping the perimeter, he detonates the charges as soon as he's withing minimum safe distance.

[lady-pug]

Written Between the Lines

Chapter VII - Fill Me With Love

Summary: After catching sight of you several times being a sweetheart towards different children, Aemond wishes for a babe of his own, to finally take a step further into growing your family, and he is hells bent on doing it tonight.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word count: 3,8k

Warnings: canon-typical incest (uncle-niece); smut, so minors DNI; oral sex (female receiving); p in v sex; fingering; switch!Aemond (in this chapter he is truly dom!Aemond); breeding kink

Notes: Okay, this was kind of rushed, but it is because I’m about to go on a trip until the new year and I didn’t want to end the year without updating this story. So here it! Please let me know what you think!!

Anyway, as always, if you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I’ll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. Happy holidays, and I’ll see you all next year! Enjoy!

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It was driving him mad. Absolutely downright insane. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

In all his years living inside the Red Keep in King’s Landing, Aemond had never realized how many children inhabited the castle along with everyone else. Most of the time the children, especially the babes, were kept separated from court, and even when the older ones did attend, they remained quiet because, as his mother had once told him many years ago, ‘children were meant to be seen, not heard’. 

Even then, he didn’t typically interact with most of the kids. Sure, he enjoyed the company of his sister’s children, Jaehaera in particular, but other than that he did not really speak to other people below adolescence. What he didn’t account for was how much you seemed to spend your time with children.

Everywhere he went you seemed to have a child not too far from you; either a babe in your arms, a toddler propped on your hip or a child clinging to your skirts, you seemed to attract every child in the vicinity. When you weren’t helping Rhaenyra with Visenya, cradling her close to your chest, you were teaching Aegon and Viserys how to bond with their dragons. You even started spending time with Helaena’s children; more than once he caught you in her chambers, playing with Jaehaerys or brushing Jaehaera’s hair, or bouncing Maelor in your arms. Sometimes he even saw you interacting with one of the servants’ children, giving them your undivided attention.   

The most unexpected for him, however, was what the sight of you with a child, whoever they were, made him feel. Anytime Aemond would lay eyes on you laughing and making silly faces towards a child, or consoling a crying infant his heart clenched and something in his stomach twisted. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, couldn’t properly give this feeling a name, until the day he caught you bouncing Visenya in your arms, humming under your breath. A lullaby, he recognized, one his own mother used to sing to him many years ago. That’s when it hit him fullforce, the meaning behind the heat pooling low in his stomach. spreading to his chest, crawling up his neck and warming his cheeks. 

He was horny. 

Aemond was honestly taken aback by how turned on the thought of you with a child, more specifically, with his child made him feel. He felt his cock twitch at the image his mind conjured: you, carrying his child in your womb, stomach swollen and heavy. As your hums gave way to words, outright singing to your sister now, the image changed, now another child, a toddler, a mop of white hair atop their head and eyes so much like yours, sprawled at your side on a bench, head on your lap as you read to both them and the child still inside you, book propped on your prominent bump. The strength of the pleasure brought to him by the thought was so great he had to lean against the nearest wall in order not to fall over.

The two of you had been married for over a moon already and his seed had yet to take root, as the ladies in court insisted on reminding you, much to your visible displeasure. It wasn’t for lack of trying though, oh no, but sometimes these types of things take time, as Rheanyra reminded you once. But even her words could not prevent the disappointment that had taken over you once your moonsblood arrived a little over a sennight after the wedding. Aemond had never seen you this disappointed before, not even when your mother had scolded you after finding out you had kicked Aegon years before (even though he very much deserved it), and you had spent the rest of the day in quiet solitude. He had eventually found you sulking in the Keep’s library, thumbing at a book he knew you had already read, having skipped supper.

“Wife.” he had greeted “You were missed at dinner.”  

“I am not hungry.” you pouted, and had you not been thoroughly upset, he would have found it charming.

Sighing, he had taken a seat next to you, gently grabbing one of your hands and pulling it towards his lips. 

“We can try again.” he laid a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“I know. I just-” it was your turn to sigh then “I was just so hopeful.”

“I know. As was I.” his thumb started caressing the back of your hand “But we keep trying. We do not stop trying until I have fucked my seed so far into your womb it has no other choice but to take root.”

You chuckled at his antics, growing flustered at his crass words.

“And besides,” he placed a short yet hungry kiss upon your lips “it is not like the ‘trying’ part is displeasurable for either of us, if my memory serves me right. You were actually quite…” he mockingly paused, pretending to look for the right word “vocal about it last night.”

Although your cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, you had kissed him fiercely in return, not necessarily disagreeing with him. He then proceeded to take you right there in the library, with you bent over the hardwood table, the book you had been previously reading long forgotten. Aemond was sure grandmaester Orwyle had entered the room at some point but he couldn’t bring himself to care a single bit, too distracted by his cock nestled upon the damp warmth of your cunt.  

At the time he hadn’t realized how much the thought of you carrying his child impacted him, but now? It was all he could think about. It was a raw, almost primal need, one which set his blood aflame, like dragon fire. He wanted, no, needed it. At the same time, a softness enveloped him when such thoughts arose in his mind, him caressing your swollen stomach and whispering sweet nothings to your, his, unborn child; sleeping on his back with a tiny babe sprawled on his naked chest, right over his heart, one of his large palms over their back, covering the entirety of their little body and protecting them from the dangers of the world. 

It all came to a head one afternoon, his sparring session with Ser Criston running later than he predicted, causing him to miss lunch with you. So he set out to find you, intent on making up for his mistake, but he couldn’t find you anywhere inside the palace. After inquiring about your whereabouts to some of the servants they pointed him in the direction of the gardens. And the sight that greeted him almost knocked him off his feet.

You were sitting under the weirwood tree, your back against the harsh bark, Helaena slumped against the tree next to you, deep in slumber. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera laid at your side, both with a head laying against each of your thighs, while you cradled baby Maelor with one arm against your chest. Your free hand was interwoven in his niece’s soft locks, caressing her scalp. For a moment he figured all three children, like their mother, were asleep in your lap, and although that seemed to be the case for both his nephews, he soon heard Jaehaera’s soft, tiny voice speak up to you, her eyelids heavy and droopy.

“I ran into Lady Baratheon after tea.” she said “Me and brother were running in the halls and I bumped into her legs.” 

Aemond watched as your lips curled into a smirk, picturing the two children running around and causing mischief, much like the two of you once did in your youth.

“And what did she say?” you questioned.

“She went” and the little girl produced a scoffing sound, almost ridiculous coming from her “and said we should not be running, that we could hurt someone.”

It was your turn to scoff then, as if the notion that two small children could hurt a grown adult was ludicrous. 

“She looked angry and said I should stop behaving like that, that it was too un… unla…”

“Unladylike?” you supplied for her, your smirk no longer present, a gloom look crossing over your features.

“Yes, that!” she giggled, then her expression turned slightly sour “She said it is no wonder I am so q… qu…” 

“Queer?” you gritted out.

“Yes, that I am queer just like my mother.”

Aemond felt his blood boiling in his veins at the jab directed not only at his niece, but also at his sister. It was true that Helaena was different, had always been, but it never ceased to enrage him how the people, and mostly, the women on court would treat her. The younger ones would exclude her from their endeavors at best, and at worst they would pretend to be interested in her and then proceed to whisper foul things about her behind her back. The older ladies would often treat her like a child, infantilizing her and speaking to her in a sickeningly sweet and paused tone that he knew she loathed. It was one of the reasons he was so thankful for the way you treated his sister; unlike his mother, who pretended nothing was different about her, you acknowledged it and embraced Helaena’s differences, the things that make her who she is. He was glad that Helaena found a dear friend in you, not failing to notice that since your arrival at the Keep she had been visibly more relaxed and less lonely.

“Jaehaera.” he had barely noticed that your fingers had stilled their movement in her hair or that your expression had hardened “You know what you should do next time Lady Baratheon, or anyone for that matter, says something like that about you or your mother?” 

“What?”

Your previous smirk returned to your features then, mischief swimming in your eyes.

“You kick them in the shin.” you shook your head “Or better yet, you call for me and I will do it for you, that way you will not get in trouble.”

For a single, brief moment, Aemond could have sworn his heart ceased beating, were it not for the loud ringing in his ears. Warmth spread through his body, starting from his chest and travelling up his neck, to his cheeks heating up the tip of his ears, all the while that same blood boiled in his veins, traveling down and making his cock twitch.

For a fleeting moment he felt lousy for the reaction such a tender moment between you, his wife, and his beloved niece arose in him, but the feeling was brief, for the very next moment he was rushing to your shared chambers, like a man on a mission.

He was hells bent on getting you with child that very day, and the Seven be damned if they didn’t give him what he wanted.

Your afternoon spent with your good sister and her children left you feeling refreshed, regardless of the foul feeling your conversation with Jaehaera elicited in you. If you were being quite honest, some of the women in court irked you, always meddling into other people’s business and treating others, including those of higher stations than them, as if lesser than. Lady Cassandra Baratheon was one of those women, so you didn’t feel a single drop of remorse about the advice you had given to your cousin, now niece.

The only thing about your day that had not been so enjoyable was the fact that your lord husband had skipped lunch. It wasn’t so much that his absence itself bothered you, although you did enjoy spending time in his company, it was just that at times he got so in his head that he often forgot to take care of himself. A few hours into the afternoon you had thought you had caught a glimpse of him in the outskirts of the garden but where you were expecting him to join the lot of you, he had completely vanished by the time you properly glanced his way. 

That was over a half hour ago, where you now strided towards your chambers to clean up for supper.

Or that would have been your plan, had you not been surprised by a warm body practically colliding into you the moment you crossed the threshold, one large hand tangling in your hair and the other snaking around your waist. Lips captured your own in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clashing and a warm tongue brushing over your bottom lip and into your mouth.

“Ābrazȳrys, finally.” he moaned, pulling back only a fraction, just enough to look at you for a moment before connecting your lips again.

“V-Valzȳrys…” you tried speaking as he pulled you further into the room and pressed you even more against himself, closing the door behind you, but his kiss was relentless, his lips moving to your jaw and down your neck, titling your head to give him better access to your skin. 

It was then that you noticed the state of him: his hair down, a few messy strands out of place, the first few buttons of his doublet undone and something hard was poking your navel. Pulling back a bit, as much as his grip on you would allow, you noticed that his breeches were unlaced and pulled down slightly, his cock out, hard and glistening, which told you he had been tugging at it for at least a while now.

He pulled you back in, mouth latching against your shoulder as he sucked and nibbled on the skin.

“Aem…” it was when you felt his hands moving to your back, clawing at the laces of your dress, that you pulled back and held his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to keep his gaze on you “Aemond, what has gotten into you?”

He sighed then, leaning into your palms, before coming closer and leaning his forehead against yours.

“I am putting a child into your womb tonight, my love.” his warm fanning against your lips, his words making your heart skip a beat “I do not care how long it takes, ot how many times I have to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, my seed is taking root inside you tonight.”

It was your turn to kiss him desperately then, something primal fueling your actions. Something about the way he spoke, about what he spoke of, lit a fire in your stomach that pulsed in your core. He met you in the middle with equal fervor, his tongue tangling with yours as he resumed his task.

He turned you around then, pushing you towards the foot of the bed. His hands were a contrast with the way the rest of his body was moving, gently moving your hair out of the way so he could nibble on the skin of your exposed neck harshly. His other hand softly untangled the laces of your dress, all the while he grinded his exposed cock against your clothed ass.

“What brought this on, if I may ask?” you asked breathlessly, yet still curious about his behavior.

“Seeing you, with them,” he moaned and grinded into you more forcefully at the thought, and you could feel his cock twitch violently against your behind “I want that for us, for you.”

You softened then, a warm and fuzzy feeling taking over your heart. You wanted that too, as you had once told him, you wanted a family of your own, you wanted to share this with him. And it seemed he wanted it just the same. 

You couldn’t dwell on it for too long though, because soon enough your dress was loose enough for him to push it off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your feet, quickly followed by your underclothes. You went to turn around but a pair of large hands on your waist stopped your movements. 

“Stay.” he whispered against your ear, and you could do nothing but nod.

The sound of heavy fabric rustling behind you let you know that his own clothes were being discarded, which was confirmed when you felt the entire plane of his naked chest pressed against your back, his heavy cock nestled on your ass as he wrapped both arms around your middle.

“Ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria.” he spoke against the shell of your ear before nipping at your earlobe “Muña hen ñuha riñar.”

It made your heart clench and heat climb up your spine, a gush of something warm spreading between your thighs. 

His hands moved then, softly caressing your skin as they went before settling, one on your lower back and the other right between your shoulder blades. A light of pressure of his palms caused your knees to bend, hitting the soft mattress, your upper body bending at the waist as you placed your hands on the bed to help support your weight. He knelt behind you, gently rearranging you so you scooted further on up on the bed.

For a moment nothing happened and time seemed to pause around you. Nothing else mattered, nothing else existed besides the two of you in this very moment. 

Then you felt it, his hands holding your thighs as his hot breath tingled against your glistening folds before his tongue made contact with your cunt, licking a broad stripe against your folds. A whimper escaped your lips as his tongue circled your clit, moving back up and circling your entrance in the same manner, dipping only the very tip inside. His movements were slow yet sharp, precise, like he knew your body inside and out.

You whined, him mouthing at the entirety of your cunt, pulling your folds between his lips, before his lips latched onto your clit, sucking gently. Your arms started trembling, forcing you down to your stomach with your forearms flat on the mattress, his grip keeping your ass up. He plunged not one but two fingers inside you, eliciting a sharp cry from you as you tried to move away from him, though again his grip on your thighs wouldn’t let you. He waited a moment for you to adjust, one of his thumbs gently caressing your skin as he whispered sweet nothings in high valyrian, before slowly, very gently starting to move his fingers out of your cunt before pushing in again.

In a few moments he was clawing against your warm walls as if his life depended on it, probing, searching for that spot that made your mind spin and knocked the breath out of your chest. Hot molten pleasure was pooling in your stomach, spreading through your limbs and up your spine when the pads of his fingers brushed against it, sending a twinge of pleasure travelling all through your body. The mounting pressure in your navel kept growing and growing with each pass of his digits, making sweat drip from your brow and heat settle in your cheeks. 

A harsh tug of his lips, sucking harshly on your clit, was what sent you over the edge, the coil snapping and sending waves upon waves of pleasure through you, stealing your breath from your lungs. He barely gave you any time to think, though, the familiar sound of him sucking his fingers clean followed by his cock poking at your entrance. Then you felt two hands settling in each one of your shoulders, pulling you back towards him and onto his cock in one swift thrust, your previous release offering no resistance.

You moaned loudly, your ears ringing as he started pounding into you, his hands moving to your hips. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as his hips met your ass repeatedly, your own loud whines and his groans and grunts the only other sounds you could make out.

The pleasure was quickly rebuilding, not having fully receded in the first place, but after a few moments he slowed down to a stop, a whine of disappointment ripping from your throat.

“No,” he panted, his own breath stilled “this will not do.”

Your disappointment was short lived however, as he quickly flipped your around, manhandling you on your back and pushing your knees to your chest. He hurriedly thrust inside your cunt again, positioning himself so your legs slotted perfectly over his shoulders and his chest was flush against your own, pushing down on you, before resuming his erratic pace.

It was dizzying, your head was spinning and you could barely catch the words he was speaking against your skin, both his hands cradling the sides of your face as his cock slipped in and out and in and out of you over and over.

“Ñuha dāria, sīr vok,” he groaned, pressing even further into you and, in turn, pressing you even more into the matress “kesā tepagon nyke hen riñar, kessa ao daor?” 

You could only nod, feeling that familiar pressure climbing and coiling ready to burst at any moment. At the same time, an immeasurable wave of love exploded from your heart at the thought, making you clench tightly around him, pulling a hiss from him.

“Tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār.” his own voice was trembling, one of his hands leaving your face to circle your clit in short sharp circles “G-Give it to me and in turn I will give you however many babes you might want.”

You cried out, the coil of pressure snapping once more and making molten heat, scorching like dragon fire, filling your mind, waves of pleasure radiating from your core to every part of your body, taking over all your senses and enveloping your very being. He was quick to follow, thrusting sloppily into your cunt as his cock twitched violently, shooting ropes of his warm seed, painting your damp walls, his body collapsing over your own.

As you came to your senses you could feel him mouthing gently, almost lazily at the skin around your breast. When he noticed you staring at him he raised his head, his lips meeting your own in a sweet, soft peck.

“Avy jorrāelan, zaldrītsos.” he smiled tiredly, his whole face lighting up beautifully.

“Avy jorrāelan tolī, ñuha zaldrīzes.” you answered in kind.

After a few moments regaining your breath you pushed at his shoulder gently, so he could get off of you, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Where are you going, ābrazȳrys?” he jested, a mocking smirk taking over his features as he thrust his now softening cock shallowly into your cunt “I told you I would get you with child by the end of the night, and I intend on making good on my word.”

By the looks of it, you’d both end up missing supper that evening, as you were in for a long night

High Valyrian translations: - ābrazȳrys - wife - valzȳrys - husband - ñuha ābrazȳrys, ñuha dāria - my wife, my queen - muña hen ñuha riñar - mother of my children - ñuha dāria, sīr vok - my queen, so perfect - kesā tepagon nyke iā lot hen riñar, kessa ao daor? - you will give me a lot of children, will you not? - tepagon ziry naejot nyke, pār - give it to me, then

Tag List:

@callsignwidow

@sleephereicome

@bitchassgoose

@voguiing

@dibutw

@fruityvampslayer

@garden-in-the-rain

@queen-of-elves

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: drinking/getting drunk, high society expectations, cranky steve and robin, period typical homophobia tags: no upside down au, rich kid steve au, steddie and Buckingham double date, chirstmas parties, Eddie learns whats in eggnog word count: 2412

-

written for the steddiemas prompt "eggnog" but it's a good week late, another victim of the plague I caught lol

“You better go collect your man,” Robin whispered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Steve hissed, “Stop calling him that.”

His eyes darted around the room, both to make sure he wasn’t heard. Robin was right, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend (who was definitely not his date tonight) in a while. Probably not a good sign.

“Well he is,” she scoffed.

“You are supposed to be my date, that’s the cover story. For you and for me. Doesn’t really work if you go around talking about how I really brought Eddie.”

It shut Robin up for a second, just long enough for Steve to enjoy the victory, before she said, “Tell your parents to stop being so uptight.”

Except the counter to that was the same as it always was. “And yours are so cool about it.”

Probably not the round and round Robin wanted when she walked up here on some high horse. One she had no business climbing on. She knew Steve was always a little extra stressed at these stupid dinner parties and that tonight was going to be worse. Instead of being supportive, it was almost like she was trying to sabotage things.

They could talk about it later. Right now, Steve apparently had to go find Eddie because there was no way Robin was saying that for fun. He was doing something. Probably making a run for it…which was smart. Steve could, at least, show him the best escape routes and let him know he didn’t take it personally.

Especially because it was a lot harder for Steve to make that run for it anymore. Ever since they’d brought him in from the kiddie room (which was actually the garage), his moves were tracked. Sure he wasn’t sharing one sad, toppingless pizza with a bunch of kids he didn’t know anymore but at what cost? At least the garage had video games…and no one talking about investments or how he should have gone to college.

Steve went off to find out what was going on with Eddie. Robin, in her endless helpfulness, decided to stay put and give no direction. It left Steve to go from room to room, asking everyone he could. No one had seen him. Something that was maybe a good thing? This meant he wasn’t standing on expensive furniture telling some amazing and elaborate story that would be wasted on these stuffy assholes.

Things got so desperate, Steve asked his mom if she’d seen Eddie. She always knew everything that was happening at these parties. Yet she hadn’t seen him. It seemed unlikely and a quick segue into tired reminders to not cause a scene. This one came with the bonus lecture of not ignoring his date because “no respectable woman is sidelined for a friend, dear.”

And nothing proved more that Steve’s mom didn’t see everything. Not only would he and Robin stick by each other through anything, she wasn’t even his actual date. Though, Steve did have to admit the only people in the world who believed they weren’t dating were them. Probably Chrissy and Eddie but sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure.

Moving on from his mom before he got roped into some mind-numbingly boring discussion, Steve ran into Chrissy. She was Eddie’s date who was really Robin’s date and had been folded into the group shenanigans. Which meant Steve was so ready to drag her into this quest. If he couldn’t have Robin, he could at least have help.

“We’ve lost your date,” Steve sighed, trying not to freak out yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked, instantly jumping to freaking out.

Steve linked their arms together and continued walking on, trying to think of where else he’d hide out. “Robin came up to me and told me to go collect my man. I thought he was doing something embarrassing but, like, I can’t find him. Do you think he’d leave?”

“No,” she cooed. “He’s been so worried about this night, there’s no way he’d leave you. He wouldn’t.”

Something that would have been so much more flattering if Steve had any fucking clue where the guy was.

“The garage!” Steve said, realizing the one place he hadn’t looked.

Chrissy didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace and they sped off toward the kiddie party. Of course. it was in the detached garage. Heaven forbid the kids breathed in the others, dad’s cars would lower in value at the mere thought.

So they barged through the door and onto the familiar path, still arm and arm, laser-focused on the only place it made sense for Eddie to be.

Before the door closed behind them, the soft exclamation of “Steve” was sung out and Chrissy and Steve both leaped into the grass, barely holding back screams as the voice startled them.

Steve easily moved Chrissy behind him as they both looked for the source of the voice, rather than some creepy old guy or party crasher, it was the exact person they were looking for. Both of them let out a matching, but quiet, exclamation for finding Eddie.

He was sat on a stone bench, leaning against the house, and smoking. Not only was he well hidden by shrubbery but Steve had expected to find him indoors. He needed that last glimmer of hope that Eddie was still at the party. And he hadn’t exactly left so that was…something?

“Hey man,” Eddie drawled out.

Steve’s eyes narrowed but he turned to make sure Chrissy was stable and had recovered from the little fright neither of them was going to speak about.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Chrissy said.

Resigning to her point, Steve nodded and went for the “what she said” shrug.

“I’ve been ri-ight here, baby.”

“He’s drunk,” Chrissy and Steve whispered to each other.

“Oh no!” Eddie cried out, dropping his head back. “Who told you?”

“I think you did, champ,” Chrissy laughed.

This probably wasn’t great. Steve went into panic mode immediately, ideas on what to do next sped through his mind followed by the consequences of each. A drunk Eddie was less likely to keep up the ruse, one he and Robin had organized so carefully.

It wasn’t time to come out, yet. Steve knew that time was rapidly approaching. Each and every day he had to lie about who he was with or what he was doing was another stab in the chest but at The Harrington Christmas Soiree? That was not the time. If they could just get into the new year, Steve would come clean, and probably get disowned, but at least it wouldn’t go down for “trying to steal the spotlight”.

Chrissy rubbed her hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He had to be thinking awfully loudly right now. Where was Robin when he really needed her?

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie pouted.

Steve watched Eddie pat around the bench and his own clothes, looking for his lighter. It was such a distinct move but it brought in this creeping feeling of normalcy with it. They’d done this before. Both drunk and sober.

As he had many times before, Steve reached into his pocket and got his lighter. Once he was close enough, he shielded the flame so Eddie could re-light his cigarette. Which he did with ease. The smoke billowed from Eddie and cleared both of their heads.

“How’s that work, though?” Steve asked. He then turned to Chrissy and leaned in a bit. “Could you go find Robin, remind her not to gloat, and maybe get a glass of water? In that order of importance.”

“She’s not going to gloat,” Chrissy said but it’s already an apology. They both know the truth. It’s part of Robin’s charm but it’s always extra annoying in moments like these.

“That’s the spirit, let's hope for Christmas miracles.”

They share a giggle that they’ve earned by being as close to Robin as they are and Chrissy disappeared back inside. Steve sat down next to Eddie and moved his hand so Steve could take a quick drag off the cigarette. He’s going to need it…or some of whatever Eddie had.

“Alright, what’s the story then?”

“Have you ever had eggnog,” Eddie asked. A question that feels wildly off topic but, again, he’s a little drunk so a coherent sentence is a great start.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.”

“No-ooooooooo. No. Look, listen, I mean. It’s not. You’re wrong. Wayne makes it all the time,” Eddie leaned in closer, a hand cupped over his mouth as he whispered. “Every year.”

“Yeah, my parents do too. It’s nasty. The one in the punch bowl is the one you want.”

“Au contraire, that one has alcohol in it and I’m supposed to behave,” Eddie has his finger raised, wagging in the air like a cartoon teaching valuable life lessons.

“And so’s the eggnog.”

“Mmmmmm, no. I think I’d know that.”

“I…actually, yeah. I’d have thought you knew that too. Wait, so how– you know you’re drunk now, right?”

“Yeah but, ya know, we’re not telling Steve. He’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a whole week.”

“Sure,” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. This was ridiculous and he kind of wished Eddie was just giving some rambunctious nerd speech. “But how’d you get drunk then?”

“Sabotage, obviously. The Harrington’s don’t want the heir to their throne with a commoner like me.”

“So they spiked your drink?”

“Totally.”

“Somehow complimentary you think they’d waste liquor on that,” Steve shrugged and he snatched Eddie’s pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.

“So it was Robin!”

“More believable actually. No, it was the eggnog.”

“There’s not alcohol in eggnog, Wayne wouldn’t give me it if there was.”

“Because you have to put it in, which my parents do.”

In a different situation, this would be funny. Steve might even find a way to laugh about it later but the guilt simmering in his chest for not teaching Eddie about which drinks had liquor is too strong to enjoy the laughable way his boyfriend accidentally got drunk.

All the solutions Steve had run through didn’t fit the situation anymore. They were likely both going to have to leave. Or worse, Eddie and Chrissy were and that’d ruin so many people’s nights.

Before he could think of a way to save everyone’s good time, Chrissy returned. Robin right behind her. Steve quickly stamped out the cigarette like Robin wouldn’t see and stood to talk to them.

He filled them in on the whole eggnog situation. It earned the appropriate level of laughter but once it subsided, they started trying to actually solve the problem. Eddie sat content on the bench, watching them adoringly as they worked out his fate. Steve had to give it to him, he was a very happy drunk.

“Hey, psst, hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Eddie said as they were finalizing some plans to get him upstairs to Steve’s room and full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, trying to shut him up.

Steve walked over, leaning into his space so he wasn’t towering over him. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I just need you to know-”

“Oh boy.”

“I came in with a smoking hot blonde but she’s not really my date.”

With all the patience in his body, Steve let out a sigh that was every bitchy comeback he had rolled into one sound, and said “Yup.”

“You’re way better.”

“You didn’t even commit to that. At least hit on me. Ugh. Can you just be cool for like two more minutes?”

“Cool? Yeah? Yeah! I can be cool for so many minutes. Two, ten, six, eighty. I’m good at it.”

“You’re not, so we better do something quick.”

“We should fool around is what we should do. This place has to have so many rooms. I didn’t even peek in half of them.”

Steve turned around and looked at the girls, “I think we gotta leave.”

“You can’t leave your own family Christmas party,” Robin said.

“I’ve done it so many times. Chrissy and Eddie have to go because Eddie’s sick. You and me can work something else out.”

Eddie stood up and leaned on Steve. “You should have some of that eggnog. I guess they make it with alcohol here.”

“Will you stop acting like we don’t know each other!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

Robin sucked her teeth, “Might be for the best, he won’t blow anyone’s cover that way.”

“But he’s being so obnoxious about it,” Steve groaned.

“Good thing he’s the only one being obnoxious,” Robin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

A pose Steve mirrored, “What do you suggest then?”

“Let him sleep it off. He’s right, there’s plenty of rooms here and all we have to do is tell the truth for once. He didn’t know there was alcohol in the eggnog.”

“I didn’t know. I gotta tell Wayne though, it’s way better this way.”

“Who doesn’t know,” Steve groaned. Not frustrated at Eddie for not knowing, not really, but stressed out by the situation and that had to go somewhere.

“What if,” Chrissy said with her shoulders pulled up to her ears. The meek injection spoke to her nervousness but she got everyone’s attention. “We joined Eddie?”

Eddie, who was draped on Steve’s back with an arm over his shoulder and idly rubbing Steve’s chest, hummed in approval. The comfort of Eddie’s weight had Steve forgetting everything they were supposed to be hiding as he melted into the comfort and contact.

Still, he and Robin voiced matching sounds of confusion.

“It’s not embarrassing if the ‘kids’ got drunk. It’s our first time here, they almost expect us to overdo it so…let’s overdo it. Eddie won’t be the one who didn’t know this or that, we’ll all just be young adults doing what’s expected of us.”

Steve pondered the plan. “We couldn’t go wild.”

“It’s not a frat house,” Robin said for Chrissy.

Eddie gave a soft “Yeah” that Steve knew was meant to mock Robin but came out like agreement.

“It could work.”

“It could be fun!” Chrissy cooed, jumping up and down a few times. Maybe they all needed to take the edge off here.

The hand that was on Steve’s chest now held his cheek as Eddie kissed the other one.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go have some fun,” Steve groaned, doing his best to act like he hated this.

“Finally!”

[pocket-gems]

So something that always bothered me...would geos, star gems, rutiled gem , ECT be their own gem? In fact how would anetrine work? What about gem ores since it's just unpolished gems, I feel like any gem related stuff that isn't a normal gem wouldn't work in my bases on the lord

(This is just how I think the show would make it + real life facts)

Star Gems

If a gem has inclusions, it comes from another gem. If you separate a Star Ruby you get a Ruby and microscopic inclusions of Diaspore (and mind you, this does not apply at all 100% of the cases with other Star gems or even Rubies).

I don't really think "Star Gem" is a real thing, it just happens to be named like that because it looks like one. Honorable mention to Double Star too!

Cat's Eye

Pretty much the same but with Cat's Eye. Called like that because it looks like a cat's eye.

Phoenix's Eye, Tiger's Eye and Dragon's Breath are not a type of it but follow a similar logic, that's why I'm grouping them here.

Rutilated/Rutiled Gems

If a gem has rutile inclusions, it creates a natural fusion. If you separate a Rutilated/Rutiled and the Gem you just get a Rutile. That's literally just a Rutile.

Trapiche Gems

Same thing as the stars. They're named after the Trapiche Wheel and its spokes.

Geodes

Geodes are a nafural fusion of the same kind of gem (and not the same type of gem). That's literally a naturally formed cluster.

Ores

Ore is a natural rock/sediment that contains valuable minerals, typically containing minerals. If Bismuth, a metal and Pebbles of all things can exist, that means other metals and ores can exist.

On the show there are examples of unpolished and polished gems being bubbled. Polished is when a gem has a cut/cabochon.

Natural fusions

An Ametrine is a natural fusion of an Amethyst and a Citrine. Natural fusions are defective. Natural fusions are defective

Inclusions

Inclusions are in pretty much every single gem, it's a form of natural fusion. Cat's Eye, Trapiche, Star and Rutilated are the obvious ones. A gem that also has inclusions would be a Ruby Zoisite and a Chevron Amethyst. If a gem has any sort of pattern it's because it has inclusions.

Some gems are formed because they are a natural fusion but that doesn't mean they look like one. Lapis Lazuli is mostly composed of Lazulite and Calcite (and Pyrite sometimes) but because they have other components going on, they are it's own thing. And those sort of Pyrite inclusions just means freckles.

Inclusions always come from a different gem, that's how they work. If a gem has inclusions they result on some kind of pattern, like with Snowflake Obsidian. It doesn't have to be just freckles.

Depending on the type of inclusions, it can result in a natural fusion or just a gem with inclusions: A Ruby Zoisite can be just a Ruby with green spots or a natural fusion of a Ruby and a Zoisite if the inclusions had a higher level than usual.

There is no such thing as an individual Star Gem, Trapiche, or Cat's Eye, because it's all inclusions. If a Star Ruby has Diaspore, then the Diaspore (or whatever inclusion) IS the """Star Gem""", just like a Rutilated Gem is just a Rutile.

Hoping that cleared things out.

[my-dear-anonym]

oooooh I love this okay okay ummmmmm

How about an excerpt from a future chapter of my current fic, Warping the Veil? Spoiler warning for those of you that follow the work! This is an excerpt where Lucanis and Zevran meet for the first time. I'm going to chop it down so it isn't too lengthy here.

There are a few different feelings that Lucanis understands. There are feelings that he doesn’t. Then there are the ones that he understands only on a fundamental level. Like the big black hole through his chest.

Lucanis is no stranger to loss. As a Crow, one has a close relationship with betrayal and death in all its dealings. To lose one’s parents. To lose Caterina. To stare into the eyes of Illario and not know who is looking back. But in each instance, Lucanis was always left with something. When it was his parents, he had Illario. When it was Illario, he had Rook.

Opposingly, a feeling Lucanis does understand is the slow creeping sensation of being stalked. Many people believe he is a paranoid man; but is it paranoia if he’s right?

‘Smells like. Antivan Leather. And. Blood.’

If Skyhold were as busy as it was a few days ago, it would be easy to assume there was someone hiding amongst the many visitors. But with the residents dwindled and Halamshiral in full swing…the fact that there are no suspicious individuals to spot makes Lucanis’ nerves slowly fray for each passing hour the prickling feeling remains. His ears twitch with every rustle of fabric or whispered conversation in the halls.

The shine of meticulously polished metal swipes right by Lucanis’ face, his honed instincts buying him just enough time to jerk out of the way. His attacker does not let that deter him, his attack effortlessly flowing into a new strike. Lucanis is forced back another step, the natural bend of his spine stops, impeded by the abnormally long dagger he has hidden along his spine.

This time, as his assassin slashes the twin blades towards his chest, metal meets metal and the clash rings through the hall. A scrape as the blades drag and push against each other. Then silence, the two assassins springing apart to decipher the next best move.

Lucanis shifts his grip on his blade, feeling Spite bolstering his reflexes and his thirst for blood as he settles into a combat ready stance.

His other attacker seems to do the opposite, idly twirling a blade in his palm and cocking his head infuriatingly. The man just screams Crow. The leathers are Antivan style, dyed in shades of blacks that fit slimly to the body, designed to offer high protection and extreme flexibility. But rather than the typical blues and purples crows tend to favor, this man has accents of gold and silver, with what Lucanis recognizes as a Grey Warden crest on one shoulder, and a seemingly Dwarven crest on the other. A dark hood is pulled over the head with a bird shaped mask—crow, it seems—covering the upper portion of the face, with a pointed beak that dips down the chin.

Why is a Crow attacking him?

Lucanis strikes a blade through the air, sharply cutting down the two daggers the other Crow tosses.

“I haven’t betrayed the family,” Lucanis calls. It’s entirely possible that Spite took off without a word to anyone, causing a misunderstanding that Lucanis had betrayed his family.

The other Crow cocks his head, balancing the tip of his dagger against his gloved fingertip. Idly, Lucanis notices the gloves aren’t of Antivan make. They look more akin to something he’s seen the Inquisitor wear. Dalish? “I have,” the other man muses. The voice is unquestionably Antivan, but the lilt of the accent isn’t of Treviso. It’s of the common districts of Antiva City. “What is such a handsome bird doing so far from home, I wonder?” they ask. “Crows haven’t been found in this part of Thedas for some ten years or so.”

“It surprises me that there is a traitor to the Crows that is not yet dead,” Lucanis responds. “Shall I remedy that for you?”

The other assassin barks a light laugh. “If you can. Many others have tried. So far, I do not like your odds. It would be best to just surrender and allow me to make it quick for you. Unless…you would like to find somewhere more private first?” The blade falls from his finger and he catches it with an easy twist of the wrist. “Our business can always be concluded after, and I have such a soft spot for handsome people.”

If there is one thing Lucanis can recognize, it’s a talent for killing. Whoever this man is, he has it. A talent that has been sharpened and honed over the course of a few decades. Just from being able to get the drop on Lucanis alone, makes him comparable to the abilities of another Talon. So, after an awkward throat clear after that…uncomfortable suggestion. Spite. Lucanis takes a step, priming, then launches himself forward. Wings spring from his back in with a blur of shadow and a purple twist of what must be the veil, propelling him forward with an unnatural speed.

Metal screeches against metal as the other assassin leaps back in surprise, meeting Lucanis’ blades with his own. Lucanis doesn’t allow the chance for a recovery, striking again and again in a flurry. The moment his toes finally touch the ground again, he uses it to push upward into a new strike in a sudden direction change.

The mask flies from the other assassin’s face and clatters to the ground. There is surprise in those gold eyes. Lucanis allows a smirk to fall across his lips as the other assassin finds room to widen the distance between them. Blond tresses spill from the fabric of the hood without the mask to tie them into place.

Lucanis flicks the small bit of blood from his blade to the floor as the other Crow wipes it from his face. The gash cuts through one side of the man’s lips, nicks through the cheek, and cuts cleanly through an eyebrow. An inch closer and Lucanis would have taken an eye. Disappointing. He will be more determined with his next attack.

The other assassin spits blood before giving Lucanis a wide grin full of red teeth stained by his bleeding lips. “I had hoped—you being so young still—that your skills would be lacking a refined edge. I should have known the Dellamortes have the skill to back up their claim to First Talon. And the wings are a nice touch. It cannot be said that the Crows lack style.”

Who is this man? Lucanis’ eyes flick over the revealed appearance—an elf with tanned skin, platinum blond hair, and a tattoo that follows the curves of his high cheekbones—trying to remember all those that have betrayed the Crows and managed to slip away. It’s a short list. Only the truly talented or lucky ever manage to do it.

“Zevran Arianai, I presume,” Lucanis says. A legend, these days.

The assassin gives a light flourish of a bow. “At your service.”

Zevran, previously of House Arianai. The reason the Crows don’t take contracts in Ferelden anymore. A bit of a rising star among the Crows ten years ago. Lucanis had only been a child of maybe ten years at the time.It was later when the assassin resurfaced again, with a new mission of killing off other Crows. And was worryingly good at it. The invasion of the Antaam seemed to be the only thing that gave Zevran pause in his crusade. He’s considered the highest of embarrassments to House Arianai, but deep down, many crows are terrified of this one particular Traitor Crow. House Arianai might be embarrassed to have raised such a traitor, but there’s also a point of pride in the knowledge that he turned out so deadly. There is no other Crow in the entirety of their history that can claim the same death count towards their own kind that Zevran “Black Shadow” Arianai currently holds. And it seems that Lucanis is the next on his list.

Zevran gestures casually toward Lucanis with a blade. “I see you went for the dark and broody route,” he notes. “It’s a classic, certainly—I much prefer a bit of wordplay in my foreplay—but you have a terrible problem. Much too awkward. Makes it difficult to charm your way into your victim’s beds, no? Confidence—” Zevran tilts his head a breadth to the right. Just enough for Lucanis’ flying dagger to miss his face, but pull down his hood in its flight path. “—is very important. Though, if you keep undressing me like this, I will rethink my opinion.”

How is one even supposed to respond to such remarks?

“Lucanis! Belongs! To Rook!” Spite snarls.

Zevran blinks. “Mierda. You’re an abomination. I knew an abomination once. A fine bird. And a marvelous bosom! Ah, those were the days. Nothing quite like serving a fine and worthy cause for absolutely nothing other than—ah who am I kidding. It was terrible. Though, there was a lot of murder. That was fun. There was also the one boy that trapped us in the fade. There were many mice involved. I do not recommend it.”

“I’m going to remove his tongue.”

“Was that you or the demon?” Zevran asks. “It was unclear.”

“You’re not going to live long enough to learn the difference.” Lucanis shifts his feet, feeling the familiar hum of Spite’s energy building in his muscles and blade. A necrotic shine emits from the blade, chasing away the soft rays of sunlight and replacing them with a haunting cast. If Lucanis had met Zevran in his twenties, Zevran might have won. But Lucanis has lived an extra decade beyond the body he has now. They are the Demon of Vyrantium.

There’s a twitch in Zevran’s face, his body language shifting to prepare for another attack.

The vicious point of Lucanis’ blade rips through the air as he propels forward with speed that no man should be able to meet. Zevran dips just slightly, twisting away from the blade. Pain erupts in Lucanis’ forearm and there’s a clatter as his weapon spins from his hand and skitters across the floor. A gritting of teeth. A shift of balance. His second blade blocks Zevran’s following strike. Again again again, the ring of blades striking echo off the stone walls of the empty hall as Zevran forces distance between Lucanis and his dropped sword and not giving him room to draw a spare hidden on his person.

Then something grabs Lucanis by the wrist and flings him back against the wall with a resounding smack. A snarl pulls from his throat, but by the time his vision clears from the unexpected impact, he sees Zevran in the exact same state on the wall across from him.

“Owww,” Zevran groans, rubbing the back of his head. “You are always so rough. Not that I mind, but I prefer such rough play for the sheets.”

Lucanis staggers to his feet, a whispering scrape as he picks up his remaining weapon from the ground. “Sit back down,” the unexpected third party tells him. The urge to walk over and slit Zevran’s throat pumps hotly through his veins. He’d follow it with a dagger in this newcomer’s throat just for spite.

He forces a breath, eyeing the man that stepped between two Crow Assassins and flung them easily into the walls. A tall man, with broad shoulders made to look broader by the spike pauldron. His skin is light, hair so darkly brown that it looks black, mirthful eyes the color of the sky, and a painted red strip suspiciously reminiscent of blood dragged over the bridge of his nose. “And who are you?” Lucanis asks.

The newcomer offers a hand to Zevran, who takes it, a large grin across his face, and pulls to his feet. “Hawke!” Zevran greets.

Helllloooooo! I know people are maybe tired/busy/unavailable today, so no pressure or anything, but I thought we could all share WIPs today?

Writing, art, whatever you want! (I’m gonna tag DA bc most people are here for that, but feel free to share no matter what you’re working on!)

I’ll post mine in a bit! Rb + add !

No pressure of course— have a great day! ☀️

[theokusgallery]

Gay people idk