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send-me-your-hcs · 4 years ago

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Sweeter Than Sugar

a collab fic with @ceratonia-siliqua

Summary: Tony is a man of refinement. Only the best, the highest quality specimens get added to his collection. Peter, a beautiful and very rare male omega, quickly becomes his favorite of all his pets. The perfect omega deserves an equally-perfect alpha. (Or: An a/b/o au where pet owner!Tony forcibly mates Peter and Bucky together for his own enjoyment.)

Warnings: Underage, noncon, a/b/o au, forced mating, dark!Tony, confinement, forced pet play dynamics, forced mating/in heat cycles, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Read on ao3.

Peter’s kennel is easily the nicest.

Tony takes good care of all his pets, mind you. Unhappy specimens make poor test subjects.

But the ones that catch his eye, his favorites, they get special treatment.

Peter is easily one of them. His precious pet. His little princess. Peter’s the newest addition to his collection, but oh, Tony loves him already. Peter isn’t kept in the basement with the others. Peter’s room is in the middle of Tony’s spacious penthouse suite.

It faces the living room and the floor-to-ceiling windows beyond it. The back wall of the living room has been replaced with a pane of glass, revealing the room behind it, Peter’s pretty little cell. Tony pulled out all the stops for his youngest, littlest, sweetest omega. The only boy in Tony’s whole collection. Male omegas are rare; ones as delectable as Peter Parker are even more so, and deserve the best treatment possible.

Tony stands on the other side of the glass, smiling as he surveys the room. In the center, Peter’s luxurious pet bed sits like a centerpiece. It’s only about a foot off the ground, oval-shaped, like most pet beds are, but large enough for ten pets Peter’s size to fit comfortably. The round mattress is set in a hardwood frame that matches its size and shape, the lip of the frame rising an inch or so higher than the edge of the mattress, enclosing it, keeping it nice and secure where it belongs.

Hanging from the ceiling above the bed is a circular canopy, draping beautiful, sheer-white curtains over almost the entire bed. Twinkling fairy lights are strung up within the white canopy, making it glow and glitter like the pretty little princess bed it is.

There are two doors to Peter’s kennel. The first is on the right-side wall, leading to the rest of Tony’s penthouse. Tony keeps this door locked always, though Peter can’t reach it anyway. The second door is in the back corner, leading to the boy’s small ensuite bathroom. Peter’s chain gives him more than enough room to reach the toilet and bathtub - in fact, he can reach everything in the room, except the exit door.

Peter’s bed faces the glass wall, faces the living room and the windows. Tony stands on the other side of the panes and watches the little thing, timidly curled up in his mountain of baby blankets and pillows. Beside Peter’s bed is his toy chest, a decorative white box full of books, games, toys he thought the boy might like. Peter’s only opened it once since he was brought here and didn’t touch a thing inside.

On the other side of his bed is his little table, a hand-carved coffee table Tony repurposed for his pet to eat at. The table only comes up to Peter’s knees, though Tony made sure to place a plush pink cushion on the floor in front of it for his baby to sit on. Peter’s pink, sparkly metal dishes are magnetically stuck to the top of the table, the pull strong enough to ensure Peter can’t cheat and lift the bowls to eat from. His pet has to kneel and eat from his dishes like the precious little puppy he is.

The walls are somewhat decorated; Peter’s name is spelled out in pink wooden blocks hanging on the otherwise grey back wall. More fairy lights frame both doorways, making the room feel warmly-lit and feminine. A pastel rug is spread out on the marble floor in front of Peter’s toy chest, matching the white and pink color scheme of the rest of the room. It’s a small, simple kennel, but easily the nicest one Tony’s designed.

Peter is a shy little thing. He tried to hide in the bathroom at first, but Tony simply turned the AC up in the small room to freeze Peter out. Now, the boy spends hours sitting in his pretty pet bed, clawing at his collar, a charming metal band around his neck with a pastel-pink ruffled bow and a little bell in the front. At the back, Peter’s chain trails from his collar to the left wall, furthest from the exit door, where it’s fused to the cement beneath two layers of gunmetal grey paint. Alpha-tested and unbreakable. Peter yanks at it until his neck is pink and swollen and Tony’s mouth is watering.

He chooses Peter’s mate very carefully. Any official, by-the-books mating service worth its salt would be manically concerned about pairing Peter up. In general, omegas are small, petite little things, averaging around 5’2 in height and hardly passing 100lbs. Tall omegas stand at a whopping 5’5 or 5’6, whereas short omegas, like his darling little Peter, sit pretty at 4’11 and need three full meals a day to weigh 95lbs.

An authorized matchmaker would never consider an alpha taller than 6’2 for an omega as tiny as Peter. Alphas tend to be the polar opposite to omegas in stature; with increased muscle mass and superior height, almost all alphas tower over omegas and betas alike. It’s not unusual to find hulking, intimidating alphas nearing 7’5, weighing in at 300lbs of pure deadly muscle. Since alphas tend to have knots proportionately sized to their height and weight, an alpha anywhere near that size would almost certainly be a death sentence for Peter.

Tony doesn’t choose one quite that big.

He does pick an impressive specimen though. He considered Steve, blond and gorgeous, 6’11 with a cock long and thick like a bat. Steve is sweet enough to deserve his prized Peter, but he lacks a certain...unique quality, that Tony’s after. A certain...animalistic trait.

He considered Thor, too, who is closer to his ideal mate: standing at an impressive 7’1 and 315lbs of biceps and abs, Thor is both kind and vicious, a warrior and a lover all at the same time. Sadly, though, he is truly too big; his massive cock, while impressive, swells up to the size of a football when he knots, and poor itty bitty Peter simply would not survive such a breeding.

But then he considers Bucky.

Bucky is beautiful. A truly breathtaking animal. He’s merely 6’9, the lower end of average height for an alpha, but he’s thick in all the right places. He has the muscle, the strength. He exudes the animalistic qualities Tony’s after. Bucky, simply put, is a beast. Cold and hard and difficult to break. He doesn’t have the gentle disposition, the sweet nature Tony wants Peter to be showered with, but his massive pair of balls hangs heavy and foreboding between his legs, and the sight of them always makes Tony’s mouth water. Oh, how he’s waited so long to watch Bucky empty that massive set of balls inside a terrified, trembling omega.

Peter deserves the sweet, compassionate embrace of a caring alpha afterwards, however, and Bucky has shown zero sign of being able to provide such a service.

Oh well. Tony will just have to comfort his little pet himself.

Peter scrambles away from him when Tony enters his cell. The little thing is skittish like a stray cat and it’s ceaselessly adorable. Using the chain fastened to the wall, Tony reins Peter in like a cowboy lassoing a bull, pulling Peter from his nest until he surrenders and crawls towards Tony on his own to spare his aching throat.

Tony smiles and showers him in pets as a reward. He easily presses the whimpering, thrashing boy to the floor, face down, and slips his special pill inside Peter’s naked backside. Peter whines and tries to dig it out, but as a beta, Tony is larger and his fingers are much longer than Peter’s; he buries the heat inducer far inside Peter’s pretty pink hole, soon to be wet and gaping like a female omega’s pussy, and withdraws his fingers.

While he waits for the drug to take effect, Tony pulls a struggling Peter into his lap and gently works him open. Bucky is a brute and will doubtfully take the time to spread his poor pet open at all, let alone prep him, before he succumbs to the tempting aroma of Peter’s heat. His long, thick, intimidating alpha cock will definitely hurt Peter’s untouched little pussy, especially when he pops that fat baseball of a knot inside his little body and empties those massive balls inside Peter’s heat-slick hole like it’s his own personal come-sock.

Tony’s a good pet owner, so he takes his time and slowly stretches Peter’s tight, twitching rim until the drug has fully kicked in and Peter is trying to ride his fist like a desperate slut. “Don’t worry, little one,” Tony soothes him, withdrawing his hand from Peter’s slick-soaked ass, “Your alpha will be here soon to make it all better.”

He leaves Peter curled up, sobbing in his bed, desperately trying to fuck himself on his own fingers to make the aching stop. Tony wastes no time heading to the sub-basement, where he stops at Bucky’s similar, but much less homey cell. Its shape is identical to Peter’s - three grey cement walls, one made of glass to allow Tony to see inside, two doors, a bed, a table, a box full of entertainment. Bucky’s kennel is colorless and lacks the loving, personal touches Peter’s has, but he doubts Bucky minds. If he does, the alpha’s never complained.

Not about the decor, at least.

Tony smiles. Bucky’s been here long enough to know not to fight the blindfold or the cuffs, even though he’s clearly confused. He scents the honey-sweet aroma of Peter’s heat clinging to the fabric of Tony’s suit and almost nuzzles against Tony’s chest, which makes him laugh. Bucky is exactly a foot taller than him and broad enough to snap Tony like a twig if he isn’t careful, but he always is.

By the time they get back up to the penthouse, Bucky is increasingly restless. Tony grins as the alpha’s massive, eager cock fills out, bobbing between his legs, red and wet and ready. His balls hang swollen and heavy, swinging with every shambling step the alpha takes, looking perfectly full of hot alpha come that Tony can’t wait to see pumped inside of his favorite pet.

Bucky groans like a dying man when Tony shoves him inside of Peter’s kennel. He hits the floor, kneeling obediently while Tony attaches his chain to the ring beside Peter’s own. He shakes with need and desperation as his cuffs are removed, Tony not fearing for his own safety as biology runs its course, as instincts take over. He removes Bucky’s blindfold and steps back.

Bucky looks up. Sees Peter, in his pretty princess bed, whining and fucking himself on his tiny fingers.

Tony ceases to exist in the alpha’s mind, along with everything else.

Smirking, Tony leaves the cell, locking the door behind him. He walks around the corner into the living room, drawing the tall curtains shut so he can watch the show unimpeded by the setting sun’s glare. He takes a seat in his favorite armchair, lifts his glass of scotch, and settles in to watch the show as Bucky approaches his pretty new mate.

It really is a sight to behold. The sheer difference in stature is enough to have shivers running up his spine as he swirls the scotch at the bottom of his glass. Bucky knows better than to walk on two legs. The beast crawls with the gait of a predator, long smooth strides that show off the muscles beneath that taunt skin. Maybe it’s dangerous keeping such strong beings around, but Tony has enough experience to twist it back on them. His alphas don’t fight back, not anymore. He treats them well, taking no pleasure in their suffering. They obey because the rewards are always sweet and his hand gentle if they show him the same.

Brought out of his thoughts by the fearful little noise of his sweet princess, he pulls himself up a little straighter. A groan escapes from his own mouth as he watches the massive, ripe globes of Bucky’s balls swing and slam across the inner thigh of their owner. Prize winners right there, not even Thor could compare to them. A selfish favorite of Tony’s.

Peter has taken off from his bed, the little thing so fearful even in his heat. Tony has to remind himself that his pet is young, likely hasn’t ever seen a mature alpha let alone one as perfectly designed as Bucky. The chase is normal, healthy even. Peter is a baby in practically every way, about to be fucked by a prized stud and taken as his mate, the anxiety is bound to be there.

He watches as they begin their little dance. Sensing a chase coming on, Bucky has lowered onto his haunches and sprung up on his toes, coiled to pounce even as it slows him down. Peter is nimble, small and light, able to maneuver around the space with more efficiency. He watches as Peter makes a few little kitten pounces, pulling a chuckle from him. Such a darling his Peter is, maybe ‘kitten’ would have been a more apt nickname.

Dancing out of his way, Peter keeps a surprisingly good lead for an omega clearly burdened by heat. But Bucky is older and, even unmated, knows instinctively how to wait out the feisty little morsel before him. It doesn’t take long. Only a few minutes pass before the heat starts to overtake the adrenaline rush.

Tony, blessed by whatever gods may be out there, has the perfect view of Peter’s delicate little rear. Watches as a fresh spurt of slick splashes out of his hole and onto the floor. A messy puddle forms between those trembling knees. Peter’s hole looks delectable, the rim drooping into a pout as it hungrily mouths at the air. The boy needs to be stuffed, badly, and Bucky has clearly picked up on that, even without the stunning visual Tony has been provided.

A high, panting whine escapes Peter. It is heart-wrenching, even on the ears of a beta. Bucky seems to agree as he lets out a soothing rumble, a move that surprises Tony.

Peter’s body loosens for a split second and that’s all the alpha needs. Two-hundred-some pounds are flying through the air and before he can blink, Peter is pinned to the floor. Tony is blessed with a perfect shot of the action, Peter’s thighs pinned between Bucky’s as his balls kiss the glass.

The crying is expected; it isn’t from pain, but fear. His princess is mounted like a bitch. A few messy humps smear precome all over the boy’s cheeks before sinking deep into his body in one smooth glide.

Tony has to pop the button on his slacks, needing the room as his cock hardens like a rock. Peter is stuffed so full of cock that even from the porn-shot angle Tony is getting, he can see a little pouch form from the rod inside him rearranging his insides.

His pussy is stretched so tight it clings to Bucky as he pulls his hips back. There are moments Tony worries the omega is going to be turned inside out, but his body is resilient and he takes it like a champ. Specks of slick and precome stain the glass as the wild thrusts throw fluid everywhere. The slapping of Bucky’s balls across Peter’s ass is loud and vulgar to listen to, the jingling of Peter’s bell nearly drowned out by the sound. The boy jumps as the heavy sack overwhelms his own and gives him a nice solid surface to grind on.

It doesn’t take long for Peter to get on board. He can hear little, “Alpha! Alpha!!”’s from him as he grinds back. With no name, his pet is forced to refer to Bucky as some faceless brute, there to ravage his pussy and claim him.

Tony knows the second Bucky attempts a bite and when the next one is successful. Peter trembles and twitches like he’s been shocked. Annoyed that he’s missing out, he gets up and leans on the glass. Bucky, threatened by the presence, moves them to where he can keep an eye on Tony. Sitting back down, he now has a perfect view of that little angel face as his insides are mixed and turned to goo.

Peter makes some of the best faces he’s seen in a long time. Slack-jawed and cock hungry but still maintaining its innocence, Peter looks like a wet dream. Perfect cock-sucking lips, coated in his own drool and eyes glazed over with heat, he can’t help himself.

“JARVIS, take a close up shot. Several angles, include the face.”

The clicking of the camera lets him know the job is being done. A lovely little photo to add to his collection.

He can sense things coming to a close as Peter is suddenly more awake, the press of Bucky’s knot surely now providing additional stimulation. Peter can’t seem to make up his mind if he wants to beg for it or beg for mercy, clearly torn between the two. He doesn’t get much of a choice as the now-rutting alpha above him jackhammers his hips down.

The exact moment his pet is claimed, taking his first knot, is something Tony will never forget.

Eyes rolling back, head bowing as the boy’s spine curls. His little cocklet shooting as Bucky’s whole form jerks and shudders, emptying gallons of come into that tight little body.

“Bucky, present.” All the alphas were trained to do it, but now more than ever is he glad he’s pounded it into Bucky’s head as well.

Bucky swivels, dragging Peter with him, still attached via the knot. He lifts his hips high, high enough that it takes Peter’s knees off the ground.

He gets a few snapshots on his phone. Trembling, shaking legs hover over the marble as the cock holds him suspended off the ground. The boy is thoroughly fucked, his pussy, having swollen, now pulses a bright red color from blood and arousal. Come is streaming down his thighs, streams running races down his delicate calves and dripping down his feet. Drops of come dribble off his toes and onto the floor. Bucky’s balls, often so swollen Tony has forgotten that isn’t their natural state, are slightly smaller. Now deprived of their load, the skin goes from taut, glossy, and flaming red, to relaxed, slightly wrinkled, and a softer tan color. It is a sight.

Tony almost doesn’t want to let Peter down, but this won’t be the last time he’s graced with such a sight. Bucky is still placing bites across the boy’s shoulders, clearly intending to claim and keep him.

And well, if Bucky likes him so much, why not let him keep the sweet little doll?

He watches Bucky carry his little omega to Peter’s spacious bed, curling up with him amongst the nest of blankets, the alpha’s knot still tying them together. He pumps his hips a few more times, compulsively emptying every drop of his seed inside his mate’s pliant body, repeating the action now and then.

Peter has gone limp, seemingly unconscious, except for the way he shyly nuzzles Bucky’s face whenever the alpha bends down to lick at his mating bite. It’s sweet. The two of them are endlessly adorable, and Tony is more than pleasantly surprised at how gentle Bucky’s being with his prized pet.

They’ve earned the right to spend the night together. Tony’s not heartless; he wouldn’t separate a newly-bonded pair the moment they’re no longer tied together. He drains the last of his scotch, turns out the lights, and heads to his own room to take care of the ache still tenting the front of his slacks.

He swipes through photos of Peter’s gorgeous face being bred by a bigger, stronger creature as he touches himself, comes at the scared-happy expression the boy made when Bucky started pumping him full, and falls asleep to the live footage of Bucky quietly gentling his scared new mate, cradling him like the treasure he is and softly fucking him all night long.

#starker #winterspider #tony x peter #tony stark x peter parker #bucky x peter #bucky barnes x peter parker #ceratonia-siliqua

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castle-dimitrescu · 4 years ago

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Does your back ever hurt from having to bend through doorways?

This is a very good question and a chance for me to ramble about biology ! I'll put a TLDR at the bottom for those who don't feel like reading a giant wall of text.

Us tyrants naturally grow very large, obviously. The problem with being tall is a little something called the "Square Cube Law." Its formal definition is this:

"When an object undergoes a proportional increase in size, its new surface area is proportional to the square of the multiplier and its new volume is proportional to the cube of the multiplier."

Now I know that was a lot and it might make little to no sense at first but I'll try my best to summarize it. It basically says that if you take something such as a cube and increase its size (volume and surface area) then its volume will increase much faster than its surface area. There's a formula for it but I won't dig into this anymore than I need to.

Now, you might already see how this can be a problem for us tyrants but if not that's ok, I'll explain it. Basically the law states that if our height increases then our volume will proportionally increase a lot more. This means our organs, muscles, bones, all of that stuff increases in size along with the rest of our body. That presents a big problem for our bodies' structural integrity. More volume means more weight for our bones to carry, and that gets more and more problematic the taller one gets.

A perfect example of this is Robert Wadlow, the tallest human to ever live. At his tallest he was 8'11" (2.72 m) and weighed 439 lbs (199 kg). Wadlow struggled with his health since he was born with his size often being the root cause of his medical issues. He had to walk with leg braces and a cane everywhere he went and he could barely feel anything in his hands and feet. He died due to an infection after a faulty leg brace injured his ankle. His immune system would've had to cover so much area that he was guaranteed to have a weak immune system and be much more vulnerable to disease, slower to heal wounds, etc.

Now you may be asking, "but if he was so physically weak as a consequence of his height, why do you seem completely unaffected by your height?" Answer: biology.

Us tyrants are naturally built to be incredibly hardy and strong, with dense, thick bones and muscles. These two things actually take up a great majority of our bodies with our organs typically being smaller but far more powerful than normal. It needs to be that way because our structural integrity relies on it. If our bones were the normal thickness of a human that was just scaled up, we wouldn't even be able to stand on our own, let alone run or fight. Therefore, we have incredibly dense muscles and bones as well as small but powerful organs.

Me being almost 10 feet tall, I am no exception to this rule. My skeletal structure will look quite a bit different from a normal human skeleton, since not only are my bones and muscles bigger, my skeleton is actually built different as well. If you looked closely at it, you'd notice my bones seem to scale down in size the higher they are on my body. My skull, although thick, is much thinner than the bones in my feet, legs, and spine. My spine particularly is very heavily reinforced since that is the main thing carrying most of my upper body weight. My vertebrae are wide and dense with some of the strongest muscles in my body connecting to my spine. The bones in my head, arms and torso however are much thinner and smaller than the ones mentioned above so that they add less weight.

Despite all of these enhancements, it is impossible for my body to be completely medically sound. Given how much I have to bend everyday, I feel a good deal of pain in my back pretty regularly. Luckily that pain is not always present but when it is, it can be well... potent. It is most agitated when I need to crouch or bend down and I usually need to sit down after I crouch for a while or multiple times. Hot baths are a life saver for me since my back pain can be almost debilitating sometimes. Luckily it rarely gets that bad but it can still be quite irritating and painful.

TLDR: Yes.

#ask #lady dimitrescu #tall vampire lady #resident evil village #alcina dimitrescu #re8

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a-collection-of-villainous-aus · 4 years ago

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IMPORTANT READ FIRST

This contains sexy times, it's a flash back scene of Hat and Acylius, it's spicy, but I can't promise it's good spicy, there's biting but they're demons it doesn't hurt them like it would humans, tentacles, swearing ect

You read this you're the one who consented to reading it instead of scrolling on by.

I never said I was good at writing this and I haven't read it through it's late at night and I was like damn it I'm gonna write this!)

Acylius leaned forward, down...down until he was eye level with Hat, his ears twitching.

Black hat could feel the warmth of his breath and see the ocean wavering within those blue eyes, what was the Legion demon looking at...well him obviously him but still...

"What are you staring at?"

He snapped, pushing his face away, there was no heart in it, if anything he'd just placed his hand on his face and looked away from his piercing stare, only Legions had eyes like his...hers..theirs, Acylius had declared himself all three, you could gender or not gender him as you saw fit.

Amadeus's cheeks softly tinted in hues of glowing pinks, blues and yellows, a shadow replication of a white lipped pythons shimmer in the burning sun.

Acylius nuzzled into Black Hats palm until it cupped his cheek, smiling as Hat still didnt meet his gaze.

"You're stressed and in heat, I could help you with that, you're not the first of your kind I've taken under my wing."

Hat scowled, dropping his hand

"I see, so you help my kind and play with us like toys?"

Acylius lifted him off the ground, hands under Hats arms, he looked like a disgruntled cat.

"Now Amadeus, that is not what I meant, I help when the help is wanted, you owe me nothing, we have known each other but a few weeks."

Black Hats heart was beating, Acylius could really do with him as he pleased, have him as he pleased...in any other case that might frighten him...anger him, but in this case, in the case of this idiot tree who could smile brightly, full of kindness and at the flick of switch turn darker than a night without moon or stars...

He'd fantasised about him letting out his primal side, chasing him, down the long hallways, with only one intention, he wanted to be the Legions prey and be devoured, consumed with need, completely and utterly.

The fire crackled in the silence

"Do you do not find me desirable, my scent doesn't make you want to claim me...you are either a gentleman or your offer really is an act of a doctor who simply wants to treat their patients."

For one brief moment he was sure, could have sworn he saw Flugs pupil thin, a twitch of his scared mouth wanting to split open into a maw of fangs that could sink into him.

Acylius held him by the collar leaving Hat to splutter as he was walked to what he thought was going to be the door only to be slammed on the wall.

"I see..."

Tentacles bound him to the wall and oh... Acylius's eyes now held only thin slit pupils in white as his mouth split into a grin, sadly no sharp teeth what was...was...

Kisses to his neck and jaw as hands caressed his body, down from the wrists, over his chest, sides, he could feel the finger tips pressing into his flesh, digging into his hips, this wasn't happening, he'd fallen asleep, Acylius wasn't doing this, giving him something he wanted....

Was he?

Softly whining, back arching trying to reach out and touch him but he was pinned, and the rippling growl leaving the Legion, clear that Acylius was pleased with himself as he used a claw to lightly slice open his clothing, parting it with hands that could nearly wrap around his waist.

Hat mewled as claws teased over his flesh, running along scars, shivering at a secondary growl, wondering what had Acylius so excitable until he felt him nuzzling between his thighs, a clear sign of his feelings on the matter.

Acylius's tongue, serpent like trailing up from his waist line, (Think Venom) to hats collar bone, biting softly at his flesh.

"Harder...if you intend to satisfy me... Mmm break the skin..."

He tried to come in contact with him, press his hips to some part of the doctor, he needed the friction.

Hungered, he was starving and the doctor was the only thing he desired, his flushed colours stronger, where scales marked his body, now shimmering, he was straining against his pants and Black Hat was a creature on the verge of madness and need for something.

Acylius obliged gladly to his request and as Hat felt fangs sinking, he wanted nothing more than to grasp him, wind fingers in thick ebony hair and press him closer and still being at Acylius's mercy like this...there was no doubt in his mind that if he asked him to stop he would.

Despite the primal show, he felt safe....for once in his life he felt safe.

He strained at his bonds again, feeling the tip of Flugs tongue lap at his blood, his arms were around him, holding tight and firm, he rolled his hips against the doctors chest, panting

"Damn it whatever you plan to do, do it now!"

Acylius looked at him licking his lips.

Purring

"Ohhh we are bossy..."

Hat had thought his heat scent had no affect on Acylius, contrary it'd been driving him on edge for weeks.

Claws holding their purchase on his hips he dragged him down the wall, the action sudden it took a moment for Hat to realise Acylius had lined their hips and he could.... Damn... Damn oh fuck damn he was proportionate all over wasn't he...

Tentacles forcing his legs around his hips, well when I say forcing, Hat gladly let himself be handled and was absolutely gagging for it.

Hips moved, slow and torturous, Hat bucked, a plea for him to move more.

"Let me feel it...mmmphn I want to feel ever inch of you...like this...savor...I'll give you want you want..."

For a moment in his haze Hat was confused, trying to express some form of speech beside a plethora of growls and whines that displayed just how desperate, how much his needed this and all was clear when something slipped inside his pants, when had they been opened, oh darkness fucking by below he didn't care, looking down he saw Acylius coiling around him, teasing his ridges, over the tip, he nearly came right then and fucking there, the moment his bonds were released he held onto him tightly

"Stop....stop being a bastard...and fuck me."

Amadeus panted, kissing him, his heart swelling as it was reciprocated and Acylius obeyed his command, moving, frotting him, their sensation unified in one coiling want that wound tighter and tighter, Hat was clasping at Flugs hair as Flugs fingers held his hips, firm and bruising in their grip, his body jerked with every thrust, there it was that pure primal instinct, shown at his demand, this want, the way Acylius moved it was more than a helping hand it was that of a beast claiming what was his.

The flame swelled, building and building, clawing at Acylius's back, head back, throat exposed and as any beast would, fangs were buried within the vulnerable spot, Hat loved it wanted it, for his kind it was a claiming mark and he welcomed that want, thrusting back, fucking into the tentacle wrapped around him until he went still and gripped the Legion tightly panting as he spilled his mess, Acylius soon following him.

Sinking to his knees and arms wrapped around Hats body, nuzzling into blood, slowly lapping it up....

"F...feel better?"

He asked, voice hoarse, he was not exactly one to be quiet when in bed or with a bed partner, he liked letting his partner know just how good they made him feel.

Black Hat was distant, spent and dreamy, nodding, completely lost in bliss a final rope of seed splashing over the white of Acylius's shirt, making the Legion smile, oh he really had made him feel good, he couldn't help but take some pride in that...

Stroking his face and kissing his lips softly he whispered

"Sleep my little gremlin...when you wake you'll be clean and cared for."

*******

Hat stared at Acylius leaning against the coffee counter doing a word search waiting for his coffee shop to open.

He sipped his coffee, with goats milk and a dash of hazelnut, how oblivious was the tree, in that moment he would have claimed him as his mate...but...one thing he'd found a reoccurring trait back then Flug had not believed he was loveable...and now in the future where his memory was full of holes, his doctor still believed that he was unlovable... At least unable to be loved by him...

Which was heartbreaking...

Especially when he loved him most of all.

#Lemon #Paperhat #Coffee shop au #Side drabble #Flash back #And a moment in the present #Black hat #Acylius flug #Black hat 2012 #Height difference #Tentacle

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myrskytuuli · 4 years ago

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An Ode to Youth (the horny remix)

A smutty Scroldie ficlet taking place in an AU where Webby did not accompany Scrooge and Goldie when they ran into the woods together and finding the fountain took just a little bit longer.

New, flexible, energetic, nimble, teenaged bodies. The sex is going to be great?? Right?? Right??

A tragi-comedy of being being a teenager. This ficlet might be smutty, but it is not sexy. It might be a bit sentimental though.

Why was she so goddamn horny??!!

It’s true, that the last time Goldie had been 16 was well over a century ago, but she could have sworn that she hadn’t been this horny back then.

Well.

Not at least all the time.

Goldie was a confident, smooth, intelligent, cunning and unflappable woman, and had always been. When she remembered her teenage years, she remembered the energy, the way her knees had never hurt, the way she could bounce back from anything.

She did not remember these stupidly long limbs, the way her face itched, the hormonal storm that seemed to have washed over her like a flood and being so stupidly horny.

Her horniness for some reason also made her angry, and for some reason there also seemed to be no barrier between I’m angry and I’m going to do something stupid about it.

So, she tackled Scrooge.

Maybe finding the fountain before him, and rubbing it in his stupid, handsome, face would make her feel better.

Scrooge fell to the ground with a satisfying grunt and oof, his fringe of stupidly fluffable looking hair falling into his eyes.

Goldie can feel the familiar contraction in her lower regions, as her vaginal walls unscrew themselves in a biological dance of let’s go already.

She’s never this aroused this fast. Not just looking at a cute boy’s hair fall into his eyes!

The tingling in her loins begs to differ.

She’s starting to doubt if having unaching joints is truly worth it after all.

Whoever had the audacity to say that women are their most beautiful at sixteen years old, had clearly never met actual sixteen-years-olds. Looking into the clear surface of a puddle, Goldie was not impressed with what she saw. Her body was not proportionate, her oil glands hidden beneath her feathers seemed to function at double the effort, and here and there she could spot itchy patches of baby feathers still clinging stubbornly to her skin.

She knew that picking at the yellowish down feathers, peeking from between her pristine white ones, was not recommended. She did it anyway.

Ouch!

A drop of blood peeked from where she had ripped the yellow feather out, irritating her fluctuating mood even more.

Maybe finding the fountain wouldn’t be worth it. Maybe she should just be content with the fountain in Ronguay, which did keep her from aging beyond certain limit, but would not keep her this young. With the water from this fountain, she would never have to dye her hair again.

She looked at her reflection in the puddle again. She looked innocent like this. Like someone who was not wanted her enemies, who would never be recognised anywhere. Someone who could be whoever she wanted, without people looking at her and pointing “wait isn’t that Goldie O’Gilt, you can’t trust her. Everybody knows what she’s like.”

Expect Scrooge. He would know.

But he had never pointed at her and spat the name Goldie O’Gilt like it was a curse.

Suddenly she felt lonely and small and miserable, and the damn hormones made her want to cry like…like an angsty teenager.

She got up and started heading where the faint flickering of Scrooge’s campfire could be seen.

And goddamn now she was horny again!!

Goldie was a master of seduction, had been for over a century now. But the fact that her new body was itchy and weird was putting a bit of damper on her usual masterclass of seduction.

Also, the fact that she felt stupidly hyperaware of every single one of her insecurities.

Hey!

Aah!

Scrooge shot up from the nest of leaves he had made for himself and looked guilty and awkward and slightly terrified. His hair was mussed (absolutely adorably!) and his feathers were slightly fluffed up.

She was pretty sure that by now her vagina had unscrewed itself to be ram-rod straight tunnel, if the burning arousal between her legs was to be believed. It would have been more embarrassing, if she couldn’t see the way Scrooge’s genital feathers were mussed in a way like a hand had just been digging into them.

“Wanna have sex?” Asked Goldie, the master of slow and burning seduction.

“So badly.” Answered Scrooge, barely having time to have the words out of his beak before Goldie collapsed on top of him, pushing her tongue inside that beak.

15 minutes later, they are laying down, side by side, too embarrassed to even look at each other.

That was…not a shining moment for either of them.

There is a tiny spot of blood drying on her genital feathers, that she is too embarrassed to wipe away. She had forgotten that this new body would have a hymen.

Besides her, Scrooge is laying down in the stoic silence of a man who had forgotten how quickly things are over at this age.

“Remember the first time we had sex in 1890s?” Goldie asked her partner.

“Yeah.”

“How in the hell were we better at sex in the nineteenth century then we are now?!”

This prompts a snort from Scrooge, and Goldie can’t help but to follow. It doesn’t take them long to succumb to hysterical laughter at the whole absurdity of the entire situation.

The tension thankfully breaks, and Goldie gets the guts to roll around to actually face her partner in worst-sex-of-her-life. Her flutters faced with the way the campfire makes Scrooge’s eyes sparkle in the darkness.

“It wasn’t exactly perfect then either. Remember when you had to explain the concept of the clitoris to me?”

“Hmm. But you were a fast learner.” Her loins are burning again. “maybe we should try again. I’m a sexy minx and I refuse to be defeated by this awkward body.” She’s already crawling back all over him.

He meets her easily midway, a testament to the fact that while they might need to work some kinks out with their new bodies, their rhythm is still there. They’re not those nearly-strangers fumbling in the dark, that they were more than a century ago.

“I’m going to be entirely honest with you, I have a feeling that the little guy isn’t going to last any longer than it did just now.”

“I don’t think that this body really cares for long and lingering love-making in any case.” She answered entirely honestly.

“And it’s a good thing that you did teach me how to use my tongue back in the 19th century.”

“That too.” She purrs into his beak.

They manage to make it last almost thirty minutes this time, and it has to be counted as a victory considering the circumstances. Definitely not their proudest work, but who the hell cares.

The next morning, she wakes incredibly hungry, and horny again!!?? How is it possible to be this horny all the time??!!

#scroldie #fanfic #ducktales #smut #the forbidden fountain of the foreverglades #goldie o'gilt #scrooge mcduck

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novadreii · 4 years ago

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if i was jeff bezos

the first thing i would do if i had jeff bezos money (and jeff bezos' amazon) is completely disrupt the labor market by making the minimum wage at my company $40/hr (and yes, it would go up proportionally depending on your role, i just mean that salaries START at $40/hr). the working hours are mon-thurs, 7 hours a day flex time. people who don’t need to be physically there are working from the comfort of their own homes. not a single team building exercise or event is EVER scheduled to take place. everyone gets paid 1 month vacation + PTO, sick days, retirement, stock options, health benefits. the whole shebang. everyone. and YES we can afford it, i am obviously not going to be living in filthy riches as a CEO so yes we have the money.

on a nationwide (continent-wide?) scale, this would attract everyone in the US and Canada to come and work at my company. at first, because inequality will be inevitable, only the best workers will make it through to my company for the initial hiring wave. no biggie. i can’t hire everybody.

however over time, extremely competent people who are satisfied with their jobs elsewhere will still be eyeing my company. some will eventually leave and join mine as it grows. THEIR companies are going to pick up on this, one by one, and over time realize that in order to stay competitive in terms of competent workforce, they have to match my minimum salary + benefits or forever have the possibility of their best workers leaving for my company looming over their heads.

in maybe about 5 years, the market will stabilize with the unofficial minimum wage probably being around $30-$40 since nobody will work for less.

i will hire an army of accountants to make sure it can be done without going under. they will also calculate the amount of tax we are SUPPOSED to owe, and actually fucking PAY IT instead of sweeping it under an offshore rug.

PAYING TAXES DUE FOR THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETY IS A PRIVILEGE AND I WOULD BE HAPPY TO DO IT.

what about the cost of goods :(:(:(

1) everyone will be able to afford them now that they have the time, energy and money.

2) the economy is not a vacuum. it will take time but after the rough initial period, commodity prices even out as long as the other major companies follow suit with their compensation packages. companies won’t be struggling to pay their employees because the cost of goods and services is now higher, and PEOPLE CAN AFFORD TO BUY THEM

if by trickle-down economics reagan meant that the wealth trickles down to lower classes like a repugnant stream of old piss, then sure he was right. but my company would ensure an INFUSION of wealth into lower and middle classes. once that money is circulating for a few years where it rightfully should, we will see a rise in innovators, brilliant scientists and the like because class barriers will dissipate and allow incredible minds to actually succeed.

the economy will rightfully boom with brilliant new services and products that we ACTUALLY need and want, not just the same 10 ideas circulating ad infinitum with a million copycats being funded by their rich parents. because the average consumer is going to evolve from a survival, time-saving mindset to one of self-actualization. consumer desires will therefore be much more diverse and allow many different businesses to flourish.

i would open countless programs to train and mentor new businesses in their endeavors. and i would tirelessly lobby against fraudulent business practices and if needed i myself would fund the auditing of certain major corporations to make sure they pay their fucking taxes (since most regulatory bodies don’t bother bc it’s “too complicated” and they are being bought off).

fast food and pharmaceutical companies are going to take a huge hit because the health, time, and happiness of the average worker will increase. big pharma becomes regulated by the govt, they will be unable to sell their goods on the market without first reaching an agreement with the govt about price ceilings.

eventually, my company may die off or split into subsidiaries. such is the nature of business and competition. it’s something i will accept with dignity instead of trying to dig my claws in and retain power at any expense.

and i would retire knowing that i didn’t directly and indirectly cause and sustain the suffering of millions, probably billions of people. if i was jeff.

#but jeff will sleep just fine tonight #and his fellow billionaire comrads who are all going to probably burn in hell with him #omfg this got so long #bless you if you read this #if anyone fellow ethically minded business people see this DM me!!!#personal #let's change the world together #i know how to code and i have a business degree we can literally MAKE the next big thing #i just need a visionary with concrete ideas #jeff bezos #amazon

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bethesky · 4 years ago

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Broken Bodies and Broken Minds

Ed Moustis

I wonder if other people can feel time like I do - like how I can feel how wet a single tear droplet is as it falls down my face second by second. In specific instances in life, these moments become proportionally more abundant to me. I cherish those moments that specificity and nonspecificity meet - where someone can experience everything and nothing all at once. It means that I can feel.

I felt a single tear slide down my left cheek. It wasn’t due to anything I felt. I cried on behalf of my mom. She stood ten feet in front of me and held back the sorrow of a thousand widows. I didn’t even know how to feel. I wish I did but the person I looked to for that guidance wasn’t here. I had been the odd one out my entire life. Being unique was supposed to be a good thing but I despised it. It was like I had always been a chameleon mimicking another’s reaction.

Based on her broken response, I knew what was happening. The first time that this happened, I fell into a black hole so dense that the only way to crawl out was by tooth and nail. There were battle wounds deeper than scars could show. The teeth and nails - they weren’t mine. They belonged to my friends and family that stuck by my side on the battlefield when they didn’t have to.

This time around, hearing those dreadful words was a tank shell that shot to the depths of my soul. The fallout was too large, my psyche shattered into another million broken pieces when I hadn't even finished scrounging up the pieces from the last time. This was the beginning of the end. The cancer was back and I would soon be deployed back into a war that I am not meant for.

After my doctor finished the discussion with my mother, his sorrowful eyes turned towards me. I would hate to be in his shoes - telling a sixteen-year-old boy that he would go back into hell. The demons he fought still cursed him and his last fight were futile - dying was for nothing. The first time his heart stopped was not the end of the war. The battle rages on and he will be sent to the front lines. Again.

Time was still. I began to experience a new level again. I noticed, my medical doctor has these exceptional specs in his eyes that made me feel warm. I had always been oblivious to their pungency. His words, as if bullets which left no visible battle wounds were undetectable to my brain. I knew I was going to go through this again - my brain was filtering the painful dialogue that accompanied the truth. Would it be another few years of chemo or a year's worth of surgeries? This drug of distress that I was on, it burned through me. His lips flopped around like a fish looking for water. My attempts to decode his foreign language were unsurprisingly useless. Even if I could understand what he was saying, I don’t think I would want to hear it. I had been using all the shrapnel from the tank shell to build an impenetrable wall that even my mother couldn’t tear down.

Once the doctor concluded his script, I noticed my mom approach me. She had always been so wonderful - a personal Joan of Arc by my side. The ferocity of this woman was simply unmatched by even an Amazonian warrior. Also, her vitality was that of a dragon. To mirror that further, she was as independent as a one as well. The troubling similarity between Joan of Arc, a dragon, and my mother was their extremely troubling tendency with being caught up in flames.

The first time I was diagnosed, my mother became a baron of light. She crafted her whole universe for me and I was the sun - that was until she fell into her own black hole. One son was crippled with cancer while the other was crippled from a car accident. Torn in two, like her life was one brilliantly, horribly crafted medieval trap, she crumbled upon the weight of two. The broken puzzle that was my family was limited to a post-war Joan of Arc, a collapsed sun, but more fittingly, a collection of black holes.

My mother grabbed my hand. I was drafted back into reality. As small of a woman as she was, I required her to use a pinch less of her strength for the sake of my hands. I made a prolonged look at her and her hand ironically tightened. A sense of relief flushed through me though. I wanted to control this twisted world and I couldn’t. I knew she thought that she was trying to comfort me. In my heart, I recognized that she needed me as much as I needed her. The equality of our relationship was comfortable enough.

In the auditory section, my brain still seemed to be malfunctioning. Once again, I sat in anticipation to see how my mother would react. As expected, upon the conclusion of the doctor’s final remarks, she approached him and wrapped her little arms around him. He gave a gentle, half-smile to me while she hugged him. I suppose, if I was going to be diagnosed with cancer again by anyone, I would want it to be him.

The white halls of the hospital were endless. I knew every twist and turn of this maze. I recognized the faces of too many nurses as I passed by. Children my age and younger flooded the floor. Those same children were fighting the fight I did - and will again. We were the children at war. The casualty rates were always too high and friends made here were in vain. The sudden loss of a fellow soldier would be too much of a burden to carry along with the rest. As we approached the exit of this underage morgue, a light stuck through the doors. It was always sunny when I left this bleak building. I wonder if I will see a light like this when I die someday. I hope I will. I didn’t see anything last time.

The chatter of the world came back to me and the noise pierced through my brain. It grew louder and louder until it quickly overwhelmed me. I tried to keep my reaction to a minimum to ensure that my mom didn’t attempt to cradle me. I had a subtle feeling, under my special circumstances, I wouldn’t mind that. I could never grow the strength to let that myself succumb to my feelings. Every day I want to collapse but then I’m giving in.

Like two brick walls, we walked over to the filled parking lot. It was only when in private, in the security of our personal chariot, that she began to speak to me. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could sense the movement of her eyes dart back and forth. She was searching for the right words to say - a needle in a haystack. I began to worry she might bring up what happened inside right away. I was not processing. It would make everything too real for me to handle. I knew my mother like the back of the hand and I was well aware of the conversation we were about to have; even if I desired otherwise. As anticipated she said, “Finn, how do you feel about the procedure next week?”

I slowly turned my head toward her. I usually heard vital words like “procedure” when I spaced out. How did I miss that? “The procedure?” My face looked extremely puzzled. As soon as I noticed it, she did as well. It was my grave error that I let that slip.

A despairing breath slipped out of my chemo-damaged lungs as she questioned, “Oh… you blanked out, didn’t you? I thought that you were going to work on that with Doctor Graham?” Hearing the doctor’s name zoned me back into reality. It was to no surprise she would bring up Graham. That genius of a man was an on-site engineer, my on-site medic, that would dig me out of the debris that I got lost in. He was capable of telling me of truths that seemed so far gone, yet were true, that even Schrödinger’s cat couldn’t find. My mom sought out treatment from him after my dad passed away in a car crash. It was that same car crash that made my brother into a temporary pile of jelly. She only could pick one topic to mourn for at once. She decided to choose my brother, Parker’s, injuries since I was on the final days of my tour. Due to the raging success that Doctor Graham had with my mother, my brother Parker and I see him regularly. I quickly snap out of my personal solar system and hear my mom speak to me, “Finn?”

“Yeah, yeah. We’re working on it,” I said with bated breath, “What procedure?” I felt my body now firmly planted into the seat. My skin laid on my bones - a feeling only a cancer patient could appreciate. It wasn’t crawling. The thought of a procedure kept me slightly hopeful - something I rarely was. The tank shell that was shot into me earlier began to digress. The pieces slip back into me. A year of surgeries would be much better than three years of chemo. I have had plenty of procedures that called for me being surrounded by the brightest minds in the world - the one percentile of geniuses.

“They said that the procedure… it uh… it will… “ she stopped speaking. I couldn’t tell if she was choking up but the concept frightened me. My head was screwed forward onto the road. The hope I had mustered up lied in the balance of her next words. She had never had an issue breaking grim news to me and I had never experienced a situation so dark and brutal that my mother had stumbled over her words.

This was the woman that stumbled into her dying son’s room to tell him that while they were at chemo earlier this morning his dad and brother were t-boned by a truck that ran a red light. She spoke to me, with the stillness of a mountain to not frighten me, that my father, her husband since the age of nineteen, died on impact and my brother was in critical condition with lady luck favoring him not to make it. And, if he does, then he will never take another step in his life.

“Mom, what is it?” I asked quickly. I recognized my dimwitted curiosity. My naiveness took control while I should have been bracing. Whatever came next, I was sure I was strong enough for it. I was my mom’s sun. Nothing could be fiercer than that.

“The procedure is the only way to eliminate the remaining cancer threat in your body,” she slowly whispered.

“And? That’s wonderful! I don’t have to do any more chemo or worry about relapsing again!” I said. My words grew in strength after each breath. The debris cleared completely.

She immediately said, “The procedure has a ten percent survival rate.” The joy that came from my words was vanquished. The world stopped spinning. I flew a million miles per hour. My speed shredded my hope down to its finest atom. I had been alive for only sixteen years and six of those prime years were taken by cancer already. Now it was destined to steal my life. Even the suns have to die but at least they get to live a real life.

Time stopped when my Earth stood still. I had reached that same moment of singularity as earlier. Every lamppost, every sign, it spoke to me. I was attuned to the universe. Everything I had experienced on this Earth told me that I had already been unlikely my entire life and that, in this case now, there would be no difference in this procedure. Signing on to do this procedure is no different than making a deal with death. I wanted to be able to write my own destiny but it was road blocked by ten-percent. I would become nothing more than a statistic.

I was still in shock by the time we arrived at the house. Our car pulled up to the driveway and my mother ushered me by the arm into the house. My face was perfectly blank. She quickly sat me on the couch.

A life I would never have flashed in my mind. I would never get to walk arm-by-arm with my mother at my wedding. That though meant she would never get to see me get married. She would never see my children and become a grandmother. I could never give a remarkable, memorable best man’s speech to Charlie, the only girl that has ever shown interest in my brother, and Parker at their wedding.

Worst of all, I would never be able to kiss Robin. The only woman in my entire life that I am sure that I have ever loved. Leaving her will be the worst. Parker and I were supposed to marry those sisters. Robin is the fourth amigo in our broken bunch. We are all supposed to get drinks with Doctor Graham when we reach twenty-one to thank him for keeping us under his umbrella of helpful advice and correctly appointed sympathy.

As the memories of the future came and went, my mom was telling Parker. I was so convinced that he was going to rise from his wheelchair and hug me. His wheels were still on the living room carpet. He looked at my shaking hands on my knees where fingers were tapping like machine guns - bang bang bang. My consciousness was grasping at any reality that wasn’t this one. All feeling viscously vanished. I kept questioning “Do I even breathe anymore?”.

With all the courage that I could find, I stood up. Instantly, I stole the attention, any words that floated in the room settled in the air. My feet moved for me. I wondered if this is what robots felt. In a blink, I was in my messy, teenage room. I grabbed my alarm, set it for three hours from now, and I laid down. Doctor Graham always told me that a beneficial way to relieve stress was by sleeping. After testing so many methods, that was the one that spoke to me the most. My eyes shut. Just for an instant, I felt real peace. The image of darkness reminded me of death. I was not going to come back again. I was already undead and there is no resurrection for those who have come back once. Hopefully, it would be quick and painless. The thoughts panned to troubled and painful ones in a flash. I began questioning too much about the life that was stripped away from me. I didn’t want to go. How long until I’m not talked about? That’s when I really die.

An ethereal hand shot from the sky in my dream. I was pulled into my unwelcoming reality. The alarm blared. My hand floated over it to stop the blaring. I sat up on the bed and felt my body and the sweat that covered it. I had one week to live. For once, in many years, I felt real hope. I knew what I was going to do with my last week on this Earth. I would make a death list for my broken self to live out - a scrambled last-ditch effort to achieve the things in life I haven’t had a chance to do quite yet. I scrambled over to my notebook sitting on my desk. It flew open. I couldn’t tell if it was denial that struck me or something real. I could run away and perform all these tasks. A brave adventure awaited me.

As I wrote down my last will and testament, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. After trying so hard, I couldn’t keep fighting so reluctantly, I began to sob. I didn’t want to go! My brother heard me as soon as I hit the floor and rolled into the room. From seeing his fallen, fellow soldier down in the ditches, he used any strength he could muster to leap from his throne. He crawled through his trenches to hold me. I just cried; and he just cradled me.

For a whole hour, I was laying down there as my brother comforted me. He let me cry in his arms until all of the water in my system had been flushed out. He knew there was no point in telling me to stop. I had only one week to live. When the tears were finished, we both sat up against my wooden bed frame. We sat in silence for another hour. He was next to me and that was all that mattered - my battle buddy had my back. No words needed to be spoken because the actions were loud enough. After the time had slipped away, I helped him back into his cushioned chair. When I noticed that he was looking at my notebook, my face began to flush red. He couldn’t see that.

“What’s that?” Parker questioned immediately. He wheeled over to the notebook before I could walk over there. He was surprisingly fast in that chair.

“Nothing! Shit! Don’t look!” I pleaded. He skimmed the page with his finger. His chair was perfect reading height, unfortunately. I was expecting a long banter with him but when he was finished, he just looked at me in shock.

“Okay. But mom would let you do this,” he nonchalantly said. His words threw me off guard.

“I know. I was thinking of…”

He quickly interrupted me. I could hear the appalled tone in his voice, “Running away? Mom will find you.”

“I know. It sounds really stupid but I need this week. I need to live for once. No chemo. No cancer. Just me.”

“There is so much that could go wrong! You want to go to a high school party and go cliff diving and…”

“I’m doing it. I’m doing all of it. Me against the world,” I said with a smile on my face. I wanted to be a warrior like my mom - braving the world one step at a time. He wasn’t going to stop me.

“No,” he bluntly said.

“You literally can’t stop me,” I chuckled.

“Us against the world,” he sighed, “someone needs to keep you safe. If something happens to you, mom will kill me.”

I was surprised but seemingly not surprised at the same time. This wasn’t a solo journey. Someone would have to tell my story. A broken body and a broken mind running off to war together. This time I would be choosing and that felt freeing. I felt free.

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manggojooz · 6 years ago

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Pick A Side (Part 6)

pairing: Taehyung x reader

word count: approx. 2,900

genre: university!au; angst; romance; slice of life stuff

warnings: references to school bullying; references to voyeuristic behaviour

previous part: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

taglist: @destiel1597 @mila271 @hopetookmysoul @ximaginx @honeyursosweet @coffeecupyoongs @bangtanbaesstuff

“So you see, although it’s so tiny, it’s actually really good and the colours turn out really nice and saturated. You can even use it on a GoPro mount, a drone or a normal tripod. Oh wait, I have one aerial photo I took not long ago, let me show it to you...”, Haejoong digs out his phone to exhibit an aerial shot of a sunset, which he took using the tiny camera he was introducing to you.

“Wow, that is beautiful! Guess I need to save up money to buy one of these little things. How can they be so small yet so expensive”, you pouted.

As the two of you browsed the camera shop filled with a myriad of photographing equipment, someone called you on your phone. You always hesitated picking up unknown numbers but Haejoong was looking at you peculiarly so you decided to just pick it up.

“Is this Y/N?”, the caller enquired in a stiff tone.

“Yes, speaking”, at least you were able to conclude it was not a spam call.

“I’m Helen from the Student Office, we need to speak to you about something urgently, is it convenient to drop by before close of business?”

You were puzzled as to why you were required to attend, and to be honest, a little scared. It must have been apparent on your face.

“Who was that? Are you alright?”, Haejoong was concerned from seeing your expression.

“It was the Student Office, they told me to go over before end of the day. I’m not sure what it’s about either, but she sounded really serious”, you said as you realised he was looking at you quizzically.

“If you are worried I can go with you...”

“It’s ok, I...”, the worry on your face was growing proportionately to the number of worst case scenarios that you were imagining.

“Y/N, remember what I said... you don’t have to do this alone, I’m on your side now”, he said as his voice radiated a sense of reassurance.

---

You sat across from the lady known as Helen. Her forehead was all wrinkled up and her face was as stiff and angular as her voice.

“Ms. Y/N, are you sure you want your friend to stay here instead of have him wait outside?”, Helen warned, “It’s going to be a difficult conversation to sit through.”

Haejoong looks at you, waiting for your cue, as to whether he should stay or leave. You had no idea what got into you, whether it was trust you had in him or just your fear of facing the unknown alone. You just knew that you would rather he stayed. While there was a foreboding feeling, you haven’t done anything you had to hide, at least not after you entered this university.

“Yes, I'm sure, Ms. Helen, he can stay.”

“Ok, if you say so, take a seat then, both of you...”. She takes a slow deep breath as though she was preparing herself for what was to come. The randomness of this intense situation that befell you is increasingly generating waves of anxiety within you.

“It has come to our attention that someone has been circulating salacious photos of one of our students in a university-related forum. Some of these photos were taken from within the girls’ hostel and based on our preliminary investigations there appears to be some speculations... and I stress that, at this moment they are just pure speculations... that the person who took and uploaded the photographs is you, Ms. Y/N.”

You had absolutely no idea what she was talking about and stared at her in confusion and horror, mainly confusion, from trying to understand what she just explained. She turns her computer screen to face you so that Haejoong and you could see what was reflected on it.

The face of the victim was blurred out in the photographs, but from the clothing, the posture, the likeness, it was not difficult to identify her. It was Jihyun.

Your hands snatched up the computer mouse, scrolling through the “evidence” to confirm your own speculation. There was no doubt it was her.

The photos were voyeuristic to say the least. One showed her walking up a flight of stairs in a skirt, taken from below and was angled just enough to not fall into the category of indecent exposure but with ample room for suggestiveness. Who would do such a thing? Another series was zoomed closely into various parts of her body. Why were all of the photos of Jihyun? And then the most disturbing collection were taken of her in her room, through her window. There was even a video; although the curtains were drawn, her silhouette was cast on the curtains, and anyone would be able to tell that it was a video of her changing. What... why... how... And the speculations were that you did this?

“This is really absurd. Why would Y/N do this? She’s not someone who would do something like this. There must be a misunderstanding”, Haejoong jumps in impatiently as he watches your speechless form frowning and gaping at the screen.

“I know it now all sounds absurd, but as the issue has been reported by a few students and the victim is also aware of the matter, we have to conduct investigations. We just have to speak to anyone who may be involved in any way...”, Helen reaffirms that this was just part of the due process.

You hastily scrolled down the forum page and the comments were as ludicrous as you thought the whole situation to be:

“Isn’t that Kim Jih**n from the arts faculty? Woah she has a good body~”

“Kekeke heard she stole someone’s boyfriend not long ago, is this how love rivals take revenge nowadays?”

“Must have been taken by someone who has access to the girls’ dormitory, and wow look at that video!”

“Karmaaaa’s a bitch for her! Didn’t she steal Y*/N’s boyfriend recently? Heard Y*/N joined the photography club, lol. Didn’t you guys see her carrying around a huge camera with those paparazzi-like lenses?”

Yes, your dorm room was located in the block opposite from Jihyun’s and you stayed just one floor above her but...

It feels all too familiar again, where do you even begin to defend yourself? And then you saw another comment that had received a tonne of upvotes:

“Y*/N was a bully in high school too. People are just so consistent, look at how she’s bullying her ex-boyfriend's girlfriend now...”

Your chest clenches tightly and so did your hands, your breathing was visibly heavier and the bridge of your nose seared, before tears welled up in your eyes.

Haejoong darts across the room to where the tissue box was, bringing it back for you in a split second, and then fussing over you, “Y/N, stop reading those things.” He proceeds to snatch the mouse away from you to close the browser.

Helen couldn’t help but sigh, “I’m sorry I had to call you here, but you know how such things are. It’s always very sensitive and if we didn’t even call you in for a talk like this, it will be difficult to explain ourselves. What more when there is no other lead, and your name keeps popping up in-”

“So you are just going to use her as a scapegoat?! All these are just speculations, rumours!”, Haejoong was starting to raise his voice and through your sniffling, you grabbed onto his arm, indicating for him to calm down.

---

The ordeal was eventually over and you were only told to lie low, until they finish the investigations. You walked out of the Student Office in a daze, Haejoong following close beside you.

“Y/N was a bully in high school too...” The words devoured you in every way possible.

“Y/N”, a suppressed voice rang in your ears. “Y/N!”, a sharp tug, you were spun around and your face came an inch away from a vast whiteness. You snapped out of your daze and realise your nose was almost buried in Haejoong’s shirt-covered chest. You turn to look behind you and sees that you were just a hair’s breadth away from the edge of a flight of stairs.

“You could have hurt yourself, walking like that”, your reliable companion chided.

“You don’t seem to think it is possible that I was the one who did it. Why?”, you asked abruptly, your face tilting up to look at him, and your eyes peering into his.

“What do you mean why? You wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Something like what? How long do you even know me? How do you know what I’m capable of doing or not? I could have been a bully in high school like they said, and I could have done those things! How would you know that I didn’t!”, you felt like you were taking out your frustrations on him.

“Fair enough, I don’t know you for very long. But I know that you are not a bully, and you definitely did not do those things to Jihyun”, he sounded like he was preaching your infallibility.

“Why? Why are you taking my side so unconditionally? What if my side is the wrong side?”, you rebuked.

“Then, I’ll stand with you on the wrong side, and we can make it the right one”, the speed of his words fast, the timbre of his voice strong.

That is... not what you would want.

“Why would you do that for me?”, you glowered.

“Because I like you...”, he utters a weirdly-timed confession.

That is... not right.

“... even if it really were you, you must have a reason for doing it. It takes two hands to clap, knowing Jihyun, she must have-”, he sounded more determined than ever.

That is... a reasoning that will kill the victim twice.

“Stop!”, you voice shook with outrage. “This is wrong. You are wrong... I must have made a mistake...”, you scoffed, more so to yourself.

“About what?”, his forehead tightens to a frown of befuddlement.

“About us.”

You spun around to run down the stairs without another word. He shouted after you but you ran away. From him. From yourself. From everything.

---

The remaining days of the week saw you cooped up in your dorm room. Hiding from everyone. Hiding from yourself. Hiding from everything.

It was eerily silent, even though on hindsight, there must have been various distantly annoying noises – knocking of the door, voices calling out to you or the ringing of your phone. Even if there were, you probably couldn’t hear it. Even if you had shed tears, you probably wouldn’t remember. The only capacity you had in those few days was overly occupied, by the past, and by your guilt for ever wanting to have anybody on your side.

It is natural to think that your are always on the right side. It is natural to want people to take your side. It is natural to think that someone you like cannot be on the wrong side. But natural does not mean it is right.

Yes, you have always wanted someone to choose your side. But no, if you are wrong then you don’t deserve anyone on your side. People who make mistakes do not deserve anyone on their side.

Finally on one of the nights, the loud banging and shouting noises outside your door reached a decibel that was able to travel to your ears.

Your unfocused eyes gazed toward the door, seeing it shake a little from whatever was banging on it. You strained your ears to try to hear what was going on, but all your senses were still a bit dulled.

“Y/N! Y/N!”, a low male voice constantly booming through.

“You can’t just come into the girls’ dorm like that! Do you hear me?”, a girl’s voice shrilly cuts through the sound barrier.

“Y/N! Are you inside? If you are inside, will you just reply me?”, you finally recognises that it is Taehyung’s voice.

You dragged your soulless body out of the bed and lugged it towards the door, not entirely in the state to bother about the whole fiasco happening outside.

“Stop it now and get out, otherwise I have to call the security!”, the female counterpart threatened.

“Y/N!”, he was still banging on the door constantly and right as he is about to land his fist on it again, you pull the door open, his fist almost landing on your face.

---

“Are you okay? You are scaring me so much... Why do you look like this? Let’s go see a doctor...”, he rattles off, both of you now standing on the ground level outside the entrance to the dorm. But for the freezing wind blowing past you feeling slightly colder than your own body, you might have thought you were still asleep.

“You must know why, has it not spread across the entire school yet? Why did you come looking for me?”

“I’m worried... you didn’t come to class and I asked around and nobody seems to have seen you for days. And all I thought about is what if something happened to you?”, his deep voice resonated with worry.

“Does it matter? I did those bad things and you still care if something bad happens to me?”, you spat.

“I don’t see how you would have done such a thing...”

Here we go again.

“Kim Taehyung, stop it, you know nothing. How can you say that? Do you know how Jihyun would feel if she heard what you just said?”, you weakly glared at him through your fatigue.

“If you really did it, why will you be here looking like you are on the verge of dying?”

A scoff escapes your lips. “Are you going to just take my side now too? I have always wanted you to... only... not this time. Just go away, leave me alone. For all you know, it could all be true... what they say about me...”, your words stumbling.

“I want to hear it from you. Is it true?”, he asks, the words echoing within his chest.

“What if it is? Can you still stand on my side, even if it is wrong?”, you challenged.

“I don’t want to stand on your side, Y/N, I want to stand by your side. I’m not here trying to pick the side that is wrong or right. Everyone makes mistakes. I just... don’t want you to be alone.

If you really did those things... I guess then we will need to right the wrong, so let’s do it together. And... and if it can’t be fixed, then let’s suffer the consequences together. If you have to apologise, I'll apologise with you. If the world throws stones at you, I’ll get hit together.”

He takes one step closer to you but you back away with three. So he stops where he is.

He watches as you struggle to come to terms with what exactly you wanted from anyone now. You didn’t feel like you were deserving of any support but if you really ended up with none... how long more can you survive?

From amidst the concentration that he expended to observe you, Taehyung catches some ruffling noises coming from the second floor. He glances up towards the empty corridor and sees someone peeping out from behind the railings, the figure disappearing instantly. The next thing he knew, a pail is being tipped over right above you.

“Y/N!”, he bellows. With two big strides, he dashes toward you, enveloping you into his slightly larger form.

You heard a loud thud, the pail dropping onto the ground next to both of you. The icy cold water splashes onto your pants, biting slowly into your legs.

Taehyung looks up sharply, attempting to catch a glimpse of whoever it was and yelling for someone to catch the rascal. Water was dripping down his completely drenched hair and coat onto your face.

“Are you okay?”, he asks and you wonder what luxury he had to be worrying about you.

“You are the one that’s all drenched! Did the pail hit you?” The days of reclusion have led to a very much delayed reaction from you but when you finally grasped the situation, you were horrified to see Taehyung’s current state.

“I’m ok, it didn’t hit me anywhere”, he was still busy trying to wipe off all the water that had fallen onto your hair and face.

In your head you heard your own voice saying:

I have made mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. People who make mistakes don’t deserve anyone to stand with them. We must all be lonely people.

And then you hear his mellow voice say to you:

No. Everyone makes mistakes. And the world is allowed to punish us. But whatever the world throws at you... let's get drenched in it together. I pick your side, not because it is right, not because my love for you makes it right... but because I don’t want to let you face your mistakes alone.

---

The sun was shining again in the morning. At the bottom of the staircase landing, you notice the not very large metal letterbox that was marked with your room number was stuffed to the brim. You took out your keys and unlocked it, sweeping all the mail and spam into your arms.

As you sorted through them to see if anything required urgent attention, a piece of paper slips from somewhere within the pile and floats to the ground. You bent down to pick it up, flipping it over, and scribbled in the scrawly handwriting were the following words:

“Please don't say anything Reach my hand out to cover the mouth But in the end, spring will come someday The ice will melt and flow away”

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heath-ur · 4 years ago

Text

00Q Kinktober - Day 3

Prompt List ; Ao3 Pairing: Bond x Q Prompt: First Time (between characters) Warnings: Smut, No Beta

One of these days, I will write smut without fluffy filler. Today is not that day. Have a cat.

Q shouldn’t be surprised and he shouldn't be flattered. But he can admit to himself that he’s a bit of both when Bond comes to Q branch after a mission - all swagger and class - and invites Q to dinner. His minions are all aflutter - of course they are - and are quick to point out that he hasn’t seen the sun in 12 hours. Q checks his watch. It’s 21:00. He wouldn’t see the sun even if he did leave now. He gives R a look.

R just nods very seriously and ushers him out the door. He spends a moment thinking if he should give her a raise or threaten to fire her.

The dinner goes well. Bond takes him to a quiet family restaurant and the first thing he does is pull a piece of folder paper from his suit jacket pocket and place it on the table. “As I remember from last time, you’re a fan of full-disclosure.”

Q takes the paper and opens it, a line of medical tests and results listed down the length. All negative. Q smirks and hands the paper back, “Well, I suppose I have time after dinner.”

The air is charged but they don’t rush. They talk about poetry, weapons, and cats. Q admits to having 2 cats of his own. Bond looks unfathomably pleased. Bond has been keeping his glass will-provided; he isn’t drunk but he is considerably looser than he was only an hour ago. He thinks, fuck it, and asks, “Woud you like to meet them?”

Bond legitimately freezes for a moment. “Are you sure that’s wise? I was going to offer a nice night at The Savoy.”

Q hums. “That does sound nice. However, I haven’t seen my cats in 14 hours and I can’t think of a single reason to hide my apartment from you.” He starts ticking off his fingers. “You’re one of my agents, I’m tempted enough to say I hope this is not the last time we…” He rolls his wrist looking for the word before giving up and continuing the list, “my only living attachments are cats, chances are you’ve already followed me home at least once, so you have at least an idea of where I live, and I do consider myself good enough at both my job and my pleasures to consider myself safe from any animosity. Add that to the fact that if you do injure me, M will reign the entirety of MI6 upon you.” Q shrugs. “I’m not that concerned about you knowing where I live.”

~*~

They crash through the door to Q’s apartment, lips locked and wrapped up in each other, Q clawing at the back of Bond’s suit as he leads them through the door and living room, attempting through sheer will to get them to the bedroom.

Of course, he’s tripped up by Gambit, enough that he should have been sent sprawling except for the quick reflexes of the Double-Oh. Q curses and with Bonds help, rights himself. Q glaces quickly around for Zugzwang, but he must be hiding from the commotion.

“Well hullo,” Bond goes to his knees. For Q’s cat. Q needs a moment to recalibrate his life as Bond eagerly scratches along the black beast’s back and that one white spot above his tail.

Q does not pout. “You have 2 minutes to cuddle the little monster before you start fucking me.” He crosses through the living room and into the bedroom, shedding clothes as he goes, unashamed.

“You’re just the most dashing little fellow, aren’t you? Yes you are.” Q can hear Bond fawn over Gambit. “But I’ve to seduce your papa so he can allow me back. Yes I do. Mmm-hmm,” he cooes.

Q does not melt. He doesn’t. You’re melting. Q crawls onto the bed and flops onto his back, watching the doorway. When Bond walks through and sees him naked, his eyes heat and he closes the door against Gambit. Good instincts. Otherwise the heathen would stare unnervingly from the dresser. Q wiggles against his pillows. “You’re supposed to be seducing me.”

Bond gins. “So I am.” He slowly removes his suit jacket, folding it precisely before draping it across the dresser at the foot of the bed. Next goes his tie. Then his cufflinks, which are stashed into his pants pockets. Q makes a noise in the back of his throat and reaches down to palm his cock.

“You’re convincing me. Keep going.”

Bond chuckles and begins unbuttoning his shirt, slinking it off. Then his trousers and pants are shucked off at the same time, folded loosely and placed atop his suit. Q abscently wonders where his shoes went, but that doesn’t matter as Bond prowls closer to the bed, standing close enough to touch the duvet with his thighs as he looks upon Q.

Q gets that look at his cock that he didn’t get to have the first time. Bond must be a grower and not a shower, because as he watches, the cock in front of him is still filling out. Proportionately girthier than long, but still long enough to get the job done quite nicely.

Q reaches out for him, and Bond starts the short crawl to rest above him, palms sliding across his pale skin, his valleys and swells. Q quivers, and smiles. “Fuck me.”

Bond’s laugh sounds more like a growl as he drops to his elbows and nips at Q’s lips. “With pleasure.” They lose themselves in kissing for a while before Q gets impatient and begins wiggling away, reaching out to his nightstand to pull a bottle of lube and a condom from the top drawer and slaps both against Bond’s chest.

Bond gets back to his knees and pops open the lube to spill it across his fingers, watching Q’s reactions the whole time. Q spreads his legs wider, opening himself up to the scrutiny. He reaches his hands up to his pillow to twist and pull on his own hair, excited and expectant.

The first finger is questing; it circles and pushes gently at his entrance. At Q’s fussy sound, Bond presses it in fully and Q sighs in answer. “More,” Q demands.

Bond responds with a short laugh and another finger, pushing and gliding and perfect. Q rolls his hips and bares down to feel the fingers twitch and scissor before crooking just there and …. Q moans, his heels planting themselves to keep him suspended just there, with the fingers pressing perfect against his prostate. “Yess…”

Bond begins withdrawing his fingers and Q tenses, ready to argue to get those fingers back. But Bond is just removing them to add a third in a smooth slide all the way to the webbing.

Q rolls his hips twice more, drilling the fingers into himself instead of waiting for Bond to do the moving. “Yes, yes. I’m ready. Come on.”

Bond chuckles and bites into Q’s collarbone chidingly, but removes his fingers to get the condom on. Some additional lube, and he’s propping Q’s arse onto his own knees and situating his cock against Q’s entrance. Q stops rolling to make the aiming easier, and sighs in contentment as Bond slides in as one smooth glide.

Bond settles himself more fully against Q’s body, his elbows propped by Q’s head as they share kisses and breath, waiting for Q to adjust. It doesn’t take long; Q wraps his legs around Bond’s hips, heels digging into Bonds thighs as he prompts Bond to thrust.

And, oh, does Bond deliver. He pushes himself back onto his knees and grips Q’s hips. He uses full, rough thrusts that hit just where Q needs them. The noises he lets out are accidental and primal; little uh-uh-uhs that break into whines when Bond switches his rhythm to something just a little faster.

Q can’t think; he’s getting to that space of need-need-need that feels overwhelming but also welcomed. He writhes and clutches onto Bond’s hips more fully with his legs. His hands are gripping, scraping, pulling - at his own scalp, at Bond’s arms and shoulders, at the bedding below him. He doesn’t… can he come like this, without Bond touching his cock? Does he want to try? He just wants to come.

He wants to come. He doesn’t recognize the ragged sob that comes out of his mouth or the babbling that follows. “Let me come. Let me come.”

Bond just shakes his head and states, “Not yet.” Q smacks a hand against Bond’s shoulder and reaches for his own cock.

Quick as a snake, Bond takes the offending hand and pins it next to Q’s head with his own bodyweight. “Patience,” he demands, pressing his face into the hollow of Q’s neck to nibble at the skin there. Worse, he slows his rhythm to a gentle roll; still hitting Q’s prostate, but with hardly any power.

Q cries in frustration and struggles some more, getting his other hand captured. He drums his heels into the bedding on either side of Bond’s calves and writhes to no relief before he goes limp. He’s suddenly so damn tired and he’s sweating and the sheets itch beneath him and he just wants to come.

Bond smiles gently, so gently, something that transforms his entire face and deepens all of those laugh lines around his eyes. It punches the breath out of Q. And only then does Bond pick up his pace, firm and steady and Q feels so damn full. Every so often, Bond will hitch his hips just to grind his cock just right against Q’s prostate and Q can hear the filthy squelch of the lube now that he is no longer fighting.

Q rolls his head back and forth across his pillow and tries to catch his breath through the hitching in his chest; through the feeling of his cock sliding through the hot and humid tunnel they’ve made of their bodies, the bump of Bond’s abs and navel; through the feeling of Bond’s cock sliding against his inner walls in a way he can’t quite predict, tapping and touching his prostate.

“Oh... oh… oh,” He sighs out softly and closes his eyes to feel everything. He feels, rather than hears, the rumble coming from Bond’s chest.

“That’s it, Q. Come for me.” He grinds just there, both his cock and abs rubbing just right and oh…

Q moans through his orgasm, fingers and muscles twitching gently but none holding tension for long. Bond stays still long enough for the flashes to clear from Q’s vision before he pushes up to see Q more fully, grinding his still-hard cock, question in his eyes. Q groans and throws his arm over his eyes but nods. “Yeah, yeah. Come on. Come on.” He rolls his hips in encouragement but otherwise keeps himself pliant.

“That was lovely, wonderful. Thank you,” Q clenches around Bond’s cock purposefully despite the lingering oversensitivity. Bond's breath becomes harder and hitches. Q clenches gently again and removes his arms from his eyes to watch Bond’s face. Their eyes meet and Q flutters his eyes closed again at a particularly rough thrust as Bond slips back on his elbows. “Yeah, can’t you feel it? I’m so fucked out, so..,” his voice croaks, “so loose. So good,” he croons in Bond’s ear, sliding his teeth across the lobe.

Bond groans and his cock pulses, the last few pushes erratic and sloppy. Q finds the strength to card his hands into Bond’s hair and hums. A few silent moments later and Bond slips out of Q’s hole to the accompaniment of Gambit’s meow at the closed door.

Q watches the fond grin spread across Bond’s face as he stands up and steps to the bathroom, cleaning himself and bringing a rag over to assist cleaning Q. Then Bond goes over, still completely naked, and opens the door for Gambit.

#00q fanfiction #00q #00q fic #james bond #quartermaster

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samsexualdeancurious · 5 years ago

Text

Thanks For Listening | Chapter Four (NSFW)

Square: Free Space

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,740

Warnings: hurt!Reader, pining, eventual smut, dirty talk, voice!kink, unprotected sex.

Summary: Sam hosts two podcasts - a secret one for hunters called the War Room and a public one with fellow hunter Y/N called Criminal History. Y/N and Sam have never seen each other, let alone met, but that doesn’t stop Sam from worrying when Y/N suddenly goes missing.

Betaed by @manawhaat

Written for @spnkinkbingo

Header by me and Mana

Masterlist - AO3

The hike back to the car and the drive back to town seem to take forever. You end up sharing the backseat with the campers. Thankfully the Impala is wide enough to fit you all without it being too squished, but it’s still too many people for your taste. Frankly, though, even just having Dean in the car would be too many people.

Finally, the girls are dropped off at the hospital to get checked out and Dean drives back to the hotel. It’s a cute little place you were drawn to the moment you saw it, with its individual log cabins instead of the standard rooms.

“See you in the morning, Sam!” Dean says, scrambling out of the car and heading for their cabin without a backward glance.

Sam looks a little startled by his brother’s abrupt exit but he recovers quickly and turns to look at you.

“Hey, Chief,” you purr, leaning forward to rest your arms on the top edge of the front seat. ��Wanna come back to my room?”

“Well,” he grins, “he has the only key to our room. But even if he didn’t, you’d know my answer.” Sam presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Lead the way.”

---

Your cabin is a few down from where Dean parked. You hold tight to Sam’s hand, fighting the urge to run. Not only would that be ridiculous, it would also be dangerous. It was already snowing when you left the campsite and now it’s really coming down.

“You have snow in your hair,” Sam says once the cabin door is locked behind you. Long fingers brush over your head, turning snowflakes into tiny water droplets with the warmth of his skin.

After a moment, he drops his hand to unzip his coat and you quickly follow suit. His beautiful eyes are focused intensely on your face as you both strip down to your jeans and shirts. The hardwood floor of the cabin is cold against your bare feet but the air is warm.

"Sam," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his messy hair when he pulls his beanie off. "Take me to bed?"

His eyes darken with lust and suddenly you find yourself lifted in the air, supported by his hands under your thighs. You squeal, throwing your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, and he laughs as he carries you to the bed. You expect to bounce a little when you're dropped onto the mattress but Sam's huge body presses down on yours, pinning you beneath him.

"God, you're beautiful," Sam says, pressing kisses under your jaw. "Gonna make you feel so good."

"Yeah?" You cradle the back of his head in on hand, guiding him lower with gentle pressure. "Tell me about it."

He glances up from where he's sucking a mark on your collarbone, hands creeping under the hem of your shirt to rub sweeping circles across your belly and sides. "You want to hear me talk?"

His fingertips are brushing against the elastic of your bra now, stealing your words for a moment. You manage a frantic nod as you press into his touch, trying to communicate your desire.

Sam smirks, lifting his hands to tug your t-shirt up and off. He tosses it aside before leaning down to press kisses along the valley between your breasts. "So soft," he murmurs, nipping gently along the curve of your bra. "I wonder if you're this soft all over."

Skilled fingers undo the clasp and he eases it off of you, dropping it off the side of the bed without once taking his mouth from your skin.

"Like fuckin' velvet," he continues, kissing a trail over to wrap his lips around one nipple. You moan breathlessly and he grins, moving to give the other nipple the same treatment. "You like that, sweetheart? Like it when I suck on these pretty tits?"

"Yes," you whine, fingers digging into his hair.

"I like it, too." Sam's beginning to make his way further south. "But I want to see the rest of you." His fingers land on the waistband of your jeans and he shoots you a questioning look.

You nod, lifting your hips so Sam can easily undo and remove your jeans. Your panties follow and Sam groans happily when you spread your legs for him.

"Fuck, baby," he says, kissing along your inner thigh with his eyes locked on your pussy. "Didja shave for me?"

"Nah, I just like the way it feels." Your clit twitches when he blows hot air across it. "You get to benefit."

"I definitely don't mind," Sam says honestly before licking a wide stripe from your perineum to your clit.

You gasp, thighs closing reflexively around his head as your cunt clenches. Sam laughs and pushes your thighs apart again.

"Don't smother me before I can make you cum," he teases.

"I'll do my best," you reply, squirming as he sucks lightly on your labia. "Oh my god, Sam."

Your voice jumps up an octave when he latches onto your clit, sucking hard. Sam's pleased sound sends vibrations through the sensitive nerves and draws a whimper from your throat.

Sam backs off, changing tactics a little to begin a slow exploration. He takes his time figuring out what makes you buck against his mouth and what just doesn't do it for you. Once he's satisfied with his knowledge and you're a squirmy mess of arousal, he focuses on pushing you towards your orgasm.

You hit that peak hard, your body seizing and your voice catching in your throat alongside your ability to breath. Sam eases you down. Once you're breathing again, he shifts to stretch out beside you.

"Fuck," he says. "That was gorgeous, Y/n." His hand is rubbing circles on your pelvis, inching lower. When you spread your legs in invitation, his fingers slip between your folds to press against your soaked entrance. "Gotta get your ready for my cock."

You tug lightly at the collar of his flannel. "You gotta undress first. I wanna see what you've been hiding under all those layers."

Sam dutifully wipes his fingers clean on the bedspread before rolling to kneel upright between your thighs. As you watch, he slowly unbuttons his shirt and slides it off his shoulders, his t-shirt stretching across his pecs and shoulders in a way that's absolutely obscene.

The t-shirt comes off next, slowly lifted from the bottom, just to tease you a little. Your mouth waters as miles of tan skin, dusted with the perfect amount of dark chest hair, is revealed. Sam smirks, tossing his shirt aside.

"Like what you see?" he asks, moving to undo his jeans.

He shifts to stand at the foot of the bed, shedding the last of his clothes. Your eyes snap down to his cock as it bobs free, more than proportionate to the rest of him, and you spread your legs a little wider.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," Sam growls, crawling up onto the bed again. His cock slides against your pussy when he leans down to kiss you. "Want me to fuck you? Split this pretty pussy open on my cock?"

You're nodding before he's even finished speaking, hooking your legs around his thighs and pressing his hips down against your own.

"Condom?" he asks, nibbling a new mark on the side of your neck.

"Birth control," you reply, digging a hand into his hair again. It's silky-soft between your fingers and Sam seems to like it when you pull a little. "And I'm clean."

Sam groans, cock twitching where it lies beside your clit. "I'm clean, too. You're sure?"

"Very. I want to feel you."

He grinds his hips down, sliding his cock through your folds. You whine when the head bumps against your clit and lift your hips to try and line things up.

"Easy," he says, lips finding a sensitive spot under your ear.

One of his hands worms its way between your bodies to line his cock up. You gasp when he presses inside, stretching you open with careful rolls of his hips. If he looked big, he feels even bigger. It seems to take hours before his pelvis is pressed hard against your own and there's a pleasing ache in your core that you've never felt with other men.

"You okay?" Sam asks, nuzzling under your jaw.

"More than okay," you say, shifting your hips a little. "Just - start slow?"

He kisses the corner of your mouth. "Of course."

The first movements Sam makes are verging on too much - too big, too long, too tight - but he pulls lube out of somewhere to dribble on his cock and that helps a lot. He's careful, keeping an eye on your expressions so he can ease up if he thinks you need it. Sam has always been good at reading people and he puts that skill to good use now.

"Sam," you groan, looping your arms around his neck and holding him close. "Talk to me?" Your cheeks burn at the request.

"You like to hear me talk?"

You give him a small, sheepish nod and Sam grins.

"Is it dirty talk in general?" he prods. "Or just my voice?"

"... Just your voice."

Sam kisses your cheek. "What do you want me to say? That your pussy is the sweetest I've ever fucked? 'Cause it is. So wet and tight around my cock. Can you feel me splitting you open?" He sits back to look down where you’re stretched wide around him. "Fuckin' hell, baby. Such a greedy little pussy, clinging to my dick. Practically sucking me in." He thrusts a little harder than before, grinning at your whine. "Like that? Think you could cum on my cock?"

You moan and guide one of his hands down to rub slow circles on your clit. Sam's skilled fingers, combined with his cock stretching you open in all the right ways and hitting places that have never been touched before, pull you into your next orgasm within minutes. Sam talks you through it, a steady stream of praise and filthy words in that honey-warm voice you've been falling in love with over the last year plus some.

"Sam," you manage, reaching up to pull him into a kiss. "Want you to cum in me."

"Fuck," he groans, the only warning before he falls over his own edge.

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Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @books-and-icecream @laughing-at-the-darkness @tumbler-tidbits @imsuperawkward

Team Sam: @saxxxology

Team TFL: @wonderfulworldofwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @muchamusedaboutnothing @ellen-reincarnated1967 @linki-locks11

#spnkinkbingo #sam x reader #my writing #supernatural #thanks for listening

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vegetacide · 5 years ago

Text

Whump●tober -Shaky Hands

Veg-notables: So I decided that this one needed a revisit as the aftermath of 10.Unconscious intrigued me.. I intended to take a break today.. oops.. failed.

@gumnut-logic ::sneak attack…::

Obligatory whumptober stuff: @whumptober2019 @la-vie-en-whump

Blanket warning: Post brain explosions.. With residual ouchiness and discombobulation

Characters: Virgil/Kayo...

Whumptober - TaG’verse

Previous post for this can be found HERE

1. Shaky hands

Enjoy…

oOo

The fight to regain consciousness was a grueling task as Virgil’s brain sluggishly began to turn over and his internal dialogue fought to crawl back to the land of coherent thought. The first snips of reality peppering in and out of cognizance were in a weird tableau of hazy screen shots that left him confused and utterly disoriented.

The first thing to really registered in the slow moving molasses of his mind was the soft pad of retreating steps. The sound stood out in sharp contrast to everything else for some reason but he just couldn’t muster the energy to figure out why. No sooner had the thought entered his mind, than it was briskly whisked away with the invasion of light flashing over his closed eyelids.

The residual ache behind his twinging optic nerves thrummed along with his heartbeat and forced him to shut down anything too complicated to process. Which didn’t leave him with much to work with except maybe breathing.

Uhg, what the hell?

Shielding his eyes as the bright afterimages swirled about the inky darkness he wanted to marshal something from his flagged system to seek out and destroy the invasive luminescence. Unfortunately that would involve ambulation and that too seemed beyond his current abilities.

A twing again.. Right, stick with breathing..

Cautiously, he cracked open gritty eyes. Blinked repeatedly at the sting as they instantly began to water. A quick, foggy eyed glance about told him what he needed to know; location. He was in his room, though how he actually got there was a blank in his memory.

From what little he could remember, he had been on the flight deck of Two running post flight checks when the first inclination of an oncoming migraine started to present itself. After that, things grew very murky. Tiny little blips of colour and texture. A hard, cold surface, ebony richness, the scent of jasmine, a soft lilting voice, a warm breath across his skin then there was nothing.

Reaching up a hand to rub at the tension at his brow, a tug on his arm forced him to open his eyes again. “..shit…” He softly cursed as he took note of the IV line and his eyes traced up the line to hazily take in the bag of saline hanging above the headboard.

He’d really done it to himself this time and he was not looking forward to sorting this mess out once he was back on his feet. With the way he was feeling though that was still a while off.

Drawing in a deep, fortifying breath, Virgil heaved his torso off the bed with herculean effort and almost immediately regretted the action when the room started to spin and distort. Maybe not one of his best ideas but considering what had transpired over the last so many hours he didn’t think he could possibly dig himself in any deeper than he already was.

Swinging his legs off the side of the bed, he leaned forward to rest his head in his hands, elbows braced firmly on his knees. He was intent on getting his ass out of bed and across the short distance to the his ensuite bathroom but as he looked up he almost groaned at how far away the door appeared to be. The temptation to just return to the soft confines of his bed was growing proportionately to his waning strength.

Staring at the bathroom door just five feet from him, he willed his body to heed his mental commands. Feet firmly planted and he readied muscles to bunch and push off when a hand landed on the back of his neck and a quiet voice whispered in his ear.

“And where do you think your going?”

Flinching as the figure behind him scared the living shit out of him, Virgil found himself thumping to the floor with a not so very manly yelp. Pressing his hand to his racing heart he cursed vehemently.

“Well, good morning to you too.” Kayo smiled leaning over the side of the bed and looking down at him. “Don’t let Grandma hear you swear like that or she is liable to wash your mouth out with soap no matter what state your head is in.”

With the easy grace of someone who knew how to handle herself, Kayo unfurled herself from the bed and crouched down beside him. “Come on, I’ll give you a hand.”

All he could manage was a grunt.

Kayo tutted and ducked under his arm to help him up. He sometimes forgot how strong she wasn and in moments like these he was grateful for the practiced ease in which she used it.

Settling him back on the edge of the bed, she unhooked the saline bag from the quick release. her eyes concentrating on the task a little too hard for his liking.

There was a pensiveness about her that he knew well. She was brooding and trying to figure out the best way to broach a subject that she was unsure of. Not a good thing considering he had a pretty good idea what the content of her musings was.

Reaching up he rubbed at the bridge of his nose and once again contemplated hermitting himself away for the next century.

Her cool hands took hold of his forearm and pulled his hand away from his face. Checking over the catheter, she made sure the valve for the quick release was securely closed and the small bit of line was fastened in place with an extra strip of medical tape.

“Bathroom.” She ordered and tugged on his arm

Back on his feet once more Kayo shuffled him off into the bathroom. She stayed a pace behind as he entered the cool confines of the tiled space and as she passed through the door, she adjusted the lights to low knowing his eyes would be sensitive to it for at least the rest of the day.

While he took care of business, she turned the shower on and adjusted the controls. The muscles across his back tightened as the tension in the room grew with each passing second. “In you get.” She said once she was satisfied with the temperature but didn’t meet his eyes.

He obeyed with little complaint. He really didn’t have the energy to put up much of a fight and besides the idea the warm water washing away the sweat and easing his tired muscles did sound appealing.

Looking down at himself he realized that he was still in his arming tunic from the other day and with a snarl he pulled it up and over his head. His boxer came next though the act of ditching those took some effort as he wobbled like a drunk on one leg. Kayo steadied him with a sturdy arm and he gave a nod of thanks.

Naked and shivering as the cool air touched his sweaty skin he dragged in a breath, got a whiff of himself and instantly paled. A lovely combination of sweat and vomit mingled in his nose and he winced as his stomach gave a retaliatory squeeze.

Biting down on the impulse to toss his cookies again; like really there was anything in there to bring up, he forced his body to move and stepped under the warm spray of the shower.

Soap, shampoo, rinse, repeat. Stand like a statue and drown.. Was that possible while in the shower?

The stall door opened and Virgil groggily opened his eyes. Probably not possible, he mused. Wow he really was out for lunch still. His thoughts were sluggish and random and head felt like it was floating above his body.

“Out you get.” Another order and she still wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Damn it.

Stepping out she dried him off and wrapped a towel around his waist before leading him back to bed. He had to admit the shower was a good idea, it had helped a little though it had sapped what little he had left in the tank on reserve.

A clean muscle shirt and boxers followed and she pulled back the sheets, an open invitation to get back in.

Effort expended, he did as she silently asked and sank back into the softness of his bed.

God, he was tired and he hated the lethargy that was going to dog him for the next few days. This episode had been a bad one. He knew he had over extended himself but what choice had he had. Lives had been at stake and if he could do something about it he was duty bound to step up to the plate, consequences be damned… or so he had thought.

Pushing the pads his fingers into his eye sockets and tried not to let the continued strained silence get to him. In his state, though his patience for waiting it out lasted a whole of thirty seconds. “Kay…”

“I wish you wouldn’t push yourself so hard.” She plowed right over him. Flattened him by the tone of her voice, the worried edginess to her usually pleasing lilt.

Crap on a cracker.. Virgil pulled a heavy breath into his lungs and the exhaustion weight down on him. He was tempted to look and see who had placed the house on his back but the answer to that was obvious. Himself.

Whatever his intentions at the beginning of all of this….several days ago, he hadn’t intended on scaring her.

He kicked himself with a groan. “Kay. Look, I’m sorry I worried you. It’s been a hard few days and I didn’t plan this…”

“That’s exactly the problem.” Her green gaze shifted and lasered in on him. “You push and push and push and completely forget that you’re human.”

She turned away from him, fusing with the saline bag as she hooked him back up again. Her handling of the IV rough and it was obvious even to his foggy brain that she was uncomfortable revealing this part of herself even to him. “Do you know what it was like to see you like that?” Her voice was a whisper but he heard it loud and clear as if she had used a bullhorn.

With a bit more effort than he cared to admit, he grunted back to his feet and stepped towards her. Reaching out he caught her hand in his and was dumbfounded to find it shaking.

Words caught in his throat, he pulled her to him and wrapped her in his embrace. “I’m sorry.” He whispered in his ear, his voice rough as her shoulders quaked. Shit “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry. I’ll try harder but please don’t cry.”

Her shoulders silently shuddered under him, the only sign that she would give of her distress and she buried her face into his neck. Her willowy arms encircling his waist and holding on tight as she tried to rein in her rampant emotions.

Christ, he’d done it this time. She never cried. He’d really scared her this time for her have become this upset.

He would rather deal with her ire and scathing tongue. Her anger was something he knew how to handle and something he much preferred. Tears though? From her? He was at a complete loss.

He would do better. He had to.

He swept a comforting hand down the length of her back and brushed a kissed across her crown. An unvoiced promise in his actions, he would do anything to make this right again.

Energy flagging, he pulled her down to the bed with him and tucked her into his side. Comfort and sleep first then they would tackle figuring this out. He would figure this out.

The fading ache behind his eyes gave a little thump. A friendly reminder of what happened when he neglected himself that he wasn’t soon to forget.

After this he was sure he was going to have to contend with his big brother… Something that he didn’t look forward to considering the state that Kayo was in.

Shit....

The End.

oOo

Next post can be found HERE

The Master List of prompts can be found HERE

#whumptober2019 #whumptober #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfic #thunderbirds fanfiction #no.1 #shaky hands #Virgil Tracy #Kayo Kyrano #virgil/kayo #aftermath #what the hell did he do to himself #ouch #part 2

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regrettablewritings · 6 years ago

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How differently do they think of each other now compared to when they first met?: You thought of Clark as anyone who’d ever met him before did: He was timid, and something about his demeanor seemed poorly suited for the frame that actually portrayed it. However, he seemed harmless enough; nothing worth digging into. That was what you had made sure to take note of during your period as a mole for one “Mr. Knight.” (You really wished Mr. Wayne would’ve thought up a less laughable alias, but he wasn’t paying you to criticize. Only to keep your finger on the pulse of Metropolis by infiltrating the ranks of the Daily Planet). However, as time went on, that initial response seemed to shift somewhat.

It didn’t take long for you to notice his frequent disappearances during the work day. When you inquired about it, an apparent friend of his, Lois, explained that it had something to do with some “health concerns” or whatever story he was supposedly working on that week. You raised a brow at the matter but took note for future reference. Part of you wanted to believe that your job (your real one as a mole) had been made a lot easier by potentially having a link to finding out who the caped Kryptonian was. But another part of you was suspicious of the possibility; after all, that would be far too good of luck for that to be the case, right? Probably.

You would’ve been happy to have left it like that, had it not been for the brief but relatively multiple occurrences where you’d witnessed Clark be able to perform acts that would have required excessive strength such as moving a full file cabinet with ease, or gripping the edge of his desk enough to snap the pulpy wood it was made out of. It was perhaps in your need to justify everything that wound up being your downfall. You were on a mission – a very important one at that – and it wouldn’t do to constantly pester your boss about every strange thing that occurred in the area. (If that were the case, you would’ve had the Bruce Wayne lurking around the nightclub scene, intimidating every other person who could do a vape trick through a gaged hole in their mouth.)

In this case, you looked to the small file of Daily Planet workers that Mr. Wayne had provided you with, pleased to use Clark’s farm boy heritage as an excuse for his freakish strength (never mind that he supposedly had health issues that may or may not have a supposed effect on it). But perhaps also you just needed a reason to not have to be suspicious of him: He was, from what few interactions the two of you had had, a very nice guy. Not a Nice Guy™, but a man who appeared to be nice by nature. You sure as heck never met one back in Gotham!

Clark admittedly didn’t have much of an opinion on you for the first chunk of your time undercover. It wasn’t necessarily that you didn’t appear in his awareness enough for him to form an idea of you, it was just that with his self-appointed position as a sort of guardian of the Earth (or at least Metropolis), learning about new coworkers wasn’t really on the top of his list. Especially with this Batman nonsense beginning to spill over from across the bay. But from what he did manage to take note of, however, you were polite and dedicated, always seeing your assigned tasks to the end – which was undeniably something that Clark couldn’t always say for himself.

He didn’t expect the latter to come back to bite him in his nigh-on invincible ass, though.

It didn’t matter to you that he’d insisted that all was forgiven: The amount of guilt you’d accumulated after being tied up into his near-defeat just wouldn’t quit.

“Please,” you said, almost seriously, “punch my body backwards. Fling me into the sun… Lois mentioned you got a place in the Arctic, right? Drop me off there and leave me to fend for myself.”

Once again, Clark found himself laughing (albeit in an attempt to alleviate the tension).

“It’s okay,” he swore. A beat before shrugging. “Well, not okay … But it’s all said and done. You didn’t mean any harm –”

“This entire UC mission was to figure out who Superman was so my boss could kick the shit out of him.”

“… Well, you didn’t mean the extent of the harm, anyway.”

Even after you placed your two-weeks notice at the Daily Planet, thus ending your time in Metropolis, the apologies wouldn’t quit. Nor did your efforts to attempt proportionate compensation via expensive fruit baskets.

(“Wow,” Lois breathed, observing the intricate designs carved into a large watermelon. The great fruit itself had been converted into a basket that now held grapes and honeydew and all sorts of other natural goodies. “Somebody must really like you, Clark.” She smirked as Clark’s ears burned red. He cast his eyes downward, but he knew she knew.)

But eventually he must have gotten sick of fruit or acquired a compost pile too large for the likes of the city, because eventually he contacted you and suggested the two of you settle this in a more agreeable way: Having a nice dinner and chatting. Even though Clark insisted it was something he’d managed to pull together, the fact that the restaurant was practically bare save for the staff gave you the creeping suspicion that he had called in a favor with Mr. Wayne. You intended on asking Clark if this had been the case (aside from his alter ego, the man was pretty honest about everything else), but first: You had to talk about the fight that happened so long ago.

It was by no intention (at least, not of your own) that the discussion would diverge into other topics, which then turned into conversations all a world of their own. Things like how different Metropolis was from Gotham. Or your respective personal lives when not saving the world or writing for a flimsy paper or being a billionaire’s second righthand. Or favorite dishes to cook. Or favorite past times. By the time the night was over, you’d forgotten what the two of you had come together for in the first place.

Fast forward to now, when the two of you are a couple. You still think he’s a dorkish sweetheart, but really only when he’s in civilian mode. This is because you’ve since come to know Clark as being far more multidimensional than the stereotypical, sheepish lad he sells himself as. You respect his sacrificing attitude, nerve-wrecking as it can often be. It’s interesting how a man can seem so ideal yet struggle so much with the weight of what his abilities carry, and he lets you know about that weight often enough. He wants to be the best hero he can, but that’s just plain impossible. Nevertheless, he tries and sometimes he pushes himself too far in the attempts. He needs a lot more comfort and validation than he lets in on, of which you are glad to provide.

Clark is quite glad to learn that being ambitious wasn’t just a trait you wore for your time undercover – it was something that you had arrived in Metropolis with, and one that you carried out in everything you did no matter how big or small. Let’s be real, Clark’s always admired a go-getter, so it’s no surprise that that is perhaps the trait he’s most excited about seeing in you. He admires your openness to carrying out tasks, something of which he can’t quite do as often as he’d like due to who and what he is. However, he’s more than happy to support you because you’re his biggest cheerleader and have faith in him. Going off of this, he also appreciates your loyalty. It’s an impassioned sort, assisted by the aforementioned sense of dedication you display. Once your mind is made up, it would take either a lot or your own self to actually sway you off the course you’d set. No wonder he was able to buy you as a genuine journalist for so long!

What do their friends/family think of their relationship?: Given that he’s far less hostile towards Clark post-fight, Bruce doesn’t feel nearly as threatened about the relationship as he probably could’ve been. Of course, he’s still put off by it: He hadn’t expected his spy to come back dating the very man he’d been afraid of all these years. However, given that he’s grown to trust Clark as a person, all Bruce can do is sigh heavily and just let things happen. The both of you are grown-ups, he trusts nothing weird is going to happen.

“Besides,” he resigns, “at least the guy can protect you if need be.” Damn right he could.

Neither of you get the chance to even tell Lois before she figures it out (the woman isn’t an award-winning investigative journalist for nothing). Honestly, she thought the two of you had been dating long before you actually began (“I thought that the fruit baskets were little tokens of affection after the fifth week of it happening,” she said). However, she is quick to regard the relationship as something straight out of a cheesy romance novel and she’s absolutely living for it.

“Enemies-turned-lovers – god, can Clark ever be a part of something not cliché?” she giggles into her morning coffee the day she figures out the situation. Suffice to say she’s at least glad that the man is actually interacting with more people on a regular basis than just her. On that note, the League also soon finds out (because let’s be real, Diana could either see it in Clark’s features, or Bruce blabbed about it). With the exception of Bruce (who is exasperated about it), the League is predominately neutral regarding the relationship. Actually, scratch that: Barry bluntly comments about how strange the union is because “didn’t [Clark] almost die because of the information [you] got on [him]?” He doesn’t mean to come off in any negative kind of way, it just perplexes him at first. However, given that he and Clark are “speed buddies” and therefore share kindred, sprinted spirits, he trusts Clark’s decision and is happy for him.

When you finally videochat your family so they can finally lay their eyes on your boyfriend, you have to pray to whatever god is out there that the camera feed is too grainy for them to make out Clark’s features too well. When your sibling commented on how Clark looks vaguely familiar, your stomach took a plunge into your bowls. Thankfully, Clark was able to play it off as a joke about how he just has “basic white guy face.” It manages to get a chuckle out of your family. All in all, they think you’ve found yourself a “fine young man.” It’s your friends, however, you struggle the most with. It’s not that they disapprove of the relationship – far from it, in fact – it’s just that with them being physically present and far more social media savvy, it’s harder to keep them from recognizing Clark as the controversial Kryptonian. As a result, Clark kept his almost sheepish workplace demeanor, adding fuel to the image by always opting to wear clothes that are just unflattering to his figure. Nothing godawful, but definitely nothing to indicate at the 6’1” mass of pure muscle that he really was.

No neither side’s surprise, they bought it. Mainly because Clark was naturally very likable. Your friends boldly praise Clark for being “a rare breed of man”, and you for managing to snag him. It’s when they ask you guys how you met, however, that things had to be fudged a bit. As far as they know, you two met while he was interviewing you for a piece that wound up getting cancelled. You’re pretty sure they wouldn’t be able to handle learning you’re involved with espionage, much less that it was the reason you are now dating Superman.

How do their personalities/skills complement or contrast with each other?: While both you and Clark are go-getters, it’s really only in your own respective rights. For example, it’s in his nature to present it as tamer. He works in ways that, at their core, are meant to minimize damages to the best of his ability. (Whether or not this actually plays out, of course, depends on the circumstances.) This isn’t to say that you’re necessarily rambunctious but being that you were trained under and employed by a man with an “any means necessary” point of view, it’s easy to sometimes let your ambitions get the better of you. You both are also skilled in the ways of being elusive, with it being in your job description by the nature of the job, and with it being a necessity for him to be able to be Superman and Clark separately.

What is their favorite aspect of each other?: Even from day one, with what little you knew or cared about Clark, you had to admit: You admired his kindly nature. Depressing as it was to say, it just wasn’t a common thing to find in people, much less the men hardened by urban living. And your job and all its accompaniments hadn’t necessarily convinced you otherwise – you were just so used to seeing and reporting horrible, dark things about seemingly nice people that you had lost quite a bit of hope by the time Clark had rolled around. In fact, you honestly didn’t really by his willingness to help or his politeness – at first. But once he proved that everything about his efforts was genuine, you couldn’t help but admire those traits. A little too much so, in your initial opinion.

Part of you even questioned your own reliability, that maybe you took small, normal instances of him being a decent human and exaggerated them to godlike status to make your eventual romantic relationship with him more justifiable. But ultimately you clung to it: The universe was offering you a walking piece of Heaven, who were you to truly deny yourself that? Of course, it sometimes exhausted you to see him try to fulfill expectations that weren’t even necessarily there (especially with his Clark Kent alias), but more on that later. In healthy doses, his unselfishness was his strongest point.

Having been raised in a farming community, Clark grew up appreciating the value of working hard to get results. This has since bled into the real world where go-getters tend to gain some bit of admiration within him, especially those who use their determination to see a job through to a greater good. Granted, the situations wherein you tended to use this trait of yours are a bit controversial: Espionage, for all intents and purposes, was a shady business to get into, especially since his first awareness of your involvement in it required you to be a mole and feed your employer information, of which subsequently got Clark’s ass kicked. But you win some brownie points when he gets to observe that same diligence in you outside of work. If you set your sights on a project or something you wish to acquire, you’re going to see it through, from getting a recipe for a stay-in date night down, to attempting to fix the dryer despite knowing very little about handyman-ship.

Suffice to say, godly being loves a trier.

Do either of them have pet peeves about each other?: It may seem cold, but you hate that Clark blames himself for not being able to stop anything and everything. It’s ridiculous. He may be “godlike” to the eyes of many, but that doesn’t make him God, much less suggest that even God helps everybody. He just needs to accept to the vest of is ability that there are some (and by some, you mean plenty) of things he can’t do. That’s what makes him human. He doesn’t … take this bluntness too well. Yes, he knows you’re right, but the delivery of this type of sensitive subject doesn’t always flow sweetly through your lips. And that’s what he doesn’t like.

Your concern for his self-validation doesn’t always translate as being from a place of good intentions, unfortunately. Sometimes you just come off as cold and cruel. And that is probably when he dislikes from you: That despite being a very caring person, you seem to be a little more detached compared to him. You’re more so about people rather than for people, whereas he has built himself up as a figure for people and about people. As a result, he sometimes feels beside himself, thinking that your aloof nature shouldn’t be excused by what you’ve experienced and that it only contributes to a bigger problem as a whole.

The truth of the matter is that while both sides have valid arguments, the delivery of such concerns – especially when in the heat of an argument – can result in ill delivery of either impression.

The words “martyr syndrome”, “ridiculous”, “cold”, and “selfish” are likely to be thrown about until you either storm off or he practically blasts out of the apartment before he accidentally lasers the kitchen counter out of rage.

How would each reconcile with each other after a fight?: Cool down time is especially important in a situation wherein one member of the couple is capable of accidentally setting off a very dangerous super power when enraged. Clark would never hurt you, mind you; even when frustrated with you, he would never wish you ill in spite of what he may imply when blinded by anger. However, you make him pretty vulnerable, mind you. And sometimes, that vulnerability may mess with his ability to focus on trying not to smash a balled fist against the coffee table and turning it into toothpicks upon impact. And while you may not be anywhere near that strong or gifted with abilities that would allow you to destroy things with the same capacity, you still have plenty of anger to simmer down from.

Screaming into a pillow usually only does so much (mostly just making your throat and head hurt), so more often than not you’ll try to nap away the pain. If you manage to wake up before Clark comes back, there’s a slight chance you’ll be in a better mood. Maybe not a perfect one, but you’ve at the very least calmed down a bit. Depending on the situation, you may have even accepted that you can’t stay mad forever, let alone with him, and you want to just end this silly dispute and make peace. You wait up for him to return which, in itself, is a feat considering that his abilities allow him to literally travel all over the world in record time – which he has done in some cases under the duress of an argument. If you stay up for hours, even into the blooming light of the rising sun, he won’t even try to talk with you when he returns – he’ll just usher you back to bed and quietly say you’ll talk when you’re both well-rested.

When that time eventually comes, the keyword here is “softer.” Speak what you mean in softer language. Don’t sugarcoat it, but there’s definitely a better way to state your claim than, “Shit happens everywhere in the world, it’s not your job or even your ability to clean it all up, nor should you kick your own ass about it.” Clark will be patient and let you tell your side, nodding or furrowing his brows at certain comments, before telling his own side of the situation regarding himself. Then, when you’re ready, he’ll confide in you (in softer terms) his worry that you’re being too indifferent about the current state of the world and his place in them. He understands you don’t mean to come off in such a way, but it just concerns him that you’ve really given up on everything.

Of course, you haven’t. You just felt it was easier to cope with everything this way. He understands. Just like deep down, you understand that your beloved boyfriend just wants to bring to the world more peace than there was before he came. Neither part may necessarily agree with the others’ methods or how it may impact them (making you cold, making him filled with anxiety), but the most that you can do is be there for one another. Offer each other support and love and keep as much of a balance as possible. Because in the end, you keep him grounded and Clark lifts you up.

What would be their ideal vacation getaway together?: It’s hard to place where or even what vacationing with Clark would look like to be honest. Given who Clark is, he can’t always just up and decide to take a break. At least, that’s what he convinces himself. And it drives you absolutely nuts! Once Lois and Diana catch wind of this, they’re on Clark’s back like college students on free food, scolding him for “neglecting his boyfriend duties.” He only really gives in after Diana’s fifty-fifth insistence that the League can handle things in his absence. However, it then becomes a matter of where to go.

Given his abilities, he can and has easily traveled to other countries in very little time with few to no difficulties. But since he more often than not is not there to take in the scenery or culture, this makes it only a bit easier. However, you insist that on vacation he ought to act a little more normal so that he can get the full experience. This means you have to choose a vacation destination wisely, otherwise y’all have wasted money. Generally speaking, Clark’s nervousness about being too far from Metropolis is likely going to affect how far the two of you go at first, never mind how easy it would be for him to just fly back if the League truly did need him. However, enough nudging can result in a trip a little further from Metropolis than Clark would have expected to be besides Smallville.

He finds that he likes Yosemite Park. Not so much the crowds it tends to draw, but definitely the hiking trails and the potential picnics that could be had further away from the screeches of children and bellowing of their frustrated parents. Plus, his abilities make going further inward and elsewhere all the more easy, with getting lost or having to escape potentially dangerous animals being a thing of the past when Clark can easily fly above the treetops and back toward civilization if need be. Of course, he still tries to avoid being cocky and to keep his wits about him, but for the most part, Clark finds himself enjoying the vacation. Once he’s gotten through his hesitancies and potential guilt about relaxing, he practically collapses into a puddle of released stresses, his head warming your lap as the two of you enjoy the gentle breeze of the little patch of forest you decided to spend your little picnic for two in.

He dreadfully misses it when it comes time for him to resume his jobs as both a reporter and as guardian of Metropolis (and, furthermore, the world).

Think of a new way (AU, different situation, etc.) they could have met for the first time

The world was strange, and Clark wasn’t sure how much right he had to conclude that for himself. Because, on one hand, he was a flying, laser-shooting alien with unparalleled strength. But on the other, he was involved with a team composed of two technical demigods (both whose people were thought to be myths), a cyborg revived from the brink of death by a box, and a man fast enough to phase through solid material with just the proper amount of focus. This went without mentioning the fact that his enemy-turned friend was a billionaire who’d been dressing like a bat for the last three decades but, all things considered, that was arguably normal by comparison.

But, with the exception of Victor, you never would’ve assumed such oddities about any of them. Not at first glance at least. But that was the point: The world could only handle so much strangeness before people became too opposed to it for it to carry on. Which was why it made Clark a little more than on edge when things around Metropolis started to seem a little … odd.

It started off with little things: Black marks appearing in alleyways, cracking and booming noises often occurring before or after. “Not unlike thunderclaps,” witnesses would later say. TVs and other electrical devices going wonky or even outright snapping out of life. Fuse boxes would be blackened, the areas around them sometimes scorched. But the electric companies couldn’t find anything about the equipment that would suggest sabotage; and inspectors on the case found little to nothing that could suffice as evidence that there was purposeful vandalism. And with all the more obvious surveillance cameras damaged before any footage could be captured, there was only so much to go on. There was little rhyme or reason indicating a pattern to which areas got struck besides the fact that they tended to be in wealthier areas, but considering much of Metropolis was inhabited by the upper-class, it was nearly a moot note so the likelihood of a successful stakeout was remarkably slim – if performed by the average cop.

Bruce wasn’t a cop. But he also wasn’t the average detective. It had taken some time and a lot of surveillance, coupled with Lois’ own findings done on her own time, but by the end of a month and a half, they were pretty certain they had found their culprit. All that was left was to have Clark find them and bring them in, hopefully to join the League.

Why Clark?

“Pretty sure that if you get electrocuted, you’ll just register it as a tickle,” Bruce admitted. Blunt, but fair.

Still, Clark couldn’t help but think as he scouted the skies one night, maybe the rich guy who has plenty of time the next day to rest might want to go searching in the middle of the night?

But there was no use in arguing, much less at this point. Though some small part of him wish he’d put up a bit more of a fight beforehand. Normally, Clark was glad to have found the city experiencing little to no issues, especially at night. However, considering the added weight of expectations placed on this particular outing, there he couldn’t help but hold a little bit of anticipation in him –

VwwmmmmmpapapapKRACK.

It was faint, being in the distance, but it was nothing his hearing couldn’t register: The sound of fuse tampering and popping out of life. There, some odd three miles away: There was a glow swelling and slightly throbbing with diminishing power, crawling out of an alleyway into the night air.

Well, Clark thought somewhat optimistically. At least I won’t have to track them down based on looks alone …

+++++++++

Moving to Metropolis was supposed to be the start of something new. Something good and new, specifically. Not getting into a freak accident involving a weird, unnatural-looking cloud appearing just as you were checking out your apartment’s fuse box and waking up months later from a comatose state. That alone should have been enough of a cue that things weren’t going to go your way.

But, oh, it didn’t stop there. It would’ve been fine to have stopped when a majority of your clothes would stick to you regardless of the fashion; that was bearable. But it went on: From your phone exploding in your touch to your electronics following suit. It didn’t stop when the electricity in your building flickered with your rage; nor did it stop when, on a fearful whim, you attempted to summon as much voltage from as many transformers in a three-block radius as possible – and succeeded. Well, that is, before your attempts to return the acquired energy resulted in their sources exploding. You weren’t trying that again.

Not until you had a better grasp of it all… . But god, why was it all so dam hard to grasp?

You’d though it be best to practice in the richer parts of town – the electric company would be in a far bigger hurry to bring them their power back, the absolute bastards. But with how many generators and the like you were destroying, you were running out of practice space.

You groaned as you watched the circuit box before you begin to putter out of use.

“Greeeeat, (Y/N),” you told yourself. “You finally begin to get the hang of putting shit back where it came, you get a little too excited, and blam-o.” The all too familiar feeling of disappointment developed a sigh in you; you had long since passed feeling anxious about the destruction of property, and you knew you could do no good by trying to fix it. All you could do now was leave the scene, pretend to sleep peacefully, and try to figure out where to go next.

It had been nearly two months since you started your high-voltage, highly dangerous practicing; surely by now the cops were on to you, what with most of your “victims” being people of note. Logic said to shake them off your trail by moving to a type of location they wouldn’t have seen comic. But … that meant going to lower-income neighborhoods. And as much as you wanted to figure out how to stop blowing up electronics by touch, you really weren’t comfortable with doing it at the expense of those who needed the help more.

“Good evening,” came a voice, yanking you out of your nervous thoughts. It had taken your brain a moment to register it, but you could’ve sworn it came come from the sky: A type of voice dashing heroes in old movies would use; heroes with big, strong chins.

Superman did, of course, have such a feature on him, you came to find. But as he descending from the sky, into the alley (thus blocking your way out), you were forced to consider that every feature he had appeared to be big and strong: His towering height, his bulging muscles that the suit made no effort to hide, his … hands that would most definitely kill you if he so much as poked you with one finger.

That last thought alone, even in a hypothetical sense, was all it took for your fight or flight senses to kick in, your hands suddenly flying up in defense with fizzles of what electricity you’d collected springing in your palms.

Superman, however, did not flinch. He barely even regarded your sparkling, trembling hands (which did nothing for your confidence, both in your abilities and in your chances of getting out of this unmaimed).

“You don’t want to do that,” Superman stated. Simple as that. And he was right: You really didn’t want to have to “fight” him. But what else could you do?

On Clark’s own end, he could just feel the anxiety radiating off of you. He didn’t even have to listen for your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Honestly, though he hated to admit it, looking at you reminded him of seeing small, scared animals back in Smallville. Rabbits and mice found scittering about on the farm to be more specific.

On one hand, he was just glad you weren’t some hyper-powered hooligan willing to throw a punch in a fight they weren’t ready for. But on the other, he felt a little bad scaring you like this. It was probably best if he didn’t near you. For now.

“It’s okay,” he offered. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

You sighed and lowered your hands, your pitiful static fizzling to a halt. “Look,” you said quietly, “I promise I’ll go away. I’ll switch towns! I swear!”

At this, the man furrowed his brows. “I’m afraid that can’t happen …” Your heart plummeted before being slingshotted back into a revived desire to plea and flee.

“I swear, okay! Nobody was supposed to get hurt!” you insisted. “I don’t think anybody even really got hurt, per se … Just inconvenienced. But I promise, it won’t happen again – ” In the midst of your rambling, Superman took a step towards you. It was a simple movement, all things considered, but for you, in this moment of high stress, it might as well have been an outright threat. You couldn’t stop yourself from releasing a pathetic yelp, nearly stepping all over your own feet to take a few steps back.

Crap, Clark cursed. Okay, clearly acting serious and stern was helping nobody. At this point, you were probably going to run in the opposite direction and smack your skull against the dead end of the alleyway. To hell with this.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he suddenly said. He raised his hands in a weak attempt to show his change of demeanor. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” You had to admit, even in your moment of fear, the sudden shift in tone was not lost on you.

He still had hints of old school hero in his voice, but now there was something … more? It was hard to place (especially in your current jumpy state), but you were just able enough to pick out nodes of what his voice now held: Sunshine; apples; the type of voice a sweet man running a humble little bookstore or fruit stand might have.

It had to have been a trap. You weren’t one to disapprove of Superman, given all that he’s done, but being on the other side of him just wasn’t doing much for your ability to think straight. And Clark could sense it.

“Hey,” he tried again. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” You blinked, a brow slowly beginning to raise. “We – I’ve been looking for you, per a friend’s request, and – ” No sooner had he said it, Clark regretted it. The look of resumed discomfort of your face made him really acknowledge that.

“ ‘Friend’?” you demanded. “Who the hell is your friend? What do you want?!”

Oh, geez.

“Listen, please, remain calm!” Clark pleaded. To him, in that moment, he’d thought he’d been sounding gentle enough. But as the nearby streetlights began to flicker, he knew better.

Once again, regret: If there was anything he’d learned working with Lois and Bruce, it was that telling someone on the verge of panic or in the midst of complete frustration to “calm down” in any sense was a bad, bad, bad idea. Saying so to a person who had powers, controlled or not, however? Absolutely terrible idea.

While your previous attempt at intimidation by way of summoning electricity had done little to impress Clark, he had to admit: You were a bit better at it now. The more the streetlights blinked, the more streams of electronic light appeared to gather towards you, specifically in your palms and feet.

“Look, buddy,” you hissed. “I’ve been dealing with a lot of crap leading up to this. I moved to a new city. I got goddamn electrocuted into a coma – ” At this point, Clark couldn’t help but notice thin streaks of static begin to make a beeline towards your eyes. Not promising, if his experience had told him so.

You gritted your teeth, increasingly glowing eyes narrowing. “Then! I wake up to these – these stupid, stupid powers! Powers I don’t have the first fucking clue of how to control. But do you see me running around, actively trying to kill people like every other goddamn psycho in this ‘city of tomorrow’? No! I’ve had to figure all this crap out on. My. Own.” The brights of your eyes increased, simultaneously illuminating the growing rage of your expression while also blinding Clark to being able to make it out in the first place.

At your feet, small currents began to sizzle against the crackling pavement. You were no longer trying to back away: You took a step forward, and it definitely made Clark feel worry.

“Could I have done it differently? Sure. Maybe. But don’t forget, Flyboy: I could’ve been so. Much. Worse!” Clark could hear the tingling rattle of lightbulbs struggling within the streetlights, trying to retain whatever power they could.

“I – ” But Clark was cut off.

“And you,” you growled, “have the audacity … To tell me to calm DOWN?!” In that moment, three things happened in the following order:

The first had been that your eyes, filled with so much fury, could no longer remain squinted; they widened, revealing themselves to be entirely white with pure energy at this point. The second thing appeared to be connected with the sudden snapping, due to it being how any lightbulb in a streetlight or artsy lamp within a three-block radius became overwhelmed – too overwhelmed to maintain proper form, in fact. They popped and shattered, leaving bits of glass to tumble to the streets below.

The third instance, however, had nothing to do with your powers: It was just Clark, getting a word in.

“I get it,” he said. Had there been any lightbulbs left, they might have shattered as well in sync with the snarl you gave the man.

“Quit lying!” you demanded. The wave of volts began to ripple all the more erratically. But Clark held his ground.

“I’m not lying,” he swore. He even placed one hand to his heart, the other upright. “Scout’s honor.” Unfortunately for him, the sincerity of a Boy Scout appeared to mean little to you. He went on, “I didn’t always have control of my powers. I didn’t have anyone to help me figure them out; I had to wing it!” You raised a bemused brow in reaction.

Okay … Clark thought. It’s … better than the glare, I guess? He swallowed. Dare to try one last time before things potentially get yucky?

“That’s, uh, actually why I’ve … come to find you,” he stated. “The friend? I swear he’s a good man. A little rough around the edges, but – ”

“You’re not helping your case,” you snapped.

“I’m a part of a sort of group, there’s people like you and me, and we think it’d be best if you joined – er, if you wanted to.”

“Ah. So, you want to basically make me into a weapon?”

“Nonononono, not that at all. I swear. It’s just – Look, even if you don’t want to join,” Clark bit his lip, “we could at least potentially find a way to help you get those powers under control so that you won’t keep breaking stuff.” A beat passed. “Well,” he shrugged, “it’s more like my friend will. He’s good with science and can definitely provide the right materials.”

To his credit, Clark did begin to notice an apparent lapse in the energy you were emitting. It was hard for the average eye to properly compute it but for him, the change was definitely there.

On your own end, you had to admit: The temptation was definitely lingering through his words. But then, perhaps you were just desperate and overwhelmed and looking for an out in this entire situation. But something still very much bothered you.

“How can I know I can trust you?” you asked, brow completely scrunched with uncertainty. The entire situation considered, it was still a bit of a shocker for one to not entirely trust the great and beloved Superman’s words. And, judging by his stumbling, it wasn’t a scenario he had been prepared to answer right on the spot.

“Uh – Becaaauussseee …” Another thing Clark had learned working with Lois and Perry Mason: The longer you stammer and search for answers, the less legit your word comes cross. His mind scrambled for something, anything that would win your favor over. But, in the end, there was only one thing that stood out. And, for the first time completely since landing in that alley, Clark felt just as nervous as you had.

“My … name …” He inhaled deeply, trying his best not to exhale chill winds. “My name … is Clark Kent. I work with The Daily Planet.”

You blinked. “… Pardon?” The voltage at your feet dampened.

Clark continued, “I’m a Kryptonian refugee, but I was raised here on Earth. The friend who sent me here is – ” He stopped himself short before deciding that Bruce could kick his ass about this later. “It’s Bruce Wayne.”

“Bruce Wayne?!” you interjected. Part of you wanted to call crap but the other part of you had to remember that the man in front of you was claiming to be a humanoid alien who worked at the local newspaper; who’s to say he really wasn’t acquainted with the rich guy across the bay? Judging by the hint of smile this Clark Kent guy let slip, you … honestly couldn’t bring yourself to really disbelieve him. The static at your fingertips dribbled into your palms before shrinking away.

“Yeah, uh … It’s a bit of a story,” Clark claimed, a bit of sheepishness in his voice.

The shift from mostly illuminated to just barely lit by the light of the moon was sudden and startling. But for Clark, it was a good thing. The ground immediately beneath you had been blackened by your doing, but you otherwise appeared perfectly fine, if a bit curious.

“Got proof?” you asked.

“I mean, I gave you my secret identity – that’s pretty trusting if I do say so myself,” Clark pointed out. As much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. And you were getting awfully tired. In fact …

In that moment, you had realized something: That was about the most power and damage you’d caused ever since getting these powers in one fell swoop. You were a little impressed. But you were also plenty concerned. Sure, you’d meant to be threatening in the moment, but the fact still remained: If the only other person around hadn’t been Superman, how easily could you have actually harmed another person in your moment of anger? The second you attempted to truly ponder it, a shudder threatened to ripple through your body; you did not enjoy considering those odds.

But how long until you got so pissed off that you pulled another one of those? How long until you actually did cause harm? That thought was even worse …

“Are you positive?” you mumbled, causing Clark to cock his head by an inch.

“I’m sorry?” he questioned.

You looked him dead in the eye and dared him to lie: “Are you positive you guys can, like, help me control my powers?” The smile he gave you alone would have been enough to convince you.

“We’ve trained with literal scientific anomalies and legends, Miss. I can assure you: You’re in good company with us.” The sweet, honey warmness of his voice did everything to calm the well of fear and guilt within you. It was more than enough.

“Okay,” you said with finality.

“Okay?”

“Mhm. Let’s do this.” Almost instantly, however, you raised your fingers to draw a point. “But I’m not fighting or anything. Just so we’re clear. I’m just coming along to get my groove in order, so tell your ‘friend’, Bruce Wayne, alright?”

The man didn’t even try to hide a chuckle at your stance. You were going to be just fine, he’d decided. And you? Well … the jury was still out on whether or not this was where your move to Metropolis would finally turn into a good, new thing.

#i had to repost because the original’s format was terrible on the app #regrettablewritings #hopefully this one is better...#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagines #clark kent imagine #clark kent headcanon #clark kent headcanons #superman imagine #superman imagines #superman x reader #dceu headcanons #dceu imagines

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kinsbin · 6 years ago

Text

Explosive Meetings

Title: Explosive Meetings Ship: Lou/Junkrat [Self Insert/Canon] Word Count: 1823 Summary: On a mission to investigate a string of robberies for Talon, Lou finds himself getting in the middle of a heist he didn’t see coming. Junkrat takes a liking to him, and decides he’s part of the crew now. He’s...not sure how to feel about all of it. A/N: A commission for @snagg-ships and their ship with Junkrat! It was fun to write and I hope you enjoy it ;u;

“And you’re positive this is the next location that’ll be hit?”

Lou narrowed his eyes down at the watch on his wrist, the undeterred gaze of Reaper’s mask matching his look as he took a moment to gather his thoughts. To bite back the slight sarcasm that wanted to echo from his lips towards his commander as that question reached his ears for what felt like the twentieth time that day. Was he sure? Were his calculations correct? There was near offence in the base of his soul for all of these doubts.

“Lou.”

“Sir, if you have time to doubt me,” He spoke with a twist of a smirk on his face, “You have time to think of a contingency plan should I fail. Which I won’t. I’ve told you and Sombra the same thing: My calculations are nothing short of perfect.”

“That confidence will be your downfall, agent.”

“Appreciate the pep-talk,” Lou rolled his eyes, “Now I have a job to do.”

Through the speaker, the crackled sound of Reaper’s heavy sigh echoed before he logged off, leaving Lou standing in the darkest alleyway just off of the busy London streets alone. A wind whipped around him, chilling him under his coat as he gazed around the area with a sharp look to his eyes.

The bank heists that had been occuring around the city had not gone unnoticed by the London-based Talon operative. They struck with a chaotic methodology across the area in a way that both disturbed and intrigued him all at once. Even before his higher ups had given him the order to investigate the occurences, Lou had begun to research them on his own. His home was nothing but a wall of research now, papers taped to various locations with highlights marked through them in hopes of connecting the strings. Of making puzzle pieces match and figuring out the motive of the unknown robbers, the game of cat and mouse between them all practically tantalizing to him as he observed his connections.

The chaos went in a circle. The center of it? London’s largest national bank.

Lou stepped from the alley, watching the bank across the street with narrowed eyes. It was growing late. The passersbys were becoming less and less, fading away with the closing of bars and the end of the nightlife times. Fog had begun to creep between buildings, holding onto the concrete like a snake whose prey had fallen into its jaws. Hands in his pockets, Lou frowned at the building as its lights slowly flickered out of existence with the last of the security guards ending his shifts, a night proportionally uneventful.

Were they stupid? To think that their bank was safe so underguarded? Perhaps they wanted the thieves to come, a trap being already set to catch them...The reasoning and methodologies construed themselves aimlessly in Lou’s mind as he tilted his head, leaning against the wall of the pawn shop at this side.

“TIME TO BLOW THIS PLACE, ROADIE!”

Lou jumped off of the building, whirling around with wide eyes at the shop before him. Seemingly lackluster in the front, the shop did hold a small variety of knick knacks and golden trinkets sparkling in the underlights. He squinted in through the window, trying to see past the gadgets in favor of the muffled echo of words he was almost sure he could pinpoint to this location. Figures inched within it, faster and slower and faster again as they moved forward...forward....forward-

Oh fuck-

Glass shattered around him as the indiscernible beings broke from the shop, sending Lou stumbling backwards. He landed on his ass, tailbone throbbing with pain as he looked up in shock at the bodies before him, soon passing him as they ran. No sooner had he seen them and opened his mouth to shout for their immediate halt that the building behind him seemed to grow warm. Too warm.

BOOM!

Lou was thrown forward, the impact of the explosion radiating against his back as rubble rained from the destruction the apparent bomb had caused. The sudden flames around the area sent the world around him into panic, dissipating the fog and echoing the screams of those who were close enough to see the event. The world warped in his head, echoing dizzily as it swirled into a cacophony of laughter and blackness, fading finally into the void.

Junkrat paused mid-run, watching behind him with wide eyes and an even wider interest in the being amidst the rubble.

“Oi, Roadie, hold up now-” Junkrat practically tossed his parcel over to his friend, who caught it in one large hand with a confused tilt of his head. As Junkrat scrambled backwards into the rubble, Roadhog peered around the roads with an annoyed sight through his mask. “We don’t have time for this,” He snapped impatiently, “We need to get out of hear, Jamison.”

“We will, mate, we will-!” Junkrat waved his friend off as he got to work digging the body out of the rubble, tilting his head, “This fella may have some extra goodies on him ‘s all, c’mon, let me have my corpse looting fun. I haven’t gotten to loot a corpse since I was last in the Queen’s city!”

Mako rolled his eyes under his mask, but said nothing else as Junkrat heaved the body of the man out, looking him over with an acute raise of his eyebrow. Though his face was covered in soot, multiple cuts bleeding across his cheeks and forehead due to the impact of the explosion, there was still something...chaotic about it. Something intriguing...A sort of style that made Junkrat feel halfway drawn to him for almsot no other reason than the way his nose wrinkled and his chest heaved as a cough and moan slipped past his lips.

“Holy FUCK, Roadie! Look-” Junkrat gasped and gripped the man, lifting him out of the rubble and holding him with ease to show off at his friend, “-He’s still breathing! Straight up survived my bombs that close range...this is one cockroach of a bugger that’s for sure��.” Junkrat’s grin grew as he held the man out towards Roadhog so his larger friend could examine the form with skepticism, “Can we keep him?”

“He’s not a pet, Rat.” Roadhog disagreed with a huff, the mask he was wearing covering his eyes as they made their way down towards the watch the knocked out stranger was wearing, noting its expensive style...and the Talon sigil etched in its screensaver. He said nothing of it out loud as Junkrat pouted up at him, his eyes half watering with the effort of acting and half with the soot that filled the air. “C’mon, don’t be such a STICK. Who knows what this fella can do and-”

Sirens cut him off, loud and reeling in the back of his mind. Junkrat startled, clutching the body close to him like a pillow as he looked around, swallowing comedically. Roadhog’s head snapped up with him, eyeing the reds and blues of the police cars coming at an all-too uncomfortable speed in the distance. With no time to truly decide or give Junkrat a proper explanation, the hulking junker sighed in defeat and gripped at both his employer and the knocked out stranger’s body, heaving them into his arms and running as fast as his legs could manage to send him. Junkrat’s laugh faded through the fog as they made their escape.

---

Lou’s eyes fluttered open, the pain in his head obvious as his ears rung in the back of his mind. His bones ached with the effort of consciousness, though the material under his form was far softer than the concrete he had thought he passed out on. A fear rumbled its way into his consciousness as he awoke fully, bolting upright with a sharp gasp of air. His eyes caught the sight of a motel room, dingy in its upkeep but bright in its lighting. The face that held itself in front of him as well, all burnt skin and dilated eyes grinning sheepishly at his form, startled him enough to yelp.

“What the fuck!”

“Ohoho! He’s awake!” The stranger cackled with a grin on his lips, rocking on his cross-legged position at the very end of the bed. His angular build was both familiar and unfamiliar all at once, the state of confusion out weighting Lou’s craving for knowledge on just where he recognized the stranger.

“Who the fuck are you!? Where-Where the fuck-” Junkrat stood, striking a pose as he grinned at the stranger.

“Me? Why, just your personal saviour, darl! Pulled you right outta that rubble I did. Granted, I CAUSED the rubble too but-ah-whatever the past is in the past ain’t it? Names Jamison Fawkes, but, me mates just call me Junkrat. I can tell we’re gonna be GREAT mates, so, you can call me that too how’s about it?”

The world spun with all of the information being presented to him. Lou felt himself pale at the realization of just where he saw this stranger before. The news. Headlines. Suspected of robberies and armed crimes across the globe. Junkrat and...that meant Roadhog as well. Lou’s head whipped around suspiciously, frowning as he searched for the well known man’s partner in crime.

“What’cha lookin for?”

“You have a partner with you.”

“Oh Roadie?” Junkrat snorted loudly and threw his hand back in incredulity, “Lug’s out gettin’ us some grub! You must be starvin’ after three days of sleeping.”

“Well, I guess I am pretty-FOUR DAYS?”

Lou scrambled up, but the pain in his side caused him to crumble, slipping out of the side of the bed. He expected to hit the floor, crumbling beneath himself, but was instead greeted with a gentle touch and a firm grip holding him up. Junkrat hovered near the other’s face, his grin toothy as he shook with amusement.

“You ain’t goin’ anywhere yet, darl,” Junkrat cackled, “You can barely think let alone walk! What’s your name, you can have some of my wontons when Roadie gets back!”

The offer was genuine. Lou’s stomach growled. The smile was equal parts terrifying and kind at the same time, intriguing the other enough to relax his shoulders and sigh in defeat, the ghost of an amused look pressing onto his face before fading back into nothingness.

“It’s….Lou.”

“Well, Lou,” Junkrat cheered and shoved him back into bed, “Welcome to the Junker Squad! You’ll have a blast here, trust me! Ain’t never a dull moment with us-”

Lou, despite himself, chuckled. Perhaps it was true enough. Until he could heal...maybe it would be okay to watch them. See their movements. Get close to them.

Perhaps it would change his life for the better.

#self insert #self ship #self shipping #writing commission #kinley writes #overwatch self insert #overwatch junkrat #jamison fawkes

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