#they’re gonna need a crane to get him down at this point

[fisheadz]

Alex being carried by moths :3

Sunil and Trots are so done with mothman. Muir is highly amused. I would’ve drawn more moths, if I wasn’t running out of moth-ivation. :D!

Yeah I’ll see myself out :p.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel and the Street Kids

Billy likes helping people. Especially people who have, and are still going through something he’s also experienced. Hunger, brokeness, homelessness, if you’ve had to go through any of those things, Billy’s probably going to favor you more than most of the other people he’s saved. I mean, after all, he knows what all of that feels like. It’s why he helps out around soup kitchens a lot. It’s why he donates a hefty bit of his paycheck to homeless shelters and charities. It’s why he works to keep drugs off the streets, and crime at a low. He doesn’t want anyone, man, woman, or child to experience what he has. So, here’s a couple instances where he’s helping some homeless kids we know. (Btw this is the same AU as the Billy and the Robins post. In that post, basically Billy knew Dick and Jason when the two were both Robins) Roy: *in Speedy costume* “Hey Robin, who do you go to whenever you need advice?”

Robin!Jason: *in Robin costume* “Batman, why?”

Roy: “Right, cool. Cool, but what if you can’t ask him a certain question?”

Robin!Jason: “Oh, then I go to Marvel!”

Roy: “Marvel? Like Captain Marvel?”

Robin!Jason: “Yeah!”

Roy: “Huh. Uh… okay then.”

Robin!Jason: “Why do you ask?”

Roy: “No reason.”

Then, a little bit after Oliver kicked Roy out, Marvel was in Star City because Green Arrow needed him for whatever. As of now, Roy was walking down the street, upset because obviously. It’s been an about three days since he was kicked out by someone he considered his dad. All because he had a wee little problem with painkillers, and wee little problem with heroin. You’re supposed to help people who’re addicted. Especially if they’re family. You don’t just kick them out… right?

Roy: *walking down the sidewalk*

Marvel: *flying when he sees him*

Roy: *not paying attention*

Marvel: *flies down in front of him*

Roy: *bumps into Marvel* “Hey, watch where you’re goooo…wha…?” *slowly looks up until he’s craning his neck to look up at him*

Marvel: “Aren’t you GA’s boy?” *looks confused* “What’re you doing out this late?”

Roy: “What?”

Marvel: “Yeah! You’re uh…” *snaps fingers a couple times, thinking* “Speedy. Right?”

Roy: “Do I know you…?” *looks Marvel up in down*

Marvel: “Oh, my bad.” *holds hand out for handshake* “I’m Captain Marvel. I don’t think we’ve properly met.”

Roy: *doesn’t shake hand* “Well you already know me. I’m Speedy.” *shrugs*

They both talk. Marvel gets Roy to open up a bit after he gets the kid a hotdog. While they’re both sitting on a bench eating their respective hotdogs, (I saw the Marvel in civvies post and he’s wearing that exact fit. He magicked up the red sweater, the yellow hat, and the jeans so they could eat in peace) the archer remembers his conversation with Jason. So, he decides he might as well bite the bullet since his friend hyped up the guy so much.

Roy: “Hey… I gotta ask something.”

Marvel: “Hm?” *mid chew*

Roy: “You wouldn’t happen to know any good struggle meals, would you?”

Marvel: *finishes hotdog* “Yeah? I do. You wanna learn some?”

Roy: *hasn’t told Marvel about him being homeless now* “Yeah.” *takes bite of his hotdog*

Marvel: “Okie doki then.”

Roy: “You aren’t gonna ask why?”

Marvel: “It’s not really my place. Unless you want me to ask?”

Roy: “Nah, not really.” *finishes his hotdog*

Marvel: “Then I won’t.” *stands up* “Alright! To the nearest Chuck E. Cheese!” *points in a random direction*

Roy: *also stands up, raising a brow at him. Moves Marvel’s arm in the correct direction* “Why are we going to a Chuck E. Cheese?”

Marvel: “You’ll see. Cmon!” *starts jogging in the direction Roy corrected him to*

Roy: “Dude, wait up!”

When they’re now outside the Chuck E. Cheese…

Marvel: “Alright. So, here’s what you’re gon— Are you good?”

Roy: *out of breath because they just ran about three blocks* “Yeah… Yeah. I’m good. Just uh— gimme a sec.”

Marvel: *gives him until he feels better*

Roy: *looking better now* “So, what were you saying?”

Marvel: “Right, so what you’re gonna be doing is, see those tables?” *gestures to the booths through the Chuck E. Cheese’s windows. Some booths have leftover pizza and chicken wings in them*

Roy: *nods head*

Marvel: “Okay, great. So you’re gonna go steal all of that.”

Roy: *blinks at him before the most befuddled, bamboozled, puzzled expression crosses his face* “What?”

Marvel: “You’re going. To steal. All of that.” *gestures to the tables again*

Roy: *looks between Marvel and the tables* “Dude, I am not stealing scraps from the fucking Chuck E. Cheese tables.”

Marvel: “How else do you expect to get food then?”

Roy: “I don’t know! I expected you to teach me some cheap recipes or something stupid like that!”

Marvel: “Oooooooh, so you don't want struggle meals then.”

Roy: “No, I do. A struggle meal is something like a ketchup sandwich. This is way worse than a goddamn struggle meal.”

Marvel: “You and I clearly have different definitions of a struggle meal, but okay. Also, chill with the cursing, man. I can teach you something cheap if that’s what you actually want.”

Roy: “Okay then, thank you, because the day I need to steal scraps from a Chuck E. Cheese, is the day I lose my dignity.”

Marvel: “Yeah, yeah, come on. Let’s just go to a grocery store.”

Then, there was Cassandra Cain. She was homeless for about nine years before she went to Gotham when she was seventeen. During her homelessness, she never really stayed in one place. One of the places she ended up in was Fawcett when she was about sixteen. There, she met Captain Marvel. She man saved her from a mugging she was about to take care of herself.

Marvel: *staring at her because Solomon’s whispering about how she’s worthy*

Cassandra: *staring right back, picking up confusion in the man’s body language*

Marvel: “What’s your name, miss?”

Cassandra: *stares blankly at him* (Guys, this is before she learned most stuff. So she has no idea what he’s saying and has to go off of body language alone.)

Marvel: *stares back* “Can… You not speak?”

Cassandra: *continues to stare blankly*

Marvel: *sighs* “I’ll take that as a no.” *reaches into pocket dimension*

Cassandra: *startled when she sees half the man’s arm disappear*

Marvel: *pulls out some money and puts it in one of her hands* “Please take this. I can tell you don’t have a home. Starving isn’t fun.”

Cassandra: *sees understanding in Marvel’s body language and looks at the money in her hand then back at Marvel*

Marvel: *hovering off the ground* “Stay safe, miss.” *gives her a little wave before flying off*

Cassandra: *watches him go*

They meet more times after that, and soon, Cassandra ends up being one of the many homeless kids he checks up on. Cassandra comes to enjoy the man’s presence, and Marvel comes to enjoy hers as well. She eventually gets a really good read on the man after a while and he gets a good read on her. She even mimicked the man’s bodily expressions sometimes with a nod here, or a shrug there. Marvel even got to learn her name after she gestured to one of the other kids who had a cast on their leg. He guessed a couple times before he got her actual name. They ended up having to charade it, Beetlejuice style.

Marvel: “Cassie?”

Cassandra: *makes a so-so motion with her hand* (something she picked up from the man) *makes a motion that was supposed to convey it was longer*

Marvel: “Longer…?” *pauses to think for a solid 20 seconds* “Cassandra?”

Cassandra: *gives him a thumbs up* (another gesture learned from him)

Marvel: “Wait that’s actually your name?” *body language shows he’s happy he got it right*

Cassandra: *blankly stares* (Again guys, she has no clue what he’s saying)

Marvel: “Oh, this is awesome!” *body language shows he gets happier. He starts yapping about stuff*

Cassandra: *listens even though it’s all gibberish to her*

Cass liked that she could depend on someone. The man was… sunny. That’s the best way to put it. She liked listening to him talk. He never expected an answer or response. She liked that. She also liked that when she did try to respond, he was patient and did his best to try and understand her. Their friendship (sort of father daughter thing) continued until she was almost seventeen, and soon, things came to an end.

Marvel: “You’re leaving?” *body language shows concern*

Cassandra: *saw him look to the backpack stuffed with things for the trip to the next town. she nods her head*

Marvel: *body language shows disappointment for a moment before acceptance* “I see.” *gives her a warm smile* “It was nice knowing you, Cassandra.” *gives her same little wave he gave her when they first met* “I hope we get to meet again.”

Cassandra: *waves back unlike the first time they met and leaves*

They actually met again, unbeknownst to Marvel, when he was in Gotham to help Bruce with something. They got paired up together to go and do something for the mission.

Marvel: “You know, you remind me of this girl I knew from a while ago.”

Cassandra: *silence and a stare because she knows he’s talking about herself*

Marvel: “Yeah, she would’ve done that same blank stare too.”

Cassandra: *wondering how he knows she’s pulling the same face as herself*

Some goons decided to interrupt them before she could figure that out.

[nohoney]

us series! reader has gotten a little lazy at riding, so keigo and touya decide to fix that (*/ω＼)

“You’re spoiling her, you know?” Touya points out one day as he and Keigo grocery shop together, “She’s getting all princess-y ‘cause of you.”

Amber eyes gloss over the selection of bread in the aisle, looking for a particular brioche that he’s been craving for the last week. The bread is found and placed into the cart, Keigo walking ahead for the next thing on the list they need to get. “I don’t know what you mean. I think we’ve been waiting hand and foot for her this entire time.”

It’s not really unusual for you to be used to the princess treatment, not really needing to get up if you need or want something for yourself.

“That’s not what I meant.” Touya sighs as he pushes the cart and lets the blond decide what’s needed for their purchases. “She’s not riding dick like she used to. It’s because when she’s on top of you, you’re doing all the work from the bottom. I’ve noticed it the last three times.”

“Okay, and? What does how we fuck have to do with how you fuck?” Keigo glances back at Touya briefly as he continues to walk towards the next aisle, “If she’s getting lazy with you, you know what to do with her.”

Opting to fuck around, the cart gets pushed into Keigo’s backside and the metal is noisy from the impact.

“You need to do it, you’re the one making her lazy when she’s on top.”

“It should occur to you that I fuck her the way I do is because I enjoy it. I like putting in the work.” Keigo points out, dropping the subject and flipping off Touya for being a menace with the cart. He really doesn't think anything of what was brought up and continues on normally.

But the point comes up in his mind the next time Keigo has sex with you. How he ended up just fucking you from the bottom, keeping your body pressed down to him and thrusting up into your pussy that he just can’t get enough of. And there’s no fight from you to try to take control of riding him. You used to sometimes at least attempt to be the one to take reigns and he’d entertain it before fucking you the way he wants.

He cums in you, your body relaxing against his and it’s like you melted. Keigo moves you like a rag doll, rolling you over to lie back on the bed so that he can fetch a towel and clean himself up. “So good Keigo… so good…” you mutter, leaning back into the pillows and reaching for your phone to start scrolling on your social media.

Not even a thank you for the dicking down you just got—Touya was right.

You are getting spoiled.

Keigo is a bit more gracious when he’s proven to be in the wrong. He goes to Touya says the magic words, “You were right, she doesn’t put in the work anymore.”

Blue eyes are full of mirth when Keigo comes with the admission, already knowing exactly what they’re going to do so that you learn a little lesson. Not that he doesn’t like spoiling you but even you are expected to put in a little bit of effort here and there. And if you’re not gonna do it willingly—

They’re just gonna make you.

“Get on Kei’s dick baby, wanna see you with him.” Touya mutters against your lips, letting you taste your own pussy after he had eaten you out. You’re eager for more kisses from him, almost too lost in the affection before he spanks your ass and directs to the blond laying back on the bed.

Crawling over to Keigo, you hold his cock as you slowly slip it in you. You let out a small gasp, the stretch of him entering you is always pleasant and when he’s fully sheathed inside, you get a dreamy smile on your face. You start to lean down to him, having gotten used to Keigo hugging you back when you move in that motion and you expect him to put in the work of fucking you that he’s been doing the last few times.

So you’re surprised when you’re pushed back by Keigo and surprised again when Touya grabs a fistful of your hair and cranes your neck back. You whimper, being unable to speak a word from the position your first boyfriend has got you in. Only little sounds are the best you can muster as you wonder what’s in store for you.

“Ride him, you’re putting in the work today.” Touya tells you, releasing your hair and spanks your ass hard that makes you yelp. It wasn’t a playful smack either—it was meant to hurt you a little.

Keigo is usually nice when Touya is mean. A comforting hand smooths over the area you were struck, his touch is soft and his gaze is soft too when you look down at him. His hand lifts and strikes you in the same spot Touya did with just as much strength.

“Agh! Hurts!” You whimper and you look down expecting to get a bit of mercy from the blond, but he’s shaking his head and tutting at you.

“You heard him baby, ride me. You can do it, yeah?” Keigo’s voice is sweet, gentle, but the hand smoothing over the spot you were hit has you a little tense. “Yeah baby bird?”

They’re being mean to you together.

You hadn’t even realized how lazy you had been lately when it comes to being on top. Keigo was having fun being the one to do it all for you whenever he had you like this so you had gotten used to it. So you think that acting a little pitiful will earn you some kindness, maybe even make the boys feel bad.

Touya doesn’t have it with you, making you assume the position as he tells you firmly, “Ride him.”

With your hands placed on either side of Keigo’s head, you clench your hands and groan unhappily. You know better than to argue back though. So you move your hips, fucking Keigo’s cock into you for the first time in a while. It feels good, it does feel good, but you don’t have the stamina that you used to.

“Tired, ‘m tired!” you whine, “Please Kei, please just do it for me?”

Touya wasted no time in spanking you again, harder than he did last time. Keigo delivers one too that’s just as mean.

“I said ride him, that was barely even five minutes.” Touya admonishes you, “C’mon brat.”

“I can’t!” you whine petulantly and pout back at Touya.

“You don’t ride him, I’m gonna lift you off his cock and you’re not gonna get fucked by either of us until you actually put in some effort.”

The threat actually makes you mildly panic, looking down at Keigo to see if they actually mean it. They wouldn’t do that, right? They’re not just gonna hold out on you all because of this, right? Right?

Keigo thrusts up once, reaching one hand up to cup your jaw in his hand. He holds you gently but firmly, his voice reflecting the tender way he touches you, “Ride me, you can do it.”

You hesitate, a noncommittal sound hummed out.

This time Keigo is the first to hit your ass and then he gestures to Touya. “Alright, take her off me. She doesn’t want to.”

You feel Touya’s hands go underneath your armpits as if you to lift you up, but you shake him off and hastily speak out, “No! No, I’ll ride Keigo! I’m sorry, I will!” So you assume the position again, moving your hips in the motion that you know how to do but no longer have the stamina for. And what’s worse is that they’re not praising you—they’re still bullying you!

“You’re such a brat, fucking ungrateful. Keigo does all the work for you all the time and that’s the best you can give him?” Touya sneers at you.

“It hasn’t even been that long and you’re that tired already? Everything I do for you and you can’t at least give me half the effort. Lazy little slut.” Keigo sighs in disappointment.

Tears prick at your eyes, sniffling a little but you know better than to stop. Even the grinding you’re doing is at least something but it’s just not enough. You want Keigo to hold you down and use you. You want him to do what he does best and just fuck you until you’re stupid.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry!” You whine. So you muster up what little energy you have and do your best to ride Keigo until he cums. It doesn’t matter if you do at this point. What’s important is focusing everything on him. He’s good to you, so so good to you and he deserves to sit back and relax while you show him that you’re willing to meet him halfway.

Your thighs burns as you bounce up and down on Keigo’s cock, your breath is shaky and you want to collapse. But you can’t stop until he’s happy, not until he decides that you’ve done a good enough job. No asking for help from Touya either—you know that this was his idea to do this to you.

“You want Keigo to cum in you, doll?” Touya turns your head to look at him, “Think you deserve it?”

You have to be careful with your words. If you eagerly agree, they could still bully you for being desperate and still only thinking of yourself.

“Whatever Keigo wants. I want to do what he wants.” you manage to speak out and hope it was the right thing to say.

Keigo seems to be satisfied with your words. “Then make me cum.”

It disappoints you a little that he won’t take over but you should know better because Touya is here as well. Maybe if it was just the two of you, Keigo wouldn’t have been as influenced to be as mean. But still you love them and a small part of you loves when they are mean. It can be frustrating when you’re ganged up on but you also know what kind of treatment you’ll get afterwards.

This will be worth it.

You ride Keigo as hard as you can, concentrating with all the effort you have left to focus on him. Touya’s at least kind enough to play with your clit, giving you a little something in return for saying and doing the right thing.

Keigo’s eyebrows start to knit together and you recognize the expression he makes, noticing how he grabs at your hips and his body starts to flex. His muscles and his chest, they get more defined as his body tenses underneath you. So with the last shreds of strength you have left, you fuck Keigo until his eyes start to roll back and he’s gasping for breath.

Then you remember how exhilarating it is to be on top and to watch him unfold beneath you. Even when you know he’s finished cumming inside you, now all of a sudden you just can’t stop. Keigo is the one babbling as you overstimulate him, nonsensical words that can barely be strung together to form a sentence.

“Good girl.”

Touya is the one to lift you off Keigo, immediately setting you onto the bed and pushing your legs open. You and Keigo are catching your breath together, whimpering when Touya shoves two fingers into your pussy. The pads of his fingers stroke inside you and your body writhes a little, but you know to not try to push Touya away.

He likes this.

He’s obsessed with you having Keigo’s cum in you.

“Good girl,” he repeats after he withdraws his fingers and licks them clean, “what do you say?”

“Thank you for teaching me a lesson.” You whisper and you’re relieved when you’re rewarded with a forehead kiss. This is the best part of your boys being mean to you—they’ll be so nice afterwards. They coddle and adore you, shoving their tongues into your mouth for sloppy kisses before doting on you.

Keigo holds you in his arms, muttering little praises along the crown of your hairline.

Touya massages your legs and thighs, his hands comforting and relaxing. But he doesn’t let you forget the lesson he put on you today, “Next time when either of us say that you need to put in some work, what do you?”

“I’ll listen,” you answer, “I won’t complain.”

“Good.”

[azuredawn81]

musician reader x quinn please and thanks

patron of the arts | quinn hughes x musician!reader

♫ summary: petey brings quinn to the vancouver symphony (against his will). quinn is fully prepared to be a grouch the whole time, until he hears the most holy trumpet melody. his tune changes when he realizes that the musician is just as pretty as her sound.

♫ pairing: reader x quinn hughes

♫ content: fluff

♫ word count: 2.1K

♫ warnings: none

♫ note: i wrote this in ap us history, so it's not gonna be great <3

♫ listen to this for the full experience

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“Petey, are we seriously going to an opera?” Quinn asked, adjusting his tie.

“It’s a symphony, Huggy, and yes,” Elias’ voice came out of the phone speaker from across the room.

“When most people call their friends on a friday night, it’s to get hammered and meet girls.”

“They have drinks at the Orpheum.”

��But do they have girls?”

“Hughes.”

“It’s a valid question. I’m 25 and single.”

Y/n sat in the dressing room, staring down the mirror.

“You are a good - no, great - trumpet player.”

“You went to julliard for trumpet performance. You have a master’s degree.”

“You’ve been playing since you were 4. What’s a little Dvořák?”

“Y/N, we’re heading onstage soon,” Marcus said, popping his head in.

“Got it.”

She picked her trumpet up off of her stand and rapid-fire pressed and released the valves. Slides, greased. Valves, oiled. Mouthpiece, polished. She placed the stand in the bell of the instrument, grabbed her music, and walked onstage with the rest of the orchestra.

Quinn settled into his seat, already down two and a half vodka cranberries. He couldn’t help but fidget, already bored.

“Huggy, are you okay?”

“They sound terrible. I hate this song.”

“Quinn. they’re tuning.”

There was a bright, brassy sound suddenly, clear as the sun bouncing off of snow. It was solid, crisp, and beautiful.

“Please try to behave tonight.”

“I always behave.”

“Concert halls are different from rinks.” Quinn rolled his eyes. “You need to be calm and collected.”

“I can do that.”

“That means you don’t talk and you stay off your phone.”

“What if I want to film?”

“Can’t do that here.”

“God, can you do anything here?”

Elias handed him the program. “Read.”

Quinn gave Elias some side-eye, then flipped the program open. “Antonin De-vor-ack, symphony number 9.”

“It’s pronounced De-fur-sh-ock.”

Quinn squinted. “shhh i’m reading.”

“who’s that?” he asked, pointing to a name.

“Y/N Y/N? um, it says she’s principal first trumpet.”

“what does that mean?”

“captain and starter.”

“So she��s good?”

“Y/N specifically? think 2009 Crosby.”

“where is she?” he sat up straighter, craning his neck.

“Huggy, do you know what a trumpet looks like?”

“I went to UMich.”

“Answer the question.”

“Yes I do.”

“there are three trumpet players. find the girl.”

Elias could tell right when Quinn figured out where Y/N was. His eyes had widened, his pupils dilated, his cheeks flushed, and his breathing heavy.

“cap, you good?”

“y-yeah…”

Almost as if to spare him, the director came onstage, his coattails dragging behind him.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen. My name is Otto Tausk and it is my privilege to direct this fine orchestra here. tonight, we will be performing symphony number 9 in e minor by the legendary Antonin Dvořák.”

“as always, we kindly ask that you keep your phone off and refrain from recording. official photos are available for purchase on the website, if you so desire. please keep talking to a minimum, as these performers have worked incredibly hard to sound as great as they do.”

“thank you. now, give it up for the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra!”

Quinn clapped and let out a whoop.

“I didn’t know you were such a big fan,” Elias said, leaning over to Quinn.

“how can I meet them?”

“meet them?”

“yeah like if I wanted to meet someone from the orchestra.”

“Huggy, you are not meeting Y/N.”

“but I want to.”

The lights dimmed in the house and brightened over the orchestra. They began to play. Quinn was entranced. He had heard classical music before; who hadn’t? He could name musical jargon like crescendo and adagio, basic terms he learned in elementary school music class. But now, he felt like a little kid watching his first hockey game. The way they played far beyond the meager skills he had, the way they did this so effortlessly.

After about half an hour (or minutes for Quinn in his magical music world), Elias leaned over.

“you’ll probably recognize the next movement.”

“why?”

“It’s one of his most famous pieces. I think I played it for you on the way to tampa back in october.”

That piece was it for Quinn. he’d heard Y/N all night, playing her trumpet like an angel from heaven, her sound soaring over the audience and nestling in his ears. But part iv (allegro con fuoco, as Quinn read in the program) was pure magic. It was so intense, so powerful, and Y/N was running the show, hitting notes up in the stratosphere.

As the show ended and all the performers took a bow, Quinn couldn’t tear his eyes off of Y/N. Her black dress hugged her just right, and her smile sparkled in the spotlight. All he knew was he needed to meet her, to at least say “hello,” even if he lost his thoughts right after.

“petey!”

“what?”

“I need to meet her!”

“dude, she’s like, the most important person here besides the conductor.”

“I’m a pretty important person.”

“In sports? yes. in music? not really.”

“um, in Vancouver? yes.”

“Quinn, think of all the people who want to meet you after a game.”

Quinn gave him a sour look.

“It’s not happening.”

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ 

There is no greater animal than Quinn Hughes in love, and there is no scarier animal than Quinn Hughes in love. It wasn’t just his teammates who could see the change; his dear mother, Ellen, could, too.

“Quinn, you seem… different. haircut?”

“no? I brushed it.”

“who is she?”

“Mom, what?’

“your apartment seems cleaner, you’re wearing a button up instead of some graphic t-shirt, your hair is brushed, you’re smiling. who is she?”

“there’s no one.”

“please tell me she actually loves you-”

“mom!”

“-and not just your name.”

“mom! there’s no girl!”

“honey, it’s okay. tell me about her when you’re ready.”

Quinn hung up, frustrated. Of course, he’d wanted to tell Ellen about Y/N, how she has a master’s in trumpet performance from one of the greatest schools on earth (source: her Wikipedia page), how she’s a Vancouver native, and it was always her dream to play here (source: the VSO website), and how her eyes sparkle in the lights of the Orpheum (source: Quinn). But what’s the point? He’d never even talked to her. Not when he went to see her perform Holst’s The Planets (12/20) or when Ballet BC and the VSO performed The Nutcracker on Christmas Eve. He couldn’t even see her that time, but just hearing that warm, brassy tone was enough.

Where would he even start if he were to tell his parents about Y/N? that he had become so infatuated with some trumpet player that he started going to symphony performances? that he had donated so much that his name was on a plaque in the Orpheum lobby? That he looked forward to the concerts? That he listened to classical music? That he stopped having random hookups and partying with random girls? That his heart belonged to this girl that might know his name but not him?

His phone dinged. Assuming it to be Elias or Jack or someone who wasn’t Y/N, he brushed it off. But then there was another notification.

“what is this?”

“It” was precisely what he had been needing. Tickets for the New Year’s gala (and charity auction) had gone on sale. Quinn decided to look through the auction items to see if anything was worth it. Five free tickets to any show in 2025, rinkside tickets to any regular season canucks game, lunch with the maestro, one of Tausk’s batons, a wine collection, two private lessons with any orchestra member, a ton of vouchers and gift cards, and a meet and greet with the orchestra after a show.

Quinn’s eyes went wide. That was what he needed. he finally had a chance to meet Y/N.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆ 

He adjusted his tie in the window of his Porche, trying to make sure he looked perfect. His hair was neatly styled, and his all-black suit was impeccable. Tonight, he would do it. He had the money, for sure. Although every cent was worth it since it would bring him closer to Y/N.

Quinn made his way up the steps of the Orpheum, ready to see the most incredible woman in British Columbia.

“name?” asked the security guard.

“Quintin Hughes.”

“welcome to the Orpheum, Mr. Hughes.”

it was even more striking on the inside, the manager group clearly sparing no expense. The hall was draped in gold and all manners of fine things. Waiters with bow ties walked around with platters of champagne flutes. Quinn grabbed one, thanking the waiter, and kept his search for Y/N.

She saw him first. She and her friend, Nora, were standing at the top of the grand staircase, a little off to the side.

“he’s so awkward.”

“I know, isn’t it cute?”

“Y/N, look at yourself.”

“I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“no, Y/N, get back here!”

Nora grabbed Y/N’s wrist, staring her deep in the eyes.

“don’t.”

“why not?”

“you’re so polished and refined. you used to live in new york, you’re principal first trumpet for a globally renowned orchestra. he’s a hockey player.”

“hockey captain.”

“Y/N.”

“Nora.”

meanwhile, downstairs, the auction had begun. Quinn was focused. If he didn’t get the meet and greet, it was over.

“Hello everyone and welcome to the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra’s annual charity gala and auction. i’m Sasha Martin and i’ll be your auctioneer tonight. Now, don’t be afraid to bid high, this is for charity after all.”

A laugh went around the crowd. Quinn didn’t laugh. His love life was on the line.

“Huggy, don’t overspend. there’ll be other girls out there.”

“Elias, this is the girl.”

“let’s start the bidding for this artisan wine basket. do I hear 500?”

“Nora, I should talk to him.”

“how many glasses of champagne have you had?”

“two. i’m gonna do it.”

“you lightweight! don’t do it.”

“have you seen him?”

“yeah, his brother’s hotter.”

“jack? ew.”

“you’re so weird.”

Y/N started going down the grand staircase for the auction. There was an item she’d be wanting for a while.

“and sold to buyer 231 for $3500! Our next item is an authentic Vancouver canucks jersey, signed by captain Quinn Hughes. let’s start the bidding at $700.”

Y/N held up her paddle. “800.”

“800, 800, do I hear 850?”

“850!” someone across the room (Y/N’s new enemy) shouted.

“900!” she raised her paddle again.

“950!”

“1000!”

“Y/N/N what are you doing?” Nora whisper screamed at her.

“I need this!”

“1500!”

“1500, 1500. is there a 2000?”

“going once, going tw-”

“5000”

“Y/N do not put that paddle up again.”

“I need this jersey.”

“you’re gonna spend over 5k on a jersey?”

“Yes.”

“7500.”

“10000.”

“15000.”

Quinn turned to see who would pay 15 grand for his jersey. They must be pretty generous. His jaw dropped. Y/N L/N. Y/N L/N had just bid 15 thousand dollars on his jersey. 15 thousand. on his jersey. His. Jersey.

“20000.”

“going once.”

“going twice.”

“and sold to buyer 184!”

Y/N buried her face in Nora’s shoulder, trying not to cry.

“there will be more jerseys.”

“this is the jersey!”

“let’s begin the bidding for the orchestra meet and greet! do I hear a 500?”

“1000.”

“1500.”

“1600.”

“1800.”

“2000.”

“5000.”

“Huggy, don’t overspend.”

“7000.”

“going once, going twice, and s-”

“8000.”

“some generous folks in the audience. unless I hear an 8-”

“10000.”

“Elias, this is the girl.”

“and sold to buyer 379!”

Quinn walked up to the stage to get the pass. it was a simple piece of laminated paper.

“ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Quinn Hughes is a supporter of music education!”

Quinn Hughes is a supporter of gorgeous women in music.

After taking the pass, he walked offstage and started to head toward the exit. He was almost out of the building when he heard someone calling his name.

“Quinn!”

“Y/N?”

“don’t leave.”

“what?”

“I said don’t leave.”

she took his hand, slipping her fingers between his.

“why’d you buy the meet and greet pass?”

he looked at his shoes and mumbled, “so I could meet you.”

he looked back up. “why’d you want the jersey?”

“because I want you.”

“you can have me,” he said, blushing like a little kid.

“you can have me too.”

he let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her.

“Quinn?”

“yes, Y/N?”

“let’s get out of here.”

he took her hand again and led her to his car.

“your chariot awaits.”

part 2

tags: @verycoolusername1 @luvoblivixus @tomskookie @leclerc-drives-in-circles @dream-girl06 @skepvids @how-what-why-huh @devilinpradaheels @r0wdymaize86

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[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 11: Out of Reach

Character: Lionel Shabandar (Gambit), Eli Michaelson (Nobel Son) Relationship(s): Lionel/Reader, Eli/Reader Warnings: smut, teasing, rope play

Based on Sharing

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

“Please!”

Eli just laughed at you as he brought his cock tauntingly close to your face, but Lionel’s strong grip in your hair stopped you from moving.

“Is there something you want, slut?” Eli teased.

“Yes, I want your cock! Please, Daddy, please, need to taste you!”

“Hm, I’m sure you’d like that. But sluts don’t get to choose what they want. They get what they’re given.”

You whined in frustration as Eli pumped his cock in his hand, his tip so close you could almost taste it… but as soon as you reached your tongue out to try and taste him, Lionel yanked your head backwards.

“I believe the rule was no touching,” he said, his voice a purr in your ear as he knelt down behind you.

You were tied to a chair, ropes so tight you couldn’t move, and Lionel had a firm grip on your hair, keeping your head exactly where he wanted it to be. Eli was standing in front of you, not quite straddling you, not quite shoving his cock in your face, refusing to let you touch him.

All because you’d tried to tease them both with a little show of your newest lingerie, and when Eli had reached out to feel the new bra in his hand, you’d jumped out of the way and pronounced, “no touching.”

You were meant to be teasing them. Instead, Lionel had produced some rope and tied you to a chair, telling you firmly that you had to be reminded who was in control here.

They both spent an arduous amount of time exploring your scantily clad body, hands hovering mere millimetres away from your skin as they admired your new lingerie without touching you, just as you’d asked.

When you were so desperate for their touch that you were in tears begging for them, Eli pulled out his cock and started jerking off right in front of you, refusing to let you help him.

“S’not fair!” you whined. “Don’t you wanna cum in my mouth, Daddy?”

“Oh, I will,” Eli promised you, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’ll take every drop of my cum, and I won’t even have to touch you.”

You tried to wriggle in your seat as you practically drooled at the sight of Eli’s cock pointing right at you as he rubbed himself to orgasm. You didn’t even notice yourself trying to lean forward again, but you must have, because Lionel jerked your head back again.

“Be a good girl, [Y/n],” he said firmly. “If you’re good and you take Eli’s cum without trying to disobey again, we’ll let you go and we’ll all forget about this silly no touching rule. Can you do that for us?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good girl.”

“Mouth open, slut,” Eli growled. “Nice and wide. You gonna catch it all for me?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

You opened your mouth obediently, your tongue out too, ready to catch every drop Eli expelled for you.

“Mmm, that’s it… such a desperate, hungry slut… you want my cum, sweetheart? You’ll - fucking - get it - ughh!”

Eli cried out as he came, his seed spurting into your mouth and across your tongue, and you lapped it up happily, glad to finally have something from him.

“Mmm, you taste so good, Daddy!” you said with a grin after swallowing, proud of yourself to have caught it all just as he asked.

Eli looked at your face appraisingly, then with his thumb, he wiped away a single drop of cum that had dripped down your cheek. You happily took his thumb into your mouth and wiped it clean, humming happily as you did.

“Let’s get these ropes off you, then,” Eli said. “I want you free to writhe around as I lick your cunt.”

You squealed happily as he bent down to untie your ropes. Lionel, meanwhile, released his grip on your hair, and gave your scalp a gentle rub to calm it down after so much pulling.

“You’ll let me suck your cock, right, Daddy?” you pleaded with Lionel, craning your neck back to look up at him.

He smirked. “Oh, I’m counting on it, darling.”

[oatmealdaydreams]

The Well

Let me know if ya wanna be added on or taken off the general taglist! Finally got a damn hurt/comfort oneshot outta me for this fandom. Took me long enough.

Pairing: Sea Grunkles, gen

Warnings: Homelessness, Neglect of Health, Implied/Referenced Abuse, PTSD, Scars

Summary: It clicks in Ford’s mind what exactly Stan’s situation has been for the past ten years before he came to Gravity Falls. He is horrified at such a realization. Guilt and regret war in his mind as Stan notices the look on his brother’s face and tries to help.

Notes: Not really proud of how this turned out, but hope y'all like it! Title is from the song, The Well by The Crane Wives.

Inspired By Works: We're Still Here by Simplistic_Apricity on ao3! Go check it out, it's super good.

[Masterlist] | ao3 link

[fic under the cut]

Send me anywhere, take me out I’m the well that they’re gonna drag you down

~ “The Well”, The Crane Wives

=-=-=-=-=

There is something absolutely terrifying about having a sibling. 

Through everything they’ve been through—every mistake, every cussed-out argument, every heartfelt hand on the shoulder—Ford hasn’t given Stan nearly as much credit for his strength as he should. Not his physical strength, though he knows Stanley has a respectful amount of it. No, he means his mental strength. He doesn’t know what happened over the past ten years since they’d separated, and maybe he should’ve asked when Stanley first knocked on his door. After realizing that it was his brother, putting the crossbow down, checking his eyes—he should’ve at least had a good look at his drifter of a twin. It’s now, even with the threat of Bill hanging over his head like a dangling sword, that he’s starting to note Stan’s appearance. And he’s…well, this can’t be right, can it?

A greasy mullet that looks like it’s starting to thin out. Dirty, stained clothes. Scruffy face. Facial hair that’s barely there. Eyebags almost as bad as his own, hallowed and haunted. There’s a persistent reeking smell, wafting through the air. It makes Ford want to scrunch his nose up at how disgusting it is. His jacket looks worn, torn here and there, old with stitching that’s ready to pull apart at the seams. He…needs a shower. When was the last time he had a shower? Now that he’s asking questions, when was the last time he ate? Sure, he isn’t exactly skinny, but he walks around like it’s out of a survival habit instead of actually having the energy to do so. Ford can’t really judge in that regard, he knows, with how little energy he has himself. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Stanley should be fine. He’s supposed to be fine. He’s got more of a charm than Ford does when it comes to people. Ford kept telling himself that, when their Pa had thrown the dufflebag at his brother and sent him on his way with nothing but that and the car, that he’d be fine. Because Stan was resourceful and good with people, so he’d figure it out and everything. 

He never let himself think about how little his brother was given to start with, and how little he still seems to have. 

But now? Maybe Ford should’ve called him up instead of assuming Stan would be alright on his own. Instead of waiting for Stan to do it himself. Instead of refusing to swallow down his bitter pride, knowing in the back of his mind that Stan might’ve been living out of his car. He should’ve done a lot of things, but he can’t change what he’s done in the past. He can try to make up for his stupidity now. 

There are numerous hardly-healed scars and concerning marks on Stanley, he notes as he glances at his brother sitting on the couch. Purplish lines, keloids, jagged and long ones, ones that must’ve had a poorly done stitch job. There’s circular ones in certain places, and all Ford can think with horror in his inner-dialogue is when did he get shot? When did he get this many scars? Why are some of his teeth slightly off? Did he need dental surgery at one point? What happened to his brother?

His stomach twists and churns at the thought of Stanley hurt, bleeding, injured, and without someone to go to. He thought Stan could make easy friends like they did when they were kids. He’s always been good with people, even if his academic knowledge was hardly scraping by. But if his appearance and actions since he got here are anything to go by…

Oh.

Oh, god.

Ford feels close to vomiting the more he thinks about it. Everything clicks, and it’s horrible, why didn’t he just call him? He would’ve answered. He would’ve answered. His face must pale as he stares in widened horror at his realization because now Stanley is looking at him with furrowed eyebrows and concern.

“Hey, buddy, you doin’ okay?” he whispers, as if talking to a defensive animal. 

Ford can’t remember how to form words. His mouth feels dry. Stan frowns at the lack of a response. Ford’s gaze darts to Stan as he stands, fighting down a flinch at the sudden, quick movement. 

“Ford, c’mon, what spookin’ ya, huh?” Stanley takes a step closer, careful, watching him for any reactions. 

Stanford swallows, and his throat is just as dry as his mouth. He almost wonders if he looks like a caged animal the way his eyes stay wide, darting, alert. 

Scared, his brain supplies, though he chooses to ignore it. Horrified at what you let happen to him. 

Maybe he deserves it, bitter pride bites back, a rabid feral dog. He ruined my life. 

He was supposed to be fine. He was supposed to be okay, something childlike chimes in. 

You’re supposed to be his big brother, a part of him that he doesn’t dare to name comments, and the other parts of his mind shut up for once. How can you boast about being fifteen minutes older, whine about a mistake from ten years ago and claim it’s all his fault, when you’re the one who’s supposed to protect him? He always protected you. Why can’t you do the same for him?

And it sticks to his brain. 

He always protected you. 

“Poindexter,” Stanley calls for him, hands on his shoulders. 

Ford can’t hide the slight flinch from sudden contact, but neither of them move for a moment. Stanford’s gaze flickers to look Stan straight in his eyes. It’s too much. He should look away, say something, anything, but he can’t bring himself to do a single thing. It feels a little too closely like when Bill takes control of his body, keeping him watching but unable to stop whatever that dream demon wants to do. Helpless. 

Ford finally musters the will to clear his throat. He doesn’t want to think about how similar this feels to Bill. He needs to focus. 

“Ford?” Stan calls again, quieter, gentle. 

“I didn’t know,” Ford’s voice is hardly above a lingering whisper. 

“What?”

“I didn’t know.”

“Pal, ya gotta explain whatcha mean.”

Ford swallows, and he finds it difficult, “You—I thought you’d be fine.”

Stan gives him a look of confusion, furrowing his eyebrows further. Tilting his head, he tries to reach for what Stanford could possibly be talking about. Thought he’d be fine? Claiming he didn’t know something? What in the fucking world—oh. 

Oh, shit.

Stanley glances away from his brother, face forced into cool neutrality. Watching the realization dawn on him causes a prickling anxiety to erupt in Ford’s chest. It’s a feeling he’s used to, however, with all that he’s gone through with Bill, and so he has plenty of practice operating while engulfed in such a thing. 

“You’re always so good with people, Stanley,” his voice chokes and chops and he’s really surprised he hasn’t cried yet. “Thought you’d figure it out.” 

Stan glances back at him, an almost distant look in his eyes, “...Figure it out?”

“Make friends like you did when—like you did.” 

Various emotions flicker and flash across Stanley’s eyes, none of them staying long enough to name properly, shifting around in the core of his pupils. The frightened look in Ford’s eyes persists, and perhaps that’s what keeps Stan from rolling his eyes at him and scoffing in his face. 

“Tch, really had that much faith in me, huh?” comes out quietly, mumbling, almost too vulnerable for either of them to handle. 

Ford doesn’t know how to respond to this, so he doesn’t. 

He just stares. 

“Look where it gotcha, Poindexter,” Stan tries to mutter aside, but Ford hears it anyway with a hitching breath. 

They just…stare at each other as a tense and uncomfortable silence bathes the room. Stan doesn’t have the energy to let go of Ford’s shoulders. Ford might vomit if Stan lets go of him. 

“Moses, okay, could ya just calm down? I turned out fine! I still got the car and everything. Even tried a few business ventures, heh,” Stan desperately tries making this more light-hearted, joking, wanting nothing to do with the kind of conversation this may turn into. 

“I would’ve answered,” is the reply he gets.

“And done what? Huh, Stanford? What the fuck would’ve you done?” anger, indignant and lingering, growls and snarls. 

Anger is a dog that barks and bites, hurt and feral and wanting the pain to stop. 

“I don’t know! Something, maybe, I’d have at least talked to you!”

“And what would you’ve said? Because I sure as hell never got a call from you!”

“You’d call me if you needed to, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think, huh? Jeez, thought ya were the smart one.”

“I had no reason to believe you wouldn’t! I didn’t need to worry unless you said anything!”

“So, what, expect me to fuck up your life more?”

“I-no! That isn’t—”

“Well, guess what, Poindexter? I did call you!”

“You—wait, what?”

Emotions flicker around as they argue, fear of what might’ve happened to Stanley turns into defensive anger at being mocked and then into blatant confusion because his brother actually called him and he didn’t know. 

“Turns out Pa was right when he called me a pussy,” Stan continues as if it’s fine, which, hey, it isn’t. “Couldn’t even say nothin’ when ya answered.”

“You…that was you? You called me?” 

“What, ya goin’ deaf, Poindexter? Barely even thirty.”

“No, I–ugh!” Ford squeezes his eyes shut in frustrated and self-targeted disappointment. 

Stanley called him. He called him, but felt as though he couldn’t say anything to him. Why didn’t he? Surely, he knew he’d pick up and talk to him? Especially if it meant Stan was in trouble! He would’ve…he…what would he have done? He’d been working with Bill, with Fiddleford, building the portal. He had his stupid project, all of his research and work…what would he have said? Truthfully? That he was busy? Would he have really left his research for Stan?

A flash of his science fair project, the humiliation, the crushing weight of disappointment, the anger, the hurt. 

…He would’ve been more worried that Stanley would break his important equipment like he’d done to his work in the past. He would’ve barked out a slew of excuses why he couldn’t come to him. He would’ve hung up. Despite how much he’d missed his brother—though he refused to admit it for so long—he’d push him away. Reason that it’s for the best. 

Bill could’ve gotten to him. 

He could’ve…but Stan…

Fuck.

“You’re not a coward, Stan,” Ford tries. 

Stan snorts at him. “No, I mean it. Genuinely. You…you have so many scars,” they ignore the way Stanford’s voice cracks near the end. 

Stanley shifts in place, the movement felt by Ford through his shoulders. 

Fuck, how can he do this? He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He can’t articulate it properly. Scientific research and flowery language, yes. He could regale his findings on the cryptids and anomalies of Gravity Falls for hours and hours to anything who’d listen. But this? Emotions, people? What he actually felt? He rather have his teeth pulled. 

Actually, no, that was very painful to wake up to. 

Stan’s gaze softens the slightest bit, and then they’re back to this weird tense, awkward, emotion-driven silence that neither of them know how to navigate. Fuck, why is this is so hard? 

Ford does the only thing he knows will bring his point across. 

Stan stumbles backwards a little as his brother rushes forward and hugs him. He freezes, surprised by the fact that he’s hugging him. What are they, kids? But then Ford wraps his arms around him, squeezes, moves a hand to hold the back of his neck, and Stan just can’t anymore. He can’t deal with all the bouncing emotions that ping-pong everywhere. He can’t deal with this. Stan breaks, teary eyes he’ll pass off as dust, and hesitantly lightly wraps his arms around Ford in return. Ford squeezes again, and Stan tightens his hold on him. He grips the back of Ford’s jacket in an attempt to keep it together. 

He fails, and little droplets of tears drip onto Ford’s shoulder. If Ford notices, he doesn’t comment on it. He just holds him. He holds his brother. 

And maybe…maybe he can protect Stan this time. 

It’s his turn to keep him safe.

Taglist: @lost-in-thought-20 @thegoldenduckie @not-sure-what-im-feeling

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

Police Dog: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Cop!Reader - Chapter 2

Contains: Dead body

It was like he knew what your eyes zeroed in on. He cleared his throat awkwardly as he scratched at the back of his neck before he cleaned off his desk a bit. He started with the large ashtray, emptying it into another trash can he had squirled away underneath his desk.

“Yeah, I’m old,” he seemingly joked. He was trying to lighten the mood as he scooted papers back into their proper files, clearing off a good piece of his desk so you both could go back and forth filling out paperwork. “We’ve been here since about the same time as the witch trials in Salem. I was made the sheriff by King Cole, especially when most of us saw refuge here in New York.”

“Why New York City of all places? You really didn’t have much privacy back then and you surely don’t now. Have you seen places like Bensenhurst? Everyone knows everyone.”

Bigby shrugged his broad shoulders before he rolled them back, his coat falling down his brawny arms. He tossed the coat carelessly onto the back of his rolling chair that had seen better days.

“It’s where those of us who could get glamorous stayed. Most of us are at The Farm upstate, not like you could go see it. It’s hidden with magic out in some field in the middle of nowhere.”

“Who all lives here? Or at least in this building?”

Bigby sat down on his chair and produced two files, both weren’t filled with a lot of paperwork. He motioned you to sit down in the rinky wooden chair you stood next to.

“A lot of the more ‘popular ones’ Mundies care for.”

“Does that mean you too?”

Bigby stopped scribbling to look at you. He was almost shocked that you said that, the pen nearly falling from him fingers. He cleared his throat and continued writing.

“I guess so. But, to answer your question; Snow, Beauty and Beast, Boy Blue- Ichabod Crane used to live here before he went missing almost forty years ago.” You didn’t miss how Bigby’s brows furrowed in annoyance at bringing up the last name. You didn’t push for more. “But yeah, it’s mostly royalty. I only live here because I work here, if I didn’t, I don’t know where I’d be. Definitely not The Farm.”

“Why’s that?”

You flinched as you asked the question and Bigby noticed. If he cared, he didn’t show it.

“A lot of the Fables at The Farm aren’t fans of… wolves- well, me at least. I did some fucked up shit before we came here.”

“So did a lot of others, but they’re probably treated better, right?” He was taken back by that statement, the pen actually falling out of his hand this time. You really hit the head of the nail straight on. “I’m sorry, I-”

“No,” he cut you off, “no, it’s fine. You’re right.”

“Do they all treat you horribly? Or is it because you’re law enforcement?”

“Both. Honestly, I’m not sure which one people are more upset about anymore.”

Bigby looked over the papers and handed you a pen, pointing at where to sign for him. It was all mostly just liability paperwork with the occasional release and contact forms. One was even a form for medical, that you would temporarily be seen by a Fable doctor called Swineheart. You handed back the files and pen to Bigby when you had finished. He was about to say something when he perked up, opening a drawer from his desk before pulling out a small gun case.

“Here, you’re gonna need this.” He pulled out a standard-issued nine-millimeter handgun that NYPD had you use during training. Bigby handed you the weapon by the nose, but as you eyed his person, you noticed he didn’t have a holster. “I don’t need it, but you will.”

You stood and thanked him softly, taking the gun from him and holstering it at your hip. As Bigby turned to properly file your paperwork, his shoulders squared and he stood up straight. There was a look of annoyance plastered on his face as he eyed his door behind you.

“You okay?”

“Not for long.”

You heard footsteps echoing down the hall, fast and heavy and set in a long stride. Whoever it was, you could sense that they were royally pissed off. You stepped out of the way just in time as the door to Bigby’s office swung open, the door hitting the doorstop and bouncing, revealing a well-dressed man with a sneer on his face. He reeked of expensive cologne, his clothes looked as though they cost more than what you made in a year, his glasses alone must be worth just as much as a car with the precious stones littering down the arms.

“Oh, you’re in. Does nobody want to come to work today?” the man huffed. “Do you have any idea as to where that blasted woman went off to?”

“No, I don’t. And why do you care? We’ve both been busy with trying to keep this place from going under.”

“And what fine work you do, sheriff.” The man quickly noticed you standing off to the side. Just the way he looked you up and down made you want to seize up and vomit. “And I see you have company.”

‘What the fuck crawled up this guy's ass?’ you wondered as he once again looked you up and down.

The stranger snorted, the laughed, his voice like a cackle you would hear from some awful B-movie.

“So, Snow was serious about this? Bringing in a Mundy cop to help keep the peace? How cute, with the badge and her little gun and all.”

Bigby stood up abruptly from his chair and rounded his desk. Although Bigby was shorter, you knew he could absolutely take the stranger down a level or two without so much as a thought.

“Bluebeard, if Snow shows up, I’ll send her your way. In the meantime- get out.”

“Fine, fine,” Bluebeard feigned innocence, even holding his hands up as a surrender. He turned as started for the door but stopped and glanced at you once again. “Oh, and Officer Mundy, I’d be careful with him. He doesn’t have a good track record with young women.”

And with that, he stalked off down the hallway, his expensive shoes creaking as he hummed a sort of shanty under his breath. You heard Bigby grumble out something under his breath as the phone on his desk suddenly screamed awake. It was one of the old rotary phones where you could take the cradle off the receiver and ignore the calls all day long. Bigby picked up the cradle and placed it to his ear.

“Sheriff’s office,” he grunted out. After about a minute or so, his entire body seized up before he quickly scribbled something down on a post-it note. “We’ll be right over.”

He slapped the cradle back into the receiver before he turning around. He looked worried, it didn’t sit well on his rugged face.

“Everything okay?”

Bigby snatched his coat off the chair and slipped his arms through, ushering you out of the office before he closed the door behind you both. You followed him down the hallway, hot on his heels.

“How did your first day start on the force?”

“Well the world didn’t end, so… It was honestly pretty boring. Why? What rabbit hole am I about to jump down?”

“A pretty fucked up one.”

You both walked up the stairs to another apartment complex, but this one was better than The Woodlands by far. It was properly gated and the front doors couldn’t be opened properly from the outside without a keycard. You both walked up the marble steps, both sides adorned by the pure white stone lions that sat at every step.

There was a woman at the door already, elderly and terrified. She stumbled with opening both the main door and the iron screen door, her breathing uneven and her hair was messy and sticking out all over the place from her bun.

“Sheriff, please, come in!” she pleaded.

Her eyes were wide and frantic, bloodshot as though she also had not seen sleep in a few days. Dried tear tracks laid sticky on her cheeks, her skin was pallid and white like she had just witnessed a haunting.

“Who discovered them?” Bigby passed the door and into the elegant foyer.

You followed quickly behind him, the old lady making sure to lock both doors behind you before she hurried you both over to the elevator. With a press of a button, the metal cage swiftly and smoothly ascended, cutting across the floors like a hot knife in butter unlike the elevator in The Woodlands.

“I did, sheriff. I heard an awful noise, and then it sounded like something heavy fell to the ground, and then another, and then silence. I thought nothing of it until this afternoon when I smelled something horrible. I was lucky I still had a spare key from when I would water their plants when they left on holiday, or else the smell would’ve gotten worse.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed thickly. Bigby told you on the way down the elevator back at The Woodlands, but not much. ‘The walls are paper thin. We don’t need anybody causing a panic before we know more,’ he told you as you left the building.

Bodies. An entire family's worth of bodies the neighbor had found in the apartment.

“And the maid? Where is she?”

I haven’t seen Nana in a few days- Oh, you don’t think she’s been killed, do you?”

The old lady clutched nervously at her pearl necklace, twisting the strand around her fingers as she kept reliving the sight of her dead neighbors, her fellow Fables she’d lived with for centuries.

The elevator opened and the old lady led you down the hall as quickly as she could. You saw Bigby wince as he stepped off of the elevator. You knew he could smell it, you couldn’t imagine how awful it must be with a sense of smell like that.

Eventually, you came to a door at the end of the hallway. The elderly lady slid out the key from her pocket and opened the door for you both. Bigby stepped past her but the old lady gave you an odd look.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” she asked you in almost an accusatory tone.

“She’s with me,” Bigby interrupted, turning to face you both.

Just those words alone set a fire ablaze somewhere deep in your gut. Why? Why did that make you feel like this? Hell, he’s technically your boss - let alone a fairy tale creature that’s hundreds of years old.

The neighbor gave you a look as you pushed past her and stepped into the apartment. You would’ve said it was grand and beautiful had it not have been trashed with dried blood dripping all over the apartment. The long couch had been flipped over, the curtains had been yanked off the rod in the bay window, potted plants broken with the contents spilled across the very expensive rug.

Bigby’s eyes zeroed in on something as he walked right up to it as you followed right on his heels. You saw what it was between his long legs: The body of a woman on the not-so-clean tile of the kitchen floor.

[raayllum]

they said there’s gonna be pirates in s5 (during an emotionally rough episode seemingly for many of the characters) and this is all my brain could think about so here it is

The boat sways just enough Callum can’t quite rest his head against the poll they’re tied to, back to back, without knocking his head against it every other beat. And he needs to knock his head against something. He needs to figure something out.

When the tidebound pirates had boarded their ship, Callum had never expected this—their boat half sinking in the middle of the Sea of the Castout, Ez loading Soren up into a dinghy. Callum could’ve flown off at any point to join them, but Rayla hadn’t jumped yet, battling off three pirates at once with her blades, and he couldn’t just leave her—

So now they’re here in the brig, bound with rope to one of the ship’s below deck supports, the tips of his fingers brushing hers. They took his staff but don’t know he still has magic, so Callum knows it’s a useful trick up his sleeve when it comes to getting out of this alive—if he could just get his hand free enough to draw a rune. They took Rayla’s blades, too, folded them up and carried up on deck and she hasn’t stopped sniffling since she was pinned and had her pockets raided.

It’s not like her, but he supposes it’s been a pretty terrible day and her stomach must be hell right now with the waves.

“Rayla,” he says, because surely she has to know more about knots than he does. “Do you think if we both pull at the same time we can snap the rope?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she snaps, her voice hoarse.

His eyebrows raise. “Of course it matters. We have to get out of here—”

“And then what?”

“I can fly us out of here if—”

“No, Callum, I can’t go.”

He stops, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the side of her face. “What do you mean you can’t go?”

“They took my blades.”

“And probably put it in the same place as my staff.” If they can get out, they probably afford to sneak around the ship a bit and grab their things without being spotted. That, and as much as those objects are important, if they were willing to give them up to Rex Igneous, they can give them up now to get away. Even the cube the captain had taken from them. None of them are worth their lives.

But Rayla shakes her head hard enough he can see tear-stains glistening on her cheeks. “No—the c-captain took the coins and put them in her pocket—”

He remembers a flash of gold, but Ezran has a treasury full of the stuff. “We can get you more gold,” he says, wondering if the sea sickness is what’s making her irrational. 

“It’s not gold,” Rayla says, her breath hitching with a sob. “They’re my parents.”

“What?”

“Viren took them and he p-put them in coins, and I don’t know how much but they’re alive, and I lost them—I can’t leave without them—”

Callum’s mind races. He thought she’d seemed melancholic, distracted, since they came back from Umber Tor, not unlike the way she’d been with Ethari’s pendant in the Midnight Desert, but... “We’ll get them back.”

“How?” she says miserably. “There’s too many pirates. We can’t fight them all.”

“We won’t have to,” he says. “I’ll think of a plan. But we have to get these ropes undone first.” His fingers press into the tips of hers and he hears her inhale. “I promise, Rayla. But we have to work together.”

Together. His own throat dries unexpectedly. It’s been a long time—and she didn’t tell him about the coins till now, or indeed how long she’s had them, but—he forces that down. She needs him right now. And he needs her.

Rayla swallows hard. “Okay,” she says, and he feels the ropes cut into his skin as she begins to strain. “My wrists are thinner, so I’ll try to slip out, and if you can make ice, you can use it to saw through your own.” 

Aspiro frigis. Callum murmurs the rune under his breath, feeling the tip of his finger freeze and form the tiniest of icicles, and Rayla hooks one loop of her bindings over it to pull. Then she stumbles free, tripping over her knees and rounds back for him. He does his best to ignore the way her warm breath fans against the back of his neck, half covered by his scarf as she sets him free.

Callum rubs his wrists as they face each other before he hugs her on instinct, and he thinks Rayla melts into him on the same one, too. 

“I promise,” he repeats when they draw away, her eyes still glassy and vulnerable, but hopeful now too. They can do this, just the two of them, a plan already forming in his mind. He takes her by the hand. “Now come on.” 

[scribble-dee-doo]

WAHOO day two! The Doctor needs a little adjustment to daily life but he's having a good time <3 679 words, he/they pronouns for the doctor, and donna having a stressed moment when faced with a space gadget right after waking up! @doctordonnaweek

noble/party

“Doctor.”

The Doctor looks up from Rose’s ten-minute explanation of the pros and cons of flanking, craned over his own shoulder, to properly see the extent of the exasperation showing on Donna’s face. It’s extensive. She’s leaning on the doorframe into the kitchen with her arms crossed. Time to step carefully.

“Yyyyyyyyyyes?”

She uncrosses her arms to let something dangle from her forefinger, one eyebrow raised. They leverage themself off the floor a little to squint at it…

“The…toaster?”

Donna pushes off the doorframe so she can come over and gesture the toaster in his face, almost clipping his nose.

“Does this look,” she asks, “like a toaster? Like something that can contain bread? It’s just –” She waggles it again, clawing the air for words. “It’s just! It’s a little squiggle!”

“Oh, it’s very simple –” he says, reaching up to take it and explain that it’s actually his personal design of a clever little breakfast invention called a toasting wand, but she yanks it out of his reach. 

“Simple! I’ll tell you what’s simple! Leaving my bloody toaster alone on the morning that I have to get the house ready for a birthday party!”

Ah, this is not about the wonderful new updated toaster he came up with (it toasts both sides to perfection and adds the toppings in one swipe!), it’s another Doing Things When Things Are Happening. The Doctor’s life has almost always been doing things when things are happening, usually in layers deeper than Earth’s fossil record, but they’re trying to slow down for the sake of this “living life one day at a time” business and to avoid Donna strangling them with their own necktie.

“You know I’ve been tearing my hair out about where to put all of Grandad’s mates with the weather like it is!” Donna starts, and he can tell she’s just winding up. “I was up half the night wondering if I should just bung them all into the TARDIS, or put them in the attic, and you certainly haven’t been helpful with those decorations that almost buried the garden.”

The Doctor pops up to get his feet underneath himself, ruffles Rose’s hair in vengeance for her laughing at his plight, and hops upright.

“I just wanted to get my coffee and have my toast while I’m thinking where we’re gonna find space for everyone to eat so the wheelchairs can still get around, and you know what I find when I get to the kitchen? No toaster! Just this…this…gadget!”

Almost losing an eye to Donna’s gesturing – he should maybe add a few extra safety features, he wasn’t expecting it to be pointed at people – gives him the chance to fold his hands around hers. She’s mutinous, but lets them take the toasting wand. The wand goes in their pocket, their hands on Donna’s shoulders. Oh, she’s all kinds of tense.

“Donna,” he says, taking off his glasses to properly look her in the eye, “I’m sorry I changed the kitchen around when you’re so busy. I’ve already made coffee and everything. Let me make you a cup, ey?”

Under their hands, Donna softens, then slumps, leaning forward until her forehead bumps their chest. He folds her up in a hug, and they both heave a big sigh.

“Cold milk?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she mumbles into his collar. “Sorry.”

“Mm. And maybe I can rig something up for space?”

She chuckles. “What, are you gonna make my sitting room bigger on the inside?”

He leans back, looking down his nose at her cheeky grin.

“Are you doubting my abilities?” he demands.

Donna tucks herself under their arm, bumping hips, all warm life and laughter with her hair not yet done. The kitchen door is a little too narrow, but they manage to squeeze through it together.

“Just so long as you leave us all here, on Earth, and you leave my kitchen alone.”

“What? But you’ve been complaining about not having enough freezer space! I was gonna fix it.”

“Like you fixed the bath? Mom almost drowned.”

“I fixed that too!!”

[basilone]

Would you ever... write the Form and Void 'verse for Darlene? Juno xx

Short answer: yes, I would. Longer-than-short answer: your ask sent me to actually write it. Because apparently this was begging to get out at some point, hence this reply being a lil late. 💚 (Can't thank you enough for letting me revisit this 'verse!) Y'all only need to know one thing about this to be able to read it: this is set in my AU in which some soldiers are chosen by specific gods and sometimes take pills to suppress their god's massive influence on the world. And if you're looking for more on Darlene, this very E-rated fic is probably the best intro you're gonna get.

thin ice

“The Black Swan says this is shit for morale.”

“Ain’t never heard Sobel say shit,” corrects McNally, glowering at Mann out of the corner of his eye. “You’re making that up as you go.”

“He was out there, wasn’t he, pontificating,” gestures Mann, hands fluttering over his pint so callously he almost knocks it over. “Telling Speirs here about some sorta club for officers, right, and casting one of his most swan-ish glowers at the rest of us?”

Ron Speirs heaves a sigh as the attention at the table turns to him. “Apparently officers should not mingle with the common soldier too much,” he says, voice almost airquoting the common soldier. “There was indeed a question of morale.”

“Hope you told him where he could shove it, sir.”

“I told him to worry a little more about Easy’s supply of suppressants”– which is a rightful concern, given its many god-chosen –“and a little less about what dogs of war do in their free time.”

“Bet he loved that, sir.”

“The LT dry-swallowed a suppressant for emphasis,” snorts Charlie Hammond. Even from beside him, it’s difficult to ignore his broad grin. “You should’ve seen Sobel’s fucking face, McNally. Like somebody just canceled spaghetti hour.”

“Don’t you fookin’ remind me of the spaghetti,” groans McNally, looking increasingly queasy at the mere thought of it. “Did he ever get written up for costing the Airborne suppressants, what with half of Easy puking their guts out after that?”

Ron shrugs. “Sink wasn’t pleased. They shoved Talbert into quarantine real fast.” He nods at a table in the far end corner of the room, where sergeant Talbert is trying his hardest to live up to his Love-chosen status. “And they had a real bad time getting the Trickster-chosen back under, apparently.”

“They don’t like to be under, do they?”

“Mann,” says Ron, eyeballing the too-quick way the reedy man downs his drink, “you will be under in the next hour if you keep pretending that’s water in your glass.” He shakes his head a little as Mann offers him a quick salute in reply. “I don’t think any of us like to be on the suppressants, no.” He certainly does not, but the alternative in his case might be a little too much for the Airborne to bear. “At least they’re skipping the cost of them on some soldiers with more, ah, tolerable gods than mine.”

“Tolerable like that, sir?” asks McNally, nodding at something taking place behind Ron that’s inviting a fair few shouts over the din.

“Travers is experiencing a new way of becoming airborne,” snorts Charlie beside him, craning his neck and practically leaning on Ron’s shoulder to be able to see better. “Fox Co is looking harrassed as all get-out, sir, it’s brilliant”– and of course Charlie would think so, given how often Fox has messed up orders in recent weeks –“look at him go!”

Fox Company’s Travers, really only memorable because his one eyebrow soaks up almost every scrap of space on his forehead, has indeed become airborne in a rather undignified manner. The rest of his men – whoever thought it was a good idea to give Travers men to lord his sergeantship over needs to be stripped of all company rights, in Ron’s opinion – seem to be arguing rather incessantly among themselves about the best way to drag their sergeant back down. Nobody seems to want to try taking on the very blonde, very unimpressed-looking woman who is currently glaring up at Travers as though he owes her either money or an apology.

Ron turns back to his drink. “Only a fool’s gonna mess with that.”

“I wouldn’t mind messin’ with that, sir,” grins McNally, eyes shining. “Heard that them air-chosen are a ride to bed.”

“Aren’t air-chosen a rarity, huh?” Mann’s shoving McNally’s beer toward Charlie like the lack of it is going to fix McNally’s death wish any. His finger wags in front of McNally’s face in clear warning. “You can’t keep up with that, brother.”

“She’s in a pilot’s jacket,” hums Charlie as he, too, turns back to the table. “Air-chosen ain’t so rare. Seen plenty of them with the bomber crews.”

“Since when have you seen those?”

“Relax, sir, I was on leave when I saw them. They’re big game. Lots of chatter with them, like with Easy too. Hard to tune that sorta thing out.”

Ron chances a glance sideways. There are moments, going as far back as the earliest days of training, when he’s convinced Charlie isn’t god-chosen only because he’s too stubborn to say yes to whichever god is offering. He’s heard Wisdom-chosen like Winters and Nixon refer to chatter, sure enough, and back home there was a Trickster-chosen who referred to their many impressions as such too. He can’t shake the thought that Charlie – dark-eyed, good-humored, secretive Charlie – might know a thing or two about it. Might be chosen by something, except Ron can’t identify which god has its eyes set on the kid.

There are days when it bothers him. He can identify most chosen, even though many of them are on suppressants like him. There’s something in their eyes, something in their countenance, that always trips up the game and reveals the cards. He’s seen it in Charlie, too, though it is usually so tied to tactics that it’s easy to chalk it up to the kid’s intelligence and nothing else.

“Well, would ya look at that,” sniggers McNally, then, and Ron looks up from his drink to see the man’s wide grin broaden even further. “She just rocketed that Travers fuck to the ceiling and back down again without so much as a gesture. I gotta get me one of those.”

“You’re not,” says Ron archly, glancing back at the air-chosen woman just to witness Travers flattened like a pancake, “stealing a pilot.” Not even one with that much sway to her, he almost says, seeing how she’s surrounded by a ragtag protective crowd immediately upon releasing a crumpled heap of Travers. “You’re welcome to pray to Air when we jump next, though, McNally, maybe that’ll…”

He pauses mid-speech. Doesn’t mean to. Doesn’t think he can form the rest of the sentence if he tried.

There’s a new woman at the heart of that pilot-filled crowd. A riot waiting to happen. He sees it spooling at her fingertips – the flicker of flames, dancing between long and slender fingers. Watches it spark at the ends of her red mane of hair until it looks like fire’s dancing between her curly locks. Observes it brightening her face, all grand smile and the flicker of amusement curling in her eyes, until he’s no longer sure why nobody’s answering that infectious grin of hers.

Fox Company bends away from her when the light catches her.

“– seen the like of this before!”

“What?” snaps Ron, louder than he means to.

“I said,” laughs Charlie, “I thought fire-chosen were all pent-up brews like Easy’s Joe Toye. Don’t think I’ve seen the like of this before. Have you, sir?”

Ron can only shake his head as he sees the air-chosen grasp the red-headed woman’s hand without even flinching at the fire. It earns the air-chosen a kiss to the cheek, so close to her mouth that it’s got some of the crowd around them hooting in warning, and one of the most dazzling smiles Ron’s ever seen.

“I heard they burn through their suppressants, yeah? Look at that,” muses Mann, “she’s practically glowing with power.”

“It’s not power,” says Ron, because he knows real power drapes itself around the body like a shroud. “It’s life itself. You can’t mimic that. Not even a Trickster could.” He’s seen them try, sometimes. Seen them fail, always. “That’s unique to them. To her.”

To this woman, fire-chosen in a way that sucks all air out of his lungs and leaves him feeling like he’s adrift in the desert. To her, casting a light of her own that almost dwarfs the lamplight in the whole pub. To this one, kissed by fire, so beloved by it that she could never belong to any other.

“I thought we weren’t stealin’ women, sir.”

Ron tears himself away from looking at her long enough to cast a rather unimpressed glare at McNally. “We’re not,” he repeats, even though there’s a heat unfurling in his belly that he fears might only answer to her now. “We are going to take whatever war gives us”– oh, how War will laugh at him once he’s off these damn suppressants and able to think clearly again –“and you are not going to give the Air Force reason to lodge a formal complaint against our conduct.”

“I won’t if you won’t.” McNally barely acknowledges Ron’s raised eyebrow. “Sir.”

“That one’s not Air Force, though,” comments Charlie.

“Kid”– heaves Mann, looking queasier by the minute –“you ain’t helping the LT get lucid.”

“Fresh air for him, bedtime for you,” decides Ron swiftly, nodding at Mann and Charlie, “and the next one to talk about stealing women is getting a liaison position with Easy.”

“Not with the Black Swan and his fookin’ spaghetti, sir…”

Ron feels rather light-headed as he chances a feral grin at McNally. Feels an answering flame flicker to life inside of him when a rather throaty, spitfire-in-the-belly laugh in the crowd behind him earns a crowd’s cry of “give it a rest, Darlene!” even as he pulls Charlie to his feet.

Darlene. He knows that’s her. Thinks he’d know her blind now that he’s seen her.

“How’s that liaison position lookin’, LT?”

“McNally. Thin ice.”

“Thin fookin’ ice, sir,” agrees his sergeant, clapping Ron’s shoulder and leading the way out of the pub. “Very thin indeed, with the likes of her around.”

Ron can’t very well argue with that.

[vinbee631]

10 - Intermission: How Would You Like a Friendly Competition? (Let’s Take On the Song) 

Prodigal Sons and Daughters Alike

“Remus!” The art student in question jumped out of his skin as his twin burst into his room one afternoon. “Jesus, who died?! Or, is it good news? I can tell from just- screaming.”

(The school van in question later in the fic, they're good for wheelchair transport, but riding in the ones they convert to hold 14 students for field trips is my personal hell)

Chapter title from Me Against the Music - LP Version by Madonna and Britney Spears, the better version to me :) Also, cw, they do play laser tag, so like- gun violence? But for high schoolers? Nobody gets hurt but it's a pretty in depth description if that bothers you

“Remus!” The art student in question jumped out of his skin as his twin burst into his room one afternoon. “Jesus, who died?! Or, is it good news? I can tell from just- screaming.”

“Quit teasing, this is important!” Roman declared, hopping on Remus’ bed and crossing his legs.

“Sure, just make yourself comfortable, I guess,” he joked, “but go on. What is it that you’re dragging me into this time?” 

“You say as if you don’t regularly drag me into shit all the time. You dragged me into this school,” he pointed out helpfully.

“Alright, I get it, just cut to the chase! I’m invested now,” Remus urged with a smile.

“Okay, okay! Soo, I found another poster, and it’s even better than the hike one! There are these, like, mini field trips they’re gonna start doing tomorrow, and they go to all kinds of cool places! I was gonna invite the others, too, but I wanted to bring it up to you first!” 

“Uh, yeah sure!” Remus agreed instantly with a smile that didn’t quite reach is eyes. “We inviting Virgil, too?” 

Roman started, starting at his brother as he processed the statement. Something was… off about him. And he could tell exactly what, and who, it was related to.

“You know what? No, we’re not doing this. The others can go as a group of three, or four if they wanna open that can of worms, but this is gonna be a sibling day. You’re so- keyed up over this Virgil situation, and I am not going to watch as you wear yourself to the ground! We’re taking a break, and we’re doing it twin style!”

“And you’ve just… decided this for me? Bet, I guess, where are we going?” Remus chuckled, though Roman was relieved to see some of the tension leak out of his shoulders and frown lines.

And then, he grinned brightly, tugging his flustered twin out the door. “Well, we gotta sign up first! That’s what I was trying to tell you! There are a couple of different places, and initially, I was gonna get everyone’s opinions but starting with you, but now we can just decide together, c’mon!” 

Remus hopped along behind him, haphazardly tugging on his shoes and slamming the door shut behind him. “Jeez, okay, okay! I’m coming, slow down!”

Roman laughed, racing down the hall with his brother in tow. They skidded to a stop in the lobby, where a small group of freshmen they didn’t know were gathered around a clipboard. 

“So, there are different clipboards for different grade levels, so we might have to wait a bit, but…” Roman paused, craning his neck to read the announcement, “We can choose from a trip to a little shopping center in Gainesville… an- I think that says laser tag? And a ‘nature hike’ at the one nature center that we drove past on the way here. But, I mean, we kinda already did that.” 

Remus perked up. “I dunno about you, but if we don’t do the laser tag, I might lose it,” he decided. Roman quickly nodded in agreement and they rushed to fill out the paperwork they needed. 

“At least we don’t have to convince Mom and Pops this time,” Roman huffed, making his brother laugh. 

“Exactly! All we have to worry about is having fun! Oh, and me kicking your ass at laser tag.”

Roman huffed. “Says you! I believe it will be me doing the ass-kicking here!” 

The whole walk back to their dorms, the boys bickered halfheartedly about supposed asses being kicked, but Roman wasn’t all too worried about that anyway, when his brother was smiling bigger than he’d seen in days.

…

Remus was happy he loved his classes so much, otherwise the waiting for them to be over would have been torturous. 

The field trips here didn’t work the same way as in other schools. The laser tag trip wouldn’t get them out of class. Instead, it gave them something to do in the afternoon.

It didn’t make waiting for it particularly easy, but Remus did appreciate that he didn’t have to miss out on the best class schedule he ever had to hang out with his brother. 

That was, arguably, the best part, having some (somewhat) private time to bond with his brother. Roman was the reason he’d been brave enough to come to this crazy place, anyway, and they’d barely had time to hang out alone since they got there!

And then, of course, the whole Virgil thing had been happening, so Remus had been a bit too distracted to think about quality time with Roman. 

Now, there was nothing stopping him from that time! He wiggled excitedly at the thought as the bell rang for the end of his last class. 

He met up with Roman less than a minute after the bell at the front of the school. There were a few other kids coming, but Remus didn’t recognize any of them and Roman was too excited about brother bonding time to worry about any of them. 

The twins easily recognized the school van they were giong to be taking on this trip, considering it was shockingly similar to public school vans. It briefly made Remus wonder where you could even buy one of these things, not that he wanted one. They were the kind of ugly only a school transporation vehicle could be.

He hadn’t noticed, but while he was lost in thought, they had started moving, and Roman had started talking. He tried to zone back into the conversation, but being zoned out in the first place tended to open up his mind to wandering- very far away… and now he was thinking about Virgil.

It probably wasn’t fair to be upset with him, and Remus wasn’t really. He was simply… frustrated about the hoops he had to jump through to talk to him. Virgil was excruciatingly closed off, and if only Remus knew why. That would certainly help him figure out a better way to ease him into communicating. 

But that was also kind of exhausting, and he had plenty of other things he should be putting that energy into instead. It was totally worth it to put energy into caring about his friends! But when that energy wasn’t being reciprocated, it was going to get to a point where this wasn’t a healthy exhange.

Remus really didn’t want to give up on him, but it was starting to look like he might have to eventually. 

He zoned back in to see Roman leaned very into his personal space, making eye contact to try and break him out of his brain. His twin smiled when Remus met that gaze. 

“So, you’ve obviously still got something on your mind,” Roman stated, leaning back to sit next to him once more, “and you’re gonna talk about it. Right now, preferably.”

“I… yeah. I’m still stuck on the Virgil thing, I guess. Like… I’m not upset about it, but I… I’m just confused. Being shy is one thing, and not liking me as a person is another, but we’ve barely talked! And he wouldn’t even tell me he was uncomfortable until I’d already done something wrong! I just… really don’t get him, y’know? And I want to get him, in a healthy way, but I can’t!” 

Roman frowned, shifting a bit closer to him. “Well, it might not be a bad time to talk to Dr. Picani about it. You don’t even have to tell him it’s Virgil, but I mean, from what I’ve heard, he gives pretty good advice, maybe even better than mine!”

Remus didn’t fall for the bait of the tease, but he did smile a little. “I- yeah, maybe I will. It’s something to consider, at least. I just wish it was… easier. Being a teenager with emotional problems is hard enough, and when they involve another person, it’s just… ugh, anyway, thanks, Ro. I’ll think about it.” 

“Anytime, Re. And yeah, I get it. Just… don’t wear yourself out worrying about someone else, and honestly? I think it’s gonna work out, anyway.” Roman smiled at his brother as they got comfortable for the rest of the ride home. Maybe he couldn’t help his brother fix all his problems, but he could certainly be there for him everytime. 

And then, their fond moment was swiftly interrupted by their excitement of reaching their destination. 

The boys practically dragged each other out of the back of the van abomanation, only stopping to pay attention to when they had to leave and where they were supposed to meet their chaperone at the end of the day.

And then, they, along with the rest of the group of course, were off. 

They were allowed to play five rounds if they wanted, and they could take breaks in between for snacks, or to check out some of the games nearby as the laser tag place doubled as an arcade.

The twins weren’t really focused on those parts at the moment. They were focused on the fastest way possible to decimate each other in a little friendly competition.

It took a minute to get suited up, and to request being on different teams, and then they had to wait for a full room of other players, which took another five minutes. Then, finally, they were released into the dim space, obstacles speckled with glow-in-the-dark paint flecks and tainted with a distinctly ‘arcade-y smell.

The countdown ended, and they were off.

Remus glanced at the infrared camera in his corner, watching another person on his go sprinting past. No sign of Roman yet, so he turned past one of the odd foam towers and turned to the edge of the space, trying to map out the area in his head.

Roman had started in the opposite corner. If he was strategizing like he normally did, he was most likely searching for other people that were easier to snipe than his brother, to get himself on the leaderboard before finding his actual target. 

He broke out of his momentary brainstorm to jump past another opposing team member, zapping the back of their vest in the process.

One point, Remus. 

A glance up at the scoreboard confirmed he needed to be faster than that, though. He zipped past someone crawling on the floor, jumping over them and scoring another point along the way.

There was a set of kids standing back to back. Remus used two hits in the same spot where their vests touched. 

He was up to four points, Roman was only at three.

Where was he?

Remus turned, flattening himself against a wall and listening to the room. He’d almost done a full lap already, and no Roman? Almost like, his twin was circling at the same time-

*ZAP*

“Oh, you motherfucker!” Remus laughed, squinting at the bright red light pulsing from beneath him on his vest. He had been followed the whole time! 

He shot out in the dark when the red pulsing finally faded, managing to hit someone running past a gap in two obstacles, but not Roman. 

Sensing his twin had made himself scarce for the time being, he took another lap, darting around, and accidentally running into a wall to avoid running into a stranger.

Roman had six points, and so did he.

They were halfway through the round already, only five minutes left to get his brother back. He just needed to find him first.

It was risky, but he took a chance with one of the raised platforms, climbing up and laying on his stomach at first. He took a breath, then jumped up to see who he could find Two…four… five people, he ducked back down. No Roman, but at least he hadn’t been hit.

He jumped down and took another, much more cautious lap.

And there it was, a glint of white in the corner of his eye. He feigned the other direction, and when Roman’s vest popped out, he turned around and shot him right in the chest.

…Yeah, if this wasn’t laser tag, that would have been kind of grim.

He shot away from the pusling red with a gleeful laugh, despite the attention it was probably going to attract. He was one point ahead, but he was tied with his brother in spirit.

Three minutes left.

They ended up circling each other, lasers ringing out and point totals ticking up as the time ticked down. With thirty seconds left, Remus was a point ahead. But that wasn’t enough.

Roman was on his tail, he could feel his eyes. He crouched low to the floor and listened. 

Dumb idea.

Being crouched slowed down his escape, and when his brother pounced, turning a corner and firing his laser, Remus’ only option was to flatten to the ground and try to roll away.

His vest turned red as he lay prone, and the lights turned on

“ROUND OVER. CONGRATULATIONS, TEAM RED.”

Remus groaned, keeping his face pressed to the floor to avoid Roman’s gaze. His twin laughed, offering a hand to help him stand.

“I almost found you, and we tied, anyway!” He complained, jumping up and walking in step with his giggling brother. “Yeah, but ya didn’t, and my team won! Close though, wanna go again?”

“Uh, of course, I wanna go again, I have to win back my honor!”

Roman laughed again, and Remus found that, despite the little disappointment he had and how he was slightly out of breath from running around, he was still able to laugh along.

[blackberrywars]

I think you know I'm like *contractually* obligated to ask about Lemon Eyes. And gimme some of that Oops! 💕🍋💀🔥👏✨😍

(⁠づ⁠￣⁠ ⁠³⁠￣⁠)⁠づ

xx, lem

Hello!!! Thank you so much for playing! I just answered your obligatory Lemon Eyes —I'm sure you'll be delighted to know that everyone was interested in it. Onto Oops! (your exclamation point has now been added to the doc title).

Summary: Eskel-pades fill for Blackberries & Brotherhood. I think I didn't finish this because someone else made a really similar fic, but I still love the concept of lil wolves Eskel + Geralt getting into some blackberry-related mischief. I too have contractual fruit-related obligations.

It’s an open secret at Kaer Morhen. One of those delicate things that every witcher knows that they don’t know, up until they’re old enough to find out for themselves. One of those hidden things no one —the trainees nor the grown witchers and masters— ever talks about aloud, but not the same way that no one talked about the Trials or the pyres after them. Those secrets bring pain. Knowledge that, of the twelve yearmates Eskel had once shared his life with, six had already withered into husks on the laboratory tables, and another two or three would die before Rennes put that medallion around their necks. Knowledge that it isn’t always animal flesh burning in the valley below. This secret brings something far rarer.

Joy.

Just ahead, across a small clearing, a massive blackberry thicket scrapes the lowest tree branches, towering above their heads. Dots of red and purple and black cover the curved branches, thousands of berries ready for the picking in the height of Kaer Morhen’s mild summer. His new nose hurts with the scent. Even through the smell of earth and their combined sweat, he can nearly taste the sweet-sour fruits. Eskel whoops, hauling Geralt with him until they stand in front of it, neither one of them moving forward. He groans.

Up close, the berries they’d seen from across the clearing are too high for either of them to reach, even stacked atop each other, or else buried deeper in the brambles, protected by a cage of cruel thorns. All along the front, the bottom branches almost shine with how they’ve been picked clean. The grown witchers must have come through earlier in the season to take all the easy pickings. Leaving the rest for them. An image flashes in Eskel’s mind of that morning, of the small ceramic jar that Frank stationed by his plate at their table, and the knife perched atop it, coated in a dark film. Bastards. He squeezes his free hand into a fist. The thicket could be one of Kaer Morhen’s walls —hard stone and harder iron— for all the ways Eskel thinks they could get through it, but at least the keep has a gate. 

“Shit. This is gonna hurt.”

“Yeah, probably. I did say this was a bad fuckin’ idea. Vesemir warned us about going into these woods alone.”

“Eat shit already if you’re going to be such a kiss-ass.”

“Did little Lambert teach you that one?”

 Eskel punches him in the arm, ignoring the fact that he had overheard the line from the little monster in question, and Geralt responds in kind, swiping at his head but not before he comes back. But Geralt reaches too far, his weight shifted forward. (Overcommitting, as Varin would say, and now he’s saying it inside his fuckin’ head too). He crouches and kicks out, trying to copy something he’d seen Aubry do that knocked Traj on his ass the other day, bracing for the pain in his shin against Geralt’s. He yelps when it works, knocking him over. Right towards the thorns. Eskel leaps forward, shoving Geralt down, barely catching himself on top of him with his hands scraping the ground as his heart beats loudly, slowly rising from where it had dropped into his stomach. Below him, Geralt cranes his neck up, rubbing the back of his head. His face is so  close. Close enough to kiss, or something like that.

“Ow, the fuck, Esk? No need for dramatics.”

Nope. No kissing. Absolutely not, he can’t kiss Geralt at all, no matter how pretty his face is or how close it is to his own. Doesn’t matter that his lips look nice even after the wind’s chapped them to pieces, or that there’s a tiny scar at the bottom edge where his tooth came in early. Embarrassed, he leans back so he’s upright. Sitting on Geralt. Fuck. He braces his feet against the ground and falls right on his ass when Geralt bucks upward, reaching for his arm. It’s then that he sees blood running down to his elbow, and a mess of little cuts all over his palm and fingers.

“Dumbass! What did you think was gonna happen? Did you catch yourself on the thorns?”

“I was stopping you from falling into them!”

He tries to bring his hand back, but Geralt catches it first, wrapping his thin, pale lips around Eskel’s thumb. Nevermind that he can feel the wound closing already, barely a pinprick, but Geralt’s tongue soothes the sting, and his mouth feels like silk, even with the threat of his new fangs growing in. Strands of white hair fall into his half-lidded eyes, and Eskel desperately wants to touch them. He could tuck them back behind his ear or into his leather headband, making sure he could see those pretty eyes. Gently, he presses against the soft roof of Geralt’s mouth, barely suppressing a sound at the slight hollow that forms in his cheeks. 

Don’t get a boner don’t get a boner don’t get a boner, fuck, please don’t get a boner or smell horny or blush or fucking anything.

Geralt’s sharp hip bones dig into his ass, and it makes him want to scoot back that bare few inches further up, just enough to feel more, except then he’d absolutely get a boner, right on top of Geralt. He’d see it, and he’d…… he wouldn’t even laugh or get angry. That would be a blessing. Knowing him, he’d just get quiet and uncomfortable, maybe avoid him for a few weeks. The thought hurts enough that he shoves himself up and away. When he looks back, Geralt’s frowning, but he has his hand outstretched for Eskel to pull him up, the same way he does when they spar. He obliges. It was just like sparring. Nothing strange when he steps away, and Geralt lets him go.

[sehunjeno]

When you knock on Xavier’s bedroom door, you should’ve expected Ajax to answer instead.

“Can I shower here? She fucked up the bathroom again,” you grumble, referring to your roommate.

“Uh-“

“Yeah, sure,” Xavier chimes in from where he’s standing behind Ajax, peeking over his shoulder.

They hear a muttered ‘thanks’ as you walk past them dismissively. Curious eyes fixate on your body until it leaves their sight and, then, a smile is shared. Their prayers have been answered, apparently.

When you come out of the shower in your pajamas, you find them sitting at the edge of the bed. Two obedient puppies, you can’t help but think, and adorable is the only word suitable for the look on their faces.

Despite wanting to leave immediately, you do make the effort of approaching them and pecking their lips. The kisses are short and nothing like they’ve hoped for and you make sure to crush their dreams further when bidding farewell.

“Whoa… you’re leaving?”

They’re both pretty certain you’ve pavloved them into being desperate whenever you all breathe the same air.

“Why don’t you stay with us for a bit?” Ajax adds.

“I’m not feeling that great. I’m on my period. Maybe some other ti-“

“Why? We can just chill,” Xavier interrupts and the puppy eyes he’s sporting along with his best friend’s pout make you give in.

“Fine, I’ll stay for a bit.”

A bit turned into one hour of tv shows. One hour of cuddling in silence, your frame trapped between theirs.

And, despite your initial plan, you don’t just chill. In fact, their kisses descend down your body as soon as the laptop gets shut off. It gets to the point you’re all bare naked, Ajax working his mouth over your breasts and tummy while Xavier is busy kissing your inner thighs.

“We’re not doing anything more, okay? I’m on my period.”

“Yeah,” Xavier agrees to your reminder.

You miss the knowing look he gives his best friend. The latter only nods in response.

Only one unspoken mission is on their minds - to treat your body like a temple. And they don’t fail to deliver just that, attending to your hormone-driven needs with the utmost care. Letting yourself loose seems like the only plausible option.

That is, until Xavier decides to take it up a notch. His lips ascend from the smoothness of your thighs to your pussy and you can’t tell when it happened. The attack on your slit comes all of sudden - all you know is that his mouth feels unbelievably good on your clit, sucking on it with so much fervor your thighs slap against his ears out of reflex.

“Shit, ah… don’t,” you plead when he refuses to cease the suction on your swelling nub.

“Why not?” The vibrations of his voice tickle your pussy.

Exactly. Why not, your inner voice whispers. After all, you still have your tampon in and you’ve just showered. There’s no harm in this.

“Okay, fine…”

Of course, you should know better than to trust him because he seems keen on pushing your limits tonight. Weak thighs attempt to crush his face again but, this time, it’s because you can feel a stinging pain tickling your insides. You can’t see it, but it’s obvious that he’s got his digits wrapped around the string of your tampon. He’s trying to pull it out.

“No. Leave it in.”

“Why? It’s gonna feel good,” he’s adamant yet throws a glance at Ajax to see if they’re on the same page.

They certainly are, his best friend not hesitating to join him and pull the white thread until the tampon leaves your cunt. He does it with care, a soft gasp leaving your lips before they admire your gaping hole. They are in awe when it flutters right in front of their faces, droplets of blood dribbling down to your perineum.

And, then, a nerve-wracking silence follows. It forces your neck to crane, weight supported on your elbows as you glance at them.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Never seen one so up close.” Xavier seems bewildered.

“Why isn’t it fully soaked in blood?” Ajax asks, equally mesmerized and comically confused.

“Because I took a shower and changed it one hour ago, dummy. Stop staring at it like that.”

“Sorry,” Xavier is the one to apologize.

And he’s also the considerate one this time, leaving his own bed so he can throw away your used tampon. You’re too preoccupied with Ajax’s face getting dangerously close to your cunt, warm breathing fanning over your puffy lips and red-tinged hole, to notice Xavier coming back with a towel.

“Ass up,” he instructs and you don’t have the strength to refuse.

As if you’re nothing but a meal, they cooperate and help the fabric under your bottom, all before they push at your legs. A burning stretch plagues your thighs now that you have to accommodate both in front of your core. An internal battle between that ache and the prospect of the two of them playing with your bleeding cunt keeps your mind busy. It’s so nerve-wracking you end up blurting out:

“I’m on my period,” The obvious is stated for the umpteenth time.

“We can see,” Xavier laughs, curious finger dipping into your pussy only to be retrieved stained in red.

He wipes himself on Ajax’s thigh, the latter just shaking his head and laughing in response. Your brows furrow upon taking notice of how laid back they are in the presence of your period.

“Relax,” Ajax reassures when he notices the forehead creases. He’s also the one to kiss your right inner thigh.

As if on cue, Xavier joins him, except he goes straight for the big prize. His lips latch onto your pussy without a care in the world, tongue darting out and probing at your hole. The tang of iron invades his tastebuds and he grunts, eyes rolling in the back of his head. He didn’t expect to like the taste.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Your question is accompanied by the laughter that makes your flesh jiggle in their hold.

“Very much so,” Xavier murmurs, voice muffled by your cunt.

“You don’t… ha-have to do this,” you stutter when he sucks harder.

“We want to,” Ajax explains, having a front row seat to Xavier dragging the thin stripe of blood from your hole to your clit. They definitely want to.

“We can have normal sex. No oral.” Once again, you try to be sympathetic. “Or n-nothi- ah, fuck!”

Xavier seems fed up with your worries, teeth clamping on your clit until you stop talking. Swift hand flies to his hair immediately, gripping the roots with force. That’s all he needs to abuse your clit furthermore.

“Shit! O-Okay… just… tell me if you wanna tap out.”

They both laugh at that. At least your poor cunt is getting a break.

“My turn,” Ajax interrupts, obviously wanting in on the fun. His cheekbone nudges Xavier’s until he gets the hint and moves aside, bloodied lips now soiling your inner thigh.

They glance at you every once in a while, getting drunk off your moans and the way you tremble in their grip. It’s ravishing and they’ve never been more aroused, hard cocks throbbing at the lack of friction. They do rub themselves against the sheets but it’s a pathetic excuse for satisfaction and nothing like your insides’ embrace.

Xavier is the first one to fold.

“Wanna put it in,” he announces and his friend is mindful enough to let go of you blood-smeared folds, albeit half-heartedly.

When they switch around, their bloodied chins and mouths come into view. The sight rushes all the blood to your cheeks and you wonder if that’s gonna make your flow lighter. It’s obviously impossible but taken into consideration nonetheless by your hazed mind - that’s how flustered you’ve become.

“Mmph, so slippery. Shit.” So absorbed by their varnished skin, you didn’t even notice Xavier slipping his dick in. “So… ah… so fucking good.”

One thing’s for certain - fucking you on your period will definitely not be a one-time thing for him.

Neither for Ajax, the gorgon already boiling with envy. He doesn’t verbalize it but it’s obvious - you’re lapping at the cock he’s just positioned in front of your mouth yet he’s focused on Xavier’s dick entering your pussy, only to pull almost all the way out and have his shaft glistening with blood. The sight is mesmerizing and he can’t wait to feel what it’s like.

Until then, he has to listen to Xavier grunts and groans, mouth parted the entire time he expels sounds of pleasure. The green-eyed boy can’t help them - your cunt is so warm and very much drenched in juices and blood. Without a doubt, it becomes his favorite hole to fuck into.

You want to see the gore scene for yourself but Ajax is holding you back from doing so. His dick is getting pushed past your lips, the tip of his cock sometimes hitting the back of your throat. He kindly pats your cheek whenever you gurgle around him, silently apologizing for the mistreatment.

“Don’t wanna cum so quick,” Xavier explains upon pulling out abruptly.

He rubs his cock in memory of your sweet cunt and moves aside for Ajax to take his place. The latter is over the moon, filling you up within seconds of being gaped.

“Oh shit… you’re right…” A warm smoldering feeling takes over the gorgon. Cumming too soon wouldn’t be unreasonable.

That’s why he’s mindful with his thrusts and takes his sweet time to fuck you. You smile at each other and he brings a hand to your clit, rubbing gentle circles into the mess he and his best friend have just made.

Blood is getting smeared not only on your nether region but also on your breasts. Xavier is the culprit for that one, sucking on your nipples with the same pair of lips that has ravaged your cunt moments before.

“Feels nice,” you praise, ass propelled into Ajax’s pelvis every time he presses harder on your clit.

His strokes become incessant as time goes by. Threads of electricity weave through your body, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes while you plead them not to stop.

Being the compliant puppies that they’ve always been, they listen. Their ministrations never falter, not even when you’re close to reaching your peak. Xavier doesn’t cease nibbling on your breasts and Ajax pounds your cunt into the mattress at the same dizzying pace.

“Gonna cum already?” Xavier murmurs through mouthful of breast that he keeps on sucking. He’s fondling the other one, squeezing the smooth flesh between his fingertips.

“Y-Yeah… m-might.” You’ve never sounded so sweet, they both think.

Ajax is seemingly the most affected by the way you sound. And feel.

“Sh-Shit, gotta- gotta pull out,” he stutters, exiting your fluttering cunt in one swift movement.

“N-No… was close.” Being denied of the utmost pleasure has never been so vexing.

“I’m sorry.” Ajax is just as unnerved by his sudden decision and he attempts to make up for it by kissing your lips. Forgiveness has never come so easy.

When your mouths part, Xavier is eager to take over. He lies on his back and helps your shaky legs around him, some of the dried blood from his hands getting transferred to your thighs. You pay no attention to that, instead grabbing a hold of his crimson-tinged dick with frenzied hands. When you sink down on it, the gasps leave your mouths in unison.

“Can we both put it in? It’s not gonna hurt. You’re all wet.” He doesn’t mention it but you know he’s talking about the blood working as lubricant.

“O-okay.”

Ajax eyes your union when you lean forward until Xavier hugs you to his chest. The brown-eyed boy is nervous, pulse ringing in his ears at the thought of stuffing his cock in the same hole his best friend is in. He does it eventually, gripping the middle of his shaft and struggling to push the fat tip of his dick from behind.

“A-Ah… that’s… oh fuck,” you heave, eyes bulging in shock. The stretch is incomprehensible.

Xavier is there to coo at you from below, kissing the side of your head and whispering that “it’s gonna feel good, I promise”. He can only hope that lies aren’t being spewed because neither of you has ever tried it before.

And it takes a few attempts until they find a rhythm. They’ve silently agreed on one set of thrusts at a time, Xavier staying still when Ajax pushes in out, then Ajax freezing when it’s his best friend’s turn to fuck you. Once again, they cooperate smoothly, the cramped cocks inside your stretched out hole somehow working together.

“Oh my god,” you exclaim in awe. Xavier was right - it’s exquisite.

When you sneak a hand to your clit, Ajax encourages you to keep going by rubbing your love handles. As usual, his friend is the vocal one, whispering lewd and mindless things close to your ear.

“So good. F-Fuck… you like it? You like having your pussy split open like this?”

“Mhm.”

“Letting us fuck you on your period… with your pussy full of blood… ah, shit…”

His plan backfires because, instead of bringing you back to the edge, he brings himself there. His taut stomach concaves at the mere thought of your actions and voicing them out doesn’t help either. The fire threatens to unleash, face scrunched up in pleasure as he ruts into you at full force. Ajax joins him and they ditch their previous rule in favor of rubbing their cocks together and pounding you at the same time.

“Gon’ cu-aah, shit!”

There’s no mercy for his sputtering cock because your climax follows right after, eager pussy swallowing both cocks in. You bounce on them and rub at your clit, praying to come undone without any of them ceasing moving.

“Oh god… gonna… I… I can’t,” you whine and crying out seems to be the last resort when you come undone.

Xavier is in pure pain by now - he’s overstimulated and his ears ache from all the high pitched moaning taking place as you spasm in his hold. Tears blur his vision yet he forces himself to stay inside until it’s all over.

“A-Ah… you’re squeezing me,” Ajax complains from behind, suffocated by your orgasm.

He’s compelled to fuck you fast and hard, ramming into you with all his might. Luckily, his best friend has enough strength to hold you tightly, his warm embrace soothing away the ache caused by the rough pounding.

“F-Fuck...” is all Ajax gets to say before his hips still and he dumps his cum inside your fucked-out hole. He’s the last at the finish line.

When they slip out moments later, cum mixed with blood spill down on Xavier’s softening dick and the gore is almost too much to take in. You promptly feel bad, bottom lip jutting out in pure embarrassment.

Right as you are about to apologize for the mess, you hear the two friends bursting into laughter. Their silly moment puts you at ease in an instant and you can’t help but wonder if this is what unconditional love feels like.

“Do we all fit in the shower?” Ajax disrupts your train of sappy thoughts.

“Let’s find out.”

[bettysupremacy]

Who could be a more doting boyfriend?

Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Based off this request

Summary: 10 times Eddie Munson showed just how down bad he was.

Warnings: mentions of weed, food is brought up too, very very fluffy, Eddie down bad, sick! Reader for one, reader only in towel at one point, reader eats bacon in one, fem! Reader, tell me if I’ve forgotten any.

3.7k words because I luv u

Saccharine kisses were her favorite. The kind of kisses where he would ghost his lips over her skin, hovering, before planting a long sweet kiss to wherever he deemed most kissable at the moment.

She loved the way it never failed to make her stomach flip. The way it never failed to make her dizzy in the head and weak in the knees.

She loved that when it made her exhale wonky he’d look at her with this lovesick smile, before pressing more kisses around the area. Quicker, but non less full of love.

That’s why now, laying in bed, sick as a dog, she doesn’t have the strength to push him away. Thats why pawing at him uselessly, the only strength she’d managed earlier, had ceased.

“I’m gonna get you sick.” She whines.

They’re laying in her bed, intertwined like these are her last moments, like Eddie needs to get the most out of them.

Like a sad Victorian painting.

“I don’t care, Juliet, this world is a place I cannot live in without you.”

She scoffs, it coming out more like a cough than anything else. He pats her back as she coughs, letting her sit up to cover her mouth, and frowning when she shakes her head at the Gatorade he holds up for her.

“I’ve got the flu, you dolt. I’m not dying.” He pulls her back down, rubbing at the arm she’s wrapped around his stomach.

She didn’t know wether she was cold or hot, but the goosebumps that rose on her arms, from his fingers dancing over her skin, chilled her deliciously.

“He says that though, right?” He asks.

“Romeo?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never read the play.”

He ponders this for a moment, tilting his head up, further into the faded grey of his old pillow case.

“What are you think-“

“Shh.”

She gives him an incredulous look, she could be dying for gods sake! Treat her with a little respect-

“O Romeo, Romeo, where..fore art thou Romeo?”

She looks up at him, head not lifting from its position on his chest, but a confused smile is playing on her lips.

“You’ve read it?”

“Well when you take senior year three times..”

“Oh, right.” She tilts her head back down, ear press into the warm skin above his steadily beating heart, as she curls around him.

He stops his fingers dance over her arms, only letting her frown momentarily, before they card their way through her wet hair. They work out small knots and kinks they hadn’t brushed out. He cranes his neck to press a long kiss on the top of her head.

“Did the shower make you feel better?” He murmurs against her hair.

“I don’t know.”

He sighs, knowing her too well to think that she’d admit his suggestion didn’t work. “I’ll go get the tv from the living room and wheel it in here, Kay?”

She nods, nasally voice making him frown. “Mkay.”

He gently removes himself from under her, making sure to pull the blankets back up before completely retracting.

“And the vapor rub. I’ll grab the vapor rub too.” His palms dig into his mattress as he hovers over her.

“God bless.”

He smiles at her, lips coming down to kiss hers affectionally. She kisses back before she realizes what she’s done.

“Do not kiss me, Edward, I know you’re not vaccinated.”

A deep groan leaves his lips as he walks away, into the living room for the TV and vapor rub.

“What is a desperate man to do?”

She can’t help but smile as she tucks herself into his freshly clean, for the first time in 2 years, sheets.

—

She rummages through his drawers, fingers making quick work of the unfolded clothes thrown in them.

“Eddie?” her voice drifts through his bedroom door, and into the kitchen, where he’s staring intently at the microwave.

He pushes his door open, weary as to where to put his eyes while his girlfriend is in nothing but a towel.

“Yes?”

“Do you know where my clothes are? I thought I left them in this drawer but..”

“Oh! Hold on!”

He goes back though his door, returning with a basket of laundry. It’s not fresh, nor warm to the touch, but it was definitely recently that it had been washed.

“You washed my clothes?”

“It was after you got sick,” he shrugs nonchalantly, cheeks tinging a shade, due to the way she smiles at him.

The smell of them wafting up into her face only deepens her already bright smile. She picks up her shirt, bringing it to her nose and inhaling.

“And you used-?”

The look on his face is downright bashful. “I remembered it was your favorite, so I picked you up some when I went shopping with Wayne.” He scratched his neck, “S’no big deal really.”

Her arms wrap around his neck, towel hanging on for its life.

“No, it is. Thank you, baby.”

Her fingers scratch his scalp lightly, digging into his curls and tugging gently. He feels like a dog being pet. Is this what they feel like? Lucky bastards.

He fears his leg may start kicking.

“You’re welcome.” He muffles into her neck, arms wrapped around her waist so that the towel doesn’t fall, “I’m glad you’re happy.”

—

She had called him from work, voice full of tears.

“My sweet girl, can’t you come home early?”

“Janie was supposed to come in today, but she flaked, so now I’m alone.”

“Come home, leave Austin and Marie to close today. No baby, we don’t need that money for the rent, enough cars needed fixing this week. I promise, come home- my home.”

So she did.

But trudging through Eddie and Wayne’s front door, he was nowhere to be found. His van was outside where it normally was, his shoes were haphazardly thrown in the direction of the front door - like they normally were, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Each shoe is toed off quietly, as she softly calls his name, not wanting to disturb Wayne’s weird sleep schedule. “Eddie?”

She’s scrubbing at her face, trying to get the tear tracks off.

“Eddie?”

She pads through the hall, into the bathroom where she can hear water running.

“What’s this?”

He looks up, panic stricken through his face.

“No, no, no. Go sit on the couch real quick.”

Nothing but hurt is read on her face. “What, why?”

He rushes up, cupping the back of her neck with his wet hand, while the other slides around her waist, pulling her closer.

“I did something for you.”

“You did?”

She peaks behind him into the dingy bathroom. He’s got the water running and her favorite soaps out displayed on the tub.

“No peaking!”

He uses the hand around her neck to push her face in his chest.

“You ran me a bath?” It’s muffled in his Megadeth shirt.

“Do you like it?”

“Is that your way of telling me I’m dirty?”

“What? No, no, no. I just thought that you might- uh, I thought that you might like it-?”

She laughs and he basks in it. Letting it cleanse and settle over him.

“I was joking, honey.”

He smiles, teeth poking through has he lets out breathless - relieved laughs.

“Go,” he skews his head toward the bathroom.

“But-“

“Go, I’m making dinner.”

“You’re making dinner? Baby.”

“I’m ordering from that Chinese place, the one across the street from the library,” He lets out another breathless laugh. “Go.”

“Oh, okay then.”

—

Something is stirring inside of her chest. Something warm and light. It muddles around, making her heart flutter and palms sweaty.

She’s never gotten a love letter before.

It’s not the most put together thing she’s ever seen, but it’s got to be her favorite. It’s small, but pink, and she could tell Eddie used his best handwriting for this. At the very end he signed it off with -E and a poorly drawn version of his guitar.

Where did he get pink paper?

She holds it in her hands like it’s gold, like it could tear at any moment, but two fingers pluck it out before she has the chance to read it a third time.

“Who wrote you up?” Rob asks suspiciously, eyeing the pink referral slip between her index and middle finger.

“No one-?”

Oh, that’s where he got it.

She tugs it from Robins fingers, flipping it so she could see the back - or what is actually known as the front of the paper.

Eddie Munson Grade 12 10/3/86

REASON FOR REFERRAL

-Cutting Class

-Lack of Cooperation

-Restless, Inattentive

ACTIONS TAKEN PRIOR TO REFERRAL

-Detained Student After School

PRESENT ACTION AND RECOMMENDATION(S)

-Student Regrets Incident, Cooperative

Robin reads the back as Y/N reads the front. He wrote her a love letter on the back of a referral slip?

“He wrote you a love letter on the back of a referral slip? What’s next? A receipt from a drug deal?” She ignores the instant, drug deals don’t have receipts dipshit, thought that pops up.

“That’s so sweet! He wrote me a love letter on pink paper!” Robin can’t help the twitch of a smile on her lips. “You think he’ll write me more?”

“If he doesn’t I’ll jeopardize his business.” She slings her arm around Y/N’s shoulder.

“What are best friends for?”

—

“It’s too early, it’s too early.” She whines as Eddie pushes back her hair, pressing light kisses into it, while she wraps her arms tighter around his chest.

“I know, I know.”

The sun shines in through Eddie’s open windows, the red sheet nailed above the larger one casting a crimson hue over them.

They tangle in the bed sheets, languidly and lethargic, similar to the way they held each other when she had the flu.

“C’mon, baby you gotta wake up.”

She grumbles, hands snaking under his back, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin as his box fan blows on them. They settle and he smiles as she opens her eyes.

“Why’s your shirt on?” Her sleep raspy voice tugs multiple strings in his heart.

Eddie always slept shirtless.

“I’ve already been up, sweetheart.”

“You’ve already been up?”

He smiles down at her, pushing some hair from where it sticks to her forehead. “Mhm.”

She pushes up, arms caging Eddie’s chest, as she hovers over him.

“You’re wearing your kiss the mechanic apron.” she points out, like he wouldn’t have known.

“I am.”

“Did you make breakfast?”

He shrugs, “Get up and see.”

She whines, shaking her head, laying back down on him. “Carry me?”

He thinks about it for a moment, looking down at her droopy eyes and tapping her thigh. She wraps her legs around him and he sits up, letting her be carried in his arms to the kitchen.

She smiles, resting her head on his shoulder, as he murmurs “Needy, needy, girl.”, shuffling to get a better grip on her.

“You hungry?” He softly asks.

“I’m tired.”

“Oh, I know.”

The counter is cold against her thighs as he sets her down. She squirms sadly, and he can do nothing but smile affectionately at her.

The plate he hands her is paper and warm. He sets a napkin on her lap, before the plate, so it doesn’t burn her poor thighs. Though, her eyes are closed as he does this, hands messily wiping the sleep from her eyes, so she doesn’t see the food.

“Warm.”

“Very warm,” He nods. “Eat, baby.”

Pressing a fork into her hands, he gently tugs her hands away from the cruel work they were doing to her eyes.

“Bacon? You got me bacon?”

“Benny was giving slabs away for free, down at the diner.” He bends over and kisses her jaw.

“I love bacon.”

“I know.” His voice is nothing but teasing, though, she doesn’t mind.

“You cooked the bacon by yourself?” She sets her fork down, grabbing his hands, and inspecting his arms. “And you didn’t get popped by the oil?”

He flushes, “Wayne helped me. But I made everything else by myself!”

She looks down at the food fondly. Eggs cooked like she taught him when they first started dating. Toast unburnt. Wayne’s bacon.

Wayne’s bacon was so good.

“Go get a plate, I’m not eating without you.”

“On it.”

—

“Okay, hands like this.” He grips her fingers, smiling as she lets him bend them in the right places. “Yeah! Okay, now pluck the third string.”

She plucks it, and it comes out sounding significantly better then 10 minutes ago. “You’re doing it! I’m so proud of you.”

He attacks her cheek with kisses and she scrunches her nose, pulling away in feigned annoyance.

“Teach me to play I Have a Dream.”

“What?” He pulls back agast. “I’m teaching you to play guitar on sweetheart, and you want me to teach you to play ABBA?”

She giggles, laying her head in his neck. “Yes, please.”

“No, baby, I’m teaching you to play 2 Minutes to Midnight.”

“No,” There’s a whiny edge to her voice. “That song is so hard.”

“You could do it.”

“Only if you helped me.”

“Deal.”

He lifts the guitar back up, twisting her fingers to the right frets.

“This is going to be so metal.”

He laughs out loud.

—

“-and I told Robs to go to the front of the class and tell the teacher, but she didn’t wanna embarrass herself In front of the Nancy.”

Eddie nods along, leaning against the lockers. This isn’t a conversation he’s particularly interested in, but-

“I think they’d make a good couple, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Robin and Nancy!”

“Rob and Nance? Totally.” He waves his hand, as if dismissing any thought that they wouldn’t be.

“I knew you’d think so.”

The halls are almost empty, dismissal bell rang 5 minutes ago, but when you don’t have a bus to catch you always have a little extra time to put your stuff away.

“Are you ready?” Eddie asks, watching her shove books in her locker that she refuses to take home.

“Almost,” She turns to Eddie, looking behind him. “I just thought I heard Rob and Nances voice. I guess I’m going cra-“

She stumbles, having slipped on something, even though she could’ve sworn there was nothing on the ground a minute ago.

“Woah baby, woah baby.” Eddie grips her arms tightly, but not cruelly. Just tight enough to keep her upright. “What was that?”

“Slipped on,” She looks down at the floor “My shoelace, I guess.”

“You guess? Baby, you gotta be careful.” He bends down to one knee, patting it lightly for her to put her foot on.

Her left hand is flat against the lockers for balance as he ties her shoe for her.

“You can’t have untied shoes, sweetheart. Y’could trip and hurt yourself.” She watches fondly as he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine, I just don’t want an injured girlfriend.” He finishes, patting her foot in approval.

“You wouldn’t love me if I was injured?”

He stands up, “Who said that?”

“You did!”

“I love you so much I wouldn’t be able to look at you, cause seeing you injured would make me so sad.”

“You wouldn’t take care of me?”

“I’d call mama Steve, I can’t stand to see you hurt.”

“Gee, thanks.”

He grabs her cheeks and presses a hard kiss to her mouth. “You’re welcome.”

��

Eddie’s room is dark like it normally is. His bong is next to him and his guitar is on his knee resting.

He loves nights like these.

He taps his knee rhythmically, slow, unlike his other songs. A power ballad if you will.

He’s been at this for hours. Strumming, tapping, and scribbling lyrics into a blank page of his math notebook.

Just as he pulls his pick out of his mouth again he hears a soft knock on his door. It’s probably just Wayne.

“Hey, boy.” Wayne cracks the door open, checking to see if Eddie is decent. “I’m leavin now.”

Eddie checks his watch, humming in confirmation.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Wayne nods. “You writing a new song?”

Eddie smiles at his uncles effort to make conversation.

“Yeah, for Y/N.”

Now it’s Wayne’s turn to smile. “She’ll like it.”

He could hear it through the walls? Eddie flushes.

“You think?”

“Yup.” Wayne puts a baseball cap on. “I like ‘er.”

He turns to leave, closing the door behind him, leaving Eddie in shock.

“I’m out!” He hears Wayne yell, before locking the door behind him.

“Bye!”

That was.. strange.

—

Her eyes hurt from reading, her back hurts from hunching over her bedroom desk, and her heart hurts from not accepting Eddie’s kisses.

This is one of the rare nights that she isn’t sleeping at Eddie’s, having to study for the math test tomorrow, but 20 minutes ago Eddie came in through the window, and she’s gotten no work done since.

It doesn’t really matter, due to the three hours of studying she got in before he came, but it’s still stressful nonetheless.

“Cmon baby, let’s go to bed.” Eddie’s Laying on her bed, flipping through a magazine.

“I can’t, I’ve gotta study.”

“Baby, you‘ve been studying since 9:30.”

“So? What time is it now?” She doesn’t look up from the equation.

“12:43? You gotta sleep at some point.”

Startled, she checks her watch, eyes widening when she realizes he’s right.

He’s getting up, tossing the magazine, and pulling her up outta the chair. He wraps his arms around her neck, kissing the top of her head a generous amount of times.

She whines pulling away, causing him to gasp in offense.

“What could I have possibly have done?”

“Want it on my lips.”

“Only if you promise to go to bed with me.” He bargains.

“Fine.”

He grabs her face and kisses her just the way she likes. Saccharine and sweet.

“Will you come to bed now?”

“Only because I love you.” She nods glumly.

He smiles playfully down at her. “Oh, but I love you more.”

—

They had been watching a movie.

A newer one, starring Micheal J. fox. It wasn’t wasn’t usually Eddie’s thing, but he had agreed for Steve.

He’d insisted that they watch it. “No! You don’t understand! He goes back in time to-“

“Don’t spoil it for them!” Robin rasps.

“I’m not, Rob, I’ve just gotta get them hooked.”

“You don’t hook someone by spoiling a major plot point?”

So here they were, under warm covers, watching a movie that neither of them particularly wanted to watch.

Candy was splayed out In front of them. Red vines, runts, nerds, and sour patch kids, getting dug into every couple minutes. And though Eddie had whined about Steve making them choose this, after the first opening scene he was hooked.

“Goddamn, did you see the way he flung into the wall?”

She had, but she also had seen the rope tied to his stomach.

“Did you see the rope around his stomach?”

Eddie laughs, his chest shaking under her as he looks away from the tv. “No, can we rewind?”

She was content with this. Even though she didn’t particularly enjoy the movie, Eddie did, and that was enough for her.

“Damn,” Eddie mumbles, staring intently at the screen. He’s got one arm hanging off the couch, joint between fingers, and the other rubbing up and down her spine.

They’d been in this position since the movie started, utterly comfortable.

Eddie’s trailer had the worst insulation, and even worse ac and heating, so this was nice. Eddie was always warm, a natural heater, so this was always nice.

Nothing strikes in his head as unusual, they lay like this every night, but something about the way her breathing was so even gave it away.

“Hey doc, you better back up, we don’t have any road to get up 88.” The pretty Lea Thompson is perched on Micheals lap as he gives his line.

“Roads? Where we’re going we don’t need roads.” He drops his aluminum glasses over his eyes, starting the car.

Eddie’s hand lazily rises from her back and up to her head, hovering. “Sweetheart?” No answer, “Are you sleepy? Are you asleep?” still, no answer.

He cranes his neck to the side, trying to get any glimpse of his tired girl sleeping, stuffing out his joint in the process.

“The movie ended,” He whispers. “I think there’ll be a second one.”

No reaction. He sighs, letting his hand move back down and continue the work it was doing to her back. He can’t move or wake her, it would do too much to his poor heart.

She shuffles in her sleep, head leaning up towards Eddie. He holds his breath until she’s done, then he lets his nimble fingers work over her hairline. Brushing away stray hairs gently, letting his middle finger swoop down her nose, cupping her face gently, just to look at her.

He loves moments like these. Moments where he gets to stare at her so unapologetically. Moments where he gets to memorize every detail about her face, without her looking over and asking What are you looking at baby?

The slope of her nose, the way her eyelashes curl, the tilt of her mouth, the way her eyebrows furrow at something in her dream.

“You’re so pretty.” Is whispered from his mouth absentmindedly.

She can’t hear him, stuck in dreamland slaying monsters dutifully, traveling the world with Eddie, shopping with Max, or swinging bats with Steve.

He knows she can’t hear him, but it still feels necessary to say. It’s something he needs to say.

Her breathing intakes, it’s something sharp and shallow. For a moment he thinks she’s woken, but her pretty eyes haven’t opened.

“Sweetheart?” He whispers, but the quick breathing doesn’t stop. “Bad dream, hmm?”

He bends his neck down, holding her in his arms, and scattering multiple kisses over her hairline, trying to calm her.

Slowly her breathing calms again, and he lets sweet relief wash over him. He needs to get them to their bed.

Once he’s fixed her in his arms, he carry’s her to the room, gently setting her down in her spot and pulling up the covers.

He gets up to take his shirt off, but a warm hand stops him.

“Don’t leave.”

He frowns, ache dwelling in his chest at the thought. Climbing under the covers with her, he lets her cling onto him, “I’m not.”

Guess he’s sleeping with his shirt on tonight

[dycefic]

The Trolley Problem

Again, sorry about the slow updates, but long Covid aside, as followers of my main Tumblr will have heard, my laptop keyboard is on its way out and typing is getting increasingly difficult. I've ordered a new wireless keyboard, but it hasn't arrived yet. 🙄

Anyway, back to the superhero universe! warnings for death, police, attempted murder, supervillainy, and ethical dilemmas. Also swearing.

#

“Choose,” the villain purred. She didn’t know his name. She was new, she hadn’t learned them all yet. “Who lives? Who dies? Who will you save, little hero?”

Flitter trembled. “I’m not making a choice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t as firm as she wanted it to be, even through the voice-changer. You’re gonna let both those cages down, nice and easy.” One cage full of nurses. One cage full of juvenile offenders. He’d said so, and she could see the scrubs and the jumpsuits for herself. He really wanted this to be a dilemma, and she didn’t know what to do, aside from telling him not to do it, and when did that ever work?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed at her, hands caressing the controls that suspended the two cages over the street forty floors below. She couldn’t remember his name! She recognized the costume, the jagged streaks of green and white and vivid yellow. This was a dangerous villain, the same guy who’d cut off both of Player One’s legs with some machine just a month ago, and she’d only been a cape for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t up to this guy’s weight in any way even with powers, and she couldn’t remember his name -

And then the villain’s head exploded. She saw it burst before she heard the sound of the gunshots, so they’d come from some distance away. There was red… stuff… all over the wall behind him, and as the body toppled she jumped forward to grab at the handles he’d been toying with - but it wasn’t necessary. Neither cage had moved.

She moved closer and wondered if she should check the body, but… the whole top two-thirds of the head was gone. Trying to take a pulse at this point would just be creepy and weird.

She was still trying to figure out the controls - and trying not to throw up, which was a terrible idea in a full-face mask - when she heard footsteps approaching. Boots. Not trying to be sneaky. The little sounds of clothing, including a creak of leather. When she looked up, she saw an older woman - maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Not a costume, she was wearing regular clothes.

And, when she stepped into the light, Flitter saw the rifle slung on her back. “Did you…” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat a couple of times. “Did you shoot him?”

“Yup.” The woman didn’t sound concerned about it. “Move over.” With casual expertise, the older woman started pressing buttons and moving handles. The two cranes swung out, and the people in them made some noise, but in a few seconds, the cages were over the next roof and being lowered carefully until they hit the gravel with a crunch. “Never bring them down on the same roof, if you can help it, and don’t let them out right away. Useful tip. They’re going to freak out and you don’t need to deal with that. That’s what emergency responders are for.”

Flitter was shaking. “You… you killed him.”

The woman paused, then gave her a sort of sympathetic look. “First time seeing someone die up close?”

Flitter nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get used to it.” The woman sighed. “They all do.” Then her eyes shifted, looking past Flitter, and she raised her voice. “Day late and a dollar short, Box.”

The Boxer was an old, old-school hero. He’d been active for more than eighty years and still looked exactly the same. Right now, his customary faint scowl had become a lot more pronounced. “God fucking damnit, you’re supposed to be in Delaware!”

“I came back to visit some old friends.” It was strange - the woman looked like a civilian, but she was talking to the Boxer like she knew him. Usually only capes did that. “Just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit you happened to be in the area!” The Boxer’s fists were clenching and unclenching. “How the hell did you… no, forget it, I know you’re not gonna tell me. How the hell do you still have a fucking sniper rifle?!”

“I don’t. This is for hunting.”

“How do you still have an open carry permit!?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

The Boxer made an incoherent angry noise kind of like a dog growling, and Flitter pointed a shaking hand at the body of the villain whose name she still didn’t know. “You have now!”

The woman looked down at the body, then back up at the two heroes, and shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”

Flitter stared at her. The Boxer turned away to put his fist through the nearest wall. It was a brick wall. That didn’t seem to worry him.

“But… murder?” It came out like a question, and Flitter’s face felt hot under her mask.

“Not here in Vermont it’s not. In Vermont, which has a robust approach to self-defence laws since Dilemma went active thirty years ago here in Burlington, as long as my use of deadly force ‘was reasonably necessary to repel the perceived threat’, to myself or to a person or persons unable to defend themselves, it qualifies as self-defence and is not criminal.” The woman shrugged, smiling in a way that was more rueful than smug, despite her words. “In addition, the statutes regarding capes, super-powered persons, etcetera, article three stipulates that when a known and identified villain is threatening civilian persons, no non-powered person can be held to have used excessive force.”

“Article three was meant to cover the actions of police and military, and you know it!” The Boxer had moved up beside Flitter, and though he still sounded angry, the hand he laid on her shoulder was very gentle. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Shock. You might wanna get her a hot drink or something.” The woman gestured at the cages on the next roof. “And let them out, since you’re such a good guy.” She unslung the gun, laid it on the ground, and sat down on the edge of the roof a few feet away from it. “I’ve already called the cops. They should be here soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you still don’t prepare them for the trolley problem.”

“She’s been active for two weeks, and I’ve been busy!” The Boxer sounded a little angry… and, under it, guilty. “Player One got… retired… last month.”

“I heard.”

His voice softened. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hers didn’t. “Maybe.”

Flitter cleared her throat, half-raising one hand. “Uh…. What’s the trolley problem?”

“It’s a philosophical thing.” The Boxer shrugged. “One of those ethics word problems.”

“It’s also a go-to for the bad guys,” the woman said grimly. “They love it. ‘Choose between saving the kid or saving the world’, or ‘let me kill you and I’ll let the civilians go’, or ‘choose who lives and who dies’ like this one. They just love the idea of forcing a cape to get blood on their hands.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, in the trolley problem, you’re on a trolley, and you’re coming up to a fork in the tracks. On one side, one person’s tied to the tracks, trapped in a car, or otherwise unable to escape, on the other, five people are likewise unable to avoid certain death. You have to decide who dies.”

Flitter swallowed a couple more times. She really wanted to throw up again. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Especially when it stops being a thought experiment and actually happens to you.” The woman jerked her thumb at the cages again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and flat - a plastic card, it looked like. Maybe two together. She fiddled with them while she talked. “The idea is that the ethical thing to do is save the greatest number of lives, right? But the trolley problem is a con.”

The Boxer groaned. “Sometimes an ethical choice is an ethical fucking choice, R… Lou.”

“Not debating that. But the trolley problem, specifically, is a con. The person placed in the position of making the ‘choice’ is told that they have to choose who lives and who dies, and bear the moral consequences, but that’s not true. No matter what the kid had chosen, she wouldn’t have been responsible for any deaths.”

Flitter felt a little better. “I wouldn’t?”

“No. The trolley problem forces a false choice. If you’re trapped in a trolley and about to kill one or several people who are tied to train tracks, and no other options exist, you’re not actually being allowed a free choice. The trolley problem’s ostensible protagonist is actually one of its victims.” She gestured at the mostly-headless body. “The real culprit is the person who put all those people on the tracks and shoved you into the brakeless trolley.”

“That doesn’t mean that the ethical answer to the trolley problem is to kill the person who posed the problem!” The Boxer sounded like he’d said that a lot of times before.

“Of course it is. Shit like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Box. In any situation in which a villain is going to kill one of two groups of people, there’s almost zero probability that this is the first and last time they’ll attempt murder. Ergo, the answer that saves the greatest number of lives is always to kill the person who posited the problem.” The woman folded her arms. “You know it’s true.”

“But it’s not right,” the Boxer almost wailed. Flitter suddenly felt kind of sorry for him. He cared about people. Nobody could do this job for more than eighty years if they didn’t. The idea that shooting someone in the head without warning wasn’t a bad thing to do was an idea that was just the wrong shape for his brain.

“Maybe not. But ‘right’ and ‘necessary’ aren’t always the same thing.”

The door onto the roof opened, and several cops came through with their weapons up. Flitter tensed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t. They couldn’t tell she was black under the costume. This was fine. It was fine. Law and order was theoretically on her side in this situation.

The Boxer’s hand was on her shoulder again, and he squeezed slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “They play by the rules when I’m around.”

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted, and even Flitter managed to look at him like he was insane.

“I’m sitting down three feet away from the weapon, which is on the ground,” the woman said very dryly. “It’s as dropped as it’s gonna get.”

The guy started to yell again, but the oldest one smacked him across the back of the head. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, dumbass.” He holstered his gun, and glared at the woman. “Ms Harmer, you moved to Delaware. We checked. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends.” She held out the thing she’d been fiddling with. “Here’s my driver’s license and my open carry permit. There’s the gun, which is still loaded so be careful. There’s the body of the supervillain calling himself, if I recall correctly, Inferno. I killed him in defence of two groups of civilians who you’ll find on the roof over there, in accordance with -“

“With Vermont state law regarding self-defence and the statute exempting non-powered persons from excessive force against supervillains. I know, I know,” the cop said, frustration dripping off the words. He barely glanced at the cards before handing them back.

Flitter blinked. “She’s done this before!?”

“Nine times in the state of Vermont, to my knowledge, counting this one.” The cop glared at Ms Harmer. “It was four in Delaware last time I checked, but it’s been a while.”

“And not a single charge laid.” Ms Harmer stood up. “Do you want to take me in now, Phil, or would it be more convenient for me to stop by in the morning to make my statement?”

“You - “ the overenthusiastic cop said, pulling out his cuffs.

“Forget it!” the older one snapped at him. “Just… forget it. Harmer, be at the station at nine.”

“I know the drill.”

“Sir, you’re not just gonna let her walk away - “

“Flynn, she’s done this thirteen times, weren’t you listening? She shot a known supervillain while he was in the commission of a major crime! She was sitting here waiting for us with the gun on the ground and her ID out! She confessed! She’s not a flight risk!” ‘Phil’ glared at Ms Harmer, then at the two superheroes. “Next time, at least try to stop her… not that that’s easy,” he added grudgingly. “Just… get lost, all of you. We’ll take it from here.”

When Flitter tried to move, she nearly fell over. The Boxer grabbed her and held her steady until her knees stopped buckling. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, kid. First time you see a head explode shakes everyone.” He patted her back gently, and took her arm and guided her towards the stairs. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After a moment, an equally gentle hand gripped her other elbow. “You’ll be fine, kid.” Ms Harmer’s voice was still as calm and level as ever. “And if there’s no-one around to help next time, remember that nothing that happens is your fault. The only murderer in the trolley problem is the one who poses it.”

“Unless I kill him,” Flitter said quietly. “Then it’s me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ms Harmer admitted. “Self-defense laws don’t apply to capes. You probably wouldn’t serve time over something this clear-cut, but the other capes’d push you out if you crossed that line, even if the cops didn’t put you away.”

“There are rules.” The Boxer still sounded upset.

“Yup. There are rules for capes, and rules for cops, and rules for civilians, and the important thing to remember is that they’re not the same rules.” The woman’s hand was steady. “Sometimes you have to choose.”

The Boxer snorted. “Like you did, Ray?”

Ms Harmer stopped on the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Rachel Zimmerman is dead, old man,” she said, and her voice was very cold. “You know she is. She died on your watch. An idealistic young lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero called Scale, and died in one of Dilemma’s deathtraps more than twenty years ago. You attended the funeral. You attested to her death when the body couldn’t be identified.”

“And then you turned up,” the Boxer said, and Flitter saw what might be tears in the hard old eyes. “And I knew I was wrong.”

“You heard a voice that sounded like hers and got sentimental.”

“You know things only Ray could know.”

She leaned in close, and her whisper was as bitter as ice. “Prove it.” Then she turned away, hopping the railing to land with a thud on the next flight of stairs. Flitter heard her boots moving fast on the stairs.

The Boxer just stood there, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t prove it,” he muttered, so quiet that he might be talking to himself. “But I know.”

Tentatively, Flitter put her hand on the big, muscular shoulder, like he had for her. “It was a trolley problem?” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I always told her not to kill. Never to kill. Then we went up against Dilemma, and… they were kids. Little kids. Dilemma…”

“He made her choose?”

The Boxer’s head bowed lower. “No,” he said, even more quietly. “He made me choose.”

Flitter nodded slowly. No wonder he was so upset. “She said it wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him, knowing it probably wouldn’t help but not knowing what else to say. “She said that the person given the choice is another victim.”

“Yeah, I know. She always does.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was a good person, she never woulda wanted me to save her and let a bunch of little kids die. That she ain’t mad about. But she knows, and I know, that I coulda killed him. I coulda saved both, and I didn’t, because I wanted to be the good guy… and good guys don’t kill.”

Flitter felt the chill of that all down her spine. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.” But now it was all she could think about. About this happening again, looking at some other monster playing with human lives, and realizing that even though the trolley problem wasn’t a real choice, she did have a choice… and what the consequences of that choice would be.

“Yeah. That’s why she does it. So kids like you don’t have to make either choice.” He sighed again, then shook his head. “But you don’t gotta deal with that right now. Come on, kid, let’s get that coffee. Maybe talk.”

Flitter nodded. “I’d… definitely like to talk.”

She didn’t look around for Ms Harmer when they left the building. But she wondered. Player One had been around for more than twenty years, she was pretty sure. Visiting friends, she’d said…

[kshira]

— when they’re interrupted by their child!

ft. chifuyu, kazutora, mitsuya, baji

tw. fem!reader, children, domestic things, pregnancy mentions, very very suggestive, super fluffy and sweet

an. part one here! i’ll probably end up making these a series as tr dads! <3

꒰ CHIFUYU ꒱

chifuyu slides in behind you in the bed, draping his arms around your form and pulling you flush to his chest, you can feel the heat pouring from his body amongst another thing rubbing on your backside.

“you’re so warm and soft” chifuyu coos, running his hands down your bottom and gripping the flesh, “wonder what else is warm” he mumbles, nuzzling his nose into your neck and inhaling the soft scent of your shampoo lingering.

“you’re so needy” you sigh, feeling your husbands hips start grinding behind you, hands roaming to your stomach before they slowly crawl under your shirt, chifuyu’s hot breath whispers on your skin.

“mommy?” a little voice beams through the room, chifuyu cranes his head out from the covers to see his son gripping the door, “daddy is here too” chifuyu smiles as his son releases a squeal tumbling over to the bed and tackling him.

“didnt know you were here daddy” his son climbs over your shared bodies and shoves his face into chifuyu’s chest, your husband holds him harder pressing a kiss against his blonde locks.

“daddy’s here, daddy will always be here” chifuyu holds his son harder, your body flipping over to wipe the stray tear running down chifuyu’s face and he raises his eyes to meet yours “i love you so much angel.”

꒰ KAZUTORA ꒱

“tummy getting big” kazutora speaks up behind you, watching your body meekly bend over to pick up the toys your son left from earlier. your stomach hanging lower everyday and it was getting difficult to chase after your son and husband.

“wonder who’s fault that is” you bend back up and walk over to kazutora, his hand rubbing against your swollen stomach as the other grips your chin and presses his lips against yours.

“you know i can’t stop after just one load, princess” he mumbles in your mouth, lingering his lips to your neck and leaving a wet trail of kisses in the wake, his fingers trace smooth circles over your stomach till they reach your shorts, snapping at the fabrics, “take these off and let me show you” kazutora flickers his eyes down where his hand begins creeping between your legs.

kazutora stills his movements when a small weight clings to his leg, “what’re you doing awake?” he coos, golden eyes mickming the glimmering gaze to kazutora, his son babbles throwing grabby hands and kazutora picks him up, hoisting him on his hip.

“baby” his son grunts, pointing to your protruding stomach and clapping his little hands, “yeah it’s a baby, gonna have another one right after this one too” kazutora grins, bouncing his son when he starts giggling.

“how many are we having?” you squeak, a sly smile spreading over your husbands face when he leans down to press a kiss on your cheek, “now that i finally have a family with you, never want anything else” kazutora places a kiss on his sons face while he bends down to leave one on your swollen stomach, “i’ve never been happier.”

꒰ MITSUYA ꒱

“are you still working?” you walk into your husband's work space, crawling on his lap as he sits in front of a desk, mitsuya pulls his glasses from his face and lays a pencil down as his hands wrap around your body.

“i’ll take a break for you” he whispers, pulling you harder in his lap and the slightest friction makes him groan, shooting your eyes at him mitsuya’s cheeks flash red, “been awhile angel” he murmurs, gripping at your hips and grinding you down.

“let’s change that takashi—wanna make you feel good” you coo, running a finger down his chest and crashing your lips against his. mitsuya groans again in your mouth, and you feel something so hard and prominent throbbing under you with every roll of your hips.

“god, i need you now” mitsuya starts tugging at your bottoms, beginning to roll them off your thighs when you stop him, “she’s crying again” you hold his hand and mitsuya softens, “let me take care of her, go to bed and i’ll meet you there.”

“i’ll finish what i started too, pretty girl” mitsuya drops a kiss on your head before shifting to his feet and heading to his daughter's crib. he gently grabs the sobbing infant, rocking her against his chest while he sits down in the chair by the corner.

“my little princess” mitsuya shushes at his child, her starry eyes blistering tears while her booming cries dig into his ears, “i hate when you cry, it hurts so much” he wipes the tears from her chubby cheeks, leaning down to pepper kisses on her soft skin and finally her crying had stopped.

“i promise i’ll always make you happy” mitsuya begins rocking the chair, smiling when his daughter starts fluttering her eyes close while he hums a soft melody and holding his daughter tighter against his chest.

꒰ BAJI ꒱

“baby come on—just ride me” baji whines, slithering his hands around your body and fake crying when you shove him away, “keisuke you wanted to watch this movie” you scold him, pushing your husbands hands away.

“just a little taste, please?” baji crawls back to you leaving a long strip of his tongue across your ear, his breath cooling over the wetness. the tv casts a blue sheet across the darkness but as you drag your eyes to baji you can see the way his pupils are blown out in subtle desire, a smile spreading across his face.

“you know just a little taste turns into you wanting more and more” you taunt, grabbing his hands and placing them on your chest, baji grins squeezing the mound “yeah? just can’t get enough of that pretty littl—” baji stops, ears perked up when he hears small feet padding at the wooden floors.

“daddy!” his daughter squeals, baji eyes contorts to stars when he hears her voice, “my baby! what’re you doing?” baji shoves you away this time, bending over to open his for his screaming daughter jumping in his arms.

“looking for you, wanna do what you’re doing” she exclaims, settling in his lap and grabbing the remote to press play. baji presses a kiss on her cheek while he shuffles into the couch, holding his daughter close while the movie draws their attention fully, “we’ll do whatever my angel wants.”

you sigh leaning into his shoulder, you want to be jealous with how much your daughter has baji wrapped around her little finger but you can’t deny how happy it makes you when he treats her like she’s hung the moon and stars.

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