#thoroughly distracted an' i get a free shot.

[toofxckinghoul]

A PSA TO S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W UNITS

You ever been in the lobby with your best crow an' you accidentally touch hands? You think to yourself: "That was weird, but.... I'm not gay."

You are. You are gay.

Accordin' to the BL/ind definition of gay enacted by Ms. Director, you are gay. Also if you ever make eye contact with a Killjoy in a clap: you're gay. If you try to put a draculoid mask on a Killjoy? You're gay. Totally gay.

[always-just-red]

I've been lookin for a writer who takes reqs for lnds 😭 Can i req sfw hcs/one-shot (choose which one u prefer more) for sylus & fem/gn reader?

I remember there was one call for zayne x mc where mc called zayne accidentally because mc was drunk & mc called zayne (accidentally) instead of booking a cab (mc did book a cab but w/ a wrong destination).

Can i maybe req what if the scenario is like that but it's w/ sylus instead? Feel free to tell me if this req is too much or if u wanna decline it, thanks a lot!

My first Sylus fic! Yay! (Don't look at me Rafayel 🥰) Anon your mind is so powerful! This prompt was so much fun to write, so thank you, hope you enjoy!

Wrong Number

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're having a bit of trouble getting hold of that taxi you booked, but more trouble help is on the way...

Genre: fluff, kinda ends on an angsty note (sorry 😇)

Warnings/Additional tags: drunk reader, some swearing, humour, uses of 'sweetie' and 'kitten', threat of violence/death at the start, a slight bit of suggestion (it's Sylus, ok? He's having ✨fun✨)

| Word count: 2k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Mr. Sylus, please! It was an honest mistake— almost indistinguishable from a genuine protocore, I swear!”

Sylus is lounging back in a plush leather armchair, feeling thoroughly short-changed as he turns about a fake protocore with his fingers. He’s been listening to this noise for almost a full minute, growing awfully impatient, though he did like the last excuse.

“Say that again,” he drawls with a sinister smile.

“It was an honest mistake,” the black-market dealer stutters, tripping over his words. “It was almost indistinguishable from a—”

“Almost indistinguishable…” Sylus confirms. “Almost. Almost.” He’s savouring each syllable— tasting them like wine.

“It would have fooled almost anyone!”

“Almost anyone?” Sylus laughs, and it’s a wicked, dangerous thing. “Well yes, I rather think that’s the point. But it didn’t fool just anyone, did it? It fooled you.”

His smile is gone in an instant, his hand closing around the fake protocore, splintering it with a crack. He drops bloodied, sapphire fragments from his palm, red and blue, red and blue, and they skitter across the hardwood floor like rain.

“Please, Mr. Sylus!” the dealer pleads, desperate. “I’ll do anything! I will! I’ll make it up to you!”

“No, thanks.” Sylus studies his palm as it heals. “I’ve had my fill of fake protocores.”

“Sylus!”

The leader of Onychinus stands, drawing his gun with a customary apathy. Dark energy manifests, twisting around the dealer’s limbs, holding him still, while a lone tendril crawls around his mouth, holding him silent. He’s struggling, but he should know better. He should have known better from the very beginning. With a wistful smile, Sylus levels the gun with his head, and—

Something rings.

His red gaze shoots up, instinctively seeking Luke and Kieran, but they shrug from their station at the other side of the room. The sound is closer than that, anyway. Glaringly more familiar. Sylus’s spare hand goes to his pocket, and he draws out his phone.

“Mmm?” he greets, thumb sliding across the screen as he puts it to his ear.

There’s only one person who calls him at this time of night.

“Where are you?” your voice echoes from the other side of the line.

“That’s a question I prefer not to answer without knowing what motivates it.”

“Wha— Sylus?”

“Yes, sweetie,” he drones.

There’s a moment of silence. “Shit.”

It’s not the reaction he aspires to, but you sound agitated, so he’s going to let it slide. There’s a loud crackle from the speaker, followed by a few, harsher sounds, and he pulls the phone away from his ear, wincing slightly. His eyes are trained on the man at his feet, but he lowers his gun, distracted.

“What are you—” he begins, but then he identifies the sound. It’s a finger— your finger— jabbing away at a screen. “If I didn’t know any better, Miss Hunter, I’d say you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No…” you deny too quickly. It’s still there: the tapping. Like Mephisto, pecking furiously at a locked window from outside. A few more jabs, and then…

The call cuts out.

Sylus scoffs, looking down at his now silent phone in disbelief. He flops back into his chair, tossing his gun onto a side table before hitting the button to call you back. You know he’s not a patient man, but you don’t pick up the first time, and so he has to try again. He can be patient for you— he tells himself— as he thinks up some creative ways for you to return the charity. Speaking of charity…

His gaze drops to the dealer. “Get out,” he sneers.

The man doesn’t have to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet as his blood-dark bindings retract, practically throwing himself towards the room’s exit. Luke pushes open the door, the intense music of the nightclub beating through the gap, but Kieran’s being less helpful. He steps into the doorway, blocking any escape. He feints right. Then left. Behind the masks, both men are laughing.

Eventually Kieran steps aside. He shoves the dealer the rest of the way through the door as Luke kicks it shut, and they exchange a high-five.

Sylus pinches the bridge of his nose. His call connects.

“Hello?” You’re back. “Finally! Where are you? I don’t see you.”

“Still me, sweetie.”

“Sylus?” you actually whine. It’s adorable. “Why is it you? Go away.”

“No,” he lilts tunefully, and then he’s coaxing: “I want to help you, kitten. Won’t you let me help you? Tell me, who are you trying to call?”

Frustration spills from you— fake, exaggerated sobs tearing themselves from your throat. “The taxi, Sy,” you whine again. “The stupid taxi, ok? It’s not here. It’s meant to be here.”

“Where’s here?”

“Ha!” you exclaim like you’ve evaded a masterplan, and not a casually asked, run-of-the-mill question. “No. Nice try, but no. You wanna help me?”

“Yeah.”

“Then leave me alone!”

With— he can imagine— some sort of theatrical flourish, you deliver your phone a final, decisive tap. It beckons a fateful silence. Sylus brings his phone in front of his face, unmoved by the moment’s gravitas. There’s a pop-up on the screen. Kitten: requesting video chat.

He smiles to himself. Then accepts. “Hi sweetie.”

Your face is lighting up his screen, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed, and your eyes sharp with determination. “Why can I— wait, why can I see you? Get out of my phone, Sy!”

“My, my,” he tuts, but he’s smiling still, “look at you— the illustrious Miss Hunter. It is a relief to know the fate of Linkon rests in such… reliable hands.”

“What d���you mean?” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk!”

He chuckles. “And there’s that infamous wit.”

You bite your lip as you ignore him, still fixated on trying to end the call. It occurs to him that you will eventually succeed; even a broken clock is right twice a day. “Listen to me, sweetie. Are you alone?”

His tone is sober enough for the two of you, and your exasperated eyes meet his. “Yeah.”

“Then be a good girl and send me your location. You remember how to do that, right?” He carefully enunciates each word of his plan. “I’ll come and get you, but I need to know where you are. Don’t go with anyone else. Wait for me, ok?”

You’re nodding away, the odd ‘mmhmm’ escaping your lips, but you’re not at all listening. He catches on after a minute. Trails off— realises your gaze is too vacant, and your focus? Wandering. You’re cradling your phone with both hands. His view is interrupted as your thumb passes over the camera; you’re… stroking the screen?

“You’re so pretty, Sy,” you murmur breathlessly.

His gaze softens. He sighs, “You’re pretty too.”

Then you make a sound he’s never heard before: you squeak, the phone’s audio almost cutting out. A blush is spreading through your cheeks, so much darker than the alcohol’s afterglow, and gods he wishes your face was in his hands. The vision is short-lived, however, because suddenly you’re gone.

There’s a circling view of a dark street, split by streaks of white light, as your phone careens through the air. It strikes concrete a moment later, stuttering to a stop, and Sylus’s grimace deepens with each jarring crack. Your screen has gone black, but he doesn’t think it’s broken. He’s face down, apparently— subjected to an unexciting view of the pavement.

“Oh, shit!” He hears you gasp.

Though your voice is far away, your phone is in your grasp again in no time. You’re turning it over, peering down at him, tracing the outline of his face with worry. “Sorry, Sy. Are you ok?”

“I’ll survive.” He raises an eyebrow. “You know, if you wanted to throw me around, you only needed to ask.”

His voice has dropped, and he loves watching you notice. You stand from your crouch with a smirk, bringing him with you— a dark idea in your eyes. “Wanna go again?”

Before he can protest, he’s looking at the back of your head. Your arm is stretched behind you, gearing up to send him on another short flight.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts, panicking briefly, but you’d never detect it with all your wits about you, let alone none. He’s brought in front of your face again, and you’re frowning oh so sweetly. “I asked you to do something, remember?”

“You told me to do something.”

So pedantic. “What did I tell you to do, sweetie?”

You don’t say anything. There’s a short huff as you blow hair from your face, and then you’re concentrating. You have that look he likes: the one you get when you’re whittling away at your paperwork like a good little hunter. The same stubborn resolve, too, that makes you lean over it when he or Mephisto are conveniently behind your shoulder.

Your location comes through with a ping and his smile widens. He’s up in a heartbeat, telling you he’s on his way— that you did such a good job— and that you need to stay on the phone with him, ok? He spins his fingers as he passes between Luke and Kieran, a gesture they’ve long grown accustomed to and can easily translate.

I'm leaving. Clean this up.

…

“So then Xavier, like— well, you know Xavier— he was all, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ but he never did, Sy! Off he went, leaving Nero and I to do all the paperwork, and I asked Nero, and Nero was like, ‘ask Xavier yourself’, and I was like, ‘I literally just did!’, and he just shrugged, and it’s… driving me crazy, you know? Because where does he even go? Tara and I have this bet going, she thinks it’s because he—”

Your anecdote comes to a sudden stop.

“What does Tara think, sweetie?”

“Shh shh shh! Wait a second…”

You clutch your phone to your chest like it’ll somehow suppress Sylus’s voice. You’re sat, leaning back against a chain-link fence, but you rise as a black car pulls up in front of you. The windows are tinted. You squint, leaning forward to try to look through them anyway.

“I don’t like this, Sy,” you frown as you plant a hand on your hip. “There’s a car here.”

“Oh?”

“Shh!” you hiss again. It’s not the only car parked on the street, but it is the only one alive. The engine purrs and its lights are glowing like angry embers, refusing to be snuffed out by the dark. You take a step closer, then the engine cuts out. You take a bigger step back.

“What exactly are you afraid of?” Sylus asks, his tone so thick it’s practically bleeding through your phone. “Is a big, bad man trying to get you?”

“Well I don’t know what they look like, Sy. The windows are tinted, and I— AH!” you gasp.  

A strong pair of arms wrap around you from behind, lifting you from the ground. “Got you, sweetie,” Sylus chuckles in your ear as tell-tale crow feathers settle around you. His breath is hot on your neck and it tickles, turning your panicked shrieks to laughter.

“Sylus!” you squeal as you attempt to wriggle free. You don’t think you’re trying very hard.

The man lowers you back to your feet, but his arms stay around you and he dips his head, resting his chin on the curve of your shoulder. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi.” For a little word, there’s so much fondness.

“Let’s get you home to bed, ok?”

You nod compliantly with a yawn, swaying a little as his arms retract and you’re having to stand on your own again. He chuckles as he steadies you— placing a hand on the top of your head— and you pivot, drawn by the sound. His crimson eyes find yours and they’re dark with something that stirs you, even with your mind swimming and nothing really making sense. You’re not sure of anything at all, except—

No-one has ever looked at you like that before.

And you won’t remember it tomorrow.

“Come on,” he prompts, nudging you towards the car, and you start to walk, though you’re dragging your feet. “I want to hear all of the association’s dirtiest secrets while I still can.”

“Tara has a crush on the new weapon specialist, you know.”

Sylus blinks, then laughs— a tender, comfortable thing. Completely enthralled. “You don’t say,” he beams.

No, you won’t remember it tomorrow.

[honeyedclementine]

beg for it

sevika x f!reader, smut, established relationship, strapping, top!sevika usage of 'good girl' (one shot, 1.8k words) ageless blogs, minors, and men dni

reply to be added to my tag list ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it was rare these days that sevika came home in a playful mood. work was weighing down on her, silco's pressures getting worse and worse, but you understood, you always understood. you didn't pretend to know the extent of the work she did for silco and she never told you—you just sighed and tended to her wounds whenever she came home with them. that was how you two had met, in fact. you were one of the more notable healers in zaun, always caring for others with a gentle touch. she had come to you all those years ago when she first lost her arm and never stopped. somewhere along the way, things changed between you two and well, now you have a shared apartment in the lanes and make good use of your free time.

speaking of making good use, sevika is in a good mood when she comes home for once. it's a pleasant surprise when you hear the door while you wash up from dinner, arms wrapping around your waist—one warm, one cool. lips press into your neck and you sigh contentedly.

"good day at work, baby?" you hum, feeling the way her kiss intensifies at the pet name. she'll never admit it to your face that she likes it, but you know her and her body well enough to know what drives her crazy. her kisses grow playful as she nips at the crook of your neck, hands strong at your waist and thoroughly distract you. the plate you were cleaning slips softly into the warm soapy water of the sink as you grip the edge of the counter, eyes slipping closed.

"couldn't wait to get home," sevika mutters against your neck, biting and sucking a mark into it that you know will last for a few days. you love letting her mark you up—of course, always places you can cover up so you can maintain some professionalism when you need to, but you like knowing they're there. pressing fingers to bruises on your collarbones through your shirts, just to feel the hiss of old pain, remembering the nights you two shared. "to you."

you mewl softly against her touch, her flesh hand coming dangerously close to the waistband of your jeans. you can already feel desire pooling softly in the pits of your stomach, surely manifesting itself into a mess in your underwear. you groan as her metal hand climbs up the hem of your shirt, sharp fingers just barely grazing against an erect nipple. you moan softly, pushing your ass back against her hips and feeling her groan at the friction.

"gods, i need you," you moan, head hanging, hair falling into your face as you struggle to remain standing. she always has a way of making you weak in the knees while doing barely anything. "fuck me, please, it's been too long."

she picks up on exactly what you're asking for without you having to say much more, a chuckle falling from her lips as she pulls away from you. you mourn her warmth immediately, but her rough velvet voice washes over you as she says, "wait here, then."

a chill runs down your spine as you hear her retreat to the bedroom. she returns only moments later, this time without her jeans, a strap comfortable on her hips above her underwear. you bite your lip, tugging her close as soon as you can and smashing your lips together with the edge of the counter pressing into your back. she pulls away from you if only to tug your shirt over your head.

her hands roam your chest, flesh fingers teasing a hard nipple as she kisses along the line of your jaw, tongue exploring the hollow of your throat. her hands lower, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down until they're stuck around your thighs, taking your underwear with it.

she's impatient, it seems, not even bothering to remove the clothing completely before turning you around and pressing your stomach into the edge of the counter. you gasp at the strong hand she has on the back of your neck, relishing in the way she can just push you around as you see fit. you've always loved how strong she is, especially in times like this.

you gasp as the strap presses against your back, not quite where you want it. her fingers find your clit, pressing down slightly before dipping lower and gathering more of your slick desire onto her fingertips. "so ready for me already."

"fuck," you gasp as two of her thick fingers breach your entrance with little warning, stretching and preparing you for her cock. "i need you."

she leans in close, her teeth nipping softly at your earlobe, the tip of the strap just barely teasing at your entrance, not giving you nearly enough. you whimper at the contact, relishing in the warmth of her stomach pressed against your back. "beg for it."

you don't need to be told twice. "please, sevika, i need your cock, baby, please. i've been so good, give it to me, please."

"good girl," she coos, caressing your face with one hand as her lips dive against your neck once more, sucking more marks into the soft flesh.

you're practically shivering with anticipation as her metal hand tangles in your hair, getting a solid grip on it before she presses you down until your stomach is almost entirely flush with the counter. she angles the strap against your entrance, just barely pushing in as if she knows this is driving you absolutely insane. you whimper at the slightest touch, chest heaving as you crave to be filled by her.

after the initial tease, she slams into you with little warning, drawing a pleasurable scream from your lips. her grip on your hair and back keeps you where she wants you and you don't fight it, content to let her fuck you however she sees fit. despite her initial roughness, she eases you into it, rocking into you slowly and letting you get used to the fullness. you groan, making an attempt to shove your hips back against her, but the strong hand on the small of your back keeps you from doing so, causing a soft mewl to fall from your lips.

"gods, you're beautiful like this," she breathes out, so quiet you almost wonder if she even meant to say it out loud. as if trying to hide the statement, she picks up her pace, pulling out of you almost entirely before slamming back in and keeping that same rhythm over and over again.

your legs shake and you almost certainly would have fallen if not for sevika and the counter holding you up. her strong hands ground you, even as you press your face against the coolness of the counter, no thoughts in your mind except for sevika, sevika, sevika. you already know if she keeps this pace, along with the gentle hand tugging at your hair the way she knows you love, you're not going to last long at all.

"sev, baby," you moan, the words barely sounding real as they fall from your lips mingled with soft whimpers and groans. you can already feel your climax at the edges of your nerves as she fucks into you relentlessly. you can't get over how she groans like she can feel it, too, the kitchen quiet save for a mess of moans and the wet sounds of her cock pushing into you again and again. you can feel yourself leaking down the insides of your thighs, surely coating the strap in an absolute mess of desire.

"you're doing so good, so good for me," sevika coaxes more moans out of you with her soft words, your hands white-knuckling the counter as you feel your orgasm growing closer and closer. your legs feel absolutely weak as she slams into you.

your orgasm washes over you quickly, like a bucket of warm water being dumped over you as your nerves light up with the release of tension, clenching around her cock before spilling over it, making a mess of yourself. sevika continues fucking into you, barely even slowing her pace as her flesh hand moves from your back. she reaches around, trapping her wrist between your stomach and the counter as her fingers tease at your clit, applying pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves, clearly trying to draw another orgasm out of you.

you don't fight it, leaning into her touch as more incoherent moans spill from your lips, focusing only on the hand on your clit and the cock thrusting into you over and over again with little remorse. you love when she's like this—rough and unforgiving, not letting you go until she's done with you.

already sensitive from your first, it's not long before you're coming again, this time against her fingers and pushing back against her cock. her hand moves back to your hips, guiding you through is as her pace lets up only slightly. as you come down, her thrusts slow down almost entirely before she stills, her cock fully buried within you and her back pressed against yours against the counter. you ground yourself in the weight of her against you, your eyes watering slightly just from the pleasure of the stretch.

she kisses down the nape of your neck and your spine, sending shivers across your skin. after a moment, she pulls out of you slowly. you sigh, going to push yourself away from the counter, but she stops you with a hand to the small of your back. so, you stay there, hands braced against the cool counter as sevika sinks to her knees. you shudder as her tongue finds your inner thigh, cleaning up the mess she made of you.

her lips and tongue are careful around your cunt, knowing how sensitive you are right now. you sigh contentedly as she cleans you up before rising to her feet.

"baby—" you start to say, but you're cut off by her hooking her arms around your back and the backs of your knees, effectively sweeping you off your feet. you're grateful for the help, considering you're not entirely sure you'd be able to walk after that. "i can walk, you know."

sevika just tsks as she carries you to the bathroom, starting up the faucet and waiting for the water to get warm. "not if i've done my job right."

she sits you on the edge of the ceramic tub and you watch as she undoes the harness around her hips, tugging her shirt and underwear off—a silent confirmation that she'll be joining you in the bath. you reach for her hips, tugging her close as she bends down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

as soon as the bath is full, she climbs in, the tub barely big enough for her tall form, tugging you in after her and settling you against her back. you sigh, letting your eyes slip closed as she presses a kiss to your temple.

you love when sevika has a good day at work.

tag list: @puppyels @njm63522 @fict1onallyobsessed

[lizardboiii]

At The Tone ┃ DCU

Barry Allen x Spider-Woman!Reader

┃ Summary: Sometimes bad things happen to good people - and that’s where the Justice League comes in. Too bad you weren’t interested.

“Think I forgot how to be happy Something I'm not, but something I can be" Billie Eilish, "What Was I Made For?"

│cw: SFW, alcohol abuse, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, hurt/comfort, violent themes

│wc: 3.9k

│chapters: One shot

│notes: This fic has been sitting unfinished (with 2k words!!) in my drafts for a WHILE. randomly decided it needed to see the light of day ig. was gonna make it nsfw but i low key hate it and just wanted too move on oops. enjoy <3

・❥・

│One Shot: At The Tone

You have five new messages.

“Good afternoon, Spider-Woman this is Cla-”

You heard a throat clear.

“It’s Superman. I see you still aren’t picking up any of the team’s calls,” He swallowed thickly, “I understand your recent loss was… hard. Something none of us would have wished for anybody.”

You could feel the tension in his voice.

“Please take all the time you need. The league is more than capable of taking care of New York in your absence for the time being.”

The sound of a pen clicking disrupted the message every so often, “But at least give us some indication you're alive…and well. The team cares about you,” He chuckled warmly, “Even “Mr. I Work Alone” Batman himself.”

His laugh dropped abruptly with a soft sigh, “Call me back when you can.”

Beep

You crawled out of bed slowly, dragging your duvet behind you like a cloak. The plush cotton laid heavy on your shoulders. You wondered if this was how Big Blue felt every morning - the weight of knowing everything depending on him once he bore his iconic red cape. 

You knew what that weight felt like, and you knew what it felt like to have it all come crashing down.

You have four new messages 

“How’s it hanging, Spidy? Haha, you get it?” A dramatic sigh escaped the machine, “Sorry, poor timing.”

He took a moment to regroup, “It's Green Lantern, just calling to check in. Headquarters has been depressing without you. I mean even Martian Manhunter is down in the dumps. It's a total bummer.”

Another sigh, “Listen you don't have to call me back if you don’t want to, but at least let Flash know you're still alive. He needs you more than he lets on.”

Beep

You groaned at the shrill ring of the answering machine. The outdated tech was too cherished to be discarded but the pulsing headaches you received from it almost outweighed the fond memories of Aunt May.

Thoroughly woken up, you entered your kitchenette. Your eyes shifted between the week old coffee pot on your stove to the half empty Hennessy bottle next to it. 

Maybe this time you would make the right choice. A sober evening is a good evening. However, the battle was always rigged to begin with and the winner already predetermined.

The Hennessy felt burdensome in your hand as you took a long swig. It burned violently down your throat, eating at your skin, before finally settling warmly in your stomach. Though you hated to admit it, it satisfied you more than any pot of coffee could.

Staggering to your couch, courtesy of one of New York’s finest sidewalks, you flopped down. The cushions were well used and musty. But who were you to pass up a free couch?

You have three new messages

“Spider-Woman.”

There was a lengthy pause.

“Your recent inactivity has caused some concerns regarding your whereabouts. The league seems to be having a hard time focusing on missions with your absence.”

Bats’ uncertainty leaked through the phone as he thought of his next sentence, “You have my condolences, Webs. However, the league cannot continue to work with this distraction. Please report to the Hall of Justice immediately.”

He hesitated, “We are worried.”

Beep

An involuntary snort escaped you. Bats’ attempt at comfort was interesting to say the least. He was surprisingly awkward for a leader of the Justice League. Though you supposed dark and brooding was his brand.

You have two new message

“Greetings, Spider-Woman, Wonder Woman speaking.”

You could hear muffled arguing in the background.

“Batman may have been a bit…straightforward in that last voicemail,” She attempted a fake laugh, “Please do not mind his bluntness, he is merely just as concerned as the rest of us. In his own way at least.”

A loud slam made her curse under her breath.

“I apologize I must go, the “children” are fighting again. Don’t hesitate to call back. See you soon, Webs.”

Beep

Lifting the liquor to your lips, your brows creased when only a drop hit your tongue. Out already?

You let out an exaggerated sigh before placing the empty bottle on your coffee table. A quick glance at your barren pantry told you everything you needed to know. You’d have to go out and get some more. You felt your face scrunch. That means you have to go out in public.

You weighed your options. 

You could stay inside and continue to peacefully hide from the world, but you're guaranteed to sober up eventually.

Or you could make a quick trip to the convenience store down the road and pray the minimum wage employee can’t smell the alcohol on you from a mile away. 

You hummed thoughtfully. Though, now that you think about it, there’s a off chance you might run into the supe that’s covering your city for the time being. Then again, there’s a very high chance it’s not someone from the Justice League, a member from The Team at best. 

Massaging your forehead, you tried to remember the last time a Justice League member took a leave of absence. A blonde goatee flashed in your mind.

That’s right. Green Arrow was out for a while when he got busted up pretty bad. His protégé, Speedy, ended up babysitting Star City in his absence. You bit your lip. 

But you didn’t have one of those anymore.

You have one new message

“Hey Webs! Sent me to voicemail again, huh?”

An awkward laugh made the machine crackle.

“Just calling to check up on you. How are you doing? Feeling alright? Just say the word and I can grab you anything from anywhere. I mean literally anywhere. They don’t call me the fastest man alive for nothing!”

You could practically hear the large smile embedded on his face.

A large sigh passed through the speaker, “It’s been a month now. The team misses you…I miss you. A lot actually.”

He paused.

“Just call me back alright? I need to know if you're okay.”

Beep

Your hand paused over your front door handle. Flash’s deep voice was like a siren's call, beckoning you in. 

What you’d give to turn around. What you'd do to call him back. It took everything in you to force yourself away from his voice.

Your best friend. 

Your confidant. 

Your everything. 

You have zero new messages

・❥・

You weaved through the bustling sidewalk with a slight wobble, managing to dodge a third of the people you almost crashed into. Night was quickly approaching. That meant the streets were only going to get busier. 

More people = More crime = More superheroes.

Fumbling into a dimly lit alley, you avoided Main Street completely. It was too risky. Even in your civilian disguise there was no guarantee your voice wouldn’t be recognized - mainly by your teammates but especially by… Flash.

You recalled how often you sought each other out in the Hall of Justice. Whether it was meddling in the business of others, or simply enjoying the company of one another.

His hand always seemed to find its way to the small of your back. Gently resting. While his thumb delicately circled the thin fabric of your suit. 

He leaned in closer than he should. The dull smell of his cologne inevitably picked up by your heightened senses. 

It wasn't how friends should behave - but that's all you ever were. Friends.

Thwack!

You slammed yourself against one of the side walls in surprise, extinguishing your mind of complex thoughts. Creeping closer, you cursed in your head when harsh thumps and muffled grunting filled the air. 

“Where’s my money, Huey?”

Crack!

“I-I don’t know! Please!”

Whack!

You recognized the tell-tale sound of blood splattering against the ground, akin to paint splashing. The sound made you nauseous. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you thought of your next move. 

Now, on any normal occasion you’d swing in all heroic and save the day. But today was different. You were different. 

Excuses flooded your brain as you tried to explain to yourself why you felt little desire to help the abused man. 

Your suit was at home crammed somewhere in between an ugly Christmas sweater and a latex bodysuit you practically begged Cat Woman not to give you. 

Even if you had the energy, you were still considered MIA to the league. You’d basically be spoon feeding them your location. 

Your internal dilemma didn’t last long as the pummeling swiftly came to an end. Peaking around the corner, you watched the assistants retreat into an adjacent alley. They moved lazily. Clearly they didn’t expect to be caught.

You could still catch them.

You found yourself making an internal description. Two Caucasian males both wearing black beanies and disgustingly outdated puffer jackets. The taller one sported purple and green. While the shorter preferred yellow. 

Your foot shifted before you felt yourself hesitate. Maybe you shouldn’t. They’d probably be caught soon enough anyways. 

If anything, the supe covering your city would swoop in and haul their asses to the local jail. Especially when you called an ambulance for the man who was passed out on the ground. It would put this area on tonight's map. You sighed and finally allowed yourself to relax. 

This was fine. 

Everything was fine. 

Shifting your eyes to the ground, you located the poor soul who suffered the attack. His breathing was ragged and wet. You were quick to put two fingers on his neck, checking for a pulse. A wave of relief crashed through you when you felt a steady beating.

Pulling out your phone, you immediately dialed 911 and requested an ambulance, anonymously of course. You stayed with the man until you could hear loud sirens growing closer. Your sign to leave. 

Exiting the alleyway, you reached the small convenience store in record time. The adrenaline in your system was starting to make quick work of the alcohol in your bloodstream. 

You could feel your senses beginning to come back. Eyes clearer. Ears sharper. You could practically hear the heartbeats of everyone in the store. 

Groaning at your misfortune, you beelined for the alcohol section in the back. My god was it beautiful. Itching to return home, you grabbed a random bottle that had the highest percentage. Taste didn’t matter. Only the effect.

Glancing at your selection you choked on your own spit. 30 dollars?? The glass bottle was swiftly put back as you grabbed the cheapest one you could find. Tucking the Shitty K under your arm, you turned to walk to the register.

“PUT YOUR FUCKING HANDS UP, OLD MAN.”

You froze. Extending your neck out, you caught a glimpse of the register. 

Purple, green, and yellow.

You had to be fucking kidding.

You watched as the two assailants from the alley held the elderly cashier at gunpoint. His form shook like a leaf. 

“Please! Just take the money and leave!”

You caught his eyes as he begged for his life. Tear filled and shaking. You could have prevented this. If you would have just stopped them when you had the chance none of this would have happened.

You could have saved the man in the alley. Saved the poor cashier.

You could have saved Uncle Ben too. 

Your eyes watered. Fucking pathetic mistake. What the hell were you doing? You weren’t a teenager anymore. You were a grown adult who should have learned from your mistakes by now.

Shifting your eyes from the vodka to him, you pressed your lips in a thin line. You didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that you were repeating past mistakes or the fact that you wanted to take the more expensive alcohol and leave unnoticed.

When did you become this? 

No wonder you let Spider-Girl die.

You needed a drink. Desperately.

Abruptly, a whiplash of red and yellow snatched you from your daydream. The streaking shape blew over the newspaper stand before spinning around the starstruck perpetrators. You knew those McDonald's colors from anywhere. 

Kid Flash.

Like any speedster, he removed the gun in milliseconds before tying up the confused robbers. They stood no chance against the meta-human.

Dusting off his hands, Kid Flash smiled smugly at the dumbfounded duo, “Guns aren’t currency, you know?”

The man in yellow thrashed violently, “What the hell-Kid Flash!? Why are you in New York? Spidey taking a break or something?”

You cringed.

Kid Flash’s boyish voice laughed awkwardly, “Something like that.”

You need to get out of here. Now.

Slowly backing into the aisle, you clenched your teeth when your elbow hit the shelf. The bottles tinked in a symphony, altering everyone in the store of your presence. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Instantly, you snatched your coat hood and covered your face and hair. Staring into the grime covered tiles, you prayed Kid Flash wouldn’t think too much of it.

“Hello?”

Of course. The one time he’s actually thorough.

“Are you alright?”

Bright yellow boots came into your vision as you tried to conceal yourself further. You hunched into yourself with clenched fists. Mistaking your actions for something else, Kid Flash placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, hey it’s okay! You don’t have to be sacred!”

You bite into your lip eager to escape the conversation, “I’m not. Please let go.”

Kid Flash laughed, sounding a little too similar to Flash in your opinion. Removing his hand from your shoulder, he stood next to you with his hands on his hips. 

“Then why are you hiding?” A red glove entered your vision. It was headed straight for your hood.

You slapped his hand away, “Didn’t your parents tell you not to talk to strangers.”

He shrugged, “That rule doesn’t really apply to superheroes.”

You couldn’t contain the breathy laugh that left your throat. You hate to admit it but you actually really missed the kid. 

However, you failed to realize your mistake. If anyone knew your laugh it was Kid Flash. You spent way too much time around him and Flash for him not too.

There was a long pause. 

“…Webs?”

You flinched hard, “Wrong person.” You internally cursed at yourself for the obvious slur in your voice.

“Are you drunk?”

“…No.”

His hand grabbed your upper arm tightly, “Where have you been? Are you okay?”

You gently pulled against his hold, attempting to break free without force, “I’m fine.”

“No you aren’t,” Kid Flash raised his hand to his ear piece, “Just let me notify Flash-”

“NO!”

Your arm flew up to the communicator without thought. Taking advantage of his surprise, you were able to snatch the high tech earpiece from his loosen grip.

“Hey!” 

Kid Flash grabbed at you. His lanky limbs attempting to reclaim his lost device, “Let go!”

“You let go!” You shoved his face away with the palm of your hand. 

Kid Flash merely continued to grab at the air around you, “Never!”

If this was any other situation you would have laughed. The pair of you looked like children fighting over the last dessert.  

However, this wasn't just any situation. This situation involved Flash. 

“Listen to your elders you brat!” Finally, after a well fought struggle, you managed to hold the device out of arm's reach. A much needed success after the month you've had- 

“Webs?”

You halted in your tracks.

The small communicator in your hand blinked on and off, identifying an unstable signal. 

“Webs is that you?” Flash was urgent, “Wait there! I'm coming-”

You crushed the device in your hand. Terrified.

Small fragments engraved themselves into your skin, dotting your hand red. What have you done? 

“Batman’s gonna kill you for that, you know?” Kid Flash laughed in an attempt to lighten the mood. 

You frowned, uninterested in entertaining him. Kid Flash merely smiled awkwardly. It was evident the boy was taken aback by your unusually serious demeanor. 

The thought didn't take up much space in your mind. You could only think of one thing. When would Flash decide to appear out of thin air?

As if conjuring the hero, a red bolt flew through the mostly empty convenience store. The glass doors shook from the force. While newspapers scattered through the air, Vogue landed atop the cashier's head. 

Though he moved faster than the speed of light, he stood before you still. Unmoving. It was as if you might fade away if he got too close. 

“Webs,” His voice was laced with reverence. 

Your mouth went dry, “Flash.”

The tension between the two of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, suffocating you. Maybe this was how Flash planned to get back at you for ignoring him. Slowly killing you with hypoxia. A metaphorical death pertaining to how he felt during your absence. 

“Woah, this just got really awkward.” 

Kid Flash’s voice suddenly reminded you of his presence. He swayed uncomfortably. Trapped between you and Flash.

The younger male pointed his thumbs at the door, “Should I leave…or?”

“Yes.” 

Startled at your synchronous voices, Kid Flash quickly shuffled toward the door, “Alright. See you later?”

Flash nodded his head in response, ushering his protégé away. Kid Flash couldn't leave fast enough. Magazines, once again disturbed, twirled around the ground from where he left.

You stared at the loose paper. Preferring the sight of perfume ads then whatever expression Flash held. From the corner of your eye you should see him shift. He moved with unease. Your mouth curled slightly. He never was able to stop moving for long. 

“Webs, I-”

You cut him off, “I’m sorry.”

Flash furrowed his brows in confusion, “You don’t need to apologize. It's not your fault.”

“But it is,” You clenched your teeth in frustration, “It's always been my fault.”

The taller male crossed the space between you hesitantly. You flinched when he placed his large hands on your shoulders, completely engulfing them. 

“It wasn't your fault, Webs. Nobody could have known.”

“I could have saved her,” you finally met his gaze, “I was right there.”

You saw his eyes widen slightly, clearly used to your masked form more than your real face. 

Your name spilled from his lips. 

Not just Webs - your name.

You took a shaky breath, “Barry.”

The name was foreign on your tongue. You had tried to keep your personal life separate from hero work. Though that only lasted a year. Barry managed to weasel his way into your home life before you knew it.

You wouldn't have it any other way.

Barry’s hands slid from your shoulders down to your hands, caressing them softly. “Believe me when I say this,” He took a deep breath, “I’ve been in your position before. We all have.”

Breaking eye contact, your stare bore into the wall of cheap booze, “I know.”

“And I know,” He cupped your cheek, “That drinking away your problems won’t help. It only makes it worse.”

You bit your lip, “I just want to forget.”

“I know. God, I know. I want to go back and change that day every time I open my eyes,” He placed his head in the crook of your neck, “But I've been down that road before. And it's not sustainable.”

Your eyes felt hot, your throat dry, “I don’t know what to do.”

Barry pulled your smaller frame into his arms, “No one does.”

You sunk into his embrace, inhaling his scent.

“Let me take you home, Webs.”

“Okay.”

・❥・

You held tightly onto Barry, arms circling his neck, as he brought you home. You had barely enough time to blink before you were standing in front of your apartment’s door.

Barry hesitantly let you down from his hold. Though his arm stayed wrapped around your waist for support. You gave him a gentle smile as a thank you. 

Unlocking your door, you were immediately reminded of the state of your apartment. Dirty laundry and loose items scattered the floor. 

Shame crept up your neck. The uncaring attitude towards your humble abode seemingly disappeared.

Barry entered slowly, taking in the messy state. His eyes were quickly drawn to the empty bottles strewn about your floor. Unsurprisingly, he began to pick one up. Then another. And another. You snapped when he started to replace your trash bag.

“Barry.”

His head whipped toward you, only focusing on you.

“That's enough,” You tried grabbing the bag from him, “You don’t need to.”

Barry held onto the plastic tightly, “I want to.”

You shook your head, “It's my mess. Leave it.”

“No.”

You jolted in surprise at his commanding tone, “Why?”

He tossed the bag to the side, “Why?” 

Laughing dryly, he shook his head, “Why not? Why wouldn't I take care of you?”

You averted your gaze, “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“But you do,” his voice was imbued with desperation, “If you didn’t, I wouldn't have spent a month doing everything in my power to find you!”

Your face felt hot, “I didn't ask you too!”

Barry closed in the space between you, “You didn't have too!”

You weren't sure when the tears began to pour down your cheeks, “I never wanted you too! I just want to be alone! Why can’t you let me be?”

“Because I can't let you be!” Barry’s hand slammed down on your tiny island counter, “You're all I think about! From the moment I wake up to the time I go to sleep, all I know is you. I would rather you hate me for the rest of my life just to see you for a moment than ever ignore you.”

You felt like a deer in headlights, “What?”

“That day when Spider-Girl died,” He gripped the counter, slightly cracking it under the force, “I felt like I lost a piece of you too. And I could bear it.”

You felt like you lost your breath when Barry met your gaze again. His eyes were laced with anguish. Bloodshot rims already forming.

“I know you're hurting. I know what I am experiencing is nothing compared to what you are going through,” He searched your eyes, “But I'm in love with you! And I have been for as long as I can remember.” 

The start of a cry made his voice waver, “And this is definitely poor timing for a confession, but I can’t lose you-”

You weren't exactly sure which one of your muscles was still intact enough for you to move. However, the feeling of plush lips against your own thwarted any other thought.

Barry stood rigid for a moment. Hands clenched at his sides. Then, he dominated the kiss like his life depended on it. His hands held onto your waist tightly, before slowly making their way to your face. You couldn't remember the last time you felt this happy.

Pulling away, you took shallow breaths, “I love you.”

Barry smiled and swiped a loose teardrop from your cheek, “I love you too.”

The warm moment didn't last long. Your mind was quick to remind you that there was a reason Barry had to confess in a messy studio apartment rather than someplace special. That reason was because you were broken.

You pressed you mouth into a thin line, “Do you still want me even if-”

“I want you no matter what,” Barry didn’t allow you to get another word in, “We can go through this together.”

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, “You're not alone, Webs. You never were.”

You swallowed hard, “Together?”

"Together."

・❥・

[vampyrris]

training with levi.

cw: suggestive, mentions of sex and being restricted (nothing too intense), spanking?

Levi’s fist collided with your body, the impact knocking the wind out of you as you crashed to the ground.

You didn’t stay down, though. Not giving him time to recover, you immediately launched yourself at him, arms outstretched, bringing him down with you and landing on top.

Both of you hit the dusty earth with a thud, earning an oomph from him. A smirk played on your lips, which quickly turned into a shriek as he tangled his legs with yours, effortlessly twisting your body and pinning your arms above your head.

Levi was panting, dark strands of his sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he spoke, “Nice try.”

You rolled your eyes. “At least I caught you off guard, you gotta give it to me for that.”

“Break free.” He didn’t release his hold on you, completely ignoring your words.

You scrunched your brows in confusion. “We are not done yet?”

“No, not until you beat me.”

“I just did!”

“No, you didn’t. Now break free, you idiot.” He insisted, maintaining his grip.

You let your eyes trail down, noticing your legs were somewhat free. Just about some room to maneuver. Looking back up to his eyes, you were awarded with his classic bored look.

“Come closer,” you beckoned, praying he only listened.

“You can’t ask your opponent to come closer.”

“Yes, I can. Anyone who’s not you would do it.” You shot back.

He scoffed. “No, they wouldn’t. Did my punch knock out that brain of yours too?”

“Rude!”

He gripped your wrists firmly showing absolutely no signs of letting you go, and clearly not fazed by your weak attempt at a distraction. His legs remained straddled around your lower half, restricting any movement.

But if you just…

“You are a pervert, captain Levi! What are you doing, mounting an unmarried woman?” You said loudly, even though you knew the others were well out of earshot.

Levi’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, his brows pinching together in anger.

“You keep that up and I’ll break both your damn legs before you get the chance to knee me in the groin.”

You stared at him in shock. “How the hell did you even— you know what? Nevermind. I’m pretty sure I could take down anyone else. You’re overpowered.”

He rolled his eyes. “Accept your defeat, at least. You’re a sore loser.”

“You let me go this instant and I’ll show you who the real sore loser is.”

No doubt it’d still be you, but it didn’t hurt to try him.

He raised a brow. “That mouth of yours is gonna get you killed a hundred times over. Better yet, they’ll make it slow and torture you thoroughly before they end you for good.”

“Oh? You don’t think that when you’re shoving your cock in that mouth, you heathen.”

He stilled on top of you.

You almost smiled, finally catching him off-guard.

And for all the inappropriate reasons, you were enjoying this position a little too much. It reminded you of all the times Levi had your hands restrained while fucking into you relentlessly. Your skin heated at the memory flashing vividly in your mind.

Levi’s eyes darkened, as if he could read every thought in your head. You didn’t dare break his stare, not as his throat bobbed. Not as his eyes glittered with dark, sensual promise. Colour crept up your own cheeks, and you let him see exactly what he did to you.

He removed one of his hands, your wrists still pinned to the ground with the other.

“For someone who can never take me out on hand to hand combat,” he leaned down until his lips were brushing your cheek, “And for someone who begs me to put my cock in their mouth, you sure do talk a lot of shit.”

You twisted your hand and broke free, your arms going around his neck immediately and pushing him back. His lips ghosted over yours at this proximity.

“Is this some new tactic, captain? Getting your enemy all hot and bothered before killing them?”

He almost laughed, his lips quirking up. “No, but it’s definitely a fair counterattack.” he pressed his knee between your legs, making you gasp. “Ah, so it’s working?”

You propped yourself up on your elbows, bringing your face closer to his. “Why don’t you find out?”

Driven by an ache that only you could soothe, his mouth crashed onto yours with an urgency that left your body arching against his. You moaned into the kiss, but he broke away almost immediately.

He fought for air, his words punctuated with panting breaths. “Oh, I will.”

With that, he removed himself from you and crawled back up to his feet.

But he remained standing, his legs still placed on either side of you. Flashing him a sly smile, you sat up as you wrapped your fingers around his ankles and slowly began sliding them up his legs. In this position, his crotch was right in front of your face. You could feel every dent and swell of muscle as your hands slid up and up.

Levi grabbed your hands just as you reached his thighs. His eyes drilled holes into yours, nothing but lust lining them. In one swift movement, he hoisted you up, pulling you flush against him by your waist. Your hands instinctively found their place around his shoulders.

He squeezed your sides, his touch branding your already feverish skin through the thin, sweat drenched material of your shirt.

“Easy, brat. Or you’ll face consequences of your completely inappropriate behaviour tonight.”

Your squeezed your thighs together and let your head fall forward. Inhaling his musky scent mixed with sweat, you sank your teeth on his shoulder, a small desperate whine escaping your lips.

“Riling me up like this…you are so cruel, captain.”

He let out a low hum. “We are done here. Next time,” he paused, and swiftly brought his palm down on your ass in a sharp slap, making you yelp in surprise. “I won’t take you using inappropriate excuses to get out of training lightly.”

“I think I have done that one too many times. You could, I don’t know, discipline me? Tonight?” You gazed at him with half-lidded eyes, not one coherent thought in your brain except those of him fucking you senseless. Pulsating need buzzed through your body as you panted a little, and daringly wiggled your ass against his hands.

He let out a strained groan as his eyes ran down over you, taking note of your hardened nipples straining through your nearly transparent shirt, and squeezed your ass firmly. Promisingly.

“You’ll be disciplined then. Tonight.”

[talia-black]

A Gift Repaid (Is But A Favor Owed)

(I started this a week after 2.3 went live. Clearly this sat in my WIPs before boredom resurrected it. Based on the 2.3 post-quest. Currently in the middle of a hurricane and the internet is out so I finally have no choice but to finish some of my WIPs.) 

Angsty, because Lord knows I can’t separate poor Aventurine from his trauma, but let me know if you want a fluffy sequel. 

Trailblazer!Gender neutral!Reader

(But I do use the name Stelle because I am a part of the AvenStelle agenda)

Stelle wants to repay Aventurine's gift, but doesn't have a single clue about how to do that. Maybe something just a little bit more will come of their clueless but sincere gesture.

Aventurine let out a well-earned sigh as he collapsed into bed. The weeks following his return to Pier Point had been nothing but a series of meetings, debriefs, more meetings, follow-up reports, and even more meetings. Leaving the normally free-wheeling gambler feeling restless and pent-up. Watching the drama unfold on the Radiant Feldspar had been his only form of entertainment. So naturally once the negotiations had settled and the Fool's prank had been dealt with, the Stoneheart had nothing to distract himself from the stack of paperwork taunting him from its perch on his desk.

Admittedly he had resorted to browsing one of his favorite online stores when he got the notification that the limited-edition model of the Astral Express was finally open for bidding. He won naturally, and it only took him a few seconds before he decided what to do with it.

Aventurine bundled up a few trinkets he had collected while on Penacony and had them packaged alongside the train model before shipping it off to the formerly-named Radiant Feldspar.

Stelle had been by far one of the most interesting and delightful characters he ever had the pleasure of meeting. Despite the power they wielded simply by hosting a Stellaron and being a member of the Astral Express Crew, they were almost chronically lawless and free-spirited. Although, squirrel-brained might be the most accurate descriptor. They could be in the middle of a punch line to some terrible dad joke one moment, and the next they are sprinting off because something shiny was poking out of a trashcan and they just had to take it with them. Every expensive gift he sent their way was met with sincere gratitude. But Stelle's wide-eyed, embarrassed blush didn't hold a candle to the expression of pure joy that lit up their entire face whenever they dug out something they deemed worthwhile out of a pile of abandoned boxes or an alley that looked like it could launch a thousand microbiology studies. Stelle was just so genuine and thoroughly lacking in any kind of malicious intent or agenda that it was impossible to not be endeared to them.

As far as the Stoneheart was concerned, the Astral Express' resident raccoon in human skin could have whatever their heart desired.

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Honestly, Aventurine forgot about the gift after a week. Work wasn't any less busy, and it was becoming clearer by the day that part of his punishment for damaging his cornerstone and putting two others in jeopardy was to be grounded on Pier Point until Diamond was forced to send him somewhere else.

Five weeks later, the gambler was willing to take a second shot at that Emanator if it meant he would be able to escape the never-ending mountain of paperwork. One way or the other.

Which is why he decided to spend an afternoon sifting through his backlog of physical mail instead of addressing the two-foot stack of papers that one of Obsidian's lackeys had dropped on his desk five minutes before his lunch break or the 1000+ emails sitting in his inbox.

The majority was junk. He was appalled that most of it got past his subordinates desk, and he happily watched the papers be chewed to pieces in the shredder. A few particularly inventive scam attempts even managed to get a chuckle out of him before they met their fate.

The slightly more personal letters were mildly amusing. Threats from past "friends", professions of love from strangers who had caught a glimpse of him at this place or the other. 

He would definitely need to have HR reevaluate the person who handled his mail.

Aventurine saved the packages for last, mainly because he knew those had been thoroughly inspected before they were even allowed in the building. One attempted bombing incident and now all of his shopping orders took a minimum of 72 hours before he was allowed to pick them up. But it wasn't until he had actually started to examine the boxes that he noticed something odd.

One of the packages wasn't so much a "package" as it was something vaguely spherical wrapped in newspaper. A shipping label that barely met postal requirements was the only thing holding it together, and the smell of burnt metal radiated from it. The sender's name had been smudged, which only fueled the gambler's curiosity.

Mostly confident whatever was in the package wouldn't kill him, Aventurine tore away the wrapping paper.

"What in the name of the Preservation-"

Aventurine hissed. His fingers had struck metal, nearly slicing his finger open on a particularly jagged corner. The rusted bronze burned in the low lighting Aventurine had illuminating his office, offset by the shiny aluminum that had been soldered to it. Aventurine continued to unwrap the package and it was only when the last of the newspaper had fallen to the floor that he was able to make out what it was.

Several pieces of scrap had been melded together in a caricature of a star. Different types of metal and alloys gleaned in the light of his office, and despite the patches of rust and wear on it, a lot of effort had clearly been put into it.

Aventurine had no clue what to make of it. It wasn't some high-end art piece if the shipping was anything to go by, and wasn't anything close to gifts people had attempted to bribe him with before. He reached down to pick through the wrapping and take a second look at the shipping label and a folded piece of paper fell out. It looked like standard cardstock, but Aventurine could see his name scratched on the top.

The gambler's intrigue was practically suffocating him at this point as he snatched the paper up and folded back the crease.

Hey Aventurine, hope you're doing alright. I've been stabbed before. It's not a fun experience once the adrenaline wears off and you can't get your legs to work properly. Make sure you wait at least a few days before trying to go out and pick a fight, or you'll wake up with very disappointed people hovering over you.

Sorry I didn't respond to your gift sooner. I would say social anxiety is bitch, but March has been nagging me to stop masking my vulnerability with humor.

Truthfully, I didn't know how to thank you. Excusing that little scuffle at the theme park (No hard feelings there. A lot of my friends have tried to maim me before) you've been great company and I wanted to give you something in return for all of the presents you’ve given me. It took me a while to decide on what exactly that was. I've watched a few of your poker games. You can make more credits in a single evening than I've ever had in my entire life. It wasn't until Dan Heng commented on all of the "junk" in my room that I had the idea of making something.

March 7th says I'm a hoarder. I prefer the term "low-budget collector". The metal you're holding was scavenged from a massive junkyard that most of Belobog's decommissioned robots end up in, though some of it came from abandoned cycranes I found near the Alchemy Commission. You wouldn't believe the types of odds and ends that get thrown in their dumpsters.

I had to ask for Himeko's help to actually weld the metal though. I think I did a pretty decent job for my first time, and aside from a few burns I made it through the experience unscathed. Word of advice: never touch the tip of a welding torch. Even after it's been off for ten minutes.

I really did like hanging out with you, Aventurine. Not a lot of people are willing to put up with my hyperactive raccoon brain for long, and it was nice to meet someone else who enjoys causing general mayhem. There should be another present in here if I get Pom-Pom to approve it.

Anyway, I hope you at least like this gift. If you don't, feel free to toss it.

May your journey lead you starward

-The Trailblazing Raccoon

Stelle

P.S. If you were serious about that round of cards, the Express will be staying at the Luofu for the next few months before we go out of range of the HoloNet for a while. I know a place with great food and mostly empty tables if you feel like stopping by.

Stelle.

The letter’s words blurred from how hard his hand was shaking.

Aventurine blinked furiously. A single tear escaped and smeared the postscript. He set the ornament gently on his desk before looking through the newspaper for a second envelope.

Instead of another folded note, there was a smaller envelope crookedly taped to what had been the inside of the newspaper. 

The Astral Express welcomes all who wish to move beyond their past and journey along the silver rails, no matter their intent or agenda. Ms. Topaz has already been granted an Express Pass, so it would be inconsiderate to not offer you one as well when a Trailblazer has vouched for you. The Pass enclosed will allow you to board the Astral Express whenever you wish, barring emergency circumstances or a crisis state. 

- The Conductor of the Astral Express, Pom-Pom

A golden ticket was nestled in the folded page. The rainbow sheen on its glossy gold surface was a perfect replica of the reflection of the stars outside Aventurine’s office window. 

Those same stars were the sole light in Aventurine’s penthouse apartment later that night as he drowned his memories and anxieties in a bottle of Penacony’s finest. His alcohol-addled brain scheming away as he clutched that golden ticket in a death grip. 

()()()()()()())()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

A few days later…

“Hey Stelle!” 

The Trailblazer in question looked up from their game to see March leaning into their room.

“You’ve got a package. Well, a few packages. And a letter.”

Stelle raised an eyebrow as March dropped six nicely-wrapped boxes and a letter on their bed.  

“Are you sure you haven’t gone over your budget this month?” March asked as Stelle reached for the letter. 

“I haven’t ordered anything,” Stelle mumbled, distracted by the ostentatious gold calligraphy decorating the front. The list of people she knew who would send them such a thing was short, and with the packages…

Stelle ripped open the envelope and leaned back, away from March’s prying gaze. 

Dear Stelle, 

It would be my honor to accept your invitation. The gifts I’ve sent are a small measure of my gratitude for such a thoughtful present, and I hope you won’t object to similar gestures in the future. I’ve never had the chance to visit the Luofu, but I managed to free a few days next week for me to spend at my leisure. You have my number, so if you’re looking for a little risky fun, give me a call. 

Your close friend, Aventurine <3

[p1nkcanoe]

swissalps footjob pwease 😊

for the record i need everybody to know that this is @crimsonclergy and @moony-ghoul 's fault. feet fiends. both of yous

who let the dogs out

[ swiss x mountain smut ]

summary: mountain likes feet... warnings: footjob, foot fetish... its a fuckin feet fic... words: 2611

read on ao3 or read below

Swiss and Mountain share the common room couch, each ghoul up against their own respective ends of it with long legs tangled in the middle. There’s a documentary about free climbing on the tv. Mountain seems really intrigued by it. He’d been talking about it for days, and upon walking into the room to find him watching it alone, the multi ghoul had simply told him to move his feet so that he could sink into the opposite end of the couch and give him some company. Now, they’ve been watching it for hours, and although Mountain seems really intrigued watching humans climb vertical slopes without proper equipment, Swiss is sure he’s fallen asleep more than a couple of times. 

The man on the tv is preparing to climb his most impressive slope yet. It’s nearly completely vertical, a little icy, and the music is getting tense. Even Swiss has found a little more interest in it as the climber pulls his gloves off and laces up his shoes. Mountain on the other hand is locked on. Swiss stares at his eyes, waiting for the next time he decides to blink. It’s been way too long… He keeps telling Swiss to pay attention, keeps pointing out little things he’s learned as the documentary has progressed about ice, weather conditions, and climbing overall. It’s all a little silly, he thinks, but it’s fun to watch Mountain get so engrossed in things like this, especially when he’s so distracted that the hands rubbing Swiss’ feet haven’t halted for the past hour and a half. 

Swiss had originally shot the other ghoul a confused look when he’d pulled his feet into his lap and peeled off his socks, had almost jerked them away when he’d wrapped his hands around one of them, but then he’d started massaging beginning with the balls of his foot and progressing into pressing his thumbs into his arch in little circles and the multi ghoul figured that he could allow it for a little bit. 

As the climber starts to climb, Mountain idly rubs a little harder. He gets into Swiss’ heel, squeezes the sides and always returns to his arch with those little circular motions. He’s locked in. His hands move absentmindedly and his eyes stay glued to the screen. At one point when the climber starts to slip a little bit on the ice he digs his thumbs into the tender parts of the bottom of his foot and Swiss pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, tilting his head towards the ceiling and cringing when the pleasure teeters right on the edge of pain. It’s only when he recovers and the music softens just a bit that Mountain eases up again and rubs at the space between his toes and the rest of his foot. 

Swiss has always had a little bit of an idea that there was something weird about Mountain and his relationship with feet. Ever since he caught the big guy staring at Cumulus’ manicured toes while the entire pack enjoyed a day at the lake, drinking homemade wine and snacking on sweets, he’d had a bit of a hunch. And yeah, what he’s doing feels good, but he can’t get that image out of his head. Especially when Mountain’s sporting more than a bit of a chub between his legs… 

Swiss’ other foot sits comfortably under his right, thoroughly massaged and loose, and Swiss takes one more look between the other ghoul’s legs, then up at his face–which is still fixed on the tv as the climber continues to ascend–and bends his free leg at the knee, maneuvering it just enough to get it between Mountain’s legs. For the first time in what feels like forever the earth ghoul breaks his gaze from the tv for just a moment to acknowledge the leg now planted between his own but quickly returns when he hears the climber lose his balance for a brief second and yelp in surprise. 

“Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. “Did you see that shit?” 

“Yeah,” Swiss says, not paying attention anymore to the tv in the slightest. He glances up, makes sure the earth ghoul is distracted again, and stretches out just the right amount to press the center of his foot to the front of Mountain’s shorts, right over the bulge that’s been a little too obviously chubby for just watching a documentary. 

Mountain shoots his head over to Swiss, confused at first, unsure of what is going on with the pressure between his legs, but then Swiss presses in a little harder and Mountain sucks in a sharp breath. His hands still from where they’re wrapped around his other foot. Swiss’ brows raise at the little sound and he pushes in a little harder, squishing the ghoul’s heavy balls with the center of his foot, and Mountain goes more than a little red. 

“Yeah, big guy,’ Swiss smirks and wiggles his toes. “Knew you’d like that…” 

The earth ghoul whimpers, shifts uncomfortably at the pressure on his crotch and Swiss looks him in the eyes before nodding towards his lap. 

“Go ahead, get it out. Let me see how hard you are over rubbing my feet.” 

“What if someone–” 

“You want them or not?” He asks in a harsh whisper, careful to not alert anyone of what’s potentially about to happen. “I’m only offering you this once.”

The big ghoul looks almost sad, caught between what he very obviously wants and what he knows he shouldn’t do. Swiss raises a brow and tilts his foot forward to press in with his toes and those big green eyes dart towards both ends of the room, towards the direction of each of the halls where any member of their pack could emerge from at any second. The invisible clock continues to tick, counting down the seconds before Swiss takes back his word. The man on the tv continues to climb. Mountain begins to chew on his cheek and for a moment Swiss thinks he’s going to decline the offer. He looks back towards his lap and his eyes follow the long line of his legs and up his body to his face, brow pulled together tight. 

“Could we at least move to–”

“No.” 

“Swiss…”

“Here or never.” 

Mountain sighs, hesitating as he fights himself on what he needs. Is he really willing to risk his pride for a little bit of pleasure? Maybe he is. He’ll lose his dignity either way… 

His eyes drop back down towards where Swiss’ toes are tickling up and down the length of his shaft where its filled out nice and heavy against his thigh and he curses under his breath, letting go of Swiss’ other foot to grab hastily at his waistband in defeat. His cock bounces up, hard and flush and sticky at the tip and Swiss smirks, chuckling, because yeah, the big guy’s really into feet. He can’t wait to tell Dew about this. And although he feels like he’s managed to prove his own point and get Mountain to get his dick out, he isn’t exactly sure where to go from here. Luckily, Swiss watches the exact moment that Mountain’s green eyes flood dark, nearly black, as he locks onto the foot in his lap, his dick sizing up nicely in front of it, curving up towards his tummy. 

“Can I please touch ‘em?” 

Swiss shrugs and flexes his toes, “You’ve been touching them all night.” 

He reaches for Swiss’ foot between his legs and pulls it up until it’s right against the underside of his dick, his heel heavy on his balls, and a groan tears itself from his throat, so loud and unabashed with the new feeling that it makes Swiss’ cheeks go a little red. This time it's Swiss’ turn to look around the room. If anyone in their room decided to come out to investigate the noise he isn’t too sure who is in a worse position. Sure, Mountain’s rutting against the bottom of his foot, but it’s Swiss’ foot. Something about it is so mortifying but he can’t get himself to pull away or tell him to stop. Besides… It’s kinda hot… 

Mountain ruts his hips upwards in small, jerky movements, chasing that little bit of stimulation against the bottom of his foot, but it doesn’t take long for him to build up to quick, strong punches of his hips, and it tickles. His heel has to be digging painfully into his sack. He’s practically kicking him in the balls with every bounce of his foot against it, but when he tries to keep his foot suspended in the air for him to rub against it Mountain growls at him and forces him back down with a rough hand. The noise he makes when the weight of his foot drops back onto his balls turns that deep, bone chilling growl into a whiny mewl and Mountain pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and grunts with every slide. It’s a pathetic sight, but there’s something oddly hot about it that’s making Swiss’ stomach flip and flutter a bit. 

He lets him rut against his foot for a while, all the while he sits there in amazement. It’s been a while since Mountain was this enthusiastic about anything. He remembers the last time Mountain let him ride him, even the last time he gave him a good handjob… He’d given him his best effort and Mountain had barely even made a noise until he came. Now the earth beast won’t shut the fuck up. He grunts with every single thrust, obviously trying to stay quiet and failing miserably, and throws his head back against the arm of the couch when his spongy head catches on the bottom ridge of Swiss’ toes. 

Swiss surprises himself when the sight of Mountain lost in pleasure combined with the tickle against the sensitive skin of his feet makes his dick twitch to life. He fills out slowly and tents the front of his sweats, unsure if he should palm himself in fear that it would mean he likes this, too. 

Does he? 

Is he into this? 

Clearly not as much as Mountain, but maybe a little bit. He can admit that much… 

Mountain’s movements begin to get a little jerky, clearly getting more and more uncomfortable with having to do all of the work, so Swiss pulls his other foot up into his lap and Mountain stills momentarily, looking up at him with a gorgeous, glossed over look in his eyes. His brain is somewhere else. Probably in his dick. The apples of his cheeks are pink and his chest raises in an even pattern as he catches his breath. His mouth sits open, slightly ajar, and his big hands clench and unclench against the raised edge of the couch cushion. He raises a brow and Swiss presses his feet flat against his hips. 

“Can I try something?” He asks. The question falls off of his tongue before he has time to think about what he’s suggesting. Mountain’s eyes flood darker, impossibly more, and he nods with quick movements of his head. 

“Please.” 

He fumbles for a moment with his body, scooting down the edge of the couch to sink into the cushions and get into a position where he can get his feet on either side of the earth ghoul’s cock. He’s almost entirely on his back and cramped uncomfortably into the small space that he shares with Mountain’s legs, and when he gets to a point where he thinks he can move, he experimentally starts to rub the arches of his feet up and down either sides of his shaft. It’s awkward and easily the worst footjob in the history of footjobs, but the effect that it has on the other ghoul is immediate and devastating. He throws his head back and covers his face with his hands, moaning loud and uncontrolled behind them with every terrible slip and slide of Swiss’ feet. 

Eventually with a little bit of trial and error he starts to get the hang of it and Mountain only gets louder and louder. If there’s anyone listening from their room with the smallest bit of curiosity, it has to be obvious that something weird is going on. If someone were to walk in on them like this would he be embarrassed? He thinks so, maybe a little, but the way that Mountain is moaning and jerking his hips up, losing himself between his feet, is worth it. 

He gets a little cocky when he decides to fold his hands up behind his head and jerk Mountain off with his feet, and his lips curl up into an evil little smile when he watches Mountain look down, unable to take his eyes off of where his tip appears and disappears between smooth arches. He leaks uncontrollably. So painfully turned on. Each slide of skin against skin gets wetter and wetter from the copious amount of pre that gets dragged and shared across their skin. He leaks like a faucet. Swiss wants to be mean, he really, really does, but he decides to hold his tongue. What they’re deep into in the middle of the common room is enough… 

“I’m gonna cum,” Mountain forces out between pants. Breathless. His chest rises and falls rapidly and Swiss lets out an amused huff between quick pants of his own. 

His legs are really beginning to burn from keeping them up. 

“Already?”

“Yes, already,” he rushes out, eyes flicking up to Swiss’ before flicking right back down. He throws his head back again and his dick twitches violently between his feet. “Fuck, keep going.” 

Swiss does as he’s told. Happily. He shifts around, trying to find a better angle for his feet to get him off but the slight changes and different views of Mountain’s dick sandwiched between two gorgeous feet are only catapulting him closer and closer to his orgasm. When Swiss hooks one of his feet around the front of his dick and uses the other to drag his toes back and forth over Mountain’s head, he loses it, cursing through his teeth in a string of babbled nonsense and shooting all over his toes and the top of his foot, covering him in more cum than he’s seen in a long while from him. 

He rides it out as long as he can and Swiss works him through the entire thing until he’s shaking and jerking his hips away, hissing through his teeth with every painful slide until he’s forced to push his body up and put distance between his lap and Swiss’ feet. Just to be mean Swiss stretches a cum covered foot towards his dick and Mountain is quick to shove him away and tell him to kindly fuck off. 

Swiss smirks. Mountain ignores him. 

They stare at each other for a long moment while Mountain catches his breath and Swiss tries to figure out what to do with himself next. 

He just gave Mountain a footjob. 

And he came from it. 

And he kinda liked it…But what the fuck do they do now? 

“Will you let me fuck your feet again?” Mountain asks, breaking the silence and tearing Swiss out of his thoughts. Swiss shakes his head and points a finger out in his direction. 

“We are never speaking of this again.” 

Swiss doesn’t miss the way his face falls in visible disappointment as he tucks himself back into his shorts, cringing at the sticky mess covering his cock. 

Swiss flexes his toes, still messy, and mumbles under his breath. 

“Okay, maybe…”

[cheemscakecat]

Refrigeration

A little fanfic about BLU Spy.

TW: BLU gets confronted about the pictures he took. And why he shouldn’t have been so causal about showing them to Scout

When becoming a mercenary, one had to prepare for the worst case scenarios. Failure, torture, death… death of a loved one. All things that Spy had spent years preparing and accounting for. But RED team still found ways to push the envelope.

It all started with the 1st battle against the nearly identical looking RED team after his nemesis stole their intelligence. And the pictures. Spy kicked himself for falling for the Scout disguise and showing the enemy Spy the pictures. Pictures of said Spy and the BLU Scout’s mother having sexual congress.

BLU Scout was far too outgoing, too trusting. And very annoying, once he got tired of Spy trying to give him a taste of reality. So, those photographs of his two-faced mother were indispensable. The perfect way to wise him up, and now they were gone, wasted. Soldier stupidly shot him, his own teammate in an attempt to out the RED.

The team’s intelligence? Taken by RED Spy. The evidence of Scout’s mother acting treacherously? Most likely destroyed, and now Spy had no recourse for proving the truth to the boy. And of course, the whole team was angry about a singular Spy crippling them and getting away.

But he could use that anger to his advantage. It didn’t take much convincing to get Pyro and Demoman on his side. For one thing, they had been the last two killed in battle, distracted when RED bolted out of base, Scout struggling to catch up. For another, Scout was Pyro’s best and only friend. If anyone would want payback for that Spy outrunning him, it would be the dragon.

—————————

They caught the RED Spy off guard. Together, Demoman’s bombs and Pyro’s fire incapacitated him. Spy watched his RED doppelgänger writhe with a satisfied smirk. Then he noticed the earpiece, which was now visible because fire had burnt a small hole in the Spy’s mask. He grunted an angry, desperate “NO!” as Jacques snatched the device. Demoman pressed his foot down on the RED’s belly to keep him from making any surprise attacks.

Spy heard a voice on the other end and slid the tiny microphone into his own ear, being careful not to reveal his face as he pulled up the mask. “Ay! I’m talking to you ******* , pick up!” It was RED Scout. Spy smugly turned towards his doppelgänger. “Alright! I’m not deaf! Just had to deal with those ****ed BLUs for a moment.” RED Spy gaped and wordlessly mouthed the word “No”.

Good. Now he knew how it felt. Even Pyro seemed to be holding back a hearty laugh. “We’ll hurry up and get to the control room. I ain’t waiting all day.” The RED -thoroughly beaten and helpless- struggled to free himself like he wasn’t going to respawn anyway. How stupid. “Don’t! You can’t-“ He pleaded. Spy merely aimed the revolver at his forehead and pulled the trigger.

He found the RED Scout slouching about near the control room. “Took ya long enough! Thought’ ya planned ahead!” Spy frowned. “It’s not my fault! Those BLUs were paranoid as Hell.” RED pursed his lips and glared like a spoiled child. “Whateva. I bet they’re halfway to the intel by now. We gotta get movin!” Spy tilted his head and jerked it towards the hallway.

Scout blinked at him incredulously. “Don’t change your plan now! Ya said you wanted to lead!” Curse that lousy RED Spy, he planned ahead. “I was just making sure you remembered. Keep your voice down boy, they could be here any minute.” Spy hissed urgently, pretending to be concerned. The Scout stared at him with an unreadable expression. “Well come on! You’re the impatient one.” He urged. The Scout put his hands in his pockets and meandered forward,

Spy didn’t like having the enemy behind him. It was supposed to be the other way around. He’d have to come up with a good reason to pull out his revolver. Maybe pretending a member of his team was-

Something heavy hit him square in the back of the head. His RED Spy disguise disappeared. **** it! He caught himself haphazardly before his head could hit the floor. Scout was just snapping out of his shock when he turned to face him. “I KNEW IT!” He roared. Jacques glared up at him and lunged with his knife, but the Scout easily dodged. He got smacked upside the head again with a red baseball bat. Scout must have pulled it out of his bag with an absurd lack of sound.

Before long the relentless RED Scout had pummeled Spy with the bat until he was unable to move. He was still awake though, which meant he could be taunted. Scout squatted down with a satisfied goonish grin. “Hard to stab a guy in the back when he’s beatin your fricken head in, huh?” Spy refused to respond to the man-child.

RED cocked his head to the side and sneered with disgust. “Our Spy’s a lotta things, but an idiot ain’t one of ‘um. Like Hell he’d call me boy.” Spy cursed himself in his head. Of course they didn’t call him boy, he had a bad attitude the size of Texas! How could he forget…

“Ah! Scout! Can you refrain from killing that Spy, please?” No. Not him! Spy looked on in horror as the RED Medic strode towards them, holding some strange device. The Scout shuffled in confusion, his shoulders tensing. Even the REDs fear him. “Thank you! I have a vunderful new machine I’d like to try.” “Oh! Uh, you wanna use this Spy?” The Scout relaxed, realizing he wasn’t the target.

“Yes! It’s so lucky I caught you like this, we usually kill the BLU team so fast..” Spy tried not to panic, especially since the mad Medic was staring. “Uh… Yeah man. Do what’cha want.” From his tone, Spy could tell that Scout was just as surprised as him. No, no NO! “I’ll leave ya to it then, doc. I gotta go fight n… all that.” The excuse fell on deaf ears, for the Medic was too busy with his device and bone saw to listen. Spy watched hopelessly as the enemy Scout left him alone with the freak.

——————

Decapitation. That’s what the Medic went with. Under normal circumstances it would have been fine. Spy would merely die and respawn back at BLU Base. But RED Medic was anything but normal. And that’s why he was still alive, hooked up to the device and being carried around like a trophy. Spy forced himself to keep a poker face, to try to conceal his fear. He didn’t want to give the Medic any sick kicks or new ideas. Whistling, the Medic trotted into RED’s respawn room with him. The other teammates froze in surprise.

There were rumors about this Medic. Rumors that were not unreasonable. They knew for sure that he experimented on his own team, replacing vital organs with the animal equivalent. There was much speculation about what such a mad-man was capable of, what his end goal could possibly be, and how insane he was. But one of the worst rumors was that he was cannibal. It made sense, what else could he be doing with the discarded organs? On second thought, Spy didn’t want to know.

So he wasn't really surprised when the RED team spoke cautiously with the mad-man. “What’cha got there, Doc?” The Engineer asked. He spoke with the cadence of a mother or school teacher. With underlying unease, of course. The Medic shifted in excitement and held him out further, so they could see.

“I’ve designed a machine to keep heads alive! There’s a vindow of opportunity after the spine is severed, and I wanted to put it to use! Say something!” He shook Jacques’ head like a toddler with a Christmas present, then paused to let him speak. It was risky, but he knew exactly what to say. In French, he viciously insulted Germany; their food, their leadership, and their women. A short but appropriate phrase he learned back in occupied France.

The RED Medic laughed loudly until he was nearly out of breath. “Oho! Ho-ho, that is true!” He UNDERSTOOD?!

———————-

Nicotine was the only tool getting Jacques through the stress of what was happening. Thankfully, the RED Medic provided him with a steady supply of bitter, cheap American cigarettes. It was cold in the fridge. He felt light in a very uncomfortable way; like a balloon that a child failed to hold onto, rising into the sky with the knowledge that he’d pop from the air pressure. He missed his hands, and he missed his heartbeat, and he missed the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. He missed eating and he missed warmth.

He didn’t hate all Germans, but he sure hated this one. He liked the BLU Medic well enough, and looked up to the escaped artists and filmmakers who made it to Hollywood during the war. But he hated RED Medic and his stupid feral grin.

Over the next few days, Spy heard incomprehensible voices through the fridge walls. He could discern the number of people in the room, but never what they were saying. RED Medic was always chortling and talking to his birds. This time, he could tell that the Medic had left the room, leaving him with one other enemy teammate. It turned out to be the RED Spy.

It was an embarrassing situation, being a disembodied head in a fridge and all. But the RED surprisingly didn’t taunt him or gloat about the situation. It actually looked like he didn’t know what to say.

But Jacques knew that RED had a score to settle with him. He had gotten pictures of him and the youngest BLU Teammate’s mama having intercourse. No Spy or man in general would take that invasion of privacy lightly. RED was probably there to interrogate or torture him, since he hadn’t come to gloat.

BLU prepared himself for whatever might come next, strengthening his poker face and praying that the RED would accidentally detach the battery on the device under his neck. He may just be put out of his misery.

RED Spy sighed in frustration and looked away. He paused, still bent down with the fridge door open. Evidently being a decapitated head wasn’t enough punishment for what had happened. Wait. My mask. What if he’s here to take my mask? Jacque himself had only bothered to take the dirtier pictures to see if he could get a picture of RED maskless. But he’d been planning to give it to the Administrator, and had no idea who RED might reveal his identity to. Or who in his family would be in danger.

He tried not to balk at the idea. “Look” RED started. He sounded tired. “We both know what you did.” Spy forced a poker face, hoping he wouldn’t give RED the satisfaction of seeing him fearful. Hoping he wouldn’t slip up. “But it would be childish of me to pitch a fit. You snuck past me fair and square.”

Jacques blinked in surprise, the first reaction he had shown since getting trapped here. He’s not planning revenge? Why? The RED teammate kneeled down closer, frowning grumpily as he did. He stared at his foe with a heavy exhaustion dimming his eyes. This was unexpected.

”You still have more of those pictures, I presume?” “Yes.” He replied without hesitation, feigning confidence. The truth was he might have one or two more of the photographs left, buried under files or tucked away somewhere. But the RED Spy had taken the majority, if not all of the pictures when he stole their intelligence that day. Disguised as poor, naive little Scout.

It was a shame that he’d probably never find another one of those photos, the boy needed to know. He needed to stop trusting his mother with whatever information she knew, so she couldn’t consort with this enemy teammate. But Spy could play the part of someone who still had a collection of evidence, at least long enough to fool RED Spy.

“When we let you go, there won’t be any way to stop you showing him.” The RED Spy sounded almost defeated in addition to exhausted. He looked away, putting his hand over his mouth and letting it fall. When he looked back, his eyes were pleading.

“Can I just make one request?” “What sort of request?” “Don’t show him the pictures of her naked. I saw that you had photographs where she’s clothed, and those will get your point across.” Jacques blinked up at him dully.

“And why should I be so discerning?” You two are the ones going behind the boy’s back for cheap pleasure. RED inhaled and exhaled with a slight shudder. “It doesn’t matter if he hates me. I’m an enemy teammate that he’ll fight regardless. But it matters if he’s estranged from his mother. They’re family.”

Spy felt a burning, deep anger swell in his veins, even without a chest. Family? “Oh, so she can keep mining his naive *** for information? So she can keep lying to him and playing with you? Please, don’t make her sound so innocent.” RED Spy glared at him suddenly, before his expression softened and he looked away. He sighed softly.

“She’s not a double agent. For all you know, I could be lying to her.” Jacques hadn’t considered that. “Look, it’s going to be hard enough when he confronts her over the clean pictures. She’s not the type who’d document her bedroom activities.” Red swallowed. “It’ll distract her, make her stumble over her words thinking about her son seeing things he was never meant to. I’m sure the pictures are an issue she’d like to discuss calmly with him.”

Spy though for a moment. He really didn’t know how guilty Scout’s mother was, or how the real boy would react. But now he knew that RED Spy cared about it. He could take advantage of that, but something held him back. The way the enemy Spy talked and his body language reminded him of something. He couldn’t place it, even with the gnawing familiarity.

But more than that his thoughts drifted to his own mother, and what would happen if there were dirty pictures of her. If he were young, and hormonal and stupid. If some creep showed him pictures of her private business, blaming her for a crime she didn’t commit.

Mrs, Murneau was a cheerful, upbeat civilian who kept her private matters private. And it would be hellish to put her through something like this. To have her son barge in with 500 questions and a file folder of disturbing content, questioning her integrity. And he could picture her horror and difficulty in defending her name, even if she was innocent. He felt a sinking pang of guilt.

If RED Spy wasn’t lying, Scout’s mother was the same way. In fact, Scout might have gotten his overly friendly and trustful personality from her.

“That is something to consider..” RED Spy stared. “Alright. I’ll sort through and find the clean ones. You have my word.” The RED sighed with relief, relaxing his tense shoulders. He’d been expecting his rival to remain unyielding.

“Thank you.” This time when he looked away, it was more casual. “Before I go, would you care for a cigarette?” “You keep a cyanide handy?” “Thankfully, there’s no need. The others are ironing out the details with Medic, but you should respawn sometime this evening.” He stared in shock. They were going to set him free? He’d get his body back! He’d finally be back at BLU base and away from that freak doctor!

Jacques tried hard to conceal his excitement and remain somewhat professional. “If you wouldn’t mind, then.” RED pulled the nasty, cheap cigarette out from between BLU’s teeth and replaced it with one of his better quality ones, lighting it before he closed the fridge door. He savored that good cigarette, which wasn’t the same brand he preferred but tasted delicious and smooth. It was sweeter and lighter in flavor than the ones he bought, which meant the hidden cyanide would stand out less.

——————-

When he spawned back at base, the rest of the team was caught off guard. Apparently he’d been gone for four days, but everyone assumed that he’d taken vacation time. It was his habit as a Spy not to announce his days off ahead of time, so he couldn’t be mad at them for the assumption. When he told them that that RED Medic had decapitated him and kept his head alive, they were horrified.

BLU Medic, who unfortunately looked almost identical to RED, was gibbering and tutting like a hen whose babies jumped in a puddle, and examining him already. Jacques repressed the urge to fight the poor Medic as he got up in his face looking for injuries. He’s only doing his job. It’s not his fault the freak has the same face as him.

The last thing he wanted was to be examined by another German, and that feeling boiled over when the doctor unexpectedly pulled up part of his mask. Before he could think, Spy found himself violently pushing Dr Ludwig and tugging his mask back into place. There was a very awkward hush as Scout and Pyro helped the doctor to his feet.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you what I was doing.” Still shaken by having more gloved hands on his neck, Spy could only nod curtly. Fritz couldn’t blame him for being jumpy and lashing out. “What were you checking for?” He asked apprehensively. “Um… Respawn complications on your neck. Or anything that the crazy Medic might have.. left?” He was not terribly surprised when Spy decided to head to bed for the night without a checkup. He wasn't ready.

———————-

after excusing himself to go to bed and rest, Jacques throughly checked for anything wrong with his neck. He’d insisted that Medic leave him be, but had no intention of dying or getting an infection from an unseen wound. Thankfully there was nothing suspicious, which soothed his nerves and the paranoid itch he’d been feeling. Then he was free to appreciate having his body.

He flexed each of his fingers in turn and balled his hands into fists. He put a hand against his chest to feel his own steady heartbeat and breathing. Jacques felt like sprinting through a field of tall grass - no, wheat- actually tulips, tulips and hyacinths. And then he wanted to roll around the warm grass, not that he’d let his team know that dirt didn't bother him. He had an image to uphold.

But here in his room, with its kitchen and amenities, he was free to celebrate.

Spy set a large pot of water to boil and grabbed a hefty serving of frozen cheese stuffed pasta from his fridge. He chopped and fried up some salty ham, and made a really good béchamel sauce with white wine, cheese, and heavy cream.

When his meal was ready, he devoured it like a starved animal and emptied half a bottle of brandy. After about 3 cigarettes and a glass of wine, he finally got into his pajamas and tumbled into bed. And even as someone who preferred to avoid sleep, he was content to curl up in the bed in the safety and comfort of his own room and body.

[scoundrels-in-love]

Do you (do you, do you, do you) wanna be a distraction, baby?

After his partners have been reckless once more, Wolfwood attempts to have a serious conversation. Unfortunately, both Meryl and Vash are easily distracted. | Mashwood | Wolfwood tit appreciation | Also on AO3 |

“How many times do I have to tell you-” Wolfwood spreads his arms wide in a desperate gesture to convey how often he's tried to instill an ounce of self preservation or simple urge to pause to think things through in the two, fairly unashamed, individuals sitting on the edge of bed. It is fairly hypocritical of him, but at least he can say he sometimes tries to consider his options, favorite of those being “none of my business, walk away”, and then gets dragged into action by Vash. Or even Meryl.

 “To let locals sort out their shit on their own!” 

He runs his fingers through his thoroughly messy mop of hair in frustration. Awaits the usual rebuttal, the sort he already heard on the way to this hotel room, like ‘they let us stay for free because we found the stolen Thoma!’ and ‘I know you wanna take part of the race, too, Wolfwood, don't act all indifferent’.

But it doesn't come and for a brief moment he wonders if he's finally gotten through to the pair, but that feels more unlikely than second coming of Jesus (one could argue that has already happened, that he is sitting primly in front of him and Wolfwood is -).

“Are you even listening?” He snaps, pointing an accusing finger at the pair and earns a mhm and a mumbled I’m sorry in return.

It takes Wolfwood a second to track what has distracted his partners (partners! It still feels foreign, impossible, achingly beautiful and even more scary) so thoroughly. Their gazes are glued to his chest that is quite exposed on the best and worst of days, but his shirt’s buttons seem to have lost the fight against his wild gesturing earlier and popped open almost all the way to his navel.

“You are not listening!”

The two nod in agreement to whatever scolding they think they're receiving, all faux humility, while their gazes leave a hot path down his stomach, following the trail of dark hair. It is only when he flexes his pecs that Meryl and Vash look back to his tits and then face in an ideally synchronized move, like cats who have been enamoured by a bouncing toy.

Oh, he will give them a bouncing, alright.

Wolfwood crosses arms across his chest, blocking the view and the two have some sense to look a little bashful.

“I am sorry, but it all ended well and we only got shot at once,” Vash puts on his best pout and Wolfwood thinks that he could stay angry, but it feels like a lot of effort compared to personally checking the two people he loves are fine and take advantage of the room they'd been given for the trouble as Meryl had pointed out.

So he drops his arms, flexes his pecs again and watches both of their eyes widen and darken, Meryl's pretty pink tongue darting out to wet her lips, as he steps closer, the overflowing energy of his worry sliding lower in his abdomen, turning to simmer there as Wolfwood reaches for them.

[mistiell]

Heyyy just stumbled on your account while looking through the Spencer tag and since your requests are open, could you write a blurb or one shot about Spencer trying to get fem!reader to come to bed because she’s been up all night studying and he’s worried and just wants to take care of her? (She’s in graduate school or something like that) definitely feel free to make it fluffy or even smutty if you want

Here you go <33.

------

Spencer has always admired your work ethic.

You’re dedicated to everything you set your mind to, no matter how small the task. He finds it admirable how hard you work towards what you want, how driven you are to achieve your goals. 

The problem is, sometimes, you don’t know when to stop.

The last few weeks have been one of those times. You haven’t been sleeping, it’s obvious with the dark circles under your eyes and the way you’ve slowed down. When he’s home, he can usually coax you into bed somewhere before the early morning, but he’d been away on a case for the last week and a half. When he got home, you didn’t look well, but you insisted you were fine, and he reluctantly let you off the hook after you distracted him with a few sweet kisses. 

After dinner — throughout which he had to keep you thoroughly distracted lest you run off without finishing your food — you decided to sit down and get some studying done, which was fine with him until your alarm went off — signalling that it was time to either take a break or go to bed — and you just kept on working. 

It’s nearly midnight now, and he’s thoroughly concerned as he watches you from his place in the doorway to your shared office. He’s been standing there for the past fifteen minutes and you haven’t even noticed him, staring blankly at your computer screen with tired eyes.

“Hey.” You startle rather violently at the sound of his voice, whipping around to face him so quickly he worries you might accidentally wrench your neck, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“S’okay.” Your voice is a little gravelly from disuse as you rub at your eyes, turning back to face your laptop. 

He sighs as he comes to stand behind you, sliding his arms down and around your chest as he trails a few sweet kisses from your cheek down the side of your neck. You sigh and lean back in your chair, softening like butter in the sun as you let your head fall back against his shoulder and cover the back of his hand with yours lazily.

“I know what you’re doing.” You hum, and he can just barely hear the teasing undertone in your inflection underneath the exhaustion.

“I’m not doing anything.” He smiles guiltily against your skin, and you snort at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nuzzles at the side of your throat before leaving an open mouthed kiss there, drawing a delightful little sigh from your lungs as you reach back to lace your hand in his hair. He peppers a few more kisses over your neck, before whispering against your collarbone, “Come to bed.”

You sigh again, this one heavy with fatigue. He can almost hear the words on the tip of your tongue before you say them, “I can’t yet. I've still got so much to do.”

“It can wait.”

“No, it ca–.” “It can wait.” He repeats, reaching forwards to close the lid of your laptop after making sure your work has been saved. He spins the chair around, standing between your legs as he cradles your face between his palms. He brushes his thumbs over the discoloured skin beneath your eyes, and it hurts him a little knowing you’ve been putting your work above yourself for so long. He frowns, looking a little sombre as he says, “You look so tired, baby.”

“I am.” You murmur, eyes closing as you slump forward to rest your forehead against his stomach, hands finding the backs of his knees just because you need to be touching him right now. He cradles the base of your skull with one hand and strokes your hair lovingly with the other, letting you stay there for a few moments before whispering, “Come to bed.”

You nod and slide your hands up to wrap your arms around his lower back, squeezing him tightly before tilting your head back to look at him, chin resting on his stomach as you tease, “You’re very persuasive, you know that?”

He laughs, grinning as he pulls you away a little more and bends at the waist to press his lips to yours. The kiss is slow and sweet, and he gets so lost in you that he doesn’t mind the fact that you taste a little of stale coffee.

You nip at his bottom lip and he hums, smiling against you, “You’re trying to,” He dips back in for a moment, “Distract me again.”

“Maybe.” You grin, hands settling on his hips as you kiss him once more, “S’it working?”

“Maybe a little.” He admits before pulling away to rise to his full height, practically towering over you from your spot in your chair as he holds his hands out to you, “Come on.”

“Fine.” You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes playfully as you take his hands and allow him to pull you up to stand.

He leads you to the bedroom, pecking you on the cheek before you make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. When you emerge, he’s pulled out a pair of PJ’s — A pair of your sleep shorts and one of his old t-shirts — and placed them on the end of the bed for you. You thank him, and it isn’t long before you’re snuggled up under the covers with him, slotted right up against his side with a leg thrown over his hips.

He’s about to drift off when you whisper, “Hey, Spence?”

He hums, rubbing at your arm so you know he’s really listening.

“Thank you.” 

He leans forward a little to kiss the top of your head before smiling drowsily, “‘Course, baby. S’what I’m here for.”

You squeeze his waist briefly, and in a few minutes, your breathing evens out, and he can sleep well knowing you’re finally getting the rest you deserve.

[merlinsbudgiesmugglers]

Hinny #8 for the ship ask

Thanks anon!

#8 …in secrecy.

This isn't so much in secrecy, but while trying to come up with something this was all I kept thinking of.

Set during HBP

Ship Kissing Asks

--

Sometimes Ginny still struggled to believe that this was her life. That Harry had actually kissed her in the common room, that she didn’t need to hide the way her attention was drawn to him whenever he was in the room.

Pressed against the back of Greenhouse Three with Harry’s lips trailing down her neck was not one of those times.

They’d slipped away during lunch, ignoring Ron’s pointed comments for a few moments alone, hidden from the eyes of the school. A few moments alone, that quickly turned into Harry’s shirt untucked and half unbuttoned and his hand slowly moving higher up her leg, giving her plenty of time to stop him whenever she wanted.

She wasn’t sure she would.

His teeth grazed the spot on her neck that made her gasp, her fingers twisting tighter in his hair when the bell sounded in the distance. She had to go, had to get to potions. She had OWLs in a few weeks.

‘Harry,’ she tried to say, but it came out as more of a moan when his hand abandoned her leg and moved to tentatively cup her breast through her shirt. For a boy who’d had very little idea what he was doing the first time they’d snogged properly, he was learning quickly.

‘Harry!’ she said more firmly, finally getting his attention. He detached his lips from her skin to lean back, his cheeks red and his hair more of a mess than usual, tempting her to skip potions altogether.

Ginny firmly put her hands on his chest, trying to put some space between them so she could think, but his arm anchored around her waist made it difficult.

‘Potions,’

His face was full of mischief as the arm that was wrapped around her waist came up to lean against the greenhouse, and he pressed a kiss to her jaw, ‘Skive it off. I’ve got a free,’ he murmured against her skin.

She turned her face to capture his lips with hers, snogging him properly, making sure he was well and truly distracted before slipping out of his grasp, giggling at his disgruntled groan, and feeling quite proud of just how thoroughly snogged he looked.

‘Come on,’ she said as she straightened her skirt and buttoned up the top two buttons of her own shirt. When had he unbuttoned those? ‘Walk me to class.’

He shot her an unimpressed look that made her giggle again but straightened his own uniform so he could sling an arm around her shoulders on their way back to the castle, ‘Do you have to study tonight?’

‘I think I can take one night off. What do you have in mind?’

Harry hummed, barely holding back the mischievous grin she was coming to know so well, ‘I’m sure we’ll think of something.’

[dirtytransmasc]

(A gift of Fluff)

_

"You little brat!"

There is a chorus of giggles, high and free, and then a splash as Reyzì jumps away from Z-dog, having just grabbed the woman's tail to pull her into the shallow river, who tries to catch the giggling girl.

Any attempts of teaching the recoms to fish had long been abandoned for horseplay instead. Mansk had tried to continue fishing for a bit but the ruckus of it all had caused whatever fish there were to flee, he was instead pulled into a game of chase with Reyzì and Z-dog.

Lyle was further down, in a slightly deeper part of the river that opened up into a pond, with Ro'eyk, Spider, and Sully's younger boy, engaged in a 3-vs-1 game of chicken. The boys were winning, unsurprisingly, but Lyle was stubborn.

Lopez was a little ways back from the river, still within sight line, with Rävi, who was helping the recom with his archery, and Sully's oldest boy was perched nearby, occasionally calling out advice and jabs.

Prager and Ja were on the other side of the little river, laid out like cats in a patch of sun. Prager was dead asleep - the man could sleep through an air raid - but Ja was still awake, listening idly and occasionally complaining whenever he got splashed by either Reyzì, Mansk, or Z-dog.

Kiri, Augustine's daughter, was floating face down in the pond past where the boys and Lyle wrestled, and the only assurance Miles had that the girl hadn't drowned herself was the light flicking of her tail. Being around her was still a bit of a mindfuck, and every now and again the girl would say or do something that have Miles thrown back into old memories.

Sully and his wife weren't particularly thrilled with their kids spending time around him or his team - evident in how the youngest wasn't allowed to accompany her siblings - which was understandable, but the kids were friends, so there was little that could really be done.

Speaking of Sully...

"Reyzì doesn't have her taser, don't worry."

Miles knew that Sully would try to pin him down eventually, it was inevitable, but the former marine had been rightfully wary after Reyzì took down his wife with her taser. His girl was a one-woman army with that thing.

"I remember when she made that thing," Sully grimaced as he sat down on a nearby log, "it knocked out the old Avatar lab's power."

"She could take down a hammerhead with it if she tried."

There was a resigned sigh, "Yeah, I don't doubt it."

There was a pause as the conversation lulled. Reyzì briefly shot a look toward them, yellow eyes narrowing at Jake before she was distracted by a splash of water to the face. Mansk smirked at the girl and the chase was back on.

"Mo'at is willing to do an official adoption ceremony, once you pass your trials."

Miles blinks and turns to fully look at Sully. It's a bit odd, realizing that he's now technically younger than him. There's a little shriek, more high-pitched, and Miles is surprised to find Sully's youngest has appeared, joining Reyzì in the river with Z-dog and Mansk.

"Pretty sure the kids already adopted us, but making it official will be nice."

Both fathers fall back into silence - not easy but not tense - and watch their kids play.

"I'm being bullied."

Lyle whined, thoroughly soaked and exhausted from his rounds of wrestling with the younger boys in the water, as he flops down next to where Miles sat.

"You'll survive."

posting this now before the angst so some of y'all can know a little peace before the storm.

I have no comments, this is perfect as is, there's nothing I can add.

the recoms being good with kids is my weakspot, it makes me feel all warm inside, and it's the only thing making my cold heart keep going at this point (I've been writing this angst for almost 2 days now, cause I want to make it perfect, and god damn is it talking a toll on me)

and quaritch getting the ok from both jake and mo'at to officially make the kids his own, I'm smiling like an idiot

[chesters-ocs]

finally quenching the thirst we have for these assholes interacting properly with each other

wc: ~800

Stepping out into the busy London streets and locking his car, Butcher looked around him for a moment, before remembering the boy was not with him currently, and his tense shoulders drooped a little. Charlie had opted to stay home, letting him do the shopping on his own.

Deep breath in... And out. He pulled down his sunglasses to cover his eyes as he left the parked, pure black SUV, with windows tinted just dark enough where it could still pass as legal, while giving him the much desired privacy.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he blended right in, especially after having shed his vest and collar. And then he pulls out a pack of cigarettes - Marlboro, gold to be exact - and lights one. No kids around, so it's free game.

The mall is a bit of ways off, the other parking garages were full. He'd have to walk. Whatever, he thought, sounds like as good as time as any for a smoke.

After crossing several intersections, some legally, some not, the building comes into view.

Butcher stubs out the cigarette on the way inside, grabbing a trolley and getting a move on with it, after fishing out the grocery list written on scrap paper, which was shoved in his back pocket.

Veggies, rice, chicken, and eggs. Oh, and a little snack for the kid, even if he was too sheepish to ask for anything ever. Silently, he bagged the fresh vegetables and fruits, dropping them in the cart. Not a lot, but it'll last them a few days.

Despite his best efforts, the man did end up getting distracted, and wanted to stray away from, what would have been, tonight's dinner of rice, chicken and steamed greens. The sale sign just caught his eye.

Browsing the section for pasta, he reaches for the box of lasagna pasta, inspecting it thoroughly. It had been a while since he's had Italian grub, and he recalls a recipe Ivy shared with him a while back. Better late than never, he concluded, adding a few boxes to the cart, previous dinner plans be damned.

Momentarily, he considers putting back the vegetables, but ultimately changes his mind. They'll make a good salad. At least Charlie adores broccoli, Butcher mused, strolling to the sweets section, which is also his least favorite, by a long shot.

Standing there for a minute or two, deciding, Butcher finally selected regular sour gummy worms. He imagines the kid will like it. If not, it's at least cheap enough where he won't cry over the money he's wasting by throwing it away.

At the sound of a kid giggling, he looks its way, meeting the eyes of a little girl, and someone who is probably her father. Caretaker? Whatever. Not his damn business...

Until..

"Hey, do-" The man begins, looking hopeful for a moment. Quickly though, it was wiped from his eyes.

"No." He cuts the stranger off, not intimidated by their tall stature or the obvious scars. Butcher was already taking in weak spots in case of a brawl, which was unlikely, but that did not stop him form considering it.

"I'm busy." He almost growls out, as a warning. He's not in the mood to talk.

The stranger does not flinch, and the girl giggles when the man who's hand she's holding seethes quietly, instead trying to speak again "... I was going to ask if there were healthier... uh... candies here."

".... What?"

"Don't listen to him!" The girl yells, running forward to Butcher, who's already freezing in place. He looks at her in confusion as she continues to blabber on "Baba wants me to not have sugar! Don't tell him!" She basically begs, stunning the man further.

In seconds, the man had already scooped up his daughter, berating and scolding her in an unfamiliar tongue, shooting Butcher a glare, despite him not doing anything.

After the man sends one last glare Butcher's way, he decided he's had enough and heads to the cash register.

Unfortunately, so did the man and daughter combo. The little girl at least seemed to amuse the cashiers slightly, with her never ending questions and comments about everything.

Butcher accidentally catches the stranger's name from his drivers license stored in the wallet: Vikram. Doesn't sound local... But then again, neither is he. himself.

Well. At least Charlie seemed to enjoy the gummies he got for him. Maybe too much, with how the poor kid overate. Hes going back to the mall a few hours later: for medication now. He hadn't noticed the ibuprophen had ran out, and silently cursed himself for that.

And by some unlucky draw, the misery man is in the pharmacy with him. Just his luck. His daughter still staring at Butcher with big, curious eyes, as the guy, or as hr now knows him as, Vikram, argues with the poor nurse behind the counter.

Taking a deep breath, he steels his resolve, and dons his persona of anger. Anything to get people to stop staring, so if it works, it works.

Well. it works on everyone but kids, it seems. In fact, it only entices them further. Like little moths to an ugly, barely passable flame.

[jaijaitbinks]

Saigenos + Mafia AU + angst = 💯

What if Genos was kidnapped by some rival gang? They send a ransom letter and everyone debates what to do. Until Saitama crumps the paper and says he will go alone, voice dripping with venom, anger barely restrained in the way he clenches his fist so hard that the knuckles turn white and you can count the veins of his arm.

Those guys don't know what they've done by taking away Genos.

I'm so sorry this took so long to answer, I had a whole ass scene thought up for this a while ago and got distracted so I left it in my drafts thinking "I'll continue it later" and never did.

But, I still have the idea in mind, so I'll do a quicker, not-as-detail version:

Saitama shows up, and takes out every mf in the building Genos is being held in horror movie style. Like, he's going down the halls, oneshotting everyone. Blood's getting everywhere. The rival gang's leader, who's currently in the room with Genos, is just seeing and hearing yelling and bodies hitting the ground, slowly drawing nearer as they can hear the threat ascending the stairs.

A body hits the ground in front of the door, blood pooling and slipping through the gap under the door steadily as the threat take slow, deliberate steps. In front of the door, the person stops, kneels and rummages through (what the mob boss assumes) the body before getting up and walking down the hall. The boss is thoroughly freaked out. Their men are currently a mix of attempting to flee and running around upstairs in preparation for the guy shooting everyone. Minutes go buy, and there's no more gunshots.

Or, at least they thought right before a bullet is in their head and their corpse falls forward.

Genos looks up from where he was tied, seeing Saitama in the window (did that man seriously scale the building so he could climb through a window?) with his gun up. Saitama's face looks downright murderous, but was shocks Genos the most is the wound on his face—a cut just below the cheek bone, short and shallow like a knife just barely managed to pierce his skin enough to bleed. And it shocked him because Saitama never get wounded.

When Saitama locks eyes with Genos, he pockets his gun quickly, fast enough that it was almost inhuman, and climbs through, beelining it to Genos' side. He calmly asks if he's okay, Genos says he's fine. And then Genos asks where the rest of the gang are, because everything is now quiet.

Once again, calmly he says: "They're not here."

"You... came here alone?"

"Yeah. Wouldn't have had time to gather everyone and I didn't want to pay that damn ransome."

The prospect is so baffling and makes Genos feels so many emotions. Love, because Saitama came this far ALONE just to save him. Fear, because what dumbass idea even is that; showing up to a building full of gang members without backup? And anger, because this man would rather put himself (and Genos, but mainly Saitama) in danger than pay ransome???? Was he being serious?

"You didn't want to pay the ransome?" His voice comes off accusatory as he rubs his wrists and sits face to face with Saitama, free of his confines. "You'd rather get yourself killed saving me than giving [the boss' name] money?"

Saitama fixes him with a look, and Genos almost regrets being so aggressive before Saitama takes his face in his hands, looks him dead in the eyes with a seriousness that almost made the blond tremble.

"Genos, I would give the entire world to protect you." His voice is firm—serious and blunt in a way that said: 'don't doubt my words'. "If I gave them that money, they would've killed you anyway, because you wouldn't have been of use to them anymore. They would've shot you the second they got that money. You would've died. And the day you die is the day that I do."

[kiruamon]

Part 24

Any second now. Oz stood there, eyes widened in shock and paralyzed. It would take a miracle to free himself from his current dilemma. What could he do? Run away. He had to run and find another way to get to Pip, but his useless legs were failing him again. Meanwhile, his classmate was coming closer and closer. He felt the panic inside him rise even further. And then he noticed it. A monstrous figure moving towards them at an incredible speed. His breath stopped. Thankfully, he didn't needed air to survive.

The shape grew bigger and bigger, took a powerful leap, rose into the air and in the next moment the cursorial bird in front of him was dragged to the side by his long neck from the huge weight of the predator.

A single strangled cry of horror escaped Leonard's beak as the werewolf yanked him around like a toy, causing the mirror to fall from his beak to the ground among the green grass.

Half scared to death, Oz stared in pure terror at the picture that presented itself before him. Why was all this happening? W-why did this werewolf suddenly attacked Leonard? Although he might have felt relieved to have escaped the magic of the mirror, Oz was still too confused and stunned to feel anything in that regard. The frightened entity was trembling and even his phobias were huddling together in fear.

A piercing howl of victory filled the air before the massive, hairy beast reared up - still holding their classmate's long neck in his mouth - and before letting out a deep husky laugh. "Huhuhuh. That big chicken was easy prey! My bros will be so surprised when I bring it back!" the pack member spoke excited to himself with a full muzzle and tail wagging in delight not noticing Oz at first.

Could today actually get any worse? All he wanted was to help his friend. Finding out if he was well or… or... No! He shouldn't think about the alternative… not yet. Oz was still shaking, but despite the dreadful experience he just had, a new thought managed to raise his voice loud enough to get him finally to act. He had to grab this chance! As long as the werewolf was distracted by Leonard, he could leave this place to search for Pip.

His feet still felt wobbly as he took his first step. And although Oz hadn't been particularly loud, the small movement was enough to attract the attention of his predatory classmate. Immediately, the werewolfs head shot up, ears pointing up and the two green glowing eyes fixated on him in bewilderement. Obviously, the jock had completely blanked him out during his euphoric mood. At least until just now...

Green eyes narrowed suspiciously as Oz sensed that the other was trying to figure out if he was a potential threat to him or not. The muzzle of the fur-covered monstrous wolf released its - most likely from shock - unconscious prey, which fell to the ground with a thud. One of the enormous paws rested on Leonard's now feathered back. Even under all the fur, the flawless interplay of the thoroughly trained muscles was clearly noticeable. Oz silently prayed that his classmate would not just rip his head off of his shoulders.

With bristled back fur and a low and threatening growl, the pack member approached him. "What are you staring at?" the werewolf jock asked him, his voice full of suspicion, before he clarified even louder: "This chicken is mine! I hunted it down all fair, so back off and find your own meal! I won't share with someone like you!"

In his mind, Oz could already see his pathetic life passing by. This guy would eat him for breakfast if he didn't act quickly.

What would he have not given away at that very moment? For Brian's unwavering nature. For Amira's boundless confidence. For Vicky's endless optimism. Or simply for the fact that his mind - instead of coming up with a plan - wouldn't go blank in an emergency situation like this!

What should he do? What was he supposed to say? What could he… Calm down… he needed to calm down. Oz squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could, forcing himself to breathe more calmly.

He could do it. He would make it work. Hopefully... Not fully convinced by his own encouraging words, the still frightened student slowly managed to raise his head again and withstanding the urge to dodge the jock's piercing gaze. Or to run away as fast as possible. Instead, Oz looked the still intimidating looking werewolf straight in the eyes.

As carefully as possible, he raised his hands in a soothing gesture. "I-I d-don't intend t-to take any… anything away from y-you," tried Oz to reassure his scary looking classmate, which earned him a frown from the latter.

But at least the canine monster seemed to listen to him. That wasn't such a bad sign, right? The small entity gathered up some more of his little courage. Maybe… maybe he could somehow convince this guy to listen to what he had to say. For the first time, the desperate student felt hopeful again. It didn't seemed impossible anymore that he could retrieve the mirror in order to return to his friend with it. "H-honestly I-I h-have only one f-f-favor to a-ask y-you, if you cou-could just l-let me have t-the m-"

"ARGH! I knew it! You are after my chicken!" the werewolf immediately growled angrily without letting him finish his question.

"W-what? N-no!", Oz gave a startled cry. "T-that's n-not wha-what I-I w-w-wanted. I-If y-you w-would o-only l-listen to m-me, please… "

"LIAR!" Without waiting another second, the member of the Wolfpack took a step towards him. Oz heard an ominous creaking sound as the werewolf shifted his weight onto his leg causing the massive paw to break the glass of the mirror beneath it.

… Oh no…

A cloud of white smoke appeared out of nowhere and surrounded the enchanted figure of the kappa. Confused, the werwolf tried to catch a glimpse of something through the clearing smoke that hid his prey. Even Oz wasn't quite sure what was really happening right now. That was until he saw Leonard. Still unconscious, but back to his normal self! The magic of the mirror must had lost its effect as soon as the artifact was broken!

"Why is my chicken suddenly an ugly duck?" the werewolf asked, visibly shocked, before his ears flattened and a dark concerning sounding growl escaped the jock's throat. The fur was all ruffled. The canine monster gritted his sharp teeth while his muzzle crinkled itself. Oz gulped. That didn't looked good for him.

The former surprise in the predator's face was fully replaced by blind rage as the werewolf turned to Oz looking not amused in the slightest.

Oh Gosh... He really couldn't have a break, could he?

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY CHICKEN! TELL ME! OR I WILL BREAK YOU LIKE THE LITTLE TWIG THAT YOU ARE!" Startled by the drastic rise in volume, Oz flinched hard. His ears rang from the roar of his opponent. He already expected to be devoured at any moment - even more so now that the canine predator had lost his original prey.

"B-but I-I j-j-just w-wa-wanted t-to...," Oz stuttered, nearly choking on his own words. He barely had the strength left in him to speak loud enough to be heard and was cut off once again.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

His fault. The words repeated themselves in his head. Over and over and over. Oz felt his knees finally giving out and he lost his footing. His hands scraped the hard floor as he fell. The angry hollering mixed with threats kept continuing. It was too much at once. He couldn't bear it anymore. All the yelling, screaming, the constant feeling of danger and fear. Not knowing how to handle it any longer. It was all too overwhelming. So exhausting. Draining. His mind went blank and Oz couldn't even manage to unravel the words of the other student. All these words were nothing more than static in his ears. There was nothing he could do but stare wide-eyed in fear at the grim face of the pack member in front of him, imagining how the other would end him in three dozen different, equally gruesome ways. Fine, maybe he couldn't die, but it would still be very, very painful…. His fingertips felt numb, though he could sense an irritating prickling in them. Why? Why couldn't he bring his body under control? Instead, the overwhelmed entity felt that he had begun to tremble even more, although he didn't believed that this could had been possible. His hands felt damp and ice-cold. He was afraid. So very afraid. From witnessing the brute strength of his canine classmate firsthand any second. Afraid of being yelled at again. Of not being understood if he tried to speak up. His chest rose and fell in unsteady motions, while his vision began blurring before his eyes.

And yes... yes... It was his fault. Completely and solely his. Just because he wasn't strong enough. Because he wasn't brave enough. If only he had never meddled with things that weren't his business. Without my help, it wouldn't have come to this, the thought crossed his mind. Pip would have surely found the magic artifact shortly after his transformation and would have changed back long ago if he hadn't picked him up. All these things had only happened because of his interference. Only because of him Pip was probably hurt now. Because he hadn't stopped Leonard. He should have protected his friend! But none of this could be changed now. There… there is nothing I can do about it anymore… nothing… Tears came to Oz's eyes as he thought about all his mistakes. He felt so helpless. And even though he didn't needed to breathe in order to live, he felt like he was almost suffocating. All the times he let others push him around. First Leonard and now this nameless werewolf. Yet all he wanted was to see his friend again. In order to help him. Was that so wrong?

Pictures of the little hedgehog, lying lifeless on the cold ground, while red blood collected in a puddle in front of the tiny body, made his chest tighten, although he actually knew that Pip should have changed back by now. But what if not? What if he was severely injured? He had to get out of here. He needed to run to him! So why? Why… wasn't his body moving? It was so frustrating! Why couldn't he move even though he tried so hard? Even though he wished for nothing more than that. His fears paralyzed him, made his legs shook, and his eyes teared up even more. Why… why was he just such an useless loser… ? "I'm s-s-so s-sorry. J-just bec-because o-of m-me… " Oz sobbed. Pip… Somebody… Please, someone had to help his friend. Someone had to make sure Pip was okay! "Somebody! Help! Please! I beg you! Please, somebody has to help my friend! He's hurt!" It surprised even Oz himself that - despite everything - he somehow managed to raise his voice loud and clear enough and that he was able to extend the radius of his message as far as he could - all over the school grounds. Even though he didn't know if his call for help would reach someone who would follow it. Or when this help was about to arrive. But maybe… maybe someone would find Pip. He needed to hope for the best... His loud cry for help seemed to stop the werewolf for a moment. Irritated, the athlete shook his furry head back and forth as if trying to shake off an annoying fly. But it didn't lasted long, and just a few seconds after Oz had fallen silent, the fierce green glowing eyes focused on him again. And this time the wide open mouth with its sharp rows of teeth approached his face without mercy.

_

To be continued. Next time we reach the final part of the story!

[ddaeng-angmoh]

Curse Like Heritage: 1

Pairings: possible reverse harem, mostly platonic ot7xreader. May change as the flow and characters grow.

Rating: 18+ for Mature Themes. Including blood, gore, folktale based violence, and possible mentally triggering aspects.

Summary: Fairies? They apparently weren’t just for kids. The town folk had warned you of a group of young adults that ran about like children, chasing stories and dreams. Despite your childlike curiosity for fairies, you decided to head their warnings and keep away from the odd men. Like the rest of the town, you couldn’t imagine just what could be wrong with the men that they thought folktales and spirits could actually exist. Maybe if you hadn’t touched something that didn’t belong to you, you could have continued ignoring them. Unfortunately, you didn’t have much of a choice. Something weird was happening to you, and they were the only ones who might know what. 

TW: people being absent in emergency, fainting spells, low-key social anxiety, small panic. Possible Frodo like behaviour?  Not sure what exactly counts for TW so feel free to say if I miss any.

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  Masterlist - Next

Chapter One

Everyone has instincts, that little niggling feeling of no before something bad happens. Or, even, the cursory thoughts of ‘maybe I should…’ before an event occurs. You had always run on those feelings, felt them more than others, and listened more than others. But that never seemed to stop your impulses from taking over. It was a growing frustration that the thing that stopped you from listening to your emotional instincts was so often your physical instincts. It was that dissonance that had caused some of the most disastrous upheavals in your life. So when you saw the stone the barista was fingering in-front of you, you felt the instinct to run, and to leave the shop behind for a safe hovel of blankets. But as per your curse, instead you opened your mouth. 

  “Fancy rock, how’d you get it to glow?” You nodded to the elegant tendrils of colour that seemed to blossom under the touch of his pale fingers. It was mesmerizing to watch, so much so that you had been frozen upon your turn to order. Watching him flip the stone between his fingers, his veins twitched with each fluid movement and had you biting your lip and tilting your head. Because of course a pretty stone could never distract from such gorgeous hands. 

  “Glow?” He questioned. His eyes slid down to the pale stone before his eyebrows knit together and his lips pursed. It was a strange thing to watch, it was though he had finally realized he had something in his hand as he eyed the rock with a confused dissonance. “You going to order, or keep staring.” He said gruffly before shoving it in the pocket of his auburn apron. 

  You felt your cheeks flush as you squeaked. “Coffee, please. Maple macchiato with an extra shot?” You rubbed the back of your neck as you tried to ease your embaressement, only to jolt in surprise at the feeling of your own cold digits. As much as you loved cafes, this one had welcomed only an unfamiliar tenseness from the moment you stepped through the door. 

“Size?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing under his sweater as he moved. It was clear he had no patience, and was tired of being eyed. As horrifying as it was to know you had been caught, you were determined to pretend it was fine. You weren’t grabbing a coffee because you loved the social aspect, after-all. 

 “Large!” You said trying to push a smile onto your wavering lips. If he was the only barista, you were going to have a very torturous few months. You felt your lips drop as he only stared blankly back before he grabbed the machine and flipped it to face you.”Thanks,” You tapped your card to pay, before trying to eye his nametag. The piece of metal, however, was so thoroughly worn that all that could be made out was a y. 

  With a tsk, the male turned away to make the drink. The dismissal was clear, and ouch if that didn’t hurt. 

I thought small towns were supposed to be friendly. You grouched to yourself before shuffling yourself down the counter to stand under the small sign for pickups. It wasn’t like everyone was going to be nice, that was it’s own impossibility. But the whole shop had an under-layer of judgement. The customers that had decided to sit inside with their drinks had been eyeing you curiously since you walked in. That in and of itself was no surprise, but their hostile huffs whenever they looked over at the barista had you feeling tense and uncomfortable. Not even the soothing scent of roasted coffee or the sound of frothing milk could ease your tension. 

“So-“ You trailed off as you watched him stamp down the ground coffee with flexing arms. “Is the rock from some video game?” When his narrowed eyes shot back up at you, the clunk of him shoving the tool into the machine made you jump. 

“It’s a rock.” He said flatly. His fingers slipped into the pocket of his apron as his spare hand grabbed a to go cup, slamming it on the counter before he dumped the first shot of espresso in. 

“Oh really, I couldn’t tell.” You snorted and rolled your eyes. Your frustration shot up near instantly at his attitude. You had expected a retort from the snippy barista, so when instead he wavered on his feet and stumbled you instantly pressed against your end of the counter. “Yo, are you okay?” He opened his mouth to answer, but instead he gagged and pressed a shaky hand to his mouth as his eyes went unfocused. 

“Hey, hey!” You clutched the counter and watched in confused panic as he stumbled before collapsing to the floor. “Hey! Someone call the ambulance!” You cried as you climbed up and over the counter to check on the male. Everything you knew about seizures was running through your head, but nothing he did seemed like a seizure. Your fingers shook, frozen in the air as you realized you had no idea what to do. If he had a concussion, you weren’t supposed to move him, right? But if it was a seizure, it was better to rest him on his side, wasn’t it?

You gently touched his shoulder and checked that he was okay before shooting up to turn off the machines around you. Most of customers had fled to leave the cafe behind, the few that stayed behind seemed to be watching from their tables without worry. It sent anger through you that after someone had called for assistance, they all had just moved on. How could they not be the least bit worried?

   With the machines off and the scent of burnt milk in your nose, you squatted again and checked on him, only to see his eyes fluttering open as he gripped his stomach. He gave small gasps as he choked on air, unable to speak as his body shook. He weakly grabbed at his pocket and pulled out the rock, staring at it even as his body curled in from the shaking. Staring at it as though it held the answers.

   Watching him stare at it sent chills down your spine. Your stomach churned watching him, because even as the door slammed open with the medics coming in, he didn’t look away. The violent shaking and pained groans did nothing to stop him from the odd look of longing he was giving the stone. The only thing that stopped his mute contemplation, was dropping the glowing stone when they hauled him off the floor.  Instantly he choked and fought against them, weak from the shivers that had plagued him.

    You watched them push him onto the cot, watched him reach out even as they pushed him out the door. You looked down to the rock as it sat upon the floor innocuously. The thought crossed your mind that you should make sure you could give it to him. Pick it up, maybe even keep it? The coloured etches on it taunted you, and itched at your mind. How did it glow?  That was when you knew that you shouldn’t touch it, you couldn’t. That as fantastic as the whole event had been, it was a red flag the size of Europa. 

   But this wasn’t some fantasy, it was just a rock. So you lunged at it, gripping its cool form with a look of firm curiosity on your face.  But nothing happened, there was no burst of heat or warmth. Nor was there a foreboding chill to trace your spine. Instead, the coloured spirals blinked out of existence, leaving a dull pebble. It looked just like any other. Nose scrunching, you roughly rubbed it with your fingers to no avail. There was no indentations to hint to the glowing designs, or any sign of electronics.   

  If only you had known what the barista had done to get it. Maybe then you would have listened to your instincts, and your life wouldn’t be falling apart. 

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