#based on her size I think it's brute force

[omg-snakes]

I had a late class tonight, my phone was on silent, and Melanora Nightshade went on unauthorized walkabout.

[shotmrmiller]

tw: simon's mean and a sexist.

Simon who doesn't like you. He respects Laswell, who's intel is vital to their missions. Price as the leader of the Task Force. Gaz because he's proved his mettle time and time again, and Soap whose stubborn self has burrowed under Simon's thick, knotted flesh.

Not you, though.

You've yet to do anything substantial.

As a sniper, your job is to aim and kill; provide overwatch. Why Johnny insists on giving you praise for doing what is required of you is beyond him.

You aren't taken to below-zero temperatures as emotional support. Why you're taken at all is also another mystery.

Without your gun, you're utterly useless. And Simon proves it, time and time again during training spars at base.

He comes at you as if you're the enemy, with dangerous precision and quick movements. Simon gets enjoyment out of seeing your eyes widen when he moves, like an injured gazelle who's just spotted a ravenous lion.

His grip is bruising— the force that he slams you to the ground with devastating.

Simon can hear the air punched out of your lungs once your back hits the mat, and the time it takes for your vision to sharpen, he's already pinning you down viciously with a knee to the sternum.

Useless. Women don't belong in combat. He's seen that big brute from KorTac. He'd crush your pathetic little head under his palm, he'd kick your ribs hard enough to crack and the splintered ends pierce your lungs.

He'd kill you without a hint of effort.

And Simon intends to remind you that there is no place for weak, bitty things like you in the front lines. Unless you're to be used as a distraction by flashing your tits at the bad guys.

Out of place.

Every time you go up against him, he uses his size and strength against you, just like every other person will. He launches you across the floor with a single arm, only to watch you struggle to get up and continue this sham of a fight.

Confidence born of ignorance.

As if sheer will would ever beat physical prowess.

If your feet won't touch the ground, then the rest of your body will. Through spilled blood and bruised flesh, may you learn.

He whistles at Johnny, gesturing at him to take his place, only for the end result to be the same, albeit much more gently.

Simon watches you through half-lidded eyes as he leans up against the wall. You fight against inevitability.

Pathetic.

And then one day, you come at him with a snarl on your lips. Blunt teeth that have never had to sink into someone's neck and rip a throat out, out of utter desperation. An unblemished face that's never felt the sting of a sharp blade as it's sliced open contorted into 'rage.' Frothing at the mouth like a lap dog with rabies, barking out words that are as empty as your future.

A forceful wave of his hand abruptly halts you mid-sentence, causing you to involuntarily flinch in response. Good.

"If ya have a complaint, take it to Price. I am not obligated to humor your stupidity."

He spins on the balls of his feet, leaving you to sputter indignantly.

Then on a mission, you get shot. Simon grabs the handgun that's holstered on his chest, and places it in your bloodied hands. "Keep them off of us, or we're both dead!"

His fingers are curled around the thick strap of your tac vest as he drags you toward the LZ; his pace never faltering even while getting clipped by stray bullets. But you?

He'd think you got your legs cut off. Wailing like a cat in heat over a wound above your hip. A clean in and out, nothing vital hit.

Simon has seen Gaz fall out of a helicopter, dangle from a rope, and still use his gun. He's seen Johnny cross a town full of Graves' Shadows bleeding from his shoulder, armed with nothing but the makeshift weapons he crafted on the way to the church. Price inhaled toxic gas and made it out just fine. Even Laswell was taken hostage and didn't crack under the pressure, going as far as killing her captor with her bare hands.

And you're decomposing in front of his very eyes over a superficial wound.

Landing at base, he walks out without a glance back and heads straight for Price's office. He didn't join the 141 to babysit anyone, least of all someone who belongs in either intelligence or a kitchen.

[mayhemscorner]

Kissing in mine fields

Summary: enemies to lovers? Also, I feel like if König doesn’t know you, he’s very dominant… and that carries to the bedroom.

Warnings: size kink, degradation, BDSM, slighhtttt exhibitionism

(A/N, did not realize the demand for König was so high so I’ll be posting more of my… spicy content)

The tall brute forces himself to the front as a shield, pushing Y/N back with his hands and knocking her back roughly.

“Hey, watch it! This is a mine field, not a playground damnit!” Y/N grunts, scanning the area around her for any sign of the hidden traps. With an all clear, she pulls herself up and continues scanning.

“You’ll be fine. A lot of these bombs are old. They never work anymore.” König mumbles back, haphazardly stalking on and whistling an eerie tune. Y/N could only roll her eyes, granted the mines were old, but the chances of one blowing up were actually high. 

“Seriously König, do you have a damn death wish? You’re going to get us killed.” She shouts in half panic, half anger. He stops in his tracks, towering above her as he turns and looks down at her, eyes maniacally scanning her face.

“Fine, don’t believe me? If one goes off, I’ll carry you the rest of the way. If it’s a dud, you shut up until we’re out. Which is about another half mile, I think you can manage that, Y/N.” König seethes out, mockingly patting her head as he looks around them. Finally seeing the green markings of a land mine a few yards ahead of them, he grabs a hefty rock nearby.

“If that goes off it could set off a chain reaction, you idiot. What are you even trying to prove here?” Y/N shrieks, anxiety climbing at the thought of her demise coming from a war crazed burly man.

“Too far apart. And I’m confident.” König chuckles, heaving the rock precisely on top of the mine. After several seconds, he turns to smirk at the woman behind him,” see? You worry over noth-“

König is quickly interrupted by the explosions heat creeping against his back and pieces of dirt raining on his helmet. Y/N can only throw an unamused smile that looked more of a frown. 

“That’s enough bad decisions for the day, I’m leading now, you dunce.” Y/N slips the words from her mouth in annoyance and anger, trying her best not to snap any further. Her feet are soon swept from beneath her as König hoists her effortlessly over his shoulder like a rucksack.

“What the hell are you doing?” Y/N questions, anger once again boiling at her skin as she pounds against his hardened shoulder blades that flex with every step.

“A bet is a bet. I’m a man of my word, no matter how annoying you are.” König huffs, taking a long stride to step over another mine.

“Seriously, König. Why are you so rude when we’re in the field? You couldn’t care less when we’re back on base… you’re actually bearable even.” Y/N whines out, once again trying to make an escape from the man’s shoulder, only to have a weathered hand grasp at her pack and pull her down to his arms. Now being carried bridal style, Y/N is now incapable of any movement as König can only grip tighter in this position. One arm hooked under her legs and the other resting over her breasts, it was a tight and… quite a compromising position. 

“Is it a crime to be so rude when my main focus is to protect you… the unit. The unit as a whole.” König coughs between his words, averting his gaze from Y/N’s narrowed glance that studies him enviously. 

“Bullshit, big guy. I’m going to call you on this bluff right now to save us both the heartache. You like me, but it’s against code so you figure being a dick will run me off and you can get over it faster.” Y/N scoffs, turning her head to look away. König ceases all movement, heaving a dramatic sigh and going taut,” and if that is the reason, then I guess now we can both get over it and be civil. Assuming that’s what you’ve been doing too.”

Y/N whimpers slightly, blush crawling to her exposed face and feeling regret she was one of the few that didn’t have any sort of face covering in the unit. She forces herself to look up to Königs unblinking eyes, already feeling the emptiness of her heart showing its way through with tears welling at her eyes.

“What if I don’t want to?” Y/N breathes out, controlling the messy breathing and tears that pool inside of her. 

“Then I think your heart is in the wrong place. We aren’t here for a love story. We’re here to claim victory.” König grits his teeth, trying to sway the impulsive thoughts swirling through his mind. What it would be like to hear the whimper that had escaped her lips earlier in a different form, or how her throat was a perfect place to rest his hand. How tiny her waist would feel as his hands gripped at her torso and pounded her in to a state of delirium that would have them both gasping for air in between moans. He’s pulled back to reality from the much smaller hand knocking at his helmet,” you say that, but I can tell you have other things on your mind, you naughty man.” 

König looks down in confusion at the call out, seeing the devious smirk on Y/N’s face,” I have no idea what you’re talking about. What are you getting at?”

Y/N only taps her hand lightly against the impressive member that had been throbbing at her side and chuckles. König reacts rashly and drops her to the ground below as he moves quickly to cover his swelled area, causing Y/N to yelp and freeze before once again searching for a mine.

“Alright! I shouldn’t have said that, did you have to drop me though?” Y/N once again huffs seeing no mines and standing to brush herself off.

“I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Let’s move on.” König bites, trying his best to rub away his issue while walking forward.

“We’re out here alone, let’s make another bet.” Y/N offers, curling her arm in the crook of Königs and sliding her hand down to rest upon the one that hovered over his pants. Königs heart quickens, knowing this could either get them in trouble or killed, or worse… discharged. 

“We don’t have that much longer to go, so you can pick me back up, you focus on the mines and I’ll focus on… you. You fail in finding a mine, we’re dead. I fail to alleviate your, situation, you can do whatever you want to me.” Y/N offers, controlling his hand with hers to move slow and pressurized circles around his once again hardening cock. Königs head lulls back, getting lost in the hypnotizing movement. A clipped moan bubbles at his throat before he grips her wrist tightly,” and if I say no?”

“Then I’ll make this the most hellish walk of your life.” She giggles, flushed at the strong grip that holds her back. König can only pretend to ponder the thought before pulling her back in to his arms, sneaking glances as he walks on as she unclips his belt to gain access. It wasn’t the most comfy position, but the thought of relief was too overbearing as her hand slips below his boxers to grasp delicately at his shaft. He would never reveal his personal nickname for Y/N was Schawnz necken, but she was putting that nickname to good use in this moment. Königs legs buckle every few steps as her hand does anything but sit still, changing pace, grip and even pressure. As her fingers dance across his leaking tip, König shivers and lets put a guttural groan.

“You aren’t getting close are you? We still have several yards to enjoy.” Y/N coos, once again brushing her fingers over his tip to feel him shake once again. König can’t speak, and can barely manage to shake his head no. He scans again, seeing the fence they’ll have to climb is coming closer to view and no mines in the vicinity. The gate comes closer as her strokes become faster, pumping wildly as his steps become more sloppy. Just as they reach the fence, König can’t move any further,” Y/N, I’m going t-“

He’s cut off rudely as Y/N ceases all movement, hopping down to grab the chain link and start climbing.

“Damn. Looks like I couldn’t hold my end of the bet.” She sighs dramatically, followed by the most cynical smirk König has ever seen. She begins scaling the fence, only to be ripped down and pinned to the ground. Hands restraining her wrists, and legs digging in to her thighs. Königs body fully covered hers, making her feel minuscule and defenseless. Man, was it a good day to not be an enemy of this giant man. But, she would definitely feel sorry of the aftermath of what’s to come after gauging his size from inside his pants. The smile is sloppily wiped from her face with heated kisses, some rubbed harshly from under his veil before he rips the bottom half to expose his lower jaw and continues on. Königs breath quickens, and his hands roam haphazardly, finally landing at her belt and tearing it open. His hand brushes eagerly at Y/N’s panty line, teasing a little before finally slipping inside. Y/N’s eyes roll almost instantly to the back of her head as the pressure from his single fingertip hits her clit, causing a jolt of ecstasy. As a moan escapes her lips, a gloved hand clamps firmly over her mouth,” the others are probably right across that tree line. Do you want them to hear?”

“N-no.” Y/N stifles out, biting down on his pointer finger as another wave of pleasure rattles her. König dares to move the hand from Y/N’s mouth to expose her collar bone, as much as he’d love to devour her neck in sloppy kisses, it would be a destruction to government property. He traces her collar bone with his tongue, stopping where her two collar bones meet to suck her skin purple. Her tiny hand slips down the collar of his shirt, nails digging at his muscular back that heaved with each feral breath. 

“König, fucking destroy me.” Y/N begs, almost already on edge from just one finger that had been teasing her entrance. He pulls away, the fulfilling sound of his lips suctioning away from the edge of her almost exposed breast. She sits up to witness the full length of what she had stroked earlier. Baffled at the size, Y/N knew, he might actually destroy her. She bashfully throws her pants to the side, almost unprepared to take him fully. 

“You look scared…” König teases, stroking teasingly at his cock before lining it up to her entrance and his eyes become feral once again as a chuckle escapes his lips,” good.”

As he pushes inside of her, his hand snakes to her throat, squeezing the sides and only releasing when he was fully in. Y/N can barely adjust before his other hand finds her mouth, silencing her completely as the pace quickens. Every thrust rattles Y/N, jolting her whole body as her vision fogs, close to the edge. Her pleas all die off in her throat that was squeezed so delicately, yet harshly at the same time.

“And Y/N, I’ll be nice and let you finish, unlike what you did to me. You pull that shit again, you’ll never cum again.” König growls, thrusting at every word he exaggerates. Finally being pushed over the edge, her body convulses, and pussy gripping tight around Königs shaft, sending himself over as well. Y/N tries to mumble even a thank you, but can only babble over her words, resulting in a loving shoulder tap while attempting to catch her breath. König laughs, cleaning himself and Y/N up, then situates his pants. 

“Well, I believe we should get back. Think you’ll make it?” König teases, seeing Y/N stumbling every few steps. She shrugs, once again mounting the fence,” if I can make it over the fence maybe. Just tell the others I took the impact from one of the mines and save us both the ass chewing.” 

König smugly grins, throwing her once again over his shoulder and receiving a fit of laughter while hoisting the both of them over the fence.

“I feel like making love in a mine field would make a legendary story, don’t you?” He quips, dropping down to solid ground.

“I do. I just don’t want to be the one person known in history to be dishonorably discharged for being horny.” Y/N hits back, knocking a soft fist against his chin.

“When the ship sinks, the whole crew goes with it, Y/N.” König reminds her humbly it takes two to make a mistake.

“I’m just glad you’re done being an asshole.” Y/N fires in remark.

“Easy now, I don’t think you think you could handle a second round.” König grunts, only to have the ball thrown back in his court,” that’s what you think, big guy.”

[yanderes-galore]

OW2

Romantic Yan! Mauga One-shot

This is an idea which suddenly came to my mind. Mauga with Fem! Talon member! Darling, who disappeared during one of the missions.

While the she is listed as a Talon's escaped traitor, she is imprisoned by Mauga on an island in Samoa, because Mauga considered her too fragile for such work, even if she can stand up for herself.

He won't let his Teuila get hurt.

I saw this request and immediately had an idea for it so this is the first one I'm doing 😎 Since Mauga came out yesterday I gotta give the Mauga content, yeah? (indulging in my birthday gift).

Not really edited, may have spelling mistakes, I appreciate feedback!

Traitor

Yandere! Mauga Short

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Kidnapping, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Restraints, Kissing, Babying implied, Threats, Forced relationship.

"Status on the traitor issue?" The leader of Talon, Doomfist, asks some of his most lethal members in a call.

"Surprisingly, nothing yet." Sombra answers the call of her "boss". "Are we so sure she's a traitor and didn't just... die in combat?"

"Is that not what we thought about Baptiste?" Doomfist brings up, making Sombra look disgruntled for just a moment.

"I guess you're right. A shame, really, she was really good at what she did." Sombra sighs.

"We'll find her and bring her to you." Reaper answers the call from behind Sombra.

"You better, I want answers." Doomfist threats before regaining composure. "Now, where's Mauga?"

"With us, although we're dropping him back off in Samoa for business." Sombra answers. "Then we're taking the jet back to base."

"Understood. Let me know what you find." Doomfist confirms before ending the call.

As Sombra and Reaper discussed what to do next, Mauga had his back turned to them. The smirk on his face was large once the call was over. Oh, they always seem to think he's just a dumb brute.

He's more capable than they think.

He wouldn't tell them what he did. Sure, this is eerily similar to the Baptiste incident, but he'd never admit to it. All the mountain of a man cared about was going back to Samoa now.

They could look all they want...

But Mauga would be sure they never found what they were looking for.

The sound of waves is what greets your ears when you awaken. You feel nervousness pool in your stomach as sit up. You sigh when you still see the same chain around you ankle and wrists, along with the door still locked.

You've been here for awhile. You're aware this is a home of a fellow Talon member and that this is Samoa. You've been here... for months you assume?

Unfortunately you were never alone for long.

You barely want to acknowledge the originally locked door sliding open before Mauga steps inside. You already know it's him. Even before his orange shirt catches your eyes. You instead opt to look away and stay in the hammock.

"They think you're a traitor, y'know." Mauga tells you, locking the door again. "That's good, means they don't know I took you."

"They'll find me eventually." You find yourself answering, the Samoan man looking over to you.

"Do you really think I'd let them take you? They wouldn't last against me." Mauga growls. You hear him walk over to you and tower over you.

"You know when they find us they may just kill us both. I was fine when we just did our damn job." You say bitterly. You stop yourself when Mauga pulls you to a sitting position from the chains on your wrists.

"Teuila, you're weak." Mauga hums. "I took you from the job because of such a flaw. You needed to be partnered with someone much stronger, permanently... like me."

Mauga then pulls you out of the hammock. You feel yourself picked up by his large form and pressed against his chest. You then hear him laugh, no doubt due to the size difference between you.

"Face it, Talon was never for you. You don't have the bloodlust or the strength. Aren't you aware of how easy it is to hurt you?" Mauga explains before laying in the hammock with you. You hear him sigh in a relaxed tone as he cages you to his chest.

"I was a great spy...." You hiss.

"All it would take is one skilled shot and you'd be gone, Teuila." Mauga counters. "Do you know what would happen after?"

"What?" You ask just to humor him, only for him to push your face closer to his.

"I'd kill them all~" Mauga grins. "Talon, Overwatch, doesn't matter. I'd make them all bleed if I lost you. I'd even enjoy every second of it."

Mauga then laughs at the shock on your face. You feel him pet your your head before leaning in to kiss your lips. The taste makes your stomach flip before he pulls away.

"So I guess, with that thought, I wouldn't mind if we were both traitors on the run." Mauga smiles, licking his lips. "As long as I get to keep you and do what I want."

You feel him caress your cheek before settling with you. You notice he undoes his shirt, presumably to tease you. Instead you try not to pay any mind.

"Hear those waves?" Mauga asks, you nod. "Someday I plan to take you outside to them. Maybe at night. You know better than to run, right?"

You can see the predatory glare in Mauga's gaze when he asks you. Hesitantly you nod, still unnerved from the threat he said before. For now, you'll continue to play along with Mauga. Not like you have anywhere else to go.

Without Mauga... Talon will find you.

Perhaps that means Mauga is all you have now... it may be better to have him on your side after all.

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Amity Park Loves their Ghost Boy

For the Phic Phight prompts: Danny is used to being alone and relying on himself or his friends. When starts to lose a major fight and is on the verge of defeat, the townspeople surprise him with their commitment to their hero. (from @another-shameless-fangirl) and Amity Park loves their ghost boy. (from @underforeversgrace)

AO3 Link

[Warning for non-graphic violence]

Since becoming a halfa, a hero, Danny had learned to rely on only himself and his friends, and no one else. And with Sam, Tucker, and Jazz all attending out of town colleges while Danny went to Amity Park Community after high school to stay close to the portal, the number of people who had his back decreased to one. He'd grown used to being self-sufficient, to clamming up when anyone asked him about his bruises, to keeping everyone else out of the way. No one else had the strength to save his tail, so he had to be strong enough for everybody.

But he didn't think he was strong enough. Not this time.

The ghost was a massive brute, fifty feet tall and dressed like a gladiator, calling himself Omnipotus. He was wailing on Danny worse than Dash ever had, and he wouldn't let up. He had decided based on the stories of Danny defeating Pariah a few years ago, that the halfa was the most powerful ghost around, and Omnipotus was determined to take that title from him by force. Maybe he wasn't quite as powerful as Pariah Dark, but Danny also didn't have the Fenton Ecto-Skeleton giving him a power up this time, and even though he'd gotten stronger in the last three years, it looked like his number might finally be up.

"It's seems I will best you after all, oh Great One," Omnipotus boomed. He spat out the title with a sneer and raised his sword. "I am the strongest ghost in the Infinite Realms."

He started to swing his sword down upon Danny, who was far too tired to dodge or block, and just had time to accept his fate. He'd had a good run, if a short one. But the sword stilled in the air when a rock hit the enormous warrior in the foot.

"Stop it, you big meanie!" Omnipotus and Danny both turned to see who'd said that. "Don't hurt Phantom!"

A little girl, probably six or seven years old stood below them. She picked up another rock and threw it at the meanie's head. Omnipotus growled and made to attack her, but a woman, presumably the girl's mother, jumped in front of her. Danny gasped, and his hand shot out to help, despite knowing there was nothing he could do. Then the sword glanced off her body without doing any damage, despite its size.

"What witchcraft is this?!" Omnipotus demanded, swinging again to the same result.

"Allow me to introduce you to the Fenton Specter Deflector you creep!" The woman shouted. The little girl stepped out and threw another rock, angering Omnipotus further. "Best fifty-eight dollars I ever spent!" 

"Enough!" Omnipotus shouted, then a rock came flying from the opposite direction, and another, and pencil sharpener, and a jawbreaker. A group of teens Danny recognized from Casper High, kids he'd never even learned the names of, or spoken to, who were freshmen when he was a senior, were chucking anything they could get their hands on at the ghost. "Insolent brats!"

"That's rich, coming from a pathetic, wannabe, loser in a skirt!" One of the teens shouted back. The others hurled equally biting insults, and shoes, and pens. Some of them just straight out booed Omnipotus, and was it Danny's imagination, or was the ghost starting to shrink. "You're such a desperate moron you have to chase down actual cool ghosts just to try and get yourself some legitimacy, but by stealing it instead of earning it, you're just exposing yourself as a fraud, a wuss, and a coward!"

"Ouch," Danny said, smirking up at Omnipotus, and yeah, the ghost was definitely starting to shrink. The spectral gladiator swung his sword at the teens, but they'd all been in ghost attacks before, and had developed damn good reflexes from them. The teens dodged, ducked, dove out of the way of the sword. Omnipotus swung again, but he couldn't seem to hit any of them.

Some other little kids had joined the first girl, and they were using the mother wearing the specter deflector as a human shield while they searched the surrounding area for more rocks and threw them at Omnipotus. Most of the rocks didn't even come close, but their displeasure was plenty clear.

"Meanie!"

"Grumpy-pants!"

"Doo-doo head!"

"Dummy!"

"Fart face!"

"That's it!" Omnipotus screeched, and turned intangible so the things that were thrown at him went right through him. "I'm not here to fight some measly, powerless mortals. I'm here for the ghost boy."

"Like hell you are!" Finally some more adults joined the fray. A woman with short hair and a flannel shirt jumped out of her pick up truck with a shotgun and took aim. "That's our ghost boy!"

"Your puny human weapons can't hurt—ARGHHG!" Omnipotus cut himself off with a screech as the woman fired twice and he was hit with a spray of green gunpowder. Apparently, he hadn't been to the mortal realm in some time if he didn't know about ghost hunting weapons.

"Fenton rounds," The woman said, reloading. "No Amity Parker over the age of eighteen doesn't have at least one anti-ghost weapon in their arsenal! Ain't that right June?" Another woman in a floral sundress hopped out of the passenger seat and activated a bedazzled Fenton Wrist Ray, taking aim at the ghost.

"Sure is, May," she said, and started firing at the ghost as well. "Step away from our hero!"

Danny had heard from his parents that there was a pretty big market for anti-ghost weapons and equipment in Amity Park these days, but he hadn't imagined that so many people would have them. And even those who didn't threw rocks, and shoes, and insults. More and more kept coming, people of all ages from all over town. Some of the people already there called up friends to come take potshots at the ghost who was giving Phantom trouble.

More and more people showed up saying things along the lines of, "I heard we were beating the crap outta some ghost?"

Omnipotus, who'd once been a giant, shrank smaller and smaller, trying and failing to defend himself against their booing and taunting. Some people had set up several ghost shields to resonate into a single, larger one to keep Omnipotus from escaping. A ring of people with specter deflectors held the front line, jumping in front of people when the ghost tried to launch a counter attack.

Danny, too weak to move much, had been carried out of the immediate danger zone a while ago to recuperate and recover his strength. He watched from a distance until Omnipotus had shrunk too small to be seen over the crowd.

"You alright, Phantom?" asked an elderly man who was sitting back to watch the show as he manned one of the ghost shield generators.

"Yeah," Danny said. "I'll be fine. I just... I can't believe that so many people would do this for me."

"You protect us all the time," the old man said kindly. "It's the least we can do to return the favor when you're in a bind."

"Who's got a Ghost Trap?!" someone shouted over the crowd.

"Here!" Danny said, holding up his Fenton Thermos. A cheer went up amongst the assembly as Danny was hauled to his feet and gently pushed back toward the front.

"Let this be a lesson, you gladiator creep," a woman said when Danny arrived and uncapped the thermos. "Amity Park loves our ghost boy, and we don't take too kindly to those who try to hurt him."

"Yeah!" said a little boy, then he stuck out his tongue at Omnipotus.

It seemed that, being the ghost of a gladiator, cheering made him stronger, and booing weakened him. This particular crowd wasn't cheering for him. The once enormous ghost now stood even smaller that the little boy taunting him, and he crossed his arms and pouted petulantly. Danny activated the thermos and sucked him into it, and the crowd cheered again.

Danny was bombarded with hugs, and high-fives, and handshakes as he slowly made his way out of the crowd. Most of his energy had returned while the good people of Amity Park took over the fight, so once the ghost shield generators were turned off, he was able to take to the skies without a problem. He flew home wearing a face-splitting grin. Wait 'til Sam and Tucker heard about this.

[tysonfurybattlepass]

If your ocs all had to fight battle royale style who would be the ultimate victor?

oh man, this is a tough one. i think it would boil down to two of them: kali and machairodonis

it would be easy to think that kali, being the biggest and tallest, would have a field day with the others, but i think there’s more to it than just busted ass stats.

see, kali may be fuckoff gigantic, but her special ability list isn’t really geared toward combat. she’s not a fighter build; she’s a survivalist build. her unique cheek teeth are designed for filter-feeding krill out of the water, but are not useful as weapons in combat. her claws are thin and small, so her paw swipes only do blunt force damage (make no mistake though, this will still absolutely kill pretty much anything smaller than her). she’s also an ambush predator that relies heavily on the stealth and mobility bonuses she gains when in deep water. on land, she’s significantly slower and more awkward. most notably though, she doesn’t really fight all that often. kali is solitary and rarely interacts with other sapient species, much less throws down with them. so, while she is hands down the most powerful and most well defended character in my roster and certainly can fight, she’s at a significant experience disadvantage compared to some of my career fighters. that being said though, her thick subcutaneous fat means that she has near unparalleled defense, and it is very difficult to land a crit on her.

that’s where my boy mach comes in. machairodonis as an adult is the second largest of the lineup, with thick bones and a tanky, powerful frame. he’s a career wrestler and a very experienced fighter, with the speed and reflexes of a cat and the pure brute physicality of a grizzly bear rolled up into one. this alone means he’d give kali a run for her money, but he also has a very powerful signature ability that’s unique to his species: razor teeth. the positioning, size, and serrated edges of mach’s front teeth allow for a ‘cookie cutter’ effect that does absolutely brutal damage even without a crit. if he does land a crit, it inflicts an automatic heavy bleed status effect, draining the opponent’s hp over several minutes. depending on where he lands the bite, this accumulation of damage could be enough to catch him the w by just waiting until the opponent succumbs to blood loss or shock. and with his saber canines, he likely has a high enough base damage output to get theough kali’s thick skin and fat. his forelimbs are also highly flexible in comparison to other sabercats’, granting him a bonus to all grappling attacks.

they both have the ability to one shot each other, but kali can do it from a longer distance. mach has to get past her crippling paw strikes to secure a grapple and land a solid bite on her in order to crit, and likely he would then have to retreat to safety and defend until kali succumbed to the bleed damage. there’s also the very real possibility of him being bitten and shaken out of his skin on his way out. ultimately it would boil down to who could control the range; kali would try her best to keep the fight long and swing at mach with her paws, aiming for his head and spine, while mach would look for an opportunity to tackle and land a bite in a critical area like her neck.

honorable mentions include kairoh and megnatereon, who are undoubtably the most skilled combatants but their small size and relatively low defense makes fighting against mach or kali unfeasible. kairoh is the most experienced fighter out of all of them, and only a bit smaller than mach, but her less specialized teeth do less damage and her lankier frame means she’s more susceptible to blunt force. megantereon is the most versatile, with incredibly high crit damage from his gigantic saberteeth. he’s highly mobile both on land and in the trees, and his athleticism (plus impressive stealth) makes him difficult to hit. however, he’s diminutive compared to the rest of them, meaning he’d have to do a no-hit run on every single opponent in order to not get completely wasted.

here’s a rough size comparison. from heaviest to lightest: kali (1,375lbs), machairodonis (880lbs), kairoh (765lbs), megantereon (400lbs)

[glowingbadger]

Ok I saw arranged marriage content so let's take this over to Fire Emblem Fates with Xander!! I am still weak lol

I am legit so hyped that a bunch of you have really latched onto the arranged marriage concept lol I've been having a ton of fun with it. That said, man, I feel like I struggled with this one .-. I ended up just leaning into my desire to write about sucking Daddy Xander's cock, so here we are.

Xander (FE: Fates) x AFAB Reader - arranged marriage

NSFW 18+ v

Your wedding ceremony to the now-King of Nohr had been performed in tandem with his coronation in the scramble to re- stabilize the country. The people had their King, and now they had their Queen, and the promise of a continued royal bloodline that came with your union. And yet the reality of your situation had not taken full hold in your mind.

You'd met the Crown Prince a handful of times before the ceremony. He had an undeniably regal bearing about him- a stoic, masculine sort of dignity. He was polite towards you, if perhaps a little aloof. Though, you wondered if that was merely the difference in culture between your nations. Upon meeting him, you were predominantly relieved that he didn't seem to be a brute like Nohr's prior infamous ruler. Not to mention... He was, admittedly, quite handsome.

But now, the obligatory festivities of the day have concluded, and you've been led to your new bedchambers in the castle that was to be your home. Maids undress you, relieving you of layers upon layers of the frilled and laced fabrics that represent the latest Nohrian fashions. As nimble hands free you from heavy skirts, it gradually begins to dawn on you: you will be expected to bear and heir for King Xander, and sooner rather than later. Your face warms at the thought, and though one of the maids asks if you're feeling well, you wave her away and attempt to approach the idea with all of the easy dignity and poise that would be expected of the Queen of Nohr.

And yet... you realize that the thought of your Lord Husband claiming you wasn't an unappealing one by any means. Surely, as King, he would take you at his leisure, with the expectation that you provide for him in pleasure and in sons.

The maids leave you in what you can only hope is specially selected bridal lingerie (you can't imagine having to wear this elaborate arrangement of white lace each and every night). You're only granted a few minutes to survey the room- the flickering amber light of the candles, books piled neatly on a well-used desk, luxurious yet tasteful curtains and bedsheets. Before long, the heavy oaken door opens, and you're alone with your husband for the first time.

He looks... surprised? His eyes scan your body, decorated with frills and sheer fabric, and you can't be sure in the dim candlelight, but you could swear his complexion reddens.

He says your name, rather stiffly. You nod.

"My Lord Husband." you reply. He runs a hand through curling blonde hair, exhaling softly, then seems to regain himself. He begins to undress, loosing the cravat at his throat, and then pauses to say,

"I- I hope you don't mind terribly-"

"Of course not." You say with a smile. You approach him, and, as you imagine you're expected to do, you help him to remove his clothing. Light brushes of your fingers across his body cause you both to burn inside and out, but neither of you object or pull away. Until, at last, he's left only in a fitted white undershirt and black trousers.

Without a word, you lower onto your knees before him. You hear him inhale sharply, then murmur your name with an odd rasp in his voice. Your hands run up his thighs to the growing bulge at the front of his pants, palming it gently on your way to the hem. When you tug down his clothing, his cock springs free, already quite hard and flushed dark with need. Evidently, the lingerie that had been selected for you was quite to his liking. You can't help but appreciate the sight of his manhood standing tall mere inches from your lips. Then, as you lean in to take him in your mouth, a gentle hand strokes your hair, encouraging you to instead glance upward at Xander's eyes.

"Y/N, you... you are not obligated to... that is to say-"

"Do you not want this...?" You ask, eyes wide, and perhaps innocent if not for how they kept darting back to his hardened length hovering before you.

"I- I quite evidently do want it- want you," he stammers out, his face burning a dark crimson, "But to prostrate yourself at my feet is-"

"Xander," you say, surprised at the warmth in your own voice. Your hands cling to the front of his clothing, and when you speak, your breath unwittingly brushes the head of his cock, "I... would like to please my husband, if you'll have me."

You detect the barest hint of a stifled groan as you finally wrap your lips around the warm, bulging head of his manhood. It responds immediately despite Xander's attempts at restraint, pulsing eagerly against your mouth's grip. Slowly, you ease down his shaft, squeezing the tip between your tongue and the roof of your mouth, sucking rhythmically as you work down his length. His cock continues to betray his pleasure, twitching and swelling out against the wet warmth around it. By the time the head prods against the back of your throat, his hands are stroking your hair once more.

"Y/N, I... Nngh..." His head tilts back, and you detect the slightest little motions of his hips, pushing the tip of his cock into the wonderfully tight heat of your throat, "I had hoped to be better to you," he says so softly you're not even sure he intends for the words to reach you, "To use you in such a way... is... unforgiveable..."

You force yourself down to the base of his shaft, taking the full size of his member, struggling to keep your throat open enough not to gag. Xander groans above you, yet his guilt is evident even in this sound of absolute pleasure. Slowly, so that he can savor the sensation, you pull away from him, your lips sucking tight around him every inch until your release him. You glance up, and he's panting slightly, looking down at you with lust only barely restrained.

Speaking his name gently once more, you rise to your feet and bring a hand to the strong contour of his jawline. You're not sure what gives you the courage, but you ask,

"Are you nervous?"

Xander laughs, though it sounds much more like a sigh. He takes your hand in his and kisses the palm.

"In a way, yes. You were given to me like the spoils of war," he says, brow furrowed "to claim your body would make me no better than some pillaging bandit."

So that's what this is about.

"Pardon me for saying, your Highness," you say with a hint of a smile, "But I think you're underestimating what I would have done to put a stop to this all, had I not admired you the way I do." You lean close to him and add, "So... please, Xander?"

His hands cup your face and he meets you with an intensely scrutinizing gaze.

"Do you mean that, my Queen?"

"Yes," you say breathlessly. Then, his lips are on yours, and his strong arms wrap under your backside and lift you up against him. It finally occurs to you that he truly does have a warrior's physique, despite his regal bearing, but you have little time to muse on this before he's laid you on his bed and crawled atop you on all fours. It's like you've released a long-dormant beast; Xander kisses you with a passion and desperation you would have never dreamed possible from him at your first meeting. His hands are everywhere, though you notice he makes no effort to remove the lingerie you still wear. Instead, his touch lingers at the places where the clingy garments squeeze your flesh- the swell of your thighs, the curve of your backside.

He ducks downward and his lips immediately find your nipples, hard and straining against flimsy sheer material. His saliva darkens the fabric as he sucks at the sensitive buds, pulsing his lips and tongue against you like he's starved for you. Your fingers weave into golden hair and you throw back your head on the pillow. Then, you feel his cock grinding against your silken panties, pressing into you hard enough that the tip is soon buried between your pussy lips despite the barrier of clothing. Your body responds in kind, rutting against him in search of any kind of relief. A low moan rumbles in Xander's chest, and he says against your skin,

"I beg that you forgive me..."

You almost laugh, but your head is spinning and you can barely focus enough to respond with,

"For... for what?"

"For not trusting in your decision, for one," he says, and his hands slide down your sides to your hips, "for not being forthright with my doubts, for another," his fingers hook into the fabric of your underwear and begin to tug them down your thighs, "and one more in advance, in case I am too rough with you tonight."

[ruckystarnes]

Title: The Exes of Natasha

Author: RuckyStarnes

Words: 751

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: swearing

Rating: PG13

Square Filled/Daily Challenge/Prompt: U5 (Comic image in header)

Written for:  @buckybarnesbingo

Type: Fic

Summary: Bucky saves Clint's ass

A/N: This is based off of Tales of Suspense and more in the 616 universe than the MCU

Natasha’s been dead for almost three months and Bucky accepted that as fact. Hell, everyone accepted that as fact.

Everyone that wasn’t Clint Barton, that is.

The deaf archer found himself surrounded by eleven men who had worked in or with the Red Room. Men who trained girls how to kill and torture. Sure Clint was talented with a bow, but how he thought a piece of medieval weaponry could possibly outrank a handgun baffled Bucky to no end.

What did Natasha even see in this guy? Bucky grumbled to himself as he watched the blond duck a blow from a man twice his size.

Bucky debated with himself if he should go in and assist the idiot, knowing that Natasha would want him to, but he decided to watch for a bit longer, to see how long Clint could handle himself. And Bucky was impressed, but he would never admit it outloud.

Then he heard it.

The high pitched whine of something turning on, a sound most people wouldn’t be able to hear, but since the Russians gave him enhanced senses, he could hear a bomb about to go off. He cursed and launched himself off the edge of the roof, his metal hand reaching out to grip the metal railing of the fire escape of the next, his eyes looking over for the easiest way in.

“Fuck,” he growled and pulled himself up and over the railing, sprinting upwards towards the panels of glass he saw Clint through moments before. He crashed through the glass, pulling the gun out of his thigh holster before shooting the oaf that was behind Clint.

“Barnes?” Clint asked, stunned for a moment before drawing back and releasing an arrow into the guy to Bucky’s right.

“Barton,” Bucky replied gruffly, his metal fist connecting with a brute's face. “Might want to get out of here. About to be a flaming inferno in a few seconds.”

“Nat’s not dead,” Clint growled, throwing the wrapper of the burger he just ate off the roof, landing in the dumpster below. Bucky rolled his eyes and looked down the other side of the building at the horde of first responders and cops that littered the street.

“Barton, she’s dead, and there’s nothing about that is a lie,” Bucky growled, “We both saw her get shot; we were both at her funeral, watched her get lowered into the ground.” He felt something hit the back of his head making him turn to glare at the blonde sitting on the edge.

“Why are you like this?” Clint asked, scowling.

“Like what? Charming?” Bucky gave him a smug look before turning back towards the commotion on the street below, his flesh hand moving over his head to make sure whatever Clint threw at him wasn’t still lodged in his hair. Sure enough, he felt the small ball of paper and pulled it out.

“Charming. You, Barnes, are far from charming. Not even sure what Nat saw in you.”

Bucky let the comment roll off, knowing Clint would never understand why and how Natasha and him worked. They just did.”

“No, I meant why are you always such a brooding tough guy,” Clint added.

“Oh I don’t know,” Bucky sighed, “Maybe it was because I fought in a war against evil most never found out about, experimented on, fell out of train, lost my arm, and found by the Soviets? Or it could be because I was brainwashed, forced to kill for the KGB while everyone in my life withered and died, or forgot about me? I’m just guessing that might have something to do with it.”

Clint looked at him, scratching his jaw with thought. “Pretty much thought you did it for attention.”

“Fuck off, Barton,” Bucky growled, bending to pick up his pack he had tossed to the side. “Listen, I care about Natasha, and I know her better than you, even if you don’t want to believe that. Why do you think she’s back? Besides the fact the building is on fire and a handful of Red Room leaders were inside.”

“People like Nat don’t just die, Barnes,” Clint sighed with resignation, “She has survived a lot worse, and people like her just don’t die.”

Bucky grunted, turning towards the blond with a tired look. “Alright, Barton. Fine. I’ll help you look for her, only because I want to prove that she is gone. You need to move on from this Barton. Hanging onto grief will get you killed.”

[sepublic]

Kraid!

KKKKKRRRRAAAAAIIIIIIDDDDD

I was trying to avoid as much of Metroid Dread as possible to be surprised... But then I learned KRAID is back, in glorious HD as part of a mainline game and...

Oh, he’s beautiful!

Seriously, I’ve always wanted to see more of Kraid! Dude was one of the OG Space Pirates alongside Mother Brain and Ridley, who are present throughout the series; And as someone who is apparently Ridley’s Brother-in-Arms, I’m just really curious on what he could be like?

I doubt we’ll get much if anything in terms of personality, but that’s how Metroid games work anyway! Hopefully we get more lore on Kraid, how is he still alive? Does he have regenerative abilities, is he just really incredibly durable? An X-parasite imitation? Fake Kraid has grown up and this is Sclayd? Did the Chozo clone him, maybe even somehow resurrect him from a dead body, or even the afterlife considering their borderline mystical abilities???

Either way, that’s clever of the designers to have Kraid be restrained, as a meta explanation as to why he doesn’t just charge forward- Thus allowing the developers to start off with a traditional take on the Kraid fight... But since he manages to break an arm free in the trailer, the fight might progress and get more deadly, as Kraid becomes more free.

His neck brace will probably be the last to go, to show a sort of natural transition from the traditional style of Kraid fights, to a more modernized take and I am all FOR it! Everyone’s wondering if Ridley will return, but Kraid alone would MORE than make up for his absence, especially since Ridley is already so prevalent while Kraid has only gotten bread crumbs and the Brinstar Depths stage in recent years!

This is like a dream come true... And obviously Kraid is set up to fight Samus, but it’d be kind of neat to see an arc where him and Samus recognize a mutual enemy in the Chozo, and work with each other over it? Probably not, but I feel this would be more plausible than Samus and Ridley working together; A fun thought exercise I’d always entertained, but there really isn’t that personal vitriol between Samus and Kraid.

...I mean, there COULD be if Kraid takes Ridley’s death personally, but who knows, he might hold off on revenge just long enough for a practical escape! Regardless, I utterly adore just how gnarly and twisted this guy looks, it reminds me of Ridley’s Smash Ultimate renders that really modernize his look, breathe a new and alien life to it while still being the same! And the added, slimy body horror, borderline insectoid, like Smash Ridley!

But yes, I appreciate Metroid Dread taking the opportunity to be new, instead of trying to cater to the mainstream audience as an official return to pull them back, especially since we already had Samus Returns do that, especially with Proteus Ridley being thrown in! And with how Proteus was by far the best Ridley fight in the series, I can’t WAIT to see how Mercury Steam gives a new action to a Kraid boss battle!

And it looks like there might be a passageway behind Kraid that he’s guarding... Kind of like his previous appearances, I love Kraid being a giant guard dog- His girth and weight alone makes him an impenetrable wall! Plus he gives immovable object vibes, VS Ridley as an Unstoppable Force.

Ridley moves fast and aggressively leads the charge, while Kraid is less mobile, can’t even fit through most passageways; But holds down the fort and line of defense, tanking damage and shrugging it off compared to someone who heals from it!

Seriously, this is great seeing this under appreciated Space Pirate represented! I’ve always been salty about Meta Kraid being left out of Metroid Prime... And Kraid’s got a distinct identity of his own as one of the biggest bosses in the entire series by a long shot!

His big, colossal, green and chunky frame, that brutishness to Kraid, the size and brawn- It’s a nice contrast and foil to Ridley’ who is memetically huge in general, but from a relative standpoint averagely-sized as a boss, and MUCH scrawnier than the Awakened Behemoth; But he makes up for it wit speed and agility, flight, etc.!

Plus the concept of taking on a full-on Kaiju of the series, Metroid’s Godzilla... I always felt like there was a wasted potential to Kraid and how he stood out as a counterpart to Ridley’ more of the lumbering mountain to scale compared to the acrobatic Cunning God of Death! His Kaiju size, the way the ground could easily tremble from each footstep like Jurassic Park...

If Ridley is a Xenomorph, make Kraid into Godzilla and Rexy and every giant monster whose sheer scale inspires a horror based in awe, one that is huge and grandiose and demands attention and seizes all of it, gloriously basking in full view, in contrast to the more stealthy and subtle Ridley!

They’re both reptilian Space Pirates who debuted with the franchise, serve Mother Brain alongside one another as the two guardians to Tourian. And just like Ridley taking one of the recurring boss themes from Super Metroid and adopting it as HIS theme, Kraid seems to have done the same by Zero Mission!

Plus, Brinstar Depths, AKA Kraid’s Lair, is SUCH a metal soundtrack! It doesn’t necessarily apply to Kraid himself, but I feel like there’s an enigmatic personality hinted with the eerie, melodic tune of this theme... So as someone who’s tried to write him, mostly in my head;

What kind of person is Kraid? What archetypes and roles would he fit? As a more casual type of arch-nemesis, compared to the personal intensity of Ridley? A dumb brute, or smart in his own way? What personality and vibes would make Kraid’s Lair fit as a theme for him?

At the very least, I wonder if we’ll get Space Pirate lore, maybe even origins as to Kraid and Ridley’s species? They’re both huge dragons who took over Zebes... Could there be a connection between Ridley’s species and the Chozo? Will we get a bit of sympathy for Kraid, seeing him captured like an animal by the Chozo, perhaps to test experiments upon and clone?

Will Dread encapsulate the realization of just how much of a bigger scope villain the True Chozo are, experimenting on Kraid the way the Galactic Federation did with Ridley’s clone, another parallel between them? Will we explore the dark past of the Chozo, and a potential tragic look into Kraid’s species- So Samus has a better understanding of how her people have been terrible in many ways, even if that doesn’t at all justify Kraid the person’s actions?

Just... Imagine a storyline where Samus realizes that Kraid was made by the Chozo, or his species was, or they were genetically augmented or massacred, or something like that. Just a twisted moment of realization that explains but doesn’t justify. Which could lead to Samus and Kraid teaming up for a prison breakout at a pivotal moment, Kraid’s girth would make him a helpful ally.

Perhaps Samus could weaponize Kraid in the background to take the brunt of the True Chozo’s attacks, while she takes on the leader? Could he help with environmental terrain, blind to the background as a colossal feature of the environment, a kaiju briefly on your side?

Could we get a Kraid fight where he attacks from the background, instead of to the right? Will he ultimately die helping Samus- More for his own gain and revenge, but still? Maybe even leading to a reluctant salute from Samus as she recognizes them both as people captured, as experimented upon by the Chozo? Apologies for all of the fanon conjecture, my mind is racing...!

I think there’s SO much potential with Kraid and seeing him full, unadulterated HD glory... It’s glorious. It’s magnificent! This is a dream come true, and I hope Kraid finally starts to get the recognition he deserves! Even if he’s just A boss fight, I’m already sated and content here- And I can only imagine the new wave of fan content that will spawn for Kraid, as he’s recognized a defining moment of Dread!

Plus, I’d love to see people characterize and give lore to Kraid... All in all I am LIVING and in triumph here!!! I know I keep using this meme but

Literally this alone, just these shots... Are ALL I really want and need, in the end! Bless you Mercury Steam for this food, for breathing new life into this franchise while renovating what really needs it! I don’t even care if Kraid’s return is never really explained, I’m incredibly happy here!

This new design... It just FITS and works as a new, evergreen design for Kraid honestly! Compared to Ridley who is a lot more varied and arguably inconsistent, even with his Smash render... THIS is the new and definitive Kraid for me, now! I am having the time of my LIFE here!

Ridley the Cunning God has cheated death... is Kraid the Behemoth has reawakened!

(With the idea of Prime Kraid being reused for Metroid Prime 4... I’m wondering if we’ll begin to see an all new Kraid renaissance? 👀 More frequent content as Nintendo starts giving him and more appearances and attention, including in other media and advertising, alongside Ridley???)

[project-rosewood-476]

    This fic was based off the song "I hate u" by Simon Curtis and this takes place in the Every Rose Has Its Thorns (ERHIT) universe. This is a side fic and is by no means canon with the main story or with any future events in the story.

Tw: smut (but not the actual sex it's just very sexual and a lot of foreplay)

Tw: violence at the beginning

ENJOY

I hate him…

   

God, do I hate him…

   

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this…

But that’s how it always happens, isn’t it?

    Those were Tabby’s thoughts as she was being pinned up against a tree in the backyard with the man that she despised. Holding her wrists up, body pressed up against her and his knee adding pressure between her legs. He looked at her with a mixture of coldness, cruelness, and amusement with a hint of lust for the younger girl. Tabby, on the other hand, looked up at him directly in the eyes with the most hateful, defiant, spiteful, lustful look to date.

  How did she get into this position? Well, let’s go back a few months ago. 

  It all started with a mission. Masky, Hoodie, Toby, and Tabby were all put on the same team. Since Tabby was only three days in, she was brand new. So, the Slenderman put her in a group with the most experience, so maybe she could learn something. The mission should take at least six months, and it was to infiltrate a school and capture someone whos been trying to get information on the Slenderman. That meant living like usual and all together. 

  That didn’t settle well for Tabby and Hoodie. Tabby already didn’t trust the three as far as she could throw them. And after a brutal argument with Hoodie about him manipulating her and digging her heels in farther and saying how she will do as she damn well pleases. She realized that they were never going to see eye to eye, and after an argument like that, she can only assume that there will be more to come, which means that this would be a long six months.

    The arguments started as yelling matches. Being raised the way that she was, Tabby was taught to go for the throat and attack where it will hurt most in a fight, whether it was a physical or verbal fight. Tabby had her stepdad’s verbal abuse to thank for her sharp tongue and harsh wit. Therefore Tabby always had the last word. This did not settle well with Hoodie. He hated how a scrawny, bratty teenager always got the best of him. It was time for his retaliation.

   Hoodie was twice Tabby’s size. So he was able to overpower her with brute strength alone. He didn’t care if she was a girl or the fact that she was a teenager. To him, the moment you join the proxies is the moment you become an adult and become fair game. That’s when the arguments got physical. Hoodie was always the first to snap, so to Tabby, it was a fair fight and game on. Tabby is not the one to go down without a fight. So she’s just as vicious of a fighter as he is. Tabby may be small, but she’ll give you a run for your money. Hoodie may have gotten a bloody nose, black eyes, bruised throat, and maybe a broken arm once. But it was Tabby who is either face-first to the floor with him straddling her with her hair being pulled up forcefully in a tight grip or her being pinned up to the wall by her throat with his entire body pressed up against her to keep her from moving.

    Nevertheless Tabby showed no fear. She exhibited nothing but contempt, hatred, and spite with a subtle hint of arousal. She always waited for his next move. Was it death? Or was it something farther? She never knew. Hoodie never hurt her too bad nor made anymore potentially sexual advances. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that he felt oddly aroused every time that happens. Just seeing her in a helpless state, under his mercy, while still having that defiant look to her? It was enough to drive him insane. He often had to go to the bathroom to ‘take care of himself’ after letting her go. He hated how the brat got him so riled up. It took him a little while to figure out that the little shit got aroused by that as well. 

    It wasn’t until he was training her for the first time while the other two were away that cemented it in, which brings it up to the” present time. He was somehow always put in charge of babysitting Tabby, much to both of their dismays. Tabby running on nothing but pure emotion and spite attacked him first. 

   “Stupid girl,” he thought to himself.

   

  It didn’t take long until she was face first in the dirt, with him straddling her from behind, and he suddenly pulled her hair up with a tight and painful force. Tabby gasped at the pain and for breath. He leaned down close to her soft spot, which was where her ear meets her neck.

    

  “You wanna try that again?” he whispered to her.

Tabby had to bite back a moan as he accidentally ground up against her as he sat back up. She struggled to control her breathing.

    “Fuck...you…” she spat out along with the dirt that was in her mouth.

   That was all he needed to go right ahead. Hoodie raised an eyebrow and got off of her.

  “Are you sure about that? Is that what you really want?” he stated, darkly moving towards her.

  Tabby scrambled to get up and brush herself off before moving backward, trying to get away from him. Her eyes were wide in suspense, and he daresay a hint of fear. Her eyes quickly darted from one area to another, looking for a way out. But there wasn’t any. She let out a squeak; she felt her back hit the tree in the backyard that they’re in. The backyard was fenced in highly, so it was almost like they were secluded.

   She was utterly alone. 

  Hoodie planned to take full advantage of that. God, she looked so cute, being in fear and having nowhere else to go. Completely helpless and at his mercy. He walked towards her with a dark predatory grin spreading across his face. 

   “What makes you say that?” she said shakily with defiance in her voice.

Hoodie moved with the speed of a viper. He had her wrists pinned up above her head, one knee between her thighs so she was on his and his entire body pressed against her. Tabby sucked in a breath.

   “Oh, I think that you know perfectly well what I mean,” hissed Hoodie in his low voice. Tabby looked at him wide-eyed, clearly unsure where this was going. 

 “Always starting fights with me…,” he trailed off and lifted his hand to touch the top of Tabby’s head and moved down to the shape of her face. Tabby flinched at first before being surprised at his gentle touch. 

“Always fighting back and never doing what you’re told....,” his voice lowered and became softer as he gently caressed her cheekbones before touching her lips, parting them with his thumb, and Tabby whimpered as she lightly bit down in submission. She looked down, embarrassed with her half-lidded eyes. She then let out a stifled moan as she tried to shift her position so she wouldn’t be as uncomfortable, but she wasn’t expecting to be so sensitive when she accidentally grind up his thigh and then slowly slid back down in a fruitless attempt. Hoodie had to bite back a groan at the beautiful sight before him. Tabby being completely helpless and under his control and her squirming around rubbing up in certain areas was not helping him out either. Hoodie was surprised at how submissive Tabby was; he expected more of a fight. 

   “Hm?” said Hoodie as he roughly grabbed Tabby’s chin, slightly squishing her cheeks together making her look at him.

   “In my defense”, she said through squished cheeks and narrowed her undeniably lustful eyes,” you start shit with me...I just finish it.”

   “Fair enough. But I think it’s time that you learn your place”, said Hoodie.

  Hoodie crashed his lips into hers that he was most definitely bruising hers while adding more pressure between her legs. Tabby let out a moan of pain and pleasure; she ground up his thigh slowly, then feverishly. Hoodie couldn’t help but break his composure but moan into the makeout session at the building friction. He ran his hands all over her body harshly to bruise her and bit her as well, leaving marks. Tabby moaned again and whimpered. It was like she was forced to drink cup after cup of his contempt.

  But then again, he was forced to drink cup after cup of hers as well.

 Tabby decided to get even with him. With both of them running on lust, his grip on her arms became lackadaisical, so she managed to get one of her arms free. She grabbed what fistful of his hair that she could and bring him closer to her pressing her entire body against him and grinding up wherever she could to gain more friction for the both of them. She did it harshly to leave both of their bodies aching later. She bit at his lips to bruise them and draw blood. She left nail marks, bite marks, and scratch marks on wherever skin was exposed. That was sure to leave his skin raw later. They were both moaning messes with Tabby's growing ever so louder. 

   

   Then they heard the sound of a car pulling up and parking, with the classic noises of the car doors slamming and the beeping of the keys. Masky and Toby were home.

   Hoodie pulled away and dropped her. Tabby let out a yelp as he dropped her. 

  “Hey, what the hell!”, said Tabby still on all fours. 

 “The boys are home. Do you really want them to see us like this?” asked Hoodie as if nothing happened.

    

  Tabby shook her head no.

 “That’s what I thought,” said Hoodie as he walked back towards the house.

“But now I know what you’re into, and that’s very useful to use against you,” said Hoodie as he looked over his shoulder at her with the most sadistic smile before disappearing into the house.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”, screamed Tabby but he couldn’t hear her.

 She took a few minutes to get her breathing back to normal and to recompose herself before standing up and fixing herself.

  “I hate you,” she said in thought as she ran to catch up with them.

[ilovel0ki]

Burning Light

loki x oc

warnings: blood, war, almost deaths

Writing this has been super enjoyable for me. It's based off of Safe & Sound by Taylor Swift and The Central Wars. I really like the song and it gave me a jolt of inspiration.

Some angst and fluff, with a happy ending

Word count: 3.5k

I'm looking forward to have some of you read it. I know it may not reach lots of people but I do hope it brightens up someone's day :)

Unmistakeable clashing and clanging of swords echoed through the once-peaceful city - which lay in eerie unrest. Warriors strapped in bloodstained armour, which was once a lustrous luminescent gold, rushed around with panic-stricken faces, bringing their injured colleages with them. Their faces unrecognisable - smeared with tainted, crimson blood. Eyes once filled with joy and life had become dull with exhaustion. Even the children could tell something had gone quite wrong as they were being scrambled to safety. How couldn’t they, when only hours before they had been blithely engaging in play. Now they were being dragged into the promised safety of their homes. Still, on this side of town, the situation was slightly better.

Nevertheless, the fact was painfully clear; Asgard was at war.

A war that had only just begun. A war that would wreak just as much havoc as any other, unless handled conscientiously. Currently, that wasn’t going so well. The opposing kingdom hadn’t spoken of a reason to wage this sanguinary battle. They just barged in guns-a-blazing. One could only hope it would be over soon.

In the opposite side of town, the infamous Asgardian army, known for its expertise and experience, was busy and bustling. Healers were tending to those caught in the crossfire while others were getting ready to join it. The warriors were determined; they were trained meticulously for situations like these.

One such warrior was buckling up her hefty armor on her body, following that by trying to tie back her flowing vermillion-red hair. Unsuccessful, she stood straight. Tall, dignified and regal; she was a sophisticated beauty. And she knew it.

In need of help, the girl surveyed her surroundings. Brilliant blue eyes darted to and fro to gauge someone who could possibly help. Then, gleefully, she spotted a familiar face walk by. A very familiar face indeed.

With a hastily thought out plan-of-attack, Ilaire sauntered towards the aformentioned person. Wrapping her arms around him, she sultrily whispered in his ear, “Hey, Loki. Could you help me with my tiresome hair”.

Though Ilaire couldn’t see it, a slow smirk settled upon the trickster’s face. Loki turned on his heel and susurrated, “Darling, you need not put on that act. I would help you if you simply asked, after all have we not been friends since adolescence?”.

Ilaire flippantly nodded in answer as a chesire cat grin took over her face at having succeeded in her task. She flipped around to give Loki better access to her hair. Without complaint, Loki took charge of her fiery silken hair and began to masterfully twist her hair into an elegant yet practical fashion, as if he had done it all his life. In a sort of way, he had. With a raised hand, Ilaire tried - in vain - to pass a ribbon to Loki to tie her hair back.

“Don’t bother, I have already used my seidr to place a ribbon in your hair”, Loki acknowledged, amused. “It’s emerald green, isn’t it?”,exasperated, the warrior questioned with her hand on the bridge of her nose.

Loki chuckled in response.

“Well, thank you anyway”, she said as she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

For a second, Loki’s mask of cold indifference slipped and gave way to something softer, akin to endearment. But it came back up just as Thor’s voice boomed across the army quarters.

“WARRIORS! The next waves must get ready to leave. Wave 32 and 33 get into position in 10 minutes, with Leaders Prince Loki and Lady Ilaire on the frontlines!”.

Centuries ago, Loki and Ilaire had trained together diligently and achieved higher ranks in the army hierarchy together. Both had now been promoted to a Leader position, the second highest position, preceded only by the Chief.

Thor’s information brought a surge of sobriety to the bantering friends as they realised what they were about to go into. They looked to each other, their eyes met and both nodded at the same time with locked jaws and unyielding glares. Synchronised, they turned to their corresponding waves and bellowed, “GET INTO POSITION WARRIORS!”.

A clangour resonated as the warriors began to put the remaining pieces of armour on. Ilaire’s usually welcoming eyes grew dark. Loki’s gaze grew steely. With a grave expression, Thor strode to their area. Without missing a beat, he trapped both Ilaire and Loki in an unwavering hug. It portrayed all of his emotions: distress; fear and concern. As he continued to not let them go, Loki’s choked voice broke out, “Brother, you must let us go”. Reluctantly, Thor pulled back and Ilaire could’ve sworn that his eyes were wetter than before. “Brother. Sister. Be careful. And most of all come back alive,” Thor spoke in a brittle voice.

Somewhere along the line, Ilaire had become an honorary Odinson family member. To Thor she was a sister and to Loki, she hoped she was something more. Still, a new wave of emotion passed over Ilaire as she heard Thor call her his sister. She fought valiantly to not be overcome with tearful sobs.

“Do not worry, Chief,” she called him in unbridled affection “We will try our best”, she replied in a hoarse manner. “Don’t miss us too much,” Loki too replied, with a rare smile and a suave salute.

The red-haired warrior clashed her sword on her shield to catch the attention of her assigned wave. “Alright, team! We’ve trained together for 150 years. We will continue to train far longer than that! We must! So go out and show those brutely creatures WHO’S BOSS!”, Ilaire’s battlecry washed over her warriors.

As the gates opened and perfectly formed formations walked out, merciless stony gazes could be seen all around. Loki and Ilaire stood at the frontlines, the wind amplifying their battle-hardened gazes. They both walked on the bloodsoaked ground, unfaltering, with a mission. As they got closer to the first of the aliens, Ilaire slashed at one, sending it accross the battleground. Beneath her feet, alien remains squelched and the air zinged with bloodshed.

The aliens were a sickly yellow with a strange slimy goo coating them. They were of a medium stature. Not too big but not too small. Ilaire had never seen such creatures.

Loki snarkily thought ‘They’re about Thor’s size. Doesn’t seem like this will be too hard’.

All around the two leaders, fights were breaking out and more yellow creatures were going down with them. Soldiers were slashing and punching with unmatched gusto. A pile of miserable dead opponents was starting to build up. Then something strange happened.

Something no one would’ve expected.

Something that shocked everyone.

Something that made perfect sense considering the earlier bloodshed.

The creatures that had been piled on top of each other started to melt and then meld together. It was a ghastly view. Bones shifting and rotting skin stretching. The creatures had melded together to become one mega-creature. A mega-creature larger than the small aliens before. Larger than Thor.

This truth dawned on the fighting forces and panic started brimming. Nothing like this had ever been faced before. It was entirely unprecedented. The Asgardian army certainly wasn’t trained for this. And judging by the drained, feeble warriors taken back to the healers, the other waves hadn’t realised this either. Alarm bells started ringing in Loki and Ilaire’s minds.

Loki’s mind started racing while simultaneously fighting off more of the alien soldiers.

Ilaire was frantically trying to think of a solution.

All thoughts seemed to evade them. The realm’s greatest minds had gone suddenly blank.

Panic was bubbling and almost tangible in the air.

One of the warriors, thankfully, came to the rescue, saving the situation like it was a damsel in distress. “SEPARATE THEM ONCE YOU KILL THEM, THAT WAY THEY CAN’T MOLD TOGETHER!”.

Ilaire let out a much-needed sigh of relief, yet she knew the real battle still remained. With a new plan, the waves started fighting with renewed vigour. After each kill, the creature was picked up and thrown on an empty space. Swords pierced and clanged, blood spattered and the beginnings of victory were starting to be seen. It was so close yet so far. Right within a hand’s reach, yet victory had not yet been snatched.

As Ilaire swerved to fight off another mega-creature, one approached from behind. WIth her eyes on the creature she was fighting, Ilaire did not notice the second creature. Loki’s mouth started to open in warning as he watched in fright. Unfortunately, his warning was a few seconds too slow. The creature grabbed a fallen sword and gashed at the sliver of skin between Ilaire’s chest and back armour with a mighty roar. Then a few things happened in succession.

A breathy gasp left Ilaire’s mouth as her hands grasped at her side, trying to gauge the situation. Her sword had unceremoniously dropped to the floor and lay lackadaisical. Her hands came away covered in her own blood, as more started to seep out. Crimson. Her breaths became raspy as she fell to her knees, head bowed. Several screams could be heard. Two of those were Loki and Thor.

Loki elbowed and slashed his way with an unmatched rage to reach his best friend. His mind was racing with denial, 'It could not end like this. It would not end like this.’

“Get out of the WAY!” he barked with barely held back anger.

Near the army quarters, Thor was making his way out to the battlefield. He would not sit by idly as his family was attacked. It was his turn.

As Thor reached his brother, he saw him kneeling beside Ilaire, undoing her armor and ripping a shred of his tunic to wrap it around her bleeding torso. “Take her to the healers, I will take care of this now,” Thor uttered quietly, yet if one looked closely, the simmering anger under his words was visible.

Then he yelled and charged towards his sorry opponents.

This left Loki. He looped his arms under her knees and shoulders and picked up Ilaire, and began to carry her towards the army quarters. “Love, look at me,” he spoke softly with a tender gaze.

It was getting harder for Ilaire to see by the minute as more blood was lost and her vision was spotting. “I can’t… I can’t,” Ilaire answered. A weak whimper escaped her lips.

“Yes, you can! Just focus on me”

Loki was starting to jog now, in desperation.

Commandingly, a shrill sound reverberated throughout the air. “LOKI ODINSON. WE ARE HERE TO COLLECT YOU. COME WITH US OR HAVE YOUR REALM FACE THE DISASTROUS CONSEQUENCES”.

Everything was going wrong. How could it have gone so wrong? Too much blood spilt and too many lives being lost by the minute.

Ilaire didn’t know what to do with this new command. Loki continued walking with an unreadable look on his face.

Ilaire struggled to keep her eyes open, but she got through until they had reached the healers.

A healer began to assess her; poking and prodding at the wound. Loki’s deperate voice rose, “Do something! Help her!”.

“The salve may take too long to brew. It could be too late for her,” the healer replied with an apologetic gaze.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN! HELP HER! I AM THE PRINCE OF ASGARD AND SHE, A LADY OF THE COURT! THERE MUST BE SOMETHING YOU CAN DO!” Loki hissed.

“Prince Loki, we will try our best but there’s no guarantee”.

Loki growled and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He was mad. He had injured himself too much to be able to use his magic. If only he fought more efficiently, if only he did more - maybe he could have healed her. If only.

After a grueling half hour, the healer gave the confirmation.

A half hour of desperate waiting for the news.

A half hour that seemed miles longer than it was.

Ilaire would make it.

'She's gonna make it'

Loki let out the breath he had been holding and slumped in a chair with relief. He had refused to let her out of his sight. A weary smile took shape on his face and he let out a breathless laugh of joy.

“Prince Loki, take her to the royal chambers and allow her to sleep. Until now she has had to stay awake until her healing was confirmed, in case of her becoming comatose,” the healer instructed Loki.

He walked to the stretcher Ilaire was laid upon and picked her up in the same style again. Ilaire wrapped her arms around Loki’s neck in a hug. “You’re alright,” Loki spoke through deep breaths with a reciprocated hug, rubbing her back to soothe her. Ilaire hugged him tightly. She almost died. She hugged him like it was her last time, because it very well could be. She didn’t want to waste this precious time.

God, Loki was grateful. Grateful she made it. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if something happened to her.

_______

Ilaire was carried to the Royal Palace adjoining to the army quarters. As she was gently dropped on her bed, she spoke for the first time since her attack. She knew Loki would go to the opposing kingdom. He would not wage a war on his own kingdom. “Don’t go Loki,” she pleaded, “I’ll never let you go”.

“Ilaire, I have to go. You know I do,” a tear ran down his face as he spoke the words that would seal his fate. A fate without her.

“Don’t leave me here alone,” Ilaire choked out as hot tears brimed in her eyes. “You’ll always have my spirit. Just think of me,” Loki smiled through the gut-wrenching pain. He really, really didn’t want to leave. But, for once, he wanted to do the right thing. For once, he wanted to earn her friendship.

“Go to sleep, Ilaire. You need it to heal,” Loki cleared his throat before speaking. A protest fought to release itself from Ilaire’s mouth but Loki raised a hand to cut it off. “You know I must do this. There is no use in arguing. I just want you to be safe”, his voice grew hoarse at his last words.

Loki spoke again, “Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you’ll be safe and sound”.

As much as she tried to fight it, Ilaire could not hold off sleep any longer. She wished she could stay awake so that she could convince the love of her life to stay. She wished he didn’t have to sacrifice himself. She wished he didn’t have to go at all. She wished to say and hear so many things that had been left unsaid. But sleep was consuming her. And time was running out. The sand in the hypothetical hourglass was falling at an ever-faster rate.

As her eyelides fluttered, she started to speak, “I lo…,” before sleep consumed her and she trailed off.

She had failed to say those three small words. Three small words. The ones that could’ve changed her life. The ones she will never get to say to him again.

Loki stood and wiped the tears off her face and kissed her cheek, before bringing up a blanket to cover her.

“I love you, Ilaire. I wish we had more time. But we do not. Maybe, one day, we’ll find each other in a another life and live peacefully. Who knows, we could have had a beautiful castle with the most magnificent grounds. Overlooking a view almost as beautiful as you. Or maybe we could’ve had a cottage. On the edge of the woods, next to a crystal clear lake", Loki spoke. He knew as he uttered those words that they will never get to do that now.

Neither heard the words of the other.

With that, he left, making his way back on to the battlefield.

__________

"IT IS I, LOKI ODINSON,” he presented himself. The alien leader made his way to the front. “Goodness, you’re a puny one. Whatever. Chain him, minions”, the yellow leader commanded. Thor watched in shocked silence. But even he knew that this had to be done. The brothers nodded to each other in farewell.

Loki was dragged, in chains, to the ostentatious spaceship of the aliens.

“You have stolen from me, Odinson,” a voice reached him. Loki struggled to remember what he had stolen. There were so many things he had recently pilfered. Then it hit him. He had stolen Maricusan. The most versatile and strong material in the nine realms. This material was used to make the Odinson family armors. And it came from Maricus. The planet known for being deceitful. This meant that their word was false. Unsurprisingly, they were also known for making false deals.

They would not only kill Loki but pillage Asgard too. At this moment, Loki realised he was in deep shit.

A minute ago, he had gone willingly. Now he would fight back. He would fight back to see his brother. He would fight back to see his beloved. With one swift motion, he pulled his hands apart, resulting in the chains snapping with an audible snap. As creatures advanced on him, he kicked and punched while using his clones to distract. Then, through the corner of his eye, he saw an opening in the door, which he managed to slip through.

As he re-entered the battlefield once again, he signaled to Thor. Thor’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of his brother. By now, he too had discovered the yellow Maricusians’ melding properties. The two brother came up with the quickest battle strategy they had ever made and got to work.

____________

In the Royal Palace, Ilaire had woken up. Her sleep was restless and a headache plagued her along with her rampant thoughts. Her beloved was going to sacrifice himself. Or maybe he had done so already. Pain stabbed her heart and tears started to collect in her eyes again. She did not want to be a whiny mess, but what else was she supposed to do? She was helpless against fate.

Sobs warcked her body. Then she saw a glint through her window. She curiously peeked towards it. Then she noticed the ongoing battle. The war was raging on. Now she was confused. Brows furrowed, she looked harder. Then. Then she saw the trademark emerald green and gold. Her heart soared in hope she dared not have.

'Was that Loki?'

She impatiently waited for the man to turn around, biting her nails in nervousness. Sand fell tantalizingly slow in the hypothetical hourglass. Time trickled by leisurely. Never had a moment seemed so long.

It was Loki.

The man was Loki.

A beaming smile broke out on her face as her tears turned to those of joy. She could hear a joyful tune playing in her head. It was a victory song. She felt victorious. She felt victorious for the first time on that horrendous day.

Their eyes met, and their smiles matched. Loki's eyes glinted with affection.

Too weak to join her warriors, Ilaire looked out at the battlefield. Nervously, waiting and hoping. And when the last blow happened, she was lost in felicity. They had done it. They had won. They got through unscathed. Sort of.

Hurriedly, Ilaire raced as fast as she could with her striking injury to get out to the battlefield. She saw Loki and he saw her. He held his arms out and she jumped into them, hugging him ferociously.

“Darling, you should be resting. That is a rather large wound,” he spoke in relief. He was glad to see her.

“You were supposed to die!” she replied.

“Good to know you like me alive,” Loki grumbled.

Like that, the two continued to banter, as Loki walked her back to her chambers, a hand around her shoulders too keep her steady.

When Ilaire entered her room, she started to speak, “Loki, there are many things I wish to say to you. One thing in particular. As I was thinking about possibly losing you, I thought of the things I never got to say”. She paused to gather her breath and to collect strength. She oh-so-very desperately hoped her words didn't come out as verbal diarrhoea.

“I love you. I love you, Loki. I have ever since you picked out that flower bouquet for me. Or when you spar with me. Or when we argue.” She chuckled, “I still keep those flowers preserved because its such a lovely memory.”

She stood with bated breath and nervousness running through her veins.

Loki's face had become softer somehow. His eyes were warm. And when Ilaire realised that this warmth was directed towards her, butterflies collected in her stomach.

“Ilaire, I adore you. I love you with the heat of a thousand suns. Yes, I know that’s cliche. But those are my feelings. You are my beacon when everything else fails. So, I wish to ask you something."

A pause.

Be mine?” he asked with a tender smile and soft blue eyes.

“Say that again,” Ilaire commanded hoarsely.

“Be mine” he smirked.

“Yes,” Ilaire whispered breathily.

Loki rushed forward and gathered Ilaire in his arms, glad to have found his love; his best friend.

“Come morning light, you and I’ll be… safe and sound”

This is what I imagine my OC to look like. Feel free to change as you please :)

Let me know your thoughts and if you'd like me to write something else <3

[the-ship-maker-2]

This fic was based off the song "I hate u" by Simon Curtis and this takes place in the Every Rose Has Its Thorns (ERHIT) universe. This is a side fic and is by no means canon with the main story or with any future events in the story.

Tw: smut (but not the actual sex it's just very sexual and a lot of foreplay)

Tw: violence at the beginning.

ENJOY.

I hate him…

God, do I hate him…

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this…

But that’s how it always happens, isn’t it?

Those were Tabby’s thoughts as she was being pinned up against a tree in the backyard with the man that she despised. Holding her wrists up, body pressed up against her and his knee adding pressure between her legs. He looked at her with a mixture of coldness, cruelness, and amusement with a hint of lust for the younger girl. Tabby, on the other hand, looked up at him directly in the eyes with the most hateful, defiant, spiteful, lustful look to date.

How did she get into this position? Well, let’s go back a few months ago.

It all started with a mission. Masky, Hoodie, Toby, and Tabby were all put on the same team. Since Tabby was only three days in, she was brand new. So, the Slenderman put her in a group with the most experience, so maybe she could learn something. The mission should take at least six months, and it was to infiltrate a school and capture someone whos been trying to get information on the Slenderman. That meant living like usual and all together.

That didn’t settle well for Tabby and Hoodie. Tabby already didn’t trust the three as far as she could throw them. And after a brutal argument with Hoodie about him manipulating her and digging her heels in farther and saying how she will do as she damn well pleases. She realized that they were never going to see eye to eye, and after an argument like that, she can only assume that there will be more to come, which means that this would be a long six months.

The arguments started as yelling matches. Being raised the way that she was, Tabby was taught to go for the throat and attack where it will hurt most in a fight, whether it was a physical or verbal fight. Tabby had her stepdad’s verbal abuse to thank for her sharp tongue and harsh wit. Therefore Tabby always had the last word. This did not settle well with Hoodie. He hated how a scrawny, bratty teenager always got the best of him. It was time for his retaliation.

Hoodie was twice Tabby’s size. So he was able to overpower her with brute strength alone. He didn’t care if she was a girl or the fact that she was a teenager. To him, the moment you join the proxies is the moment you become an adult and become fair game. That’s when the arguments got physical. Hoodie was always the first to snap, so to Tabby, it was a fair fight and game on. Tabby is not the one to go down without a fight. So she’s just as vicious of a fighter as he is. Tabby may be small, but she’ll give you a run for your money. Hoodie may have gotten a bloody nose, black eyes, bruised throat, and maybe a broken arm once. But it was Tabby who is either face-first to the floor with him straddling her with her hair being pulled up forcefully in a tight grip or her being pinned up to the wall by her throat with his entire body pressed up against her to keep her from moving.

Nevertheless Tabby showed no fear. She exhibited nothing but contempt, hatred, and spite with a subtle hint of arousal. She always waited for his next move. Was it death? Or was it something farther? She never knew. Hoodie never hurt her too bad nor made anymore potentially sexual advances. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that he felt oddly aroused every time that happens. Just seeing her in a helpless state, under his mercy, while still having that defiant look to her? It was enough to drive him insane. He often had to go to the bathroom to ‘take care of himself’ after letting her go. He hated how the brat got him so riled up. It took him a little while to figure out that the little shit got aroused by that as well.

It wasn’t until he was training her for the first time while the other two were away that cemented it in. Which brings it up to present time. He was somehow always put in charge of babysitting Tabby, much to both of their dismays. Tabby running on nothing but pure emotion and spite attacked him first.

“Stupid girl,” he thought to himself.

It didn’t take long until she was face first in the dirt, with him straddling her from behind, and he suddenly pulled her hair up with a tight and painful force. Tabby gasped at the pain and for breath. He leaned down close to her soft spot, which was where her ear meets her neck.

“You wanna try that again?” he whispered to her.

Tabby had to bite back a moan as he accidentally ground up against her as he sat back up. She struggled to control her breathing.

“Fuck...you…” she spat out along with the dirt that was in her mouth.

That was all he needed to go right ahead. Hoodie raised an eyebrow and got off of her.

“Are you sure about that? Is that what you really want?” he stated, darkly moving towards her.

Tabby scrambled to get up and brush herself off before moving backward, trying to get away from him. Her eyes were wide in suspense, and he daresay a hint of fear. Her eyes quickly darted from one area to another, looking for a way out. But there wasn’t any. She let out a squeak; she felt her back hit the tree in the backyard that they’re in. The backyard was fenced in highly, so it was almost like they were secluded.

She was utterly alone.

Hoodie planned to take full advantage of that. God, she looked so cute, being in fear and having nowhere else to go. Completely helpless and at his mercy. He walked towards her with a dark predatory grin spreading across his face.

“What makes you say that?” she said shakily with defiance in her voice.

Hoodie moved with the speed of a viper. He had her wrists pinned up above her head, one knee between her thighs so she was on his and his entire body pressed against her. Tabby sucked in a breath.

“Oh, I think that you know perfectly well what I mean,” hissed Hoodie in his low voice. Tabby looked at him wide-eyed, clearly unsure where this was going.

“Always starting fights with me…,” he trailed off and lifted his hand to touch the top of Tabby’s head and moved down to the shape of her face. Tabby flinched at first before being surprised at his gentle touch.

“Always fighting back and never doing what you’re told....,” his voice lowered and became softer as he gently caressed her cheekbones before touching her lips, parting them with his thumb, and Tabby whimpered as she lightly bit down in submission. She looked down, embarrassed with her half-lidded eyes. She then let out a stifled moan as she tried to shift her position so she wouldn’t be as uncomfortable, but she wasn’t expecting to be so sensitive when she accidentally grind up his thigh and then slowly slid back down in a fruitless attempt. Hoodie had to bite back a groan at the beautiful sight before him. Tabby being completely helpless and under his control and her squirming around rubbing up in certain areas was not helping him out either. Hoodie was surprised at how submissive Tabby was; he expected more of a fight.

“Hm?” said Hoodie as he roughly grabbed Tabby’s chin, slightly squishing her cheeks together making her look at him.

“In my defense”, she said through squished cheeks and narrowed her undeniably lustful eyes,” you start shit with me...I just finish it.”

“Fair enough. But I think it’s time that you learn your place”, said Hoodie.

Hoodie crashed his lips into hers that he was most definitely bruising hers while adding more pressure between her legs. Tabby let out a moan of pain and pleasure; she ground up his thigh slowly, then feverishly. Hoodie couldn’t help but break his composure but moan into the makeout session at the building friction. He ran his hands all over her body harshly to bruise her and bit her as well, leaving marks. Tabby moaned again and whimpered. It was like she was forced to drink cup after cup of his contempt.

But then again, he was forced to drink cup after cup of hers as well.

Tabby decided to get even with him. With both of them running on lust, his grip on her arms became lackadaisical, so she managed to get one of her arms free. She grabbed what fistful of his hair that she could and bring him closer to her pressing her entire body against him and grinding up wherever she could to gain more friction for the both of them. She did it harshly to leave both of their bodies aching later. She bit at his lips to bruise them and draw blood. She left nail marks, bite marks, and scratch marks on wherever skin was exposed. That was sure to leave his skin raw later. They were both moaning messes with Tabbys growing ever so louder.

Then they heard the sound of a car pulling up and parking, with the classic noises of the car doors slamming and the beeping of the keys. Masky and Toby were home.

Hoodie pulled away and dropped her. Tabby let out a yelp as he dropped her.

“Hey, what the hell!”, said Tabby still on all fours.

“The boys are home. Do you really want them to see us like this?” asked Hoodie as if nothing happened.

Tabby shook her head no.

“That’s what I thought”, said Hoodie as he walked back towards the house.

"I hate you." She said in thought before running to catch up to them

“But now I know what you’re into, and that’s very useful to use against you”, said Hoodie as he looked over his shoulder at her with the most sadistic smile before disappearing into the house.

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!”, screamed Tabby but he couldn’t hear her.

She took a few minutes to get her breathing back to normal and to recompose herself before standing up and fixing herself.

"I hate you", she said in thought as she ran back into the house.

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Hawks/OC piece for the very lovely @beemmmv, as a continuation to this piece, and Miya’s initial abduction. I like experimenting as much as the next person, but it’s nice to go back to my kidnapping-based roots. If to /really/ see a Darling crack, however resilient they might try to be.

Word Count: 2.0k

TW: Non-Con, Overstimulation, Orgasm Denial, Oral Sex, and Kidnapping.

Miya was many things. She was smart, resourceful, and given enough time and blessed with enough patience, she’d like to think she could find her way out of whatever situation she was unlucky enough to find herself in. She hadn’t thought that would include a hostage scenerio in the basement of a Pro-Hero, and yet, she was confident she could work with that she had. Another trait to add to her extensive list - confidence.

Yes, she was a lot of things.

Miya was not, however, a quick learner.

Maybe it was the circumstance. Keigo was content to act as if nothing was wrong, and it wasn’t difficult to go along with him, not when everything she said was disregarded as quickly as the complaints of a stubborn child. He wanted to play the role of a caretaker, keep her fed and entertained until she came around to the idea of letting him continue to do so without complaint. It was hard to adjust when she wasn’t given an adjustment period, hard to change her habits and her instincts and everything in between. 

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve noticed the way Keigo’s smile wavered the first time he caught her trying to pry off the cuff around her wrist, using brute strength to test its resolution. She might’ve paid more attention as he explained he’d let it slide, this time, but that he didn’t want to feel like he was keeping her hostage, rather than trying to think of a snarky remark just offensive enough to get under his skin, but not so mouthy as to end up gagged, again. 

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve seen how quick Keigo was to grit his teeth and storm out of the room every time she mentioned what she’d do once she escaped. It was usually something obvious, like going to the police or reporting him to every newscaster she could find, and occasionally something more specific. Who she’d call first, what her landlord would think, little things. It always set Keigo off, though, and she caught on to that. When she wanted him gone, that was the tool she used. 

If she was a quick learner, she might’ve done something different. Started counting how many times he mentioned punishments, bondage, discipline, or recognized how eager he was to inflict one of the threats she’d always deemed hollow. She might’ve kept track of his schedule, or planned more strategically, but she didn’t, and now, it was too late to try and fantasize about other realities wherein she might’ve been more careful. As soon as she heard the lock click, she knew she was done for. 

There was no way to escape her guilt. Even if she managed to stand and flee, there was no way to hide the wallpaper she’d torn away from the basement wall, Keigo’s attempts at refurbishing the cellar moderately successful, at best. There was no way to hide the cracks in the now-bare cement wall, the sizable piece so nearly loose enough to dislocate, and in the blink of an eye, Keigo had seen it all. She stuttered out something incomprehensible only to be cut off halfway through an incoherent excuse, Keigo taking her by the collar and pulling Miya to her feet, barely giving her time to stand before dragging her towards the over-embellished queen-sized bed in the corner of the room, the only piece of furniture Keigo had put any effort into picking out. She had a sinking feeling she would find out why, soon enough.

Keigo wasn’t an especially strong man, not for a Hero, but he was still a Hero. Silently and swiftly, she was thrown onto the plush surface, her body hitting the mattress and bouncing twice before she settled onto her back. Miya made an effort to push herself up, but as soon as she could try, she was pushed back down, a hand around her throat and a Keigo’s legs on either side of her torso, his weight soon settled onto her thighs, pinning her underneath him. Red, fiery wings stretched out behind him, bristled and poised for attack, but there was no need for the looming threat. After the last time he was this close, she could barely breathe around him, much less fight back in any meaningful way.

“What were you trying to do?” He asked, his voice eerily calm, only betrayed by the fury in his eyes. She could hardly stand to met his stare, with how intent he was on burning through her. “Answer me. What were you planning to do?” 

“I wanted to hit you!” His hold on her throat tightened, but only temporarily, loosening the moment her breath hitched. His glare sharpened, his lips curling upward into a snarl, and she took the sign to continue. “I-I was going to attack you. I needed something to hit you with. I’m sorry.” 

Keigo shook his head, letting out a long, languid sigh, and pulled away, straightening his back to stare her down properly. She almost let herself relax, some deep, dark part of her mind doing its damnedest to convince the rest of it that he’d let her go, that he’d make another idle threat and demand to be coddled for the foreseeable future, but his hands only trailed down her chest, falling until they reached the hem of her shorts. 

Her heart stopped when he undid the first button.

She was sure she’d died as soon as he’d made contact with the second. 

“This is my fault,” He said, his voice low, measured. He shifted, slightly, as he pulled her shorts onto her thighs, then down her legs, discarding them completely in a series of labored movements. She shot up reflexively, reaching out to push him off of her, but a razor-sharp feather is quick to stop her, flying past her neck and cutting a thin, shallow line just below her jaw before embedding itself in the pillow next to her, halting Miya’s movement completely. She didn’t lie down, but she stopped, and that was good enough for Keigo, letting her watch as lowered himself down, moving between her legs and pecking at the junction of her hips and her thighs. “You don’t know any better. Bad little girls with no one to train ‘em right can’t be blamed for acting up. You don’t know who’s in charge, yet.” 

Her panties are pulled down gracelessly, and for a second, all she felt was his hot breath against her bare cunt before something warm and wet slid against her clit, laving over the sensitive nub with as much care as such a neglectful guardian was capable of using. Miya shuddered, attempting to writhe as far from him as she could, but ever little tic and jerk only spurred him onward, small, electric shocks invading her system and shooting straight to her core. He was intense, moreso than the last time he’d felt the need to be ‘intimate’. The way he suckled on her clit, the feeling of the flat of his tongue pressed against her tight slit, all of it was focused, concentrated on drawing out a reaction and all-but shoving her towards a quickly approaching climax. Less aimed towards his own pleasure, and much more brutal when it came to provoking her’s. Forceful, even, although there were very few times when Keigo wasn’t. 

“Things always have to be so violent with you, Princess,” He mumbled, the words stifled by his closeness. He was tentative, at first, the tip of his tongue dipping into her experimentally. She felt his grip on her waist tighten, his fingertips digging into her hips, pulling her closer as he began eating her out in earnest, the slimy organ beginning to curl inside of her and form a steady, stuttered rhythm. Miya felt her eyes roll back in her head, tears blurring what was left of her vision. All she could do was hope he didn’t notice, but judging from the way he drew back, taking a moment to scan over her, it was a wish that wouldn’t be realized any time soon. “Maybe you like it, though, maybe it’s a nice little adrenaline kick for my sweetheart. I’d hate to take that away from you, and I know how stubborn you are about giving these things up.” 

Despite the hostility in his voice, all it took was another thrust of his tongue to have her toes curling, knees buckling as she came undone. But, just as she was about to reach her peak, Keigo pulled away, depriving her of any sensation beyond cold, sterile frenzy, a whine of frustration escaping her lips before she could attempt to stop it. She bucked towards his face, but she knew it was too late, that her nerves were fried and her orgasm was ruined, if the mix of sensations currently running through her body could even be recognized as one. Keigo didn’t seem to agree, though. 

He’d always been tenacious, like that. 

Her back arched as two fingers plunged into her entrance, dipping inside of her with one fluid, graceless motion. Keigo wasn’t gentle, she wasn’t sure why she expected him to be. He didn’t care that she was still sensitive, still buzzing from her last dissatisfying orgasm, only paying any mind to what made her teeth clench and her thoughts swirl in her head, the latter presenting itself in sputtered, garbled sentences, the kind that barely made it past her lips. “D-don’t, please,” She gasped, falling onto her back and making an effort to kick him away. “Takami, I don’t want to--” 

“Takami,” He repeated, thoughtfully, a blur of red passing through her vision, a long primary feather coming to a stop just above her cunt, a knot of pure dread forming in the pit of her stomach as the appendage posed itself to Keigo’s contentment. It flicked over her clit at a clement tempo, the feeling soft and foreign, just barely there. It sped up, though, as Keigo began to scissor her open, soon solidifying and vibrating against her, forming a steady pulse in her core that only intensified the curl of Keigo’s fingers. “That’s new. Am I not a monster, today? Or how ‘bout ‘psycho’? Oh, what about villain, that’s been a popular one, lately.” 

“Stop!” Another halfhearted kick, but Keigo only grunted, digging his nails into her hip and adding another digit, stretching her further and targeting that soft, spongey spot inside of her, the one he knew would bring her to tears. The pleasure was invasive, bordering on painful. She wanted it to stop, and yet, she knew she was going to cum. It was undeniable, whether or not she was willing to admit it. “I won’t, anymore, I promise, I won’t call you anything. Just please--” 

Her voice cracked, fracturing into a broken moan as his fingers drummed inside of her. “Does it hurt, baby? Do you want it to end?” Miya nodded, desperately, and Keigo clicked his tongue, letting his free hand drift to her knee and pushing her legs apart as her thighs attempted to clench together. “Then maybe you understand a fraction of how much pain I’m in, right now. You should know what I want to hear, Miya. If you want me to stop, then give me what I want.” 

She would’ve swallowed, coughed, done anything to interrupt the unrelenting dryness in her throat, but it was all she could to do whine and fist at the bedsheets, gritting her teeth. “I-I’m sorry,” She forced, her voice low and quiet and the best she was capable of, considering Keigo’s increasingly wild ministrations. “I’ll behave, I promise, I won’t--”

She didn’t get to finish. A climax rolled over her like an unwelcome, ice-cold wave, and Keigo was generous enough to let her ride it out, his digits only withdrawing once she’d gone limp, her eyes falling shut in exhaustion. Relief filled her, blissful, euphoric elation, but it only lasted for a moment. Just until the rustle of fabric and the distinct sound of a zipper coming undone could reach her ears, giving heart just enough time to twist in knots before Keigo spoke. 

“I don’t believe you.” 

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 16

The first week of December, Natalie arranged for a photographer to come to the Villa to take their portraits so that Beulah Livingstone could do a write-up in a magazine. The photos would be shared far and wide, showing the world Mr. and Mrs. Buster Keaton’s fairytale life in Hollywood.

Beulah thought it would be cute to set up a kid-sized Christmas tree outside of the boys’ playhouse. The boys were given wooden trucks and cars as early gifts. Buster and Natalie sat in folding chairs while the boys hung gobs of silver tinsel and ornaments on the branches. Bobby was too young to see the production for what it really was, but to his credit, Jimmy smelled a rat. He knew you didn’t trim a tree and get toys before Christmas Eve, and Buster watched him go mechanically through the motions of admiring the toys and decorating the tree. Buster, who had a hangover, found himself hating every contrived second. It wasn’t that he objected to getting pictures taken with the kids and Nate, it was the burlesque of it all. It was a Talmadge thing to do, a Peg thing to do, and he was just about sick of that. He didn’t like his private business in the public eye and he didn’t think it was good for the kids, either. 

“Let’s get some of the mister and missus,” Beulah said to the photographer, after she was satisfied with the shots of the tree-trimming and toys.

“I’ll change then,” said Natalie. “Just a moment.”

“Why?” said Buster. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with what she was wearing, a triple string of pearls and a light green dress with a dainty bow at the neckline. Mostly, he just wanted to get rid of Beulah so he could get on with his day.

“Well I’d like to wear something a little nicer,” she said, giving him a smile that was a frown in disguise. “Well I’ll help you pick something then.”

Natalie didn’t look happy at this pronouncement, but there was no way he was sticking around to make small talk with Beulah. He took Natalie’s arm and strolled up the lawn with her and into the house.

“I would prefer you wait downstairs,” Natalie protested, as he followed her up the stairs to the west wing. 

“Oh no,” he said. He was in a perverse, restless mood. “This is what husbands and wives do, help each other out, spend time together. Ain’t that what the magazine story’s about?”

“You are being cynical,” she said in a low voice, frowning at him. They went down the hall past the kids’ rooms and into her inner sanctum. 

“Who, me?” He sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, feet dangling as Natalie disappeared into the vast room that held her clothing. She didn’t answer and he heard the sound of hangers being slotted around. He looked around the room. It was cool and fresh-smelling, its walls a light taupe and hung with portraits of the boys and her sisters. On a little table near a south-facing window, there was a framed photo of them on their wedding day. In the picture, he was holding his white cuffs and looking sidelong at Natalie, and she was laughing into the camera, the ribbons on her bouquet streaming to the ground. He didn’t remember the moment, but guessed he’d taken the cuffs off to make her laugh. He had loved making her laugh. 

“Is it really all just for show?” he said. 

“What?” she said.

He could hear the susurration of expensive fabrics. “The photos.” He meant the magazine photos, though it occurred to him that he could just as well have meant the photo on the little table.

“Of course not,” she said, her voice just on the side of too bright. She’d always been a bad liar. 

He hopped off the high bed and walked to the doorway of her closet, if such a colossal room could really be called a closet. She had undressed down to a white silk slip over a girdle and looked alarmed at his appearance. 

“Don’t lie,” he said.

Her lips tightened. “You know very well that I’m trying my best.” 

Now that was absolutely a fib. Sometimes she’d let him get to second base, but he was just as likely to win his studio back as get a runner on third, and forget home base. He’d had that familiar itchiness lately, but he’d kept his vow in October to stay faithful, even though there were temptations aplenty at all the parties she dragged him to.

He closed the space between them and cupped her cheek. “C’mon. You know that isn’t true.”

“Buster, not now. Not like this.”

Her voice had a shrill edge and he realized with a deep, searing pain that he was frightening her. He hadn’t been trying to seduce her, he’d just wanted an honest answer out of her.

He withdrew his hand, looking at her incredulously. “You think I’d force you?”

She turned her head away, but he’d already seen it in her face. She thought him capable of a desperate, despicable thing like that. 

“I just don’t care for it,” she said in a small voice. 

He couldn’t believe it. “You think I’m such a beast, such a sex-crazed brute that I’d—”

“Stop it!” She turned back to him, her eyes flashing. “Stop it at once!”

“Stop what?” he said. “I ain’t doing nothing.”

“You know perfectly well what you’re doing!” she said. “I arrange for a nice day and ever since you got up this morning you’ve been determined to ruin it. Well, consider yourself successful.” She ripped a pink dress off a hanger. 

“A nice day? Whose idea of a nice day? With that phony out there, Beulah?”

Natalie pulled the dress over her head and wriggled it down her hips, saying in a cold voice, “The children are enjoying it.”

“Jimmy isn’t. And Bobby’s too small to know better. You really want ‘em growing up this way? Thinking everything they do’s gotta be for show? That they get whatever they want whenever they want it? Christ, would you just think about it for a minute?” he said, now as angry as her as she was at him.

“Stop it!” she said. “Just stop it!”

“Not until we sort this out,” he said, standing persistently near her.

Natalie tugged the dress in place around her hips and reached back to do up her buttons. “I have nothing to sort out. You’re the one who started this whole business.”

“Oh, it was me who had the big idea about the separate beds, was it? Well that’s news to me,” he said.

Natalie huffed. “It’s back to that again, is it?”

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he said.

She tilted her chin at him defiantly. “It wouldn’t be if you weren’t so obsessed with it.”

He’d never once been violent with her, but the remark made him want to strike her. Now he was the one who felt frightened. At any other time he would have argued that he wasn’t obsessed, but he didn’t trust himself. He stepped back from her. “You know what?” he said, hardly hearing his own words. “Go on ahead with Beulah, just you. I’ll see you later.”

Her protests followed him into the hall, but he didn’t turn around, still not trusting himself. He went out the front doors and walked straight over to Tom Mix’s, feeling pale and angry.

Tom was surprised to see him. “Long story,” Buster said, inviting himself inside. Tom seemed to understand and pulled a chair up for him in the kitchen. “Game of gin rummy?”

“Only if you’ve got the gin to go with.”

Tom rummaged in a cabinet and came out with a bottle, grinning.

“Good. We got ourselves a game.”

With a little gin and Tom for company, Buster was soon happy again—or if not happy, then able to forget the disagreement with his wife.

Nothing more was said afterwards about resuming their marital relations. They carried on as they had since Bobby was born. They entertained guests. He was home in time for dinner. They retired to separate wings at bedtime. On Christmas Day, the Talmadges bustled into the Villa with all their noise and gaiety and gossip, and he sat quietly back, playing the meek husband. Natalie gave him gifts and he gave some in return. That afternoon, he took the boys over to Myra’s house where the gifts were less extravagant, but they seemed nonetheless pleased with them and their decidedly unglamorous aunt, uncle, and grandmother.

Whether out of loyalty to her or a contrary need to prove her wrong, he stayed faithful to Natalie into January. She’d kicked him back to first base again. Even then, she never seemed to want to play ball. As the time to sign his contract with M-G-M drew closer, he wondered how long he could behave himself before he cracked.

Notes: Keep in mind that this is all just fiction, readers! I think Buster and Natalie look perfectly happy in the above image; he even has a half-smile on his face. As far as I have been able to tell, the picture was taken in December 1928 not December 1927, but I think it fits.

[sirsparklepants]

I've been staring at my WIPs a lot recently, as you do, and I think it's time to release everything I've got of my favorite story I will never write. I kind of fell out of Overwatch before I had the spoons for longfic, and now there's so much lore to catch up on (this dates from before Doomfist was released) that I'm just not going to be able to incorporate, but it's still a really great idea that I really love, so I'm going to put my story notes and snippets out into the wild.

The Darkness In Our Hands

Jesse McCree wasn't expecting to get a message when the Recall went out. He'd been Blackwatch, after all - he'd written half their playbook. But he'd lived five years with the death and slander of Gabriel Reyes burning in his chest, not knowing who to blame, and this new Overwatch was the best way to find out who had killed him so he could kill them right back. But the deeper he looks, the more mysteries he finds - and he'll need some help if he's ever going to get his justice.

[[MORE]]

Crime and conspiracy fic

Opening: McCree, in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico - give insight into the state of the world and how territorial governments are, him thinking on Reyes and what he owes to him, the recall message, decides to respond but have his own agenda.

He travels thinking about how different from the rest of Overwatch Blackwatch was, and how he hopes at least one Blackwatch agent has made it back, thinking about past with Genji - flashbacks to unsavory missions maybe? Arrival - he sees new faces and is not particularly prepared because he didn't feel it was secure enough to ask on a comm line who was there. Not as familiar with this base, paranoia rising, but then a familiar face! Sort of. (when he arrives Reinhardt and Brigitte are fighting about Brigitte calling Torb on him, Reinhardt doesn't want to pull Torb away from his wife) ← might combine these two into one chapter?

Genji puts him off when he initially tries to talk though, and when McCree pulls him aside to speak about his own personal mission Genji talks first about Hanzo and Genji's changes, and McCree realizes that Genji is so utterly different as to be unrelatable, so he never does tell Genji the whole story of why he's there. Genji asks him to give Hanzo a chance instead of acting on his loyalties to Genji and providing retribution. End of section, Hanzo arrives

McCree and Hanzo spend some time scoping each other out but they can both tell they're very different from the people around them. A particular do-gooder incident happens and they bond over looking at each other like “r u srs rn”. Meanwhile, Winston is creating profiles for everyone and trying to find a fit for like… intelligence gathering, brute force, explosives, etc - team roles I guess? In the interests of that are exhaustive interviews and training. First kinky sex somewhere in here

McCree is getting antsy at this point and I need to move along from character development to actual plot, so time to send out trial field intel squad for a rootin tootin hopefully not shootin time! They go - somewhere with a large Asian population where someone McCree’s size won't stand out. Uh. This is a note to do more research into where Omniums are. Hong Kong maybe? Hong Kong is a good city for crime. Maybe Singapore if I want to make things difficult for them what with all the weapons laws. Anyway. Somewhere with an omnic population that's not great with outsiders but Genji knows enough about their culture to be respectful and he's metal enough he won't stand out. They're not actually researching Talon but McCree is! Hanzo catches him and then they're wary partners. The omnic culture thing is a breadcrumb, be sure to emphasize it.

They leave and Genji finds out Jesse and Hanzo are screwing and starts laughing and taunting them both and being a fucker, he gets slightly let in on the Reyes plot, Intel Squad tentatively a success, they've all bonded and everyone is confused about it

Meanwhile while they were gone a stomach bug swept the base and Mercy throws a fit about not being a GP. McCree shares a cigar with her to calm her down and starts making a plan to try and get information sneakily out of everyone by reminiscing - I think??? No one knows who Reaper actually is at this point??? Anyway everyone talks shit about the UN and there's more worldbuilding dumps because this feels like the right place to put it. McCree and Hanzo and Genji are kept basically quarantined until the base isn't contagious and in that time they devise A Plan. Also enter Zenyatta because Mercy really needs a backup doctor

Lúcio isn't vetted yet so McCree gets sent out alone to send him an offer, there's a Talon base in Brazil he investigates on the way maybe? I feel like this is enough outline to be getting on with atm tho. Yeah, talon base in Brazil where there's a mention of Talon trying to infiltrate Vishkar

Meanwhile, Ana and 76 have shown up at Gibraltar because they figured out someone was tracking their movements and wanted to go to ground in the general area but spotted the activity there and they're both not best pleased that Overwatch has started back up. When McCree comes back with Lúcio there's another fight he walks into - a running joke? Every time he returns to base there's someone yelling. Second kinky sex, very dominance and pain flavored because McCree needs to shut his brain up. Or maybe not, that’s a long time to go without porn??? Maybe they have coitus interruptus with Genji and that’s how he finds out

Ana and 76 hang around for a while but can't stomach the idea of being there too long because they have their own mission but they drop the bomb that Reaper is Reyes and he's Teh Evulz now because they know too much and i need to get rid of them so we don’t have experienced field operatives for mccree to work around. Also some Widowmaker info dump here. McCree pretends to be shocked but he has a different definition of evil than most people so he doubles down on his investigation and wants Hanzo to give up some contacts. Metal arm fisting here maybe???

what. the fuck. has reaper been doing all this time. has he just been swanning around in the background ruining investigations? maybe he’s laying low because the winston raid thing made him so visible? talon needs to work underground so yeah this sounds right. in the meantime VISKHAR because lucio is here now so we can talk more about the evils of corporations and have corporate espionage going on. Lucio says they should look more into vishkar and they make contact with symmetra who is a whistleblower, ideological clash because that’s what i’m about. lucio and symmetra are both trans with prosthetics btw, that’s happening now because i said so and because hormones are a horrible way to control someone and so it makes sense that vishkar controls sym’s access to them along with her arm. because they’re fuckers. A N Y W A Y vishkar knows things about the old omnica corporation.

sombra makes contact with them here because she’s been keeping an eye on the new overwatch and talon thinks that maybe mccree could be an ally, not that he knows that at the time but they test him out with a dead drop with omnic-related code shit on a TEAM MISSION which happens to, idk, build goodwill or something. winston got info from someone for something and i have to have at least one team mission happen in the foreground, it can’t be all background shit and Intel Group. the mission goes. okay-ish. someone gets fairly seriously injured? tracer, maybe, or reinhardt, either way i can write their significant others fussing over them. it’s a member of old overwatch so winston can be conflicted and take people off field missions for a bit so mccree can tinker around and end up having to ask zenyatta for help. a much longer sex scene than normal here somewhere? OHYES this is where i’m gonna stick the scene where Hanzo makes McCree take off his prosthetic legs and makes McCree leave on his prosthetic arm (because pain kink and metal arm kink and he has to have both arms to handle him) and basically makes McCree fuck him in exactly the way he likes, up to and including making McCree bounce him up and down on his lap. AND THEN ACTUAL AFTERCARE HAPPENS FOR ONCE, A TURNING POINT. perhaps there’s a scene where one of them lays their head on the other’s sweaty heaving chest and doesn’t even mind the sweat in fine romance novel tradition

something has to happen here for pacing reasons but i’m fucked if i know exactly what. uhhhh for Reasons they have to go to an omnic city? more omnic culture and worldbuilding dump here.

aaaaand then the Reveal Chapter: reyes knows something about this mystery mccree stumbled into when he was investigating the death, and he’s willing to talk. hanzo and mccree make plans to meet with him. and then we find out that the reason reyes blew switzerland was because he was working for talon ALL ALONG. the chapter ends with a ridiculous dramatic sequence where mccree puts together all the evidence and goes “so talon was created to fight the god programs”

okay this is the chapter when i get down to the nitty-gritty and break down the structure of talon and have like. a nice artsy chapter explaining how the omnics came to be and how the government created wars to be fucks and all that. i will get to the details of this LATER but the important part is that at the end of it hanzo and mccree are secret talon moles and they have actually pretty kink-free sex while staring into each other’s eyes and kind of freak each other out with how they like and trust each other and that doesn’t happen in their world but it’s overshadowed by the freakout of them agreeing to work for a shadow organization that wants to destabilize all the world’s governments, the fuck were we thinking??? the fuck was i thinking this isn’t even the proper climax, i die

okay for pacing reasons i have to have at least two chapters of them doing double agent things and getting more deeply involved in overwatch, fuck. some public missions should be mentioned where they like. intervene in humanitarian crisises and shit. crises. whatever. maybe hanzo and mccree have to split up and feel sad that they miss each other? one chapter for hanzo to make contact with his shady criminal underworld people to get verifiable info - maybe like. idk. plastic surgery clinic records - and mccree to re-emerge and rehabilitate his image?

and after that one chapter where like. winston gets suspicious about shit. and maybe??? they have to bring EVERYONE in on this huge conspiracy? they have enough evidence to convince other people? yeah i like this, i want to emphasize how ragtag and vigilante-like and underground the new overwatch is. probably an actual defining the relationship talk and possessive sex here.

story ends with like. a giant news story break i think. as i get closer to the end i’ll know more about what threads need resolving. BUT that is the end of my outline. I DID IT HOORAY

Notes

So McCree responds to the recall not because he believes in the cause like Winston does - he probably still sees most of Overwatch as outsiders, although he's at least surface friendly with most of them by the time he leaves based on in-game interactions - but because something in Overwatch killed Reyes, who he doesn't yet know is Reaper, and joining back up with Overwatch is his best chance to find out what it was and hit them back for killing someone who had his loyalty. He's friendly still because that's the best way to get what he wants, i.e. information and access to records, but this isn't like Blackwatch. He's not surrounded by people who came from the same type of lawless loyalty structure he did, who think the way he thinks - they all believe in restorative justice, and his whole life, justice has been nothing but punitive. The only person he was counting on to understand him, Genji, has changed, and it's probably better for him, but he's become different. He doesn't lash out the way he used to. He believes in second chances, where in the places they both came from, you paid for a second chance in blood. He's done with revenge. He's well and truly gotten out of the life, and McCree has never changed his mindset and never will, because it's kept him alive this long. But Genji has brought along someone he does understand - his brother. McCree gets Hanzo, he gets why he did what he did, even though he regrets it. McCree isn't happy about it, but when he was fifteen he came along to meet the cartels with Deadlock, and when he was sixteen he saw what they did to turncoats. You pay for treachery with blood in their world, and Genji betrayed the Shimadas by passing along information. Hanzo paid when he lost his place, and he made his clan pay for what they made him do. Him, McCree understands, and McCree starts testing him out, because he could use an ally in finding out what was under the surface of squeaky clean Overwatch.

And Hanzo understands him. Hanzo is here because he owes a debt to his brother, still, and because he wants to understand Genji. But everyone in Overwatch is alien to him. They take him working for them as a given, as if of course he would want to make up for what he's done. But there's a difference between owing a debt and regretting his whole life. Hanzo was an assassin after he left the Shimadas, and he feels no need to atone for that. It was what he was skilled in, and he also became skilled in finding things out his clients did not wish him to, because being manipulated by his clan taught him to be canny, to find out people's real motivations. So he knows McCree wants his skills for something, but he's willing to make an alliance for the sake of mutual understanding.

So they ally together, with the understanding that any betrayal will be paid in blood, that they both know different tricks of the trade. McCree wants information on Overwatch, and Hanzo wants protection and information on Genji. McCree works on the old guard to find things out, and Hanzo gets in touch with his criminal contacts in every place he's deployed on a mission. And they start to find things out about Talon...

I don't actually know what the resolution to that story would be. The talon-is-hydra-overwatch-is-shield thing has been done. Maybe I'd go a route of "talon was actually founded by Reaper to fight corruption in the UN and that's how he has all those Blackwatch members" and there would be a worldwide conspiracy where the God programs and therefore the omnic crisis were created by top tiers of government and weapons corporations to create a threat that would keep governments separate, give them more power, and give the companies more profit.

...y'know what I actually really like that idea. The world was getting closer and closer to more human rights and one large global government, and corporations and world powers really didn't like that. So what's the best way for humans to give power to government? When they want to be protected from a threat, of course. And they won't be thinking rationally. They'll want to stay apart, because of course the whole thing is *insert other country*'s fault. So Hanzo and McCree run into Reaper and discover this conspiracy and are from then on Reaper's agents inside Overwatch, both to get information and to get enough media exposure they're familiar faces and trusted by the public. So when they blow this thing wide open, it can't be swept under the rug.

Bonus things in this story:

-they have to bring Genji in because he has the most connections to the omnic community through Zenyatta and Omnics have some key evidence to the conspiracy

-bastion provides an essential clue.

-omnic culture and worldbuilding

-underground cities

-Sombra is key, both as a contact that knows what's going on in Mexico (where Important Things should happen just because I mentioned the cartels so they should play at leat a minor part) and in helping them to get into Blackwatch data undetected

-symmetra helps them spy on Vishkar, which was one of the corporations to profit the most from the crisis because they got the most contracts for rebuilding

-Hanzo, McCree, and Genji sit around and exchange stories about things they had to do for deadlock/the Shimadas; it's all horrifically violent and gory but they all three get drunk and laugh about it because it's their life and they won't let it break them and it kept them alive

-it ends with Genji being happy that he's not forced to do lots of violence any more and McCree and Hanzo being perfectly happy with their very violent lives

So Talon has a ruling council which both Reaper and Doomfist are a part of and factions are #confirmed (ty for info people who are up on overwatch lore I Cannot watch a video rn), and Talon is all involved in a global conspiracy. That's canon. So what if Talon is several disparate movements that allied themselves? They need to fight this war on all the fronts they can, given the potential power of their opponents.

Irl, the UN is not a super powerful body - people put much more faith in individual governments of countries. So what makes the UN able to create a peacekeeping force? Well, what if before the crisis, some large thing happened that made the world move towards one earth government and the UN being powerful is remnants of that?

Kind of tempted to channel my frustration with the world falling apart and all the political conflicts into saying that in like... 2022 or sth, something bad enough happened that humanity decided that the only solution was to come together - perhaps we came close to nuclear annihilation? Just writing about it as a small bit of backstory and making the Scary Potential a side note in history seems like it could be really reassuring. Thoughts? (2020 note: I wrote this in 2017 and all I have to say today is OOF)

With this cooperation between nations, corporations couldn't take advantage of cheap labor in developing countries any more, and there was more of a focus on education. That could account for the leaps and bounds in science in sixty years. But that lack of cheap labor meant that robotics was developed more and more, until automation became artificial intelligences. Omnics.

The game takes place in 2076 and the Crisis took place anywhere from 20 to 30 years before that. I'll say it didn't officially start until 2050, but for several years there were developing tensions and small-scale attacks. Historians disagree about the exact cause of the crisis.

It was in the best interest of the Omnica Corporation to not let on how intelligent and sentient Omnics were - with the new focus on human rights, it was only a matter of time before an omnic rights movement erupted.

But the information started to leak. Sometime in the late 2040s, people who worked closely with Omnics started to talk to other people, tell them about how they really were intelligent and person like. And if it came out that the corporation had been deliberately hiding that, things would be bad.

So they had to do damage control.

Meanwhile, the governments of nations that used to be world powers, that used to do as they pleased, aren't that pleased with the fact that they have a lot of eyes on them and they can't meddle the way they used to in the world.

So they get together, and they throw money at the problem, and they come up the the God Programs.

Scientists worked in cells, and when they were done, they often disappeared. There could be no evidence.

And then it didn't matter how intelligent Omnics were. They were the enemy, and everyone hated them. The top executives of the Omnica corporation knew they would be hated, so they had a backup plan. They disappeared. They had surgeries. Their money went somewhere else under a different name. And they resurfaced in areas very far from any of the fighting.

Here is the secret that the Omnics and Sombra help uncover: Omnics were not meant to evolve, to change, beyond basic learning. Originally, they couldn't modify themselves. They had to come to a licensed technician, who was human. Quality control. Planned obsolescence. What the God programs did was take that cap off, distribute a patch that meant that Omnics could fix themselves - but there was a worm in the code that allowed them to be taken over. And the information that would allow that to happen? Before the crisis, it was proprietary corporate information. That shit had the highest security levels in the modern world. Corporations are very protective of their secrets. So either they were infiltrated or the crisis was an inside job. Either way, it was orchestrated by humans.

There's an implication that no humans worked in the Omniums at all, that they were completely automated, and I'm just... Gonna ignore that because it boggles the mind. The people who worked there did have to wear constant radiation shielding because apparently if Omniums are destroyed they leak radiation (or is it that the Australian one was destroyed with a nuclear device? Can anyone help me find a straight answer on this because it makes no sense) but they did work there because automation and seeing things indirectly through cameras and things means the Omniums were networked, and if they were networked they were less secure. So people worked there.

The plan to make the god programs was started off by the fraud accusations and was what caused the executives to bail the fuck out. Several plastic surgery clinics got entirely new wings just before the omnic crisis and I think this should be a weird clue that someone - probably Sombra through her hacking or Symmetra through her knowledge of corporate ins and outs - digs up.

The God programs and the militarized omnics that were pumped out allowed omnics to modify themselves and to develop things like their own independent communication methods and languages. Omnic language is a combination of binary and different computer code languages. There are different regional "dialects" depending what code language was easiest for the omnics in the area to learn and adapt to when modifying their own programming. It's also most often encrypted with... Probably some method I'll have to do research on.

Oops well I think I just ran myself into a big fuckin' wall here, and that wall is Widowmaker. She is canonically brainwashed by Talon into an assassin, and I don't want to make her husband Awful Abusive Forever and erase what was done to her.

Maybe Widowmaker is the face of Talon's moral ambiguity - she was created by a now-defunct Mad Science branch because while her husband wasn't awful for her, he was in a key position, and killing him would destabilize the power structure, and because Talon as a group's motto is probably "the end justifies the means", they still use her. This is probably a major sticking point for any omnics that want to join Talon's cause, and I could use that to highlight how desperate people can get when they're facing someone who has massive power over them.

Actually, have a couple of crime and conspiracy fic tidbits related to that: when he first went on the run, Hanzo got a nasty infection because he was so used to biotics that he didn't glove up or properly sterilize his tools before treating his own wounds. After a ten day course of penicillin derivative and a bad stomach reaction to them, he learned. Conversely, Deadlock probably had one or two fairly low-power biotic emitters, probably military surplus, and use of them was a privilege if you were high-ranking or a reward if you'd done particularly well but got kind of fucked up in the meantime. McCree has one or two big scars on his torso, and they're pretty visible because he got them young, but they don't inhibit his movements because he got treatment for them during his Blackwatch days. Hanzo, on the other hand, has a nasty hypertrophic scar on his upper thigh from the infection he got, and it occasionally restricts his movements.

Snippets

The stomach virus one

They hadn't been directed to medbay after the debriefing. This new Overwatch hadn't exactly established much standard operating procedure - hard to when you were a bunch of vigilantes and more or less all wanted under international law - but it still struck Jesse wrong, whatever Winston said. He'd known Angela longer than he'd known anyone here but Genji. They didn't run in the same circles, but they'd both been recruited before they were really supposed to be, and that gave them a bit of camaraderie Jesse wasn't afraid to lean on. He left the Shimadas to their not quite good-natured bickering and headed for the office just off the infirmary.

Angela's face, when he opened the door, made him glad he'd stopped by. Even her legendary (and probably nanite-enhanced, given the direction of her research) youthful looks were flagging under some kind of strain. Her undereyes were dark and her mouth was drawn, which in a trauma surgeon used to work in the field meant she'd been working for days on four hours or less. Jesse didn't have to do much beyond waving the nice cigars he'd picked up in (location) at her before she was out of her chair and headed towards the nearest balcony with him, monitor clipped to the lapel of her white coat. They hadn't smoked together since the recall, but the old tradition they shared seemed to be as clear in her mind as it was in his.

He was quiet for a few moments, just passing her the lighter, until they'd both blown out slow mouthfuls of fragrant smoke. Then Angela sighed, and some of the tension slipped away from her shoulders as she stared off at the waves. "You probably shouldn't be even this close to me, Jesse."

Jesse laughed at her, a low quiet chuckle. Anything truly serious and Athena wouldn't have let him anywhere near medical. "And why's that?" he asked her, slowly pulling in the rich smoke and rolling it around his mouth.

"The whole base has come down with a nasty stomach virus," she told him. "I have most of them in cots, hooked up to IVs. It's horrible! A certain amount of bodily fluids is to be expected in this job, of course, but the cleaning drones simply can't keep up. It's as much as I can do to keep everyone hydrated and mostly clean. Comfortable is out of the question. It's very contagious, and I haven't done work like this since my residency! I'm not a generalist. I don't prescribe birth control or deal with routine ailments!" Her accent grew sharper as she spoke, and when she'd finished, she took a deep breath before taking her own smooth pull of cigar smoke.

Jesse winced. He was glad any lingering sour smell was covered up by their cigars. He'd take blood and guts over vomit any day. "The whole base?" he asked. No wonder the corridors had been so quiet.

Angela nodded emphatically. "Everyone present, except for Winston, of course. I'm simply thankful it isn't zoonotic."

Jesse whistled. The infirmary had to be filled to capacity. "And nothing you've given 'em makes the nausea any better? That does sound nasty."

Angela froze with her cigar halfway to her mouth, and then began to curse emphatically. (German curses here.) She pulled her bangs with her free hand. "I can't believe I've been so stupid! I never give patients an antiemetic, it's dangerous when they could have been drinking poisoned water, but that doesn't apply here! (More German curses.)" Eventually, she subsided and took a particularly vicious pull off of her cigar.

"Easy with that," Jesse told her. "That's the good stuff - don't waste it."

"Oh, I'm not wasting it, believe me," she told him. "It's keeping me from storming Winston's office and demanding he add a generalist to the staff. Doctors have specializations, and this one isn't mine!"

"I could talk to him, if you like," Jesse told her. His voice was even, though inside he was triumphant. He'd wanted a reason to bring Zenyatta on, and the universe had just dumped it in his lap. "Might even have someone in mind."

"Would you?" Angela asked him, staring wistfully at the half a cigar she had left. "It's only - I have to dose everyone now, and wait half an hour to see how they respond, and I haven't slept since - too long."

"Wouldn't mind a bit," Jesse told her. "You worry about clearing out the infirmary. I'll work on our fearless leader."

Angela looked, briefly, as if she was about to cry. Instead, she breathed in deeply and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, her expression had settled. "Thank you, Jesse," she told him, and smiled. The expression was no less lovely for being surrounded by signs of her exhaustion. "These really are quite nice," she added, puffing again on her cigar.

Jesse laughed. "You come find me whenever you need another one," he told her. They smoked the rest of their cigars in silence.

The twelve o'clock high one

76 - Morrison - sighed. There came the sounds of him pacing around the room, his ridiculous boots heavy against the grating. "Winston," he said finally, "you like movies. You ever watch any old war movies - from the 20th century, I mean?"

"Well, no," Winston said, sounding honestly puzzled. "Most of them are well over a century old. I didn't think they'd have much cultural relevance."

Morrison snorted. "Not much cultural relevance," he repeated. "Maybe not out in the world, but here in Overwatch - in any place you've got to take command and order people into the line of fire - they still matter. Put one on your list. Twelve O'Clock High. The original, from 1949, not the remake they made right after the crisis." His gruff voice didn't make it a suggestion. Still used to ordering people around, McCree guessed.

"I will, but why would you pull me aside just to say that?" Winston sounded baffled and slightly irritated.

Morrison sighed again, a heavy put-upon sound. "This would be easier if you'd seen the damn thing. Used to have all the command track recruits watch it." The pacing sounds started up again for several moments.

"It's a movie about leadership," Morrison said finally. "And about what happens when you get too close to the people under your command. It's bad for you and it's bad for the mission, and it gets people killed. You can't be their commander and their friend at the same time."

"I fail to see how any of this is your business," Winston said, voice firm and starting to get frosty. You tell 'em, bud, McCree thought.

"I watched this organization fall once because of its commanders," Morrison said. "I can't watch you make the same mistakes. I bowed too far to the UN, but Reyes was too close to his men. Some of them came in young, but they'd done things that made sure they would never be kids again. Reyes couldn't see that. They were all loyal to him in their own way, as much as they could be, but he thought it meant he owed them some loyalty too, and he couldn't do that and send them into danger like we had back then for special ops. They got into his head, made him too much like them, and he snapped."

Winston was saying something else, and McCree forced himself to pay attention to that instead of the rush of blood in his ears, his clenched hands, his pounding heart.

"I believe that will be all, 76," Winston said. The frost in his tone had thickened up into a full ice sheet. McCree took that as his cue to slink out before the super soldier sniffed out his hiding spot - literally, maybe.

Morrison thought his loyalty put Reyes in a bad spot? It sure had - but it was his lingering loyalty to Jack Morrison that had gotten him killed, McCree was sure. Morrison really was blind if he thought Reyes had been doing anything in Zurich besides trying to pull Morrison's blond ass out of there before it blew.

what I have of chapter one

Jesse McCree had disappeared. Oh, he surfaced every now and then in some attention-grabbing way, but it wasn't healthy for a man with a bounty as high as his to go around under his own name. He'd taken a handful of false identities with him when he'd left Blackwatch, and he did enough flashy stunts with his familiar getup from the bounty posters to keep anyone from digging deeper and finding them. Most people figured he spent the rest of his time lurking around all the lonely, uncivilized places of the Southwest, like he had before he joined up - it was closer to the twenty-second century than the twenty-first, but urban sprawl hadn't conquered all the emptiness of his home state yet. So he was very surprised to receive any communication addressed to Jesse McCree at all, much less on the secure comm he carried more for sentiment than practicalities these days. And yet there was still a quiet, persistent chirp indicating a message for him.

Jesse wasn't stupid, of course. He didn't open the message that day. He'd spent too much time in a covert ops unit to trust anything that could send an active signal. He let it stay in the hard-sided guitar case that held his weapons and anything else he didn't want connected to the soft-spoken insurance adjuster who rented his Albuquerque apartment. Instead, he used his legitimate phone to reserve Chris Stevenson a campsite at a national park and rent a car for the weekend. No one had yet managed to bring enough signal towers out there that phones worked, and the campers liked it that way. Chris liked it too - it gave him a good excuse for not being available if his boss called with a last minute assignment, he told the park ranger.

Jesse, on the other hand, wasn't much for camping - he'd spent more than enough time out under the stars, first in Deadlock and then in Blackwatch, and his back wasn't as young as it used to be. But needs must - the signal could be a trap, or it could be someone from the old days needing his help. You could say a lot of bad things about Jesse McCree - most did, these days. But he knew what he owed Reyes and Blackwatch both, and he paid back his debts.

The canyon he'd chosen had several isolated hiking trails, and he set off for one just after dawn the day after he'd arrived. The other tents, few as they were, were quiet. He still waited until he'd reached the peak of his chosen trail, where he could see anyone coming, before he played the message.

Of all the faces he'd expected to project in front of him, Winston's wasn't among them. He was too recognizable, and Jesse stifled the urge to curse. The audio was routed through the wireless headset he'd brought, of course, but five years on, Winston's face still screamed Overwatch to anyone who cared to see. A talking gorilla was hard to forget. Still, Jesse let the message finish - it was very early - and dropped the comm into a pocket of the backpack he'd brought with him. Then he sat down right where he was.

Anyone passing by might have thought he'd be watching the sunrise, but he'd seen too many from the wrong end when he was with Deadlock to be stunned by nature's beauty any more. Chris was watching the sunrise, of course - a natural early riser, he saw sunrises from as many places as he could get away with. But Jesse McCree just happened to be staring at the horizon while he contemplated his options.

He didn't doubt the comm had sent some sort of locational ping out, so he'd need to burn Chris no matter what he decided. A pity - he'd liked being somewhere familiar, a place where he knew the lay of the land, how to find the best restaurant in a little highway town, which outcroppings kept you out of view of the satellites passing by, which streets nice people avoided at night. Couldn't be helped, though. Most of the Southwest was dangerous for him now. He couldn’t be sure someone hadn’t piggybacked whatever ping Winston’s call had sent out. He was inclined to curse his luck, hop a train, and move out - somewhere east, maybe - except. There was something he owed, and a debt to a ghost didn't make it any less real. He didn't have anything in common with the old Overwatch staff he guessed that idealistic message had been aimed at, but they had resources and records. Maybe he could use them to track down what really happened to Reyes.

Jesse’d been halfway to disappearing on a deep-cover mission - all they did in Blackwatch those days - when the news about Zurich broke. He could smell bullshit on a cover story from a mile away, and this one reeked. Reyes wasn’t jealous of Morrison - that asshole had to deal with the paperwork and politics while Reyes got to intervene in the real hot spots. If he’d been in Zurich, it was out of a sense of loyalty to his old army buddy. That loyalty had gotten him killed, and no one in Overwatch seemed interested in doing anything but slandering him after the fact.

Just because they didn't do much of an investigation didn't mean that they didn't still have records up in Gibraltar, though. The Watchpoints had all been networked at one point. Athena had had limits put on her when the Petras Act passed, but Winston had made her devious, under all the fussing. She had to be if she was going to fight Overwatch’s enemies. McCree's access had been stripped when the UN had recalled Blackwatch’s authorization, but that meant jack shit if Athena decided he needed to know something. And he knew how to ingratiate himself with her.

It’d mean the end of his relatively peaceful existence, but hell, he'd already known he'd have to get rid of Chris and go on the run. Might as well run a little farther than usual. He could check out the lay of the land, see who all was there and what they were up to. It wouldn't be fun - he was Reyes’ man to the bone, still, and none of the proper Overwatch agents would understand that - but this was the closest he'd come to being able to pay back the man who'd changed his life in years. He couldn't let it slip through his fingertips.

International travel was, according to those who could remember, a bit more difficult to manage now than it was before the Crisis. The United States especially had buckled down on the jingoism, blaming most of Europe for letting the Omnica Corporation run wild. It wasn't as bad as it has been in the 20s, of course, but if Overwatch hadn't provided the encryption on his passport themselves, McCree would have found himself paying a pretty penny for a good fake. As it was, he wasn't exactly flush with cash right now, so he was glad Chris’s papers were still good.

Chris Stevenson, despite his whitebread name, had family in Spain: a sister who'd recently taken ill. So he - and Jesse McCree, under his skin - was flying to Madrid. Teleporters were still new and expensive, and Chris couldn't afford one. The days of the ancient, cramped airliners were long over, though. Chris had a ticket on an overnight flight, with his own little cot and plastic privacy wall and two credits to use in the onboard cafeteria.

The flight attendant directed them all through the ship’s amenities, pointing out the cafeteria and the bathrooms as well as the small rec area, on the way to direct them all to their berths. They had to go through the first class lounge first thing, of course - probably to make them all regret they hadn’t coughed up enough to spend half the trip on leather furniture drinking premium cocktails. Jesse couldn’t care less about it. He planned to eat, sleep, and then eat on this trip; airline food wasn’t that great, but he’d eaten plenty of bad shit in his life, and he’d need the rest and the calories to find the best ways to ditch Chris’s identity and make his way across the border into Gibraltar.

The berths were more private than the ones on most of the Overwatch transports he’d been on in his time, but that wasn’t saying much; military didn’t think anything of communal bunkrooms for everyone but officers, and Overwatch had always been true to its military roots. The ship wasn’t ritzy enough to have sound cancelling tech in any cabin but first class, so he could hear the contained but emphatic ruckus happening two berths over. Politeness would have dictated Chris did his best to ignore it, but Jesse had always been an incurable snoop, and years of covert ops hadn’t exactly curbed that. He tucked his bags under the plastic frame of his ship’s cot and leaned against the thin barrier under the guise of working his boots off.

“I don’t see why we’re kept out of the lounge,” a voice Jesse pegged as belonging to someone around Reinhardt’s age said crossly. “We paid our fare just like everyone else!”

“I’m afraid the lounge is for first class passengers only,” said their flight attendant, in the calming tones universal to customer service employees who weren’t allowed to tell customers to fuck off but who really wished they could. “However, if you would like to upgrade -”

“Don’t you upgrade me!” the older voice said again. “I went on these transports when they were first made, twenty years ago, and they didn’t have any sort of restrictions! This is just - it’s a cash grab, is what it is, by unscrupulous -”

“Pop! He can’t do anything about that. I’m sure it’s corporate policy,” interrupted a younger voice, audibly embarrassed. “I’m so sorry about this.”

“It’s quite all right - I understand change is difficult. Can I offer you -”

“We’re not interested in little placating gifts, like drink tickets, you corporate shill!” the older voice yelled again.

Jesse felt a twinge of sympathy for the flight attendant having to deal with all that, but he felt it was safe to tune out at that point. His boots - sturdy hiking boots, not the attention-getting cowboy boots of his wanted poster getup, good for grip on all sorts of surfaces - were unlaced and under the bunk and they weren’t quite underway, so he decided he’d be hitting the cafeteria early. And maybe he’d shell out for a drink for the old man’s traveling companion, he thought, shuffling quietly past the squabble. He was sure the flight attendant couldn’t drink on duty, or else he’d send him one first.

It was a ten-hour flight, and mission discipline should have sent him right to sleep for seven of them after his mediocre cafeteria meal. But he hadn’t had anyone hanging over his shoulder to enforce that discipline in five years, and sleep didn’t come easy. After an hour of trying to force himself into something deeper than a doze, he gave up and summoned the flight attendant for a drink. Jesse would have preferred to work out his troubles in a gym or at the range, but the transport had neither, and this was a good enough substitute to quiet the buzzing of his brain enough for a few hours’ rest.

He just couldn’t work it out, was the thing. Why had Winston called him, of all people, back? It didn’t fit with the do-gooder message he’d sent out. Jesse didn’t recall running with him much on the very few occasions he’d been sent to liaise with the main Overwatch forces, so it wasn’t out of some misplaced nostalgia. Winston’d been close with Tracer, though, and she’d seen him in action enough to know that he didn’t hold with tugging on heartstrings as a way to run things. None of Blackwatch had. Why did Winston bother sending the message out to them at all?

Jesse doubted many of the Blackwatch members - those still out of jail after the Petras Act stripped them of their pardons, anyway - would be at Gibraltar when he showed, with a message like that. Maybe Genji would. He’d been pretty tight with Reyes. Not as tight as Jesse, but the man needed some guidance on letting anger fuel you instead of rule you when he first joined up, and Reyes had that in spades. Jesse hoped he’d be there, or else he’d be running a covert mission in enemy territory solo, with no extraction plan and no end point. He could do it, but it’d be tricky. He hadn’t used anything more than basic infiltration skills in years, since his neighbors rarely required the effort. Overwatch was all trained operatives, though, and he’d be kept on his toes even with reliable backup.

Wasn’t worth borrowing trouble about, though. Jesse had more immediate concerns, like the best way to ditch Chris without raising too many suspicions, and how long he’d have to wait in Madrid before Peacekeeper made her own way across the Atlantic. And before all that, he needed to sleep. He knocked back the last swallow of his liquor and laid down, determined to get a little rest while he was secure.

It turned out that Peacekeeper wouldn’t be in Madrid after all. His smuggler contact had left him a coded message that told him to meet her for dinner in Malaga. Jesse’d had to hustle to get to the train, but he’d made it - and he was riding on the inside this time. Europe had more satellite cameras fixed on it than the deserts of the US did, and there was no reason to draw the attention of their flagging algorithms. Besides, the wireless connection inside the train was better.

One of Overwatch’s support staff had cooked up a program that disengaged an identity from public records gradually, in case anyone needed to use them again or the activity was being monitored. Jesse wasn’t supposed to have it still, but it’d been useful enough he transferred it from phone to phone. Over the next couple of weeks, Chris’s landlord and acquaintances would receive messages that his sister was sicker than he thought and he’d need to stay in Spain to manage her affairs. His bank account would make purchases to back that up. And with no close friends in the area, he’d quietly disappear unless Jesse needed him again. The program needed a stable connection to work, though, so it could learn from the communications he’d sent as Chris. The connection on the train was nicely anonymous, so it couldn’t be traced back to him.

Twenty minutes out from Malaga, Jesse took his bag into the bathroom. Instead of Chris’s baggy sweatshirt and wind pants, he put on tight jeans and a flannel button-up and pulled out a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. When he came out, he begged a hair tie off of a woman on the train, waggling his prosthetic fingers in explanation (they did get tangled in his hair if he wasn’t careful). When he was done, he looked like a tourist of a different type - a hipster American with a backpack and a guitar. The two days of stubble on his face made most natives peg him for an aging graduate student and give him a wide berth.

Carla, his contact, had left him a note at the Malaga information desk, and he followed her instructions to a worn-down bar that had probably been popular before the Crisis. It was looking a little worse for wear, though, and even before sundown had plenty of quiet, dark corners. Jesse spotted her iron-gray braid at a corner table and sat down, though not before getting a glass of wine at the bar.

“Auntie,” he said in Spanish as he settled in. He was sure Carla had heard his boots and spotted him well before he’d reached her table, but no use not being polite to someone who had your prize possession. “I hope you’ve been taking good care of my girl.”

Carla looked up at him and rolled her eyes. “Don’t I always?” she said in her crisp Iberian accent.

“You do, but the way you left Madrid, I’d almost think you wanted to keep her,” Jesse said, smiling in a way that didn’t hide the watchful glint in his eye.

Carla shook her head, but Jesse noticed she didn’t outright deny it. “Madrid gets so crowded this time of year,” she said. “It’s a little quieter here.”

“La Linea is even more peaceful, I hear,” Jesse said, leaning back as he sipped his wine. “That’s where I want to take her next.”

“Ah, going to take her to see the Rock?” Carla asked. “It’s quite the sight.”

“I am,” Jesse told her. “In fact, you could call it the reason we even came to Spain. There’s a little problem, though.”

“Oh?” Carla asked. “Nothing to spoil your holiday, I hope.”

Jesse put the fingers of his flesh hand to his mouth and then put it back on the table, like a man fighting the urge to bite his nails. “I hope not either. See, I want to cross the border, but I don’t have all her papers - her mother, you know how she is. But I really want her to be able to see the sights. Are the guards there understanding?” Meaning, of course, could they be bribed.

Carla shifted in her chair and leaned in on one elbow. “Most of them are family men and women, not career military the way it was a few years ago,” she said, meaning mob. “They should be able to work something out with you - they understand how it is for men in your position. After all, it’s not like there’s anything really dangerous she could get into these days.”

“That’s true,” Jesse agreed. “And I’ll keep a close eye on her, of course.” Meaning that he’d make sure Peacekeeper didn’t cause any trouble that brought too much attention to their operations.

Carla nodded. “I might just know a young man down there who could help you,” she said. “I’ll send him a message once I see you both get on the bus, and he’ll look out for you both.”

“I appreciate it,” Jesse told her, with an expression of relief. Carla’s reputation would make it a lot easier to get past the border guards while he was carrying. “How much did she cost you? I know how my girl can eat.”

“No, no,” Carla said, waving her hands in a way that was all show. “She was a pleasure. It wasn’t any trouble.”

“I insist,” Jesse said firmly. “Let me pay for the train tickets, at least. You couldn’t have been expecting Madrid to be so busy.”

“Well, that’s true,” Carla said. “But I’d watch your girl for you any time, you know that.”

“I do,” Jesse agreed. “Now, c’mon, tell me how much the tickets were, and I’ll pay you back.”

Carla named a sum with a show of reluctance, and Jesse added it to the already agreed-upon price before transferring it to her account. If she’d had to leave Madrid in such a hurry, it was probably because the law was getting too close for comfort, and Jesse was sure she’d had to bribe her way out. It was just good business to pay her back for that, and he’d been trusting Carla with Peacekeeper for a long time. His burner phone beeped, and after a moment, so did hers. She nodded, satisfied, and pushed away from the table.

“Come, let’s go get your girl,” she said. “I’m sure you missed her. She’s waiting at the bus station.”

Carla had been as good as her word. Even with Peacekeeper sewn into the lining of a laptop bag, Jesse hadn’t had any trouble getting past the border into Gibraltar, and even if she wasn’t at his hip, he felt better holding her steadying weight. He’d transferred all his belongings into a hiking backpack when he’d gotten there, and only as he started up the Rock did he send the signal from the communicator that would tell Athena and Winston he was on his way - and exactly how close he was. There were plenty of hidden protections that he was sure were still active on the base, and he’d need the signal to get in.

It only took a few moments to connect, and Winston’s voice was cautious as he answered. “McCree?”

“In the flesh,” Jesse answered. “Know I didn’t call ahead, but I was hopin’ my invitation still stood.”

[hyperions-strap]

Jack VS His Chair.

Summary: Jack is 6 months pregnant, and it seems his office just isn't suitable for him anymore. His luxurious chair doesn't give him the support his aching sore back needs.

💝 Link for AO3 💝

Note: Feel free to send me other prompts for omega!Jack here on Tumblr!

Jack isn’t known for his patience on the best of days, but when carrying around a 3 pound developing baby (give or take) on his hips, influencing his mood and needs 24/7, it’s safe to say his patience is nonexistent. He can still do his job perfectly well, but there’s just more obstacles now. More nuisances that catch his attention, distract his focus, and cause him to act out. 

Meetings are slow today, which should be a good thing, but all it means is Jack gets to spend more time sitting behind his desk, filtering between finance reports, and marketing contracts, and submissions for new weapons that can utilize the latest strain of Slag to its best ability. On most days that’s not too bad - a little boring, but all in all, harmless - but since entering his third trimester, he hates sitting at his desk. 

Jack generally can’t sit anywhere for too long, less he faces the wrath of his backache getting unbearable. Sometimes the agony moves through his bones and cramps his limbs, or his chest, or his neck. It’s like his back commands the troops to torture his muscles. In most cases the only cure is a back massage, courtesy of his lover's fingers, but that's not an option currently. Rhys is at Atlas for a few hours, busy schmoozing some benefactors willing to fund his latest string of cryo sniper rifles. This means Jack has to begrudgingly power through the pain. 

3 more months, give or take. That's how long he has left of suffering before the demon spawn draining his life will be in his arms. In theory, 3 months isn't a very long amount of time, but time moves so painstakingly slow when pregnant. He tries to remind himself the reward at the end is worth the pain, but then one of his hellish symptoms kicks in with a wrath. 

His keyboard rattles as he types feverishly, until a strong, searing pain shoots up his spine. He sucks in sharply and holds his breath, freezing. The pain burns at his vertebrae, almost like it's being squeezed by hands caught on fire, determined to make his bones crack. He exhales heavily and leans back in his lavish office chair. He rests a hand on top of his round belly.

"Give daddy a break, will you, princess?" He tries to bargain with his unborn child, but there's no change in his state. The pain doesn't subside, and neither does his irritation. He rubs down his belly, sighing, looking down at his bloated midsection in disappointment. "You know your life is in my hands, right? You really shouldn't be pissing me off."

Silence.

Not that he'd expected a verbal response. He groans under his breath, hiking himself up and leaning over the desk. He pushes a button on his phone and waits patiently, drumming his fingers on his desk.

"This is Rhys Strongfork, CEO of Atlas corporation, how can I help you?"

He sounds so self righteous and smug, Jack can't help but snicker. "Hay, kitten, how's my favourite rival doing?" He leans back in his seat again. He places a hand on the small of his back and pushes his palm deep into his flesh, hoping to subside the pain. It's miniscule, may as well be nothing.

He hears a light cluttering as Rhys fusses over nick-nacks on his desk. "I should be the one checking in on you. How's our little girl?"

Jack rolls his eyes and sighs. "She's fine. I'm peachy too, thanks for asking."

"I was about to ask how you were too, don't get jealous."

Jack hates the smug, amused tone in his voice. "You could at least ask about me first, since I'm the one lugging around the brat." He rubs the underside of his belly. As usual, a strip of skin peaks free from the confines of his stretched sweater. Rhys has bought him a plethora of clothes to fit his ever growing form, but Jack still insists on wearing his faithful Hyperion sweater. The material is beyond stretched out now, it's working tirelessly to keep him modest, but it can't work miracles. A 6 month pregnant omega bump is too powerful for its cotton.

He hears further rustling on Rhys' end of the phone. He digs the heel of his palm into the side of his belly and holds his breath. A dull pain ricochets from his back round to his abdomen. He manages to distribute the pain and ease the intensity, but little can be done about his back.

"You know I've got baby brain, Jack. Nothing but babies - baby, baby, baby-- it's a curse!"

"Yeah, well you better force me back to front and center. I'm the one doing the hard work, not her."

Rhys laughs softly. "How are you, Jack?" He asks sincerely, though amused. Jack is happy to know no matter what, he's still the one happily in charge of their relationship. Though social standards try to determine the alpha is in charge, especially when their omega is pregnant preparing to deliver, Jack and Rhys don't at all abide by those rules. They never have, and Jack most certainly never will. If Rhys were like other alphas, hot headed and stubborn, determined to dominate him like a foolish brute, Jack would have never agreed to having his baby. He'd been strict about the dynamics of their relationship, and determined to make sure his status as an omega was respected. Jack didn't have shame in his title - in fact, he wore it with pride.

He absentmindedly rubs his belly and exhales as the pain in his back momentarily subsides. "I'm alright, pumpkin. Craving something greasy."

"You sound wound up."

Jack snickers. "Do I? Probably being surrounded by knuckleheads." He laughs again, but the movement makes his back seizes up again, making him yelp embarrassingly. He clutches at the point of pain, and grinds his teeth as it shoots up through his spine like electricity following a circuit. He curses under his breath when he hears Rhys' distressed worries calling for him over the line. "Still here, don't worry."

"Are you okay?! What was that noise?!"

"That noise was me!" With great difficulty, Jack pushes himself out of his luxurious golden chair, arching his back and pushing into the point of discomfort with both his hands before taking one away to cup the base of his belly. Moving is starting to become more difficult by himself, much to his displeasure. Some days he needs Rhys to physically hoist him out of bed. He glares at his chair and begins walking around his desk in circles. "I'm fine though, don't fret."

"Jack, you're 6 months pregnant. All I do is worry." Rhys is moving around more now, changing scenes by the sounds of things as wind brushes by and external chatter fills the void. "I'm coming to see you."

"What?! Oh geez, that's not necessary--"

"When you're carrying around our baby, it's always necessary."

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose. He hates being fussed over, and that's all that happens these days. "No, really, it's not! It's just my damn back playing up!" He hears what he assumes to be Rhys stopping in his tracks. "The baby is fine and dandy though, kicking my bladder and making me the size of a whale. It's the office chair, makes me feel like someones ripping out my spine. I should start bringing a pillow from home."

"Why not buy a more comfortable chair? Don't they sell maternity chairs for working omegas?" Rhys' question is innocent enough, but it makes Jack irritated nevertheless. It's like admitting he's weak, that the chair has bested him. He doesn't realise he's growling until Rhys starts laughing. "It's probably more comfortable than the one you have anyway. Remember when we tried to have sex in it after the office party last year? I almost broke my leg."

Jack chuckles. "That's because you're too freakin' long! Those string beans you call legs weren't made for tight spaces." Jack looks down at the sphere supporting his hips, kneading his brows as he thinks. "Those omega special chairs are a scam though, it's to make possessive alphas like you spend your hard earned money and stroke your ego!"

"The reviews look pretty good to me."

"I don't give a rat's ass what the reviews are like." Jack yells back. He moves to sit back at his desk, but as if the cushions are made of spikes, he immediately yells out in pain and grips the wood of the desk for dear life. He curses so loud an echo reverberates around the office. He tries to power through, scooting forward, only to bump his belly off the desk edge and hurt himself that way. "Jesus fucking Christ, I'm going to airlock whoever made this desk just for inconveniencing me!"

Suddenly there's a knock at his office door. He frowns, looking at it before pressing a button to open the door. Rhys walks in with a smug smile, hanging up the comm he had with Jack. 

"What, how did--"

"I took a fast travel. Come on, I'm taking you chair shopping."

Jack grumbles in annoyance, but after a tender back massage and belly rub, he gives in with little fight.