#humid heat is evil

[lockheed-martin-unofficial]

I was thinking about Cybertronians freezing in the Arctic due to the ice that forms on them instead of just the cold & not knowing what humidity is again, and what if they weren’t instantly aware of all the abilities of their alt modes?

They’d have a warmup period after scanning them and have to gradually get used to/ discover all the things they can do. There’s little to no water on cybertron, no reason for them to know that ice forms in the cold, no reason for them to have de-icing. And when they come to earth and choose aircraft as their new vehicle modes, they have no idea those aircraft come with built in warmers on the wings.

I thought about how some flying decepticons would deal with it. Let’s go with Starscream first because I love him very much.

(Also because he complains about cold the most out of all the characters. I imagine everyone ices up the same amount, but the cold is an entirely different problem and one that affects him more because he’s all thin and lanky, not very good at retaining heat. It’s worth clarifying that the freezing is what’s dangerous to them. The cold bothers them but isn’t a threat in and of itself, seeing as they can walk around in space just fine. But I ramble on)

- If he had a human friend or partner, he’d be complaining about how cold it is in front of them and they’d be like “Wait, aren’t you a plane?” He’d ask what that has to do with anything and get very annoyed that he didn’t know he came with extra heating.

- He claims he totally knew about that all along and merely forgot about it in the moment. He also claims he totally knows how to turn it on, but…remind him again?

- The realization that he can just… make himself warmer at will is incredible. He’s still gonna complain about the cold though. Probably out of instinct, he complains to fill the silence. (Is it obvious I want him to be safe and warm. I think it’s obvious.)

- Cue a concerned human asking if he’s been flying through clouds and terrible weather and all the way into the stratosphere with ice building on his wings for all this time. How is he still flying? He just replies that he’s built different, and that he’s far superior to human machines yap yap yap blah blah.

- He doesn’t want to admit how great it is, but after the human shows him how to turn it on, he’d be waking around with the de-icing turned on all day, even when he doesn’t need it. I reckon it’d make the area between his wings an excellent nap spot. He could just put a human in there and squeeze them between his wings and it’d feel like being put in one of these bad boys, I dunno what they’re called in English

In any case, peak nap spot.

Up next is Megan:

- Megatron doesn’t actually have an earth based vehicle mode, leading me to believe he wouldn’t have any form of de-icing. My headcanon is that his bigger, bulkier frame would require and generate more heat, but look at him.

He got a lot of nooks and crannies that ice could build up in. Even spikier than Starscream. Much like Starscream he doesn’t have paint which may also have acted like an extra layer of heat insulation. Additionally, his joints on the arms and legs are visible.

(Actually unsure if Starscream is painted and just gray, but Megs definitely isn’t)

- My point is, I’m not an ice expert but Megatron is terrible for both heat insulation and icing prevention. Megatron is a tough bot, he can take a lot of punches, and as prideful as he is I doubt he’d ignore the fact that a snowstorm would be a genuine threat or hinderance to him.

- Not that he’d let anyone notice, of course. He has a reputation to maintain, and he can’t allow anyone to know his weakness. When he’s in private though, I find the image of evil dictator Megs snuggled up in a billion blankets drinking a hot cocoa hilarious. I’ll probably draw it.

- A human pal or partner may not be able to advise him to turn on de-icing that he doesn’t have, but they might be able to offer him another solution. A badass cloak or cape to protect himself from the snow, while also remaining intimidating. Anyone would think it was just for show, unaware that it’s actually to keep him from freezing.

Last but certainly not least, Soundwave!

-Oh, Soundwave totally knew about the de-icing without needing anyone to mention it. Soundwave knows a lot of things. He’d totally read his own altmode’s manual. I don’t think we’ve ever seen Soundwave in the Arctic though.

Trying to find a good gif for my own reference hang on-

- I’d argue that out of these three he’s probably best with the cold. Sure, he’s spiky too, but nowhere near the other two. His “elbows” are awfully small and exposed, but since his wings form the arms there’d be no issue once he turned on the de-icing. In the gif he easily covers his entire body with those huge arms, so he could easily curl up around himself and defrost if be needed to. Now here’s a good writing idea I probably will never use

- Laserbeak probably has its own de-icing, which makes Soundwave extra warm when he requires it. ADDITIONALLY Laserbeak could be deployed in order to warm up a human friend or partner from afar. Tactical warms.

- Not much to say about Soundwave. Maybe I’ll edit and add later.

[the-kr8tor]

Let’s do this again

May I request a beach day with the arachkids and Hobie

Thank you for the adorable request! I hope you like it ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2 k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mentions, FLUFF

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The searing heat of the sand underneath you doesn't compare to how humid the air is. With the beach towel under you, the warmth still seeps from the thick cloth as you watch the trio play Marco Polo in the pool. You can still hear their whines when the lifeguard at the beach told them that the tides are currently too wild to be able to safely swim in. Good thing the little beach house that you and Hobie rented (With Miguel's money, courtesy of Lyla) comes with a pool complete with sand all around it for the extra immersion.

Gwen shrieks as she dodges the blindfolded Miles. He tries to grasp what's in front of him but could only yank at nothing but air when Gwen dives underneath to escape. Meanwhile Pavitr is silently laughing near the pool steps, happy that Gwen is the one getting targeted by Miles who has been ‘it’ for two turns now. Pav snorts, and you watch in slow motion how Miles turns towards the sound, ears perking up the second Pav let out a squeak.

“Oh no.” Pav softly says, quickly diving and doing evasive maneuvers to throw Miles off his scent. Gwen laughs, but doesn't make the same mistake like Pav did a second ago.

Miles grins mischievously, already running (slowly but surely) towards the splashing. “Keep swimming! I'll get you eventually!” He taunts, and Pavitr starts to panic as Miles is gaining speed right behind him.

“Psst!” You call towards Gwen, she turns towards you, still grinning widely. “Wanna help him?”

“Pav? Absolutely.” Her blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight, swimming closer to you.

“Are your webshooters waterproof?”

She sees where you're going, head peeking out from the end of the pool. “Yeah,” she mirrors your smug look as you hand her the webshooters. “You hang around Hobie way too much.”

You giggle, watching your evil plan unfold once Gwen shoots a ball of web at Miles’ head. Good thing web fluids are biodegradable and melt easily in water or it'll for sure clog the pool.

Miles shrieks, wildly twirling around to try and yank the web off his nape. “That's cheating!” Water splashes all around him while Gwen and Pav try to disorient ‘Marco Polo.’ He lets out a roar, screaming for revenge.

After the barrage of water at Miles' face, the other two scamper off in different directions to avoid Miles, who is definitely using his spider senses now. You laugh loudly when he predicted where Gwen would swim, effectively capturing her.

The sudden cold against your cheek makes you stop laughing. A shadow casts over you as you look up from your seat, you beam at Hobie, he nudges you with a can of cola on your face. “Where'd you go?”

Hobie looks immaculate in the light, bare torso shining in the sunshine, eyes soft for you, and toned muscles in full display. He takes your breath away with a simple tilt of his head, the glow from his silver piercings almost blinds you. “There was a burnin’ building a few ways away. Had to go and save the day.” He sits down on the towel next to you, opening the can and then handing it off over to you nonchalantly, as if he didn't just make your heart jump from the affectionate act.

“Really?” You take a sip, sighing at the refreshing cold. The trio's excited yelling fades into the background, now abandoning the game of Marco Polo to make whirlpools in the pool.

Hobie drops his seriousness, chuckling while he wipes at a bead of sweat off your brow. “Nah, I was buyin’ soda.”

You can't stay mad at him when he looks at you like you're a pearl he found at sea. “You ass.”

“You're welcome, love.” He gives your bare shoulder a quick kiss before turning towards the trio who are turning around in a circle while there's a small whirlpool slowly forming in the center. “Oi! There's soda inside!”

They stop simultaneously, looking at Hobie expectantly. “Are there chips?” Miles asks, and the two nod along.

“Crisps, but yeah there's some inside.” After Hobie confirms, they immediately head off towards the end of the pool, fighting each other so they could get the best ones first. Pav has his hand on Miles’ face, while Gwen webs both of their hands on the pool before cackling and leaving them in the dust.

“Not fair!” They both cry as they rip off the webs lightning quick, and then they run towards the door. You're glad they have incredible balance or else they would've slipped and fell.

Once they're inside, you hear their muffled fighting through the glass walls. Hobie takes your attention from them though. His head is tilted back, letting the sun bathe him in its light. Elbows propping him up, his legs are outstretched as beams of light shine through his long lashes. Lips curled in a content smile, you're happy that he's happy. His muscles look like they were carved on the side of a mountain, and his shoulders are completely relaxed, something you haven't seen in a while. He looks like he came out of a renowned painting.

Hobie senses your eyes on him, he cracks his eyes open to stare back at you. “You wanna take a picture instead?” He asks teasingly, index finger playing around with the string of your swimwear.

“No, I want to paint you.” Hobie rolls his eyes, trying his best not to show how flustered he is. “Now I understand why artists have muses.”

He moves to your side, facing you fully, head tilted up with ease; clearly and blatantly flirting back. His finger twirls the stray string connected to you, your eyes flick downward, trying very hard not to melt on the spot. “I'd be your muse?”

You tuck your chin on your shoulder, hiding your flustered smile. “Yeah,” taking his hand, you knead at his fingers lest he accidentally unties your swimwear. “You'd get sick of posing for me.”

With a scrunch of his nose, he fights with your hand for dominance, massaging you instead. He feels like he's on cloud nine, holding you in the sun while the sound of waves lap at the beach a few steps away; while the most important people in his life are in the same place, happy to join him, happy to make memories with him. Even for just a moment of peace. No villains to stop, no loud city noises or smoke filling his lungs, just the sea and the sun. What more could he ever ask for?

“I want to paint you too.” It's a simple sentence containing multitudes of tenderness and love.

You inhale, almost forgetting to breathe. “We'll make it a day then. I paint you, you paint me.”

To him, you've been his muse for a long time.

Hobie lifts up his hand to cradle your warm cheek, the cold condensation from the soda can soothes you as you lean in closer. “Deal.” He leans closer, you grasp his hip to pull yourself to him.

“I'm going to outpaint you, Hobie. They'll put your portrait up in the louvre after I win.”

“I didn't know it was a competition.” He whispers against your lips. You close your eyes when you feel his lips brush along yours. “I'll win though.”

“Y/N! We're out of chips!” Fumbling from the sudden presence, you accidentally knock your forehead against Hobie's nose. You two groan out in pain while the trio rushes to help. Both your portraits have to wait now, or until the bumps subsides.

[braunaza]

saccharine summer .•° ✿

➸ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ

➸ salty seas and sweet strawberries

ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ

∘◦❀◦∘ i haven’t really written anything before so this is a first for me! open to any and all criticisms or ideas cus this lowkey sucks but please bear with me. i hope you guys enjoy this tho. happy summer!

∘◦❀◦∘ warnings -> (very) light swearing

∘◦❀◦∘ loser!ellie x (lowkey) loser!reader + acquaintances to lovers + friends(?) to lovers, fluff!!

“Are you serious?” Ellie asked, her voice wavering too loud against the quietness of the study hall.

Jesse shrugged apologetically in response to Ellie’s outburst as Dina shot her a sympathetic look. The inner of Dina’s dark eyebrows curled up inwards remorsefully, before speaking.

“I’m sorry! I wish I could stay but Talia’s taking me to Europe.” Dina responded in a  hushed tone; contrasting Ellie’s.

“And I’m going to Korea. Seeing my extended family and all that.” Jesse added.

Ellie couldn’t help the sigh that left her mouth, filled to the brim with disappointment, as she leaned back on the broken school chair. The corner of her slit eyebrows knitted together as a contorted look of frustration passed across her freckled face.

“You’re both going to be gone all summer?” Ellie muttered as she took her hands out of her pockets and brought them upwards, massaging her temples. Jesse lightly scratched the back of his neck but didn’t answer. Dina didn’t dare respond either. An awkward quietness filled the air between the three of them blending in with their still scenery. The silence gave Ellie her answer.

“Great.”

Ellie had never liked summer. The humid heat made her feel gross; only to be heightened by the copious amount of sweating that occurred due to the summer’s blaze. The never-ending boredom didn’t help. Especially now that Ellie was going to be alone for the next two months. She already knew how this summer would play out. She’d end up spending the whole time inside, in fear of both pollen and UV rays, re-playing the resident evil series on her bygone PS4. Ellie could already hear Joel’s voice; nagging her to leave the comfort of her bedroom and have some fun in the sun.

“At least you won’t be completely alone.” As Dina spoke up, Ellie snapped out of her thoughts. At her words, a slight scowl traversed Ellie’s face. She knew that Dina was referring to you as a few days ago, Ellie had overheard you expressing your dismay at not travelling this summer. This meant that Ellie was left alone with you.

It’s not that Ellie had a problem with you. You were simply Dina and Jesse’s friend. Not hers. You were just too nice. It pissed her off. In fact, everything about you irrationally pissed Ellie off. From the way your sunny smile shined so brightly to your obnoxiously loud giggles. But what agitated Ellie the most was your fruity perfume. The one that she could smell from a mile away; overpowering whichever room you currently occupied. To her, you were summer personified.

You were so sweet; it sickened her. And she was stuck with you.

Ellie’s face scrunched up tightly as you waved a vividly coloured piece of paper in her face. The current assault ended with Ellie snatching the sheet out of your loose grasp. As she held it up, she allowed her eyes to scan over it. It was a list. An annoyingly aesthetic list.

“What is this?” Ellie asked as she lowered the yellow page, your eyes peering over the top of it expectantly.

“A bucket list!” You responded with too much enthusiasm as your everbright smile flashed at her. “I made it for the two of us to do over the summer.” Ellie’s pale green eyes scanned the sheet again. She couldn’t help the small laugh that left her lips as she read the last point.

Kiss someone.

As Ellie chuckled, your head tilted to the side slightly in confusion. Ellie took her eyes off of the decorative paper and moved her gaze onto you. Her slit eyebrow perked up slightly, simultaneously out of confusion and disbelief, before speaking up once again.

“I’m not into you like that.”

Ellie’s blunt statement only added to your confusion and deepened the puzzled expression that adorned your face. That’s when the realisation hit you. As embarrassment overcame you, your head lowered to the school’s wooden floor; focusing on Ellie’s worn down converses. You let out a small, yet awkward, laugh in a poor attempt to laugh off the misunderstanding.

“That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it like that.” You stuttered bashfully, your eyes finally drawing back to Ellie’s face.

“It was meant to encourage us, you know. Use it as an excuse to step outside our comfort zones.” You continued. “Neither of us are exactly the pinnacle of popularity. It might be nice to have a makeshift hot girl summer.” The expression left your mouth before you could think; resulting in you cringing at your own word choice.

Ellie paused for a moment as she listened to your yapping. The scowl that usually adorned her face when conversing with you had faded.

“That’s lame.” The moment of softness was over; broken by Ellie’s frank statement. A groan left your lips before pouting slightly. If Ellie didn’t want to hang out with you this summer, you’d probably turn into some video gaming loser who never left their room. You needed her to agree.

Not wanting to give up, you continued to stare at Ellie; your eyes peering up at her with pure desperation. Eventually, her eyes gently closed before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Fine. I’ll do your stupid bucket list.” A look of absolute glee spread across your face as you swung your arms around Ellie’s neck and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” You squealed into her neck. As you practically latched onto her, Ellie awkwardly patted you on the back as the hug swayed from side to side. From this close your obnoxious perfume was phenomenally stronger. God, you were too sweet.

It was an unspoken rule that the first day of summer was for relaxing. The day was to be spent laying around doing nothing. Ellie was prepared to devote the day to League of Legends, yet she found herself being dragged out of bed at the untimely hour of eleven to go to the beach. You claimed that it would a fun way to start the holiday and would put her in the ‘summer mood’.

By miracle, you had chosen the perfect day. The sun had been out shining since the early hours causing the air around you to dramatically heat up. Ellie could already feel the sweat running down her back. It was disgusting. She had even tried to cool herself down by swapping her jeans for jorts and leaving her flannels behind. You, however, didn’t seem affected by the blaze. In fact, you seemed to be completely in your element.

Ellie had been complaining the entire walk over. To her, it was far too hot. Yet every time she grumbled about it, you’d shoot down the comment. You’d claim that it ‘wasn’t that bad’ and that she just ‘needed to get used to it.’

“You remembered to bring a swimsuit, right?” You questioned as you continued your journey with too much pep in your step. Ellie nodded in response as she trailed along begrudgingly beside you. “Sunscreen?”

Ellie let out a small groan before nodding lazily again.

“I brought everything with me. I’m not stupid.” Ellie retorted at your nagging. Due to the combination of heat and tiredness, she wasn’t in the best mood. The last thing Ellie needed was for you to be nagging her all day.

After traversing the streets with the burning sun on your backs, you finally arrived at the local beach. Unsurprisingly, it was packed with many families. This caused the loud chattering from the groups to overpower the peaceful sounds of the waves. The whole thing seemed so overwhelming to Ellie. You, however, took no bother to it. You scanned the shore to find an empty spot for the two of you to sit and as your eyes landed on an open space, you began to make your way over forcing Ellie to trail along behind you.

As you began to settle yourselves in the spot, Ellie chucked her army green satchel onto the ground allowing grains of sand to creep into its crevasses. Meanwhile, you gently placed your tote bag down before taking out a pink and white towel. The difference between the two of you was staggering. You lay the towel gracefully on the shore before Ellie plopped herself down on it.

“It’s so hot.” Ellie grumbled for the one millionth time as she held her hand over her face, sheltering herself from the searing sun. “I feel like I’m gonna burn up and die.”

You giggle at her dramatics before responding.

“Come take a dip with me.” You piped up. Ellie was about to retort until she caught a glimpse of you taking off your oversized shirt which hung loosely on you. Underneath revealed a blue bikini adorned with graphic white flowers. Did everything about you have to be aesthetic? Looking at your stylish beach outfit made Ellie feel uncharacteristically ashamed about her own.

“I can’t.” Ellie responded as her eyes quickly shifted to her feet digging into the sand. An unexpected sense of embarrassment washed over Ellie as she spoke. “I need to put sunscreen on first.”

She didn’t tan. In the sun, most people brown slightly with a topaz colour glossing over their regular skin tone. Ellie wasn’t most people. With the presence of the sun, Ellie burnt tragically, causing her naturally pale skin to redden and flake. Not only did it look horrible, but it also hurt like a bitch.

After rummaging around her satchel for a few seconds, Ellie eventually found her desired object. Taking it out, the item was revealed to be a bottle of ‘SPF 50 Sunscreen’. Ignoring the slight snicker from you, Ellie pulled off her Smiths shirt; leaving her in a black sports bra. You watched her impatiently as she began to lather the white lotion over her arms and legs.

What felt like a century passed as Ellie’s soft skin finally began to absorb the cream. The time had been spent making awkward small talk here and there, and you constantly checking the time on your phone. You were absolutely desperate to dip your toes in the sea.

“Let’s go!” You cheered as the recommended thirty minutes passed. Quickly, you pushed yourself up onto your sandy feet. At the sound of your eager tone, Ellie couldn’t help the slightly chuckle that escaped your lips. She allowed herself to be pulled upwards, by your hand, and dragged towards the water.

“Wait! I’m still in my shorts?” She pointed out causing a small ‘oh’ sound to leave your lips. Ellie unzipped her jorts and kicked them off; revealing a pair of black swim shorts patterned with bold yellow bats. She was wearing a Batman swimsuit. A Batman swimsuit. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t help the cackle that bursted out of you. Total embarrassment erupted through Ellie. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry.” You chortled in between your fit of giggles. Ellie shot you a glare only for her self-conscious expression to return a second later. “It’s cute.” You said half-seriously as you continued to laugh.

Eventually, when you managed to collect yourself and stop laughing, Ellie found herself being tugged towards the sea again. You braved up first; dipping your left foot into the crisp water.

“It’s not that cold.” You spoke as though your whole body wasn’t shivering. Carefully, you submerged the other one in as well; leaving Ellie on the shore. The pale girl looked apprehensive as she observed you walking deeper into the ocean. “Once you’re in it gets warmer. You just need to acclimatise!” Finally, Ellie took the plunge and stepped into the sea quickly.

“That’s fucking freezing.” Ellie yelped out.

You couldn’t help but giggle at her frigid body and screwed up face.

“You’re being a big baby! It’s not that bad.” You teased, causing Ellie to shoot you a scowl as her whole body shook.

An evil thought entered your head as Ellie stood there shivery. You pursed your lips together as you contemplated your diabolical actions. Eventually, your intrusive thoughts won. In one swift movement, you dipped your hands into the water, cupping it, and throwing it onto Ellie’s body. A loud squeal exited the girl as the nippy water splashed onto her. Ellie gaped at you in disbelief before returning with a splash of her own. That resulted in a water fight between the two of you, despite your grown age.

For a moment, Ellie was grateful that you had dragged her out that day.

“Truce! Truce!” Ellie called out as she tightly squeezed her eyes shut.

“You got sea water in my eyes!” Her complaint came out as an uncharacteristic whine. “It really stings.”

You let a sarcastic ‘aww’ sound as you took Ellie’s hand into your own and led her out of the sea. When you reached your previous spot on the beach, you sat softly on the sand before chucking your tasteful towel at the girl. Ellie shoved her face into the towel as she continued to grumble about the stinging sensation.

Still in your swimsuit, you tossed your head back letting the sun beam down on you. As you lay on the sand letting the heat dry you naturally, Ellie scrubbed herself down before tossing the towel over her auburn hair in a pathetic attempt to stay in the shade.

“If you go through all this and still burn, I’ll laugh.” You commented with a slight smirk at the ridiculous imagery beside you. Ellie shot you a glare before retorting.

“I thought you were supposed to be nice.”

“I’m an absolute sweetheart.” You countered causing Ellie to roll her eyes.

“Yet you’d laugh at my hypothetical pain.” She muttered with the towel still sitting on her head. Instead of continuing the banter, you decided to counter by snatching the towel from Ellie’s head. This action caused Ellie to let out a yelping sound before she grabbed the item back.

“Let the sun dry you instead. Let nature do its thang!” You laugh as Ellie both internally and externally cringes at your words.

“It’ll dry me out too much. I will burn.” Ellie emphasises.

A warm silence envelopes the both of you, as you bask in the sun’s radiance beaming down. For a moment, as she looked at your radiant presence laying in the sand beside her, Ellie thought that perhaps your quiet company was rather pleasant.

That was until the eerie music of an ice cream truck sounded, invoking a childlike squeal from you. All of a sudden, you jumped up and chucked your shirt back on over your damp bikini.

“Ellie, we’ve got to get ice cream.” You pleaded as you began to rummage through your bag for your purse. Ellie remained on the ground as you scrambled about. “It’ll make this beach day perfect!”

Slowly, Ellie picked herself up from the ground and sighed. She knew she would give in to your shenanigans eventually anyways.

“Fine.” She huffed, causing excitement to fill your sparkling eyes. “But you're paying for mine.”

“What am I? Your boyfriend?” You retorted, causing a grossed out expression to cross Ellie’s face.

Ellie shrugged on her shorts as you pressured her to hurry up. The second her zipper was zipped had you begun pulling her towards the van; joining in the queue of little kids. When you reached the front of the queue, Ellie ordered a single with a flake. It was a classic. However, when you ordered a strawberry flavoured ice cream, Ellie couldn’t help the small chuckle that left her.

“What?” You questioned as you took the ice cream from the seller.

“Nothing. It’s just very you.” Ellie commented with a slight smile dancing on her lips.

As the two of you walked back to your area, you both let the quiet sit between you as you enjoyed your ice creams. Ellie glanced at you before taking in a deep breath and letting out a soft sigh.

“Thank you for dragging me out today.” Ellie spoke with a bashful expression. You looked deeply at her face as she began to speak, however Ellie failed to meet your eyes. She looked rather cute like this. “It wasn’t as horrible as I thought it’d be.”

You couldn’t help the sweet smile that enveloped your face at her words. Perhaps you didn’t sicken her as much as she thought?

[laurfilijames]

Wish You Were Here

Pairing: Will 'Ironhead' Miller x reader

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: Angst. Mentions of death and brief descriptions of war. Intimate flashbacks.

Summary: Sleep deprivation begins to take its toll on Will, leaving him distressed and emotional as he thinks about being back home with you.

A/N: This is sad and it hurt my heart to write but I needed to do it so I can go back to writing fluffy filth!

---

The numbers usually calmed him, gave him something sturdy and finite to focus on, but tonight they taunted him.

Each second that turned into a minute was a cruel reminder of all the ones he had spent awake, and no matter how exhausted he was and how physically ill he felt from the sleep he was being starved of, his mind and body refused it.

It had been days without more than a few minutes of rest at a time, only accumulating to a small number of hours that wasn’t enough to sustain anybody, and another wave of nausea set in as the effects of it all started to become too much.

It was moments like this that he missed you even more. The hurt in his heart turned physical, a relentless ache for you that the pains in his body couldn’t compare to.

Will sighed heavily, trying everything he could to cope with the insanity he felt over it, but it was growing to be unbearable, his limits tested like the few times they had before. He wondered as he took another deep inhale - his empty stomach filling with air - if he was waking anyone up in his distress, constantly shifting where he sat on the cold ground to try to feel even an ounce of comfort, his breathing louder than the wind howling around them, but it was stupid to think anyone else was able to slip into the solace of sleep at this point. No one was snoring and everyone was still, lacking the relaxed twitches that came when rest took control of your body, and he thought how the only members of their company who were resting peacefully were the ones going home to their families accompanied by a folded flag.

Home.

He blew out another shaky breath, closing his burning eyes so he was able to picture it in his tormented mind.

Your alarm would be about to go off, the early dawn still covering your bedroom in darkness right before the sun appeared to kiss your skin with its orange glow instead of his lips, your side of the bed cold as your body favoured his spot to be the one that was kept warm. You would no doubt have one of his t-shirts on and your head would be on his pillow, gripping it tightly as if it was him, trying to capture a bit of him that was left behind from the last time he was there with you.

Will found a little relief in these thoughts, knowing you were safe and out of harm's way, although he wasn’t naive enough to think you weren’t spending each moment worried and anxious for his safety.

Another inhale, slower this time, eyes still screwed shut as if the tighter he closed them the further he would be from this brutal reality.

He can hear the hum of the fan that sits on your dresser and is aimed at your bed, the sound ingrained in his mind from keeping both of you cool in the humidity night after night, and he can almost smell the scent of your heated skin, the familiarity of it making his mouth water, the desperation he feels to be able to hold you making him want to smile and scream all at once.

Fuck, he wished you were here.

Will flashed open his eyes. No. He couldn’t dream of placing you in this hell and exposing you to all the evil he had witnessed.

He shifted his legs, closing his eyes again as tears sprung up in them, the wet boots on his feet feeling more intolerable than usual.

Another inhale, then exhale.

He sighed again, imagining he’s back in your room, crawling into fresh sheets after showering, tangling his naked limbs with yours, your fingertips dancing up and down along his arm and back and softly over his face until his breathing continues to happen without him thinking about it and his mind is temporarily void of all he holds onto.

In the distance, the boom of an air raid sounds, rumbling and shaking the ground with a trembling force, bringing him out of his dream.

His muscles felt incredibly heavy, beyond tired and depleted of any strength, and he replaced the reasons why they were with how wonderful his body always felt after pouring every bit of energy he had into loving you, the satisfaction in expending all of his power into your pleasure comparable to nothing else.

A stray tear rolled down his cheek as his breathing grew quicker, thinking how he would do just about anything to be with you right now, even for the briefest of moments. Everything was more tolerable when he was with you, no demons too big to face, the strength you had admirable and extended over to him by simply being in your proximity. Sleep was something that never came easy to him, but at least when he was with you he was engulfed in a comforting embrace that gave him some rest and repose.

He brushed the wet away with his thumb, his heart clenching in his chest while his throat restricted, knowing if you were here you would kiss each tear away and sit quietly with him until his mind gave him some reprieve.

Will sunk his chin down into the collar of his jacket, rubbing his mouth back and forth on the material, the smell of sweat, rain and stale blood that he didn’t know was his or not filling his nostrils with a pungency he struggled to get used to.

A huff that bordered on being a laugh came from him, thinking how ironic it was that the night before he deployed he hadn’t slept either, choosing instead to spend every second he had making love to you over and over while the time was available to him, each time never enough, and he thought how he would sacrifice sleep for the rest of his life if it meant he could share nights like that with you again.

He licked his lips, trying to get some moisture onto them and rid them of the stinging, chapped feeling and then pressed them together, recalling how it felt to have them hydrated and wet from yours, imagining the sensation of your skin under them as he peppered countless kisses on your body, something he could only describe as being the closest he could ever get to heaven while he sat in the threshold of hell.

Will had vowed when he left that morning that he would never leave you again after this mission, and he would stay true to that promise, deeming it completely impossible to carry on like this while knowing everything he needed to live and survive was half the world away.

Until then, he would tick off every minute, hour and day, counting them down until he was holding you in his wearied arms again, and hoped he could at least pass some of them with sleep, the gravity of needing to be alert and focused in order to make it back to you sitting heavily on his shoulders.

He untucked his arms from across his chest, tugging up the sleeve on his left one to check his watch, feeling a little more hopeful that he was one hour closer to that goal.

---

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[wheels-of-despair]

Look At Him Now Pairing: (Background) Eddie Munson x You Summary: Evil Woman sits with Wayne and watches Eddie be a dork. Contains: Hangin' with Wayne, (squirt) gun violence, a lowkey Father's Day fic for Uncle Wayne. Words: 800ish

It's early afternoon when the Forest Hills Trailer Park sign comes into view. You put your turn signal on and feel the summer heat start to close in as soon as you slow down enough to turn, and the wind stops blowing through your windows. Maybe this is why Eddie drives through here so damn fast.

You see Wayne sitting on the picnic table as you get closer. You come to a stop behind the van and decide to say hi to Wayne before finding out where the hell Eddie is.

"Hey, darlin," he drawls when you get close, patting the top of the table next to him. "Have a seat. Enjoy the shade. Watch my nephew act like a six year old."

"Can't resist an offer like that," you laugh, sitting next to him and facing the long row of backyards and empty clotheslines.

Eddie Munson is having a water war with the neighborhood kids. He's wearing denim cutoffs, a soaked t-shirt, and having the time of his life. Six or seven kids, all armed with squirt guns, chase each other through the grass, screaming and squealing each time someone gets hit with a stream.

"I'd tell him to act his age, but…" Wayne takes a drag off his cigarette. "It's kinda nice, seeing him like this. He didn't really act like a kid when he was one."

You tilt your head slightly, hoping for more. You don't get to talk to Wayne alone much. Eddie's always there with you, and the two Munsons are always picking on each other. Which is amusing, but…

"When he first came to stay with me, he was a different kid. Quiet. Lonely. Scared of just about everything. He ever tell you about his old man?"

"A little bit," you answer. Eddie did not like to talk about him.

"My brother was… well. Some people just ain't meant to be parents."

Wayne takes another drag, and doesn't speak again. The silence is more unbearable than the humidity.

"But you did a really good job," you smile. "Look at him now."

Several of the younger kids corner Eddie by a brush pile, and he puts his hands up to surrender. They shoot anyway. He yells and gives chase, and they all squeal and scatter.

"I didn't do much."

"Yeah, you did," you argue. "Your nephew is my favorite person in the world. He's everything a good man should be. An absolute gentleman. And I have no doubt that you're the one who made him that way."

Eddie chases down one of his assailants and lets out a maniacal cackle as he empties his water gun on the kid squealing in protest. His laugh always brings a smile to your face, even when he's up to no good.

"You really love him, huh?"

You take your eyes off of Eddie and look at Wayne. His mouth is crooked in a rare half a smile, and his eyes look… proud?

"Damn right I do."

Wayne chuckles and nods his head, turning his attention back to the war going on in his back yard. The teams have called a truce and gathered around a bucket to refill their water guns. Eddie's explaining proper filling technique to the kids when he looks up and spots you. He grins, finishes filling his gun, and walks over to the picnic table.

"Hi," he says, leaning over for a kiss. His hair drips on your shorts. He stands back and narrows his eyes. "You guys talkin' about me?"

"World don't revolve around you, boy," Wayne grumbles.

"Mine does," you grin.

"My condolences," Wayne deadpans.

Eddie raises his squirt gun and aims it at Wayne.

"Don't," Wayne says simply.

You look from Eddie to Wayne, staring each other down, waiting for the twang of western music or for a tumbleweed to blow by.

"Alright, old man," Eddie glares playfully, lowering his weapon slightly. "You win this time."

"Mhm," Wayne hums, knowing his nephew wouldn't have dared. You love watching them play with each other.

Eddie jerks his gun in your direction, and before you can even threaten him, he pulls the trigger. You shriek in surprise, holding out your hands to try to redirect the stream from soaking your shirt.

When Eddie's finger gets tired of pumping the little plastic trigger, he stands there and grins triumphantly. You growl and slowly get off the table. Eddie's eyes widen, and he stumbles in his hurry to run back to the yard. You wring out a bit of water from your shirt, making a little puddle on the ground by your feet.

"Wayne, if you'll excuse me, I have to go murder your nephew now."

"You kids have fun," he laughs.

[porcelainseashore]

Ghosts from the Past (1)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: This fic takes place after Part 1 Teenage Headache Dreams so feel free to give that a read first. Note that I might get a little creative with RE lore and chapter updates could be longer than before, so please bear with me. Thank you to all those who gave feedback and followed me on this journey so far! 🫶

AO3 Link

Chapter 1: The Invitation

7 years.

7 years since you last saw him. 

But he hasn’t stopped haunting you.

You were stumbling your way through the sweaty crowd in one of the nightclubs you usually patronized. The thumping electronic beats resounded in your ears, as throngs of people writhed and shook to the music, raising their open palmed hands towards the DJ, like they were praying to some demigod. The room was bathed in a swathe of dark red light, and you were parting it like a sea of blood.

Dark kohl liner accentuated your eyes and your lips were the color of bruised plum, smudged slightly due to the humidity of the place. Your body was slick with perspiration, glittering under the lights, and it was barely covered by pieces of lace and a leather harness. A random guy pulled up next to you, whispering lewd nothings in your ear as you shoved him aside nonchalantly.

You were drugged up, high out of your mind, but everyone else was anyway, so why did you even care? Something instinctual told you to get to the middle, no matter what. So here you were, pushing your way through unapologetically, like you were on some unspoken mission.

And there he was. In the center. Blonde hair, blue eyes, t-shirt and jeans, just like you remembered him, as if time had not passed at all. As if it was only yesterday.

He stared at you intensely, wearing a scowl on his face, unspeaking. You noticed how tired he looked, like he just wanted to end it right there and then. So tired.

Maybe it was like those indigenous myths you had read about in class when you were young. The saying was that if one faces death, death has no choice but to grant them a final dance. Were you now in the shoes of death, frozen to the spot, watching him so he could cross over to the other side? Except, he wasn’t dancing. He remained there, completely still, eyeing you emotionlessly.

“Leon…” you mouthed, as your voice was drowned out by the blaring sound system.

The next moment, he disappeared into thin air like a shadowed specter, a faded memory of what you once had. 

Suddenly, everything around you erupted in flames, the bright light dazzling you and the scorching heat against your skin causing you to shrink away in fear. Your lungs felt like they were suffocating as you coughed vehemently due to the thick smoke that enveloped you. What the hell was all of this?

As you attempted to make a run for the exit, you noticed piles of bloodied-up bodies lying on the floor, surrounding you in a tight circle. Tripping over them, your eyes widened in shock as you began to recognize who they belonged to. There lay your parents, Leon’s parents, Kayla and the rest of the cheerleaders… the count went on as you frantically tried to shuffle yourself backwards, away from the source of terror, until you heard a deafening screech tearing through your eardrums.

BRRRNNGGG!!!

The sound of your alarm clock jolted you from your sleep. Hitting the ‘off’ button in response, you cursed out loud as your body shuddered uncontrollably. Your blanket and sheets were wet and clammy with puddles of your sweat. Trying to calm yourself, you took a quick gulp of water from the glass sitting on your bedside table and started to slow your breathing down.

Why were these dreams getting more and more frequent? You’d see Leon each time and then everything would turn to shit. There was just so much carnage and destruction back there, it nearly felt real.

You turned accusingly towards the framed photo of you and Leon back when you had posed together for your college graduation, still standing upright on your bedside table. Gripping it tightly till your knuckles were white, you opened one of the table drawers and chucked it inside, watching it clatter into the darkness as you shut the drawer back roughly.

Fuck, Leon! Why? You cried out internally, begging him to stop with the nightmares. Cradling your head in your hands, you broke out into sobs, whilst at the same time chiding yourself for not moving on from him all these years.

Bzzzt bzzzt. The burner phone on your desk interrupted your thoughts abruptly.

You sighed, picking yourself up from the bed and groggily trudging towards it. Flipping the phone open, you were greeted by yet another cryptic text from your handler.

The Chancery. Cocktail event. Tonight 7pm.

Right. Not like she would give you any more information on what this was about. As an informant, you were on a need-to-know basis and had to be happy with whatever scraps you got.

Your mind took a trip down memory lane of how you even landed in such a position in the first place. Ever since that fateful day where you decided to leave and never turn back, you used up whatever savings you had and ran all the way from the Midwest of America to the capital of Germany. There, you naturally fell into the arms of the renowned Silje Völker dance company, who had welcomed you so warmly you even forgot about her peculiar, icy demeanor back when she had scouted you from the dance showcase.

You thought moving to another country and making a new life there would help ease the pain of losing Leon, but you were wrong. Still, it couldn’t be worse than remaining in the place where the catastrophe happened and everything reminded you of him.

Then, about a year ago, some men in black suits handed you their card, reaching out with a proposition. Work for the US government as an informant. We need people like you, they said. There was something fishy going on with Silje, a wealthy, eccentric heiress, and artistic director of the dance company you were part of. She even owned the theater where your training and performances were conducted, and that venue was now under suspicion. As you had worked your way up to become one of her principal dancers, you were now in a prime position to gather the information they needed.

They were just so convincing. It reminded you of what Leon had said when he was younger. About wanting to protect the innocent and make a difference in the world. With that, you didn’t even think; you just said yes. 

Yes. To honor the memory of the boy you loved. Yes. If only you could have just said that one word to him, and to whatever he wanted. Yes.

So now you sought to betray the woman whom you saw as your surrogate mother. Your mother who had helped you find your way in a foreign country, where you were all alone, afraid and distraught. The one who nurtured you into the woman you were standing here today - bold, cunning and adaptable. It felt like life was playing a cruel trick on you. One you could not win.

After rushing through your daily routine, you gathered your things, slipping off an elegant, black cocktail dress from your hanger and stuffing it into your day bag, before heading out to the theater where you normally spent your waking hours training.

You greeted Silje, or Frau Völker - as she preferred to be called by the other dancers, except you and a select few - on the way in. Silje was a tall and wiry lady, with an aristocratic air about her. She consistently wore her platinum white hair in a tight bun, which pulled tautly against the skin along her jawline. For as long as you’ve known her, she never once took off her pitch black sunglasses, whether outdoors or indoors. Her dull-colored clothes covered her arms and legs fully and expensive leather gloves lined her hands at all times. Despite her fragile figure, she commanded authority and projected an intimidating presence.

As you entered the dance studio, she stopped you, gesturing to the dress peeking out of your bag. “Going somewhere special tonight?” 

Nothing could remain hidden from her astute gaze for long.

“Oh, just an international exchange at the embassy,” you lied through a perfect smile.

“How patriotic,” she crooned. You had gotten used to her dark humor and sarcasm by now, so you didn’t pay much attention to it as you shrugged in response.

“Well, enough chit-chat. We have a lot of work to do.” She clapped her hands twice to raise the awareness of the rest of the dance company. “Let’s go through the second part of the Rite, shall we?”

“You-” She pointed a bony finger in your direction. “Need to make those jumps lighter.”

You nodded, acknowledging her criticism that she dished out to you in front of everyone.

“Be in the air, not tied to the ground, my dear.” 

As she flashed over a wide, toothy grin, for a split second you were sure that you saw razor sharp fangs emerging from them. However, they were gone the moment you looked back again.

━━━━━━━━━━━

That evening, you exited out of Friedrichstraße station, one of the main shopping districts in central Berlin. The bustling streets were brightly lit against the darkening sky, as you darted in and out of the swarm of human traffic to get to the embassy. Your heels clacked along the pavement as you made a right, hurrying towards a closed off street, which was heavily fortified with barriers and fencing. 

From afar, you could make out the five-storey, gabled building with beige stone slabs, and the American flag hanging over its front entrance. One of the guards checked in with you, jotting down some notes against your name on his clipboard as he ushered you indoors. 

Dropping off your winter coat and day bag at the makeshift cloakroom, you slipped a couple of spare coins into the tip jar and headed up to the function room. Lively chatter and background music spilled out from its open doors into the corridor you were in. 

You checked yourself anxiously in a reflective surface nearby to make any last minute adjustments. Since your handler hadn’t revealed much of why you had been requested, you wanted to make sure you looked the part and fit in, in case you needed to do some sweet talking with, what you might guess, the elite members of society.

Your hands were trembling ever so slightly as you smoothened out imaginary creases in your shimmery, black satin dress which clung snugly to your body, emphasizing your curves. It had a low, backless design that teased just the right amount of bare skin without raising a scandal. Despite that, you were still debating whether it was too little or too much. In fact, the length of the dress reached so close to the floor, it was a wonder you hadn’t had an accident while walking around in it yet. Maybe you should alter the hem of it in the near future.

The sound of the hallway clock chiming at 7 sharp disrupted your inner monologue, as you realized you should adhere to your punctuality. Making the final touches to your loose, tousled bun and swabbing your lips with a light layer of rouge stain, you finally broke away and entered the function room.

Drinks and canapés lined the long, white banquet tables to the side, while men in snazzy suits and women in fine threads gathered around in their cliques, conversing with each other. It felt like you had gone back in time and were thrown into some 70s gala party, where you didn’t know a single soul. 

A waiter stopped in front of you carrying a tray of bubbly champagne in tall flute glasses. “Madame?” He offered you one from his delicate hand.

You nodded gratefully, taking it before situating yourself at a corner of the room, sipping your drink slowly. Glancing at your watch, you observed that 15 minutes had passed since the supposed meeting time of 7pm. Scanning the room proved fruitless as you didn’t find anything of note.

Where was your handler, Bergmann? What was this party for? You wondered.

At some point, you felt a shadow loom over you from your left shoulder, but you didn’t have a chance to react until it spoke.

“Talk about seeing a ghost from the past.”

Your ears perked up at the voice that you would recognize anywhere, except it sounded deeper and gruffer this time.

No, it couldn’t be… 

Alarm bells started to ring in your head, as you tried to convince yourself that this was one of your nightmares again. Maybe you had fallen asleep on the U-Bahn and now you were lucid dreaming. 

You pinched your arm, not daring to look in the direction of the source of the voice. This was just a dream. 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna help.” 

Or not.

Your breath hitched as you turned sharply to your left, coming face-to-face with a pair of electric blue eyes set in a hollow stare, the dark circles under them giving away his fatigue. His chiseled face was marred by a cut he was nursing on his bottom lip, and his mop of blonde hair was almost like how you remembered it, but longer at the bangs and lighter in color as if it had been bleached in the sun. He was also suited up, black this time, but you could tell he had grown bulkier and more muscular underneath.

How was this possible? What was going on?

You couldn’t even begin to comprehend the scene in front of you, as everything around the room began to spin and your vision blurred. There was the sound of a glass breaking, and the last thing you were conscious of was a strong set of arms wrapping around you, followed by a yell, “Give her some air!”

Then darkness came to claim you.

━━━━━━━━━━━

There was something wet on your face and what felt like a cold breeze, causing a shiver to run through your spine. Then, you sensed a light tapping against your cheek.

“Hey, hey. Wake up.”

Your eyes fluttered open and you were met again with those vivid blue eyes. As you came to, you realized that you were out on one of the balconies, your head propped up by his suit jacket while you lay on the ground. 

He held out a glass of water in his hand. “Here.”

You pushed yourself up on your elbows until you came into a sitting position, before taking it from him gingerly. Your body was still shaking as you drank from the glass and at this, he took his jacket and placed it over your shoulders to cover you.

“Thanks,” you managed weakly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, while carefully helping you to your feet.

There was a moment of silence as both of you eyed each other without a word. However, it seemed as if he wasn’t surprised to see you, which was weird.

“Leon,” you stuttered. “How-”

The balcony door slid open.

“Ah, there you are!” A young man with a communication earpiece, whom you assumed was one of the staff members, called out.

He glanced between the two of you knowingly. “I see you’ve gotten acquainted.”

“Bergmann will see you now.” He signaled towards the elevators past the crowd.

Leon gave him a quick nod. “We’ll talk later,” he whispered in your ear as you followed the man leading you towards the top floor of the building.

Passing by an unassuming door on the fifth level, he rapped it thrice and you heard the distinct tone of Bergmann informing you to come in. He pushed the door and held it open for both of you before he left.

A woman in her late 40s with curly, auburn ringlets and donning a light gray pantsuit greeted you and Leon.

“Kirsten Bergmann,” she introduced herself while shaking Leon’s hand.

“Leon Kennedy.”

“Of course,” she smirked. “USSTRATCOM’s golden boy.”

You were confused, but started to piece together bits of the conversation. Leon had been alive and working for the government this whole time?

“So you’ve met my informant.” Bergmann motioned at you. “She seems to have a flair for making a spectacle of herself recently.” She frowned disapprovingly, referring to the incident that happened earlier that evening. 

You bowed your head in embarrassment, but Leon appeared completely indifferent.

“Anyway, Hunnigan will be joining us on comms shortly.”

With that, she turned to one of the screens in the room which had been switched on and was showing a connecting symbol. A few seconds later, a bespectacled lady with her hair neatly tied back appeared on it.

“Hunnigan here. Shall we get to it?”

Bergmann took the lead on the discussion. 

“My informant will be an invaluable asset to Agent Kennedy’s mission. She has nestled herself deep within the target company and gained the trust of Ms Silje Völker, who has started to, on her own accord, disclose further information in confidentiality to my informant. All the intel has been fed back to HQ.”

Pressing a button, Bergmann brought up a blueprint map of the theater on another screen, except this had additional markings on it in your own handwriting.

“As you can see, exploration of the target site has shown multiple hidden passageways, false doors and even additional depths absent in the original plans. A copy of this has already been forwarded to all of you.”

This time, Bergmann turned to face you, folding her arms as she continued.

“In addition, my informant has secured various key connections that will prove the validity of our findings and help Agent Kennedy gain a foothold on getting access into the target site easily.”

“We are certain this is the base of operations,” she added, almost triumphantly. 

“And I shouldn’t have to remind you how this case needs to be handled with the utmost discretion,” she warned, gazing strictly at Leon and Hunnigan. 

“We have to ensure that US-German relations remain solid and the last thing we want is for this thing to blow up in the public. Much less in the capital.”

“Understood,” came Hunnigan’s unwavering reply. “I’m sure Leon will be able to manage that.”

“Perfect,” Bergmann replied, looking rather satisfied with herself. “My informant will work closely with you on this. There are sights to see, people to meet, and she will accompany you-”

“With all due respect, I don’t need a babysitter.” Leon suddenly piped up from the middle of the room.

You watched in astonishment, your jaw falling ajar, as he insulted you in front of your colleagues. His harsh words stung you inside. It seemed as if he hated you, and wanted nothing to do with you. But why?

“I am more than capable of finishing this myself,” he continued firmly.

Bergmann’s brows furrowed and her nostrils flared, as she looked at Leon like she was about to reprimand a child. “I assure you, she-”

“Take her off the case,” he demanded.

“Agent Kennedy!” Bergmann raised her voice. “That’s not your decision to make.”

From the intercoms, Hunnigan concurred, “I’m sorry, Leon. It’s been endorsed by the higher ups.”

“This is fucking bullshit.” He smacked his hand on a nearby table in defeat.

A tiny smile appeared on Bergmann’s face and you knew she had a trick up her sleeve. “Besides, Agent, how good is your German?”

He glared at her pointedly. “Good enough.”

She laughed mockingly and proceeded to speak with him in German, using a mixture of complex and colloquial sentences, which you noted that Leon was having a fair amount of difficulty processing. Then she turned to you, indicating that you should answer, and you complied with her order obediently.

“She’s fluent, even passable as a native.” Bergmann remarked smugly. “You, on the other hand, won’t last a day with that grasp of the language.”

Leon didn’t respond, but instead resorted to shooting daggers at her.

“Well, now that part’s over and done with, let’s move on to the logistics.” Bergmann stated simply, as if the previous altercation had never occurred.

She pushed forward, briefing you and Leon on the capacity in which you two should work together, how to approach comms, backstories and the like, including the next steps required in the task ahead.

At the end, she requested you to step outside and wait for Leon on the ground floor, as she relayed further details to him that you were not privy to. You had grown accustomed to this sort of treatment, even if you didn’t like secrets being withheld from you. So you waited patiently on one of those stiff, high-back wooden chairs in the lobby, for the man you thought had been a ghost all this while to find you.

How did he survive? Why didn’t he say anything? Was he still upset about the past? Is that why he had treated you with such venom at the meeting? You had a million questions running through your head. Nothing made sense. Maybe the only reason why you weren’t having a mental breakdown at the moment was because you knew you had a job to do.

“Something on your mind?”

You whipped around, startled by the unexpected intrusion. It was Leon, regarding you with curiosity despite the constant scowl on his face.

You sighed, catching your breath and lowering your hands that had been clutched at your chest. “Wanna start talking?”

“Not here,” he replied. “Somewhere less open.” He glanced around before adding, “More rowdy.”

You nodded, understanding that he wanted a place without prying ears. “There’s a grimy bar that’s always packed to the brim in Neukölln. No one will give a shit there.”

He scoffed. “Sounds like my type of bar.”

Pointing at his attire, you commented, “You gotta get out of that suit though. Not unless you want to attract some attention.”

He leaned against the wall, allowing his bangs to fall over his eyes as he folded his arms and smirked at you. “Suits me.”

[inklore]

the flames of undoing

premise: aemond would ruin you. build you up for a fall that would strip you of your virtue, and give him the power he craved to make you his; if only the fall didn’t feel so magnificent.

pairing: aemond targaryen x (f)reader

word count: 1k+

warnings: fingering, unrealistic activities on top of a dragon, cheating (reader is already betrothed to someone else), dirty talk, light choking, ‘if i can’t have her no one can’ type beat, insinuated possessive!aemond, readers house is not specified.

note: hate this evil little shit but my thirst for him clearly reaches no bounds so please do not speak to me about it. i’d let him wed and bed me in the same breath he kills everyone i know and it’s sick!

The hour is too late for a lady to be out. An hour in which lady’s only find themselves in the mix of compromising situations, and no good implications from the gossipers who take comfort in the nightfall. Ruin the only thing that can come from slipping out of your room without a guard to trail beside you. A lady such as yourself should know better—you do know better, having been taught as much; “your virtue is all you have as a woman” your mother had preached.

The convincing it took for the prince to have you twining your fingers with his as you followed him through the desolate corridors, had been little.

Nor had the convincing to get you to climb atop his dragon; Vhager giving a look enough to have your fingers trembling against her ropes.

“Do you trust me?” Aemond’s pull of your attention stolen away from the beast with a knuckle under your chin, and the twitching of a smile at the corner of his mouth; your dress feeling just a little more tight, humid, the fear of your conviction and lady-like-ness gone with such a little movement—there would come a day you mourned yourself for falling for such touches from the prince.

But tonight it only felt right.

Your trust had been cemented in your curt nod and reassuring smile; in the way Aemond had held your back as you swung a leg over to mount the dragon, as in the way he had situated himself behind you wrapping an arm around your torso to speak softly in your ear, “hold on”.

The gravel of his tone sends a pricking down your spine. All second thoughts become lost to the wrath that could come from the two of you being caught.

The heat of the summer night a flush different to the warmth you feel from Aemonds front pressed to your back. Nor did it hold a light to the coolness of the air whipping against your cheeks as Vhagar rose above the clouds. The sight alone enough to make you feel a child-like joy; the flickering lights of fires down below masked in a fog.

Closing itself off from the two of you.

Isolating your forms from the rest of the landing. From prying eyes. Every rule and lessons on ways of being only significant down there, counted elsewhere but above the skyline where it was only you and the prince.

Vhagar’s figure is enough to block all else out—her power enough to extinguish them all to ash. Leaving only you and Aemond.

To be together without leers and directions on courtship, duties, marriage.

To rule how the prince saw fit. A rule that you’ll come to learn should have stayed as a thought above the clouds.

The feeling of serenity, of being in the hands of a prince that held more than just your girlish heart in his powerful and able palms, moving through the wind and sticking to your body—your insides—like a fast acting poison.

A poison that has all sense of your good virtue replaced with something tempting burning low in your belly.

You understood now. The power one felt when riding a dragon.

Of having a warrior in your corner; pressed to your back, willing to strip you of any and all if it meant your loyalty aligned with his. If it meant you were his.

You knew of loyalty and where yours lied, just as you knew whose hands your heart pounded in.

Betrothals wouldn’t change that.

You belonged to Aemond.

It’s why you don’t stir when he moves a palm across your belly. Or when he pushes the fabric of your dressings up your thigh, giving the cool air and his fingertips access to your core.

You spread further to give him room, your back pressing further into Aemond. The back of your head finding his shoulder when the first press from the pad of his finger is spreading your lips, and nestling itself on your clit.

The moans you let out only heard by Aemond. The breeze of the sky swallowing any noise that could travel meters below; illicit noises meant only for your prince.

“Have you let him touch you?” The warmth of his breath against your ear makes you shiver. The “mmm” Aemond groans against your skin when you shake your head, landing in that pit of fire below your belly—atop of your aching center as his fingers continue to give you pleasure.

A pleasure you’ve only ever explored with yourself in the comfort of your own chambers.

Aemond was ruining you, building you up for a fall that felt too magnificent to not let yourself be taken over by.

You wouldn’t wish it to be anyone else to aid you in your undoing.

The way Vhagar is moving through the sky has the metal of the seat jostling your hips in a thrust that assists in the throb you feel at your entrance.

“Do you get yourself this wet for anyone else?”

“No,” your throat feels too raw to speak, too scratched from your moans; from his name on your lips. “Only you my prince.”

You can feel the hardness between his legs as your backside rubs against him. Can feel his chest heave heavier and deeper, see his knuckles straining on the handle of his dragon. His undoing having come and gone long ago, but continues to edge him to that sinful desire to fall from that build up of pleasure.

The growls mumbled into your neck when his teeth scrape against your skin—his words of if you were grounded he would bed you right, build you up until your wetness allowed him to push inside the tightness of your cunt with ease—make your eyes roll back.

“Ñuhon.”

Valyrian. Mine.

“When you finish on my fingers it cannot be taken back. You will belong to me.” His free hand leaves the safety of its hold to grip below your jaw—the bite of the pressure making you cry out. “I’ll burn the entirety of your house to have you. Nothing will stop me.”

[isalisewrites]

Summer after the traumatic end of the Triwizard Tournament, instead of Harry Potter getting visions of the latest evil plot from the Dark Lord, it is Voldemort who gets visions of The-Boy-Who-Lived’s childhood.

And they’re not pleasant.

---

When Newt accepted to become one of Harry Potter's secret guard as a favor to Albus Dumbledore, he hadn't anticipated being faced with a difficult choice over the welfare and safety of a child: obey Albus Dumbledore's orders or stay at Voldemort's side to protect Harry.

Though difficult, the right choice was clear.

------

ONE EXCERPT:

They weren’t stopping. 

Voldemort saw the boy every night in dreams, in nightmares, witnessing things in the night that clung to his thoughts in the day. He couldn’t escape it—couldn’t escape those pained green eyes.

Every night, Voldemort had to watch a muggle beat a magical child. Every night, Voldemort couldn’t escape the dream, the nightmare. Every night, he saw the neglect, the abuse, the cruelty. Every day, Voldemort remembered his own childhood. Every day, he made the parallels.

And he didn’t like it.

It reminded Voldemort too much of his years at the orphanage. Before Hogwarts, the matron would try to control him through whipping his hands with a strap.

The age didn’t change the abuse. It was the same for the five year old as it was for the fourteen year old. When he looked at Potter, he saw a glimmer of a young Tom Riddle. Malnourished, thin, quiet—if it hadn’t been for those eyes, Voldemort would’ve mistaken these visions for the hellish nightmares of his mind’s own making. 

But they weren’t. They were real.

Throughout the day, Voldemort could feel emotions not his own. They bled through every section of his mind, seeped through every crevice of his control; there was no escaping them. They were overpowering, drowning Voldemort in their intensity.

Fear.

Agony.

Despair.

Hopelessness.

Voldemort knew enough of Occlumency to close whatever this link was with Potter. Perhaps, if he closed their link, the visions would end. He wouldn’t have to wake up in the middle of the night with his chest aching and his stomach in unfamiliar knots.

But he didn’t close the link.

He couldn’t help himself. Voldemort found that he wanted to know more, see more, but not in glee nor to celebrate the woes of this boy. 

A connection, a kinship had been forged overnight. He’d hated the boy, yet watching him be so cruelly treated by muggles boiled his blood in his defense. Prophesied enemy or not, Harry Potter was still a child of magic. He should’ve been protected, guarded, treasured—not treated like a house elf.

But there was a little thought in the back of Voldemort, one he couldn’t rid himself of: you put him there.

Voldemort reached his limit by after the seventh night of these nightmarish visions. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed answers.

“Nagini,” whispered Voldemort. “I am going out. Guard the property.”

“Are you visiting the child?”

Voldemort paused, his hands stilling at his collar. He gave her a sharp nod. “I am. He is the source of my sleepless nights and I will have my answer.”

“Do you believe these dreams to be fake?”

He didn’t reply. He wanted them to be fake, but he knew better.

Voldemort dressed in a suit, one that wouldn’t catch the eye of any muggles. He cast a disillusionment charm on himself, as well as a glamor that gave him the appearance of a middle aged Tom Riddle should he be noticed. With a final glance towards Nagini where she lay curled up beside the fire, Voldemort apparated to Number Four Privet Drive of Little Whinging.

The sun bore down, oppressive in its heat and humidity. With a cooling charm, Voldemort remained protected from the brutal sunlight. He observed the quaint middle class neighborhood. For the most part, it was quiet, most people away to work or staying within their homes out of the heat.

Except for a lone boy, who was kneeling hunched over by the flower beds. He tugged on a particularly strong weed that didn’t appear to be budging.

[makethatelevenrings]

Misery Loves Company // B. Wayne x f!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: mentions of menstruation

Summary: You have a sinus infection, period cramps, and it’s hot as balls. Bruce is a good husband.

“I think I’m dying.”

Alfred tutted over you as you glared at the screen in front of you. Your eyes narrowed as you watched the camera from Bruce’s cowl rattle at bit when Killer Croc got in an easy hit. 

“I assure you, Mistress Wayne, that you are not dying. It’s just a small sinus infection.”

“Oh yeah, you call it small when you’re blowing out of one working nostril.” You scowled, your hands bumping into various buttons on the keys as you waved your hands, and then remembered who you were talking to. “Sorry, Alfred, I just feel miserable.”

“Quite alright, Miss. Master Tim has said far worse when I gave him his last flu shot.”

“That’s because Timmy is a wimp when it comes to needles,” Dick said over the comms.

“Names,” you and Bruce intoned at the same time.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize I had the comms on,” you explained. “My brain is a mess today.”

Alfred cleared his throat and you avoided his gaze. You knew he wanted you to admit you were sick, but there was no way in hell. How could you complain about a little headache and period cramps when they were getting shot at and blown up? You especially couldn’t make them worry, namely your husband, when they needed to focus.

“I do remind you, miss, that I handled running the computers when Master Bruce first conceived this hairbrained idea,” Alfred said. “And it appears that you have the same propensity as Master Bruce as not understanding the need to rest.”

Your eyes narrowed and you slowly turned your chair to face him. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Either get upstairs and into bed or I shall tell Master Bruce.”

“You’re an evil, evil man.”

Deciding rest didn’t sound like a terrible option, you dragged yourself upstairs to the bedroom you shared with Gotham’s resident vigilante. It was summer and living in a city built on a swamp and next to the ocean meant that humidity and heat clung to the air like a bad smell. You grunted once you left the cool air of the cave and into the damp atmosphere of the manor.

You were hot, your face felt more stuffed than a turkey on Thanksgiving day, and your uterus was trying to murder you.

Fuck this day.

After changing into pajamas, too tired to even bother with skincare, you laid on your side of the bed and realized that no sleep would be happening tonight. How the fuck were you able to sleep when one half of your face felt like it was packed full of cotton, your back ached from cramps, and the sheets plastered itself against you and clung to your skin in a way that overstimulated you?

This was the worst. Sitting up helped your sinus infection, but aggravated your back. Sweat dripped down your skin and you let out a pitiful whine. God, this sucked. Everything sucked.

You punched the pillow underneath your head in an attempt to make it more comfortable and then flipped it over to sink your cheek into the cooler side of the silken fabric. Your hand reached out and snatched up Bruce’s pillow, which you drew into your chest and cuddled. Even if it was hot, you would do anything to have your husband next to you right now, calloused hands rubbing into the sore muscles of your back. With his low, soothing voice and magic touch, you could be asleep in minutes.

Ah, shit. Here comes the water works. You pressed your face into the soft fabric of his pillow and immediately regretted it as the fabric dampened, saturating the scent of his cologne and body wash with the saltiness of your tears. You needed to get your shit together. What if someone came home injured today? They would need you to have your head on straight.

“Darling?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound of Bruce’s voice. When had he opened the door and walked in? Swiping the back of your hand across your cheeks, you sat up and quickly looked him over. No visible injuries.

“What happened? Why aren’t you on patrol?”

His large, calloused palm came up to cradle your jaw and you sank into the delicate yet strong touch he offered. Your eyes slid shut as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple.

“Alfred called me back in. Sorry, I’m a bit late. I swung by Leslie’s and picked up an antibiotic that will fix that sinus infection and then I had to run to CVS to get some things.”

You paused, your eyelids cracking open so you could stare up at him. “In the suit?”

If you didn’t know Bruce, you wouldn’t have picked up on the tiny twitch of his lips. “Maybe.”

The visual image was striking. Batman standing in line at CVS with a basket clenched in one of his leather gloves, filled with pads, snacks, and medicine. You could only picture the look on the cashier’s face as he swiped a box of tampons over the laser. Bruce liked to keep the house stocked at all times thanks to three women living there permanently and numerous others trickling in on the daily.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

He stooped down and wrapped his arms around you, lifting you as easily as you picked up Alfred the cat everyday to deposit kisses on the cat’s head. Your husband’s strength always surprised you, even after being with him for years.

“I did. You deserve it. Lukewarm shower and I’ll set up the netti pot. Leslie said you take the antibiotics twice a day for eight days. The whole time. No skimping. Take all sixteen.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snorted. “I know how antibiotic resistance works.”

“I forget sometimes that I’m not dealing with the average human population.”

“Let me guess, someone else tried to take a selfie with Killer Croc tonight.”

“Had a selfie stick and everything.”

You snickered and settled in against his chest. You still felt like shit, but with Bruce here, it was starting to get better. Maybe you could convince him to give you that massage after your shower…

Tag List: @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @alexxavicry​ @havingarebelliousstage​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @cursedandromedablack​ 

[zeebreezin]

The first - or perhaps more accurately, second - meeting of a very dazzling couple. Featuring my own personal interpretation of what it must’ve been like when the Dawn Machine turned on for the first time. You’ll need to know Vincent (or rather, the guy who used to call himself Vincent)’s whole deal for this fic to make sense. Also, yay, evil women moments!

The world was wreathed in glasslike gold, and a young man was running as fast as he could. His vision had swam back into focus to the thundering of his boots, the sound sharp against the iron grating and fresh cobble. He sprinted frantically, desperately, through corridors of metal and brick. There was a song in the air, unheard hymns now so, so familiar. The man was singing, too, but he didn’t quite realize that yet. Despite how his chest screamed for breath, for rest, he never missed a note. There were people, uniformed men and women that he sprinted through the melody, collapsed figures lying prostrate in prayer as light stripped the flesh from their backs. None of the others weren’t running.

That didn’t matter, though. He had to keep going. He had to find her.

It was the only thing he seemed to be able to hold into, this unexplainable drive to search. There was nothing else to hold onto. The rest of the young man’s mind was so wonderfully quiet, faintly ringing with thoughts of glory and light and brassy song. They didn’t quite feel like his thoughts, they didn’t stick quite right. What did his thoughts feel like, again? …That didn’t matter. ‘Mattering’ didn’t matter much, anymore. She was out there, somewhere, and he had to keep running.

The young man turned a corner, his torn coat snapping in the humid air as he did. He’d made it to a platform, one overlooking the ochre stained waters. The light danced across the waves. Crates lay stacked on either side. Men lay slumped against them, not breathing yet singing so sweetly. They slid out his mind.

And just ahead, leaning against a railing, he saw her.

She was gorgeous, even in the well worn skirt she wore. She was dressed for work - grease staining her rolled up sleeves - and yet the glorious light seemed to halo her. Like an angel. Like something more. As he stood there, horribly out of breath, she turned to face him. Her curls framed brilliantly bright eyes. She smiled at him, something like relief in her eyes as she spoke. The soft words were nearly swallowed by the distant roar of machinery and the hymns echoing from every other set of lips.

“□□□□□! □□□□□?” She said - wait, what was that she said? “□□□□..?”

His head was full of song. He couldn’t make sense of her words. He should say something, he should respond, but it was all so bright and brilliant. He wanted to answer her badly. Didn’t he? He must want to, right? Did he want anything? Her voice was so beautiful. He had to try and answer.

“Is… Isobel?” His voice was raw, dry and brittle in the thick wet heat. The young man had almost forgotten how to speak. He’d forgotten how to do anything but sing and shine. Somehow, though, he remembered this. Her name fell from his lips without knowledge of the salvation it represented. “You’re… Isobel.”

It was only now that the young man realized that he couldn’t remember his name. The meaning of ‘you’re’ escaped him, even as he spoke it. But Isobel had a meaning.

Of course it did. That was her.

Her eyes were wide with something like concern, despite the smile on her face. She crossed the space in a blur of golden hues, until one of her hands rested lightly on his shoulder. He had to look up to meet her gaze. He did.

“□□□□□□… □□? □□□□□?” It was hard to understand her, intent and vocabulary slipping away into that bright happy nothingness that had nearly swallowed him whole. He was aware, faintly, that he was mouthing her name under his breath. Isobel. Isobel. Isobel. A single piece of meaning in the quiet of his mind. He was smiling so hard it hurt.

Then suddenly, something shifted. It felt like he’d come up for air after too long underwater as something aching burst behind his eyes. His thoughts were still scattered, hushed by the gold caressing the back of his skull. But there was clarity, now. Language, concept, reality. The young man took a single staggered step forwards, nearly collapsing into her arms.

“…Can you even hear me? …Are you in there? □□□?” Isobel said, her soft voice so terribly worried. The grip on his torn, dawnstained coat felt desperate. It left his chest shaking.

“Isobel… is- yes, yes, I can hear you. I can hear you, Isobel.” It was easier for him to speak, now. He tried to sound reassuring, even as tears streamed down his cheeks. How long had he been crying? “I’m… I’m here.”

His words made Isobel’s smile widen, as she pulled him in for a hug. The young man shivered as she held him, a brief, desperate moment of human contact. The rest of the golden, dreamlike world felt more in focus, as he looked out from over her shoulder. He saw the singing people, looking more dead than alive. The newly polished metal piping. The blood. It was so terribly familiar, yet it felt like nowhere at all.

“Isobel, where… where are we?” He said, as Isobel pulled away. There were a few tears in her eyes now, too.

There was that concern on her face again, that softly furrowed brow. “We’re… we’re on □□□□□□…” Isobel’s voice dipped back into the song again. Or maybe it was his ears being pulled under? He couldn’t tell. She paused for a moment, perhaps noticing the lack of recognition on his smiling face. “…what can you remember?”

What can he remember? …There was something he had to remember, wasn’t there? Something terribly important. A secret, one he’d meant to tell her before. A secret not gold at all, one that was dark, and tricky, and smelling of resin— then the sweet nothingness took those words away, and he opened his mouth to speak.

“I remember… You saved me. You saved my life didn’t you, Isobel? I was going to- to do something terrible, and you saved me.” The young man was barely speaking above a whisper. He couldn’t remember the events he spoke of, but the truth of what he said was heavy on his tongue. Yes, yes. She’d saved his life. “Everything else is gone, but… I remember you.” He paused, swallowing dryly. “Do you… do you remember me? Can you tell me who I am? Who am I, Isobel?”

There was an earnestness in his words that clearly shocked her. A spark of desperate trust in otherwise empty eyes. Bright, yes, but so terribly empty. Nothing like the young man Isobel Murray had known only days ago. The Machine had done a number on him. The wit and bravado was pulled clean free, leaving a shaking, earnest man stumbling around blinding for her in the newfound light. He’d never trusted anyone in his life, before - but oh, look how he trusted her now. Isobel was his only lifeline, and there was something almost kind in her gaze as she cupped his cheek.

A crueler person would abuse this. Isobel would do no such thing. It would take time to give him back who he was, and most likely he’d never be quite the same again. With time, though, Isobel could make him even greater than he was. A silver tongue now coated in gold. Someone hers, and hers alone, never to leave her side.

There was an unreadable look in her eyes, as Isobel began to speak. Her tone never stopped being so soft, so sweet. “Who are you? Oh, my dearest… Your name is Vincent Beverley, and you’re madly in love with me.”

The young man - Vincent, that’s what his name was - hung on her every word. He’d just learned what true belief really was from that wonderful gold, and so he knew now with everything he had, he believed Isobel. Every word she said must be the truth. How else could it be sung so sweetly? If there was a brief thrash of doubt, it died silently, along with whoever he might’ve been before. He’s Vincent Beverley. He’s never been anything else.

She’d explain the rest, of course. She told him everything she knew about him - everything there was to know. Luckily, Isobel said, he was quite simple. Vincent Beverley was charming, quick witted, always able to spin a joke, a friend to anyone who needed it. That was Vincent’s greatest skill, she said - to be exactly what he needed to be to make people trust him. He was a recruiter for the Admiralty - but more importantly, a recruiter for the new, glorious machine at their backs. Her eyes had lit up when she spoke of it. He was cunning, and ruthless when he needed to be - when Isobel needed him to be. His head still felt so empty, bright and quiet, but Isobel’s words were all he needed. Vincent took shape around her instructions with a smile on his face.

Because before he was any of those things, Vincent Beverley was in love with a woman named Isobel. He was hers, in every meaning of the word. He’d be the happiest man alive as long as he got to stay by her side. Vincent would be anything, anyone, as long as he could still be hers. Of course, Isobel didn’t tell him that. That part Vincent figured out himself, as he stood there in the brand new light of Dawn, collapsed into his beloved’s arms, half singing and half crying. It was the happiest moment of his life.

God, he loves her so much.

[leggerefiore]

Sea Monster

cw: 18+ content, implied yandere, death, horror, evil merman, dark content, read at your own risk, Minors DNI, pokehybrid au, Sharpedo Grimsley

pairing: Grimsley/Reader

The scent of the sea stung your nostrils as the moon hovered above. Its bright reflection shined on the dark waters below beautifully yet with an ominous air. It was late, but you found yourself simply unable to sleep. Something had been plaguing you since the boat sailed in this direction. There were many rumours about these waters – the ones just far out enough from the coasts of Unova. Stories of a fierce sea monster that seemed keen to take out any vessel that dared into the area it had claimed – Sometimes being even apathetic to whatever supposed territory was believed its own and chasing after swimmers and vessels just for fun. You knew the captain was not stupid enough to venture anywhere near such a beast, but the thought remained.

Your eyes glanced down once against at the sea below as you opted to finally move away from the hull and head back into your cabin. For a moment, however, you swore that you saw something break the uneven waves of the water. Another look revealed it likely was just your imagination. There was no reason to worry. One more day was in your journey before you would arrive at Undella once more. You forced whatever worries from your mind and returned back to your room. Peace entered your mind as you finally curled up under the covers. Exhaustion hit you like the sky had fallen. Paranoia had kept you awake after hearing a few other passengers gossiping about possibly seeing the monster. You wanted to roll your eyes in retrospect. Of course, you were safe.

Of course, the captain would not incorrectly have an inaccessible zone marked on his map.

You fell into a comfortable slumber, forgetting those foolish worries and replacing them with a pleasant reprieve.

Then, you awoke. It could not have been more than a few hours later — the sun still had not risen. You instantly heard sirens and orders from the intercom to head to the deck. As you rushed to gather yourself and a few precious possessions, you noticed the room was tilting unmistakably. Panic rushed into your mind again. Feet rushed against the uneven flooring as you threw open the door to find yourself on deck. The crew seemed to be trying to maintain a calmness, yet their clear horror was not well-masked. Other passengers demanded to know what was happening or to get onto the lifeboats. For some reason, the crew seemed extremely hesitant to allow the use of them. You gathered your breath.

The winds felt chilly despite the otherwise prevalent heat of summer. Humidity was defeated by the distress of the situation. You remained apart from the crowd, trying to keep your wits. The arguing was clearly escalating. You felt a cold sweat overcome you. Why would they not allow anyone to board the lifeboats? The ship was clearly not in a good state. You dared not insert yourself, however. There were already too many voices involved and speaking over each other. Your gaze instead drifted to the dark waters surrounding the boat. The shore was still quite far away. There was no sight of any kind of land here. Endless sea in all directions.

Your mind began to drift to any and every possible outcome. Death was not unlikely. The violence of the crowd escalates into physicality. Your eyes went wide as fists flew and kicks came into it all.

Then, a loud sound — metal tearing — echoed out. The ship seemed to tilt more. You watched as more unsteady people tumble over. A few even falling overboard. You grasped tightly onto a life preserver that had landed near you. Screams, curses, and cries all rung out. Panic fully consumed the situation. Some rushed to the lifeboats in a desperate attempt to survive, while others clung to various parts of the ship. Another tearing sound echoed out, and you found yourself fall backwards. Your grip on the donut-shaped object grew suffocating as the pain of crashing into the waves hit you.

It was then that you finally realised what had happened. A dark fin broke the water. What could be mistaken as a man appeared to raise out the water, but you knew better. Scales littered his skin in small bunches while slits fluttered on his pale chest. A hybrid… You fought back a scream as he charged toward a stocky sailor. Red stained the water. You could smell the iron over the harsh scent of sea. Pained cries and guttural panic became a heavy silence — Splashing ended in that moment, too. The eerie glow of the hybrid's eyes in the still dark night left you shocked. Hiding in the debris that surrounded you, there was only desperate hope that you would go unnoticed.

More screams and cries echoed out for an unknown amount of time. All were eventually followed by an indescribable silence.  You remained still. Survival instinct took over. There was no care for fellow man. Only the urge to stay alive for another moment longer kept you together. Even when the ravaged corpse of another passenger floated past your hiding place. Those blank, soulless eyes haunted your mind. You closed your own. Why had this happened? You could only hope rescue would come. At some point, you had fallen asleep. Somehow, in the madness, you lost consciousness.

Startling awake, you felt your eyes sting from the salt of the sea and morning sun rising in the horizon. With the light of day, the situation could finally be properly assessed. Carnage surrounded you. Viscera and gore floated among the debris of the sinking ship. Bodies were indiscriminately left in various conditions. A sick red truly stained the waves. You felt ill, stomach churning at the sight. How had you lived? It was truly luck, you felt. The poor souls around you, though. Scanning the area more, you searched for any sign of the hybrid that had apparently caused the catastrophe.

Nothing.

You carefully waded out of the debris that had protected you and towards the boat. It was truly unsalvageable. A radio had to be somewhere. You carefully began to tread the waters to search for it. The horrors had to be forced away from your mind. Survival still was all the mattered. You needed to live. Tell the tale of whatever this was… Maybe save more lives. Your search became fruitful as you spotted a crew member clutching a possible match in his hands. Yet, as you began to swim towards him, his body vanished under the waves. You froze. He resurfaced. The radio did not.

Before you could process what that meant, something brushed against your leg. You screamed. A face stared up at you from the waters. Bright blue eyes and dark hair. A smile revealed nightmarish, sharp teeth. You kicked desperately, but he caught it with ease and pulled you beneath the waves, separating you from your life-preserver. Your eyes burned as you got to see the beast in its full glory. A Sharpedo hybrid. Scars littered his navy and white tail. You were about to join the rest. Your eyes closed.

“Oh, man,” a voice spoke clearly, “What a cute expression.”

Your head was above water before you realised it, arms wrapped around your waist and supporting you. The hybrid held you close to him. Horrible thoughts rushed into your mind. Had… Had he said that? He tilted his head at your reaction. Was he enjoying this?

“I'm not hungry right now,” he spoke again, “Aren't you lucky?” Your eyes were saucers while tears felt like acid. A hand came to stroke your cheek, wiping away the tears as they slid down. A smug grin never vanished from his lips.

“W-why?” you asked. Why, what? You were unable to clarify which part you wanted an explanation for specifically. All of it, truthfully, but you could only shake in the arms of the monster that had caused this situation. He closed his eyes for a moment and hummed in response to your words. Claws began to lightly dig into your skin. You felt pure fear pulse through your veins. This was still obviously an unsafe situation. You wanted to get away, yet that simply was impossible.

“Well, wouldn't you hate someone bringing such a loud machine into your home?” he replied simply. You swallowed. Thirst as beginning to burn your throat. His reasoning felt too simple. You wanted some grandiose explanation — some better example of him being evil scum that you could express hatred towards. He let out a sigh. “You look angry now,” your body was being forced against the side of the ship before you realised it. His speed and strength were startling. The bully of the sea... Sharpedos were often called. This hybrid seemed determined to fit the descriptor to the best of his ability. “That won't do, darling,” his teeth buried themselves into your collarbone.

The fabric of your shirt tore as you felt a sickening warmth spill out against your body. Your struggles to escape the man appeared to accomplish nothing. Any hit was simply absorbed or met with him biting down harder. You eventually felt your strength fading. Weakly, you had to rely on him to stay afloat. He hummed and only then pulled away. Your blood stained his lips while his slitted pupils stared straight through you. His tongue peeked out to lick away the remaining blood. “… You taste delicious,” he spoke to catch your attention. His eyes closed again, and he pressed himself closer to your body. “You're far too cute to eat,” he sighed, “I could tell from the moment I first saw you.”

Whatever fight had been in you had been thoroughly smothered. You barely could give a protest when he began to swim away with you. The carnage of his actions being abandoned. Your head felt fuzzy. The adrenaline had run its course, and your body was downright exhausted. The sleep on the water had been light and unfulfilling. Your surroundings when unacknowledged even as he brought you to some remote rocky bluff. Your breath was held unconsciously as he took you beneath the waves to re-emerge in some alcove hidden away. Air was plentiful in there as he placed you on a ledge. Light shined down from above, some break further up in rocks allowing in sunlight.

You scrambled away from him the minute you were out of the water. He only rolled his eyes in response to how you curled up against the far wall of the area.

You could only accept that you had survived, but at an unspeakable cost.

~

Grimsley had only intended to tail the boat and hit it once as a warning for treading too close to the territory he had claimed. He truly had. Something in him was feeling kind, but entertainment was a vice he could not shake. Yet, when he breached the waters to examine just where to hit the boat, his eyes saw a beautiful person leaning over the railings to glance down at the waters. Something in his mind shifted from a simple, playful attack.

He had devastated the boat in a way he had not in a long while. The people who fell into the waters were not at all his targets, yet moving so quickly and harshly had truly worked up his appetite. He moved with efficiency to search for both the human who had caught his eye and to get a quick meal. It was after he caught the first human that he heard quiet, panicked movements. His attention was carefully brought in that direction. There they were, attempting to hide among debris. A chuckle had to be fought back. How adorable. He decided to play along, swimming around and finishing the stragglers before looping back to where they were hidden.

When he saw they were sleeping, he felt his heart race in a way that was unfamiliar to him. They were so blissfully unaware of the predator that stared them down. Grimsley debated startling them awake, possibly pulling them under to do so, but he opted against it. No, he wanted to savour this. It was not every day that someone caught his attention. He lingered, waiting for them to awake. As they did, he trailed them as they searched desperately for something. Their pause in front of a specific body gave him the urge to pull it underwater and snatch whatever it was they held. It sank due to its weight. He watched their reaction closely.

His hand came to grasp their leg with little thought. Their scream stirred something within him. An attempt to kick him saw him pulling them down to him. He adored their expression. Terror, uncertainty, desperation. He could not help but comment on it. Helping them back up, he loved how they writhed against him. Oh, something was really twisting in his mind. It was only spurred on further when he finally sunk his teeth into them. The taste of their flesh and blood… The way their fight just vanished when faced with the feebleness of their situation. He was addicted. Another vice to his ever-growing pile.

He took them away from the mess of the boat, well aware that other humans were likely to show up soon and assess the damage while searching for survivors. Grimsley had left none but you. Though he knew they would not find you either.

Excitement coursed through his body at the various thoughts that were to come. Your body… Your mind… He wanted to claim every piece of you. Something inside of him demanded it.

He brought you to an isolated underwater cave and sighed internally. You scrambled away from him the minute you could. He already missed how you held on to him, accepting your fate. Though, the thrill of the chase was always the best part.

You curled away from him in a far corner, completely unaware that he could easily join you.

No, for now, he would let you have this.

But… His long-term goals — A shaky breath left him.

Something exciting was only to follow.

[sommerregenjuniluft]

~Old Dogs <3

for @krethes, @plecotusauritus, @kaaaaaaarf

The year is 2013, it’s October and Remus is one cranky old man. (He’s 53.)

It’s icy cold in the mornings already, as it tends to be in the south-western English countryside and especially at this time of the year.

Their bed is toasty warm and loaded with feathery pillows to support Remus’ stiff and creaky body as good as possible but his husband is a restless little ball of ideas and insane genius and he’s also an insatiable little brat so that’s why-

“Moons,” whispered on a breathy little snicker, much too boyish for a man in his mid fifties and the mattress dips beneath his weight. Carefully straddling Remus where he’s laying on his stomach, face smushed into two pillows and fuzzy blanket pulled up to his chin and Sirius leaning down, eloping him with his body. There’s long curls tickling Remus’ nostril and he smells of outside air and the thick sherpa collar lumberjack he wears out in his tinkering shed. Which is really more of a good-sized barn, at this point.

He grunts, a vague grumbling noise and Sirius snickers again and then there’s warm lips on Remus’ stubbled, bony cheek which is much too lovely for the early hour and can only mean that his husband wants something.

Remus balls his fist more tightly in the soft material of the blanket.

Sirius, of course, quick as ever, notices and gives another rumbling laugh. Something that vibrates through his chest, past his ribs and seeps into Remus’ spine in an instant.

Warmth pooling in the middle of his chest that works better than any radiator or heating charm in the world. And that’s dangerous because Remus melts a bit then. Turns a little gooey and blurry around the edges. He doesn’t get butterflies anymore, in that cliché sense, after the amount of years, but he gets this.

This ball of everything warm and light in his chest that’s so strong it presses against the inside of his sternum and makes Remus feel close to bursting some days. With how bone deep happy he is.

And Sirius giggles, shakes the bed a bit, because he’s evil and he knows and also knows that he’s got Remus all wrapped around his finger like that, like he’s old chewing gum, stretched thin and no backbone and that it won’t take much more.

But his husband is also fucking lovely and the best man Remus knows and so Sirius kisses his cheek again.

Stubble catching on beard and it’s raspy and it makes Remus’ lips twitch into a smile, eyes still closed and then it’s a little sing-song of, “Mooo-nyy,” and teeth nipping at Remus ear lobe.

And Remus has learned over the last decade to indulge his dramatic side a bit, now that the present sorrows of his life consist of having forgotten milk at the store again and their radishes not taking fruit in their own garden behind the house, so he draws his eyebrows together and grumbles. Wiggles the slightest bit under Sirius’ comfortable weight as if attempting to throw him off, to make his husband leave him alone and to his slumbers.

Sirius laughs above him, sees right through him, of course, as Remus knew he would. His husband laughs and it’s boyish and childish and with the rasp of 54 year old because Sirius adores him, and Remus loves him.

And then Sirius sucks in a breath and stretches closer, humid breath puffing against the shell of Remus’ ear and it’s a soft melody of, “You, you-you are,” and Remus groans before his husband is even done.

Squints his eyes open and glares over his shoulder to come face to face with Sirius singing around a playfully tantalizing smile, expression coy and nearly ruined by how hard he’s trying not to laugh.

Rosy lips framed by dark, coarse hair and his silver eyes crinkling. Laugh lines, permanently etched into his skin and it’s the most handsome thing about Sirius in his fifties. Or maybe it’s the single white streak in his hair, and Remus doesn’t even want to start listing things because that’ll turn into a long morning.

Instead he presses his lips together and gives Sirius a look, who has now moved onto a little shoulder shimmy, jostling Remus and continuing to parrot the princess of pop, “You, you-you are,” sharp eyes flying wide open and fixing Remus, lopsided smirk and glinting canines, “Womanizer, womanizer, womanizer,” abruptly sitting back on his haunches and bursting out the air drums.

The single laugh tumbles out of Remus’ involuntarily but Sirius winks, pleased with himself and extracts himself to continue dancing around in their bedroom as Remus slowly sits up.

He wiggles his toes and cracks his back, stretches his arms to the ceiling and groans a bit. Still hears Sirius chirping the lyrics from where he’s disappeared into their en-suite bathroom, heavy shoes tipping and tapping away—he’s left his dirty boots on.

That alone is almost enough for Remus to spring up out of bed (read: stand up slowly but walk briskly) to snatch his husband up and show him what he thinks of Sirius trudging dirt into their bedroom.

But before Remus can even make the decision Sirius comes back into the room with Remus’ toothbrush in hand, a dollop of toothpaste on it.

Drapes himself against the doorframe dramatically, the back of one hand at his forehead, “You- you got me going,” throwing his hips out and pressing off the wall, stalking closer, “You- you’re oh so charming,” biting his lip for enunciation.

Remus rolls his eyes with a smile and then there’s a grip on his jaw, Sirius plopping down on the mattress next to him, seductive expression turning faux disapproving, “You- But I can’t do it.”

Shoving the toothbrush into Remus’ mouth and whirling up and away. Remus starts brushing dutifully, and Sirius turns around himself two times before taking a stance, fixing Remus with his stare again, and spitting venomously, “Womanizer.”

Sirius dances through the rest of the refrain and Remus watches unperturbed until he almost drops some of the toothpaste onto the sheets. Sucks the foam back up and tilts his neck back, going to stand up.

He pads over to the bathroom, Sirius hot on his trail.

Fingers slipped under Remus’ sleep shirt and squeezing reprimandingly, “You- you say I’m crazy.”

Remus bends down to spit some of the toothpaste into the sink, letting Sirius rove his calloused fingers up his scarred back. “You- I got your crazy,” snapping his teeth and digging his blunt nails into Remus’ shoulder blades and Remus smiles around the minty foam.

“You-” Sirius’ chin hooked over Remus’ shoulder, “You’re nothing but a,” growling into his ear, “Womanizer.”

“Daddy-O,” Remus turns, fast, and plants a big, foamy smooch on Sirius’ half open mouth.

They erupt into a bit of a tousle then, but eventually a few more minty but distinctly less foamy kisses are shared where Remus is leaning against the sink with Sirius standing between his legs, fingers playing with the little curls at Remus’ nape.

Sirius grins up at him when Remus hums the refrain again under his breath, Cheshire cat, pleased as a Kneazle, “Gets you every time.”

Remus rolls his eyes, knocks their skulls together, “It’s a classic.”

“It’s only been 5 years!”

“Mark my words though,” Remus raises and eyebrow and now it’s Sirius rolling his eyes.

He looks criminally gorgeous doing it so Remus kisses him again.

Pulls him closer around the waist and lets a hand slip down to grab at his ass. There’s no urgency behind it, just the desire to feel, to have him atomically under his palms and to hold him close.

A press of warm lips and then Sirius groans happily when Remus nudges at his seam with the tip of his tongue. It’s languid and slow and it has Remus’ chest close go bursting again when they separate with a wet little smacking noise.

Remus licks at the saliva on his lips and nudges their noses together, “So tell me why I was rudely awoken in the early hours of the day and with toothpaste instead of coffee no less.”

Sirius’ eyebrows fly up and his body goes back to rigid and energized, strung tight with creativity and Remus would mourn the way his pliant body had slotted against his own if he didn’t love the way Sirius’ face lights up to much. “Oh, I need some picture frames!”

“Mm,” Remus makes, levels him with another look, “And that wouldn’t have waited another hour or two?”

Sirius shakes his head, grinning, “No can do, Mister Moons.”

“Of course.”

And then Sirius leans close again, eyes lidded and something stirs in Remus gut the tiniest bit. And Sirius voice matches the look so Remus almost doesn’t catch what he says then.

But he does, because what comes out of his lovely husband’s mouth is equally as alluring as the promise of sex, “Y’know that antique shop that’s right next to the old lady’s stand that sells those hot chocolate rum mulled wine creations you’re so crazy about?”

Remus does know that one and he’s already halfway out the bathroom, boney fingers clasped with Sirius ones before he’s done speaking, a merry rumble of laughter spilling from his husband that’s the best kind of music to Remus’ ears as he gets tugged along.

[athenadione]

heat waves

Read HERE on a03

Rated: E for sexual content

Words: 3,379

The wave of heat hits Damian first as soon as he opens the door leading to one of their outdoor pools of Titan’s tower. Then the humidity in the air wraps around him tight, nearly taking his breath away. It clings to his skin, bringing with it a sticky sensation that he despises. It’s a great contrast from the harsh winters of Nanda Parbat, although right now he’s not sure which is worse. 

When he steps out onto the granite deck surrounding the water, he can hear the loud chirp of crickets from down below. The sun’s already set and the reflection of the water shines bright. He looks up to see the sky in clear view. The stars wink down at him like they know something he doesn’t. Then he sees something else that causes one of his brows to raise. 

A full moon. 

He frowns in thought. Some view it as a sign of something dangerous. A sense of foreboding even. The hairs rising on his arms should be a sign of what’s to come. 

But now that he’s looking at it fully in quiet wonder, he’s seeing it more as a sign of completion. A sense of rightness maybe, or even a symbol of light shining on darkness. Good prevailing over evil. 

It’s a nice reminder to him that he’s on the right path. That he’s making his own choice to stay on that path every day as a Titan. As Robin. 

Self-reflection, although something he makes an effort to do often, isn’t the reason that he’s here at the pool at three am in the morning. 

No, his reason for coming up here is currently swimming what seems like her fiftieth lap around the pool. 

He takes a moment to look around. 

The patio table to the left reveals her clothes for the evening folded neatly. The ones she’d worn at dinner after her day off. There’s been several times Damian decided to wear his civvies too, if only for a small sense of normalcy for the day. Not that he’ll ever really achieve it. No, his grandfather made that clear to him from the beginning of his youth.

Raven doesn’t slow when he draws closer, so he takes the time to observe the rest of the area while she starts on yet another lap. 

The full moon causes flashes of light to reflect off the pool and into the deck. Shapes of that light dance off the panels of the tower. Raven apparently decided to turn the deck lights off in favor of turning on the string lights above the bar. Beside it two palm trees wave gently with a light breeze, giving him a small reprieve of the strangling heat. Although that still doesn’t stop the beads of sweat beginning to line his forehead. 

“I figured you’d find me here eventually,” A voice calls out to him, low and sultry. There’s something predatorial in her tone that matches the growing smirk on her face. Even the heat can’t stop the shiver down his back, and Damian is suddenly thinking this isn’t his best idea. 

“I wanted to come check on you since you said you didn’t feel good at dinner.” He tells her, unsure if he should step closer. It’d taken a little longer than he wanted to admit to find her. The first place he thought to look was the library. The next was the training room. He honestly didn’t think he’d find her here. 

Raven pulls herself up out of the water enough to rest her top half on the deck. One arm rests there while the other cups her chin, and she tilts her head with a curious look. Water from her strappy black bikini top drips onto the deck, along with the ends of her ebony locks. The rest of her hair is slicked back with some of the strands shining a dark blue against the light of the moon. He watches for a moment, eyes traveling down to the cheap strings holding the top of her bikini together. Damian swallows. 

“That was so that no one else would try to look for me, but I knew that you would eventually.” Raven tells him. 

Damian frowns at her with the smallest downturn of his mouth. “You didn’t have to hide. If you wanted some time to yourself you could have said something,” he crosses his arms, “although now I’m wondering why you felt the need to hide at all.” 

Raven’s amusement is clear in her eyes, although her smirk is gone, “I’m not exactly hiding.” 

“Maybe, but you’re not exactly telling the truth either.” 

“Maybe not.” 

Damian watches her dip back underwater after her cryptic answer. Something’s been off about her for the entire week—especially now more than ever. He knows Raven better than anyone in this tower, and yet he hasn’t been able to figure out what it is. It bothers him, even more so because now it’s become more of a challenge to find out why. Too bad she’s not giving me any hints. 

His curiosity draws him closer to her, up towards the ledge so that he can smell the faint chlorine of the pool when Raven breaks back through the surface. 

“Why are you swimming?” he asks her while giving into the humidity by rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. After, he crouches in a squat to look into her eyes. 

Up close he notices that they’re darker—looking closer to plum than lilac. His own eyes widen just a bit when he sees that her pupils are very, very, dilated. 

“Because I like the way it feels on my skin,” she says, her hands gliding up through the water. “It…takes the edge off.”

Damian’s brows burrow further together as he takes in her words, his thoughts taking him through every scenario explaining what could be wrong. He wonders briefly if someone drugged her, but that can’t be possible.They all spent the entire day in the tower. He also knows that Raven spent a lot of that day secluded in her room. 

“What do you mean?” he asks her. 

Raven seems to think about something for a moment, before throwing him another alluring look that sends his heart pounding, “It’s really better if you don’t know. You being here is already tempting enough so you should probably leave.” 

His attention is brought to her lips when she bites her lower one. There’s something in the back of his mind ringing the alarm bell—because something is obviously wrong. Raven’s not in her right mind, but there’s also something compelling about the way she looks at him through her lashes with hooded eyes. It lights a flame, starting a wave of heat inside of himself that can’t be staunched. 

It’s not the first time that he’s hit with the strong urge to pull her against him tight and kiss her until she forgets her own name. However tonight there’s a much stronger urgency that pushes that thought aside in favor of making sure that she’s okay. 

“You can talk to me, Raven. Whatever’s going on we can figure it out, you don’t have to be alone.” 

She stares at him then, taking him in for what seems to be the first time. Her eyes brighten in a hunger that Damian hadn’t noticed before as she puts her arms back out on the deck to hoist herself up. When her face is mere inches from his he can no longer ignore her aura that lures him in. Like a siren singing a sailor to his fate, Raven smiles sweetly when she reaches up to trail his face. The feel of her fingers on his skin burns hotter than the sweltering heat outside. 

“Are you sure? I could tell you…” she pulls his face closer to whisper in his ear, “...or I could show you.” 

The ghost of her lips trails the shell of his ear, her breath warm against his skin. Her fingers make a path down his neck, to his chest. Damian’s breath catches in his throat at her touch. There’s an unspoken opportunity in the air that’s not lost on him. 

But it’s also something he never thought he’d have. And as much as he wants to take it and not look back, he knows this isn’t his Raven. 

Her eyes are too clouded—too vulnerable, and he needs to understand what’s going on before he even thinks about exploring this any further. 

So he opts for sternness in response, “You need to tell me what’s going on before I drag you out of this pool and straight to the med-bay.” 

Raven actually pouts, and that alone nearly undoes his composure. Her bottom lip glistens with water, practically begging to be ravished.

“You’re no fun,” she heaves a deep sigh, “If you’re not going to help me then just go.”  

Damian furrows his brows, “it’s not that I don’t want to help you Raven. I just need you to tell me what’s going on. Did someone drug you?”

Raven sighs again in what he can tell is frustration, but from what he’s not sure. 

“No, no one’s drugged me. It’s…well it’s my heat,” she says bluntly. 

The only show of Damian’s surprise is the blink of his eyes. 

“I—okay,” he swallows thickly, “can you…?” He trails off, the unspoken question asking her to explain further hanging in the air between them. 

“It only happens once a year. On a full moon around the summer solstice. My demon half becomes…ravenous. Only Kori knows about it, and she’s helped me with getting everyone out of the tower before but…”

“Oh.” Oh.

Kori’s in bludhaven right now helping Grayson with a case. 

“Yeah, and to be honest you being here is making this really…difficult,” her eyes flick back over to him, shooting him a dangerous look, “so if there’s anything else that you’d like to know, don’t ask me tonight. Ask me tomorrow.” 

There’s so many questions swimming in his mind right now, but the red beginning to seep into Raven’s irises bat them all aside.

“So you…want my help?” He’s nearly breathless at his own question. 

“That depends,” her voice dips lower as her mouth grows into a smirk, “are you sure you want to help?” 

It’s a fair question, one that he should answer carefully, but the need growing in her eyes dwindles all of his thoughts. He wants to drown in them—do whatever he can to satiate her. 

“I need you to answer.” her whisper is raspier—filled with so many emotions that he can’t even begin to interpret right now. All he knows is that she’s giving him a last chance to walk away—a warning that he should listen to. He can still salvage this moment, turn around, and act like he never found her at the pool. He can pretend that he never noticed that Raven hasn’t been herself lately, and wait for the dust to settle. It would be easy enough, and probably the simpler choice. Probably the right choice. 

The only problem is he doesn’t want to make the right choice tonight.

And maybe it’s the full moon, or something else entirely, but Damian can’t help but feel drawn to Raven’s hazy eyes that speak of a promise. A promise that he wants to fulfill for her. 

So when her hands bunch in his shirt, he takes hold of her wrists, his eyes never leaving hers. 

“Yes,” he murmurs, completely entranced by her. “I want to help you.”  

A moment of silence passes between them, and Damian thinks that maybe she’s changed her mind about the entire thing. It’s long enough to make him hesitate—to wonder if he’s in over his head.

Then Raven suddenly pulls him into the pool with her by the collar of his shirt. 

The plunge is shockingly cold—a stark contrast to the feverish heat around the deck. Damian doesn’t even have time to recover when he feels hands on his body—fast and shaking and making quick work of his shirt. It’s off before he even opens his eyes underwater, and Raven lets it sink to the bottom. Then she pushes her body against his before taking the back of his neck in her hands. Pulling them together just as quick, her lips crash against his in a way that makes him feel lightheaded. Her legs lock around his waist and she grinds against him that causes a groan in the back of his throat. He can’t help but be swept under the wave of her passion. 

All of it makes his head spin. 

Damian can hold his breath for longer than most, but he doesn’t want to stay underwater. After regaining his footing he pushes off the bottom of the pool with his legs. Water splashes between them as he breaks the surface. He shakes his hair to get the excess out. Meanwhile Raven doesn’t waste time latching her lips onto his neck, finding his pulsepoint and sucking hard. Damian gasps, pushing her back with both hands on her shoulders, but she’s unperturbed. 

“R-Raven, slow down—” his breath hitches in his throat as her teeth drag across the juncture of his throat while she grinds against him again. She swallows the rest of his protests with another open-mouthed kiss, her tongue immediately darting out to taste him. 

He can’t help but groan into their kiss. One of his hands finds their way to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wet strands while the other takes hold of her ass in a firm grip. Raven sucks on his lower lip before nipping it. She grinds against him again and he throws his head back with a groan, breaking their kiss. 

Raven takes advantage by trailing more wet kisses down his neck, sucking just enough to redden the flesh there before moving on. She grinds against him again, and again, until his erection is straining against his pants almost to the point of pain.

Then she wriggles in his grasp with a whimper, unsatisfied with the fabric still between them. 

“Damian,” she pants into his mouth, “I need you to move now.” 

He curses, gathering her up against him as he walks towards the steps. Raven’s legs circle around his waist, legs crossing at his lower back while he steps out onto the deck. Her confusion is notable in the way she slackens, looking around to see where he’s headed. 

“Hold on, just need to get a towel,” he tells her. 

“I don’t need one,” she says, frustration growing in her voice. 

“Wait Raven, just one second—ah” his voice cuts off as she nips his earlobe, nibbling the flesh there as she tries to flex her hips against him again—looking for any kind of friction to help ease her need. 

He lays the towel out on a pool chair, then follows it to lay them down on it. Then he helps her onto her back as much as he can while she continues to cling to him—refusing to let go. 

Damian puts his hands on her, up to hold her face before kissing her there. She leans up, drinking him in, and he allows her to hold him there flush against her for a few minutes. Then his hands start roaming her body, up and down her arms and her chest, tracing the outline of her bikini tops. He leans up to look at her. 

She’s unlike anything he’s ever seen before. With pink, flushed skin with wet hair all askew. The endless curves of her body and that look in her eyes as she watches him, drunk on the pleasure of their emotions. It’s so fucking sexy, and she’s all his because he’s definitely not letting her go ever again. 

Raven looks as if she’s about to protest, and he realizes he’s taken too long to look at her. He uses the pad of his thumb to draw circles around one of her nipples, delighting in her sharp inhale of breath. The other digs into one side of her hip to help hold her still. Every hitched breath, every moan and whimper, he promises to commit to memory. He lowers his face to bite her other nipple through her top. 

She groans, her hands burying in his hair, as she arches up into his mouth—body pleading for more. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into her chest as his lips trail across to her other nipple in honor of giving it the same attention. 

Raven whines as his mouth lowers, “Enough teasing Damian, I need more,” she says, nearly growling. He looks up, watching as another pair of eyes threaten to form on her face at her demand. 

He acquiesces, releasing her nipple and placing an apologetic kiss at the corner of her jaw. Then he draws further away from her, “Okay,” he agrees, “no more teasing.” 

Raven sits up on her elbows to watch him. “Where are you going—” 

Another whine that does not sound human is pulled from her as Damian settles between her legs and places a kiss on her core through her bikini bottoms. His fingers trail up her thigh. Then he pulls the strings from both sides of her bottoms, allowing them to fall. He doesn’t waste anymore time. 

The second he pulls the fabric down he slips a finger in between her folds and he groans with her, “Fuck, Raven, you’re so wet.” 

She takes him eagerly as one finger starts to ease its way inside of her. He grazes over a spot that has her crying out and arching against the heel of his palm. She’s so warm and her heat entices him further inside. 

He can’t help it. He watches her drown in her pleasure, sprawled out before him, beneath him, all around him. With strands of wet hair spread out wildly around her, and the whisper of his name on her lips—begging him to do anything except stop. 

Raven’s a delectable feast and he’s starving. 

For years he’s wondered how she’d taste. When his mouth lowers onto her for the first time, he knows he’ll never be able to get enough of her. Reveling in her broken pleas, she tastes so devastatingly good. He drinks her in, lips moving expertly to draw out more of her pleasure. Then he works another finger inside of her, setting a brutal rhythm together with his mouth. Continuing until he feels a hand on his head that tugs on his hair, just as his tongue darts out to circle her clit. 

“Yesss that feels so good, mate, do not stop now,” her voice is a deeper and otherworldly growl, and it sends another shiver down his spine. His member throbs against his pants at his new pet-name. 

Then Damian feels her hand against his scalp sharpen with claws. She holds him there against her as her sex clenches around his fingers. He doubles down on his efforts, suckling as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, over and over. 

He murmurs praises against her skin, “That’s it, you’re almost there. I can feel you clenching my demoness. Will you come for me?” 

One more push, and she falls hard. When she releases her scream, it isn’t human, and her claws dig into his scalp. It doesn’t bother him in the slightest. Her pleasure numbs the pain, and he does everything in his power to draw it out for as long as he can. 

A feverish heat settles over his skin as he helps her come down from her high. It sets every nerve he has on fire. He comes to a realization that her heat must be affecting him somehow, because he feels like he can tend to her forever. To her every whim and need. 

He starts to trail kisses up her legs again.

The power Raven seems to ignite in him is indescribable. It’s taking over every single one of his senses. 

And it makes him ravenous.

Damian pins her back down with minimal protest as he sends her a heated stare, effectively sealing their fates. 

“Again.”

[damadisangue]

Time has expanded, losing importance. Somewhere there are documents waiting for them. Somewhere a phone is ringing. Somewhere they are colleagues and rivals again, beasts of battle and breeding, but here, in this moment, they are the truth - brother and sister, alpha and omega. Somewhere Spencer won, and they are pawns in his game. Somewhere perhaps they are even free, but as Wesker rests his head between her breasts, listening to her as she recounts their past - as the truth spills out between them in a room humid with heat and sex - the decision is made, the destiny changed. Wesker narrows his eyes at the hypnotic movement of Alex's fingers in his hair and promises.

This masterpiece is from the lovely and talented @madbedlam

[shesintoomanyfandoms]

It’s the summertime in Westport, Connecticut.

Elsewhere in the world, a war is being fought. The forces of good and evil collide, and unbeknownst to the woman, her son is about to die.

But no one is dying here.

Here, where plates of burnt cookies and peanut butter sandwiches in Tupperware containers and plastic cups with Kool-Aid litter the rooms. Stuffed animals of various horrendous monsters line the walkways.

May Castellan bakes cookies while her son takes his final breath.

She has no idea that he will never return home.

About a day later, in Westport, Connecticut, the air is humid and hot, but May is out and about  anyway. She’s getting ready to bake cookies. Her son’s favorite. His eyes were like his father’s, you know.

But somewhere else in the world, only about two hours away by car, another girl begins to speak. Her name is Rachel Elizabeth Dare, and she’s been taken over by the Oracle of Delphi. The son of Hades is finally not an outcast. Rachel becomes the first Oracle in a very, very long time.

Two hours away, a middle-aged woman collapses.

And one of two things happens in Westport, Connecticut.

May Castellan might have been baking cookies inside her home. When she collapsed, she might have hit her head against the counter on her way down, knocking her out. The cookies, left unattended, caught on fire. May might have died. The firemen, called when the neighbors noticed black smoke billowing from the residence of May Castellan, might have found her in the same place, still with a measuring spoon in her hand.

May Castellan might have woken up in a lobby in Las Vegas. She might have flexed her fingers a little, shocked and finally free of the Oracle’s curse. She might have numbly given the ferryman some cash out of her wallet. She might have appeared before the judges of the dead. They might have declared that ultimately, she had cared greatly for those around her, and had made a brave sacrifice in trying to host the Oracle. She might have been sent to Elysium.

She might have looked around at the host of other dead people, there in a paradise and very confused. A boy might have caught her eye. Barely an adult, with sandy blond hair and a scar down his face. He had blue eyes. Like his father. May Castellan might have approached carefully. She had seen her son in the face of so many people. Was this an illusion, too? She might have asked him, “Luke? Is that you?”

That might have happened.

But it didn’t.

A middle-aged woman collapses on a sidewalk in the heat of a Connecticut summer. Her neighbors call 911, scared that the crazy lady who lives nearby might have finally kicked the bucket. The ambulance arrives quickly, and the paramedics whisk May away to a nearby hospital. She finally wakes up, and begins to take solid foods again. May feels as if she is in a trance—finally without the Oracle’s curse, she doesn’t know what to do with herself. She has become the insane woman, the woman without a child or a job or friends or even an okay house. How does she go on from here?

Two hours away, a girl with fiery red hair and paint on her clothes and skin talks to a boy with pale skin and a skull ring. “She’s been freed,” the girl tells the boy. “I could sense her leaving.”

Two days later, the girl and the boy show up in May’s hospital room. They aren’t technically allowed to be there, but a little Mist goes a long way.

May looks at them suspiciously. “Who are you two?” she asks. “I don’t have any relatives other than my son, and he’s…” she lets that hang in the air for a second.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Castellan, but it’s true. Your son died a hero,” the boy says softly. The girl shoots him a look, but May needed the truth. She’s been living a lie for too long.

“We came to make sure that you were okay,” Rachel says softly. She makes eye contact with May, and a certain kind of understanding passes between them.

“You will make a wonderful Oracle,” May tells her firmly. “Do not doubt that. I was young and foolish. I made my choices. But you are stronger than I.”

“Thank you,” the girl says softly. 

“Now,” May says, “Can you two tell me more about my son?”

[grtmnick]

Regina stepped closer towards Emma, so that their bodies were pressed together and they were both able to see more clearly into the shimmering image of the tarnished antique compact.

A tremor pulsed through the blonde's hand, which caused the looking glass to quiver, drawing concerned amber eyes sideways.

The former Evil Queen was startled upon her noticing how close she was to the Savior.

Without really intending to do so, Regina took a deep intake of breath and inhaled Emma's scent. The pleasant fragrance inspired in Regina's mind images of cinnamon sticks and mugs filled with hot chocolate. It seemed that even the heat and humidity of the jungle had not lessened the persistent wholesomeness of Emma's Charming ancestry.

Burgundy lips curled themselves into a grin, before the brunette shook herself from her reverie. She forced herself to turn back to her makeup case, as the magic signal finally facilitated an intermittent connection with Henry.

With any luck the pink on her cheeks wasn't noticeable.

(Shoutout to @sq33kmonster on Instagram for pointing out how close Emma and Regina had grown towards each other by this point in cannon)