#drabble idea

[siddyyyyyyyy]

Life and Death

Demon!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Angel!Reader

wc: 0.3 K summary: You and Simon work together. He brings dead souls to you, you give them a new life. A constant cycle of life and death. But what happens if an angel loses its wing? warnings: angst/no comfort, no y/n used, religious themes, graphic descriptions a/n: got this idea on a random wednesday from a random picture I saw and here it is. Keep in mind, this is just a concept idea for now. Enjoy!!

Rosy blood mixes up at the shore near you. The usual, crystal-clear sand is getting dirty from your mess. A mess you can‘t control.

Your once clean and peaceful working area turned upside down; clouds dark with a hard stench of iron and stark wind.

Finally, you manage to catch your breath, only able to hear your shallow and slow breaths that are painful to intake. The once favoured place of yours got destroyed after one mistake. The dead souls you give a new life to are supposed to never sin once they return to earth.

The demon you work with hasn‘t visited you yet. But you find yourself wishing he‘d be here. Your wing, that got ripped off without batting an eye, still lays somewhere around your area. The once white feathers now a dirty grey with hints of blood droplets. You skin at your back, once clean and smooth, now decorated with a large scar where your right wing once was.

It feels like it stopped bleeding; not sure if that‘s a good sign or not.

A soft sound of someone walking through sand interrupts your racing thoughts, making you flinch. You turn your body around with effort, hissing when your back muscles flex and tense from the movement.

Ghost, already weary of the situation, stops in his tracks, taking in the scene before him again. And again, he tries to process the pure gore he sees before him. Your eyes wide, scared; face falling into shadows, destroying your once innocent appearance.

Tucking away the dead soul he carries in a small sack of pearls, he strides over, hopeful he isn‘t too late.

You feel his strong hand cup your face, falling into his touch suddenly. Everything feels heavy and unfamiliar, taking every muscle and vein to stay awake. Maybe the blood that flowed from your back was too much. Maybe you are finally dying again. And your trusted demon has to take your soul instead of watching your hands form another life for someone else.

←MASTERLIST

[marimeeko]

Maybe a drabble where Katsuki (and the rest of 1-A) is invited to EraserMic's wedding after the war, because after everything that happened, they don't want to put it off any more.

And Katsuki is introspective about it, because there they are, two adult male heroes, getting married to each other. While the wedding is a private affair, and you know Aizawa hates the press and wouldn't let them anywhere near their big day, it IS public knowledge.

And Katsuki, long suffering a deep devotion to Izuku (and realizing what that actaully means, ie, he's in LOVE with the idiot) and several months into funding and designing that passion project of his, can't help but secretly be heartened by seeing a Queer romantic couple of widely known and loved Heroes be recognized and accepted in the Hero space.

Not that he'd ever be apologetic about his feelings for Izuku, or his own Queerness, but Katsuki finds comfort in seeing Eraser and Mic so happy, smiling at each other in that way, as if they can finally be open.

He looks at Izuku, finding the nerd beaming brightly at their teachers' happiness, and imagines one day, that he could be that happy with Izuku, and they could gather in front of all their loved ones. And the Hero World would welcome them too.

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

HOW DARE YOU STAB ME IN THE GUT THE IDEA OF VAGGIE BEING MORTAL!

SO RUDE!

But at the same time just... thinking about vaggie wanting to grow old with charlie. that sort of show of *trust*, of being vulnerable with charlie in a way no one's been with her before.

and it probably takes some more conversations, but... I want to hope that charlie eventually understands just what vaggie means when she wants to spend the rest of her days with charlie. and how much meaning that carries when those days are *finite*...

MY POOR HEART HOW DARE YOU

well this almost turned into a fic now didn't it? hm. whoops

(had Reinaeiry's song "Left Behind" on repeat for this ^w^;)

.... a new sinner comes to the hotel, sometime After.

they came in past the giant golden Dazzle statue out front, creep through the foyer, tense and ready for a trap, spot Sir Pentious's portrait- and the matching one, hanging up next to it

(fresh flowers sitting in vases under them both)

it's a picture of a woman. Steel grey skin, faded angel wings, a missing eye- deep laugh lines at the corners of the eye she has left

she's leaning back in a chair, sitting casually in her hotel manager uniform, her thin smile a little crooked and a little sharp- definitely someone used to having problems and finding solutions. Not someone to mess with. The walking stick in one hand is held more like a weapon

there's a wedding band on her finger, on full display she reaches up to cover the hand resting on her shoulder

(rest of that person out of sight) (hand clawed and pale as porcelain, cuff of a red suit bleeding out of frame)

and it's odd to see someone else sharing a memorial picture-

(more than one person had died a little, that day)

-but more odd than that is the way looking at the picture makes the sinner frown.

they're still frowning when the hotel founder wanders over

(done arranging for a new room) (doing double duty as hotel manager) (laughed it off earlier- hasn't yet found the time to put up a job openings ad) (a bad liar)

and she's a lanky, tall demon in a red suit, looking more like a living doll than a princess of hell, proper demon image only hinted at with the claws and the fangs

she shows off the fangs when she smiles at the portrait of the woman- then, belatedly, at the new hotel guest

(still their hotel) (still their new guest) (even After...)

she asks,

"Like them?" and smiles a little wider (wider than a human could) (a little forced now) "They're, pretty cool pictures, huh?"

the new guest hums noncommittally. Still frowning

a laugh from the demon standing next to them, clasping her hands, spinning ring on one finger-

"I guess it's harder to know how good a picture it is, if you've never met the person in it." a hard swallow. "She would've.... really liked to have be here. To meet you."

"Not sure I'd want to meet her," a quip, thoughtless, not looking over. "Kinda a scary lady."

the demon's stricken look "-does she look scary?"

a casual shrug. "Just a feeling. Seems like she meant business."

"She did..." fangs biting into lips, smile gone, shoulders slumping, the demon caving inwards. "....but not like that. She, she was scary for people she loved- and kind. And thoughtful and-"

"What about him?" pointing at Sir Pentious in full battle gear, egg boyz everywhere.

the demon's very weak attempt at a smile. "Oh, you'll see him around eventually. He comes down to visit when he can, and likes calling a lot in between."

eyebrows lifting. Realizing. "He's the one who made it to heaven?"

"He is. He-"

"But not her?"

"...."

tall frame hunching, horns out now, dark marks bleeding down pale cheeks like burnt tears. A tail lashing silently behind her.

the demon breathes carefully. Gingerly.

"She... wasn't here to be saved. Not like- not like that."

"Huh."

a dubious, suspicious noise- the hotel is still a new idea even after all these years- a brand new addition to the fabric of creation with a lot of trust issues still to iron out.

"So what happened?" the sinner prods, watching carefully out of the corner of one eye. "Why's her picture up there with his?"

that gets a smile again, strangely.

a tearful one and a thickness in the demon's voice, but still a smile as she steps forward, reaching up to the portrait frame- touching it, lightly, with a pale, clawed hand that matches the one resting on the painted woman's shoulder.

"...they both gave their lives to their friends."

the demon whispers, still smiling.

"They made their home here, in the hotel, with us, and... and they'll always still be here. They'll never. Really leave-"

the words cut off and the sinner shuffles awkwardly in the silence

staring up at the portrait together, one frowning sinner-

-one hell princess slowly leaning against the woman's gilded frame, forehead butting it desperately, clearly trying hard not to cry in front of the first new guest

(that she's had to greet on her own)

finally the sinner speaks up (uncomfortable with pity) (a dangerous, weak thing to feel in hell) scowling hard at the woman's portrait, demanding-

"Where's her spear?"

the demon turns, wet faced, surprised. "Oh- she didn't want..." Blinks. "Her. Spear?"

"The cane thing looks stupid." crossed arms, a judgmental eye. head tilted to the left like bird, like the right eye was better at looking at things- "It's just a stick. How's she supposed to deal with stuff with just a flimsy piece of crap like that? The thing doesn't even have a blade."

"It had one." murmurs the demon, still shocked. Slowly straightening. "It had, hidden inside, there was a blade- Niffty made it for-"

the demon stops. Frowns.

"But. You didn't know her. The spear... How did you know about the-"

another shrug. "Just vibes."

"Vibes-?"

"She looks like a spear kinda girl."

a flex of the sinner's empty hand, gripping empty air, glaring up at the cane in the woman's hand-

"Just seems right, you know? Better than the stupid twig stick."

the demon eyes flicking down to watch, staring. "...she called her cane that, too."

a faint comment drifting up like the ghost of years gone by.

snorting, the sinner turns away. "I bet." eyes the rest of the hotel with hands on hips, critical and on edge with that stare still burning between tense shoulder blades. "So where's my turf in this place? I'm guessing I don't have to fight for it first, right?"

"Room 12, second floor." many times rehearsed words finally popping out without thought. "Key's on the front desk. I'll show you up-"

"Don't bother." sinner already striding off, clearly glad to get away. "I won't kill anyone on the way there, don't worry."

"I wasn't.... that's not why I..."

there's something. Something about that brisk, focused way of walking. Something in the set of those shoulders-

(like a military march) (like the shoulders are braced for wings that aren't there)

(like the sinner should be carrying a spear-)

Charlie lurches forward.

"-Vaggie?"

heart in her throat, fist in her chest, frozen as the sinner pauses at the foot of the main stairs and looks back.

something in that strange face softens. (pity?) (something else...?)

"... not my name, sweetie."

the sinner's smile is crooked. unscarred eyes understanding, and sad.

"She your wife?"

no past tense. just the gaping whole in Charlie- ripped open fresh, thundering and bleeding under her shirt as she stares and stares and tries to see- "Yes." seeing ghosts where there aren't any. "We. For, for so many wonderful years..."

the crooked smile soft as well as sad now, as the sinner thumbs the room key and takes a moment, looking back up at the portrait above Charlie.

"Good for her."

a touch bitter- a sigh, sharp. Pained.

"And, you. Some of us.. never even find who we were looking for, before we lose our chance at having a life with them."

turning and gone in the next second, before anything else slips out. The glint in suddenly exhausted eyes-

Charlie, standing under Vaggie's portrait, slowly starting to shake.

Not this-

"-no."

Slowly backing up against the wall. Claws reaching out, sinking in, ruining wallpaper as the world tilts and turns and Charlie braces her weak knees against the fall.

"-it's not. It's not."

It can't be. The side of the bed that wasn't Charlie's even when she woke up curled up in it- that was real. The dusty spear propped in a corner of their room that Charlie hadn't put there and didn't want there and couldn't bring herself to move- THAT was real.

The portrait behind her, painted when the limp and her balance first started getting bad, when Vaggie still called her cane a 'stupid twig stick' but wouldn't pretend she didn't need it, wouldn't swap it for her spear when Charlie had offered, carried proudly anyway and smirked about smacking ankles when people annoyed her... mostly just thumbed it thoughtfully, when she thought Charlie wasn't looking, smiling that crooked wondering smile- THAT had been- that was-

Charlie could turn around right now and see all of it memorialized behind her (always behind her now) (always in the past, being left further behind).

Charlie had NOT seen, anything else. Because nothing else could BE real.

nothing as real as long limbs folding in, crumping under that damn framed picture, ignoring Husk's worried look from the bar. Husk, glancing up after the new guest, also frowning now-

Charlie and the old habit of hugging herself tightly back together, something not even a lifetime with Vaggie had ever fully broke her out of.

(only ONE lifetime) (not hers)

(her stupid deal hadn't worked in the end) (promise broken for nothing) (Vaggie had died)

(she can't be-)

She can't do this again.

.....

exact words are a bitch sometimes

"Don't let me die without her." (never said- and make sure she doesn't have to live and die alone either, without me)

[vixymix101]

Marv and harry robbing some guys home, and Marv finding an old photo of himself and some old friends and every single buried memory comes flooding back--

Harry goes over to see wtf he's doing cause he's just standing there staring at the photo, asking if he's seen a ghost or something--

Harry hears a car pull up and tells Marv they gotta go, but Marv is still tryna process some things, and while Harry rushes out the back he notices Marv isn't behind him-- and the back door automatically locks so he goes to try and open a window to go get the dumb bastard-- but before he can get it open the front door opens--

He ducks down while Marv turns.

"Mike?".

Mike stands there confused as hell. "Who the hell are you?-- what the FUCK are you doing in my house?--". But before he can go and beat this intruders ass, Marv holds up his hands, showing the photo, and Mike stops in his tracks, blinking in confusion and looking to the photo--

"...Cyril?".

Harry meanwhile is listening in, and is confused by this new name.

Who the fuck is Cyril?..

[stubz]

I just had a thought about how heaven must have a special place for the person who invented cheese which led to me wondering if there's a special place for anyone who invented a thing that led to so much joy. Things like food, technology, art, etiquette even (complimenting each other's outfits)

Which then brought me to wondering what happens to those who meant to do good but it led to suffering.

And then all this brought me to a story idea of two people in the afterlife where one is always praised and respected for their invention/actions that led to so much joy and helped so many, while the other is shunned, ignored, or badmouthed about because of all the suffering and pain that their invention/actions led to even though they did it to help others

[imaginedreamwrite]

Thinking about:

Fresh out of law school (or any university degree) a character lying to his parents about being engaged, and having to come up with a fiancée before he heads home for three weeks

That character taking his a mutual friend’s ex-girlfriend back home to act as his fake fiancée but secretly being madly in love with her for two years—possessively and protectively drawn to her

That same fiancée ends up going for a night out with the character’s sister and ends up getting hurt after trying to rebuff a drunk man’s flirting

Him showing up to the bar to take her home and fix up her ankle after she twists/sprains it

Before the week is out, he is already planning to never let her go once he gets her and has every intention to marry her before the three weeks is out.

[helium-queen]

Just had a random thought pop into my head. You introduce Shane to more modern forms of foreplay like twerking and being tied up, blindfolded and maybe even a little temperature play added with an ice cube 🤔

[abyssguardian]

Alright what if (Ramble mode on)

Sun somehow found a way to get rid of his nanites completely

But the catch is that it left a permanent damage to his mentality

Like worst then before type of damage

i can already feel the plot entering my mind, gonna need sometime to make an actual plot lol

[sassytae]

Taemin demanding to collab with Baby Saja or Mystery and then he sees Abby and he goes "Wonho?" Before realizing no, he is not Wonho and now he must sit with himself and his mistake cause oh man what if netizens eat him alive (again)

[urfriendlywriter]

specific tropes in romance that always heal something in me that it never broke

like, forehead kisses, soft love confessions, peppering kisses all over the lover's face. promises that are kept, hands those are held with a gentle love, and hugs that engulf the heart too.

or when they rest their head on your chest, or lean on you for support.

"your tears kill me," kinda thing. or when a sunshine character finally cries and bawls their entire life's hurt out into their comfort grumpy character (plus point, if the grump feels guilty thinking if they had done something to trigger this emotional outburst)

communication. no matter hard the topic is, how big your differences are.

listening to the other person yap

admiring their facial features and seeing not just the outer structure but the person that they really are.

them getting angry on ur behalf

cradling each other in hugs basically

feeling emotional walls break when you're with that one person particularly

gentle communication. yearning to do more for your lover (!!!!)

affectionate smiles and eyes crinkling with a smile that's directed specially at you.

finding their laugh contagious.

the feeling of being accepted, despite flaws and all

silent domestic acts like being in the kitchen together, dressing up together, them drying ur hair while u sit between their legs

occasionally stolen kisses

or one deep kiss that just lights your world and fulfills your soul and heart.

sleepily nuzzling into each other!!

reaching for each other despite being asleep, with mumbled endearments and whispers of need!!!

laughter coming easily by their side, like happiness is just another day to day thing (this can also be about self love. when u truly love urself and prioritize your own rights and cherish the fact that you're you. happiness becomes beautiful even in solitude)

their fingers buried deep in yo- OOPS.?! :)

[coffeetank]

Ideas to Show Secret Pining

"Why don't you join me?"

"I'll give you a ride, don't worry."

*does something they don't like* "What? I like it."

*immense staring at every chance they get*

*thinking of their crush while listening to songs*

"You said you liked it so I brought it for you."

*finds ways to spend more time with them*

*friendly bullying intensifies*

"I'm looking forward to seeing you there."

"Are you gonna be there?"

"How about we sneak off, just you and me?"

"Why don't I cook for them? What's their favourite dish again?"

*aggressive google searches about how to propose to your crush*

"I'll join those dance lessons, maybe then she'll notice me."

*hopeless around them*

*failed flirting attempts*

*increased compliments*

"My problem is that I like them a little too much for my sanity."

*gets jealous* "So, are you seeing them or something?"

"Are you okay?" // "Completely okay!" (definitely not okay)

*tries to sabotage their crush's date*

*gets into trouble so they can be scolded by their crush*

"I want you to come with me, please?"

-ashlee

[callmeizukunotdeku]

"You're lying," Damian said. 

And honestly, Tim had to laugh, "I don't know why you think I am. I asked to keep a cat, Alfred said no, and that was that."

"But that..." Damian furrowed his brow. Tim's voice was taking on a different tenor than usual. Something a bit more strained. "He let me have a cat."

"Yeah," Tim said, cringing when his voice cracked on the word, before trying to play it off with a casual shrug, "you're his son."

And Damian was fooled for a moment. He had his mouth half open to reply that he was the blood son. He was different. Superior. 

But he paused upon the fact that Tim hadn't just made that point for him, he'd given him an example. 

The cat. 

Tim had wanted one and been refused. Damian had wanted one and had been obliged. 

He had wanted a dragon and been obliged. 

But Tim couldn't have a cat, and Damian, whenever he asserted his superiority, had thought he was lying. 

He was lying in a way. They were the same. Tim was a well-respected associate of his father, but... 

You're his son. 

But that didn't mean as much as Damian assumed it did. 

Damian assessed his options before doing something he usually avoided. He swallowed his pride, looked at Tim, and said, "I...don't fully understand what your place is here."

Tim gave him a smile filled with enough sympathy to make something ugly roll in Damian's gut. "Me neither, kid. Me neither."

[somewheres-woods]

Imagine being a human warrior on Yautja Prime... this is one long ahh drabble...

Taken in by an elder female warrior, she vouched for you in order for yourself to be taken seriously. To not be chased out and killed or put in the arena for entertainment. She practically raised you, she's your mentor, someone you always felt you can rely on.

For the rest of the clan, you're kept at a distance. You still need to prove your worth.

There's this one male in particular that seems to utterly despise you. He's the most celebrated male in the clan, an attractive Big Game Hunter who hunts monsters far beyond human comprehension. He doesn't even waste his time hunting humans. To him, and most yautja, humans are ugly little creatures who can get creative and unfair out of nowhere. We're basically the equivalent of goblins to them.

You're no different to him. Your face is weird and just wrong, and you're far too small and soft to be a worthy adversary. Constantly trailing behind your master like a lost whelp. He'd rather keep his distance.

A prideful traditional yautja. Arrogant as the rest.

Yet, when a giant scorpion like beast strikes him with its poison tipped tail, he has no choice but to seek out your master for an antidote. After taking his trophy, of course. Yet your master is nowhere to be found. Only you reside in the cave.

He's half tempted to turn around and muscle out the poison. However, he decides this is an opportune moment to test your prowess. To see if you're worth being your master's pupil.

He'd rather that you weren't touching him. He's a vain creature, you see. A "you can look but don't touch" type of yautja. Why wouldn't he be? He's incredibly attractive by yautja standards. Honestly, attractive by human standards too, but it's best if you don't tell him that. Don't want to inflate his ego any further.

The softness of your skin... it's not the worst thing. He's certainly been in close contact with more disgusting things.

You cure him of his ailment. Quite quickly, too. It seems like you're improving your master's recipes...

...

Humans certainly are crafty.

Half a day passes, you're sitting by the fire inside your master's cave, stitching up a tapestry for her. You feel something heavy dumped on top of you in a heap. Soft, warm fur enveloping you. It's a pelt on some kind of great wolf-like creature. You certainly like pelts, having started your own small collection of prey you skinned yourself. You remember seeing this kind of pelt on someone before. You certainly remember eyeing a yautja who was wearing one, thinking about how you'd get your own like that.

Just who wore that cloak again? Wasn't it—

"A gratitude gift. Think nothing of it." He grumbled as he stalked away, you only caught a glimpse of his back when he turned around to return to camp.

Your master stares at the scene, a look in her eyes that seems to be a mix of endeared and amused. In a way that only older people can look at young couples people.

Several days pass, and yet he hasn't seen you in his "gratitude gift" yet. Which ticked him off. He spent all that time hunting down that creature, just to create a fur cloak with smaller proportions than he's used to. It was tedious. Troublesome. You didn't deserve the effort. He doesn't even know why he felt the need to make that for you. You don't even bother to wear it.

But on this particular day, it rains. A torrential downpour fitting for the harsh climates of Yautja Prime. He sees a flash of silvery white running around the camp as he prepares to hunt for rations for the clan. You're wearing his gratitude gift.

...

He's only admiring his handiwork. He did a fine job in creating a fur cloak to fit someone with smaller proportions.

Yes. That's it.

He's only admiring his handiwork.

[zephyrchama]

Demon brothers weaponizing their incompetence in the human world to get your attention. Your realm is sooo different to the Devildom, they need you to help them. These ancient and powerful beings are stumped by the incredible inventions of human ingenuity.

Or maybe they're taking advantage of you to monopolize your time.

---

Beelzebub, who had been using a fork just fine all day, suddenly forgets what it's for when you walk into the room. He fiddles with it in his hand and asks, "How does this human fork work?

You respond, confused, "It's the same as any fork? Literally the same as the Devildom, you just... stab the food and put it in your mouth."

"Belphie said human forks are different. You might have to feed me."

---

Asmodeus comes to you in a bath robe, which he managed to put on just fine by himself. "I don't know how human baths work, you'll have to take one with me!"

Belphegor's request is simple. He's already laying down, half asleep, when he grabs your wrist and demands, "Show me how the bed works."

---

"Lucifer, your brothers are driving me crazy again," you complain, having fled to the eldest's room for a moment of reprieve.

Red eyes peer at you from over the rim of his glasses. There's the faint curl of a smile on his lips. "Are they, now? Stay in here as long as you need."

[neoheros]

sakusa knows he’s a bad date.

he’s quiet, timid, doesn’t speak much, and asks all the wrong questions at the wrong time.

he’s not very good at eye contact and a lot of the things he wants to say he feels he can’t say at all either.

(partially due to the feeling that everything he says when he talks to you ends up embarrassing him, and partially due to the fact that talking to you for long periods of time make him tongue tied).

(not that he’d ever admit that).

despite all that though, he does know the basics when it comes to going on dates:

he buys you flowers (and forgets it by his doorway), he opens the car door for you (and apologizes when it almost hits you as he opens it), and he makes dinner reservations at the restaurant you mentioned to him in passing three days ago (he did a good job with this one).

so yes, him being a bad date is not unbeknownst to him. quite the opposite in fact, it’s not only something he knows about himself, but it’s also something that he thinks about all the time.

or at least, all the time ever since he’s met you.

that’s how the two of you end up here — the evening of your first (and probably last) date, sitting on a porch step of an empty building, a bloodied handkerchief filled with crushed up snow pressed against sakusa’s left cheek, and a few missing buttons from your favorite winter coat.

sakusa always knew he was a bad date, but he never thought he would be this bad.

the plan had been simple: get you flowers, open the door for you, drive you to the restaurant you liked. sakusa had this game-plan of his memorized ever since you said yes to him four — now five — days ago.

he wrote it on a piece of paper, step by step, and kept it in his wallet sleeve in case he forgets, he repeated it to himself three times in the mirror this afternoon before he left the house to pick you up, and he said it to himself one last time in the car before texting you that he’d arrived.

he memorized it.

and still, he messed it up.

the streets are empty and the evening is quiet.

“sorry … for this.”

his words feel like they’ve been the first to be spoken all night.

on the snowy concrete just below your feet, there’s a few drops of blood making its presence known loudly against the whiteness of the snow, the drops scatter sporadically, and near it, there’s a button or two from your coat.

you sit next to sakusa on the cold steps, it’s a quiet night, and it’s not snowing anymore, but the soft bed of the cold flurry it left behind made for a beautiful evening.

you let your head fall slightly on his shoulder, “for what?”

you can feel him stiffen immediately under your touch, and he coughs, shy, and looks to the side.

it makes you smile a little bit — his efforts of hiding his expressions — it’s not like you can see him anyway with that big makeshift ice-pack covering his face.

“sorry for the bad date.” he clears his throat, more clearly now, a little louder too, but his tone almost sounds disappointed. “… and sorry for ruining your coat.”

you lift your head up from his shoulder, frowning, and you turn to face him, “it’s not a bad date.”

he doesn’t say anything to that. instead, he keeps his head turned slightly away from you, but his shoulders fall a bit when you move away from him.

“if anything, i should be the one apologizing.” you mutter lowly, “i’m the reason you got hurt.”

sakusa huffs slightly. a second pausing in the air as he refuses to return the look you give him, and finally, he puts down the “ice pack” from his cheek, and looks at you.

his cheek is scratched lightly, nothing too deep, just a red mark that’ll probably resolve itself in a few days, but his lower lip though — the culprit of the blood stained snow — is undeniably busted, still bleeding slightly, and making him wince at the sudden loss of pressure.

“don’t say stupid things.” he tells you, and if it makes him sound cold, he swears he’s not trying to be.

he just doesn’t know what else there is to say.

the truth is — it is a bad date.

he forgot your flowers, almost hit you with the car door, and now, the two of you are missing your dinner reservation because he got himself injured twenty minutes into the night.

it’s not fair, he thinks. half the things he wants to say to you, he can’t. half the things he wants to do, he messes up.

you make him fumble on his words, tongue tied, speechless, literally. you make him write things down on notes so he won’t forget them or practice on bathroom mirrors or worry in his car outside your doorstep.

he is the most capable man in his team, he is the sharpest, the most composed, his teammates and coach all count and look up to him.

but for some reason, one night with you, and it all washes away.

he doesn’t know what to say to you, he forgets things, and he falls face first flat on the hard concrete ground twenty minutes into your first date.

don’t say stupid things.

“you really won’t let me take you to the hospital?” you put your hand on his knee, turning even more to your side so you can face him better.

you have half a mind to put your other hand on his injured cheek but you don’t want to hurt him more than how he already does.

“it’s not as bad as it looks.” and as he says that, he winces, the gust of wind suddenly hitting his busted lip a testament to his bad luck tonight.

sakusa wants to kick himself, if there ever would be an appropriate time to act cooler than how he actually was, it would definitely not be now.

you don’t look so convinced, but sakusa wouldn’t know, he’s still only limiting himself to looking at you briefly before shifting his glance to something behind you or beside you or above you.

“hm. and it doesn’t hurt?” you cross your arms.

he shakes his head, “no. it doesn’t.” (it does.)

you raise a brow, “and you wouldn’t happen to be lying to me right now so i don’t take you to the emergency room?”

he shakes his head again, “i’m not.” (he is.)

you give him a look.

listen — sakusa already knows that he’s a bad date, but come on! he has been planning on asking you to dinner with him since the first week he’s known you, he’s been worrying about this evening since the second you agreed to it, and he’s been kicking himself in the head ever since the night began.

he’d rather bleed out on this disgustingly dirty porch step than admit that he’s a date so bad he can turn an evening meant for dinner into a night at the emergency room.

he doesn’t want you to think that he can be so bad like that. (is it too soon to ask you out for dinner again?)

you still look frustrated at his answers. but at least, he’s looking at you now.

you let out a big sigh, shoulders falling, and suddenly, you clap your hands together loudly as you straighten up.

“then i have an idea.” you say, and sakusa furrows his brows at the sudden change in the atmosphere.

you give him a prompting grin. “heads or tails.”

and it catches him so off guard, he says aloud, “what?”

you dig for a coin in your coat, “i’ll flip a coin and if it lands on heads, we go to the emergency room, no arguments, no fusses, no nothing.”

he frowns at that.

“but.” you tell him, and your grin gets wider as you show him the dime laid out on your palm, “if it’s tails, we go to my apartment, and i’ll try to fix you up there.”

his frown falls almost immediately into something else.

one night out with you and he’s already bleeding heavily and injured, and now you wanna take him back to your apartment?

were you trying to kill him?

“heads or tails, omi.”

he blinks at your words. and once again, he finds himself saying aloud, “what?”

you shoot him a funny look, your eyebrows slightly raising as your lips curve upward into a crooked smile.

you say, teasing, “if you don’t know; heads is the part of the coin with the head of the person showing on it and tails is the–”

sakusa grumbles loudly, cutting you off mid-sentence, making sure you see him roll his eyes at you, and he nudges you slightly with his foot.

he mutters, albeit under his breath, and he tries to hide it, but you can always tell when he’s smiling, “i know what a goddamned head is.”

you shrug, your grin wider now when you see his mood lighten up a bit.

“do you know what a goddamned tail is?”

sakusa huffs out an amused sigh. the smile on his face a lot more prominent now, and you only wonder slightly if it hurts him when he does it.

his shoulders fall as he’s defeated, “just take me to the emergency room.”

you let out a short laugh and the night doesn’t seem so quiet anymore.

you fall back against his shoulder, “ah, omi, are you just saving the opportunity to be invited into my apartment for our next date?”

there’s a choking sound to be heard in the air.

his face almost feels like it’ll erupt into flames by how casually you just said that, a hot pink hue creeping up from his neck to nose all the way to the tips of his ears. he blames it on the cold, and immediately, he presses the “icepack” back against his cheek.

sakusa stands up suddenly from the porch step, “let’s go now.”

and just like he said, he strides away, faster than what would usually be safe on snow-covered pavement.

“omi, not so fast!” you yell after him, rising from your own seat and following his pace, “you might fall again and hurt the other side of your face and atsumu will think i beat you up on our first date.”

he walks faster.

“i can go to the hospital myself, please don’t follow me.”

“that’s ridiculous! let me take care of you!”

he trips on his feet slightly as you say that and his heart feels like it would’ve fell from his mouth had he not caught himself before falling again.

you really were trying to kill him, weren’t you?

maybe this date doesn’t feel so bad after all.

and, is it too soon if he asks you to come have dinner with him again?

[batsandbirdbrains]

Inspired by the one anon who asked abt fics where Dick turns out to be younger than people think he is and the recs that were given:

What if it’s like a scenario where Dick’s parents / the circus changed his age in documents so he could perform. And his age changed all the time on paper because different countries had different rules, even different cities/counties might not be the same as the one next to it. And so Dick sort of forgets how old he actually is most of the time, he just sticks with whatever his parents last told him.

And he was told he was eight when they were in Gotham. He was just short for his age because he’s a gymnast, that’s what they told anyone who questioned them.

In reality, Dick was five years old.

And by the time he remembered he should probably tell Bruce that, it’s already been too long. It’s several months after Bruce has taken him in, after he already has been Robin, and it just hits him one day that he’s going to be turning six in March. Bruce thinks he’s turning nine.

And Dick gets this horrible terrible no good idea in his head that if Bruce finds out he lied about his age, that Bruce will get rid of him. Won’t want him anymore. Will call him a dirty liar and kick him to the curb.

And Dick can’t lose his new home. He loves Bruce. He loves Alfred. And he loves being Robin. So he keeps it a secret and tries to forget that he’s three years younger than he’s supposed to be.

It’s a damn good thing Dick’s parents were rigorous in his schooling, and by some miracle he tests into the proper grade for his age when Bruce starts him at Gotham Academy. It’s a bumpy start, but it’s easily explained away by the slight language barrier. Dick actually speaks and reads English just fine, he learned it the same time he learned French and Romani and Arabic, but it’s a good excuse for why his penmanship is clumsy and why he starts out just slightly behind his peers.

He puts so much extra effort into his school work that by the time he’s supposed to be 13, it’s recommended he skip a grade. Bruce is so proud. Dick is somehow managing to get by as a ten year old in high school, and he cannot figure out how he’s pulling this shit off. Talk about being a showman, because it feels like he’s playing the world’s most impossible role.

But then something happens when Robin is on a team mission with the young justice season 1 team. Some magic shit. Maybe Klarion does something, maybe it’s like the episode where the adults get separated from the kids, but instead of it being everyone over 18 is separated from everyone under 18, it’s anyone who’s a teenager and up being separated from the kids who are all 12 and under.

And no one can figure out where Robin is. And also Captain Marvel is missing. What the fuck.

Bruce is fucking freaking out because he cannot figure out why Dick isn’t anywhere, why he can’t get ahold of him. He’s convinced Klarion must be holding him hostage or something.

And then you have Dick and Billy saving the day on their side, and Dick convinced him to try to transform into Captain Marvel. Billy doesn’t want to, because he doesn’t want to leave Robin alone if it makes him disappear to, but Dick assures him he’ll be fine, they’ll both be fine.

And then they come up with a plan yadda yadda the world is saved Dick and Billy save the day, the rest of the episode doesn’t matter.

But Batman pulls Robin aside immediately once they’re all back together and asks him what the hell just happened.

And Dick just starts crying. He’s so stressed out. This whole situation was so scary and he wasn’t actually all that confident the plans he’d made would work he only pretended to be so sure of himself so Billy could do his part and not be scared too. And also it’s really fucking stressful being a ten year old in high school. It’s very hard. Dick’s life is very difficult, and now his dad is finding out that he’s not as old as he’s been pretending to be, and everyone else is there and going to find out to, and he’s so overwhelmed.

“I didn’t mean to,” Dick says through full on sobs, and Bruce is so concerned and he’s hugging Dick and trying to calm him down, but Dick has gotten himself all worked up. “They changed my age all the time so I could perform, I’d be six in one city and eight in the next and seven in another and I just I forgot I wasn’t really any of those and then you adopted me and I forgot I wasn’t really eight until it was almost my birthday but it was too late to tell you and you would’ve been so mad and you wouldn’t have wanted me anymore and I didn’t know what to do!”

“Hey hey hey, slow down, slow down,” Bruce tells him, “take a deep breath. You need to breathe, Robin.”

But Dick just falls against Bruce’s shoulder and cries. He doesn’t want Bruce to think his parents were bad parents. Because they weren’t, they were the best. They just had to fudge some things so Dick could perform with them, so he could have fun up in the air with them, lots of people in the circus lie about their age!

“Oh, chum,” Bruce coos, resting his cheek on top of Dick’s head, rubbing his back. “I could never not want you. I love you, it doesn’t matter how old you are.”

“You do now!”

It makes Bruce’s heart shatter into pieces. Because Dick really thinks there was ever a time he didn’t have Bruce wrapped around his little finger, he doesn’t realize that Bruce has loved him from the first moment he wrapped the tiny little acrobat in his coat and carried him away from the puddle of blood he’d been kneeling in.

“I have always loved you,” he whispers. “And I always will. But chum, this is important. I need to know how old you really are.”

Dick sobs into his shoulder one more time before he lets out in a miserable whisper that everyone manages to hear, “Ten.”

And Batman damn near breaks. He lets out a shaky gasp, and his grip tightens on Robin as his knees buckle and he falls to the floor, now holding Robin tightly in his lap.

“You were five?” he asks. “Oh my God, you were five.”

Batman has a breakdown right then and there, but he keeps it very contained. He refuses to let go of Robin, just continues hugging him close and whispering that he loves him, he’s not mad at him, he would never ever get rid of him.

Idk what would happen after this but I know for certain Dick and Billy become bffs.