#they took him with them without telling anyone

[coquettefrancaise]

your hands are cold

from Pride and Prejudice (2005)

pair: Azriel x Reader ~ 4.8k

warnings: mysogony (not from az), risque thoughts from reader, sharing a bed ooooh, shadow violence, protective azriel

summary: Azriel would give you the shirt off his back if he knew you were cold and he's trying so so hard to make you see that

Illyrian's lived in the snowy mountains of the Night Court. Thick blankets of snow fell year-round, the sun scarcely offering a reprieve from the constant bite of wind. By the time the children were old enough to run and wield a stick the boys were thrust into training and the girls into house/camp work. Everyone grew to adapt to it, their bodies functioning at an unnaturally high temperature.

Although Azriel, Rhys, and Cassian had lived away from Illyria and the camps for multiple centuries now, they still grew overly warm during the earlier seasons. Both a curse and a blessing.

So why the hel didn't anyone tell you to bring a thicker coat?

Being the night court's newly appointed emissary, you were tasked to go to Illyria to comb over some of the issues stirring up. Specifically concerning the female's training. Surprise surprise.

Thankfully, Azriel had offered to come with. Rhys had given him a smirk, looking between the two of you but Azriel winnowed you before you could decipher what that look meant.

You now stood outside the training ring with him as Devlon and two of his croonies made up some half-assed excuses as to why they weren't prioritizing the females training.

"-we have two new mother's in the area who need the extra support." Devlon ranted, clearly exasperated that his high lord was continuing to harp on this matter.

You looked up to Azriel who was watching the pathetic male with a clenched jaw. He loosened it to say, "Have the father's help then. If they can't care for their own children then they should keep it in their pants."

You refrained from giggling but remained indifferent. Some of the people you worked with were open to your messages while others were... Devlon. And Beron, you supposed. You had to tread lightly because one misstep and they would prod at the weakness until you couldn't handle it. 

"All of our males are needed in training to ensure that they stay in shape. Those females shouldn't have spread their legs so fast." Devlon drawled.

"Surely Rhys would be willing to reenact the castration laws." You said without thinking, glaring at him. "You wouldn't mind being first on the list, would you?"

Devlon only ignored you.

Even with the ire coursing through your veins, you shivered. You were supposed to have been here for an hour max. Get in, yell at them, get out. Unsurprisingly, there was more to fix than you had assumed.

Azriel side-eyed you as you shook from the cold and held out his hand to Devlon. "Coat."

Devlon paused, glaring at the shadowsinger's scarred hand as if it held the plague. "What?"

"Give me your coat. Now."

The words sent an entirely different kind of chill through you. One that made your eyes widen at the hostile calm with which he said it. Sure, you'd heard that tone once or twice, but it never failed to impel you to stand straighter even if it wasn’t aimed for you. 

Devlon scoffed. "I'm not giving you my coat. Who do—"

Shadows crept up around Azriel's feet, climbing his tall, hard body until they amassed near the siphons at his hands, contrasting starkly with the pure white snow that fell around him. With the tendrils of darkness poised to strike, paired with the unforgiving look on Azriel's face, he made a hauntingly beautiful picture. Feyre would be distraught she hadn't been here to capture it.

Not a second further, Devlon took his coat off and placed it in the shadowsinger's waiting palm. His own hand trembling, you noted with smugness.

Azriel stayed silent as he flicked it once. Twice. Until he was certain it was free of any contamination, and then turned to you, a far softer expression pulling at his achingly handsome features. He then stepped forward and brought the coat around your shoulders, encircling you in his arms to fasten the buttons.

Time stopped and you took the chance to study him. The mussed locks of hair from running his hands through it every time Devlon opened his mouth. The smooth planes of his tanned skin. His enviably dark, long lashes framing those all-seeing hazel eyes. And his mouth... if you were a poet you would write odes about it. Both admiring and wicked.

You blushed.

"Is this alright?" he asked softly.

You slowly nodded, words stuck in your throat due to his close proximity.

His fingers brushed against your throat softly and he pulled away, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

When the argument started back up again, you found that while your upper body was warming up, your legs and feet were still at the mercy of the breeze.

Azriel looked to you again and released a heavy sigh. "We'll send healers to perform check-ups on the babes and new mothers. The other females will train as normal. And you will speak to the court's emissary with respect." He told Devlon, voice final.

"I have no idea why he has a weak female performing court check-ups." Devlon bit out, no doubt angry at having been pressed into submission and having his coat stolen.

One second you could see clearly, and the next your vision was clouded by swarming darkness. Instinctively, your hand shot out to find Azriel, fear twisting your stomach at the thought of being attacked or—

You barely had time to call out for him when the darkness vacuumed back to its origin—Azriel.

He now stood a breadth away from Devlon, shadows morphed into the shape of a hand held at the camp leader's throat.

There was no curiosity lingering in your mind as to why he was often referred to as the Angel of Death. His body was tense and forbidding, as if he had been carved from stone. Broad, claw-tipped wings spread in threat, consuming the space around him. The largest you'd witnessed.

"It'd be a shame if your windpipe was broken," his voice was colder than the wind that had picked up, "I'd think twice if you were to make another smart remark about our high lord's emissary."

They stared at each other and then Devlon's shoulder sank in defeat. The ghost hand dissipated at his throat, revealing finger-like bruising. You could only imagine the true harm his shadows could inflict if given free rein.

Devlon's eyes snapped from Azriel to you, chin dipping nearly imperceptibly before walking away, back tense as if he were preparing for an attack.

You waited until he was out of sight to speak. “Thanks for the coat?”

Azriel rolled his shoulders, eyes on the space above your head. “Sorry that it belongs to that dense misogynist; I rarely find the need to carry one around.”

You laughed, hoping to dispel the tension clinging to the air, and clutched the coat tighter to warm your hands up. “It’s summertime; how is it still snowing out here?”

“The elevation of the mountains results in colder weather year-round, no matter the season. This is considered warm.” He jerked his chin in the direction of a group of shirtless Illyrian’s training. “Cassian used to tan on days like this when we were younger.”

“Is that what he’s been doing the past week? I wandered up to the roof yesterday and caught him rubbing some oil into his legs. I never want to see him in shorts those small again.” You widened your eyes in horror. 

"Count yourself lucky. I've seen the bastard’s ass more than I have his face."

"Some would say that you should count yourself lucky then."

Azriel scoffed, eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you ready to go home?” he asked. 

You really weren’t. Not when he was watching you with such tenderness. A cold gust of wind blew past, making your teeth chatter. Azriel didn’t waste any time in scooping you into his arms. 

“Wait,” your breath hitched, “what about Devlon’s coat?”

“We’ll burn it when we get back to The House.” 

Just as he was about to lift off, thunder cracked, causing you to peer up at the malicious looking grey clouds rolling in. Odd, considering just this morning, when you first arrived, the day had been clear and sunny.

Azriel let loose a long breath, eyes switching from you to the sky until he put you on your feet. "We'll have to wait it out."

"You've traveled in far worse conditions," you reminded, although you'd much rather stay put too.

"I'd never risk your life." He stated, voice gruff.

You had to ignore the butterflies that erupted in your stomach. This was not the place nor time to feel flattered by Azriel's protectiveness. He was this way with all of his friends and family, after all.

"Where will we stay? I guess Devlon would let us-"

Azriel snorted. "If I spend one more minute with that shithead I might strangle him to death. Fortunately, Rhys' mom has a cabin here that we can stay in."

As if to hurry you both, the heavens opened up and peltered you with a cold sleet. You were almost instantly drenched. Azriel wasted no time in putting an arm around your back, wing stretched overhead to offer reprieve, and urged you forward through the slick mud.

Finally, you arrived at the cabin, a, small yet homey, two story house with an already roaring fire and steaming kettle on the stove. The shadows doing, you assumed. You turned to Azriel who retrieved two mugs from the cupboard and filled them with tea.

You could picture Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys as young, growing boys wandering in and out of that kitchen, hungry after long days of training. And you spotted notches in the wooden cupboards and dining furniture where playful fights or inaccurately aimed daggers managed to land.

He made his way to you, setting the mugs on the mantel, cringing as you shivered hard. "Do you mind?" he motioned to the coat you still clutched tightly at. "It will only make you colder."

You shook your head, teeth chattering, and reached to take it off when you were stopped by Azriel's hands. He peeled it off of your shoulders and down your arms and chucked it in the fire without blinking.

You couldn't help but laugh at his obvious distaste of the clothing and it's owner.

"Warm up and drink the tea; I'm going to search for some clothes that are, hopefully, untouched by mothballs."

Who would have blamed you for admiring the way his leathers fit to his bunching muscles as he made his way up the stairs?

A small part of you hoped that he wouldn't be able to find anything. From the stories you'd heard from the inner circle about missions that have gone awry in the cold, one of the ways they managed to stay warm was to share body heat.

The image of Azriel aiding you taking off your wet clothes before doing it to himself, flashed in your mind.

Ugh. You rolled your shoulders, turning towards the fire to soothe the ice settling in your bones. Yes, Azriel had been incredibly kind today by offering to join you and giving you a jacket, but that was just it. Kindness.

When you had first met Azriel, like most everyone, you fell for his devilishly handsome features and cool nature. It didn't help that he was unfathomably loyal and strong. Or tall and athletic. Or a good male with good intentions overall.

"It's just a stupid crush," you muttered to yourself as you put your palms out towards the fireplace.

"Hm?"

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Azriel returned to your side on silent steps. A shadow skittered over your shoulder, tickling your neck as if to laugh at you.

"We should really put a bell on you,"

"I'd prefer my enemies to not know when I'm near." Azriel held out clothes to you. "They're old but should suffice. If you'd prefer to wash-"

"That would be wonderful." The idea of a warm bath caused you to sigh with longing.

Azriel clicked his tongue, amusement lighting his eyes. "I shouldn't have even asked, huh? Come," he jerked his head to the direction of the stairs, "let's get you cleaned up."

Electricity zapped through your body at the image of sitting between Azriel's legs in the bathtub as he used a washcloth to soothe your goose-bumped riddled skin. Would he press his lips to each knob of your spine while he massaged shampoo into your hair and-

"Coming?"

Your eyes snapped to Azriel, the fog of your imagination dissipating, making you feel ridiculous. Your cheeks pinked and you nodded, following him.

The bathtub wasn't big enough to comfortably sit two people. Much less if that second person happened to be an Illyrian male.

Azriel put the dry clothes on the counter. "Do you need any help navigating things?"

"I am confident in my ability to bathe myself, thank you for your concern." You teased.

"Don't need me to get your back or anything?" he shot back, looking a lot less tense than he had when you were speaking with Devlon. In fact, he looked a lot lighter than when he was even around the inner circle.

"I think I have it all under control. Thank you again, Azriel."

Before heading out, he lingered at the doorway, looking as if he had something to say but decided not to. He then left you to your own devices, saying something about cooking something up. You stripped out of your drenched clothes and turned on the faucet, shivering when you first dipped into the water. It felt like a warm hug.

The only thing that would make it better would be if you were nestled against Azriel's tattooed chest.

No no no.

You shouldn't be feeding into your delusions. Especially while the person you were daydreaming about was the only other person in the house with you. It would only make things terribly awkward. And you didn't want to ruin anything with Azriel. Not when you were just becoming close friends.

You had been emissary to the night court for a couple of years now and while you had gotten along quickly with everyone, it had taken a while for Azriel to even speak with you one-on-one. He wasn't easily trusting, which you completely understood. But lately things had been warming up. He would make you breakfast when you were the only two up, hand-deliver the books Nesta let you borrow, even nudge your leg under the table when Cassian was making a fool of himself.

Not to mention the fact that he brought you to this camp despite it being a solo mission.

You pushed it all from your mind, not wanting to overthink things, and finished your bath.

The sweater and sweat pants Azriel supplied you with smelled faintly of him. You wondered if they had been his when he lived in this gods-awful camp.

Having found no brush or comb, you settled with running your fingers through your damp hair, wandering down to the kitchen to find Azriel at the stove, preparing what smelled like chile. He tilted his head up to look at you and fire settled low in your belly as his pupils seemed to take over his irises'.

You swallowed thickly, feeling somewhat self-conscious wearing his clothes that hung off your frame. You tugged on one of the sleeves as it slipped down your shoulder. "Hopefully there's warm water left."

The pot hissed with bubbles, shadows whisking the soup ladle out of the oblivious shadowsinger's hand to continue stirring, as Azriel scanned you from head to toe.

Judging by the amusement dancing in his eyes, you probably looked like a drowned rat. You itched to turn back into the bathroom and check yourself in the mirror.

He stepped into your space, "They're not too big?"

The clothes. You shook your head, pointing to the rolled up pant legs. "Needed some adjusting but they shouldn't cause too many problems."

"Certainly wouldn't want them to fall off," he mumbled, more to himself, the insinuation in his voice not helping in tamping down your growing feelings.

"Do I look silly or something? Why are you watching me strangely?"

"Not at all. I just thought you look... adorable." He smiled crookedly.

You realized now you had never seen a genuine smile—one that wasn't produced from dark humor—grace his face. Red splashed over your cheeks and you hurried to say, "You should probably wash up yourself. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold or anything."

After a moment of consideration all traces of pleasure were wiped from his face. You nearly swayed at the whiplash of his emotions. "There's some soup and I discovered one of Cassian's hidden stashes of wine,"

"Perfect," you offered an awkward smile.

While he bathed, you wiped down two bowls and wine glasses of grimy dust before filling them with soup and wine. You then stood by the sink, watching out the window into the night.

The storm had grown, howling winds causing the structure of the house to groan as rain continued its rhythmic drumming on the roof. A flash of lightning lit up the sky every few minutes with the accompanied roll of thunder.

Your heart raced double its time from the inane fear of how destructive nature could be.

You drained the wine in one swallow.

"Not fond of storms?"

"Shit!" you whipped around to find a fresh-faced Azriel rubbing a towel through his dark, wet hair. "When we return home I'm finding that bell."

His eyes squinted in amusement, tossing the towel onto the back of a kitchen chair. "If it helps soothe your worries, Illyria has endured worse weather than this."

"Are you sure this cabin is sound enough to withstand this weather? Considering how old it is?"

A black eyebrow rose, "Is that a jab at my age?"

Apologies began tumbling out of your mouth. Azriel only waved off the words. "Sit and let's eat. The storm will hopefully clear by tomorrow morning and we can be on our way back to Valeris."

"Were you able to reach Rhys?"

"He told us to stay put," he shoveled a spoonful into his mouth, "and that if anything is to happen to you, I will be the one to blame."

"I'm flattered he finds me so valuable."

Hazel eyes met yours for a heartbeat as he said, "You are very valuable."

Oh Cauldron. If he continued saying things like that, you wouldn't be able to keep your growing feelings from showing on your face.

You cleared your throat instead, "How much trouble do you think we'll be in because of that incinerated coat?"

The rest of the dinner was spent bonding over your hatred of Devlon. You weren't sure how Azriel survived being under the insufferable male for so long. Or all the males here, if you were honest. It helped you to understand why he was so hesitant to claim them as his people.

"How long has this cabin been unoccupied?" you inquired, taking another bite of the chile.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, considering your question. He'd been, surprisingly, open tonight. There seemed to be no trace of the ever-reserved male you encountered more often than naught. "The inner circle prefers to handle the camps during the day so we rarely find the need to stay here. Devlon uses it sometimes for meetings."

"Did each of you boys get your own rooms?"

"Boys?" a corner of his mouth kicked up, "You say that as if we're not all centuries older than you."

You stifled a chuckle, "Considering how often you three wrestle over ridiculous things like who gets the last slice of dessert, I think it's fitting."

His biceps flexed as he stretched them above his head. You felt dizzy with awe. "Whatever," he retorted playfully, "but, to answer your question, we shared the same room until it became too much of a hazard."

"Hazard?"

A faint blush crept over his tan cheeks. "When we became more interested in females than pulling pranks on one another."

Oh. You blushed in response and took a drink from your glass to hide your embarrassment.

Azriel huffed a laugh, obviously recognizing your regret of asking the question. In a considerate manner, he said, "Remember how I told you about Cassian tanning?"

"Oh gods, I won't be able to unable to get the image you offered out of my head."

"Then you'll be affronted to know that I found the oil he used."

A laugh spewed from your mouth. Azriel smiled softly at your unexpected outburst. The conversation was built on from there and your stomach hurt from how hard he managed to make you laugh.

As soon as you scraped the last bean out of your bowl, Azriel took it from you and washed it in the sink. Huh. A male who cooks and cleans? You couldn't believe your eyes. And you had to ignore the space in your heart that warmed.

Your attention was drawn to the shifting muscles in his forearms as he scrubbed the dishes. To the dark tattoos swirling around his powerful arms, practically calling you to trace them with your fingers.

"—sleep?"

You shook your head as you realized you hadn't heard him. "Sorry, what?"

A shadow tugged on your hair teasingly and he repeated, "Obviously you're tired since you can't even think straight. Let's go sleep."

He led you upstairs once more and into what you assumed was the master bedroom, with a large four poster bed, a vanity, armoire, and lace curtains that hung over the window. It looked as if it belonged to a... female.

"Was this—"

Azriel nodded, eyes softening as he took in the homemade quilt, "This was Rhys' mother's room. After difficult training or frightening storms, she would let us all fit in the bed with her as she told us stories of fearless Illyrians."

"You used to be scared of storms?"

You couldn't imagine the spymaster being afraid of anything. Even as a child.

"I was scared of many things,"

That was all he offered before attempting to stoke the fireplace and ensuring the room was warm enough. You hesitated before asking, "Is this where I'll be staying tonight?"

"We'll both be staying in here."

Your world flipped upside down.

"You're serious?"

Hazel eyes snapped to you with amusement. "The only fireplace working is the one in the living room; these logs are too wet. Not to mention the magic of this cabin isn't as strong without Rhys here."

It looked as if your idea of sharing body heat was coming to fruition. This would quite possibly be the best night of your life, so you needed to savor it as much as you could until everything went back to normal the next morning.

Your fingers shook as you pulled back the covers and slipped in. Oh gods. This was much more nerve-wracking than you'd anticipated. Yes, you seemed to get along great and you felt comfortable around him, but he was still handsome as sin and effortlessly attractive.

After Azriel was certain no logs were salvageable, he stood from his crouched position, spread his mighty wings once in to prepare for a cramped bed, then tucked them in tightly. Your eyes tracked the movement, the sconce lamps revealing the red tint running through the membranous tissue.

He walked to his side of the bed and laid down, a weary sigh leaving his lips. "The temperature will drop the later it gets, so it'd be wise if we slept closer. I don't bite."

Despite that last teasing remark, you couldn't help but feel nervous. Who wouldn't? You were only sharing a bed with one of the greatest warriors to ever live. And he was acting like it was a regular occurrence.

You tested the waters and inched close enough that your hips touched. You swallowed thickly.

He fluffed his pillow, and even yours, before resting his head and asking, "Comfy?"

Not trusting your words, you nodded, and the room was engulfed in darkness. There was nothing besides the staccato beat of rain hitting the roof and the buzzing along your skin where you were touching Azriel.

You counted sheep in your mind to calm down enough to sleep, fighting off the overbearing thoughts of the male beside you.

A peal of thunder caused you to start.

A heavy hand closed over yours, the ridges and callouses of unhealed burns pressing into your own unmarked skin. You caught your breath. "I won't let anything harm you," came Azriel's deep assurance, instantly calming your racing mind.

Two blinks later and you were sound asleep.

It was so gods-damned hot.

Having Azriel sleep beside you was like having your own personal Illyrian heater. Sweat beaded at your temple and your body felt like it was being roasted over a fire.

Obviously this sleeping-together thing would have worked a lot better if you didn't have access to the indoors or multiple blankets. The fact that you were so inclined to move away made you frown. You enjoyed sleeping so close to Azriel; he was safe, and strong... but he was going to burn you alive.

Slowly, you inched away from Azriel, closer to the edge of the bed, and pulled off the quilt, sighing at the instant relief of cool air sliding across your heated skin. You could finally—

The windows blew open, a gust of frigid wind bursting through the room. You began shivering and grabbed the corner of the quilt when a heavy arm was thrown over your stomach, tugging you into a hard body.

"Where were you going?" Azriel rasped into your ear.

This time you trembled for a different reason. "Wh-what?"

His thumb stroked over your hip, "You were trying to leave."

"It was hot," you whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, he would realize what he was doing and let go of you.

"Don't go."

Hel, you wouldn't move again if a thousand Illyrians dragged you out of his protective embrace.

"Are the windows broken?" you asked.

What had caused them to slam open like that? Was this cabin deteriorating quicker than Azriel had let on? Would it hold on through the night?

You turned your head to the side to assess the damage just as the windows pulled together again. The latch clicking into place.

Squinting your eyes, you managed to spot two slithering shadows gliding along the windowsill.

"Azriel," his name came out suspiciously. Did he send his shadows to open the windows?

He hummed, the vibration of his chest reverberating through your own. "You're always so antsy around me," he admitted, "getting nervous when I start to get comfortable and changing the subject."

What else did you expect from the spymaster of the night court? Obviously he would be able to read a person's behavior.

"I didn't want to scare you off." Came your timid reply.

Azriel huffed a laugh. "Why would I be scared of the attention of a beautiful female?"

A pink flush spread across your cheeks, hidden in the dark of the room. You were never getting over this. Oh, how you wished you had your journal.

"I like you," he continued, "and I know you like me. But this game of cat and mouse has me growing anxious. I would rather like to smile at you without you diverting your eyes."

"I don't think you're scary."

"I know." He said in a cock-sure way.

You scoffed, amused. "For the record, I wasn't escaping because I was scared this time, but because your body runs at two hundred degrees."

"That's why I opened those damn windows." So that the cold would send you rushing back into his arms, you slowly realized.

You were at a loss for words.

"Say something," he asked, an imperceptible plea in his voice.

What were you supposed to say? I think you're beautiful and want to get to know you? You decided to play it safe with, "This is nice." There. That was enough to keep your heart at ease, and not make you sound desperate.

"I like you too," he tightened his hold on you, languidly nosing along your scalp, as if he were smelling you, "And I always want you here."

"In this cabin?"

In the span of two seconds, he had you on your back, limbs trapped under his own. From the scarce lighting of the cloud-covered moon, you could make out the slants and slopes of his face, the soft glimmer in those all-seeing eyes. "In my arms."

In all your day-dreaming, nothing ever compared to hearing him say those words than in real life. When his thumb brushed along your fluttering pulse, and his warm breath fanned against your face.

You swallowed thickly, "Is this a dream?"

His lips met yours, achingly slow, and oh so beautifully.

Once. Twice. He kissed you. The simple action conveying all that words could not. That he truly did like you. That you shouldn't be afraid. That he was falling with you. Falling so so so fast.

author's note: RELEASE ME! guys. i have been trapped in the writer's block hell. i'm home. if there are any mistakes or loopholes, no there aren't. i hope you all love it, pretties. (I haven't forgotten about the beautiful readers who sent me requests🥰)

[batsandbirdbrains]

Another one inspired by this anon who asked abt fics where Dick turns out to be younger than everyone thinks and the recs that were given:

Can be pretty much any setting I suppose, sometime when Nightwing is supposed to be 21. His friends all threw a big party for him. Dick Grayson had a special gala hosted by Bruce Wayne and everything. He’s been drinking (well, he’d been drinking illegally for years now with his friends, but that’s beside the point). Fact of the matter is, Dick is supposed to be 21 and he’s done things that wouldn’t otherwise be legal for someone under 21. He had a whole phase where he needed a cigarette every time he had to deal with Batman (Camels, the best cigarettes, either Blue or Gold, because Dick has Good Taste). That phase may have started before he turned 21 because Roy gave him one after a particularly bad fight with Bruce and then couldn’t say no whenever Dick asked for another.

But really, he hadn’t actually been eight when Bruce took him in. His parents and the circus changed his age on paper all the time so he’d meet the minimum age requirement to perform with them. In Gotham, that minimum age was eight.

In reality, Dick was five. They said he was short because he was a gymnast. It wasn’t totally unbelievable.

But then he forgot to tell Bruce about it until it was several months after living with him and being Robin, and Dick was scared that if he told him the truth, that he’d lied about his age, that Bruce wouldn’t want him anymore.

So he never told anyone. And he was able to convince Bruce to let him be homeschooled the first year or two, and Alfred was a rigorous teacher. He was all caught up with his supposed age group by the time he started at Gotham Academy. Then, he overcompensated so much that by the time we was supposed to be 13, it was recommended he go into high school instead of 8th grade.

It was a lot. It was a stressful time. Dick was a ten year old freshman and also Robin on the side. Bruce really shouldn’t have given him such shit for not wanting to go to college, he was so burned out. But he couldn’t tell him why. It was exhausting. Besides, Dick gets plenty of college credits by doing the random online class here and there. Dick actually managed to get a degree, he just never told anyone. One day, he’s going to whip it out during an argument with Bruce just to prove a point and spite him. He has it all planned out.

But now, there’s some magic shenanigans going on, and everyone on the planet over the age of 20 is separated from those under 20.

And Nightwing is with everyone under 20.

No one says anything at first, Nightwing is the obvious leader of those on his side of things, and they coordinate with the JL on the other side via Captain Marvel going back and forth to relay messages.

But as soon as the threat is dealt with and everything is back to normal, Batman is standing with one of his hands gripping Nightwing’s arm so tight, there isn’t a doubt in Dick’s mind that it’s going to leave a bruise.

“Hey B,” Nightwing says, chuckling nervously. “Good to have you back.”

“Tell me why you were on the side with everyone under 20.”

“Well, you see, that’s a funny story-”

“I’m not laughing, Nightwing.”

Everyone else is very clearly eavesdropping, they’re all obviously just as curious. And Dick feels like he’s under a microscope. He can feel himself starting to hyperventilate, and he pushes all the panic down and sends his most charming smile to Bruce.

“Can we talk about this at home?” he asks, his voice strained. “Please?”

Batman squeezes his arm a little tighter, then loosens his grip. But he keeps hold of Nightwing’s arm, then drags him to the transport room to take him back to the Batcave without saying a word.

“Please don’t be mad,” Dick begs once they’re back at the Batcave. “It wasn’t - I didn’t do it in purpose! I just, it always changed, everything was happening so fast, and then you brought me home, and you were really nice to me and Alfie was really nice to me and I didn’t want to leave and I was scared you wouldn’t want me anymore and-”

“Dick, Dick you need to breathe,” Bruce tells him, pushing the cowl down and guiding Dick to sit near the Batcomputer. He peels Dick’s mask off slowly, gently, then cups Dick’s cheek in his hand. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

“You have to promise you won’t hate me,” Dick begs, and he’s so mad that he can feel tears starting to form in his eyes, that his vision is starting to blur a little bit.

“I could never hate you.”

“Could’ve fooled me!”

Dick’s voice is strangled, scared. And it breaks Bruce’s heart. Sure, they’ve had their disagreements. And sure, Bruce may have told him to stay with his friends for a while so Bruce could cool down between arguments. But he loves Dick. He’s always loved Dick.

“Please just tell me what’s going on,” Bruce begs. “Because you have no idea how scared I was when I realized you weren’t with us. I thought I’d lost you, that the spell must have made some people disappear entirely. Please, Dickie, just tell me.”

Dick looks at him for a moment, both of them quiet. But then Dick is closing his eyes and tears are falling down his cheeks and he lets out a muffled sob as he holds a fist over his mouth.

“It’s not how I wanted you to find out,” he whines, not opening his eyes. “I didn’t know how to tell you, I didn’t know what to do!”

“You don’t have to know,” Bruce says gently. “Nothing in this family ever seems to go how we originally plan, does it?”

Bruce laughs a little, his smile feeling a little less forced when Dick lets out a wet huff of a laugh.

“They changed the documents all the time so I could perform,” Dick says quickly. “Different cities and countries have different rules, different age minimums. For insurance or something, I dunno. People changed their ages all the time in the circus, I thought it was normal.”

Bruce feels his stomach drop, but he moves to hold Dick’s hands and squeeze them tight.

“How old were you when you came to Gotham?”

“They told me I was eight in Gotham,” he says, but then he opens his eyes. “But they were good parents! It wasn’t anything bad, it was so we could perform together, so we could be a family!”

“I don’t think they were bad parents,” Bruce says quickly. “Not at all. But Dickie, I need to know how old you were, how old you are now. Please.”

“I forgot, at first,” Dick explains. “When you took me in. I just forgot, I swear, I didn’t keep it a secret on purpose. But then my birthday was coming up and you thought I was turning nine and I remembered I wasn’t and I got so scared and I didn’t want you to get rid of me.”

“I would never get rid of you,” Bruce assures him. “And I’m not going to be mad, I promise.”

Dick is quiet for a moment, and he doesn’t say anything until his breathing has evened out, until he’s calmed down and not panicking.

Then he admits in a quiet voice, “I was turning six.”

“So you were five?” Bruce gasps. He’d been kneeling in front of Dick’s seat, and he falls back to sit on his feet, feeling like he had the wind knocked out of him. “Oh God, you were five.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he nods his head. Bruce feels like he’s just had ice dumped over his head.

“You’re eighteen right now?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah.”

“Jason is older than you?”

“Barely!” Dick huffs. “Only a few months! You can’t tell him, don’t tell him!”

Bruce smiles then, because leave it to the sibling rivalry to be what gets Dick to snap out of his panic.

“We have to tell them, chum,” he says gently. “You can’t keep it a secret anymore.”

“Why not!”

“Dick,” Bruce sighs. “Do you really want to keep it a secret now? Now that you’ve told me?”

Dick is quiet for a while, but he doesn’t pull his hands away from Bruce.

“And you’re not drinking again until you’re actually 21.”

“That’s not fair!”

“I think it’s plenty fair.”

“You’re being totally lame!” Dick whines. But whatever. Dick will just drink behind his back with his friends like he did before he turned fake-21.

[lyricwritesprose]

Oh. So I was the bad guy.

I hadn't meant to be the bad guy. I don't suppose anyone does. But in addition to remembering things like the throne and the armies and the crown of fire (which I knew how to summon, now, and also had a feeling it would be a very bad idea), I remember the utter rage. You think that ruling the world would get rid of rage. Everyone knows what happened to the last person who annoyed you because the crows are still at the bits, so surely everyone around you would take care not to offend and everything would work smoothly and it would all be all right. If you can crush everyone and nobody can crush you (old memories of a dungeon, a torturer, the man who took me as an apprentice because that would hurt my weakling original father worst of all) then everything would be all right and you would be happy.

Right?

Doesn't work that way. There's always more to be angry at. Always something.

And despite a very large portion of my mind being just a scream right now (is that anger or fear? Do I know? Have I ever known?) I didn't want to go back.

It had been good here.

I did have to do something about these bandits, though.

The first was holding a sword on Aia, so I grabbed the sword and snapped it in the middle. Should have been enough to tell all of them that they were engaging in an act of stupidity. But the thing about bandits is that they're usually desperate. Since the Empire of the Undying fell, and right now I am not going to deal with that being my fault in several different ways at once, there have been lots of bandits, mostly because minor kings are generally bone stupid enough to give a man a sword and a job and then not pay him afterwards, and what the fuck did they think was going to happen, heavily armed tea parties? Look, they used to say that a child could carry a bag of gold from one end of the Empire to another without being bothered by anything more than well-meaning busybodies, and that wasn't just because of all the impaling and necromantic punishments, it was because my fucking soldiers. Got. Paid. Idiots.

I was woolgathering, and I shouldn't be, because one of the bandits was coming at me with a mace, which I took away from him and broke his ribs with, more because that behavior was extremely rude than because he was any kind of threat to me. Threw it at the head of the bandit leader in the back yelling, "He can't get us all!" First of all, it wasn't true, and second, even if I couldn't get them all, I could most certainly get him. I dodged a sword, broke the arm of the bandit wielding it, and—since Aia couldn't see me—let my eyes flare up a little.

They bolted. Injured members hindmost. The cads.

I sighed, and carefully got my eyes under control, and turned to face Aia.

Oh. Right. That was the other thing about being the Undying. You didn't have any friends. People said they were. But you could see it in their eyes, hear the undercurrent of please no please no please no in the magic. (So was that scream anger, or fear, or loneliness?)

The thing about Aia is that she takes care of things. I don't think she can help it. Orphaned birds. Orphaned deer. Orphaned overlords. Not that she knew about that one. It didn't give me much of a chance, but maybe—

I looked down at the hand I had grabbed the sword with and told it it to stop being quite as invulnerable for right now if it knew what was good for it. "I'll go," I said quietly. "If you want. I'd like some salve, but I don't have to stay here." I held up my hand with its newly manifested fake sword wound.

Which was dishonest of me, yes. On the other hand, the need in her to fix things was every bit as strong as the need I'd had to crush them, and—I don't know—I thought that maybe it would put her on firmer ground? Control is the only thing I know of that fixes the screaming. I didn't know what I was going to do about that on my end of things, I knew I didn't want to go back, but—I also wanted to fix the screaming a little bit for her. To let her control something.

"Oh." She beckoned me back towards the house. "Oren, you're going to turn all my hair gray, do you know that? Why would you do something so risky?"

Oren is very much not my name. "I was scared," I admitted. (Hadn't said that since I became an apprentice, the old man was weak, I wasn't weak, I wasn't going to be weak, someday I was going to…) "Why didn't you stay inside? I could have talked to them."

"Then they would have threatened you."

"Better for me to get a little hurt than you get hurt. There's—I'm—look, it's important that you stay safe, all right?"

"I swear I think you might have been a knight," Aia said, and held the door absently so I could follow her into the kitchen.

I had not been a knight. I was very, very much not any kind of a knight.

I wasn't going to tell her that today, though.

Found memoryless in a forest, you lived for years on a widow’s farm. She tried everything to help you remember. Nothing worked until the day you saw her held at swordpoint, and your true identity came rushing back.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

TYRANT- J. MILLER

day twenty four of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! dilf! joel x fem! reader

word count: 1.4k

summary: you're home for the summer and the local bar is having a western night- and a certain older cowboy catches your eye. good thing you know how to lasso them in and ride them good...

warnings: SMUT- reverse cowgirl ofc, heavy praise kink, petnames, swearing, size kink, daddy kink, hair pulling, joel lowkey mocking and being all condensending, truck sex in the parking lot (kinda exhibitionism?), heavy flirting and sexual tension, intoxication

this is inspired by the time my local bar was hosting a country night and i made a "cowboys only" tramp stamp... yeah

“tyrant every time i ride it, every time i ride it/ make it look so good, try to justify it- boy, i know they're lookin' for me, how we gonna hide it?/ ride it like hydraulics, i am such a tyrant"- tyrant, beyonce

It had started as a joke.

And then, it hadn’t.

You had no marks on your skin, free of ink. Except for the eyeliner that had been used instead, for tonight.

It was Western Wednesday at the local bar- the go to spot back home surrounded by hay bales and tumbleweeds. Without a question being asked, you and your group of girlfriends had gathered at your house to get ready, talking over each other with excitement, catching up as you had all retunited from time away at school.

After a few drinks had been tossed back and rollers had been placed in heads of hair, you brought up the idea. It was silly, and you couldn't get through it without bursting out in giggles.

What if… what if I got a tramp stamp? Just for the night?

It had ended with you flat on your stomach, your friend scribbling your request in pretty font, just above where your thong poked out from your low rise jeans.

Cowboys Only, with a little bow under it.

It was teasing.

Poking out from under your little tank top whenever you lifted your arms up, throwing your head back to laugh and dance with your girls.

And it had gotten you exactly where you wanted to be.

On top of an older cowboy.

He had taken his time before he approached you. Heavy, heated gaze latched onto your figure as you slid past the wooden swinging doors, chatting with your crowd. Your eyes had met his instantly. Heat pooled in your panties and you knew.

That one. I want that one.

He was older, you could tell by his weathered hands and salt and pepper hair that framed his deep, dark puppy dog eyes. That had narrowed in on you.

Like a predator had found its prey.

You waited. You never claimed to be easy, even though you had spent your time gushing about how attractive the stranger in the corner was to anyone who’d listen. You had always joked to your girls about how badly wanted an older man to sweep you off your feet one of these nights.

You hoped tonight was the night.

It had taken a drink or two for you to let yourself relax a bit more, to get used to the buzz of the chatter and the neon lights of the bar. It was then you could dance, swaying your hips seductively side to side, feeling his eyes on you as he sipped on his beer.

Observing the little font that graced your lower back.

Your eyes met his again as you made your way up to the bar, sliding up next to him as you ordered a whisky sour.

“What's a pretty lil thing like you doing here on a Wednesday night?” he murmured lowly, breath smelling like mint and tobacco.

You hummed, watching as the bartender made your drink. “Western night. I like the cowboys.”

His eyebrow raised, a ringless hand drumming the oak bartop.

“S’that so sweetheart?”

You smirked, turning to flip up your shirt, exposing the font, and a good chunk of your little thong in the process. He had already seen it, of course. You had felt his eyes on you the whole time you had danced for him.

“You haven't seen?” you giggled seductively, throwing him a flirtatious little wink as you grabbed your drink from the bartender, tossing him an extra tip as you took a sip.

The mystery man leaned in close, a hand slipping down to cup the dip of your spine. You savoured the touch, his large palm covering the ink, warm and soft as he gripped you in place.

“You’re playing a dangerous game darlin.” he grumbled, southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine.

You hummed. Teasing him, as you leaned more into his touch. Letting his hand slide down to cup your ass, giving it a squeeze. Letting him be a disgusting pervert, when he knew he was so much better than that.

He was a gentleman. But you made him want to be anything but.

“How so sir?”

The name sent him spiralling. Fuck it.

“Because I’m twice your age, if not more darlin. And you’re making me think about dirty things.”

You battered your lashes at him, leaning down to rest your elbows on the bar, showing full cleavage. Doe eyes wide and innocent- while your actions were anything but.

“What things?”

“I wanna take you back to my truck and show you how a real man fucks. Cause I bet that pretty lil pussy hasnt been treated right by anyone your age.”

Well. That was the truth.

You wanted to find out what it was like, just once- to see where this could lead you. His dirty words sparked that flame in your lower belly, squeezing your thighs together.

Finishing your drink in one big swig, you slammed the glass down on the wood and whipped the remaining liquid that trickled from the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Well, what's stoppin you old man?”

゜✭・.・✫・゜ ゜✭・.・✫・゜

“Fuckkkkk. Joellll-” you moaned, gripping his thighs as you slid up and down. He was so fucking big he nearly split you in half. And it hurt so good.

“Watch that pretty mouth of yours honey, you know daddy doesn't like when you use dirty words.” he chuckled, admiring your pretty form swallow him up, a creamy ring formed around his base and grey pubes.

It took everything in you to not fold, your legs already quivering from the multiple orgasms he had given you already. Your brain felt incoherent.

“Mmm s’sorry I didn't mean to-”

“I know sweetheart, you're such a sweet girl. Heads just gone all dumb f’yer old man eh? Poor thing.” he cooed, taking your hair in his hands, tightening his grip on you.

Your head leaned back, still continuing to ride him in reverse cowgirl as he taunted you.

He was right. You hadnt been fucked like this before. And you never wanted to go back.

“Need s’help daddy please-” you cried, as you clenched around him again.

He knew your body like it was his own, making it sing and hum for him as he played it like an instrument. Despite him just meeting you tonight. He knew how to make you scream for him. Your voice was hoarse, and he could feel your legs start to quiver.

“Awh sweetheart I thought my lil cowgirl knew how to ride?”

You moaned as your pace was interrupted by his hips pummeling up into you, taking full control. Your back arched , your hair tugged on as if he was holding reins as you bounced from his thrusts.

Your nails dug into his thighs, a sharp cry leaving your lips that echoed off the fogged up windows of his pick-up.

“There you go darlin, just needed your daddy to help ya out yeah? My sweet girl just needed someone to take control of this tight lil cunny.” he whispered, a cocky smirk on his lips as he watched you squirm for him.

That damn ink flashed back at him- and he couldn't help but feel proud of himself for fulfilling the claim.

“S’good Joel, you feel so damn good…” you moaned, sweat trickling down your body, the smell of sex clinging to you like a second skin.

“Yeah baby? You gonna cum again?”

“Please, need to-” He chuckled lowly.

“Go ahead baby. Askin so nicely, always with the manners. M’gonna keep a sweet thing like ya around, ya understand?”

You nodded feverlishy, cuming around his cock with a cry as it hit that one spot that had you seeing stars. Basked in the comfort of his strong hands as they left your hair, finding their way to rest on your hips.

“Joel..”

“M’almost there sweetheart, just gonna use you for a lil okay? That sound okay baby? You just sit there and be all pretty.”

He moaned, letting his head roll back as you clenched around him tightly, biting his lip so hard he almost tasted copper.

“Fuck you're so tight. Such a sweet little cunt. Knew she’d take me so good.”

A few more sloppy thrusts into you and he was spent, filling you up to the brim, cooing sweet nothings at your worn out frame. He had fucked you so hard you knew it was a closed case.

He was the only cowboy you wanted. 

[aheathen-conceivably]

And five six seven eight…

Violette lifted both of her arms above her head into a graceful oval. Timed with her next inhale, she arched her feet into carefully balanced points on the threadbare rug.

And five, six, seven, eight… 

One of her arms floated down from above her head, and then her left foot rose from the floor to meet the bend of her knee so that her entire body weight rested on only the tip of her big toe. She usually spent her Sundays this way, performing for an audience comprised of the ever-present ballerina in the box and a collection of dolls and Teddy Bears now beginning to collect dust in the corners of her room. They were her very own silent sentinels, keeping watch of her feet as they danced on the floor and helping her keep time with the count in her mind.

And five, six, seven… 

But wafting through the crack her mother made her keep in the door was the sound of humming. She hadn’t noticed it at first, drowned out as it was by the music in her mind; but as the lulling sound transformed into a melody with words, the rigid posture of her shoulders softened. Although quiet, the voice danced over the unintelligible lyrics with the perfect pitch and tenor, sung with a sort of wistful melancholy that made you long for something despite how sorrowful it was. 

She knew the voice, of course - from a thousand lullabies and absentminded chore-songs. Still, it never seemed to grow old, especially when it came to her mother unburdened and unselfconscious like it was now. One after the other, Violette let her feet go flat on the floor, listening to the quiet intricacies of the voice as she followed it the short distance down the hall.

She stopped in the doorway, twirling her fingers self-consciously as her mother looked into the mirror. She loved when she could catch her like this - getting ready for work with a sense of purpose that made her seem like a hummingbird in flight. She tilted her head sideways, looking at the neatly tied bow on her mother’s lapel and wondering if it was Monday after all.

Zelda seemed to notice her, and seamlessly transformed the hum already in her throat into spoken words. “Oh! Lottie! Perfect. I was just coming to find you. I have to run by the library to sign for a package. I should only be an hour. Maybe two. If you need anything just go by the cabin and tell Gio. Just - be nice to him, please?”

Violette watched her adjust her earring back again, admiring how the pearls always seemed to highlight her face. “It opens this week, right?”

Zelda stopped, leaving her hand curled beneath her ear as her eyes crept toward the figure in her doorway. “It does. Wednesday...”

“Do you - do you think I can go with you then? After school?”

A small smile played on Zelda’s face, twitching at the corner near where her hand was still suspended as if frozen in surprise. "Do you - would you like to come with me today? You can see it first. Before anyone else gets to..."

The front door of the library opened without a sound. The brass hinges had been shined and oiled only days before, simply waiting for the moment when someone would make use of them. From the newly organized entryway, the smell of old wood emanated out onto the porch. Only now it was accompanied by the scent of fresh paint and sawdust rather than the moldering dust and stagnant air that had lived alongside it before.

Violette took two steps inside, her wide eyes basking in every inch of the place. Zelda watched her, too happy to realize that she was doing exactly what she herself had done when Alexander had first taken her here months before. Careful not to ruin the spell, she silently angled the door closed, following Violette as her fascination took her into the adjacent solarium.

Surrounded by late afternoon sunshine, Violette spun in a circle, her gaze trailing all the way to the top of the two story bookshelves and then back down again. Every row was filled from one end to the other with books - dozens and dozens and dozens of them. She could feel tears forming in her eyes just imagining how many stories were up there. It seemed like nothing short of magic that they had been collected in one place just waiting for someone to walk through the freshly painted doors and discover them.

Awestruck beyond words she turned around again, facing the wall opposite the soaring windows where a half a dozen portraits and photographs were displayed. “Who are they?”

Zelda followed her eyes, looking sideways toward the patinated gazes lining the wall. “They used to live here. Well some of them - others are members of their family from before the house was built.” She stopped speaking, expecting Violette’s attention to have turned elsewhere, but instead her daughter turned toward her expectedly. An insuppressible smile pulled at both corners of Zelda's lips. 

“I’ve been researching them. For the plaques. It’s been difficult at points, especially without traveling to other archives. But - but the man all the way to the top, do you see him? He’s the oldest member of the family I could find. He came here from England over a hundred years ago, in 1820. I imagine there must be more records there but -”

“From England? The way you did?”

Zelda turned toward her, her mouth still open in speech but now suspended in suppressed surprise. “I - yes. I - suppose so.” 

Violette smiled at her before she turned back to the wall of portraits, her eyes moving down them like she was reading the lines of a story. As she reached the bottom, where the most recent pictures had been placed, she tilted her head sideways like she had understood something. Then she turned back to the windows over her shoulder, the light filtering through them with a peculiar magic of its own. She watched it dance, speaking toward the panes as she did so. “Did you really make all this happen?”

Her voice had been hushed - so full of awe and childish disbelief that it pulled at Zelda’s heart. “I - I like to think I helped.”

Although Zelda couldn’t see her face, a proud, emotional countenance overtook Violette. Zelda brought her hands together, trying to peek over her daughter’s shoulder as she addressed her. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

Violette turned around, directing her attention back to her mother as she finished the heavily impressed final words. 

“Would you like to see my office? It's just upstairs...”

A fervent nod and excited smile was all the answer that Zelda would have needed, but Violette skipped over to her, lacing her arm around hers as she pulled them forward as though she knew the way. “Can you tell me more about them? The family on the wall?”

Zelda nodded, her words hushed and excited as she began to tell Violette the stories that she had found in her research. As they left the room their voices echoed through the hallways. Their footsteps sounded alongside them, keeping time with one another with every step.

Previous / Next

[lucylockets]

(whispers) what about wally west x batsis!reader

dividers made by: @cafekitsune

pairings: wally west x fem!batsis!reader (and other members of the batfamily)

a/n: inbox is open if anyone has any requests!

batsis, who starts dating wally a couple of months after working with him. wayne’s know what they want, and they don’t wait around for it.

wally’s ecstatic. he’s seen her long before meeting her, of course. she’s on the covers of magazines, articles are written about her newest outfits, and there’s always some new pictures of her uploaded.

wally thinks she’s beautiful. yeah, he’s flirted with pretty girls before, but she isn’t comparable to anyone he’s ever met. he can hardly believe that this gorgeous girl wants to be with him. actually wants to be in his company.

they keep the relationship private for the first few months. not exactly a secret, she’s just not declaring it in interviews. she wants something to herself for once in her very public life. he’s telling everyone he knows with a proud smile.

they’re spotted one day. a picture taken of her kissing his cheek goodbye after a day together and is uploaded. articles the next day, ‘Gothams Princess is dating . . . who exactly?’

she finds him one morning, looking at the article on his phone with a worried expression. she comes up behind him, wrapping her arms around his bare torso, her face resting on the back of his shoulder blade.

“what are you looking at?” she mumbled, looking around his arm to peek at his phone before scoffing and returning to his back. “don’t bother with those silly things.”

“but what if-“ “doesn’t matter.” she cuts him off with a small yawn. wally doesn’t look convinced.

“you’re not even a little bit curious as to what they’re saying about us?” she shook her head without thought. “i stopped reading anything to do with me years ago. even if the article is nice, it isn’t good for anyone to read about themselves.”

wally huffed, putting his phone down. “i hate when you sound smart.”

she just smiled, pressing kisses to his shoulder. “another smart suggestion from me is us going back to bed.”

wally west, who accompanies her to a gala when asked. he declined at first, but then she sighed.

“alright then. i just asked because one of the sons of bruce’s business partners is always asking me to dance. i sort of wanted to show you off.”

that’s all it took to convince him.

and now he finds himself in a new suit, in a room with some of the richest people in gotham. a group of older ladies are cooing at him, touching his hair and saying how “precious” and “interesting” red-heads are.

his shoulders sag in relief as an arm links with his, and he sees reader at his side. she smiles at the ladies. one of them lowers her champagne glass to talk to her.

“(name) wayne! i didn’t know you went for red-heads.”

she laughs. she seems at ease, but wally can feel her fingers gripping his arm just a little tighter. “well, i suppose i just couldn’t resist this one.”

wally smiles to himself and barely registers her tugging him away after giving the ladies one last smile. he looks at her with a lazy smirk.

“couldn’t resist me, huh?” “shut up or i’ll kick you out.” wally just smiles.

wally west, who will just have a dreamy look on his face when reader is scolding him. it might just be a little petty thing that she’s annoyed over, but wally will listen to her with his hand under his chin thinking “she’s giving out to me. it’s me who she chose to give out to. she’s so amazing. she’s cute when she’s angry. it’s kinda hot.”

wally west, who knows he’s a goner pretty early. he has the wedding playlist made before half a year together. probably has kids names picked out too.

reader, who just lets him talk. it isn’t uncommon to find them together, her doing a menial task while he chats her ear off. wally thinks she’s ignoring him, and just letting him get it out, but then she’ll reference something he said at a later time.

like one time he was yapping about the differences between the different fast food restaurants, and thought that she had forgotten about the whole thing. but later that week, when dick suggests going to BatBurger for food, she shakes her head and says “wally prefers Chicken Whizee. he was telling me about it earlier.”

wally’s heart probably jumps, and he goes red at the smirk that dick gives him.

wally west, who probably had a million and one pictures of her in his camera roll. pictures of times where nobody else sees her, just him. her in her pyjamas with her hair in curlers. a mirror picture of them both in matching face masks. her in the morning with her hair messy and mascara smudged. her asleep on his shoulder.

he doesn’t post those. they’re for him to smile at and fall in love with even more every-time he sees them.

he does post her non-stop though. candid photos of her smiling or laughing. the captions are 100% the cringiest lines ever.

‘she must be the flash because she makes my heart speed’ ‘partner in (fighting) crime’ ‘the peanut butter to my jelly’

and everytime dick will be in the comments like “caption makes absolutely no sense walls”

she’ll post him too. on her public account, it’ll be more proper pictures of them together. anniversary pictures with hearts. most of the comments are happy for them, and every so often they’ll be a guy (or girl) burning with jealousy.

but on her private with just her friends and family, it’ll be pictures of him passed out on the couch with his costume still on, or eating cereal together in bed (i do not recommend btw)

and i can totally see dick posting one of those pictures of the three of them where wally and reader are kissing in the background while dick is just standing there. the caption: ‘when you literally introduced them to each other and end up third wheeling’

wally west, who will spam her phone with those videos of animals together with the caption “us ❤️” with messages declaring love and she’ll just respond with “ok.”

wally west, who quotes shows at her all the time. they watch friends together? now he’s constantly saying that she’s his lobster. parks and recreation? now the line “i love you and i like you,” is a common phrase said by him. jerry maguire? he’s now always saying “you complete me,” while doing the hand motions. he practically glows when she does it back.

he’ll sing love songs to her in the kitchen together, and smile when she sings back.

wally west, who brings batsis to his house for christmas. she meets his mom, uncles, aunts, and cousins (she probably already knows barry and iris).

he’s a bit nervous about showing her his modest house that he grew up in. “it’s not much compared to wayne manor-“ but she just takes one look at the warm lights and the people who are so comfortable in each others company that she just smiles and says “it’s amazing.”

she tried to help mary with some cooking, but she’s never made a meal bigger than grilled cheese before because of alfred, so mary gives her small tasks to do like stirring.

she shows reader how to line pastry, and she just copies mary’s movements. it’s a pretty good bonding experience.

wally west, who loves summer with her. he especially loves beach days and pool parties. he’ll shake like a dog after coming out of the water, spraying her despite her protests. if she’s reluctant to go in the water, he’ll literally toss her over his shoulder and drop her in (and then make up for it with kisses). his fingers will playfully toy with her bikini straps before she smacks his hand away.

and if she steps out in a red and yellow bikini? his brain short circuits. they end up 30 minutes late to the function.

wally west, who loves annoying her. when he asks her on a date while they’re in the relationship, and she says yes, he’ll immediately say “chat is this rizz?” to nobody.

a second after every kiss he’ll say “that was awesome sauce,” or “chat clip that.”

if they’re on a mission together and encounter bad guys, he’ll say “are we cooked?”. she’ll repeat “what does that mean?” while he’s just saying “i didn’t know bad guys were invited to the function,” or “no cap, we’re gonna mog these guys.”

wally west, who calls her every nickname under the sun. she has to check sometimes that he still remembers her name because of how often he actually calls her it.

the normal ones are okay. i can see him being a massive “babe”/“baby” guy. he also sometimes greets you with a “hey gorgeous,” or “hi beautiful,”

it’s the weird ones that he uses to tease. he’ll jump onto the couch beside her, giving a loud smooch to her cheek with a “hey sweet cheeks.” or he’ll put his head in her lap, grinning up at her before saying “what’s up honey bunches?”.

he ABUSES the line “what’s cookin’ good lookin’?”

wally west, who’ll sit in her space happily.

he’ll make himself comfortable in her bed with the floral bedsheets, setting down onto the silk pillow cases. he watches her do her skincare, and won’t protest if she dabs a bit of moisturiser on his face. if she asks to do a spa day with him, he’ll already have the headband pushing his short fringe up. he’ll watch her with stars in his eyes as she puts those under eye things on him.

wally west, who gets her siblings to come around to him. eventually.

dick was no problem, obviously. he was ecstatic to see his best friend and sister together (though he did threaten wally by reminding him how much he likes having kneecaps)

jason might be a little more difficult. he’s protective of the things he loves after loosing so much. wally respects that. he’ll give jason a casual compliment disguised as a passing remark if they pass each other, with a beaming smile on his face. jason will hum a little, and wally takes this as acceptance.

“you’re like a brother to me, jason.” “don’t push it, west.” “noted.”

tim was alright too. wally paid bart to really talk him up (subtly, of course). they were able to bond over niche video games. wally’s also pretty good at science, specifically physics, so they work together sometimes.

cass wasn’t hard either. reader brought wally to one of her ballet shows, and they gave her a bouquet of flowers after. wally congratulated her.

“i normally don’t have the patience for these things, but you were amazing up there.” and cass smiles and thanks him.

his mouth runs a million miles a minute, while cass rarely talks. he notices that she sometimes uses hand gestures to communicate, so he learns some of the common ones she uses. she’s able to read his body language when he’s around reader, and she can tell by the way he’s always turning to her that he likes her very much. wally gains cass’ approval to date her sister.

wally’s convinced that damian still hates him. reader claims that damian just doesn’t know how to show that he likes someone, but wally thinks that the narrowed eyes he gets from across the table every dinner is a sign in the opposite direction.

first time wally was at dinner, damian made a show of the sword on his side, patting it every so often. he also managed to mention that he knew how to gut a person, and wouldn’t mind some extra practise.

reader tuts at damian and tell him to stop, but he’ll just tilt his head up and claim that he’s making sure that wally is “worthy of someone at your level.”

wally west, who traces her scars with care. he’ll slow down for her. in fact, he likes it when their time is slow. lying on either the bed or couch, bodies together. his warm hands will slip under her shirt to feel her skin, his fingertips gently running along the scars from her years of being a vigilante.

his expression doesn’t change. it doesn’t form into one of discomfort, or confusion. his eyes don’t avert awkwardly. he’ll just kiss her shoulder and murmur words of adoration.

if she ever begins to feel unsure of her body or dislike, he’ll be there for kiss every inch of her skin, whispering words of praise and love.

wally west, who during the night, will hold reader close. his arms will be around her torso while hers are around his shoulders. he kisses under her jaw, saying “i love you,” quietly.

he prays she can’t hear his racing heart when she murmurs “i love you too,” into his hair.

[ssweeterthanfiction]

Orbit

college!finnick odair x fem!reader content warnings: ANGST, a little bit of fluff summary: you meet your estranged best friend in college after 4 years. wc: 2.8k

previous part | masterlist. | part eight

You hadn’t planned to go home.

In fact, you’d packed nothing. Just shoved your bag over your shoulder, left the necklace on your nightstand, and caught the early 8:30 train without telling anyone but your roommate—and even then did you only tell her that you were just going away for the weekend.

You’d turned your phone off before it even started vibrating.

There was only one place that still felt like yours when everything started to unravel.

Home.

The moment the front door opened, your dad didn’t ask anything. He just looked at you, took one look at your eyes, and opened his arms.

And you folded into them like you were eight years old again.

Now it was Saturday night.

You were curled up on the couch with a blanket you’d had since middle school, wearing a sweatshirt that didn’t belong to you—your brother’s—and staring at the muted glow of the television.

You weren’t watching. Not really.

You hadn’t spoken much. Not to your parents, not to yourself.

You kept trying to go back and replay the moment. The moment everything changed.

Finnick, laughing. Finnick, glowing. Finnick, kissing her.

You could still see the girl’s hands in his hair. The way his lips moved. The way your heart cracked in real time.

You didn’t know if he’d seen you. Didn’t know if he cared. Didn’t know if he meant it.

And the not-knowing? That was what hurt most.

Your phone was still off. You hadn’t touched it since the train ride. Because if there were messages, you didn’t want them. And if there weren’t?

That would destroy you more.

You shifted under the blanket.

The house was quiet. Your parents were asleep.

It felt like a different world here. Like time had folded in on itself. You were safe.

But you weren’t okay.

Because the worst part wasn’t that Finnick kissed someone else.

The worst part was that for a second, before the world broke open—you really believed you were falling in love.

Sunday morning came and you woke up in your childhood bedroom.

The air smelled like old books and laundry detergent. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in soft streaks of light that made dust float like glitter in the quiet.

You hadn’t slept well. Not deeply. Not the kind of sleep that restored anything.

Just enough to survive the hours.

You sat up slowly, blanket still tangled around your legs, your pillow creased where your cheek had been pressed against it.

Your phone was still on the nightstand. Face down. Dead.

You didn’t reach for it.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling. At the little constellation stickers you’d stuck up there when you were thirteen, still convinced the universe had a plan for you.

Still convinced that everything made sense in the end.

But now…

Now you weren’t sure if the stars knew what they were doing.

Your stomach twisted. You couldn’t stop seeing him. Couldn’t stop hearing your own heartbeat shatter as you turned away.

You hadn’t told your parents anything. Not really. Just that you needed the weekend to clear your head.

And maybe that was true.

But the clearing hadn’t come yet.

You pressed your forehead to your knees and breathed slowly, eyes squeezed shut.

You’d spent the last week falling back into someone who made the world feel brighter— and in one second, it all went dark.

Part of you wanted to know what he was doing right now.

Another part didn’t want to know at all.

Your hand hovered over your phone. Just for a moment.

But you didn’t flip it over. You didn’t press the button. You didn’t let the world back in.

Not yet.

Because some silences were easier than what came after them.

You finally came downstairs around 10.

The smell of coffee and something sweet lingered in the air. Sunlight poured through the kitchen window in soft stripes across the tile floor.

Your dad was sitting at the table, reading the paper like he always did on Sundays. Your mom had music playing softly from her phone, it all made you feel like you were back in high school.

“Morning, baby,” your mom said, glancing up from the stovetop. She didn’t ask why your eyes were puffy. She just smiled like she already knew. “Hungry?”

You nodded, even though you weren’t.

She set a plate in front of you a few minutes later. Pancakes with strawberries, just like when you were little.

Your dad reached over without looking up from his crossword and squeezed your wrist gently.

You didn’t say much. Just sat there in the morning stillness, fork moving slowly, head resting on your palm.

Your mom kept humming along to the song, like nothing in the world was wrong. But every now and then, you caught her watching you— eyes soft, lips pursed, like she was trying to will the hurt out of your body with nothing but maternal energy.

“Going back today?” your dad asked casually, finally folding his paper.

You hesitated. “Probably tonight...but I'm not sure yet.”

He nodded. Didn’t press.

You stayed at the table long after your plate was empty, spinning the fork between your fingers, pretending you didn’t see your phone just barely sticking out of the hoodie pocket you’d thrown on.

“Want to go out?” your mom asked gently. “Get some air? Go to the bookstore or something?”

You shook your head. “Not yet.”

So instead, you sat on the couch again. Flipped through old photo albums your mom kept in a drawer under the coffee table—pictures of field trips and Halloween costumes and birthday parties you could barely remember.

You stopped on one photo.

You and Finnick. At maybe age ten. Covered in frosting from the cupcakes you'd both helped decorate. He had a missing tooth and was beaming. You were laughing and leaning so close to him your heads almost touched.

You closed the album. Set it gently back in the drawer.

The sun moved across the sky. The house stayed quiet.

And still, your phone stayed off.

Because you weren’t ready to hear anything that might undo the version of the story you were still trying to survive.

By early afternoon, you found yourself back in your room.

The house was quiet again, your parents tucked into their own weekend routines, and the silence pressed in like a second skin.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t even feel like crying.

There was just this weight. This ache. A strange sort of stillness where the pain used to be.

You curled up on your side, pulled your knees to your chest beneath the old quilt your grandmother made, and let your eyes drift toward the window.

And there it was.

Your old treehouse.

Tucked in the far corner of the backyard, its paint chipped and wood weathered, but still standing. Still yours.

It looked smaller now, swallowed by the branches of the maple tree you used to think touched the sky.

And somehow, just the sight of it was enough to stir something loose.

A memory.

The kind that arrived like a dream half-remembered—soft around the edges, but warm in the middle.

***

It was summer, and the air smelled like grass and sunscreen and the faint, sugary remnants of popsicles.

You and Finnick were barefoot, darting around the backyard while the sun dipped low and golden behind your neighbor’s fence.

The treehouse had become your fortress, your pirate ship, your castle —whatever the game of the day decided.

You climbed the rope ladder first, cheeks flushed, grinning hard enough your face hurt.

Finnick scrambled up after you, breathless and laughing, nearly slipping as he reached the top.

“Don’t fall, dummy!” you giggled, grabbing his wrist to steady him.

“I wasn’t gonna!” he protested, even though his foot had definitely slipped.

You both collapsed onto the wooden floor of the treehouse, panting and sweaty, arms brushing.

From up there, everything looked far away. Even the things that weren’t.

“You think we’ll still hang out when we’re like... teenagers?” you asked suddenly, your voice small, a little curious.

Finnick blinked at you, then shrugged. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“I dunno. Grown-ups stop being friends all the time.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Well, I won’t.”

You looked over.

He was picking at a splinter in the floorboards, but his voice was certain. “Even if you get all weird and boring. I’m still gonna be your best friend.”

You smiled, teeth gap-toothed and crooked. “Even if you get gross and smelly?”

He laughed. “I’m already gross and smelly.”

You laughed, too, and flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with its glow-in-the-dark stars you’d both stuck up last summer.

Finnick lay down beside you.

And for a while, neither of you said anything.

The light in the treehouse had turned soft, golden. The kind of light that made everything feel gentle.

You lay side by side, legs kicked up, faces turned to the ceiling, and the hum of cicadas swelled in the background like music.

Finnick fidgeted with a loose nail sticking up from the floorboard.

“What do you think happens if we stop being best friends?” you ask again, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t look at you. Just flicked the nail once, then again. “We won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do.” He sat up on his elbows, finally meeting your eyes. “You’re, like…my person.”

You blinked at him. “What does that mean?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. It just feels like…when something happens, you’re the first one I want to tell. And when stuff sucks, you make it feel not sucky.”

You stared at him.

Then smiled. “You’re my person too.”

His grin stretched wide and crooked. “Good. Then it’s official.”

He reached over and pinky-promised it.

You looped your finger with his without hesitation.

“Even when we’re old?” you asked.

“Even when we’re old,” he promised. “Like… twenty-five.”

You both made a face like that was ancient. Then burst out laughing.

The laughter faded into a quiet that didn’t feel awkward. Just easy. The kind of quiet you only get when someone knows you down to the core.

You watched a spider crawl across one of the ceiling beams. Finnick traced something into the dusty wood beside him—a rough little sun with lines beaming out from it.

You smiled. Then beside it, you drew a moon. Crescent. Soft.

“Perfect,” he said softly.

And it was.

At least, in that moment.

The spell broke with a voice echoing from below:

“Dinner’s ready!”

“Coming!” you both yelled back at the same time.

Finnick scrambled toward the ladder, already hungry, already halfway forgetting what he’d just said.

But you stayed still for a second longer. Looked back up at the ceiling. And whispered to yourself, “Even when we’re old.”

Dinner was pizza and orange soda and one too many paper napkins soaked through with grease.

You sat next to Finnick at the table, legs swinging, bare feet knocking gently against each other under the table.

Your mom gave you both a knowing look when you reached for your third slice. Your dad just chuckled and handed Finnick the last piece.

Afterward, you both plopped onto the living room carpet with full stomachs and a stack of DVDs that neither of you could agree on.

“Matilda,” you insisted.

“No way,” Finnick groaned, sprawled out on the rug. “That movie gives me weird dreams.”

You smirked. “You just don’t like that a little girl is cooler than you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Put on Finding Nemo.”

“I’m not watching that again. You cry every time the mom dies.”

“That is not true.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“It’s okay to cry, Finn,” you teased, grinning as you popped in Matilda anyway.

He groaned again but didn’t protest. Just flopped onto his back with a dramatic sigh and let the opening credits roll.

Within ten minutes, you were lying shoulder to shoulder beneath a blanket, your head drifting toward his.

By the end of the movie, both of you had stopped talking.

The TV flickered soft light across the walls. The house had gone quiet, save for the hum of the dishwasher and your mom moving around in the kitchen.

You weren’t even sure when your eyes started to close.

But you felt his pinky brush yours beneath the blanket.

And you didn’t move away.

The lights were off. You were curled into your sleeping bag, Finnick just a few feet away in his.

The stars you’d stuck to your ceiling glowed faint green.

“Hey,” he whispered.

You blinked drowsily. “Yeah?”

“I’m glad we’re best friends.”

You turned your head toward him in the dark. “Me too.”

And then, like a secret: “Don’t ever go away, okay?”

You smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “I won’t.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And with that, you both fell asleep to the sound of distant crickets and the soft hum of a summer night, breathing in rhythm without even meaning to.

***

You blinked.

The glow-in-the-dark stars were still there. Still faint, still flickering. But you weren’t ten anymore.

You were eighteen. Heart cracked in two. Staring up at a ceiling that hadn’t changed, even though everything else had.

Your eyes burned suddenly, stung like something had finally split wide open. And this time, you didn’t push it down.

You curled in tighter, knees to your chest, fists pressed to your mouth, but it wasn’t enough to hold you together.

So, you finally let it all go.

And for the first time since the party, you cried.

Not the kind of tears you could blink away. Not the quiet kind.

The tears came hot and fast. The sobs messy, ugly, loud.

It came in waves. Sharp and sudden. Like every moment you’d tried not to feel crashing through the walls you’d built since you turned your phone off.

You didn’t even hear the door open.

Didn’t notice your mom until the bed dipped beside you.

And then her arms were around you before you could even ask. Soft. Firm. Familiar.

You folded into her, shoulders shaking, breath caught in your throat.

“I-” you tried, but it broke off.

She just rubbed your back, fingers gentle and steady. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. You don’t have to explain.”

But you did.

You had to.

Because the ache was too much to carry alone anymore.

With your face buried in her shoulder, you whispered, “He kissed someone else, Mom.”

She stilled for a moment. Then pulled you even closer.

You gasped between tears, voice cracking apart. “I thought- I really thought maybe this time it could be real. Maybe he came back for me. Maybe we were finally in the same place at the same time.”

Your mom said nothing. Just held you like she had when you were small, when heartbreak meant a scraped knee or a broken toy.

You shook your head, still sobbing. “I feel so stupid. I always wait for him. I always do. And he never-”

She rocked you gently, arms never loosening.

“You’re not stupid,” she whispered into your hair. “You’re just someone who loves too much. And that’s never a weakness, baby. Not ever.”

The words gutted you. But they softened something, too.

Because maybe it wasn’t your fault. Maybe you weren’t weak for hoping.

But oh, it still hurt.

You stayed there, in her arms, until the crying dulled to quiet hiccups, and the sky outside turned gold.

Eventually, the storm inside you began to quiet.

Your sobs softened into shivers. Your mom stayed for a while longer, just holding you, until your breathing steadied and your head stopped throbbing.

She didn’t ask you to explain. Didn’t ask for details. She didn’t need to.

When she finally stood up, brushing your hair away from your damp cheeks, she didn’t say “you’ll be okay.” She just said, “I’ll bring you some tea,” and pressed one last kiss to your temple.

You listened to the sound of her footsteps fading down the hall. The soft clink of a mug. The microwave humming to life.

But you stayed curled up. Still.

The stars above you had dimmed even more. You’d forgotten they did that. Fading slowly, bit by bit, when no one was looking.

You rolled onto your back, eyes tracing the familiar lines of your ceiling.

It still didn’t feel real—any of it. How fast it had all happened. How full your heart had gotten. How quickly it had emptied again.

But somewhere beneath the ache, there was a thought that felt solid:

You didn’t have to go back yet.

Not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow.

You needed time. To think. To breathe. To figure out what came next—not for Finnick. For you.

So you reached for your phone. Turned it over.

Still off. Still quiet.

And this time, you left it that way.

Then you pulled your blanket up to your chin. And decided to stay home just a little longer.

[wandering-winchesters]

Version of you

Summary: Dean makes breakfast, Y/N steals his flannel, and somewhere between Led Zeppelin and burnt toast, everything starts to feel like home.

—

It started with Led Zeppelin, It always started with Led Zeppelin.

I heard it drifting through the stone halls of the Bunker long before I reached the kitchen. One of those older tracks that wound its way through guitar and smoke, soft around the edges like something half-remembered. I followed it without thinking, bare feet against the cool floor, sleeves shoved to my elbows, hair twisted up in a lazy knot I hadn’t bothered to check in the mirror.

Then came the smell. Garlic. Onion. Something buttery and rich. My stomach grumbled in response. We’d only been back from the hunt for a day, and already the air felt lighter. Less tense. Like whatever followed us hadn’t made it home this time.

I stepped into the kitchen and stopped.

Dean had his back to me, standing at the stove with a pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. He wore his usual jeans and a gray henley, sleeves rolled up to his forearms. There was flour on his shoulder like he’d reached for the top shelf and forgot to duck.

On the counter, a small speaker played softly. I recognized the song now. “That’s the Way.” Not his usual speed. There was something gentler in this one. A kind of melancholy warmth. It suited him in a way I wasn’t used to seeing laid out in the open.

I leaned against the doorframe and watched, letting it stretch out.

He didn’t notice me at first. He was humming along, quiet and aimless but sincere. The kind of sound someone only makes when they feel safe.

I couldn’t help the smile. “Since when do you cook before ten a.m.?”

Dean turned, still holding the spatula. “Since someone decided to reorganize the pantry and stashed the emergency Pop-Tarts behind the holy water.”

I raised a brow. “So this is revenge breakfast?”

“It’s survival breakfast.” He pointed the spatula at me. “And it’s mine.”

I stepped further in, the hem of my flannel brushing my thighs. One of his, though I’d pulled it on without thinking. The sleeves were rolled a few times so I could use my hands. It was warm and soft with age, and it smelled like cedar soap and miles of open road.

Dean noticed. His eyes dropped to the flannel, lingered a moment too long, then flicked back up. I smirked.

“This is what you get for abandoning grocery duty.”

“You steal a man’s shirt and talk trash in his kitchen?”

“I live here now.”

“You moved into the pantry.”

“It has excellent lighting.”

“You’re a menace.”

I stepped closer and reached for a slice of buttered toast. Dean swatted at my hand with the spatula, light but deliberate.

“Touch my toast and I revoke your coffee privileges for a week.”

“Harsh.”

“Fair.” I backed off like I was wounded and made a straight line for the coffee pot. The mug I grabbed had a chip on the rim and a faded cartoon moose in a cowboy hat. I poured two cups. One for me, and after a pause, one for Dean.

When I handed it over, our fingers brushed.

Dean took it and didn’t quite look at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”

I shrugged. “You didn’t have to make eggs. Or play this.” I gestured toward the speaker. “I thought this house ran on Metallica and Motörhead.”

He chuckled. “Every now and then I let the soft stuff in. Keeps me unpredictable.”

I leaned beside him, hip to counter. “I like it.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. The light caught my face just right, brushed over the edge of my cheek, down to the curve of my neck. His eyes softened in that split-second and something behind them settled. Not quite peace. But getting close.

I caught the look and tilted my head. “What?”

Dean smiled. “Just… you.”

“Me?”

“Here. Making coffee. Giving me crap about my music.”

I took a sip and smiled into the rim of my cup. “I like this version of you too.”

He stepped in closer. I felt the heat of the stove at my side and the heat of him on the other.

“This is domestic as hell,” I whispered.

He grinned. “If you tell anyone I made breakfast, I’ll deny it.”

I plucked a piece of bacon from the pan and took a bite right in front of him.

“Then you better kiss me fast so I can’t talk.”

He blinked, like the words had taken a second to register. Then he laughed softly, set the spatula down, and closed the space between us in two easy steps.

The kiss wasn’t rushed.

It wasn’t electric.

It was warm.

Like the coffee. Like the music. Like us, in that moment.

It tasted like salt and butter and everything we hadn’t said out loud in weeks. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to mine and closed his eyes, breathing slow.

“I’m gonna keep you,” he said.

My fingers curled into the front of his shirt. “Good. Because I’m already keeping your flannel.”

He laughed. Really laughed. It filled the kitchen like sunlight cutting through storm glass. The song changed to something brighter, and I grabbed the spatula and waved it at him.

“Move. You’re burning the toast.”

He raised his hands in surrender. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I’m hungry.”

I danced across the tile floor, bad and barefoot and grinning, humming along with the beat like someone who had crawled out of the dark and found something real waiting.

Dean couldn’t stop smiling.

Not because the world was safe. But because I was safe in it.

Tag list : @hobby27 @roseblue373 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers @jollyhunter

[idiopath-fic-smile]

(two people asked for more, so here's like 600ish additional words of Eliot not having a clue!)

They'd chosen their current headquarters partly because it was in an area of town that didn't see much traffic. The street was more or less empty, except for a few people starting to poke their heads out of doors, investigating the sound. His ears were ringing. He swallowed.

Nobody to chase. Nobody to subdue. Just a whole lot of sudden goddamn unanswered questions.

His phone rang.

"That was your car, right?" said Hardison. "CCTV footage's a little grainy, but I thought I could make out—"

"Yeah, it's my car," said Eliot. The smoke was beginning to clear, revealing a small pile of rubble. "Shit."

"Anyone hurt?"

"No."

"You better come back up, then," said Hardison.

"Y'all better come down," Eliot countered. "Whoever did this, if they could ID and locate my car, they likely know where we meet. Nobody's going back in there until I sweep it, and in the meantime—Lisbon protocols."

Lisbon protocols meant a series of evasive driving maneuvers, ending in a speedy trip to the closest safehouse.

Eliot took a breath and let it out. Shakier than he wanted. He would need to be calm, by the time Hardison and Parker rejoined him. His job was to keep them safe, and that meant—

"Grabbed your bug-out bag," said Parker, right beside him.

Eliot jumped. He saw Parker note this, and then he saw her visibly decide to move on.

"And tell you what, man, you better have a good reason why your emergency go-bag is so heavy," said Hardison beside her. "If your sourdough starter is in here, we are having words." And okay, Parker had clearly harnessed up and dropped from the elevator shaft, that much made sense, but Hardison agreeing to be strapped in for a free fall was out of the fucking ordinary. Eliot wasn't sure what his face was doing—hopefully nothing—but Hardison put a careful hand on his bicep.

"You okay?" said Hardison.

Eliot nodded and stepped away. "Nobody in the blast zone, and nobody suspicious in the area," he added. "Bomb must've been on a timer." He didn't bother saying what they both already knew: the bomb had gone off within minutes of Eliot's usual lunch trip. Odds were good someone was watching them closely.

"Take a breath, man," said Hardison.

"I'm breathing, alright?" Eliot snapped. If his oxygen supply had been cut off, he wouldn't have been able to picture so clearly how fucked they were. "What are we waiting for? Lisbon protocol, let's go."

"We're revisiting it later if you're actually okay," said Hardison.

"Revisit it in the goddamn car," Eliot gritted out. "We'll take Hardison's, once I've cleared it."

"I'm driving," said Parker.

"No way in Hell, you drive like a sack of raccoons," said Eliot.

Parker nodded. She didn't smile or anything, but he still sensed something like relief.

.

Hardison drove. He was decent behind the wheel, Eliot could admit that much. Generally, Eliot found it a little irritating all the things Hardison could do without trying all that hard, but at the moment—he'd take it.

After they were positive they had nobody on their trail, Eliot let himself slump down in the back seat and take a breath.

"So," said Parker, exchanging a glance with Hardison. "My bug-out bag doesn't include the 'talking about feelings' puppets, but we think it's probably time to talk about feelings."

Eliot eyed the door handle. He'd tucked and rolled from a moving vehicle before; it wouldn't be that hard to—

The child locks clicked on.

Hardison met his eyes in the rear view mirror. "Don't make me circle back and get the puppets," said Hardison. "Those things give my nightmares nightmares."

For the wnip meme if you're still taking them - no idea if you've seen Leverage (and no worries if not, of course), but I'd live for your Ready For Love / IDOAG-style take on the Leverage OT3, no matter the plot. The snark! The noodle incidents! The yearning potential always inherent in established-het-couple-plus-life-partner! It would be great.

oh my gosh, this is an amazing prompt and i love leverage!!! my first thought was that it would actually be very funny to put Elliott in a close-to-identical spot as Cosmo in Ready For Love, and then, uh. this happened:

The irritating thing about Hardison and Parker—

Well, there were plenty of irritating things about Hardison, too many to name, and at least two about Parker. Hers were the way she ate when she was feeding herself (Elliott still wasn’t over the time he’d walked in on her sprinkling Frosted Flakes onto a piece of pizza. “What?” she’d said. “It’s fortified with vitamins and minerals”) and the way she threw herself into danger even when Elliott was right there to take the hit. But the most annoying thing about them as a couple was that they had no shame, about anything.

“Anniversary cruise next month,” Hardison announced when Elliott slunk into headquarters on Monday morning, nursing a headache he’d been assured was not a concussion. “You coming?”

“I—am I coming,” Elliott repeated. “To your anniversary cruise?”

“Of course he is,” said Parker, dropping upside down out of the ceiling. “We already hacked into his calendar, he’s free.”

Elliott pinched the bridge of his nose, temples pounding. There were many, many things he could’ve said just then, chief among them “Seriously, again?” or “What is your goddamn addiction to having a third wheel around?” or “Do you two get off on being fucking pined at?” or even just a classic “Dammit, Hardison.” For reasons that surpassed his own goddamn understanding, what he said was,

“Next month’s not your anniversary.”

Parker flipped and landed soundlessly on her feet. “Yes it is,” she said. “September 16.”

“No,” said Elliott, with way more patience than they deserved, “y’all got together in August. August 28th.”

Hardison blinked. “Dude, you memorized our anniversary?”

Shit. Elliott could’ve hit himself. He had no cover, for knowing something like that. No real explanation, except for how closely he watched them.

“Well, you weren’t gonna do it!” Elliott blustered.

“Hey now,” said Hardison, “I think—I think I resent that. How could you believe I’d forget one of the most important days of my life?”

“Because you just did!” snapped Elliott.

Parker appeared at Elliott’s side (literally appeared; he hadn’t tracked the approach at all) with a bottle of painkillers, which she shook meaningfully.

“What?” said Elliott.

“I think she means ‘for the headache you’re suffering through for no good damn reason,’” Hardison suggested.

“Taking too many isn’t good for you,” said Elliott.

“Pain also isn’t good for you,” said Parker, and wasn’t that the truth?

“Oh, for god’s sake, gimme that,” said Elliott, pouring out two pills and swallowing them dry.

Hardison shook his head. “Why do you even have to be macho about how you take your Tylenol?”

“At any rate, we’re booking tickets for September,” Parker reported. “Three tickets, unless you’re busy. Which you’re not.”

“Because I’m coming on your anniversary cruise,” said Elliott disbelievingly.

“There, I think he’s catching on!” said Hardison. He and Parker high-fived.

See? Fucking irritating.

[saythatuwill]

now playing : ordinary // alex warren

this au will explore the idea of reader and vessel being married; however it is in a nonhuman vessel setting. to at the very least explain the thought process; the members of sleep token are all nonhuman and live in arcadia, but travel to earth for music related things. reader's species is up to interpretation, but you live in arcadia with him!

this is for cute, fluffy indulgence. it might be a jumble of ideas but... let me cook.

tags: @concretejunglefm, @fadingangelwisp, @chey-h, @xmads-omensx, @astronoids, (if you would like to be added/removed from this list, or if i forgot you, dm me!)

♡ husband!vessel, who loves to tell those in arcadia that you are, in fact, his spouse. being married to you is like a high honor. and everyone must know!

♡ "i'd have to ask my spouse." "i'm afraid i cannot go, i will be with my spouse." "have you met my spouse?"

♡ he's also very protective over you, if anyone fucks with you he will tweak, he will WITHOUT A DOUBT defend your honor no question. he'd fight for you, he'd kill for you.

♡ he's a sucker for physical affection. his favorite thing is to lay across your lap like an EXTREMELY long cat.

♡ if you have an inner child to heal, vessel is more than happy to help. he'll indulge in the whimsy, he'll do anything to make you happy.

♡ he waited until he made it to arcadia to propose and marry you because he wanted to be able to take you to a peaceful safe location. and when he did, oh he made it so special. took you to arcadia for the first time and showed you around, you danced with him, then he was whispering in your ear telling you he wanted to marry you.

♡ pretended to be human when he first met you but did a SHIT job at it. came up with a name on the fly; devon (which he saw on a uk map). got a PHONE for you, even got himself an apartment.

♡ i'm talking like, he talked to you for the first time and he just knew. from the moment he saw you, he knew you were it. it took a WHILE for things to go beyond a friendship, but he's adored you for a long time.

♡ he has a full monster form which looks SCARY and HUGE but he's very gentle with you even in that form. purrs at you. picks you up like you weigh nothing. your monster husband

♡ he learned a new kind of worship from you, something that isn't religious, merely honoring and worshipping you and what you two have together.

♡ he tends to isolate when he's going through it, gets distant, but no matter what, his arms are always around you when you go to bed.

♡ he still has powers related to dreams and sleeping. if you two sleep together, he often will pop his head into your dreams to make sure they're going well.

♡ or if he's away on tour and you can't come with him, he will fully walk into your dreams to spend time with you, or take you to HIS dream realm. he can't do this a lot because it's a draining thing to do though.

♡ he's not great at texting. like not just bad at replying, he's bad at sending texts. he types funny. if he's in human form for shows it's bad, if it's his Claws when he's in his normal form, it's WORSE. random typos, excessive spaces, random periods and capitalization.

♡ he loves voicemails and voice messages though. he'll send you voice messages at RANDOM and theyll be like 10-15 minutes long of just him rambling about his day or venting if he needs to. you listen to them at night because his voice is soothing

♡ he's quiet in public, in private though he is a YAPPER. he loves you because you don't tune him out either, you listen to him infodump. even if it's about chemistry, or the deep sea, or some video game he finds fascinating. even arcadian history. he's very excited and passionate about his interests.

♡ there's songs he's written that will never see the light of day, but they're for you and he plays them for you whenever you want. usually piano ballads, or guitar acoustics.

♡ he loves gift giving, and gift receiving. he gets very flustered and like "oh no dear heart you don't have to do this" but he keeps everything you give him. you could give him a rock he'd cherish it.

♡ his favorite gifts are things like playlists surprisingly. music is something that means everything to him, make him a playlist he will listen to it over and over and over again.

[vbluesss]

I gotta admit, I'm really surprised by how the dynamic between Rick and Morty has evolved throughout the show.

At first it was a super one-sided relationship, where Rick was the genius, totally in control, dragging his grandson into messed up situations without caring much about what happened to him (except for those rare moments when he actually did care), Morty on the other hand, was the "dumb" sidekick who didn't know anything an was constantly humiliated, not just in adventures but in his everyday life (I’ll never forget that memory where Rick pushes him down the stairs just to embarrass him in front of some girls).

What's interesting is that since then Morty started develop this deep resentment toward Rick, and unlike his mother and sister, he did not idealize him, he saw Rick for who he really is.

“I wanted you to have a normal life, that’s something you can’t have when Rick shows up.

Everything real turns fake. Everything right is wrong.

All you know is that you know nothing and he knows everything.

He’s not a villain, Summer, but he shouldn’t be your hero. He’s more like a demon, or a super fucked up god.”

Whe the purge episode came out, I thought that if things kept going this way, Morty might actually end up killing Rick someday. Not in the sense that he would become Evil Morty, it's just... He was clearly full of repressed rage.

"Fuck you Rick! I'll purge you too, you old rickety piece of crap. This has been a long time coming! I'm gonna rip your fucking guts out and smear them all over you face!"

Then the third season premiered and in the very first episode, Morty shot Rick with the intention of killing him! Scenes like these made me so invested in their dynamic, but especially in Morty's development. Sooo here's a little analysis about it!

In early seasons, Morty hated Rick. He totally wanted to kill him at some point, but ofc he wouldn't because:

He was kinda ashamed of this violent part of himself.

Rick is his granda, and if only because of the family bond, he still cares about him.

We're talkin' about Rick Sanchez, motherfucker, like Morty ever stood a chance (or at least that what Morty thought, since we now know that it is not impossible.)

Anyway, the point is Morty was seriously done with Rick's crap, but it's not like he had much choice. They're family, and on top of that, Morty did enjoy the adventures. So he just tolerated it.

Thing's went on like that for a while, Morty started standing up to Rick more and more, and often paid the price of Rick's ego (The Vat Of Acid is the best example) but they always had a strong bond, bla bla bla.

But let's not to forget how Rick constantly manipulated him. I still remember this lines:

"I just took over the family Morty- and if you tell your mom or your sister any of this I'll deny it, and they'll take my side because I'm a hero"

"You can die when I say so. I control you. I control the universe!"

Just adding to the whole "Rick is a god" thing. Morty is perfectly aware, better than anyone else in the family, that Rick is a bad person and had a lot of power over everyone. Up to this point he even handled abandonment quite well, Beth and Summer were the ones who seemed more affected by it.

Still, Morty admires Rick. He needs him. He wants to be around him. As Rick had his moments of real care and and saved Morty, not just for convenience, but genuine affection. Also they got along pretty well.

In "Rest and Ricklaxation" it's even said outright that Rick has an irrational attachment to Morty, and I'd say that Morty also has an irrational attachment to Rick! Because again, he knows who Rick really is. But after so many adventures and those tiny moments of kindness, he can't help but cling to him.

Over time, Morty got more of his own voice, going from being a simple sidekick to being a companion (but not totally equal), and for his part, Rick started to respect his grandson more too (even if the power dynamic hadn't totally shifted)

Then their relationship becomes straight-up codependent.

Let's not forget the crows! That episode wrecked Morty emotionally, and man, I get it! The whole thing about being replaced was nothing more than an empty threat, the crows a way to annoy him. Until it happened. Rick replaces him and dumps him. Then when Rick comes back it's not even for Morty, it's because the crows dumped him first. But Morty still chooses him. Why? because he has no one and nothing else.

Even when Morty has the chance to start a new life far away from Rick, he choose to stay. The truth is that chaos and adventures with Rick is all he's ever known. How do you walk away from the one thing you've built your identity around?

Then S6E2, "Rick: A Mort Well Lived" happens. Morty's most independent, self-aware part gets trapped in a video game... I always feel that like a loss, but I guess it was necessary in some kind of way????? Idk... Anyways, I really liked the direction they took with Morty's codependency and fear of abandonment. After Marta (Morty's fragment) choose to stay in the game, I feek like Morty become more dependent on Rick.

But it's not just Morty who changes, it's also Rick.

Before the crows leave him, he ends up learning a bit about empathy (I think that's what it was) and recognizes that what he and Morty have is toxic, blablabla. I won't expand on this because the analysis is focused on Morty, not Rick, but I want to emphasize the sentence he says in S6E10, "Ricktional Mortpoon's Rickmas Mortcation"

"You called me boring! I've become dog shit to you"

Rick realizes he's lost control over Morty, and acts like the victim because he feels like one. Their bond is more damaged than ever because there is no balance between them. Things were tense since before the crows, add to that the revelation that Morty is not Rick's original grandson, and the Prime oobsession. Things keep spiraling... Still, by the end of the episode Rick brings Morty into the Prime hunt.

Now that I've already mentioned Prime we can go back to Morty, because after they finally found him and Rick got his unsatisfactory revenge, Morty was left marked by Evil Morty words:

"What happens if Rick actually kills this guy? You ever think about that? Maybe he'll kill himself next."

Next episode we see that Rick stopped having adventures for a while to start drinking too much, clearly depressed after the events of the previous episode. Again, this shakes up his bond with Morty.

Past all this, we finally get to one of the best episodes! The first one that really focuses on Morty's psychology: S7E10, Fear no Mort.

(SIDE NOTE: Before that! Something super important happens earlier: His breakup with Planetina (S5E3). Remember what he said to Beth?

"My whole life I've never fit in anywhere. Everything I have to say is always met with an eye roll, as if the act of hearing what I have to say is some exhausting chore. Nobody in this family thinks I can say or do anything right. I've been all over the universe, meet hundreds of people, and Planetina's the only one I've ever meet that makes me feel like I belong."

In Morty's words (and as we have seen throughout the series) there's no one, not even his own family, who doesn't treat Morty like he's an idiot. Everyone just seems tired of dealing with him. Morty always noticed it, cause he's not dumb like people thinks he is. It's not until he feels he's finally formed a real, honest, loving and (in his eyes) healthy connection that he confronts, in this case, his mom for trying to break them up.

The part “Planetina's the only one I've ever met that makes me feel like I belong” reflects more than just teenage love. It's coming from someone who has been ignored, treated as annoying and irrelevant by his classmates, teachers, his family, and also, of course, Rick too.

Honestly, I think that after the breakup, Morty became even more emotionally vulnerable. Like, it made him cling to Rick even more because, as awful as Rick can be, he's still the only one who actually spends time with Morty, that listens to him (even if it's while complaining), and shown Morty that he matters to someone, even if it's just so Rick can use him.

When Morty breaks up with Planetina because she killed innocent people, his idealized, perfect vision of his girlfriend finally shatters. The problem isn't that Planetina killed people (Rick has already done that, even Morty killed before), the real issue is that there is no way to sustain this unrealistic vision Morty had for her anymore. She was supposed to be his safe space, something outside the caos. But after that, there's no way he can keep pretending she's who he thought she was.

This leaves a mark. And in the end, Morty goes to adventures with Rick as usual.

At this point, after so many adventures and failed relationships, Morty has internalized so much Rick's worldview. Since the pilot, Rick's been planting the idea that it should be just the two of them, going on adventures together forever and ever. Rick and Morty at 100 years, an emotional trap disguised as a fun promise of adventures from which Morty cannot escape, not only because circumstances have molded him to adapt Rick's vision of the world, love, his own worth and morality, but also because a big part of his identity revolves around Rick).

With all that said, we can finally talk about Fear No Mort!

First off, when they "come out" of the hole, Morty notices Rick staring into it looking genuinely sad, so he admits he's afraid of being responsible for his sadness.

"Hey Rick, you just looked real sad, which I’m afraid of. You know, of being responsible for your sadness.”

Then, once they're back to, Morty imagines basically an entire life with Rick by his side. At this point Morty can no longer project himself, even in his imagination, without him! And then it hits him: Rick was never really there in the first place. That's when Morty finally figures out what he's truly afraid of:

"I know what I'm afraid of! I'm afraid that you'd never say that [that he is irreplaceable] in real life. I'm afraid that if I jumped into a hole, you wouldn't even bother jumping in after me. You'd just stand there and watch. This entire thing has been about me! You're not even in the hole, are you?!"

THIS MOMENT. THIS IS THE EXACT MOMENT WHERE IT BECOMES CLEAR THAT MORTY IS EMOTIONALLY DEPENDENT ON RICK. His fear of rejection doesn't compare to his fear of meaning nothing to Rick, and the fact that his entire life now revolves around him.

The fear of relying on Rick.

So! Morty's no longer the same scared kid of early seasons who got dragged into adventures against his will, and slowly started resenting his grandpa to such extent that (in some moments) he thought about killing him. Not because he truly wanted to, deep down, but because the anger and frustration took over.

Now after everything that has been though (being replaced, literally losing the most rebellious part of himself, and suffering from a broken heart) Morty's now fully Rick Sanchez's grandson. Someone who enjoys adventures, no longer hesitate to kill people (his whole moral compass is another topic on its own), and who is totally unable to let go of his grandpa because is all he has, but also the only thing he wants too, since there's nothing better out there or on earth waiting for him.

Morty isn't trying to escape Rick anymore, he just wants to be loved by him.

The issue is that Morty reached a point where he needs Rick to feel like somebody. Right now he's emotionally dependent on Rick in an extreme way. It wasn't always like this, Morty used to care about him (or at least respect him), but he also kinda hated him. Thanks to all his arc and now that Rick's been slowly changing in recents seasons, Morty can live with this, even with his doubts and with the conscious fear that Rick doesn't love him or might leave him again, he's so hurt at this point that he'll take whatever Rick gives.

So yeah, we've gone from a Morty who was aware Rick was hurting him and still called him out, to one's who's fully resigned to this life.

(I bring back the scene where he had the opportunity to leave his life with Rick behind when Evil Morty offered him a way out of the Central Finite Curve. Rick admits that's the best option cause he has no plan, and we see the exact moment when Morty resigns and decides to stay with Rick, DESPITE what happened with the crows).

And you know why? Because Rick is changing too. Slowly, painfully, but it's happening. And Morty doesn't love Rick because he's good.

He loves him because that's the most he can expect from love.

To conclude:

Before, Morty had normal concerns. He wanted to go to school, be with Jessica (I miss her), and form a life like any other teeanger. Rick was something he tolerated because he was his grandpa, but clearly not the center of his life.

Now, that changed completely. He doesn't really have those desires anymore, now, what he wants is to go on adventure. He wants to keep exploring the universe with Rick, because its the only he has left and also, it's become the only thing he's truly passionate about. I'm not saying that he cannot fall in love again and be a regular teenager someday, but his priorities have shifted.

He genuinely enjoys those adventures, but specially enjoys being with Rick. He respects him, admires him, challenges him, understands him... and even with all the pain, he wants to stay by his side. For a 100 years.

Wow! this got way out of hand. It all started when I was like "Man, I miss when Morty used to stood up to Rick". Then the new episode dropped, and hey, turns out current Morty is confronting Rick again! I know they had arguments before, but that was mostly because their bond was super tense, almost broken. And in those fights, Rick always played the victim and Morty ended up feeling bad, like he was the one in the wrong. But now, in the first episode we get a clearly parallel between Morty and Evil Morty (that's a different topic I could go on about- I'll just say I think it perfectly shows why Morty would never become Evil Morty: because he loves Rick). And in the most recent one, beat the crap out of Rick for being an asshole, totally deserved.

Their behavior in this episode really made me think, it’s like Rick and Morty’s personalities are kinda... swapping places. Morty’s turning more into Rick (stronger, more assertive) and Rick’s becoming a bit more like Morty (more human, more vulnerable) But neither of them has stopped being who they are at the core.

Also, I gotta say, I love how their relationship is way more balanced now! Rick actually treats Morty with a bit more respect, and Morty’s pretty much on the same level as Rick when they go on adventures. They finally see each other as equals and treat each other like actual family (a super dysfunctional one, sure, but one that’s trying to get better). Honestly, it’s been a really nice shift. And that’s what surprises me the most.

I’ve been a fan since the beginning, and I NEVER thought they’d canonically turn their relationship into something this wholesome, because this show’s always been about tearing down traditional stuff: love, good vs evil, heroes, family, all that. But now? They’re actually giving us this slow redemption arc. Not just for Rick and Morty, but for the whole Smith family, piecing themselves back together from all the damage. Ooobviously Rick and Morty’s relationship isn’t perfect, but compared to how it all started? It’s honestly too wholesome sometimes. I used to think it’d stay toxic and abusive forever!

I just really hope that with Rick changing now, they don’t forget about Morty’s growth. Just because Rick’s evolving doesn’t mean Morty’s wounds magically disappeared. He faced his fears down in the hole, but that doesn’t mean he’s over them, he’s just living with the trauma now. (Even the line at the end of the new episode makes it super clear Morty’s still scared, or so I think.) But I'm sure they won't ignore it. We’re still seeing Rick fall into that self-pity mode, and Morty is aware of it.

I’m genuinely excited to see where they take things from here!!!

Anyway, there’s so much more I could’ve talked about, but it was 3 a.m., I was half-asleep and my body hurt all over, plus there are already tons of deep dives out there about their dynamic. What I wanted to do here was just focus on Morty’s evolution. That’s my little contribution! [:

[batsandbirdbrains]

To continue my Dick Grayson and Billy Batson bff agenda: what if it’s a young justice au where Bruce knows Dick was actually five instead of eight when he took Dick in. Or, Dick told him after maybe a month or two when he suddenly remembered he wasn’t actually eight. Bruce updates Dick’s documentation right away, but he keeps him home schooled for a few years because Dick is actually a little ahead of his age group.

But maybe Dick had already started going out as Robin before he told Bruce his actual age. He’d met the Justice League members already. Batman told everyone that Robin was eight. And now he doesn’t want to correct them when they continue to think that’s Robin’s age, because he doesn’t want Dick to feel bad, doesn’t want them to get upset with Dick for not correcting them all sooner. Because Dick really had forgotten, it had become so normal for him to change ages that he did sometimes forget what his actual age was. Bruce didn’t want Dick to feel like it was his fault, because he’s just a little boy, he didn’t have a choice.

So they keep up the misconception that Robin started out when he was eight. Bruce only takes him out on kiddie runs once he finds out - it’s just runs across rooftops so Dick has a chance to run and jump around. Get his energy out. Taunt some muggers while Batman does the actual heavy lifting.

Besides, having Robin and Dick Grayson have such different ages does wonders for their secret identities.

But then the young justice team forms, and Dick is ten years old. He’s in school now, a sixth grader at Gotham Academy Middle School. He started attending Gotham Academy the year prior and tested into fifth grade.

The team thinks he’s thirteen. No one knows Batman and Robin’s secret identities other than Superman and Wonder Woman.

But then Captain Marvel comes into the picture, and Batman clocks him immediately as a kid. He has a ten year old himself, he knows what they act like, even if they are a little mature for their age. Batman doesn’t say anything to anyone else, but he pulls Captain Marvel aside one day and asks him about it. Invites him to the Batcave to discuss it.

That’s when Bruce Wayne meets Billy Batson, followed closely by Dick Grayson then meeting Billy Batson. And they instantly click. They’re best friends immediately. Having someone else who has a secret ID about their age is something they bond over right away.

Whether Bruce ends up adopting Billy too or not, Billy is at the manor and the Batcave all the time after that. Dick and Billy play together, they do homework together, they have sleepovers together. Billy wants to be part of the young justice team, but Dick convinces him that he’s better off without the team anyway. He tells him how inexperienced the team is, how they don’t work all that well together.

Dick and Billy decide to go on their own missions as a mini team. Bruce gives them missions he thinks they’d do well on, and they actually work really well together since Billy has started training with them. They’re not going to work as well together as Dick and Bruce do, but that’s because Dick and Bruce have five years of practice working together. Billy is catching up quickly, though.

The team eventually finds out that Robin has been going on missions with Captain Marvel, but Robin shuts them all down when they start whining and complaining. He explains that he works well with Captain Marvel. That sometimes there are missions that require a smaller team.

When they start being mean about Captain Marvel? Robin is furious. He yells at all of them. Then he stomps away to go find Billy so they can go back to the Batcave together.

Then the dimension splitting thing happens with the adults and the kids being separated, and Dick and Billy work together like a well oiled machine. He’s the one who convinces Billy to transform to Captain Marvel, who comes up with most of the plan from the kids’ side of things.

Once things are all back to normal, Robin is standing next to Billy who has changed back into a kid from Captain Marvel, and they’re both a little exhausted. And Batman crushes both of them together as he hugs them, because he’d been so worried about them.

Idk I just them being buddies and Bruce being a doting dad

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Today was the day, Lucifer had practically locked himself in the bathroom making himself look nice.

He only gets one chance to make a good first impression....... Though, he's sure that just being the devil alone will put a damper on things. But he won't let that get him down.

He was going to meet his son. His son that he had with Adam.

Apparently Peter was coming over with, something about protecting him from the devil. It's cute Peter thinks he could do anything, even without his power he could flick his nose and break it.

Adam: Lucifer! Come on!

Lucifer: Coming!

His heart was pounding, he left the bathroom and sat on the couch and waited. Adam answered the door and hugged Abel.

Adam: Come on in buddy. There's someone I want you to meet.

Abel: Yeah sure.

They went into the living room and Lucifer and Abel made eye contact, he could see pieces of himself in Abel, not just the blonde hair but his slightly fair skin.

Lucifer: Hi.

Abel: Hi.

Lucifer didn't know what to do, so he extended his hand and Abel took it gingerly shaking it.

Adam: This is Lucifer, you've heard of him a shit ton. Lucifer, this is Abel. Hey buddy, have a seat okay?

Abel: Why?

Adam: I think this talk will go better if you sit.

So he did, Abel and Peter sat down together on the couch and Adam and Lucifer stood.

Adam: Okay, this shits important. Peter, if you tell anyone I'll feed you to Lutes bunny.

Peter gulped: O-okay.

Adam: There's a reason I wanted you to meet him Abel..... Lucifer here..... Well, he's technically your father.

Abel: W-what?!? You're not my dad!?

Adam: Oh I am.

Abel looked confused: What?

Adam groaned, he really hated explaining things: We're both your parents...... Eve might have been your mother figure but she didn't birth you.

Lucifer: Adam did.

Peter: WHAT!? YOU'RE A WOMAN!?

Adam: SHUT UP PETER!! AND NO!!

Lucifer: We're not.... Really sure how this happened but it did and now you're here. Sooo, hi.

Abel: You're serious?

Adam: ..... Yes.

Abel got up and went over to them, this was a hard pill to swallow but he sees it.

Abel pulled them both into a hug: I-is that why she didn't like me?

Adam: Yeah.....

Abel let them go: Well then......

Lucifer: Look, I know this is a lot and very sudden. But you don't have to call me dad or anything if that makes you uncomfortable-

Abel pulled him into a hug but looked at Adam: He'll always be my dad, but it's nice to know my father.

Lucifer teared up and hugged him back: I-It's nice to know my son.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.

[greypetrel]

Your ship and how do they sleep (when together and not) questionnaire! 💖

Tagged by @ndostairlyrium, thank you so much!

And tagging back, with no pressure at all: @salsedinepicta @diesvitae @pickelda @zaahvi @hollytree33 @inquisimer @pinayelf and YOU!

I didn't have a fully coloured picture, that's bad, I'll attach two sketches - one of them is OLD Aisling is too tall and a different bodytype sshhhht- and that's my cue on finishing at least one.

Aisling x Cullen

How often do they sleep together?

After their relationship is evolved physically, as often as they can/can get away with it without being seen by the vast majority of Skyhold. Aisling hates sleeping alone in a room, the one thing she won't miss about Skyhold is her room. Before that, a handful of time when circumstances had them with only one bed.

Where do they sleep?

In Skyhold, at first in Cullen's loft. Easier for Aisling to justify being there early morning if she was caught sneaking out by guards/anyone they didn't care sharing their personal life with. Plus: it's smaller, it's more comfy, she actually likes the hole in the roof and falling asleep with the stars twinkling there. I picture that going to sleep in Aisling's room was kind of a step for Cullen (between shiness, boundaries, feeling like he's kinda trespassing, it's too much of a step, worries about feeling trapped in -she just left all windows and doors open without him having to ask-). Aisling's room after they were public and decided to move together, it was just more practical to house both.

How do they prepare to sleep?

Cullen has a very precise routine, which now includes picking Aisling's clothes from the floor where she left them before hopping on the bed. Bickering because she doesn't see the point in folding them and he answers that he'll be the one to laugh the morning she'll have to sneak back to her room without her breeches, because she doesn't know where they are anymore. Helping each other out with whatever complex item of clothing they're wearing. They read, if they haven't seen each other before, there's the mandatory "How was your day?" question.

What do they wear to sleep?

It really depends on the activity they were doing before putting themselves to bed 👀 <<< Stealing from prev. Aisling has a collection of nightgowns that Josephine had prepared to her when she was entrusted in building her a wardrobe fit for an Inquisitor. She never used them. She just hops off anything she's wearing and sleeps in her camisole and underwear, who cares. Or, she sneakily took an old shirt of Cullen that she wears to sleep. He'll discover she did after the Arbor Wilds. Cullen I think has some softer clothes he uses for sleeping only because there are awake clothes and sleep clothes and if he wears outside clothes to bed he'll die and *looks at Aisling just shredding layers and going to sleep and shivers*.

Do they cuddle?

If Cullen doesn't explicitly tell her he doesn't feel like it, Aisling will go for cuddles as soon as he'll lay down beside her. Sit beside her. She's touchy and she's cuddly, she'll always respect a "no", particularly after nightmares she always waits for a "yes" before even touching him. But otherwise yes, as soon as she has a no go, she will cuddle. (she'll cuddle even platonically)

What are their preferred sleep positions?

On their own, Aisling curls into a ball. Cullen I get either on his side, again ready to jump up and get to action... Or listen. I'm a "Cullen sleeping on his belly and hugging a pillow" believer. When he can lay down some walls and relax more, he'll spread. Together? As in the picture above, Aisling is a big spoon. She'll climb his neck and hug him from the back. As above, is she's not clearly told not to, she'll fall asleep while cuddling him. Mainly, they sleep hugged together. Even in full summer if it's hot? She has a foot on his ankle. When Niamh comes around, it's basically a sandwich as depicted above. OH, and the dog sleeps at their feet. Always. Cullen tried to train him not to hop on the bed... With failing results.

How easy do they fall asleep?

For Cullen it's hard. Having her beside helps him, but between nightmares and claustrophobia, it's not the easiest task, for her. Aisling is one of the lucky bastards who can fall asleep anywhere, in any moment of the day. She tends to stay awake at night on purpose, always did so even in the clan, because it's the time when she can be alone, out of her social duties, and recharge batteries. Or if she's particularly enthusiastic about an experiment or nervous for something, she'll have some troubles. Again, she hates sleeping alone also because she uses other people to regulate on that. In the clan it was Radha, when she was little. Now it's Cullen.

Do they toss and turn a lot?

Not if they're not having nightmares.

Do they snore?

I think Cullen will start to snore going on with age. Aisling maybe talks in her sleeps when her dreams are particularly vivid.

Who hogs the blanket?

They're stuck to each other, so no one. If I have to choose, Aisling hates the cold, so it's her.

What do they dream about?

Aisling's dreams are polarized between The Horror and Alice in Wonderland-level of absurdity. When she's particularly stressed, Desperation comes knocking at her door, it's usually dreams of her causing her own demise and all the people she loves abandoning her. Not her first rodeo, tho, she can manage. Otherwise, it's maybe having pickles tea upside down on the ceiling with a ant-eater in a full plate of armour, a cow who's not struggling to hold the saucer and cup with her hooves an axolotl in a frac, Cole and Josephine. She hates pickles and finds tea disgusting, but Josie's looking at her with that looks that means "you can't offend our guests" so she is fought between drinking and not. She looks inside the cup so much that she falls into it, and now she's trapped in a jar of orange jam and can't get out without help, and she *can't* eat all that jam so you see it's really a predicamente and- *wakes up, the next day she proposes to Dorian to levitate a table and chairs to have tea on the ceiling. But not pickle tea.* For Cullen it's memories, and honestly the headcanon of Ali is so good that I'm struggling to picture anything (in a good way that was a great idea, please check it out)

How easily do they wake up?

Aisling: fairly easily, she's a light sleeper. She may pretend not to to steal five more minutes in bed. Cullen less so.

How awake they are afterwards?

Not so much. Aisling is groggy for at least 10 minutes. Ideally, she'd like not to be perceived in that span of time, but living in close quarters with other people kinda makes it hard. She usually pretends to be asleep until she's ready to talk to other people (if you ask her whether she's awake, she'll answer "No I'm not."). Cullen is used to be up and running from years of service. Isn't happy about it. He's grumpier than usual until he's had breakfast. Hates being awakened by other people.

[thirdsonofeve]

Officially, the parties are always hosted by Bellini or Sabbadin. Despite all of the cardinals being invited only the liberals and progressives show up. The conservatives grumble and tear their invites in pieces. Behind the scenes though, Innocent is the one providing the entertainment. In the form of the cardinal most adamant that his conservative peers do not attend.

(nsfw under the cut)

It took Innocent surprisingly little time to figure out that all that was needed to guide Tedesco back into the fold was a firm hand. From then on the Patriarch was easily domesticated, turned into an obedient animal held on a short leach. Innocent enjoys their game of public disagreements and private subjugation. He has also come to enjoy showing off his torito. It's a way to reward the men doing the work he wants to see done. And he knows Tedesco likes the attention, even if he huffs and swears he won't go along with it this time.

But, predictably, Tedesco follows Innocent’s instruction. He allows himself to be passed around like a party favor, humiliated and used by all of the men he's declared his enemies. Innocent enjoys telling him this is all for him. Why is this happening? It's not because of new policy, not because of some progressive agenda intended to turn the church into a den of perversion and homosexuality. It's because he - the traditionalist, the one railing against perceived sin in the liberal changes - wants this.

He likes the way he is looked at when he's on his back with his legs spread and his hole leaks with lube and come. He's wanted. He's good for something. But some nights Innocent allows him reprieve from the fury in his fellow cardinals' eyes. He gets to enjoy himself without having to worry about meeting Sabbadin’s gaze and feeling that cold, cruel chill down his back. With the blindfold on it's all darkness, and the ballgag grants him peace of mind too. He doesn't have to worry about his tongue loosing all restraint while Lawrence is rocking back and forth into him, doesn't have to feel ashamed of anything stupid he'd might say. The rope holding him down and keeping his legs apart and his hands above his head provide structure, and a fair bit of support for his old joints.

One time Innocent tied him up like a Christmas hog, apple in his mouth and all, and left him as decoration for them all to tease but never touch. (Despite his protests Vincent set him up with a physical therapist afterwards bc I'm incapable of ignoring what hours of that would do to a 70yo man).

While he can't hear, Innocent makes it clear that if anyone was to attempt to use this against him they would face far greater consequences than they can imagine. Innocent would not support them, even if tearing Tedesco down would be in the interest of the church. It keeps the fantasy alive, lets Tedesco suffer just that much more when Bellini leans close during an argument a hisses torito in his ear. He would never admit to Innocent that he then let Bellini shove him down over the secretary's desk and fuck him until he came in his underwear.

[dioslesbianwife]

Hello, can I get part 4 jojo gang with a reader who's like Noelle from Genshin. Someone who is extremely strong, stubborn, reliable, and willing to endanger her life in order to help someone in need. With the reader's goal of becoming a Police officer

hi, sure! hope u enjoy and thank you for requesting :3

Josuke Higashikata

Totally in awe of you.

He first sees you one-arm lifting a scooter off a crushed puppy like “Oh thank goodness, it only got bruised!” while YOU’RE bleeding out and smiling like it’s no big deal.

“UHHH GIRL- ???”

He constantly has to heal you because you have zero self-preservation. “Y/N, you can’t protect the town if you’re dead!”

Thinks your goal to become a cop is noble but quietly worries about how reckless you are.

“You’d be the best officer ever… just please don’t run into burning buildings anymore.”

Lowkey gets flustered when you carry him bridal-style after a fight. 

Okuyasu

HE’S OBSESSED WITH YOU.

You’re strong, loyal, AND nice?? His dream girl?? His soulmate???

“You wanna be a cop?! That’s SICK!! I’d visit your station every day!!”

Tries to keep up with your workouts and fails miserably. You carried a vending machine once. He passed out after five pushups.

You once took a hit for him and he cried right there on the sidewalk.

Gets very emotional when you talk about wanting to protect Morioh. “Damn. You’re like a superhero. Like All Might, but, like… cuter.”

Koichi

Extremely impressed and extremely concerned.

The first time he sees you carry an injured jogger 3 miles back to town without breaking a sweat, he’s like 🧍‍♂️😳

“Y/N… you’re amazing. But maybe… slow down? Just a bit?”

Tries to talk you out of putting yourself in danger every time but you just smile and thank him for worrying.

“You’re way too good for this world,” he says, genuinely.

Thinks your dream is incredible and will support you 100%- makes you little flashcards for the written exam 

Rohan

Annoyed. Until he’s not.

“Ugh, you again. Charging into danger like some self-sacrificing anime cliché- ”

But the second you block a falling beam from crushing him and say “Are you alright, Mr. Kishibe?” he just stares at you.

He writes a character based on you. It becomes insanely popular.

Pretends he’s indifferent, but always keeps an eye on you during fights.

"If you die doing something stupid and noble, I will be very upset. That’s not permission. That’s a threat.”

Jotaro Kujo

Knows your type immediately.

“She’s gonna get herself killed,” he mutters. “...She’s also going to save this whole town.”

Watches from the shadows like a worried dad. Pretends not to care.

You: getting thrown into a wall

Jotaro: “Yare yare daze- ORAORAORAORA- ”

He actually admires your dream to be a cop, even if he thinks you’re too soft-hearted.

Trains with you sometimes. Quietly impressed when you flip him over once.

“Good. Just don’t die. You’re more useful alive.”

Yukako

Girl you are her IDOL.

“...She’s like some sort of noble girl knight…”

After she’s sure you’re not into Koichi, she latches onto you like glue. Will support your dream.

“If anyone stands in your way, I’ll hold them hostage while you do your paperwork.”

She gets scary protective though. If you’re bleeding and still trying to run into battle, she hair-tackles you to the ground.

“You WILL rest. You are NOT disposable. Understand?!”

Reimi

She’s so moved by your kindness she tears up.

“You’re exactly the kind of person I wish had been there for me...”

You visit her at her alley often, sometimes cleaning up trash or watering the flowers nearby.

Reimi thinks you’re the kind of soul that changes fate.

She 100% believes you’ll become a police officer and help protect Morioh from things no one else sees.

You’re her favorite visitor. You always listen to her stories, and she tells you, “Don’t ever stop being you.”

Tonio

IMMEDIATELY TRIES TO FIX YOUR DIET.

“Signorina! You cannot survive on instant noodles and bruised knuckles alone!!”

Every time you come into his restaurant he’s like “You have dark circles. I am making you soup. SIT.”

He loves your kind spirit and even customizes your dishes to help you recover faster.

You once collapsed from dehydration after lifting a car off a kitten and he NEVER lets you forget it.

“You must treat yourself with the same love you give others!”

Shigechi

Thinks you’re SO cool.

“Whoa!! You’re like a muscley version of Koichi!!”

Tries to show off by helping you help people- like “I can use Harvest to get this lady’s purse back!!”

He’s your biggest fan tbh. Follows you around and asks questions constantly.

“Why do you wanna be a cop? Are the hats comfy?? Do you get snacks?”

You gently explain your sense of justice and he just goes 🥺

Starts calling you “Detective Y/N” and tries to draw you little fake badges.