#using it to get out of trouble when he does something bad

[sunassweetheart]

“Triple Trouble” The Series

The Third Miya Sibling with a crush on Suna Rintarou

“Triple Trouble” Masterlist Here!!

Chapter 1: ‘Left Brain, Right Brain’

You’re officially starting your first ever year at Inarizaki High School in Hyogo, a Japanese prefecture as a 15 year old girl. Your two older twin brothers, Atsumu and Osamu Miya, are already in their third and last year of high school. As you begin high school, your main goal is just to grow and discover yourself as you start getting older.

Today’s your first day ever at Inarizaki High as a 1st year student. The leaves have turned orange and the chilly winds often blow them off their trees. The air is fresh as you sit down in your first class of the day and take it all in. Your twin brothers had told you almost everything you’d need to know about high school. Atsumu more optimistic as he spoke about the sports and the people he’d met during his first couple of years going there. Osamu leaned more towards talking about the actual classes, how credits worked, and what teachers you had to act nicer towards in order to not get on their bad side.

Despite all their lessons, gossip, and preparation, it’s still weird. You weren’t born with their natural charisma and easygoing personality or mindset. You were a walking mound of anxiety, ready to be jostled by the unforgiving hits of high school. Unlike them, you were more of the artsy mindful daughter. Osamu was close to that but still, more like his twin of course.

Sometimes it really bothered you that they were so different from you. It was so easy for them to go ahead and get things just by speaking up, make friends just by saying hello, and be the ridiculous set of twins everyone knew. Other times, kind of like right now, you wished you were never related to them in the first place.

“Hey! Hey! (Y/N)!”

Adrenaline; that hormone that’s supposed to prepare the body for danger, triggered by embarrassment. Which is exactly what you feel when Osamu and Atsumu themselves are peeking around the classroom door, whisper shouting your name. Luckily, the classroom wasn’t dead silent and people were talking with the people sitting next to them but it was still embarrassing.

“Atsumu, aren’t you supposed to be in class?!”

You whisper shout back, trying to shoo them off. It doesn’t work. Osamu smirks and is the one to speak this time.

“We just wanted to check up on our baby sister. Is that so wrong?”

You groan and hide your face in your hands.

“Well, next stop are the bathrooms. Gotta go say hi to our other friends, you know. We’ll make sure to see you around. Love ya!”

Atsumu giggles and Osamu does too, the both of them laughing and strolling down the hallways. How they get away with it, you’ll never know. You take a breath and look at the clock, wondering how much more time is left of this class before you were on to your next one. Suddenly, the girl sitting next to you smiles and speaks up.

“Hey. Are you related to those two or something?”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She laughs and you laugh too.

“Omimi Fumiko. I also have an older brother that goes here.”

“Miya (Y/N). They’re both my older twin brothers. They’re in their third year.”

She raises a brow like she recognizes the names.

“Oh, I know them. Well, kind of. They’re on the volleyball team with my brother and they’re all third years. That’s kind of cool that they all grew up together, you know?”

You smiled at the thought. It was a little sweet to think of your brothers as little first years, making their own friends.

“That’s pretty cool. And here we are just like them.”

You both giggled at the irony as you filled out your notebooks, preparing for the year ahead of you. Maybe it wasn’t so bad being introverted if you could use your brothers’s extrorevtism to make a few of your own friends.

Your brothers had always been protective of you, their own baby sister. You’d grown to simply just not care about the fact that they were always in your business. You didn’t mind it. However now that you were in high school alongside them, they had more opportunity. It was easier to keep tabs on you when you were in the same building as them all day long after all.

Volleyball tryouts were coming up and that reminded them that it was about time to introduce you to some of their friends who were on the team with them. Of course, you’d already known most of them from being forced by Osamu to come to all of their games but still, they wanted to anyway.

You didn’t think they’d all be little spies. They’d always give you a smile or a quick wave in the hallways but never really cared to stop and actually talk to you. Of course you didn’t care but that same day, Atsumu and Osamu would stare at you from the other side of the dining table before breaking the silence.

“So. We heard from a friend you were doing this today.” Or a “A friend told us you were talking about that.”

You thought it was a little funny. It’s not like you were doing anything bad or anything you didn’t want them to know about. You just found it amusing how much they cared.

One night, you were chilling on your bed and scrolling through your phone when the two boys strolled right in like they owned the place. Osamu plopped down at the foot of your bed and Atsumu crawled over to the side to sit against the wall, the same side that was lined with all of your different stuffed animals you’d collected over the years. Once again, you didn’t mind. You just continued to look at your phone until Atsumu spoke up.

“Hey. You’ll never guess what we heard from Kita today.”

You finally put your phone down beside you with a smile on your face, ready to hear about whatever their latest drama was.

“Apparently, he overheard you and your friend talking about volleyball tryouts.”

You rolled your eyes, already knowing what was gonna come out of his mouth next. Osamu finished though.

“You’re not trying out…for some reason. Why? You always loved playing with us here.”

You just shrugged, finding their genuine curiosity and slight devastation amusing.

“I do love volleyball. I love playing it with you guys even more. I just don’t want to do it as an actual school sport. I like how things are going right now without any extra stress. I’m simply just not as interested in it as I thought I’d be.”

Atsumu made the loudest grown and face planted into your bed.

“Oh, where did we go wrong? I think you should at least try out. We at least need to see you make the team even if you don’t end up sticking to it.”

You and Osamu both laughed at his dramatic act and his idea about just trying out. Osamu shook his head and patted Atsumu on the back.

“It’s a lost cause buddy.”

The boys were slightly upset that you didn’t end up trying out for volleyball but overall, weren’t too surprised and didn’t completely mind. After they’d already passed and practices were starting up again, they were finally getting back into routine. You even noticed less of their little spies as they spent their time in the gym instead of around you. It was kind of nice to get a break from how much attention they really paid you.

As for you, things were going really well. Christmas break was already just a couple weeks away and the term was coming to an end. You’d managed to have As in all your classes and had even found a genuine love for your studies and extracurricular activities.

You started to enjoy your more creative classes like English and art. You’d never really had interests in these kinds of topics before when you grew up with the twins who were more of the outgoing sportsy type. Even aside from their obvious love for volleyball, their other likes were also different.

Atsumu liked math. He was weirdly smart. Weird because he spent most of the class chatting with the people around him, on his phone, or borderline harassing the teacher but he was actually great at the class. You remembered late nights from elementary school where you and him sat at the dining table and he helped you with your own homework. You snacked on some fruit while he walked you through how to solve a fraction problem. Even though he seemed like a dumb goof, he could be smart when he wanted to.

Osamu on the other hand worked with the right side of his brain. That’s what made him more similar to you. He began taking culinary arts in middle school where he fell in love with it and used it for comfort. He would come home to show your guys’s mother what he learned at school and had the biggest grin on his face while he watched everyone eat their dinner that he’d made. Since then, his favorite thing was to make the family soup anytime one of them was sick. You sat at the kitchen bar with a book and made the smallest sniffling sound. Less than thirty minutes, your sweet brother had a bowl of your favorite soup right there in front of you.

It was easy to assume they were alike in every way if you had only met them once. They had the same hair, same body type, same face. To you though, they equaled each other and you couldn’t ever have one without the other.

Now, it was up to you to try and figure out where you fit into that equation. If they equaled each other, where did that leave you? The lame nerdy little sister? Probably. Oh well.

Your mother was proud of you. She liked seeing her only daughter succeed like how you had been doing so far. That made you feel unique. She never had to worry about a call from the office regarding your reckless behavior and decisions. You’d made many friends already. Others that were a little bit too much like you. It felt nice, knowing you weren’t alone. You were becoming your own person and growing your own life, discovering things for yourself.

You didn’t know what to expect from the rest of your first year at Inarizaki High but you were excited nonetheless. You were already doing so well and it was only gonna get better from here. Everything perfect, in order, nothing to be completely messed up by anything or anyone. Right…?

A/N: THIS IS SOOO MUCH BETTER THAN MY LAST IDEA THAT I COMPLETELY SCRAPPED OMG…anyway ty guys for staying with me, I plan on making 9?? yes 9 chapters all together for this series, coming out every Thursday from here on out. This is my first actual legit writing piece on my blog so she’s rough but again, stay with me yall ily ty queens

Haikyuu Masterlist Here! 🎀 Main Masterlist Here!

tag list: @haechansbbg @smellysluna @nishinoyaismycutie

[thisissirius]

my dear siri, I would love a fic based on “I’m worried about you” please and thank you

your wish is my command. for you to improve the mood :)

man this should be fifty thousand words longer but have some mack and robert emotions :D

Mack is pretty sure this is gonna bite him in the ass.  “Hasn’t changed much.” “Not sure it ever does,” Mack agrees.  Tommy Merrick looks over the houses, the pub, with a passive expression. He has a casual demeanour, but Mack’s known him long enough to detect the thrum of nervousness underneath. It’s a sight to see on someone pushing fifty. Haven’t you seen everything by then? “I was four the last time I was here.” Mack whistles. “Yeah, things have definitely changed, mate.” There’s a slam of a door and then Robert storms out of Vic’s house, face of thunder. Mack doesn’t know what his problem is–it’s not like he hasn’t left Mack in the middle of nowhere before. “Oi!” Mack winces. “Hi, Robert.” “Don’t ‘Hi Robert’ me, asshole. You left me by the side of the road and–Tommy?” Robert’s anger deflates as he sees the figure standing to Mack’s right. He looks confused and, Mack thinks, a little off-kilter.  “Hi Rob,” Tommy says, lips quirking into a smile. “Been a long time.” Robert just stares.  “Oi,” Mack says, nudging him. “Say something yeah?” That seems to propel Robert into movement, and he grabs Mack’s sleeve, hauls him away from Tommy far enough they can talk without being overheard.  “Where did you find him?” “I know him. He called me when he found out I was in Emmerdale–asked if I knew you.” Robert mutters something under his breath, peering over Mack’s shoulder at Tommy.  “Rob,” Mack says slowly, “He isn’t here to cause trouble.” “You do enough of that for me,” Robert says, half under his breath. He narrows his eyes. “Why is he here then?” Mack scratches at his neck. “Well I might have said something about John.”

Robert rubs at his face. “Why?”

“I’m worried about you,” Mack admits. “Since the roofie thing, the way you and he interact–I don’t like him either, but the way he looks at you, well, he’s bad news. We both know it. Figured you could use every person in your corner I can find.”

The expression on Robert’s face is one of shock, confusion. Mack wants to punch everyone who’s put it there, though that might also mean punching Aaron, which would be a shit show all around. “He doesn’t know me.”

“You spent four years living in his house,” Mack points out.

“Then stole half his money and ran off,” Rob admits, self-deprecating smile in place. 

Tommy snorts from where he’s sidled closer. “I don’t care about the money, Rob. Just that you’re doing well.”

“You’re about ten years too late,” Robert says. “Could have done with those well wishes in prison.”

Mack sighs. “Rob.”

“What? Just figured we should all be on the same page about the kind of person I am,” Robert says, and it doesn’t carry the anger Mack’s been told to get used to–just bitterness. 

“Murder, assault, almost going on the run,” Tommy lists off. At Robert’s expression, he sighs. “I’m sure there’s a ton of other things I’m forgetting, but I’m still not leaving.”

Robert opens his mouth to respond when he sees a couple of other people on the street, and even Vic’s poked her head out of the house. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the Mill. I’d rather catch up,” his expression twists, “without anyone else overhearing.”

Tommy seems only too willing, though he adds, “Ashamed of me?”

“Don’t be daft,” Robert says, too quickly to be a lie. “I don’t really have a lot of fans right now and I’d rather avoid you being told to leave me alone, or take me with you when you leave.”

A dark expression crosses Tommy’s face when he looks at Mack, who shrugs. “I told you.”

“Told him what?”

“I’ll tell you about it in the–Mill?”

Rob nods, though he looks between Mack and Tommy. Finally, he relents, narrowing his eyes at Mack. “We’re talking about this later,” he warns.

Mack shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you want.”

Rob mutters under his breath, probably cursing Mack’s father, which is fine. It’s not like Mack hasn’t done the same. 

“Who’s that, then?” 

Aaron’s drifted out of the pub, hands in his pockets, and nods at Tommy. 

“Rob’s brother.” At Aaron’s expression, Mack grins. “Yeah, another one. Thankfully, not a drop of Jack Sugden’s blood in him.”

Aaron doesn’t seem to know what to say. 

Mack leaves him to it. He pulls out his phone, bringing up Sandy’s number. Might as well see how she’s doing while he’s at it. 

<3<3

[joces-wrld]

IN WHICH— you and chris hangout at a small get together.

| all fun! not proofread.

| the REST of this writing marathon!

chris is in his room, laying on top of the sheets in grey sweats and a hoodie he hasn’t taken off all day. his tv’s on, volume low, playing something he’s not even watching. one sock on. phone sitting on his chest, buzzing every few minutes with groupchat chaos.

| nate: bro let’s do sum. havent hung out in AGES

| jay: bro...we hung out 2 days ago

| nate: and?? ben said he’s down, his tank’s full

| ben: even jamie said he’d come, and he never comes out

| nate: CHRIS!!

| nate: ask yn :)

he stares at the last text for a second too long. not like you haven’t crossed his mind already.

you’ve been stuck in his head all week. and now it's friday and he’s antsy. bored. restless. craving something fun, something you.

he opens your text thread. fingers hover. then types,

| chris: what’s the move?

you respond in under a minute.

| n/n: julie’s house is empty

| n/n: like… all weekend empty...

his heart actually does a little thump at that.

| n/n: u could come through

| n/n: if u want

he sits up so fast the remote falls off the bed—

| chris: you want just me?

| n/n: up to u

| n/n: you could bring the guys. or not

| n/n: we could just chill, us

he's already off the bed, grabbing his keys.

julie’s house is big. stupid big. like chandelier-in-the-bathroom, driveway-bigger-than-a-court big.

you’re already there when chris shows up, nathan, ben, jay, and jaimie following. he wasn’t gonna bring anyone at first, but you said it was chill. and honestly? he was nervous coming by himself.

not nervous about you.

just nervous because of you.

you’re standing at the door when they pull up, hoodie half-zipped, drink in hand, socks long gone.

“damn,” chris says under his breath, admiring you. "what?” nathan asks, small smirk forming on his lips.

“nah, nothing.” (everything.)

the house fills up slowly.

not a real party, just that messy middle space between “hangout” and “we should probably clean up before someone’s mom comes home.”

music is playing. snacks are being scattered. kitchen lights warm and soft. chris finds you sitting on the counter, legs swinging, drink halfway done.

“you look like trouble,” he teases.

“you sound like my mom,” you shoot back, smirking.

he steps closer, leans his elbows on the counter next to your knee.

“so… is this a just you and me or a bring the whole crew kinda weekend?”

you shrug. “depends. are your friends gonna break anything?”

he laughs. “swear we won’t touch the fancy vases.”

you tilt your head. “you cook?”

he nods. “eggs. ramen. grilled cheese.”

you raise an eyebrow.

he grins. “i never said it was good cooking. just cooking.”

later, the music’s louder, the lights are lower, and your friends are mixing with his. there’s a game of uno going on in the living room, someone’s dancing barefoot in the kitchen, and nathan’s arguing with julie about who’s the better driver meanwhile neither of them have their license on them.

you’re curled up next to chris on the couch, legs tucked under you, one of his hands absentmindedly resting on your knee.

“i like your friends,” you say.

“told you,” he says. “we look dumb but we’re not that bad.”

you smile, leaning into him a little.

“you’re not dumb.” he turns his head to look at you.

like, really look at you. the room’s spinning with sound but you’re both locked in,

“you’re the reason i came,” he says.

your chest flutters, like the fizzy part of soda.

you try to play it cool. fail tremendously a little.

“i’m glad you did.”

“you still glad if i stay the whole weekend?”

“you cool with sleeping on the couch”

he grins, someone yelling, “JULIE’S DOG IS MISSING!!” but no one moves.

just you and him.

a big empty house.

the beginning of something, you think.

maybe not a party. maybe not chaos, just something real.

just you and chris.

a/n: you can tell this was rushed...im sorry, i was on my way to the er when i wrote this 😭😭 i'll prob release another version of this when life's calm down a bit

tags— @clairo4life @xsturnkay @h3arts4isa @mf-divaaa-08 @bugs-tags @moond0llie @izzylovesmatt @courta13 @twylas114 @sturniolos1uts

[landlubber3000]

Roommate 2

Author note: this took me forever to write LOL. The magical writing juices do not flow consistently.

Rafayel X y/n; non-mc main; college AU; roommates to lovers; fluff?; pining; big crush energy

Prompt: they’d done their best to hold back . . .

Rafayel woke as the sun barely breached the horizon. Just a red, fiery glow hidden behind clouds. His eyes land on you sleeping peacefully in his arms and knows he still has time.

He’s in love with you, and that’s what he can properly say of this feeling. He doesn’t know what else this overwhelming and lowkey frustrating feeling would be.

His art is a well oiled work, but lately something catastrophic has interrupted his free flowing artistic channel. Nothing has ever bothered him so painfully before, not even when lack of inspiration strikes. He’s tripping and skinning his knees over this feeling he’s kept hidden for the past four months. He thought it would pass, fizzle out. Heal even. Mend itself closed. He doubted it, doubted his motives, doubted where his heart really was, doubted the authenticity.

Was it real?

Was it selfish?

Maybe, yes to both.

Does he like you, or does he like warmth you draw out of him so effortlessly?

One thing is for certain: no one else makes him feel the way you do. It is you who makes this special. It is you who he pines for. It has intensified, become chronic. His heart strains, and the more he denies himself of it, the more it hurts. The heart hates lies.

His first question last night downplayed what he really wanted to ask. It was a simple gauge of whether or not you wanted him around after graduation, or longer.

How much longer could he have this feeling before he had to let it go?

Did he have to let it go?

He couldn’t place his finger on how or when or what caused him to feel this way, but maybe it started with the fact that being around you doesn’t trouble him. It never has, not even when he rolled his eyes at having to share the apartment with someone else. You’re a friend of a friend, that’s how this kind of came about. He thought he’d classify you as tolerable, someone he just so happened to share a space with; he didn’t think you’d become friends, either. He couldn’t blame you for your initial response. Forced proximity isn’t a bad descriptor. But then, somehow, you waltzed your way into a small group of people he cherishes.

One of the first times you two connected was over a work he was making. It was never the same way twice. It started light and beautiful, then grew dark and grotesque. You asked him once what he was looking for. He said, nothing. Just that he was painting a self portrait. You said it reminded you of a story where a painter paints a beautiful man, and as that beautiful man spirals into hedonism, the painting itself grows uglier.

Even with that assessment, you didn’t judge him, nor did you ask what pains made the painting evolve. He probably would’ve answered. Sometimes strangers are easier to admit those things to. He wanted your thoughts on his work thereafter.

He too looks forward to you coming home, an ear subconsciously tuned to the door. He doesn’t leave his spot when you walk in, but his stiffened shoulders relax at knowing you’re just in the other room.

He loves that you enjoy to his cooking. It’s usually an accident when he makes too much, but recently he’s found himself doing it on purpose. You enjoy something about him that isn’t his art, and he likes sharing with you. This also helps alleviate his concern about your long, long, long study sessions where you won’t get up from your chair for hours. He hopes it’s a reprieve from the mental gymnastics while also fueling you for the next round.

The gross, watered down coffee left a film on his tongue and it’s not a pleasant taste hours later. He should really just learn to make coffee for you. He’ll have to remember to look at espresso machines later. Maybe he’d only get to use it until the end the semester, but for you, it’d be worth it.

He struggles with the dichotomy of being both selfish and generous with you. He wants no one but you to have this feeling overflowing within him. . . All the cherishing he wishes he could do outside of being your friend. How can he ask you, though, to shoulder something he can barely carry himself? How can he ask you to open yourself up and let him pour into you? And while he has a vague, but relieved and elated awareness of how you feel. . . I wanted you to stay. . . He’s vulnerable now.

He squeezed his eyes shut as pain pooled in his forehead. He didn’t say everything he wanted to last night. Not even close, not when he danced around admitting his feelings. He probably should’ve had a preliminary pep-talk with himself while sober before he heavily implied he liked you.

Really, Raf? A third thing worse is her wanting to keep you around? Idiot. That’s the best outcome.

But could he allow himself that? It is only a third thing worse because it would destroy him if it went wrong and is inevitably his fault. Would you regret him?

He admires your features in the light of the slow retreating darkness and wants to trace his fingers over your cheek bones, the ridge of your nose, the dip of your cupids bow, down to the suppleness of your lips. His thumb remembers how it felt. Soft. Monumental. His name has kissed your lips before he has, and he’s jealous of every other word after.

You start to stir and open your eyes when the sun meets your eyes. You look confused and grumpy by the crease in your brow.

“Slept on the beach. . .” You mumble. “That’s a first.”

Rafayel feels it in his back and he’s sure you do too.

He closes his eyes again, catching a second wind of sleepiness. Just to stave off the morning a little longer. “Mhm.”

“We should go home and sleep some more, Raf.”

You both trudge sleepily back to the apartment and Rafayel held his tongue the entire way, and so did you.

You tell each other good night while standing in front of your bedroom doors. You went in, but Rafayel delayed. Small specks of dry paint pepper his white door, including the golden handle. He can’t go in until he knows exactly what he’s going to paint about from last night. It will take time, as things are still incomplete, suspended. What the painting will reveal depends on him.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It’s the afternoon by the time you wake up again, and you’re in bed, staring at the ceiling, remembering how it felt to be in Rafayel’s arms. Your paper due next week is on the mainland while you’re on an island with a solitary palm tree.

A third thing worse. A third thing worse. He wouldn’t have asked you to stay with him, put his thumb on your lip, or hold each other, if it wasn’t a third thing worse. Or maybe he was drunk and lonely, and you happened to be who he came home to. How much is drunk honesty worth? Does he even remember?

You wish you could have seen him better. It was definitely a night of feeling around in the dark and clinging to every word for a sense of direction. Where do you and him go from here? Do you forget about it and just keep being roommates? It’s not like you ever thought you had a chance with him. . .

You sigh and finally get out of bed for the day. A sharp pain scatters up your back as you stretch and heave the tightness from your body. Groaning, you grip at your side and your eyes land on the desk next to you. Laptop open (dead), papers abandoned (disarray), a room temp coffee (hellish), the straw that Rafayel sipped from (tempting).

Shaking your head, you tidy it up a bit and organize the papers again. You needed to get it done, but not without the proper conditions: shower, clothes not clad in sand, food, another coffee.

You wonder if you should invite Rafayel to join you for coffee, but you can’t bring yourself to knock on the door. He’s a deep sleeper, and maybe being separate is what you both need. Your fist hovers though: defeat. You resign to going alone, but make a mental promise to bring him something.

By the time you’re back, he’s awake and sketching on the balcony with the door open. He’s got his legs kicked up on the seat across from him, his sketch pad on his thighs while one hand flits around the paper and the other props his head. He’s subtly focused, and probably making a rough sketch look effortlessly masterful.

You approach him and he smiles once he sees you. There are dark circles under his eyes.

“I brought you a muffin and a libation,” you say, holding it out to him. “Hopefully it will be a small comfort to any lingering back pain.”

“You’re so thoughtful, miss academia,” he says and sets it down on the small side table next to him. “Although, it is my fault. I should be the one treating you.”

You’re waiting to see who will acknowledge the elephant in the room first.

“Hm. What will you be making for dinner then?”

You wouldn’t be the one to do it. Not yet at least.

“Whatever you want,” he says, sipping on his drink and licking the excess from his lips. He nods in silent approval of your choice: blended white mocha with cinnamon and caramel.

“I’ll think about it. What’re you working on?”

It looks to be a landscape sketch. Maybe the ocean. He pulls it up to his chest and gives you a challenging look.

“Sorry, I only share my pure rough drafts with my friends. As of 12 to 13 hours ago, you aren’t friends with me.”

You gape. “That’s- Raf,” you grumble, looking away. “I explained myself. I’m sorry. We are.”

He tilts his head and hands you the sketch book. “If you are sorry and we are friends then let’s sit together when we’re in the same cafe studying.”

You gulp. “I didn’t think you noticed,” you say quietly as you follow the pencil strokes. It is a beach, perhaps at sunrise or sun set.

He tilts his drink toward you. “You didn’t?”

Your cheeks prickle lightly and you continue to observe nothing in particular about the sketch. You wish you could hide in it.

“But, fair enough,” he continues. “I can be quite an airhead. However, if we can’t be honest about our friendship, how will we ever come around to that other thing?”

Fantastic pencil shading here, nice lines there, you’re cornered. You avoid his gaze at all cost, but you couldn’t hide completely from him. Your cheeks are hot and you know they’re beet red.

You clear your throat and hand the notebook back. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

He smirks. “So will I.”

After a long night of tossing and turning, you find yourself dead tired and sitting across from Rafayel at the cafe. He’d walked in shortly after you did and immediately planted himself across from you. Your laptops nearly touch. He’s working on his senior project, which includes a long paper about his exhibition.

“What’re my sources? My beautiful brain,” he mumbles to himself.

His glasses sit on the bridge of his nose and he fidgets with his dark, purple hued hair while his eyes dart from sentence to sentence. Despite him being in front of you, looking studious and dare you say cute, you’re not as nervous as you thought you’d be in public together.

“Have I seen any of your exhibition work?”

He hums. “No, it’s a secret sequestered in an off-campus studio.” He looks up from his laptop. “Will you come to see it when it is ready though?”

Something shy and sensitive lingers in his question. His eyes, pleading. You’re focused on the reddish-pink that sits at the base of his iris. It reminds you of a sunrise on a clear, blue morning. You’re touched, included.

You smile and nod. “Of course.”

“Good,” he says, then clears his throat. “I’ll get us more coffees.”

You want to take a peak at his laptop to get a sense of what his pieces are, but you won’t invade. You know they will be Rafayel’s vision of beauty.

A light patter hits the window, then another and another. You watch the rain cover the street in a torrential downpour and everyone outside scattering to get inside or opening umbrellas. It’s unexpected, just as unexpected as you spending your Saturday with Rafayel. You’ve been here two hours and while you’re happy to be here with him, a certain . . . Anticipation is stirring. You still don’t know what to do from here.

What is allowed?

Where are the lines in the sand?

A light thud snaps you out of your spiral and a fresh coffee appears by your laptop.

“Well,” Rafayel sighs, taking his seat. “Guess we’ll have to wait out the rain. No umbrella.”

The words in front of you run into each other after a while longer. Your second coffee, emptied. You’re nearly done, then come the edits. You stretch your arms, and Rafayel shuts his laptop like it personally offended him.

“I’m hungry,” he sighs and rubs his eyes under his glasses. He takes them off and cleans the lenses with his sleeve. “Wanna get take out and watch a movie at home?”

Your heart does a somersault at the idea of spending more time with him, but you try not to get ahead of yourself. You are roommates and roommates can spend time together. Sit on the same couch, share a meal, watch a movie that hopefully isn’t romantic. . . It doesn’t have to mean something if he doesn’t mean something. . . This is stressful.

“What’re you craving?”

You settle on pizza and eat it on the floor in front of the coffee table. He chose a sappy chick flick, which had some romantic themes, but you talk yourself through it. It’ll probably be fine, considering Rafayel is bullying one of the male leads.

“She deserves better,” he grumbles, taking a bite out of his pepperoni pizza. He waves the floppy piece at the TV screen. “No one should settle for a fuck-boy like that.”

You nod along, pretty invested. “She’ll come to her senses.”

He rolls his eyes. “Or someone needs to hit him upside the head.”

You’d only just noticed the back of his arm resting behind you on the couch. It isn’t touching you, but it’s lingering. You were wrapped up in his arms just 48 hours ago, yet this feels intimate in its own way.

The third point in the love triangle comes into the mix, and those two start the tango of will they, won’t they. That feels slightly familiar.

“Just be together,” he groans and puts his forehead on your shoulder, a hand grabbing your bicep for support. “I don’t even know why I picked this movie. Probably to feel something, and it’s working.”

You laugh at his dramatics and he looks at you, his bangs hanging over his eyes. He’s so adorable, and so close. “I had fun today,” he says.

Your lips part to say something, but all you can do is nod. “Mhm.”

“I didn’t say what I wanted to the other night,” he continues. He strokes your arm with his thumb, and you hold your breath. “I’ve been silly about all this, I think. Just stalling and waiting. For what? I don’t know, but the longer I wait the worse it gets. . . I like you, and if you like me too, we can take our time.”

You blush hard. You can’t look at him. Instead, you bore holes in the pizza box. “So, do you want to date, or something?”

“Yes!” The exclamation brought your attention back to him. He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head. “I mean, yes,” he says more controlled now. “I would love to take you on dates and do more together.”

You purse your lips. “I mean, are you sure? What if it doesn’t work?”

He cups your face with his hand. “Then, it doesn’t work, but I’d like to see if it will. We’re pretty successful people, despite when we’re not.”

You fidget with your fingers. “Feelings can make messes.”

“I know,” he says. “Mine are making a mess of me the longer I try to contain them. I’ve liked you long enough to know they’re not going away any time soon.”

The sentiment hits you like a truck. His longevity matches yours. You nod your head, the honesty spewing through the cracks; he swiped his foot through the line in the sand.

You reach your hand to brush his bangs from his eyes. “I notice everything about you,” you admit.

He smiles. “You never miss a thing, cutie.”

He leans over to kiss your cheek, and his lips are so soft. You turn your head, the boldest thing you could’ve done, and your lips are centimeters from another. He looks to your eyes for what you take as permission, and you close the gap.

He sighs into you, his lips situating with yours before moving them, his hot breath like a blanket against your lips. They’re so patient and earnest, like he’s telling the truth when he said he’s wanted you this long. Gratitude drowns out your concerns, at least for now. In this moment, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Slight cliff hanger? Idk. We’ll see what happens lmao.

[tennessoui]

feel free to ignore if you want!!

i was rereading the reverse master/padawan au (the one shots, not foolish, foolhardy) and started wondering…. what would happen if anakin fell in this au?? like whyyy would he falll, would mustafar still play out, would it still play out THE SAME WAY?!?! would obi wan join the resistance or would he chase after Vader? would they then meet for the first time again on a BATTLEFIELD?? would anakin then choose murder or mother hen mode ??

anyway there are too many question marks here, but you get the point ! this was just a curious ask so dw about it

p.s happy Halloween, ily and your writing !!

i always welcome questions about burn every bridge 🧡🧡 i would say my immediate thought is that padawan obi-wan would just have to pout at his old master and anakin would fall back in line immediately. no falling for him. obi-wan would be disappointed--or worse! sad!! he would cry and anakin cannot stand that!

but to entertain the thought, let's say he did fall. they knight obi-wan, effectively taking him away from anakin (in anakin's mind) and obi-wan is so caught up in being a new Knight that he doesn't come and visit anakin a lot which leaves anakin vulnerable to palpatine's manipulations and anakin falls and helps to kill the order that took his padawan away from him (obi-wan went on a two night mission off planet. anakin is just being dramatic)

i feel like when obi-wan gets back and discovers what has happened, he wants to go to anakin and confront him (maybe even battle of mustafar style) but yoda knows that obi-wan would not be able to kill his old master and probably wouldn't be able to win so he tells obi-wan that anakin is gone, consumed by the dark and there is no reasoning with him and so no one goes after vader immediately after his fall the surviving jedi know that there's nothing vader would want more than a chance to capture obi-wan so they probably hide him away. like on tatooine, baby luke level of hide him away except obi-wan is a willful twenty-five year old boy who wants to help the rebellion because if he's fighting he can't think about his broken heart

so he probably does run off and join the rebellion and they probably do see each other again on a battlefield a few years later and vader probably does rip apart ships and people and planets to get to obi-wan and then he probably cradles his face delicately in his hands like he's the sweetest thing in the entire galaxy and then it probably does take only one obi-wan tearful pout for vader to un-Fall lol

[navydoves]

Dragon!Sylus and his habits while in heat

❥ You always knew being a dragon’s mate was going to be a bit… difficult.

affectionate habits ver.

࣪𖤐

❥ absolutely claws you. you think your scratches on his back are bad? yeah, no, try dragon claws. yes, they HURT, but they hurt SO GOOD. sylus knows how fragile humans are so he won’t ever scratch you enough to really hurt you, but he will leave marks. mating season is when you get the most scabs and bruises.

pounding into you never felt so good. he needs somewhere to release the extra excitement in him and so sylus will gets a little claw-happy. no part of your body is left untouched, he’ll mark every part to make a beautiful masterpiece of pink and red on your skin.

❥ he tries to impress you. much like a modern bird, sylus is always about impressing his mate before mating with them. sometimes for days even before he has you bent over, he’ll begin the first step of courting you, which could be done by a multitude of things.

sylus with walk around naked, flexing his muscles and shiny shimmering scales in hopes of impressing you and seeing how virile he is. not to mention he’ll obviously show off his DDDs—double dragon dicks! they’ll swing low or perk up high, thick and creamy for your enjoyment. he’s saying “hey, hey! look at me! i’m the perfect mate for you.” sometimes sylus will growl at you or make certain warning noises not to scare you, but to show you he can protect you by doing that. it’s an entire draconic ritual that will have you simultaneously confused, impressed, and most importantly, aroused.

❥ he’s so goddamn loud. sylus is not usually one for loud noises, he prefers more tame atmospheres in his home… until he’s in his heat. day and night you’ll hear him stomping and thudding into things to assert dominance. it’s to simultaneously scare people and let them know that he’s there and not to be messed with.

not only that, but he roars. his growls are pretty loud and booming too, but sylus rarely lets out a full snarl unless he’s pretty upset or pretty horny. he’ll do it to anyone, even you. except, he uses his loud noises to instill fear into others but instill submission into you. don’t like it? he’ll try to tone it down, but it’s a reflex at this point. try to close your ears while he’s coming, it’s a powerful sound of pleasure and accomplishment.

❥ he has toy eggs. sylus knows he can’t give you babies and it makes him super upset. all his heat makes him think about is giving you babies, so to cope he got toy eggs. he essentially makes you play house with him with the eggs. you have to play mama dragon and he’s daddy dragon, and daddy dragon’s job is to protect and provide for his family while mama dragon’s job is to nurture the kids.

and he genuinely does do that. he will stalk the nest he’s built for you and his toy eggs; he will bring you and the eggs food to eat in the nest; he will bathe you and the eggs with his tongue; he will legitimately get emotional if something happens to you or the eggs. he’s a little hormonally crazy but you indulge him every single time.

❥ DOUBLE TROUBLE! that’s right, you’re cock-trained to take sylus twice at a time. on a normal occasion, you’ll only take one dragon dick at a time so you’re not overwhelmed. sylus will alternate so as to not neglect either one of his cocks, but that all changes during his heat!

DDDs all shoved up your poor pussy, you’re gonna break! sylus has slowly size trained you over every occasion of sex until you could somewhat comfortably take him two at a time. it takes so much restraint but he goes slow at first and by the time you’ve calmed down and let out the tears, he’s ready to really fuck. always paying attention to you, always licking away your tears, always embracing you, sylus will still give you the ride of your life. it’s like two rollercoasters at once, so jarring but addicting. how can you even still be tight after that? it’s a mystery. 𖤐

tl: @mangobellini , @rin-dont-wear-clothes , @kentosbak3ry , @napa-the-yappa , @amaveon , @ivysorrele , @webshooterrr9, @calebandenergydrinkaddict , @ch4c0nnenh4 , @lilkactuz

[laceyfaeryy]

fire fighter! simon riley x single mom! reader

simon being completely enamoured by the pretty single mom that volunteered at the fire station with free lunch every friday.

pure fluff, mentions of burns and scars - might do a part 2 and not proof read teehee

he was a man of discipline - of routine, and hard work and yet he was currently staring at you moving around swiftly as she handed out cookies like a love sick boy. his eyes seemed to follow your every move, how you seamlessly interacted with his coworkers and even the other parents and children.

of course, his interest didn’t go unnoticed by his captain, price who gave him a sly smile before nudging him slightly.

“she’s single for if you want to make a move and stop ogling her.”

if looks could kill price would be six feet underground.

he couldn’t make a move, not when you were the complete opposite of him. you were the like sun, beaming no matter what as you platted each meal, you were always so positive, so selfless no matter what.

simon was convinced that someone as dark and troubled as him would dim your light, scars and burns on his body that were so ugly and gruesome it almost felt blasphemous to touch you.

“si? want some lunch?” your soft melodic voice breaking him out of his trance, you always had a way of making him spell bound, like a siren.

he shook his head with a small attempted smile. “‘m not that hungry.”

but he was really fucking hungry. though he was convinced that if he ate your food he would be addicted, begging for more.

“but fire fighters need energy!” a small high pitch voice spoke up, your daughter. “mama makes good food, try it pretty please?” her eyes wide and pleading, her small lips jutted out in a determined pout.

simon cleared his throat, “i guess a little bit won’t hurt.”

oh it wasn’t just a little bit. he came back for seconds, thirds, fourth.

simon ate like a man starved, his fork scraping against the plate as he finished it again. “told you mama’s food is the best!” your daughter beamed as she perched herself up on the step next to him, her feet swinging in the air whilst simon’s were extended out. the size difference was comical.

her gaze drifted over his uniform, her eyes wide and curious. “what’s this?” her small chubby finger pointing to his scarred hand. instinctively, he pulled his sleeves over them, shielding something so dark and ugly from her innocent eyes. “‘s nothing, kid.”

“does it hurt?” she asked, completely oblivious to simon’s insecurity. he shook his head “doesn’t hurt anymore

white lie. god, it hurts so bad not physically but emotionally. sometimes he couldn’t even stand staring at his hands, purposely trying to cover them up with gloves but it irritated the uneven skin which made it even worse.

“hey, you shouldn’t be asking questions like that missy,” you playfully narrowing your eyes at your daughter who smiled sheepishly. “thought i’d taught you better than to pry into peoples personal lives.” you raised a brow at the smaller girl whose eyes were crinkling due to her cheesy smile. “gotta go get food!” she giggled as she ran, well stumbled away.

“sorry about that, she’s a curious little thing,” your eyes glued to her as she asked another volunteer for more food. simon chuckled lowly, “‘s alright, got good intentions.”

simon’s heart felt like it was going to explode, it was never heated this fast, not even during the missions where he thought he was going to die. he felt so aware of everything, secretly hoping you didn’t notice how he was hiding his scars.

you cleared your throat, pulling something out of your pockets. “i got you something,” your tone soft and shy, completely different to what simon was used to.

gloves.

“i heard cotton is good for sensitive skin, so i thought it would be appropriate for you.”

god, what did he do to deserve you?

“if you don’t want it it’s fine, i don’t want to cross any boundaries-“

but before you could even finish he took them from your hands, putting them on. “they’re amazing,” his hands flexing under the material as he tried them on. he felt like a school boy who was talking to a girl the first time, his mind completely blank.

“do yer wanna grab sum coffee with me?”

tag list:

@happysmappy @mydickishuge560 @dolli333 @madebyyicarus @l-otti @butlerslut @vampwifee @i-wanabe-yours @bluebarrybubblez @cinnamongrl2006 @akkahelenaa @yanfeiiiiii @actualpoppy @lilyalone @other-fandoms-reblogs @goonette6969 @doubledizzy22 @lucienofthelakes @arabellatreaty @tessakate @kayden666 @ghostsd8s @ama-eve @webmvie @your-internet-tenshi @novthewolf @1ilo @simpingreader @angeldoll1e @avgdestitute @anonymouse1807 @chaieanne @i-live-in-spite

[miaoua3]

bitches had a lot to say about scoups’ cute little tummy in the thunder mcountdown performance and it pissed me off, especially because i know for a fact that it affected him a lot since he immediately announced that he was starting a diet. i love his tummy so much and it breaks my heart seeing that he feels insecure about it. so, here is a bit of an appreciation for coups and his little tummy❤️

(pairing: bf! scoups x f!reader)

tw! negative views on body!

the moment he stepped foot inside your shared apartment, you could see that something was wrong with your cheollie.

he had this troubled frown glued to his face, lips set in a sad pout as he quietly took off his shoes and jacket.

when you tried greeting him somewhat enthusiastically, he weirdly turned you down, instead of kissing your lips like he always does, his lips landed on your cheek, before he quietly excuses himself to take a shower.

which is even weirder, because cheol always eats first before he takes a shower. he always says that he feels bad that he keeps you waiting so much, preventing you from eating the dinner because you don’t like eating alone.

so, for him to turn down dinner, to barely say anything to you, to immediately cut himself out of the world by going to the bathroom?

you knew that something bad has happened.

carefully listening against the door, you waited until you heard the water turn off, giving him another minute to dry off and put something on.

you two had so much trust in each other that cheol didn’t even blink when the doors opened, your head peaking inside.

the scene in front of you broke your heart.

cheol, in his beautiful and buff form, was silently standing in front of a mirror, eyes filled with annoyance and…hatred clearly focused on one thing.

his belly.

unsure hands hovered above the said tummy kind or like he was so disgusted with himself that he couldn’t even bring himself to touch you.

you eyebrows immediately furrowed in pain, almost like it was his own pain that you were feeling inside your body.

quietly walking in and shutting the door, you walked over to him, his broad body covering your whole body, making you unable to see yourself in the reflection.

you loved that so much-that he was so soft, big, buff and strong. his body, just like his soul, was hardness covered with a layer of softness. you loved hugging him because it always felt like you had your own personal teddy bear to cuddle with.

although you may not be able to read minds, you can tell what cheol is thinking about.

and just like you predicted, he quietly says with a voice full of disgust “don’t look at me please. i look…so disgusting.”

deciding to ignore his words, your arms wrap themselves around his waist, head securely resting on his back between his shoulder blades. you inhale his fresh scent as you close your eyes.

ever so slowly, you touch his tummy with flat hands, softly rubbing it up and down in comfort.

with a serious voice you question him.

“do you know why i love you so much?”

cheol stays quiet.

you decide to continue.

“you have the softest soul ever. although you always try to stay strong for other’s, you never hid the fact how gentle your soul is. from the very beginning, you let me see your bad, fearful and broken pieces. i knew from there on, that your heart is made of glass-it’s enough to use only small amount of force for it to break.”

you feel cheol swallow under your cheek.

“so, i know how easy other people’s opinions affect you. i know that if it’s something you already dislike about yourself, and they say something bad about that part of you, that you will immediately start hating yourself.”

you pause for a second to swallow before you continue.

“what i don’t get is how anyone-you included-could hate any part of you when you are the most beautiful man ever? you…you are so kind, protective of the people you love. you always face everything with fierceness, even when you yourself are scared of it. not only are you beautiful from the inside, but you, exactly as you are right now, are just as beautiful from the outside.”

cheol feels a something heavy stop in his throat, his eyes that are looking back at him in the mirror now filled with unshed tears.

“your body is so beautiful, baby. it’s strong…firm in a way that it makes you feel…reliable. almost as if i am protected simply because you are so strong. but it’s also wrapped with a layer of…softness. which isn’t a bad thing. it just makes cuddling and kissing it that much more enjoyable. this little tummy? that’s my favourite part of you. wanna know why?”

you see cheol nod his head as he uses one of his hands to wipe away the tears, deeply sniffling as he does so.

you use your hold on his tummy to slowly turn him around, his red eyes looking at you brokenly.

pushing away his hands, you wipe away his tears, smiling gently as you end your words.

“because that tummy exists because of me. because you let me take care of you. because i make sure to feed you well. that tummy that you were just thinking of getting rid of? that’s my love coming to the surface.”

cheol closes his eyes, shoulders shaking as he cries quietly.

even quieter than you have been talking just now, you gently yet firmly ask him.

“do you want to get rid of my love then?”

shaking his head ‘no’, he finally-finally-lets a son out, strong arms wrapping around your body as he lets his head hide in your neck, wetness smearing against your skin as his tears keep on falling.

as you rub his back in comfort, you promise to yourself one thing.

i will never allow him to feel or think about himself like this ever again. not when he’s the most perfect person to have ever existed.

[fawniette]

more for this au ❤︎ ꒰ criminal!sukuna ꒱

criminal!sukuna who’s bad news, with trouble following him everywhere he goes and the scent of his cologne mixed with weed lingering where he’s been. he’s a troublemaker that always seems to be involved with the police, tatted up all over his body with pink dyed hair.

criminal!sukuna who’s also been your on and off boyfriend since your senior year of high school, usually never staying together for longer than a couple months before you find yourself leaving him all over again.

criminal!sukuna who’s never really been a bad boyfriend, but his prolonged life of crime has constantly been getting in the way of your relationship. you don’t want to keep finding yourself bailing him out of jail, or finding big chunks of cash under his bed where you question him and what trouble he’s been getting himself into.

criminal!sukuna who your family absolutely despise with their whole soul, always having something to say about him whenever he’s brought up. they think you can do so much better than a ‘low level thug’. they hate that you still involve yourself with him despite everything.

criminal!sukuna who despite all of this, knowing that you probably deserve a better man who would be able to provide and offer you more stability than he ever could, just can’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tries.

criminal!sukuna who still always finds himself contacting you late at night when he feels the reality of his actions hitting him, immediately going to his phone to find your contact to hit the call button. you always knew how to make him feel better, and your voice alone makes him feel at ease.

criminal!sukuna who is definitely known to other guys as the ex they need to be worried about. no one wants to fuck with a guy like sukuna, and everyone knows he does not play when it comes to you. it definitely leaves your love life a little dry.

criminal!sukuna who still buys you flowers, with them always being the signature red roses he used to get you during your relationship with a note attached. you can’t hold back the smile that grows across your face when he hands you them.

criminal!sukuna who is always stalking your instagram and other social media on his burner account, he’s always looking out for any new faces he hasn’t seen, or any male hands or shoulders in your pictures.

criminal!sukuna who sometimes does find something that sends his stomach churning, clenching his jaw when he see’s you at a party, some guy’s arm wrapped around your shoulder. he’s always quick to message you, bombarding you with questions about it.

criminal!sukuna who knows he’s a crazy ex, and he’s honestly pretty shameless about it. he doesn’t care what others think, especially when he knows his behaviour has never scared you off completely. he’s a definite crash out.

criminal!sukuna who you still call up when you’re out with your girls, way too drunk and giggly as your slurred words come through the other end of sukuna’s phone, sighing to himself before getting his shoes on to go pick you up.

criminal!sukuna who you definitely still fuck on the low. it’ll be late at night when you’re feeling horny or after a few drinks when you’re missing him. either way, sukuna will never say no to you, entwining your hand with his as he lays you on his bed.

criminal!sukuna who still fucks you like he’s in love with you. his thrusts passionate with his lips attached to yours. he hates being away from you like this, and he’ll take any opportunity of your affection, even if it’s just for one night of pleasure.

criminal!sukuna who lays in bed with you in a comfortable silence as you gently trace along his tattoos. he loves admiring you, but he can’t help but feel the slight ache in his heart, knowing in a few hours you’d be leaving him once again.

criminal!sukuna who might be your ex, and a little rough around the edges, but he cares about you more than words can say. even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of him. and deep down, you don’t think you want to either.

[somnoir]

Down Bad in Distress - Part 3

Part 2 | Masterpost

"Daniel, I heard from CW that your children are moving here." Alfred said one day.

Everyone immediately pauses, except for Danny who was happily doing the cooking while Alfred served the food.

"Danny's kids?" Tim narrows his eyes, glancing back at Jason. "Danny?"

"Yeah? Oh, right! Dick, you didn't tell them?" Danny asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Dick nervously laughs, "Slipped my mind. What's that about your kids?"

"Right, right. They didn't like being away from me all the time so they decided to move. I was hoping to enroll Ellie into Gotham Academy." Danny hums, serving Damian some vegan pancakes and patting the boy's head. "She'd be in your year, kid."

Damian scowls, swatting his hand away but it wasn't accompanied by the usual snark.

"And your son?" Dick asks, immediately being scolded by Alfred for talking while chewing.

"Dante takes a Mechanical Engineering course. It was harder for him to transfer since this would be his third year into it." Danny sighs, sounding a little tired just as he serves Bruce some coffee. "But my kid's stubborn as hell."

"How old are your children?" Bruce tilts his head, just as Danny swats away some dust of his shirt.

"Dan is 23 and Ellie is 15."

"Jason and Damian's age. Hm."

The aforementioned two immediately locked eyes, already mentally planning on tracking down the Fenton siblings. As per usual, Alfred beat them to it and quickly gave Danny an invitation.

"When are they arriving? I do hope that they can come for a meal." Alfred hums, patting Danny in the back.

"Today, actually!" Danny beams.

"You're not worried about your kids being in Gotham?" Steph asks, mouth still full. Danny doesn't even hesitate to pinch her sides when she does, making Stephanie yelp.

"My parents taught me and my sister how to fight at very young ages. My kids got the same treatment. Ellie has one hell of a right hook and Dan gets creative with whatever the hell he can use as a weapon." Danny snorts, "I got called by the principal once cause he stabbed someone with a pencil. Not that it wasn't deserved. My kid doesn't like it when people go after his friends."

"Gotham Material?" Duke asks.

"Gotham Material." Danny chuckles, "If a rogue attacks, my kids would go on with their day like nothing happened. Weird shit like that is normal back in Amity."

Ah, yes. The illusive amity park. Where everything is utterly strange. Tim still couldn't get a good background check on the small town in Illinois—a place that wasn't even marked on the fucking map.

"So..." Dick grins, "When do we get to meet them?"

Alfred clears his throat, "Would dinner suffice?"

Danny grins back, "I'll wrangle them here if I can."

The moment Bruce found out Danny had kids, something in his brain short-circuited. The knowledge alone was enough to make him reassess everything he thought he knew about his bodyguard, but hearing Danny talk about them? That was something else entirely.

Bruce had barely asked a question before Danny launched into a full-fledged monologue, his usual lazy grin stretching into something softer, brighter. Every word was laced with pride, every detail shared with the delight of a man who lived to brag about his kids.

In the span of two hours, Bruce learned more about Dante and Janelle Fenton than he knew about most people in his life.

Dante—the eldest—was a menace. An antisocial teenager with a violent streak that made Damian look like a well-adjusted honor student. Fights, trouble, a past full of missteps and regret. But Danny didn't speak about it with shame or frustration. No, he spoke with admiration, because Dante tried. He fought against his own nature, struggled to rein himself in, to be better for the people he loved.

"He’s a smart kid," Danny had said, his voice full of warmth. "Too smart. Built himself a motorcycle from scrap when he was sixteen—real Frankenstein's monster type of thing, but it runs better than my car."

Bruce had to physically stop himself from calling Jason right then and there, because if his second son found out a teenager had built the equivalent of the Batpod out of junk, he would never recover.

Then there was Janelle. Just as troublesome as her brother, but in an entirely different way. She wasn’t a fighter, at least not in the way Dante was. Her chaos was more... exploratory. She skipped class not out of defiance but because something else caught her interest. An adventurous child who saw a locked door and immediately wondered what was on the other side. A girl who thought parkour was a valid form of travel, who had given Danny a heart attack the first time he caught her flipping off rooftops like a circus performer—it reminded him of Dick when he was much younger.

"She stuck the landing, though," Danny had admitted, laughing. "I wanted to ground her forever, but I was also kinda impressed."

And the stars. Both of his kids loved the stars. Danny spoke of late-night stargazing like it was a sacred ritual, like tracing constellations in the night sky was an unbreakable bond between them. And despite the fact that Dante was technically an adult now, despite the fact that Janelle was a teenager with her own life and interests, Danny still spoke of them like they were his babies.

Bruce sat there and listened, absorbing every word. He asked questions because he wanted to know more, because watching Danny light up every time he got to talk about his kids was addicting.

It was attractive. Gods, it was attractive.

Danny Fenton loved his children unconditionally. Not just in the way he spoke of them but in the way he understood them. The way he knew them. There was no hesitance in his words, no uncertainty in their relationship. He knew their struggles, their strengths, their habits—he knew them in a way that made Bruce’s chest ache.

Because as much as he admired it, as much as he wanted to drown in the warmth of Danny’s love for his children, there was an ugly sliver of jealousy buried beneath it all.

Danny’s kids talked to him. They trusted him. There was no barrier, no invisible wall of hesitance between them.

Bruce had spent years trying to connect with his own children, trying to bridge the gaps that always seemed to widen no matter how hard he reached. He loved them with everything he had, but love alone had never been enough to stop them from pulling away.

Danny? Danny just had it. That easy, unquestionable bond. That foundation built on trust and understanding, not just duty or protection.

Bruce swallowed down the jealousy. He shoved it into the part of his mind where he buried all his regrets and let himself be smitten instead. Because damn it, responsible and loving fathers were attractive, and watching Danny Fenton light up over his kids was devastating.

Bruce isn’t surprised that after hearing Danny gush about his kids, he feels compelled—inspired, really—to introduce his own children to the Fentons properly. What does surprise him is how little convincing it takes to get his entire family to cooperate.

By the time he makes his decision, every single one of them is already waiting in the foyer, dressed, prepared, and standing with an air of near-military precision.

Bruce narrows his eyes, crossing his arms as he surveys them. "I wasn’t expecting compliance from any of you."

Damian, adjusting his hair in the reflection of a polished vase, merely scoffs. "Tt. You underestimate us, Father. We cannot afford to embarrass ourselves in front of Daniel’s family."

Jason, standing beside him, is… straightening his jacket? Running a hand through his hair like he's actually making an effort to look presentable? Damian barely spares him a glance before adding, "Todd, don’t mess this up. His eldest is the same age as you and Cassandra."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, demon brat," Jason grumbles, rolling his shoulders like he’s psyching himself up for a job interview.

Bruce is still processing this unusual display of readiness when Alfred arrives, a knowing, fond smile settling on his face as he takes in the scene.

"I must say," Alfred begins, hands clasped behind his back, "I am quite proud that none of you needed prompting. Daniel will appreciate the effort."

"You can count on us, Alfie!" Dick declares, beaming.

Steph and Tim follow up with matching thumbs-ups, their grins full of mischief but their intentions sincere.

"We'll be on our best behavior!"

Alfred simply nods, clearly amused but unwilling to acknowledge it aloud. "Very well—" Then a knock at the door interrupts, and his eyes flick toward the entrance. "Ah. It seems Daniel has arrived."

There’s a split second of calm before chaos erupts.

Bruce watches as his children all lunge for the door at once, elbowing, shoving, and stepping on each other’s feet in a desperate attempt to reach it first.

Alfred, with decades of experience in dealing with their nonsense, doesn’t bother reacting beyond stepping forward and opening the door himself. As soon as he does, he turns and pins the children with a look of utter disappointment.

The effect is immediate.

Every single one of them freezes mid-scramble, jerking upright like misbehaving students caught by a strict headmaster. With impressive speed, they fall into an eerily well-practiced formation, arranging themselves with the kind of poise that makes them indistinguishable from their usual gala appearances.

Bruce sighs. No. That won’t do.

Danny doesn’t do the whole stiff, overly formal thing. If they meet him like this, he’ll just laugh and call them out for it.

With a subtle wave of his hand, Bruce signals for them to adjust.

In an instant, their postures relax. Smiles become more natural—real rather than rehearsed. The atmosphere shifts from forced courtesy to genuine warmth.

Good.

Because if there’s one thing Bruce has learned, it’s that Danny Fenton can read through bullshit alarmingly well.

The first thing Bruce notices is that Danny isn’t in his usual suit. No high-collared, sharp-lined professionalism. Instead, he’s wearing something casual but still presentable—comfortable. It makes him look softer in a way Bruce rarely gets to see. More relaxed. More himself.

There’s a grin on his face, wide and easy, and a warmth in his eyes that Bruce has only ever seen in Alfred when the family finally gathers together after too long apart.

“Oh, you’re all here!” Danny laughs—laughs—and Bruce has to physically stop himself from reacting because—shit. That sounds good. No, not just good—amazing.

And then—

“My kids—Janelle, no! Do not chase after the turkey, and don’t pet Ace without permission! We are not kidnapping the dog—we have Cujo!"

Bruce barely has a moment to process that before Damian stiffens beside him, squaring his shoulders like he’s preparing to throw hands whoever is trying to steal their dog and turkey?

“Sorry,” Danny says sheepishly, stepping fully inside. “She likes dogs a little too much. Dante here is more of a cat person.”

Bruce doesn’t even have time to respond before Danny reaches back and pulls someone into the manor.

And—what the fuck?

For a split second, Bruce genuinely thinks Danny has somehow duplicated himself. But no. Not quite.

It’s another Fenton. Just younger. Scowlier. Broodier.

Dante Fenton is just as tall as his father, just as broad-shouldered and built. But where Danny is all easy grins and shameless affection, Dante is—well, Bruce can only describe it as Jason if he had a twin that was worse.

His arms are crossed, his expression set into a resting bitch face so perfectly executed that Bruce has seen lesser versions of it on Danny himself.

“This is my eldest, Dante—smile,” Danny practically hisses, pinching his son’s side.

Dante immediately hisses back like a feral animal, shooting his father a glare before half-assing the most reluctant, teeth-baring grimace Bruce has ever seen.

Bruce is so close to laughing.

But before he can even comment, there’s the sound of something small tearing across the yard, followed by—

“Ellie, come back here!”

Danny barely has time to sigh before bolting back outside, disappearing for only a second before returning—this time, dragging yet another Fenton into the house.

Bruce blinks. Another one.

This one’s smaller. Female. But still unmistakably a Fenton.

“This raccoon is Janelle,” Danny introduces, exasperated.

“I’m not a raccoon!” Janelle yells, pouting hard enough to make even Damian look impressed.

“You might as well be!” Danny huffs, already brushing off the dirt and grime clinging to her jeans, muttering to himself as he adjusts her hoodie and makes sure she’s not too disheveled. “Sorry,” he murmurs again, glancing up at Bruce like he’s worried he’s making a mess just by existing.

Bruce doesn’t even think before stepping forward, automatically ushering the Fentons further inside.

“No need,” he assures, as quickly and firmly as possible. “You’ve seen my kids, Danny. We have Steph.”

“Hey!”

Bruce barely registers Stephanie’s indignation because, frankly, he’s far too busy being weak over this whole situation.

Timothy Wayne-Drake has met a lot of people who love their parents. Some to a reasonable degree. Some to a concerning one. But he has never met anyone as downright possessive of their father as the Fenton siblings.

At first, he thought Dante and Janelle—sorry, Ellie—were just the skittish type. You know, new place, new people, a little wary of the freakin’ Waynes (which, fair). But, uh. No. That is not what’s happening here.

They are, quite literally, guarding Danny.

They don’t let him stay with Bruce for too long. They don’t let Danny play around with the rest of the Wayne kids unsupervised. There’s always one of them around. Always watching.

At first, it’s just funny. Like, ha-ha, protective kids, whatever. But then Tim starts realizing—

Dante and Ellie Fenton have instantly decided to be at least a little hostile to every single Wayne in the building.

Except Alfred. Because, obviously, everyone likes Alfred.

“So… Erm…” Duke, brave soul that he is, awkwardly tries to break the ice, clearly very aware of Ellie’s piercing blue eyes lasering into his soul. “I was just wondering why you two decided to move. I mean…”

“Oh, that’s simple!” Ellie laughs. Cute.

Then she grins. Not cute.

Sharp teeth. Way too sharp. Like her dad’s.

“Dad was away for too long. We didn’t like that.” Her grin widens. “And besides, Dad seems to be okay with staying in Gotham long term. Might as well move too.”

…Yeah, okay, that was definitely a threat.

There’s something in the way she says it. Something in the undertone.

Like she blames them. Like she’s implying they are the reason her father was gone for so long.

Tim resists the urge to raise his hands in surrender.

Meanwhile, Dante says nothing.

Which, honestly? Probably for the best. Ellie is friendly at least—sweet, in a way that would be reassuring if she didn’t just casually drop the most unsettling offhanded comments.

Dante, though? Dante is just vibing.

With Jason.

In the corner.

Where neither of them is speaking.

And Tim isn’t sure why that’s worse, but it is.

"Where are you guys staying at? Danny’s penthouse, or did you get a house?"

Steph plops into the seat beside Ellie, casually pulling out Uno—the game of friendship-ending grudges and betrayal.

"Jason crashed there once," she adds. "He still won’t tell us why."

Dante freezes. Stiffens visibly as he turns to Jason. His eyes narrow, analyzing. Jason immediately reacts in kind.

For a solid minute, neither of them says a word. Just—silent eye contact.

Then, like some kind of telepathic dude code agreement, Dante nods—approvingly.

Jason hums, looking pleased with that, and then just…turns back to the TV.

What the hell was that?

"Same place," Ellie huffs, like her brother didn’t just have a whole unspoken conversation with Jason. Then she perks up. "Oh, which one of you is in my year at Gotham Academy?"

Everyone, immediately and without hesitation, gestures to Damian.

"Demon Brat," Tim says, speaking for the masses.

Damian scowls, clutching Titus like the dog is his last anchor to sanity. Which, fair. Mostly because Ace—the traitor—has already defected, happily nestling into Ellie’s lap like she handcrafted him from scratch.

Ellie narrows her eyes at Damian, then grins. Wide. Too wide.

"Is that a katana?"

The room stills.

Every single person whips their head toward the katana Damian absolutely does not go anywhere without.

Then, hesitantly, they look back at Ellie.

Who has already stood up and is calmly approaching Damian like she isn’t about to start something.

"May I?" she asks, stretching a hand out.

Tim makes a mental note: this one is dangerous.

"Ellie," Dante finally speaks, voice flat but exasperated.

Damian snarls, holding the sword closer. "What makes you think I’d let you touch my blade?"

Oh, she’s smug now. That’s never good.

"I was in Japan for three months when I was twelve," she says, all nonchalant. "Met a lot of interesting people. Learned how to use and maintain katanas during that time."

Damian squints. "Prove it. How does one properly maintain a katana?"

Ellie tilts her head, almost like she’s insulted.

"You start with uchiko, obviously," she says. "Cotton ball, light taps, no rubbing. Clears out the old oil and dust. Then you use a nuguigami cloth—special cloth, not just any cloth—to wipe it down before reapplying the choji oil with an abura nugui cloth. Not too much. Just enough to coat. And for sharpening, you start with a low grit whetstone, move up gradually, and never—never—go for a high grit too early unless you want to ruin the whole edge."

She smirks. "That good enough for you?"

Damian stares.

Tim recognizes that stare. That’s the oh no, I accidentally respect this person stare.

Horrifying.

Bruce and Danny return just in time to witness what should be a nightmare scenario—Ellie handling Damian’s katana like it’s an extension of her own arm.

Damian, to the horror of everyone involved, is right next to her, calmly discussing proper forms and optimal grips like he wasn’t about to stab her five minutes ago.

Tim resists the urge to check if hell has frozen over. Give Constantine a call and everything.

Bruce, naturally, hones in on Danny with that same soft look he thinks no one notices. Gross. He clocks that shit immediately and blanches.

"Your daughter knows how to handle a katana?" Bruce asks, voice way too fond for what should be a concerned question.

Danny, like an absolute menace, doesn’t even blink. "Both of my kids like swords. Ellie just prefers the lighter and faster ones. Dante likes zweihanders and claymores." He waves a dismissive hand. Like this is normal dad talk and not insane assassin lore drop. "Never understood why you like heavy blades, though."

Dante, without missing a beat, defensively shoots back, "They just feel balanced in my hand, okay?"

Tim files that away under: Reasons to Stay on Dante’s Good Side.

Bruce, still doing the gross fond smile thing, tilts his head. "Did you teach them?"

Danny smirks. "I wish. Got a friend who trained me when I was younger. Dante pissed him off just to be taught, and Ellie followed by annoying him until he caved." He shakes his head, sighing like a put-upon father and not a man casually revealing that his kids harassed someone into giving them weapons training. "Least of the crazy shit they’ve done."

Tim immediately clocks the way Dick’s entire being lights up.

"Oh, do tell," Dick grins, leaning in.

Danny, like an absolute maniac, just shrugs and says, completely deadpan:

"Ellie once snuck out in the middle of the night, went missing for a week, and then I found her in Russia, fist-fighting an assassin just last year."

The room freezes.

Tim can physically hear the record scratch in his brain.

Danny, unbothered, continues, "Dante blew up my godfather’s car when he was about to open it."

Tim slowly turns his head toward the two Fenton siblings.

Who are grinning. The same grin. The same sharp, predatory flash of color in their definitely-not-normal blue eyes.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Tim knew Danny wasn’t human. That was accounted for.

Unfortunately, what wasn’t accounted for was the fact that Danny’s kids were also very much not human.

…He needs more caffeine for this.

[devotedsweetheart]

・❥ CALEB'S FAVORITE TOYS !

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ rundown :: the top 3 toys i think caleb would use on himself / reader! (based on this ask)

a/n :: tysm for the wonderful individual for putting this idea in my headdd!!! mwamwa

1. FLESHLIGHT :: just like anon said, he is most DEFINITELY using a fleshlight and pretending it's us instead. he typically doesn't like to masturbate without you so usually he'll only do it if you ask him to during mutual masturbation, but some nights, he's just so desperate for something - anything - to touch his disgustingly needy dick that he can't help it. don't fret, though, cause he will always ask you if he can touch himself if you're not there. sending you voice notes of himself begging, videos of his cock twitching into his hand, pics of tears rolling down his face... he'll put a whole show on for you just to get your approval to do so little as go near the toy. and while he really does feel bad for doing something so naughty without you in his presence, once that fleshlight is in his hands... hes not stopping. his eyes are shut tight, head pushed deep into the pillows, back arched, hips stuttering, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip on the sheets.. it just feels so damn good! unapologetic whimpers and moans come in between his cries of your name, his last bit of strength practically disintegrated. when he's about to cum, he'll either spam your phone with tons of facetime calls or messily set up is phone to record, feeling obligated to show you how good he makes himself feel thinking about you.

2. COCKRINGS :: okay, hear me out. he absolutely despises cockrings with a passion.. but only because you bring it out when he needs to be punished. he actually quite likes the concerning amount of pleasure that they bring him, he just hates that every time he uses one is when hes being edged or overstimulated. there are rare occasions that you allow him to use it during his personal time, but theres a very big emphasis on rare. you have only one ring for him that vibrates, while all the others are just there to stop him from cumming whenever he feels like he might. it's pathetic how desperate he gets when he's begging for you to take it off. big crocodile tears stream down his face as his stupid little cock twitches and thrashes against your hand, brain turned to mush. literally all he could think about is good it'd feel to cum, how sexy you are when you deny him... it's so bad to the point where quite literally nothing could stop him from cumming. he didnt even ask for fucks sake!! he doesn't realize how much more trouble he just got in for orgasming when he was explicitly told not to.. :(

3. VIBRATORS :: caleb is for sure a sucker for a good vibrator. he doesnt just use it on himself (..his tip) , no, hes not that selfish. he adores keeping it on your clit while he pounds into you in missionary, or even letting you sit in between his legs, your back to his chest, torturing your bud of nerves with that delicious sensation. he'd have you in a headlock, not allowing you to shy away from the toy if it becomes too much; his legs hooking around your calves to get your legs to stay open. he cannot have you be anything but spread open, that just isn't allowed!! on another note, he would without a doubt buy a bunch of those little tiny vibrators that fit perfectly onto your clit & into your panties that are controlled by an app on his phone. he loves taking you to a restaurant just to play with you, watching you fall apart in front of everyone knowing he'll be punished heavily for it. he doesn't care about the consequences.... in the moment. once you two are finally home it's then that he begins to really care. it was all fun and games until you have him tied up, sprawled out in a star position on the bed, fighting against the restraints as you abuse his most sensitive parts with your own vibrator. your panties would be shoved into his mouth, drool dripping from the corner of his lips down his face. he's literally on the verge of passing out because of how many times he's came, his eyes basically permanently crossed and eyebrows furrowed tight. you don't stop until the toy dies... and caleb does too.

[rene-darling]

WHEN- you store things inside your boobies

...very obviously fem reader lmao, you store things in the middle of your chest...

...lyney...xiao...itto...wanderer...

Lyney

You're showing lyney a card trick that learned.

But no matter how much he tries to figure out where you hid the card he just can't get it.

He never usually does this but he's just too curious!!

So he's been asking- no, begging for you to tell him how you did it and where you hid the card!

After much pleading and you repeating "a magician never reveals her secrets" you finally spill.

You tell him to watch carefully and he nods.

His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he burns red.

You reach down your shirt and pull out a card from in between your boobes

"I- you uh..ah.." he's stuttering, not sure what would be an appropriate response to this.

You just laugh "see, this is why I said you can't do this trick, your tits are too small darlin"

"h-hey- making you blush is my job! Not the other way around!"

he's used to making snarky remarks or dirty jokes he can't believe he fell for this!

Xiao

Xiao recently gifted you some adeptus beads

They were meant to ward away evil spirits and demons and keep you safe when he's not around

However, he's noticed that he can't seem to find you wearing them around your neck, so he decided to ask you about it

"y/n where are you keeping the beads I gave you? I didn't give them to you just for you to leave them somewhere to collect dust."

He huffed offended you wouldn't keep the charm on you.

You already insisted on not calling his name when in trouble so you should at least keep the beads on you!

You just looked at him amused telling him you had them on you but he insisted you showed them to him, so you did.

Pulling down the neckline of your shirt you reached your hand in to grab said beaded necklace.

His mouth dropped once you showed it to him and his face bloomed "i- y-you..you have no respect for the adepti!" he vanished after yelling that likely to hide his blushing face, and his boner

Itto

Recently you've hid one of ittos little purple bugs right before his little match with some kid

He's frantically searching for said bug, insisting that he has to take that one or he won't win! Not that he will either way

"y/nnnnn! Are you sure you haven't seen my little bugger! I really need it!" he's whining like a little baby!

Feeling bad for him you finally relent telling him you might have an idea of where his beetle could be

"REALLYYYY!!! You're the best babe-" you tell him to watch carefully as you pull your shirt down and from in-between your valleys crawled out the purple beetle you had hidden

His mouth dropped his eyes looked like they would pop out of their sockets (imagine gojo when he looked at megumi)

"not fair y/n! Why does the beetle get to stay there and not me!" he's thinking about it being unfair,

Then the next second he wants to see if the beetle would fit in between his tits,

Of course, they do. I mean have you seen his tits? He's very proud of that fact

Wanderer

Nahida recently sent the both of you on an expedition together

He acts like he's not happy but deep down he's happy to be traveling alone with his beloved

Recently you both stopped at a shop to buy something but he had forgotten his mora back at camp.

He looked towards you waiting for you to pay, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at you when you looked at him amused and asked "you sure"

"just pay." well, he insisted, so why would you deny?

As soon as you reached down your shirt his mind short-circuited

You pulled out a mora pouch and handed some mora to the shop keeper like it was nothing and then again stuffed the pouch down your tits.

Grabbing the things you started walking away as wanderer stood there just blushing violently

Looking back you yelled "are you coming or not darling?" he snapped out of it following after you

"did you really have to do that in fucking public?" he huffed in embarrassment, walking back home with a boner is annoying

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS CHARACTERS x FEM!READER

You Protect The Marvel Comics Characters By Punching Someone Who Speaks Badly About Them

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Thor, Loki, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Bucky Barnes, Matthew Murdock, Frank Castle, Marc Spector, Johnny Storm, Reed Richards, Felicia Hardy, Stephen Strange, Namor, Johnny Blaze, Eddie Brock / Venom, T'Challa & Elektra Natchios

Peter Parker aka. Spider-Man

- Peter Parker has been insulted more times than he can count. He’s been called a menace, a failure, a joke. He’s used to it, laughs it off even when it cuts deep. But when he hears the sharp crack of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw—when he realizes that you did that for him—his world tilts on its axis.

- “Oh no. Oh no no no.” His first instinct is to grab you, to get you out of there before this turns into something worse. You just punched someone for him. He’s supposed to be the one protecting you, not the other way around. His heart is hammering—part fear, part something softer, warmer.

- He rushes to your side, hands hovering, unsure if he should scold you or kiss you right there in the street. The person you hit is groaning, cradling their face, and Peter is torn between feeling bad for them and wanting to tell them they deserved it. (Because they did. They did.)

- “Okay, that was… something,” he says, eyes darting between you and the stunned crowd. “Not that I don’t appreciate the backup, but—y’know, punching people usually gets me into trouble.” His voice is light, joking, but there’s something else in his gaze—awe, affection, something deeper than words.

- Later, when he’s patching up your knuckles with the gentlest hands, he murmurs, “No one’s ever fought for me like that.” And when he finally meets your gaze, soft and unguarded, you see it—the way he’s looking at you like you’re the most incredible thing in the universe.

Tony Stark aka. Iron Man

- Tony Stark has heard it all. The insults, the backhanded compliments, the jealous jabs from people who will never be him. Normally, he drowns it out with charm and a drink in hand. But then—then—your fist connects with someone’s face, and the world stops.

- For a moment, he just stares. Blinking. Processing. Did you really just punch someone for him? Then, slowly—a slow-spreading, wicked smirk. Because holy hell, that was the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

- “Well, well, well.” He steps forward, slipping an arm around your shoulders like you’re some kind of victorious gladiator. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special.” He’s eating this up, reveling in it, in the way you didn’t hesitate, in the way you stood up for him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

- The guy on the ground groans, and Tony glances down, unimpressed. “Next time, try using words, buddy. Or, y’know, just accept that I’m better than you.” Then he turns back to you, tilting his head. “Not that I’m complaining, but—what was that? You got a thing for defending handsome billionaires, or am I just lucky?”

- Later, when the adrenaline fades, he brushes a knuckle over your bruised hand, voice quieter. “No one ever does that for me.” And it’s not teasing anymore, not deflection—just something real. Something raw. And for once, Tony Stark is at a loss for words.

Steve Rogers aka. Captain America

- Steve Rogers has always fought his own battles. From the alleys of Brooklyn to the battlefields of war, he’s used to standing his ground—used to taking the hits for the people he loves. But this? This is something else entirely.

- One second, he’s turning the other cheek, trying to walk away from the insult. The next, there’s the sharp, unmistakable sound of impact—your fist driving straight into the jaw of the person who dared speak ill of him.

- “Hey—!” His hands are on you immediately, pulling you back before things escalate, before this turns into something worse. But his heart—his heart is a drumbeat against his ribs, because you fought for him. He should tell you it was reckless, that you didn’t have to, but all he can do is stare at you, his throat tight with something he can’t name.

- “That wasn’t necessary,” he says, but there’s no scolding in his voice, only something soft, something incredibly fond. Because no one ever fights for him. Not like that. Not without hesitation.

- Later, when you’re sitting together, nursing your sore hand, he finally murmurs, “Thank you.” And when he looks at you, there’s a warmth in his blue eyes that says more than words ever could—a depth of feeling that leaves you breathless.

Thor aka. God of Thunder

- Thor is used to insults. They roll off his back like rain on a battlefield, drowned out by the thunder in his veins. But when he hears the crack of your fist colliding with flesh— when he realizes you have struck someone in his name— he does not laugh. He is in awe.

- “By the gods!” His voice is both a boom of delight and a whisper of reverence. He steps toward you, eyes shining with something almost worshipful. You are fire, you are fury, you are glorious.

- And then he throws his head back and laughs, loud and full of joy. “A mighty warrior indeed! You honor me, my lady.” He clasps your hand, ignoring the bruises blooming on your knuckles, lifting it as though you have just won a great battle.

- The fool who insulted him scrambles away, but Thor does not spare them a glance. No, his attention is entirely on you. On this magnificent, fearless mortal who would strike in his name. And suddenly, the air around you feels different. Charged. Alive.

- Later, when the revelry has died down, he turns to you, voice softer. “You are… remarkable.” And when he looks at you, it is with the kind of devotion that only gods can give.

Loki aka. God of Mischief

- Loki is no stranger to cruelty. Words have been his weapons, his shields, his burdens. But when someone speaks ill of him— when they dare to drag his name through the dirt—he expects only one thing: to be alone in the aftermath.

- And then you hit them. Hard.

- He blinks. Once. Twice. Shock flickers across his face, unreadable and raw. He watches as you stand, fists clenched, gaze burning with something primal, something protective. And for the first time in centuries, Loki does not know what to say.

- “You—” His voice is different. Lower. There is no mockery, no amusement, only a sharp, jagged edge of something he does not let himself feel. You have fought for him. Him. And the realization shakes him.

- Later, when you’re alone, he traces the bruises on your knuckles with something dangerously close to reverence. “You are a fool,” he whispers, but his fingers linger, his breath unsteady. “A reckless, maddening fool.” And then, softer—so quiet you almost don’t hear it—“And I think I am doomed to love you for it.”

Clint Barton aka. Hawkeye

- Clint Barton is used to being underestimated. People see the bow, the lack of powers, and assume he’s less. They talk about him like he’s a joke, like he doesn’t belong among gods and super-soldiers. He lets it roll off his back—until you don’t.

- The sound of your fist cracking against a jaw cuts through the noise of the bar, and suddenly, the air is electric. You did that for him. Not because he asked, not because you had to—but because someone insulted him, and that was unacceptable to you.

- “Whoa—hey, hey, hold up!” Clint is beside you in an instant, half-laughing, half-terrified. His hands hover near yours, concern flickering in his sharp blue eyes. You’re pissed. It’s kind of the best thing he’s ever seen.

- The guy on the floor is groaning, but Clint isn’t paying attention to them anymore. No, his focus is on you—on your clenched fists, the fire still burning in your gaze. You’re beautiful like this, fierce and unwavering, and he’s absolutely, irreversibly doomed.

- Later, when he’s wrapping your bruised knuckles in an old bandana, he grins, soft and lopsided. “You know, I usually do the whole reckless, getting-into-fights thing. But I gotta say—kinda nice having someone in my corner for once.” And the way he looks at you then? Like you hung the goddamn stars.

Natasha Romanoff aka. Black Widow

- Natasha Romanoff has been called a monster, a traitor, a woman who can never be trusted. She’s lived a life of whispers behind her back, of sideways glances and careful distance. She’s learned to endure it. But she never expected you to lash out in her defense.

- The impact of your punch is sharp, decisive— a clean, perfect strike that she would have been proud of. And yet, it startles her. Not because you hit them, but because you lost control for her.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” Her voice is smooth, but there’s something unreadable in her expression—something unfamiliar. She’s used to people fighting beside her, but no one has ever fought for her. Not like this.

- She grips your wrist before you can throw another punch, thumb grazing the pulse point there. “Look at me,” she murmurs. And when you do, she sees it—the fire in you, the defiance, the unwavering loyalty. And it does something to her, something she can’t quite name.

- Later, in the quiet of a dimly lit room, she traces the bruise on your knuckles with the barest touch. “You’re dangerous,” she murmurs, lips curving slightly. And for the first time in a long time, she thinks—maybe she wants to be protected, too.

Bucky Barnes aka. Winter Soldier

- Bucky Barnes knows what people say about him. A killer. A weapon. A man who should have died decades ago. He doesn’t argue. He knows what he’s done. He doesn’t expect anyone to defend him.

- But then—you do. And not with words. With fists.

- The moment your knuckles connect with skin, he’s there. He’s fast, instinctive, grabbing you by the wrist before you can swing again. His heart is pounding. Not out of fear—but something deeper, something he can’t afford to name.

- “Why did you do that?” His voice is rough, almost accusing. But you don’t waver. You stand your ground, breathing heavy, eyes blazing with defiance. It hits him then—no one has ever done this for him. Not Steve, not anyone.

- Later, he sits beside you in the quiet, his metal fingers ghosting over your bruised knuckles. “You don’t have to fight for me,” he murmurs, voice almost broken. And when you reply—“Then who will?”—he feels something shift in his chest, something old and aching and terrifyingly new.

Matthew Murdock aka. Daredevil

- Matt Murdock hears the insult before it’s even fully formed—the venom in the voice, the disdain dripping from every syllable. He’s heard it before, about his blindness, about his law career, about the devil that lurks beneath the surface. He expects to ignore it.

- What he doesn’t expect is the sharp, sudden sound of your fist connecting with someone’s jaw.

- His head tilts slightly, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He felt you coil before the strike, heard your heartbeat spike. You didn’t hesitate. And God help him, that does something to him.

- “That wasn’t very lawyerly of you.” He steps close, voice low and teasing, but there’s something else there too—something reverent. His fingers brush against yours, light as a whisper, like he’s memorizing the shape of your defiance.

- Later, in the sanctity of his apartment, he takes your injured hand in his own, running careful fingertips over bruised skin. “I don’t need saving,” he murmurs, though the way his breath hitches when you squeeze his hand says otherwise. And when you reply—“Too bad. You’ve got me anyway.”—his world tilts, just a little.

Frank Castle aka. The Punisher

- Frank Castle is a ghost, a monster, a cautionary tale. He’s used to people spitting his name like it’s a curse. He doesn’t care. He’s beyond caring.

- But then you punch someone in the face for speaking ill of him—and everything stops.

- The guy drops like a stone, groaning, and Frank… laughs. It’s not a soft sound. It’s dark, rough, something almost dangerous. He steps forward, crowding into your space, looking down at you like you’re something holy and terrible and his.

- “You got a mean right hook, sweetheart.” His voice is low, amused, but there’s something else there—something molten, something raw. He doesn’t say it, but he’s never had someone do this for him. Never had someone choose him so recklessly, so violently.

- Later, when you’re both alone, he leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dark. “You don’t fight my battles.” His voice is a growl, but there’s no real anger behind it. And when you meet his gaze, unyielding, he exhales sharply. Because if anyone in this world deserved someone like you fighting for them—he knows it sure as hell ain’t him. But he wants it anyway.

Marc Spector aka. Moon Knight

- Marc Spector is used to being called insane. A broken mind, a fractured man, a violent, unhinged vigilante. The whispers follow him everywhere, behind his back and to his face. He doesn’t defend himself—because what would be the point?

- But then, you do. And not just with words. With your fists. The impact is sharp, the sound of bone on bone cutting through the murmur of the street like a gunshot. The moment is frozen. And Marc? He stares.

- He should pull you away, should tell you not to waste your breath, should laugh it off like it doesn’t matter. But he can’t. Because no one has ever done this for him. Not for Marc Spector. Not for the man beneath the mask.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is low, but there’s something almost reverent in the way he says it. His gloved fingers graze your bruised knuckles, and the moonlight catches in his dark eyes—like he’s seeing something holy.

- Later, he watches you from across the room, arms crossed, jaw tight. You stood up for him. You fought for him. And now, all he can think about is how much he wants to fight for you.

Johnny Storm aka. Human Torch

- Johnny Storm is used to the attention. The praise, the criticism, the headlines that reduce him to nothing more than a pretty face and a flame. He shrugs it off. Pretends it doesn’t sting.

- But then, he hears your voice—furious, unwavering, like a flame catching oxygen. And before he can turn, you swing. The guy stumbles back, clutching their jaw, and the entire room erupts.

- “Oh. My. God.” Johnny is somehow both horrified and absolutely delighted. He stares at you like you just set the whole world on fire. Because you did. And you did it for him.

- “I didn’t know you had that in you,” he grins, stepping closer. There’s something in his voice—something deep, awed, almost breathless. Because no one has ever burned quite like you.

- Later, when the adrenaline wears off, he’s grinning like an idiot, watching you ice your knuckles. And when you catch him staring, he just shrugs. “What? It’s kinda hot when you punch people for me.”

Reed Richards aka. Mister Fantastic

- Reed Richards has heard every insult in the book. Detached. Cold. Unfeeling. They don’t understand how his mind works, how his thoughts stretch beyond the present moment, beyond normal comprehension. He’s used to it.

- But you? You aren’t. The second someone spits out something vile, dismissive, cruel, your fist is already flying before Reed can even process what’s happening.

- “Oh.” That’s all he says at first, blinking as if recalibrating. He hadn’t expected—this. You. Your anger, your unwavering defense, the fire in your eyes. It’s an equation he hadn’t considered. And now, he can’t stop solving for it.

- “Violence isn’t necessary,” he murmurs, but he’s already taking your hand, stretching his fingers around your bruised knuckles, memorizing the shape of your loyalty.

- Later, he watches you—studying, calculating, analyzing. But for once, the question isn’t why. It’s how he ever lived without you.

Felicia Hardy aka. Black Cat

- Felicia Hardy doesn’t need protecting. She’s spent her life clawing her way out of trouble, slipping through shadows, dodging every snare. She laughs in the face of danger, purrs at the edge of chaos.

- But then—you hit someone. For her. And everything stops.

- She should be amused. Should smirk and tease and call you reckless. But instead—she just stares. Because no one, not once in her life, has ever thrown a punch for her. Not like this.

- “Darling, you really are full of surprises.” She steps close, a slow, predatory movement, her fingers tilting your chin up. There’s something wicked in her smirk—but her eyes? Her eyes are soft.

- Later, she finds herself watching you more than she should. Running a gloved hand over your bruised knuckles, feeling something dangerously close to devotion. And for the first time, Felicia Hardy wonders what it would be like to be caught.

Stephen Strange aka. Doctor Strange

- Stephen Strange is used to arrogance. His own, and the world’s. He’s used to people whispering behind his back, questioning, doubting, scoffing. He doesn’t care. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

- But when someone speaks ill of him in front of you? You react before he does. The crack of your fist against their jaw is startlingly satisfying. And suddenly, the entire universe shifts.

- “You—” He stops himself. Adjusts his cloak. Exhales sharply. He should be chastising you, telling you to hold your temper, to rise above it. But instead, he’s looking at you like you just rewrote the laws of reality.

- “You didn’t have to do that.” His voice is careful, but his fingers are gentle when they brush against your bruised knuckles. He’s spent a lifetime mastering control—so why does it slip when you’re around?

- Later, he finds himself summoning bandages with magic, hands lingering longer than necessary. And when you smirk, teasing—“Was that a thank you, Doctor?”—he only hums, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. Because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t mind needing you.

Namor aka. The Sub-Mariner

- Namor is used to disrespect. The surface world dares to look down on him, on Atlantis, on the very ocean that sustains their miserable existence. He tolerates it only because he must. But when someone speaks ill of him in your presence, they are met with something he does not expect—your fist.

- The blow lands sharply, flesh against bone, a declaration of war in its own right. Namor watches, silver eyes narrowing, his body rigid with something unnameable. It is not anger. No, anger is familiar. This? This is something else.

- “You strike for me?” His voice is velvet over steel, laced with the kind of dangerous curiosity that comes before a storm. His people have fought wars in his name. But this? This is different. This is you.

- He moves toward you, slow, deliberate, fingers tilting your chin up. There is no hesitation when he speaks next. “You are worthy of a crown.” And the way he says it—it is not a compliment. It is a fact.

- Later, the sea sings your name. And though he will not say it outright, he watches you differently now—like a king who has found the one thing worth more than his throne.

Johnny Blaze aka. Ghost Rider

- Johnny Blaze has been called many things. Freak. Monster. Hellspawn. He doesn’t care—not anymore. He’s spent too long carrying his curse, dragging his soul behind him like a dying star.

- But then you hit someone. For him. Your knuckles split skin, the sound echoing in the dim light of the bar, and for the first time in a long time, Johnny forgets how to breathe.

- “Shit.” The word is barely a breath. You turn to him, fist still clenched, shoulders tight with fury, and Johnny? Johnny just stares. Because no one, not in his entire damn life, has ever thrown a punch in his name.

- “You really shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, but there’s something dangerous behind his voice—something that flickers like an ember waiting to catch. He should stop this, should tell you he’s not worth it. But instead, his fingers brush over your bruised knuckles like a prayer.

- Later, he watches you from his bike, the engine growling beneath him, his heart doing the same. And when he finally speaks, voice rough, almost shy, it’s only to say: “Next time, lemme do the hitting.”

Eddie Brock & Venom aka. Venom

- Eddie Brock has heard it all before. Loser. Washed-up. Parasite. He grits his teeth and lets it slide, because what else is new? Venom, on the other hand, is far less patient.

- But before either of them can react—you do. Your fist cracks against the jaw of the one who dared to insult him, and suddenly, everything goes still.

- “Did you just—?” Eddie’s eyes go wide. Venom, however, purrs with delight.

- “They are ours,” the symbiote rumbles, voice sliding through Eddie’s skull like liquid night. “They fight for us.” Eddie wants to argue, to tell Venom to shut up, but he can’t, because he’s too busy watching you, heart pounding, something terrifying and warm curling in his chest.

- Later, he doesn’t bring it up—but Venom does. “We like them,” the voice whispers, thick with amusement. Eddie doesn’t respond. He just glances at you, hands tightening into fists, and thinks: Yeah. We do.

T’Challa aka. Black Panther

- T’Challa has faced enemies greater than words. He has fought battles with his hands, his mind, his heart. He does not concern himself with petty insults.

- But you do. The second you hear someone speak his name with disrespect, your body moves before your mind does. The punch lands with precision, trained and true—a warrior’s strike.

- He should chastise you. Should remind you that his reputation needs no defense. But when he looks at you—fire in your eyes, your breath sharp, your hands still clenched—he feels something stir beneath his ribs.

- “Impressive,” he murmurs, stepping closer. He does not touch you, not yet, but the space between you hums with electricity. He sees you differently now—not just as an ally. As something more.

- Later, as he watches you spar in the Wakandan training grounds, his mind drifts back to that moment. You fought for him. And T’Challa? T’Challa is not used to losing battles—but he is certain he is about to lose this one.

Elektra Natchios aka. Elektra

- Elektra is used to being hated. She does not care. She exists between life and death, between shadow and steel. She does not need protection.

- But then, you hit someone. For her. And Elektra? She does not know what to do with that.

- She watches as the body crumples to the floor, watches as you shake out your fist, anger still radiating from every inch of you. Something slow and dark unfurls in her chest.

- “Foolish,” she murmurs, stepping forward. But her voice is soft. Her fingers graze your wrist, her eyes searching yours for something she refuses to name. “But… admirable.”

- Later, she finds herself lingering near you more than usual, watching, waiting. You fought for her. And Elektra Natchios has spent her entire life surviving—but now, she wonders what it would be like to be worth saving.

[humanjarvis]

my happy is your happy

synopsis: luke thinks sylus should make more friends. but does he really need them?

tags: fluff, kinda comfort?, unintentional family dynamics (idk what came over me i didn’t expect that to happen), potential unrealistic use of sylus’s evol bc what does “energy manipulation” even mean, reader is protective of sylus, sylus overhears, asterisks to denote pov shifts bc i didn't want to use dividers pairing: sylus x reader word count: 774

a/n: it’s been like 2 days of people calling sylus a friendless loser on twitter and that’s fine but IIIII don’t think ur a loser, sylus. wrote this on a whim in the last 2 hours, questionably proofread

“Have you ever noticed that Boss doesn’t have any friends?” Luke’s youthful voice rings out, putting a swift end to your peaceful night of reading on the couch. 

Folding your half-finished book over your lap, you look up at his masked face, raising an eyebrow. “He has you.” 

Luke scoffs. “I don’t count, obviously.”

“He has Kieran.”

“We’re practically the same person. Try again,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.

“…He has Mephisto,” you offer, an innocent grin on your face. 

He doesn’t even dignify that one with a response. 

“He's still in his 20s, for God’s sake! Don’t you think he should go out more? Party a little, meet some new people?” Luke asks, gesturing wildly with his hands. 

“Not if he doesn’t think he needs to,” you say simply. 

*** 

Sylus had just stepped out of the shower when he overheard your tired voice from the living room. Not if I don’t think I need to…what? he ponders, mulling over the possibilities. Increase their monthly allowance? Install lasers into Mephisto’s eyes? Entrust Onychinus to the twins in my will?

“But no friends?” Luke asks dramatically, snapping Sylus out of his thoughts. “None? Not even one?”

Oh, Sylus thinks. That. 

Realizing you were defending his…comfortable lifestyle, Sylus feels something warm and tight and slightly wistful squeeze in his chest. Smiling to himself, he shrouds his body in the dark wisps of his Evol and moves closer, watching the rest of your conversation with interest. 

*** 

Exasperated, you run a hand through your hair. “Luke, I think you’re overthinking this. Not everyone wants to go out and party and meet people. What about Sylus makes you think he wants to go out and party and meet people? You put him in a room full of cheap club music and cheaper beer, and he’s going to evaporate into thin air. Or cause a mass casualty incident,” you say, only to be met with silence. 

Sighing, you start again. “Look, I understand that you care about him and want to make sure he’s happy—I do too—but Sylus’s happy isn’t Luke’s happy. It isn’t Kieran’s happy, or Mephisto’s happy, or even my happy. It’s his. He’s the only one who can decide what makes him happy, and he’s the only one who can decide if he is or not.”

When Luke’s mask droops—a telltale sign of a pout appearing—you switch tactics. “And maybe it’s not that he doesn’t have friends. Maybe you guys are just enough for him—did you ever think about that?” 

At this, the beak of his mask perks back up, and you know you’ve got him. 

“You think we’re…enough for him?” he asks, a hint of wonder in his voice.

You nod. 

And then you try to ignore the way his hands twitch in excitement, fighting with all you have to keep your giggle from surfacing. 

“That’s…” he clears his throat. “You know what? You’re right, Y/N, my bad. You’re really smart, you know,” Luke responds gruffly, an incriminating wobble in his voice. 

Smiling, you stand up to pat his hooded head. “I know.” 

“Well,” he starts, a new vigor in his steps as he heads toward the door. “I’m gonna go find Kieran. We just got this huge shipment of explosives that w—”

“Nope!” you interrupt. “You’re not getting me in trouble again. The less I know, the better.”

Shrugging, Luke disappears into the hallway, and you shake your head fondly. 

“What a heartwarming conversation,” a deep voice rings out. 

Jumping from shock, you whip your head around. “Sylus?!” you whisper-yell. “How long have you been there?!”

Emerging from the shadows of the bedroom behind you, Sylus strolls toward you, a soft smirk on his face. 

“Just long enough to hear your passionate defense of me,” he quips, wrapping an arm around your waist. “How much is your lawyer fee?”

Embarrassed, you swat his chest, bowing your head slightly. “I know he meant well, but I just…don’t like it when people try to take your life out of your hands,” you admit quietly. “It makes me sad.” 

“Well we can’t have that, can we, kitten?” he rumbles, rubbing his hand up and down your back. “Let me cheer you up—I very much enjoyed hearing you speak up for me.”

Lifting your head up, you look into his warm garnet eyes. “You did?” 

“Mm,” he hums, pulling you closer. “I do hate cheap beer, and you all are enough for me. You know me very well,” he praises, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

“But for all your expertise, you were wrong about one thing,” he whispers against you. “My happy is your happy.”

[seasidefallenangel]

gimme, gimme, gimme a man

calling bllk boys your husband while you're still dating ft. isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, itoshi rin, itoshi sae

notes: fluff, banter, down bad loverboys, use of "wife" in sae's but gn other than that, part 2 here

༄ isagi: “... i’ll grab a chocolate shake, and my husband’s gonna get the vanilla.”

✣ freezes on the spot and stares at you with wide eyes. him? husband? you wanna marry him? he was hoping you were in the long haul the same way he was, but hearing those words from your mouth made him even giddier than he assumed he’d be. imagine when you two actually get married? he’ll be in the trenches.

⁀➷  “did you mean that?” he asks when the worker closes the window while you wait for your order. you can practically see the tail wagging behind him as he beams at you with those sparkling blue eyes. when you give a nod and a small smile, he has to stop himself from blowing up with excitement. instead, he kisses your forehead and murmurs, “i can’t wait to marry you one day.”

༄ nagi:

“oh, that copy in the corner! my husband’s been looking all over for it.”

✣ eternal soldier in the idgaf war. you can’t even tell if he heard you because his facial expression doesn’t budge in the slightest. he’s still tap-tapping away at his phone while the shop employee grabs the game case and hands it to you. it’s only once you’ve paid and left the store that he finally puts his phone down and rests his head on your shoulder from behind, staring up at you with those big, brown puppy eyes.

⁀➷ “‘husband’”? he asked softly, curious but not displeased. you nod sheepishly, admitting it just sort of came out before you had a chance to think. he hums softly, wrapping his arms around your waist and snuggling into your neck. cute as it is, you’re still very much in public, and he’s not exactly light. when you ask him to get off, his face shifts into a pout and he mumbles, “can’t believe i’m gonna marry someone so mean.” despite his attitude, this’ll be lingering on his mind for awhile.

༄ rin:

“excuse me? my husband wanted to kn-” “boyfriend.”

✣ is having absolutely none of it. he swears his blood pressure has gotten concerningly high since he started dating you and dealing with all your stupid pranks. it seems like he’s annoyed since he immediately interjected, but it’s more the opposite. he knows he wants to marry you, but do you really think he’s worth the trouble? looking that far into the future worries him, but he’d never let you know that. ⁀➷ a pair of lithe fingers squeezes your cheeks after rin pulls you away from the employee with a deadpan expression. he pulls at your cheeks with narrow eyes, asking you, “what the hell was that about? husband? are you stupid or something?” your lower lip juts out as you express to him that you really do want to marry him someday, and just wanted to hear how it sounded coming from your mouth. he knows you’re playing him as you try not to grin, but the confession is rather cute. he lets it slide with an “idiot” under his breath, and you decide not to mention the slight blush on his cheeks and the fact he has your hand in a vice grip as you walk out of the store.

༄ sae:

“oi. my wife asked for a medium. remake it.”

✣ beats you to the punch. he’s always one step ahead in every aspect of your relationship, but this is too much. how on earth did he know that you were gonna call him your husband to see his reaction? well - he didn’t. he just refers to you as his wife internally most of the time, and occasionally when he’s out buying gifts and tells the employee who he’s buying it for. after all, you’ll be his wife one day. might as well start early.

⁀➷ sae glances down at you, raising an eyebrow at your disgruntled expression. when you bemoan that he “stole your thunder,” he flicks you on the forehead before wrapping an arm around your waist. his lips brush against your ear, making you shiver while he speaks, “you do know that you being my wife also means i’m your husband, dumbass. does it matter who said what?” when you sputter and try to pull out the fact he hasn’t even proposed yet, he tugs you closer, looking irritated that you’d even bring up something so simple. it’s a cold day in hell before anyone else gets the chance, and he informs you as such, saying, “because none of the diamonds i’ve found are big enough,” leaving you speechless while he pretends like nothing happened. you’ll never win against him - ever.

[dollishmehrayan]

# “THE WOMAN WAS TOO STUNNED TO SPEAK…” ── .✦ ( batboys w an unhinged!reader and blunt!reader )

a/n: this is from my little brain of mine , and I like to honor it for @kyriakis anywhoo I’m back and omg 1k?! Alsoo guys dw! I’m gonna do the event tomorrow && I’m gonna pick out some prompts I have organized, so i didn't forget okay but i just got a lot of DMs asking when I’m gonna do it for you guyss so yeah it’s gonna be tomorrow since I’m gonna re-edit + add some ideas of your guys votes!! Tags: (batboys x unhinged!reader)

© dollishmehrayan — ( all rights reserved to me. These works cannot be reposted, translated, or modified. Thank you for understanding dollies! )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

He’s always caught off guard but loves it. Your bluntness is a breath of fresh air for Dick, who’s so used to diplomatic conversations. You say whatever’s on your mind with zero filter, and he’s like, “Oh, wow. Okay. I respect it.”

Hates it when you don’t hold back with him. He’s used to being the charming, funny guy who makes everyone laugh, but you hit him with a “That was dumb, don’t do that again” and his brain short circuits for a second. “You can’t just say that!” “Why not?”

Finds it hilarious when you wreck other people’s egos. You have zero time for anyone’s nonsense, and when someone messes up, you let them know. Dick’s in the background, trying not to laugh. “Do you not think before you speak?!…” He’s always acts so shocked but hey, he’s kinda enjoying it unless it’s aimed at him. (He can’t fight verbally for the life of him without saying some cringe shit)

Doesn’t even try to change you. Dick knows what he’s getting into, and he loves you for it. He’s never going to ask you to ‘tone it down.’ He actually finds your unapologetic attitude pretty hot.

He’s 50% worried you’ll get into trouble, 50% impressed. But in the end, he’ll always back you up, saying, “She’s just honest. Get used to it.”

JASON TODD ── .✦

Finally, someone who speaks his language. Jason lives for the fact that you don’t care what people think. He loves how blunt you are, especially when you cut through the BS with the precision of a sharp knife.

Gets protective when people try to push your boundaries. If someone dares disrespect you, Jason’s the first one to step in. “You’ve got a problem with her? You’ve got a problem with me.”, “Jason that was so fucking cringey..”

Appreciates that you don't sugarcoat things for him. You’ll tell him exactly how it is, whether it’s about his attitude or a bad decision he made, and he respects it, it’s like the tt sound where “that’s when it hit me, it was the best idea I ever had..” but like this: “Not gonna lie, that was a terrible plan, Jay,” and he’ll just nod. “Fair.”

You guys have the most chaotic, weirdest conversations. It’s a mix of witty banter, ridiculous one-liners, and deadpan sarcasm. Other people can’t even keep up with the energy.

The idea of dating a ‘good girl’ never appealed to him anyway. He thrives off your unhinged energy. You’re unpredictable, and it keeps him on his toes, which he loves. “Yeah, you’re definitely not boring.” (Although the thing is he does love innocent people, like if you’re like gen clueless he wants preserve your innocence.)

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

Tim’s brain can’t keep up with you. Your blunt, no-nonsense attitude constantly makes him blink in confusion. One minute you’re casually roasting someone, and the next, you’re giving a straight-up critique of his latest plan. He’s learning that he can’t outthink you.

He admires your unapologetic honesty. Tim has a lot of internalized doubts, so watching you casually reject anyone’s judgment is a nice contrast. You don’t apologize for your thoughts, and it’s something he secretly admires.

Constantly second-guesses himself around you. Your sharp tongue makes him want to be as confident as you. He gets nervous about saying anything that might sound soft, so when he stumbles, you’re like, “What was that? I swear you just whispered something.” And he’ll blush hard, muttering an apology.

You both have a sarcastic sense of humor that others don’t quite get. You say something outrageous, and Tim will respond with the driest remark possible. People in the room often wonder if you two are joking or just genuinely a bit rude.

Not scared to call him out. When Tim’s too nice, you’ll be like, “You need to stop letting people walk all over you. Grow some teeth.” Tim won’t admit it, but that does motivate him to be a little bolder.

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Damian is a bit taken aback at first. He’s used to people being respectful or like seeing him as kinda a role model, so when you come out with a “That’s dumb, don’t even talk to me right now,” he’s not sure how to handle it. He will stand there, blinking, while processing your bluntness. (He’s too stunned to speak 😞)

Genuinely respects your forthrightness, though. “I’ll admit, I have never met someone so… honest.” He starts respecting you even more, thinking you’re someone he can’t manipulate or charm easily.

Loves that you’re as stubborn as he is. If you’re determined about something, there’s no changing your mind. You’ll fight for your opinions even if it gets you into a heated debate. And Damian’s right there with you, arguing like it’s the most fun thing in the world.

Tries to match your bluntness. “You talk too much,” he says one day, and you immediately reply, “And yet, here you are, listening to every word I say.” Damian actually pauses for a second, impressed. “Right..”

Loves how you’ll shut down his critics with zero hesitation. Someone says something disrespectful to him, and you’ll be the first to shoot back, “He doesn’t need your advice, trust me.” He’ll give you a proud little smirk. “I like the way you handle things.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

At first, Bruce is a bit disconcerted by your bluntness. Bruce’s the kind of guy who expects people to be formal and classy, and you just come in with “This entire meeting is a waste of my time. I don’t care about any of this.” He blinks, then quietly admires your bravery.

Totally respects your unfiltered honesty. Bruce has had enough of the world’s games, so when you don’t bother to pretend or hold anything back, it’s like a breath of fresh air for him.

Secretly loves when you don’t play nice." He knows you're not afraid of saying what you think, and when you call him out on his brooding or overly protective behavior, he listens. “You’re right. I’m sorry for not trusting you more.” (He totally doesn’t have a tracker on your hair clip..🥰)

You both have moments of pure savage honesty that no one else gets. There’s no need for filters, and you’ll both exchange one-liners so dry that it leaves everyone else in the room confused.

Finds it endearing when you make his plans more interesting. “This is ridiculous. Why are we doing this again?” You snap at him in a room full of his board members, and he just gives you a look that says, “I’m never apologizing for you.”