#what that process is when it isn’t and doesn’t

[morganbritton132]

Tommy has three brothers.

You may think that this would have taught him how to share, but it didn’t. It taught him that if he wanted something to grab it quick and hold it tight.

Which is to say that he does not like Carol.

He is not thrilled when Steve asks their teacher if Carol can sit with them during snack time because Steve is his best friend. He found him first and he’s not letting go of him.

Especially not to some dumb girl that plays with dolls.

“Mr. Whiskers isn’t a doll. He’s a cat.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a dumb toy,” Tommy grouses, pulling on Steve’s backpack strap so he follows him. Steve says he likes toys and Tommy concedes because he likes toys too just - “Not dumb toys. I have cool toys. I can show you.”

And Tommy does. He drags Steve onto the bus with him. None of his brothers mention it when Steve gets off at their stop.

In fact, no one mentions it at all. Especially not to their mother so it’s something of a surprise when she turns around to find a boy in her kitchen. Not one of her boys but - “Hello?”

The little boy looks away from the pot boiling on the stove and asks, “How come you don’t have a microwave?”

“Mama says that I can’t use the stove ‘cause I’m not big enough,” He continues while Maria stares dumbfounded at him. “Tommy’s not big either and you don’t got a microwave. Does he just eat cereal?”

The boy blinks at her, “I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Steve,” She says slowly, connecting the name to Tommy’s friend from school. “Does anyone know you’re here?”

“I know I’m here.”

“Anyone else?”

“Tommy knows,” He says. “He’s in his room. We’re playing nascar.”

“That sounds fun,” She says, slipping into mom mode. She crouches down so they’re eye-level and smiles, “Why don’t I call your mom and let her know that you’re having fun?”

She can see the clogs turning in his head before Sleve slumps his shoulders. His bottom lip juts out and his eyes get shiny. She’s about to ask him what’s wrong when Tommy slides into the room on his socks and Steve tells him in a sad little voice, “Your mama wants me to go home now.”

Tommy promptly bursts into tears.

He doesn’t want Steve to leave. He’ll miss him and he hasn’t even showed him his GI Joe yet.

It takes a lot of soothing words, many reassurances that she’s not kicking Steve out, and the recruitment of her husband before the situation was calmed down. It’s only then that Steve - dry-eyed now - suggests, “I can call my mama.”

This is what Maria was trying to accomplish in the first place.

She takes Steve into the living room where their landline was. He dials his phone number carefully as her, her husband David, and Tommy watch. He gives her a reassuring smile, holding the phone to his ear.

“Hi, Mama! It’s Steve,” He says into the receiver. “I’m at Tommy’s. He’s my best friend and his mama said I can stay the night. Love you. Bye. Love you.”

He hangs up the phone before Maria could ask for it and informs her, “Mama is a super busy lady. She’s goin’ to the - to the store. She says she loves you.”

The boys run off to continue playing while Maria processes what the hell just happened. She’s still processing when David picks up the phone and presses the same buttons Steve had.

He holds the phone to his ear and gets the answering machine for, “The fucking Harringtons?”

[cayleeuhithinknott]

✿ — better off . . . chris sturn

in which . . . chris wants more, you can’t give it, and somehow you both keep ending up here anyway.

warnings . . . smut , making out , unprotected p in v , public sex (party bathroom) , creampie , angst , emotionallyunavailable!reader , kinda mean!reader , unrequited love , alcohol consumption

𝑺𝑾𝑬𝑬𝑻𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑹 𝙒𝙍𝙄𝙏𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙈𝘼𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙊𝙉 𝙁𝙄𝘾 #11

the music is too loud. the air smells like cheap vodka and weed. the lights are too dim, and chris shouldn’t even be here—should’ve stayed home, should’ve ignored your text.

but he didn’t.

he never does.

you’re across the room, laughing at something someone said, half-empty drink in your hand, that same unreadable smile on your face. you look like you’re having fun. like none of this means anything to you. like you haven’t spent the last three months calling him at midnight and crawling into his bed just to leave before the sun comes up.

he hates that he’s watching you.

he hates that he’s waiting for you to notice him.

and worst of all—he hates that the second your eyes finally flick over to him, his stomach flips like he’s sixteen again and seeing you for the first time.

your gaze lingers just a little too long.

then you smile. lazy, slow. like you know exactly what you’re doing.

he watches you slip through the crowd, drink still in hand, swaying a little more than you need to as you make your way toward him.

“didn’t think you’d come,” you say, voice light, casual. like it doesn’t matter.

chris shrugs, leans against the wall like he’s not dying inside. “yeah, well. didn’t have better plans.”

you smirk. “lucky me.”

it’s always like this. flirty but empty. close but never close enough.

you take another sip, eyes dragging over him slowly. the alcohol’s making you bolder tonight. chris swears there’s a lazy warmth in your stare, something softer underneath. but just for a second.

“you look good,” you say finally, like it’s an afterthought.

he swallows hard. “you always do.”

you don’t respond to that. you just step closer, close enough for him to smell your perfume. close enough that your hip brushes his when you lean past him to set your cup on the table.

it’s subtle. intentional. cruel.

he grits his teeth. “you drunk?”

you shrug. “mmm…tipsy.”

he narrows his eyes. “you always get handsy when you’re tipsy.”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you murmur, but there’s a teasing smile on your lips now. dangerous and sweet.

before he can answer, your hand curls around his wrist light and fleeting, but enough to get your point across.

“come with me.” you say.

and like always, he follows.

you drag him down the hall like it’s nothing. like this isn’t some twisted routine you both keep falling into. like this doesn’t mean anything.

he barely has time to process before you’re pushing open the bathroom door, shoving him inside, and locking it behind you.

“seriously?” he says, but it’s already breathless.

you just smile—lazy and slow—and then you’re on him.

hands on his chest, mouth pressed to his like you’ve been starving for him. it’s not sweet. it’s hungry. messy. like you’re trying to shut him up before he can ask what this is or why you’re doing this again.

his hands find your waist on instinct, pulling you closer.

you taste like liquor and lip gloss and every single bad decision he’s ever made. because almost all of them involved you.

you moan into his mouth when he backs you against the wall, and it shoots straight to his head—makes him groan low in his throat, makes him bite at your bottom lip harder than he should.

but you don’t stop.

you kiss him deeper. let your nails drag down his neck. let your thigh slip between his legs like you’re trying to rile him up on purpose.

“you’re gonna ruin me,” he mutters against your mouth, half-laughing but not really joking.

you smile like you don’t care. “you already let me.”

your hands slide under his shirt, cold against his skin, and he hisses when your fingertips dip low enough to make him tense.

he’s trying to pace himself.

trying to remind himself that you’ll leave again.

that you’ll pull away and smooth your dress back down and act like none of this happened.

but when you twist your fingers in the front of his shirt and tug him toward the counter, it’s like every ounce of self-control snaps.

he spins you fast—bending you over the sink without thinking, one hand gripping your hip, the other fisting in your hair to tilt your head back just enough for him to kiss your neck, hard.

your breath catches.

your hands scramble for balance on the edge of the counter.

and when he drags his mouth down your shoulder, growling low and desperate—he knows there’s no going back.

not tonight.

not with you like this.

and as his hands slip lower, making you arch back against him with a soft gasp, he knows exactly where this is going.

he knows he should stop.

but he won’t.

not when you’re standing here—half drunk, half laughing, flushed and gasping for him—bent over the counter like you’re daring him to take you apart.

like you want this just as bad.

like you’re giving him one more chance to forget how this always ends.

and when his fingers slip beneath your dress, dragging slow and possessive up your thigh…he stops thinking altogether.

he grabs the hem of your dangerously short dress, lifting it up to bunch it around your hips. he’s met with the sight of your ass, barely covered by your panties. the dark cadet blue adorned with prints of white carnations, the hem decorated with delicate white lace.

he knew they were your favorite. of course, you didn’t know he knew that. but he cared that much. he always had.

he smooths his hand over your fabric-covered skin, admiring you. when you push your hips back against him, he snaps out of his trance. “chris, c’mon…”

chris hooks his fingers under the lacy waistband, pulling them down until they drop to your feet, pooling around your ankles. he softly groans at the sight before him. your rounded, bare ass bent over the counter for him. one thing he knows is for him.

he squeezes your plump flesh softly, earning a hushed moan from you. he fumbles with his belt, the sound of the buckle filling the bathroom. you hear the weight of his belt and jeans falling to the floor. he immediately pulls down his calvin klein boxers, his hardened dick tapping his lower abdomen as it springs out of the constricting fabric.

chris’s hand dips between your parted thighs, feeling the wetness between your folds. “god, you’re soaked…” he mumbles.

he runs his fingers through it, coating them before bringing his hand to his stiff cock and stroking it a few times. once he thinks he’s lubed enough, his hands grip your hips, steadying you. you look up at him through the mirror, noticing how he’s staring down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing this world has ever known.

chris drags the head of his cock through your dripping folds, lingering at your clit before trailing himself back to your entrance to line himself up. you feel the pressure, and your gaze locks with his in the mirror. your head drops, forehead hovering above the counter.

“you ready?”

you nod, bracing yourself for him. chris is big. you both know that, which is he’s pushing himself very slowly. the heat of your cunt wraps around him, your walls squeezing him as he eases himself inside of you. your legs wobble, matching the poor stability of your breathing.

you let out a soft whine as he bottoms out, feeling him in the deepest places you didn’t even know possible. “tell me when, baby.” the word slips out of him soft and easy—like it means everything. and maybe it does. but to you? it’s just a word. another thing he gives too much weight to. another thing you’ll forget by morning.

you feel full. brutally full. he starts slowly easing himself in and out of you, grip tightening on your hips. you’d have bruises for sure. you feel each of his veins drag against your velvety walls, your cunt greedily sucking him in with each thrust.

chris lets out a shaky breath, followed by a groan as he starts to pick up his pace. he sets a steady yet fast rhythm, just the way you both liked.

chris always remembers what you like. down to the smallest, stupidest things. he knows how you take your coffee. he knows what songs make you roll your eyes and what ones make you sing along.

he even knows what flowers you like—like he’d ever be in any position to get you flowers. like that would ever be something you’d let him do.

and still, here he is. fucking into you like he’s got something to prove. like memorizing you wasn’t already enough. like this will be the thing that makes you stay.

he’s so deep in it, too—silent for once, teeth clenched, hands tight on your hips like he’s trying to anchor himself. lost in his own head. too caught up thinking about you—about how even now, even like this, he can’t stop wanting more.

he doesn’t snap out of it until you moan soft and wrecked, followed by: “chris…”

the sound hits him like a punch to the chest.

his hips stutter, breath catching, and before he can stop himself, he grips your flesh harder and fucks you deeper, chasing the sound again.

“fucking—shit—“ chris grunts, hips stuttering slightly before gaining back the steady pace. he drills into you, pouring all his feelings into his thrusts. the head of his cock kisses that sweet spot inside you with a sickeningly delicious pressure, tightening the knot in your gut.

your legs tremble beneath you, your body completely relying on chris’s hands on your hips and the counter you’re bent over.

one of his large, veiny hands snakes around your waist, splaying itself on your lower tummy and applying a sweet, momentary pressure. the feeling goes just as quick as it came as his hand trails down to your cunt, his fingers finding your swollen clit to lavish it with attention, the pace of his hips never stuttering once.

you borderline shriek, grip tightening on the edge of the counter. “fuck fuck fuck!” you repeat, warm walls clamping down on chris’s length. he’s so beyond fucked.

chris feels his balls draw tight, his hips slapping harder against the reddened flesh of your ass. “m’gonna cum, chris, i—“

“go on.” he assures you. and as soon as the words leave his lips, you fall over the edge. your vision flashes white, a hot, fiery feeling violently trembling through your body.

when chris feels you constrict around him, your creamy release coating his length, he can’t take it anymore. his hips stutter, his own high crashing into him like a tidal wave, his seed painting your walls warmly white, mingling with your own release.

after a few moments, he pulls out with a quiet curse, breath heavy, hands still lingering on your hips like he’s reluctant to let go.

you don’t look at him.

just adjust your dress like this was always the plan. like you weren’t just coming apart on his dick less than two minutes ago. you smooth the fabric down over your thighs, tugging it back into place. no blush on your cheeks. no softness in your eyes. just that same casual, detached nonchalance you always put on after.

chris breathes out slow, dragging his boxers and jeans back up. the metal of his belt clinks softly as he fastens it, and it feels…final somehow. like the end of another round in this game you keep playing.

you grab some toilet paper, sliding it between your legs, cleaning yourself up with the same tired efficiency like you’ve done this before. because you have. no ceremony. no care.

chris wipes himself off with a wad of paper towel from the counter, tossing it in the trash with a low sigh as he watches you pull your panties up beneath your dress. for a second, he just leans against the counter, watching you silently like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your shoulder, the way you fix your hair in the mirror like nothing happened.

he watches you swipe at your neck and chest with a paper towel, like you’re scrubbing him off you.

you catch him looking.

“what?” you ask, flat, like you’re annoyed he’s still staring.

he shakes his head. “nothing.”

you huff out a little laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. “don’t look at me like that.”

“like what?”

“like this means something, chris.”

it guts him a little, the way you say it so easily. like he’s the idiot here. like he’s the one making it complicated.

you grab your purse from the sink, slipping the strap over your shoulder like this was just another hookup with some guy whose heart you aren’t busy breaking.

before you leave, you pause at the door, glancing over your shoulder just once. “don’t wait up.”

he swallows hard, nodding like it’s fine. like he’s fine. “wouldn’t dream of it.”

the door shuts behind you. he stares at it for a long time.

and god, he knows he’s better off without you.

but knowing that never stopped his heart from aching like this.

never stopped him from loving you.

even when you’ll never love him back.

author’s note . . . sorry chris…😞

🏷️ : @sturniolo04 @admeliora94 @alexturnersgooch @strnilolover @snuffbut @frattboychris @marrykisskilled @mqttittude @purpledragon222 @aubsloveschris @paisleyy22 @emely9274 @oliviasthatgirl @conspiracy-ash @matthewsroses @pasteldreams @matts-wife @courta13 @sugarraez @adorechris @elenayzxsturn @oopsiedaisydeer @bluestriips @grace-sturnz @sturnboos @owenstar @ribbonlovergirl @tweetybaird @tezzzzzzzz @vanteguccir @bernardmatthews @weirdothatwrites @thighs4evan @lm-a-mirrorball @iluvchr1s @sturnslux3 @cutseylady @iconiccolo @beardedbernard

© cayleeuhithinknott

[householdcryptid]

Cockwarming anon again! Dude… that fic was so fucking good, i’m still reeling from it. Like, read it multiple times, squealing and kicking my feet 🙈❤️❤️❤️

So, I offer you this idea as a little thank you (also apologies in advance if this sucks, i’m not a writer, i’m just extremely thirsty and bobpilled rn);

So they’re not fucking, right? But they’re also technically not not fucking.

It’s taken Bob a little while to actually process what’s going on, and what exactly he’s feeling. It takes him a little while to figure out that, sure, he’s getting comfort, but there’s something else in there, something deeper, more primal.

He develops little fixations, and right now he’s fixated on her thighs. He doesn’t know how he’s never noticed them before, how soft and supple they look. Pure comfort. He finds himself wanting to touch them at all times, and she lets him without question, of course, but it only makes him worse.

He’ll sit closer to her so his legs can press against hers as much as possible, he’ll grab them under the table at meals. He’ll even ask to lay his head on them when they’re watching movies together. Slowly escalating, pawing, rubbing his face against them like a cat, sweating, whining, drooling, until his head is enclosed between them, face pressed against against her core. Panting, shaking, eyes closed in complete bliss like he’s finally found heaven.

Just wait until he figures out that he’s a munch.

babe i know you said you arent a writer but you SHOULD be holy shit 😵‍💫 also thank you! i'm so so so glad you liked the last one 🩷🩷🩷

i'm thinking about doing a part two to this just so i can write about him getting pussy drunk tbh he deserves that. # bob reynolds is a munch

cw: rob bein a nasty lil freak, uhhhh scent kink(? kind of?), nsfw but no real sex, reader knows robby is a weirdo and is Totally into it, talks of addiction (not a lot but mentioned), short because i got sick 💔👎, hope you enjoy 😌🩷

It starts off small. It always does with Bob. One tiny thing that snowballs into an addiction, and leaves him reeling. Once upon a time it was morphine, and then worse, but now? Now it’s you.

Small things— things no one but him would notice. The way you smile when he tells you about his day, no matter how boring it is. The way your eyes sparkle in the sunlight, the way you glow.

More recently though, he can’t stop thinking about your legs. He’ll sit in the gym and watch you spar with Walker or Yelena, not understanding why the sight of their hands on you makes his skin crawl.

Instead of focusing on that feeling though, he zeroes in on your legs. The way they tense up, strike out to catch your opponent in the gut, the way they look when you have them wrapped around someones neck, pinning them to the ground.

They’re beautiful, even when you aren’t fighting. He finds himself drawn in, big warm palm sliding over the fabric of your sweats to knead at your thigh mid movie night. He isn’t trying to be a creep, isn’t making any attempt to get handsy, just wants to feel the plushness of it in his grip.

It devolves quickly. Gentle squeezes turn to fingerprint bruises that he feels genuinely awful for. You don’t ever mind, though. Your best friend is just tactile, he doesn’t know his own strength sometimes, and it’s not like you’re complaining, so why is he upset?

He stops squeezing as much, but it leaves something of a hole behind in his day to day. An ache he can’t explain, a longing that feels bone deep. Until you pull him to lay his head on your lap one day, and he’s found a new thing to be hooked on. Revels in the way the plush skin bows under his cheek, how you always end up petting through his hair. It ends up being a surefire way to put him to sleep, eventually.

It’s just too comforting. To have your attention on him so completely, your fingers in his soft curls and his cheek smushed against your soft thigh.

One day, the tower is empty, save you and Rob. He’s twitchy, strung tight like a rubber band ready to snap, skin buzzing with a power he still doesn’t understand and doesn’t think he deserves.

But you’re there, too, and that helps. Pulling him in with gentle hands, and he expects the usual. His head on your lap, your hand in his hair, but you shift. Your knees part, and you pat your tummy invitingly.

“I wanna lay down too, goofy.” You explain, laughing softly at his puzzled expression. He can’t stop staring long enough to come up with a verbal response. You’re wearing shorts, cotton boxers that pull taut at your thighs, dimpling the skin a bit, and his mouth waters.

His sigh is heavy and tremulous when he nuzzles his face against your stomach, lays flat on his front between your legs, arms wrapped up beneath your thighs, his hands splayed under your lower back.

“S’better.” He mumbles, lashes fluttering as he breathes in the scent of you. That’s where it starts, really. Your scent.

Warmth, clean sweat and a heady musk that makes him a little dizzy, he seeks it out. Noses down your tummy, wriggles southward until his face is buried between your thighs.

You giggle— honest to God giggle— and heat licks up his spine.

“Sorry-” He mutters, not making any attempt to actually pull away. “M’sorry. You smell so good,” He whispers, hands sliding to press your thighs closer around his head, nosing at your cunt through the soft material of your shorts. “S’so fuckin’ warm here.” He croaks out, just on the edge of a whine, nails biting into your supple skin.

“It’s okay, Robby,” You murmur, ever so indulgent, especially when he’s whining against your clothed core, already drooling into the fabric. “You can stay. You’re good, bubs.”

He almost sobs at the reassurance, brain going blissfully empty when you squeeze your thighs around his head gently.

He’s trembling just a little bit, huffing these shakey breaths against your core like he can’t quite catch his breath, pretty blue eyes unfocused and heavy lidded. Blissed out on just the smell and the feel of you, the way your thighs block out the sound of the room and the constant buzzing in his brain when they press to his ears.

He falls asleep like that, mouthing at your cunt through the shorts, letting out short little whimpers and huffy groans, your fingers in his hair and your thighs pressed to his ears.

You can only sigh, slip into a nice catnap as well, knowing full well the whole process will begin again when he wakes up.

[rainrot4me]

i love your stuff so, so much! i always forget that creepypasta is a dead fandom so going to look for content on it is a literal fight

with that said, everyone always forgets about clockwork being an artist... do you have anything on her being an artist? i don't even care what at this point

AHHHHAHHAAH YES. These are copied straight my my headcannons doc I’ve had open on Nat, forgive if there are typos.

── .✦

Mixed media queen. Clockwork isn’t loyal to just one art form. She has a sketchbook filled with everything—graphite sketches, inky anatomy diagrams, charcoal-streaked pages, bits of pressed flowers taped next to journal entries. She’ll get fixated on embroidery one week and blood-red watercolor the next.

Uses art to process. She doesn’t talk much about what she went through—being tortured, changed, reborn into violence—but you can see it in her work. Shaky hands rendered in ink. A self-portrait where one eye is normal and the other is an open wound with gears blooming out of it. A girl floating underwater, peaceful, and alone.

Paints on her walls. Her room in the Mansion isn’t cutesy or edgy—it’s hauntingly beautiful. Splashes of oil paint across the wall. Tall figures with blurred-out faces. A whole corner is filled with clocks she’s half-painted and never finished, like time is melting there.

Surprisingly delicate with fine detail. Her hands may be stained with violence, but she’s so careful with a brush it’s almost reverent. Fine linework. Gentle shading. She loses herself in the tiny motions. You’d never think the same fingers that can crush a windpipe could also thread a needle or paint eyelashes.

Art is her version of crying. Nat doesn’t break down or rant or scream when things get bad. She sits down, turns off the world, and draws something with shaking fingers until it hurts less. Headphones turned all the way up, too.

Tried realism, hated it. She doesn’t want things to look “real.” She wants them to feel true. That means strange perspectives, dreamy colors, disjointed anatomy, like how memories look when they’ve been replayed too many times. The realest her art gets is in sketches of scenery or random anatomy studies she does of Toby. She has dozens of blurry, smudged sketches of Toby aiming her shotgun or asleep in the back of her truck.

Embroidery on leather jackets. Sometimes she gets hyperfixated on textiles. She’ll sew into the sleeves of her clothes: anatomical hearts, broken hourglasses, hands reaching toward each other but never touching. The texture calms her, the needle in and out. A rhythm she can control. Any excuse to patch up the tears in her jeans with pretty colors.

Art with violence woven into it. Not in a creepy edge-lord way, but in the way that says: I have seen pain. I am made of it. Let me show you, safely, on paper. There’s a sacred honesty to her darkest pieces. They say what she can’t.

Would 1000% give a handmade sketchbook as a gift. She binds it herself. Stitches the spine. Maybe even adds little doodles or notes in the margins:

“Sketched some while I was away. You can look if you want.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[adoresia]

— ALEXITHYMIA ⋆ Nagi Seishiro

(n.) inability to describe emotions verbally

Just a boy who looks at you like you’re the only language he ever needed to learn.

based off of this request from @pastryiee !! I hope i didn’t disappoint 💔

˙🏷️ ̟ Nagi’s masterlist | BLLK masterlist | Main masterlist

Nagi isn’t a shy person, he’s just dismissive; unbothered you know? But he likes being your voice even if he can’t be bothered to be his own. He thinks there’s something so intimate about the idea of him being the only one to understand what you need without even having to tell him. he likes explaining you.

You don’t speak much. You linger in conversations, hovering beside them without stepping in; getting talked over more than heard. But he notices. He notices everything, surprisingly. The way you tug your sleeves over your hands when you’re anxious, and how your eyes dart to the door when you’re ready to leave but don’t know how to say it without being rude. The way your lips part like you’re going to say something — but you don’t. You’re quiet, but he hears you anyway.

So when someone asks if you’re okay, and you just nod with that same half smile he’s been able to read almost every time, Nagi answers for you. “She’s tired” he says simply, shifting so his knee bumps yours beneath the table. “Let’s go.” You stutter for a second, caught between his words and the startled faces watching you take your sudden leave. You blink once, twice, and then you glance back at the group with your mouth slightly opened as if you were trying to mumble a quiet “sorry...” or maybe even just a polite “bye” But Nagi doesn’t give you the chance to process. His hand is already wrapped around yours, and before you can shape a single word, he’s tugging as if it weren’t up for discussion.

Your breath catches as you stumble to your feet, dragged out of the room on steps not entirely your own. Your fingers only tighten instinctively around his and he doesn’t even look back or seem to have any second thoughts — he just keeps walking. And honestly, you’re thankful. Thankfull he didn’t make you say anything, thankfull he saw the way your words wilted before they bloomed, thankfull he moved before your heart had the chance to cave in on itself. Even if it meant you couldn’t do it yourself.

Later that day when you find yourself back in the safety of your room, you lay beside him, still a little dazed from how effortlessly he read you. still half laying on the bed, he stretches one long arm out and tugs you gently by the sleeve until your body folds next to his. His chin rests above your head, lips pressed passionately to your scalps when he speaks. “You don’t have to talk” he murmurs, his voice low and warm like a secret meant only for your skin. “I like knowing before anyone else does.” His fingers trace lazy shapes into your hip. Like you’re something fragile he gets to keep.

“You always look like you’re waiting for permission” he adds. “You don’t need it with me.” And you swear the weight of those words settles into your chest heavier than any kiss ever could. Because he doesn’t ask for much.

You don’t reply — not with words at least. You only turn into him more fully, pressing your forehead into his neck and letting your body exhale everything youd been holding in. He shifts so easily around you, arm curling like a shield at your back, like it’s instinct. Like the whole world narrows to your soft breaths against his throat.

Nagi listens to you like you’re everything. Because to him, you are everything; you deserve to be heard, even if it isn’t through your own words, but his instead.

GEN TAGLIST :: @livteracts @s6rine @mayyhaps @lizbix

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a/n :: wait i have nothing to say nevermind heh like and subscribe and make sure to hit that bell (gen taglist form) 😇 if u want

[jupiterpiss]

i keep seeing ex remmick which u eat up everytime but i’m wondering what the process of breaking up with him would be like

Thank youuuu 😝😝 I feel that a lot of this is kinda just me retelling some stuff.. maybe? Not really but it’s different ways he’ll be ruining your life that were mentioned before. This doesn’t have a ton of smut.. actually close to none lolz. This reads to be very.. aggressive on his end. It is supposed to be like that.. he’s a piece of shit sorry.

Honestly.. I think it would be a very complicated process.. because in my mind I think Remmick doesn’t necessarily ever think you two are ‘broken up’. Like yes.. you kicked him out and told him to fuck off and said this is over BUT LIKE you were just upset. People say means things all the time when they’re upset.

I truly don’t think he ever sees you as not satisfied.. cause he knowssss he’s satisfying you so like why are you acting mean and RUDE?? Not cool wtf. It’s kinda how he wouldn’t leave alone ANYONE IN THE JUKE JOINT even tho they told him to fuck off SEVERAL TIMES. He literally won’t take no for an answer, it’s not in his vocabulary so why should it be in yours.

So with that added pain of him not really seeing you as separated just ya know going through a mild disagreement.. which if he wants to call it that he shouldn’t be using the word mild. It’s farrr from it, like you two literally threaten each other, that’s not mild.

Threats of killing one another, threats of going to the police or family or vampire hunters. Everyone and anyone at this point. It’s bad. Wtv. Ahem.

Point is— it’s hard to leave someone who doesn’t see you as separated.

That’s also where the toxicity comes from, because at some point you become beyond annoyed with him. He won’t stop showing up, won’t stop threatening to eat your family, coming up with lies that he’ll change, that NO he isn’t mean.

You eventually meet your breaking point when you do try to move on, threaten to start sleeping with other people and he, I KIDD YOU NOT, yells about how you can’t be with anyone else cause uhhhh he’ll curse them to die from a terrible infection!

“Vampirism?”

“No.. worse. If you sleep around, every dick you touch will fall off.”

And he’s not kidding LMAOOO. Do I think he’ll have the ability to do that.. idk. I don’t actually know if vampires can actually possess people or anything.. but he does cause I said so. Not possess I guess but more so he makes them go crazy. Like actually crazy.

Remmick PLAGUES the minds of those you touch. Also.. he counts this as cheating on him. He’s not too fond of it, matter of fact it pisses him off really really bad but wtv. You’re just going through a weird phase.

Ya know those people who say ‘they know where home is’ when speaking about their cheating spouse? Yeah that’s fucking him. Except he also curses and scares off anyone you actually do. I don’t wanna go tooo in depth cause quite a few people asked for a second ex!Remmick post and one person asked for this exact scenario.. so more on that later. It’s gonna be part of the part 2 of that post.

Anyway.

Once your done with sleeping with other people cause CLEARLY that isn’t helping anyone (this proves his point right btw even tho it wasn’t on purpose on ur end.. he still sees you stopping as a means of you ‘leaving this phase’)

You decide that maybe packing up and moving would do good. Leaving your house, leaving your family, the town. Everything. Last day of packing tho he shows up and fucking flips his shit.

This is where I reallly wanna reel in the fact that toxic Remmick is extremely scary. Like really scary, you should probs not be trying to look for this man, type of scary. Cause he wrecks all your shit, tells you how are you going to leave when you have nothing??

“Fuck you! I’m done, we’re done— done! I’ve been done, I’m moving-“

He tuts, shaking his head slow, “and what exactly will you be leavin with? Got no furniture now, got no clothes, jewelry.. baby, you’re not prepared to go.”

And it’s like.. hello?? Yes I was but you literally lit all my shit on fire while happily jumping up and down. Hooting and hollering, happier than a fucking clam. He’s unwell. He saw all your stuff resting outside, heard you still shifting around stuff inside, packing the rest of what you got. You live far out.. so having shit stolen isn’t exactly on your mind but you thought ‘hey, just one more box and I’m done’ only to go outside to see a massive bonfire.

And who’s standing beside it with a box FILLED with matches? Remmick :))

He lights all your shit on fire, and if you have a car he slashes the tires. Lights it on fire too.. this is starting to sound actually really bad. Omg okay but HE DOES THIS OKAY. I’m not backing out, he destroys ur shit!!

Okay.. moving is a big no. And ya know what else is a big no.. ur friends. You see.. Remmick does some hunting and searching, he decides ya know what?! I’m gonna take this bitch’s friends. Yeahhh fuck you im making you a complete loner. So that’s what he does LMAOOOO he makes ur ass a bigger loser then him by quite literally taking out all of ur friends.

And he uses that hivemind like noooo one else. Forces them to try and convince you back together, that really he will change. That this is just a word phase ur going through, cold feet. Ya know.. but that’s okay! He’ll warm them up!! He completely takes away their personality, who they are. What they want, what made them.. them. Everything you loved, those imperfections, the characteristics.. mind you, these people are your home. A found family of some sort all built on the need to find connection outside of family. Outside of blood.

And that’s gone.

It freaks you out, rightfully so. Everyone is so.. bleak. A empty cast of what they use to be, pawns for his own destruction. Makes you wanna vomit and sob on the floor.

And you do. Really you do. You start to actually feel trapped, unable to really do anything.

Your friends keep saying, “just let us in! Let him in! I can see all his memories.. all his emotions. Everything. Honey, he really does love you.” And it would be a friend of urs that HATES men. Hello? Not the same person.

AND HE STILL WONT LEAVE GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE. Stillll thinks ur together and—

“ya know, this whole cat and mouse thing is really startin to get on my nerves, hun. Just- I don’t even know why you’re upset.”

He really doesn’t. Remmick doesn’t get why you won’t let him in, or why you keep claiming you broke up. You didn’t? He thinks he’s in the right, thinks all of this is for your own good cause.. you two are meant to be, mean to thrive together. Why would you give that up cause of one messy argument.

It wasn’t a messy argument and really he’s always been manipulative.

If he were to convince you to have make up sex he would try to baby trap you. I’m certain of it.. that or because I don’t think vampires can have babies, he would bite you. Just like in the fic. More on this later.. actually I’m thinking long and hard about this, you will be seeing it.

[ometochtli2rabbit]

BREAKING: The gangs of L.A. brokered a truce and just did more for injustice against innocent immigrants than the entire U.S. Senate has done since they discovered C-SPAN doesn’t have commercials.

Yeah, you heard me. Street crews… yes, those same folks your racist uncle thinks are the final boss in a Fox News fever dream… are now escorting immigrants to court like chivalrous vigilantes in Nike tech fleece. Because when the state decides the Constitution is optional and ICE turns into a roaming death squad with a mask and a clipboard, sometimes the only due process you get is five dudes in matching hoodies telling the feds, “Nah, bro. Not today.”

And guess what? It works. Because ICE agents will happily snatch a grandma from a church picnic if she makes a good deportation stat… but put them near anyone who doesn’t say “yes, sir” with a trembling voice and suddenly they remember they have “other priorities.” These federalized cosplay commandos without badges (but definitely daddy issues) don’t go after the dangerous… they go after the docile. Why? Because they’re not enforcers of law… they’re mall cops with militarized toys and the moral compass of a broken Etch A Sketch.

So of course ICE targets “assimilated immigrants with families.” Because God forbid we deport a white-collar CEO laundering cartel money in Miami… nah, better to rip a kid from his dad in front of the school, then call it “border security.” These aren’t agents… they’re cowards in windbreakers playing hide-and-seek with the American Dream.

And meanwhile, the gangs… yes, gangs… have done what Congress won’t: form a coalition to protect vulnerable people from a government that thinks “compassion” is a foreign threat. These guys just unionized against fascism faster than the Democratic Party could agree on brunch.

So let’s be real. If you’re more outraged that gang members are helping immigrants than you are that the government is hunting them like they’re Pokémon with poor English, you’re not patriotic… you’re complicit. You’re the spiritual lovechild of George Wallace and a Ring doorbell, screaming “law and order” while your empathy dies in 4K.

ICE isn’t about safety. It’s about optics. It’s about keeping middle America scared shitless so they don’t realize who’s actually robbing them blind: it’s not José from Oaxaca, it’s Jeff from JPMorgan.

So props to the homies rolling deep to immigration court. Because while Congress filibusters itself into irrelevance and ICE roleplays as apartheid cosplay, someone’s actually showing up for justice.

You call it gang violence. I call it community defense.

And if that scares you? That’s not fear. That’s your conscience trying to escape the prison you built out of denial. Let it out. Or stay silent… and history will remember you the same way it remembers the cowards: not at all.

If your biggest concern is how uncomfortable this rant made you, congrats… you’re officially less useful than a wet napkin at a house fire. But hey, keep scrolling. I’m sure there’s a cat video somewhere that’ll let you pretend the world isn’t burning.

Wake the hell up.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪷max please!

500 for 🪷:

---

Don’t say what? What shouldn’t he say? Shannon frowns. Christopher is hiding something about Eddie. She’d thought so before the whole sister reveal, and now she thinks so again. 

“What about Eddie?” Shannon asks, looking directly at Denny. He seems like a sweet boy. He might crack easily.

Denny sucks in his cheeks, as if to physically restrain himself from answering.

“Nothing,” he squeaks after a moment. “Not a thing.”

Shannon can see Chris roll his eyes in the rearview mirror. 

“Is it that he’s remarried?” Shannon asks. “Come on, you said you have a little sister. I’m not stupid, Christopher. It’s been sixteen years. I’m not hurt to hear he’s moved on.”

Chris pauses for a moment, then looks back at her. 

“Yep, that’s all,” he says. “But, uh, let’s just… Let him tell you about that, okay? Please?”

Somehow, Shannon doesn’t think that’s actually all. She needs to talk to Eddie.

“Okay,” she says. “Whatever you say.”

Christopher

Denny does Christopher a favor. A huge favor, really. Other than the whole driving thing. The moment he processes that Christopher cannot tell his mother that his father is gay, for a plethora of reasons, he just starts talking. It’s nervous chatter, sure. Probably not even intentionally a favor to Chris. It isn’t really like Denny to talk for talking’s sake; maybe he’s just spending too much time with Buck lately. It must be nerves, but regardless, it means Chris doesn’t need to say anything. He just needs to focus on the matter at hand. 

“So I met Christopher because our parents work for the same fire station,” Denny is rambling as they take the elevator up to their floor. Mom did not ask. He’s just offering. “My mom is a paramedic. I think she was actually there when you… You know what, nevermind.”

Wow.

“It’s okay,” Mom says. “You can say it. When I died.”

Denny’s cheeks redden. “Right, that. Anyway, we got close in high school after… Uh, after Chris moved to my school. So there you go. There’s that story. Chris is great, by the way. Usually far less grumpy. Works a lot. Too much, some might say.”

Nice save on not saying after moving back from El Paso. 

“Do you work too much, Chris?” Mom asks.

“Nope,” Chris shakes his head. “Denny’s just used to getting four-offs twice a month.”

“After working twenty-four hour shifts all the damn time,” Denny points out.

“You’re a firefighter, too?” Mom asks. 

“Probationary still, but yeah,” Denny says. “I want to be a paramedic, like my mom. I really look up to her, you know? She’s always coming up with insane ways to save people. Uh… I mean… Not… Fuck.”

[moesthoughts]

jackie taking care of drunk fem reader at a party, reader could get into a fight with someone who said something gross about jackie

ೃ࿔ looking out for you

Jackie loves you, she really does. She doesn’t expect to fall more in love when you defend her at a party, even if you’re very drunk.

pairing 𝜗𝜚 jackie taylor x fem reader

warnings 𝜗𝜚 alcohol, slight sexism, puke mentions, mostly pure fluff!

Party’s are all the same to Jackie, she gets drunk, has an ounce of fun with her friends until some random jerk comes along, and then leaves. She doesn’t expect this party to go any different, even if she brought you along this time. She lost you half way through, you disappeared through the crowd of people to go make yourself a drink again, she hasn’t been counting how much you’ve fled to that table. Jackie knows she should be concerned, but she trusts you enough that she can be confident that you know your limits when it comes to alcohol.

A few shots later and Jackie is pretty tipsy, not enough to be completely drunk, but she’s still having a good enough time. She’s twirling Shauna around, snorting at Van’s jokes, chanting while Nat chugs another drink down, she’s having a blast. After awhile, she remembers she brought you to the party. She curses under her breath and heads over to the drink table where she last saw you. Lo’ and behold you, making shots for everyone that surrounds you.

“Jesus christ, I was worried about you!”

That familiar tone laced Jackie’s voice, angry but concerned. She swears her stomach drops even more when you look at her, a dopey smile painted on your face, and your eyes droopy. She sighs and places a hand on your back, the least she can do is help you play bartender.

“Hi Jackie! Yknow.. I’m reeeaally good at this.”

Jackie rolls her eyes, but can’t fight the small smile that makes its way onto her face. She can’t be mad at you, especially when you look so happy. She aligns the solo cup with your shaky hands as you pour the tequila into it, along with sprite to make a makeshift cocktail. As you turn around to give the drink away, you’re both met with Randy, who has a snarky look on his face.

“Jackie Taylor! Hey you.. I wouldn’t be seen with her after she left Jeff for someone else, What a slut right?”

Jackie is taken aback, she could care less about being shamed. Though, when he roped you into it is where she draws the line. She opens her mouth to defend herself, of course she refuses to stay quiet—

“Do you ever shut up Randy?”

Until you spoke up, she presses her lips together. Jackie can only gaze at you, your lips curled into a frown, your eyebrows furrowed, a complete change from your demeanor when cocktails were made. She isn’t sure if she should be concerned that you started a fight with a huge dude who plays football, or be proud. Either way she stays quiet while you chew his ear out, watching in awe as your mouth moves. She can only fall more in love with you.

“You’re a chick, stop getting in my face like you’re a dude!”

That statement only causes you to get closer, and your hands to ball up into fists. When Randy’s arm makes a subtle movement, that’s when Jackie steps in. She grabs your arm and drags you back towards her, holding your bicep close to her chest. She has a fierce look in her eyes, like she’s about to bite the boy’s head off. She bites her tongue again, she isn’t worried about Randy, but you. She leads you towards a bathroom as you hunch over in her arms. She only just processed how drunk you actually are, she doesn’t care about the party anymore, her world needs to revolve around you.

“Hey, don’t worry. I got you.”

Jackie doesn’t speak above a whisper, even with the loud music drumming against the door, you can still somehow hear her. Her hand rests on your back and she makes sure your hair doesn’t fall in your face. She tries to ignore the anxiety bubbling in her stomach as she watches you sway, you can’t even sit correctly. Regrets plague her mind, why didn’t she stay with you? She hates how you didn’t cross her mind until she had a few drinks, all she can do is pray you don’t have alcohol poisoning.

“Hey babe, I’m here. How are you feeling?”

Her tone is gentle as she dabs your mouth with a paper towel. She’s faced with your glassy eyes, staring at her like a doe. She bites her lip, it feels as if her heart broke then and there. Jackie embraces you, petting your hair as you lay against her shoulder, completely slumped. Her painted nails work through your strands in an attempt to comfort you without words.

“I don’t like that people talk about you like that, Jackie.”

Of course you avoid her question, and successfully quiet her too. Jackie peers at the ceiling, recalling all the names she’s been called after dumping the school’s most treasured football player, Jeff Sideki. After she met you, she couldn’t imagine being with a man anymore, let alone one who doesn’t even know how to treat her right. She’s lucky to have you by her side, especially since you’re so quick to defend her name. Her attention returns to you, and a soft smile pulls at her lips.

“Yeah. Uh– Thank you for having my back there, that really means a lot to me.”

Your knuckles graze her jaw, causing her to subconsciously lean into your touch. The low sound of rock is oddly comforting while you both snuggle in the bathroom, even if your head is still foggy. You two settle against the wooden cabinets, the cool metal of the knob digging into Jackie’s back, she doesn’t mind, especially since she has you in her arms.

“I love you Jackie, I meant it.”

You utter out, your eyes unable to tear themselves way from her face. Jackie’s breath escalates, and for the first time she actually believes in the word “love”. Your tone sweet like sugar, and the gaze of Romeo looking at Juliet, how can she not be convinced? She brushes another hair behind your ear, she feels mushy inside, a completely new feeling to her.

“I love you too.”

She manages to respond to you, happy to finally be able to express her love without lying straight to someone’s face. Jackie pulls you into a kiss, the fruity taste of her lipgloss touching your taste buds. You return the kiss and press your hand into the back of her head, wanting to taste more of that pretty pink gloss. She draws away from you with a huff for air, her lips now glistening from your saliva. You two share a long look, hearts practically forming in your eyes. She can only think about taking you back home so she could have more of you, in a more private space.

“Let’s head home, I’ll make Shauna drive.”

Jackie helps you up before slinking an arm around your shoulders, she isn’t letting you go so easily anymore.

i’m half asleep.. but enjoy the jackie food.. sorry for the late posts lately’n hope you enjoy anon 🤍🤍

req me!

masterlist

[crankycake]

You’re Gonna Go Far

Chapter 3: I am the Greatest Mother Fucker that your ever gonna meet

Summary: “Parents must be missing you. Out so late at night.”

“When I get back home I’ll ask their ashes.”

Batman scowl deepens if that’s even possible. “Jeez man. It’s ok, humour to deal with trauma is kinda of my thing. You’ll get used of it.”

Batman still isn’t smiling.

Thoughts: So this chapter may be a bit shorter. School was a bit hectic this week. What teacher gives two pages of maths homework for the next day!!

Anyway I wanted to get this chapter out by today so who knows what it’s like. No Tony or Floating Lady. They may appear in the next chapter.

Chapter title is GMF by John Grant and Sinéad O’Connor.

Someone left a comment saying that I didn’t mention Skip Wescott in the tags. I’ve changed it now and I got thinking that I should probably do warnings just in case. So

WARNINGS: Very briefly mentioned Skip Wescott.

Mild Violence.

Swearing.

Briefly mentioned Child abuse.

Self neglect.

Self esteem issues.

I think that’s all. I hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

My son, my son, my son, my son, my, son.

He had a son. Oh god. When he first met Peter he had instantly taken a liking to him. Who wouldn’t! And he loves Nightwing! His kid loves him as a vigilante so he’ll have to love him as Dick. His kids is already taken with Jason. Jason already loves the kid.

The kid had proclaimed his love for Red Hood and Jason’s face had turned red. Then he let him ride with him on his motorcycle. He only lets Dicks ride it if he’s in bodily harm! Then he let him fall asleep on him. Mr Tough Guy was letting Peter cling on to him like a koala.

Dick would be jealous if Peter wasn’t his kid. Peter already likes a part of his family and if that isn’t a massive win. Peter is going to fit right in eventually. When Dick somehow convinces him to come back to the manor or his apartment. Fuck. He’s turning into Bruce!!!

That shakes Dick out of his thoughts. Peter and him have been walking in an awkward silence. Oh. What if Peter doesn’t like him and was only being polite. Dick was so lost in his thoughts he probably appeared a bit creepy but he needed to process all that information. He is about to ask Peter a question about something. God knows what the question is going to be about, he just needs to hear his kid talk. Until Peter blurts out—

“I LoVe ChEwBaKa”

—and slaps a hand over his mouth in mortification. His eyes are wide like saucers, when he’s looks over at Dick to gauge his reaction. Dick can’t help it . He laughs loudly before going in to ruffle Peters hair. Peter freezes at first before relaxing. Dicks about to jump up and down because of that small victory. That teensy weensy bit of trust.

“I love him too bud. Are you a big fan of Star Wars? I don’t know too much about it.”

Jason had tried to get him into it way back then but he just didn’t have the time. One of his regrets.

Peter’s eyes brighten up like the sun. The kid looks like he’s won the lotto and Dicks poor, poor heart.

“Well it’s only like the greatest franchise in the world!”

The kid rambles on about different characters and plot lines. Different scenarios and what ifs that would change the story completely and would somehow redeem Anakin Skywalker? Whoever that is. All he knows that’s he’s hanging on to every word. He’s cataloguing every character down to memory.

”—and Ned! He had such a cool Millennium Falcon LEGO set and we built that in an hour we were so excited.”

He sighs a bit dreamily, imagining this amazing lego set.

Over the duration of his introduction to Star Wars he somehow had managed to drift closer to Peter. Peter was now underneath Dicks arm. Peter doesn’t seem to mind so he keeps it there.

“Is Ned a good friend of yours then?”

Peter gets a faraway look in his eyes. “Yeah. He’s back in New York.” He sighs sadly. The kid has got a kicked puppy expression on (Dicks internally sobbing) and that won’t do. He needs some distraction to get rid of it.

“Are you hungry.” He asks. Food always cheers everyone up.

Peter looks at him strangely before his gut grumbles loudly. Peter turns pink and tosses a scorn towards his stomach. He think he hears a whispered traitor.

“Eh yeah…my parents are probably asleep anyway they’ll be happy that I’ve eaten. So yeah. I’m hungry.”

It was heading close to six. Soon he’ll have to go and do crime fighting stuff but he’ll be able to stay with Peter for little while longer. He’d stay the whole evening if Peter asked and he could get some DNA for later on. Dick didn’t doubt Peter wasn’t his kid. Others will *Bruce*. A legal test will also help him get custody from these so called parents.

I mean Peter looks so thin and they don’t even seems to care that Peter has been gone for more than half day. He’s always flinching and seems to be preparing for the worse. No. Dick is not a fan of these parents. He’ll just have to win Peter over. Starting with food. The kid certainly needs some. He’ll actually feed Peter unlike those snot nose, trollop looking —and now he’s just being mean. They obviously don’t have enough money and are struggling. He needs to get in control of his emotions.

At least he hopes that’s the reason. Cause if it isn’t….

“Perfect! How do you feel about Bat Burgers.”

Bat Burger is a brightly coloured restaurant that Bruce is still swinging round to. They’re sitting in a booth with Peter lightly swinging his legs back and forth, slurping down an artificial blue liquid. Once he understood that Dick would order everything on the menu if he said he didn’t want anything one more time, he quickly got to picking. They were the cheapest things on the menu but at least he was eating.

He was twirling a french fry between his thumb and fore finger, lost in thought, before tossing it back his throat and dusting off his hands. “Are you a regular here?”

The question is unexpected and knocks Dick off his game. “Umm..no? I don’t really come here much.”

“How come everyone is staring at you then?”

“They are?”

“Yup.” Peter pops the p.

“That lady in the red spotty dress has pointed at you and gasped. The old man who was going to the bathroom did a double take and the girl at the register wouldn’t stop giggling at you.”

Huh. Dick has just gotten used to the attention that he blocks out most of the staring and pointing. Please don’t let this drive Peter away, he internally prays.

“…Do you know Bruce Wayne.”

Peter eyebrows bunch up before he knocks over his drink and then proceeds to catch it in record time. No more than few drops spill. He shakes his head in disbelief.

“No way…” He takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table.

“Eh bud you need those to see.”

“No I don’t. I just wanted to wear them for the first few weeks. Reminds me of home.” Interesting.

“So…” He trails off. He’s now nervous. What if he hates WE or Bruce and now wants nothing to do with them?!?! Dick takes a drink to clear his throat when Peter speaks:

“So you’re rich?”

Dick chokes on his drink and thankfully keeps it in his mouth. “Yeah. I suppose you could say that.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. He has something that comes at every table in his hands. A little cartoon drawing of each superhero/vigilante that Gotham has to offer.

“You suppose?” He asks incredulously. “You live in gigantic manor in the middle of the countryside.”

“Well it’s not just me, there’s my siblings and I mostly live in Bludhaven.”

“You have siblings?!”

“Uh yeah….”

“Who?”

“Uh do want me to name them?”

“Yes please.”

“Well there’s Me of course then Babs, although she’s not really Bruce’s kid but she’s our sister still, Jason—“

Peter eyebrows reach his hairline.

“—then Cass, Steph although her situation is a bit like Babs, Duke, Tim and then Damian.”

“Dam. That’s a lot.” Peter blows out a breath.

“Yeah but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Do you all go by Wayne?”

“Just Damian. He’s actually blood related. Everyone else goes by their owns surnames.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Dick asks cautiously. This could be risky territory. Peters been avoiding any talk about his home life the whole of dinner.

“No I’ve got no siblings. Just me and my parents?”

“The Parker Family has any other relatives.”

Peter huffs. “Just my Aunt and Uncle but they’re long gone. My Dad was adopted by my uncle’s family. So my real name would be Peter Grayson.”

Dick freezes. Peter Grayson. That can’t be a coincidence. Peter must notice his state. “Are you ok?” Dick smiles tightly. “Yeah of course!”

Peter looks at him suspiciously but just shrugs his shoulders. “If you’re sure.”

Dick nods and then checks the time. He has to leave for patrol in 15 minutes. Shit. How has that much time passed already.

“Peter I’m just going to got the bathroom before we go ok?” Peter waves him on. Inside the bathroom he sprays some water on his face.

Peter Grayson. My son. My kid. Peter Grayson.

🕸️🕷️🕸️

Peter likes Dick (what a sentence). He was funny and was a good listener. He didn’t mind when he rambled on about Star Wars or any topic. His senses had relaxed in an instant when he was around him. It was weird. They hadn’t taken this quickly to Jason and he was a variant of Ben! He wonders if Dick is some relation of his? That might be the reason. Long lost cousin maybe? Or another uncle….

….Careful….

He was kicking his legs back and forth. A bad habit he knows (Skip once broke one of his legs to make him stop swinging them) when a woman comes up to him. She’s mid thirties with a blonde bob. She has sharp black glasses on and has pen and paper in her hand. She looks vaguely familiar.

“Hi I’m Miss Watts. You might remember me from shopping at Bees?”

Now that he’s really looking at her he remembers her. Bee didn’t like her, Peter wasn’t sure if he liked her either. She was on the phone the whole interaction and complained about the price of the shoes she was getting (They were $16 ) and then proceeded to nearly spill coffee on another incoming customer.

“Yeah I remember you.”

She looks like a cat who’s got their cream.

“Well I’m doing some reporter work about local businesses and their employees and I would just love a picture of you!” She cackles like she told the best joke in the world. “So would you mind.” Peter doesn’t want his photo but if it will help Bee bring in more customers…

“Sure…”

“Fabulous!!! Smile!”

A bright flashing light goes off that make his senses scream. It was a quiet day at Bat Burger so he was fine up until now. The bright light makes his brain and eyes whizz.

The photo shows up and she squeals. “Don’t you just look gorgeous. You’ll be on the front cover. Some day kid you’ll be everywhere.” Then she turns on her heels and promptly leaves. A bit of a weird interaction but whatever. At least Bees will get new customers, hopefully.

Dicks taking awhile in the bathroom and Peter begins to worry. He’s about to embark on the most embarrassing bathroom check ups of his life when a voice rings out.

“Oh Peter, I wouldn’t recognise you in this light.”

A lovely old lady named Madge, who was a best friend of Bees, came by the table. He liked her, she always winked at Peter like they had some inside joke against Bee. It drove Bee up the wall.

“Hiya Madge. What are you doing round here?”

She was balancing on her cane refusing to take a seat. She somehow out stubborned Bee.

“Just came back from the centre. Did you know that that prissy one Leah stole my good needle and wouldn’t give it back!” She had a scowl on her face. You didn’t come between Madge and her Needles if you had any sense. They were her children.

FRIEND HI!!!!!

Dick had finally come back from the bathroom and looked a bit confused at their new guest but not unwelcoming.

“You’re back. This is my friend Madge. She comes to Bees everyday.”

Madge looks at Dick. “Parker how come you didn’t tell me your father was Dick Grayson.”

Peter turns scarlet. Oh god. WHAT! That’s why Dick was so freaked out when he said his biological name was Peter Grayson. Probably thought it was one of those baby scares that Mister Stark used to get all the time. Kids, women, men, all claiming to be Tony Starks long lost love child. They were always negative unsurprisingly. Also did Madge just call Dick his Dad?!?!?! How would she even come to that conclusion. They looked nothing alike.

“We’re not related Madge.” She scoffs. “Dimples you can’t be serious.”

She looks over at Dicks don’t say a word/shitting a brick face to Peter, who is only looking at Madge, afraid that Dicks face is one of disgust at being insinuated that he and Peter could be father and son. With also confusion sprinkled in there.

“Oh Lord you are serious. Well folks Madge needs to get home before the Big Bat shows his ugly mug.” (Bee and Madge hate Bat Man)

Without saying goodbye she hobbles out the door. Peter won’t look at Dick and Dick won’t look at Peter. “We better get going.” Says Dick gathering up his wrappers, Peter doing the same a second later. “Yeah my parents will be missing me by now. Thank you so much Dick for the food. It was delicious.”

“It’s no problem kid.” They’re outside now and Dick smiles at Peter. He gives a wobbly smile back. “Where do you live again Dick?”

“I live in the brightly coloured apartment complex. Isn’t it crazy how that lady thought we were father and son?”

They were walking in the direction of Dicks house when Peter nearly stumbled over Dicks words. He thought this was a situation where they would awkwardly laugh it off and never talk about it. Apparently not.

He couldn’t look at Dick.

Play it cool Parker.

Don’t weird him out.

“Yeah it is weird. I don’t see resemblance at all.”

“You don’t think we look a little bit a like?” Dick asks a little heartbroken.

Dicks got a tanned face, bright blue eyes and unruly black hair. He’s not the tallest man going but he’s got bucket loads of confidence. He’s got muscles on him and he’s so nice. Peter has got plain brown eyes and limp hair. He’s pale and thin and looks unapproachable and unappealing. He doesn’t do well in social situations and has always been labelled as a freak. So no. Peter Parker was not like Dick Grayson on the inside or out.

“Nope.”

“Not even like a little bit. A teeny weeny bit…”

“Not at all.”

Dick seems to deflate at that. “I think we look a like.” Peter looks at him from the corner of his eye. “I think you’re the only one who thinks that. Along with Madge but she’s a bit blind. Oh. We’re here.”

He doesn’t know why he’s disappointed that Dick has to leave. He’s not going to dwell on it. Dick looks a bit shocked that’s he’s already at his house. “Oh! Would you look at that….” Dick says dumbfounded.

Peter chuckles. “Thank you again Dick, for everything.” Dick looks at Peter with an odd gleam in his eye. Like he doesn’t want to leave Peter but that’s absurd. Everyone always leaves Peter. Woah. Where did that come from? Back to the back of his mind that goes.

“No problem Peter. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to your house. It would be no problem. Really.” He says it so hopefully but Peter can’t exactly lead Dick to the theatre now can he.

“No I’m sure. Thank you.”

Dick doesn’t look one bit convinced. “Get home safely and come by the library soon, yeah?.”

“Yeah I will, as soon as I can.”

Dick let’s out a hmph. “I’ll be keeping you to that.” He waves goodbye and begins to make his way towards his theatre. It’s about an hour walk but Peter doesn’t mind. He had fun with Dick. He can feel Dicks eyes on him all the way until he turns the corner.

He is exhausted. After his little cold spell he didn’t get much sleep. Like an hour every night and it seems like it was catching up on him. He wished he could change into his suit and swing but he can’t risk it. Not when there’s so many people still on the streets. Peters is not going into one of Gothams alleys either.

He’s around 10 minutes away, dead on his feet, when it begins to rain heavily. Peter sighs and puts up his ho— wait he has a hood?!? He still has Dicks jacket on he realise. Shit. He’ll need to give it back…soon. It’s cozy and keeps the rain out though…and Dick won’t be needing it for at least this evening as he’s already at home.

He reaches the theatre exhausted. He crawls into the window and somehow manages to trudge up the flights of stairs before crashing down on his bed. He woke up at 3 when he heard a gunshot. Spider-Man never sleeps he guesses as he pulls over the mask.

🕸️🕷️🕸️

It was a quiet day in the shop. He put up some of their newer items. He’s sewn back his Spider-Man costume after a nasty mugging. His side hurt but it should be fine by tonight. He was finishing up his jacket for Harley.

It was half bright pink and the other half was a forest green. Studs and gemstones were dotted on the shoulders. The pocket had an embroidered heart accompanied by a little leaf. It was a busy jacket but he knew Harley would love it….or he hoped she would. He was a tiny bit nervous to give it to her.

Hmmmmmmm….Powers. Right.

He’s in the back when he hears a voice. He carefully peeks out the back and sees a blonde girl bounce into the shop dragging two boys by the elbow.

The boy on the left was looking like he was getting the same amount of sleep as Peter was. He was pale, had blue eyes and scraggly hair. The boy on the right had a darker complexion and an easy going smile on his face. He had a certain air about him. He must be one of those ‘metas’. Peter bit his lip. He swore metas weren’t welcomed in Gotham (except for the dude Signal who was one with the bats.)Well, Peter was no snitch. The girl in the middle had sleek blonde hair in a high ponytail and eyes that bounced from one article of clothing to the next.

She shooed both boys off to look at the garments and then proceeded to walk up to the front desk and ring the bell.

“Coming!” He shouts. He places the jacket carefully on the table before making his way to the front.

“Hi my names Peter how may I help you?” He asks politely. The girl looked at him like he had grown another head and then shook herself out. A lot of people were having that reaction.

“Hi Peter. I’m Stephanie Brown. Bee has a package for me.” Ah. So this was their most loyal customer. Peter makes sure he smiles a little extra at her but not in a creepy way. He doesn’t want to be rude to their biggest customer…even though she was kinda of rude to him.

“Yup she has your package in the back. You can just follow me.” They have to walk past Harley’s jacket, Bees office and into the little fabrics closet. It’s cramped in that room with almost no space for anymore fabric.

Peter prays when he opens the door that nothings falls like it usually does most times. Parker luck decides to strike again.

Not only does one role of fabric fall, oh no, that would be too simple. Buttons, beads, sequences, glue and 6 rolls of fabrics fall. Peter looks and Steph horrified. Steph looks at Peter looking a bit constipated from holding in her laugh. They share a final look at each other in shock before laughing so hard Stephanie falls to the floor.

The two boys who she came in with come rushing in. One has a high heel in his hand and the other has a ring on each finger. It only makes them laugh harder.

“Your faces!” Steph wheezes. It was true. They look shell shocked but they weren’t looking at the mess they were looking at Peter.

Gothamites had a real staring problem she was starting to notice.

“I’m so sorry about this.” Peter chuckles. He begins to pick up a roll of violet fabric.

“Trust me that cupboard is a death trap.” Steph states as he begins to help Peter clean up. She then whips her head around to the other boys.

“What if that was an intruder. Our knights in shining armour were going to safe us with, what? A couple of rings and a high heel. You could have at least brought the second one.”

One of them looks sheepish the other one turns a little red and huffs. “We panicked Stephanie. My upmost apologies.”

“Very humbly accepting your apology Timothy. I shall forgive you and Dukey.”

Presumably Duke, looks at him and rolls his eyes. Peter lets out a little laugh. “I’m Duke and this is Tim.”

Peter gives a nod at both. Those names, he’s heard them before but where….

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before. Are you new here?” Duke asks.

“Yeah just moved from New York to Gotham. Dad got a new job.” They share a quizzical glance at the word Dad. Weird.

“Are you liking it here so far?”

“It takes awhile to get used to it but it’s fine I guess.”

“Have you started school yet?” Quizzes Tim.

“No I’m still homeschooled.”

“You should definitely apply for the Gotham scholarship. We all go there!” Steph rushes out excitedly.

“I’ll have to ask my parents I suppose. It’s a bit pricy isn’t it.”

“Nope that’s the greatest part. It cost nothing to apply! And they even give you money to help out but I don’t mean you need it or anything like that it’s just an added benefit.”

“I suppose I’ll have to ask and see.”

Silence fills the room for a second before the next topic is brought on quickly. They talk about Stephs bitchy boss and Tim who is trying to go cold turkey on the energy drinks. Duke tells him about this lady Anne who was high on drugs and kept banging on about how Duke was a witch and was going to kill them all. Duke. Who said bless you to Duchess when she sneezed (Peter did too but that’s not the point).

After everything’s put away they manage to get Stephs package. It’s a heavy thing and she pays 460 bucks for it. In cash. No wonders she’s a favourite customer.

Peter walks them out to the door, it feels rude not to when they helped him clean.

“We should do this again some time. All four of us and Cass. She’s my girlfriend.”

He wonders if it’s his Cass she’s referring to. If it is he can see them being a couple. Cute.

“Yeah we should. This was fun.” Agrees Duke.

“Soon.” Adds Tim.

Peter blushes. “Yeah….yeah we should.” With a chorus of “Bye Peters” and promises of meeting up in the near future, they’re gone. Peter doesn’t shake his smile for the whole afternoon.

Later on Peters chilling on his web. He’s thinking about his time in Gotham so far.

I’ve managed to meet every one of Bruce Wayne’s children except for the man himself. I wonder if he’s like Mister Stark now or past Mister Stark.

It kinda sucks I’ve only met one vigilante but Cass makes up for it. Her Natasha would be an unstoppable force. Maybe one day they would meet…maybe.

He has Dicks jacket on for a layer of warmth. He reaches into his pocket and his hand catches on the Bat Burger pamphlet. He forgot he took that.

Batman, Nightwing, Oracle, Red Hood, Orphan, Spoiler, Signal, Red Robin and Robin.

This dude could rival Bruce Wayne in children. Batman has 8 and Bruce Wayne has 8 aswell…. Huh. How bout that.

Holy.

Fuck.

He sits up on his web and stares into both, his only thought being shit.

Of course they’re the same people! Cass is Orphan for christs sake! Nightwing has to be Dick. Damian is definitely Robin. Babs is Oracle. Duke is the daytime hero Signal. Steph is Spoiler and Tim is Red Robin so Jason must be Red Hood. Who knew Ben would be a vigilante and rich in this universe.

He them remembers proclaiming his love for Red Hood in front of the Red Hood. Peter covers his face and wishes to fall off his web and never get up. He wishes Parker luck would just strike and make him invisible. Anything but having to talk to Jason again.

That’s how Batman has enough money for gear and everything. He was this universe Mister Stark but more discreet.

With his mind still buzzing he manages to put on his suit. Gotham still needs him and maybe Peter needs the distraction. He steers clear of any form of noise of the vigilantes. He can’t face them. Not tonight.

He goes about his regular routine but he wasn’t concentrating , maybe that’s why he got grazed (stabbed) by a knife from a mean looking mugger.

He hobbles his way back home and cleans it the best he can. It’ll be fine by tomorrow. Then his stomach rumbles and he remembers he hasn’t eaten all day.

In his defence, he has spent the money meant for food these past three days on a wrench. Why? Well he now had everything he needs in his tool kit. He’ll be eating at Harley’s and Ivys tomorrow anyway. He’ll eat then and then he’ll do his plan and then it’ll be Halloween night and the he’ll meet Damian and then he will go into the school and has the floor always been this close?

🕸️🕷️🕸️

“Oh Yanks it gorgeous!” Cried Harley. She was hugging the jacket he had made her.

“That’s a lovely gift Peter.” Ivy smiles and manages to pry the jacket out of her girlfriend’s hand. It was Tuesdays tea time and Harley was bouncing throughout the whole thing, itching to open her gift.

She had yanked the jacket off Ivy who scowled at her before shoving it on. She ran to the mirror and squealed. She then tackled Peter into a hug. Peter tried not to grunt. It was not a good idea to pass out on the cold hard floor. His stab would had healed minimally. Progress was still progress he supposed.

The rest of his time with Harley and Ivy is spent praising the jacket and praising Peter. Peter is positive he’ll never return to his natural colour. He leaves with a phone aswell! Harley insisted he have it when he tried to refuse. Said it was only fair and it was just lying around (in a display case was not added).

Ivy and Harley waves Peter off from the door, watching him till he takes his final left down the street.

Harley sighs. “I’d take that kid in if I didn’t know Nightwing is his Daddy. He’s far too thin.”

Ivy rubs her back soothingly. “I know babe you’re right. I would too in a heartbeat. But I’m afraid we can’t just yet.”

They sit down on the couch, Harley holding the jacket as if it’s the most precocious article of clothing she owns.

“Who do you think the mother is? It’s not Space Princess anyway. Dick and her called it quits a good while back.” Ivy wonders out loud.

She immediately likes the kid. He cares about the environment, cares enough to listen to Ivys opinion and why she does what she does and he cares about Harley. The kid ticks all the boxes. He’s adorable with those big brown eyes and those dimples. You couldn’t not like the kid.

“Do you think Dickiebird knows?”

Harley hums. “Only one way to find out.”

Dickiebird

Your kids adorable

How do you know him?

Met him on the 3rd

We’ve been inseparable ever since

Are you gonna take him

Me and Ivy are looking for kids *named Peter who’s far too nice* and Peter seems to fit the description

Over my dead body are you taking my kid.

You’d be great parents for another kid

Yeah we know

Do you know his phone number

He doesn’t have a phone

He does now as his favourite Aunt Harley gave one to him

Don’t stress Dickiebird

Sharing is caring

*** **** ****

Thank you Harley

Ill bring you some of Alfred’s cookies next time I see you

FUCK YEAH

🕸️🕷️🕸️

It’s Tuesday, Dick is in the lab with Babs analysing Peter’s napkin. He felt getting a hair sample was a bit too much. He knew Peter was his kid but that didn’t mean others would have the same strong belief or be comfortable with getting their hair plucked out their scalp. Babs said they needed to be sure. It was going slowly though. So slowly that B might be back soon.

Half an hour later, Dick had nearly gone through the carpet he was pacing that much. Damian had come in at 27%. Cass had snuck in at 68% and Jason and flung open the door at 89%. They were so close now at 98% when Steph, Duke and Tim marched into the room.

They all opened their mouths and then closed them when they read the screen.

“You knew?! About Peter or should I say your potential son!!!” Accused Steph.

“You know Peter?” Asked Dick confused. When did they meet Peter.

“Just now. We were at Bees. He’s really nice.” Replies Duke.

“How did you get his DNA.” Questions Tim.

“Dick took him to dinner and took his napkin, real classy.” Jason says with a sigh.

“Hey! You would do the same thing. !” Dick cried outraged. He looks at the screen as it trickles to 99%.

“Gross.” Steph wrinkles her nose up and goes to stand beside Cass, giving her a kiss on her cheek. “Well when did you meet Peter love?”

“The rooftop. Nice.” Cass replies as she smiles remembering her and Peters little spot. “Looks like you.”

She points at Dick. Dick huffs at that.

“I know but he doesn’t think so. Kept on denying it.” The kid was so adamant that he and Dick looked nothing a like. He says that last part sullenly. Babs stares at him incredulously. “Look it’s almost done!” Duke points at the screen.

99.9%….

10–

*ERROR*

Silence. Then everyone crowds around the computer trying to help. Babs reaches out to grab the napkins from the little compartment. Nothing but dust is left in its wake.

Suggestions are flying around the room of what could have caused it, how they could get another sample.

“I mean would it be so bad to ask him for a sample.”

“Yes, yes it would Timothy.”

“Can we not just do it Bruce style?”

“Jason, what the fuck, exactly, is Bruce style?”

“You know just—“ Jason then made several hand gestures, one included throwing a sack over his back.

“Yeah we all know how well that went for you. Remind me how long did it take for you to not be hostile to me?”

“In my defence Dick…you were a prick.”

“In my defence…so were you.”

“YOU WERE 19!”

“AND YOU WERE A LITTLE SHIT.”

“If you may recall, Peter and I are meeting up Thursday at the park. There I will be able to extract a sample.”

“Without getting caught.” Babs gave him a pointed look.

Damian only rolls his eyes.

They go over the cons and pros but in the end they all agree that it would be the easiest solution.

Steph says she’ll be going to Bees again on Friday as she forgot an earring.

Tim and Duke say they’ll come for moral support.

Jason declares he’ll give them the lift.

Dick said it’ll be rude not to go see his potential son.

Babs is his moral support and Damian wants to scope out any potential weaknesses.

Cass is along for the ride she says.

It’s sorted then. Whether the results come back positive or negative they all love Peter. Damian has yet to decide but he’s agreed to meet Peter at least so a win is a win.

They’ll just need to ditch the Wayne scholarship on Friday. Happens every year. With the help of WE, Gotham Academy gives away a full ride scholarship with extra perks to a good few lucky family.

Since Bruce has been gone for three weeks in space, he can’t really complain if they miss this event. They’ve covered for him now it’s his turn to cover for them.

Cass and Tim began suiting up for patrol. Jason was confined to bed rest once Alfred got wiff of a healing stab wound. Dick was on his day off. Everyone will be out tomorrow for Halloween. They’ll need him then.

Gotham was in capable hands with Bruce already out there. Typical Bruce, goes out to patrol before coming to see them. But what is weird is that he hasn’t contacted yet as to why Oracle isn’t online. Weird.

🕸️🕷️🕸️

Peter was grinning ear to ear sitting on the cold hard floor of an alley in Crime alley. He had been watching Jason, waiting for the perfect time to enact his plan. Jason’s birthday was going to be celebrated this weekend and he said Peter couldn’t buy him anything and technically, Peter wasn’t buying him a thing.

He found out Jason lived in the ‘fancier’ end of Crime Alley(aka the part of the city with fewer rats.) He snooped around outside the place quietly and had found a little storage room that would be perfect to work in. From looking in through the sky light, another bike was in there already. One that looked quite expensive and with a bat logo plastered on the front of it. Very inconspicuous if you asked him but hey.

Behind you.

Peter scrambled up the fire escape before Jason came into view. He placed his own bike in the shed and took the bat bike out and was off, but not without putting the meanest looking lock on the shed door.

When training with Natasha she had thought him how to disable alarms, unpick complicated government locks and how to throw a punch. The streets also taught him to do it while looking over his shoulder.It took a few minutes but he was able to get back into the little shed.

Thirty minutes later and he had one tyre off and one more to come. He had already upgraded the engine with any bits of scrap he could find. The bike would last an extra five years now, maybe even seven, but that would be pushing it.

He had made Jason a better seat using some of the less mold infested chairs in the cinema. He had used the left over red fabrics form his Spider suit to make it look nice.

He had this idea that the wheels could have studs that would do damage if anyone was in front of you and they could pop off at any moment. These studs wouldn’t puncture the tires and could be but back inside. It was tricky making the schematics works but he did it.

That was his final instalment on Jason’s bike. He only had so much resources and very limited time or he would’ve done a whole movie makeover on the thing.

He had planned for these studs to go on his own bike before D—Mister Stark shut it down. He knew how it would work. He needed two extra wheels for their rubber and had hit the jackpot while swinging over Gotham dump one day.

He had done one already and it worked like a charm. All he needed was to do the back wheel and connect them up to the top of the bike. He was putting his wrench away when he heard a swoosh. He knocks of his torch and the room is encased with darkness.

LOOK OUT!!!!

A large shadow loomed over him. Peter froze in place. Holy shit. That couldn’t be… the Batman. He grabbed his wrench and slowly turned around.

No wonder every criminal is afraid of him. He’s fucking bigger than Jason. This dude with his all black leather and bats and that cowl that covered his face and those muscles and that mysterious vibe. Who did this guy think he is. Peter is not afraid of him. No sir-ee. Not Peter…definitely totally not. So why was he shaking.

“What are you doing here.” He grumbled out. Even his voice was menacing. Like come on. This dude had struck the lotto on the dark vibe aesthetic.

“What are you doing here?” Challenged Peter.

According to Batman, he has no idea that Peter knows he’s Jason’s dad or that’s he is Bruce Wayne. Peter, as a friend, has every right to be here. Batam, a big scary vigilante does not.

Batman only squints at him. “You are trespassing a private property.”

“So are you.” He makes a point to look at where Batman has crossed the line into the shed and is no longer in the outside.

“I’m not the one stealing tyres.”

“I’m not stealing them.”

It’s too dim with only moonlight for Batman to see him. Peter turns back on his flashlight and waves it around his tool.

“I’m upgrading my friend’s bike. For his birthday. What’s your excuse for being round here.”

Is it just Peter or ever since Batman has been able to see his face he’s gotten paler.

“Your parents must be missing you. Out so late at night.”

“When I get back home I’ll go ask theirs ashes.”

Batmans scowl deepens, if that’s even possible.

“Jeez. It’s ok man. Humour to cope with trauma is kind of my thing. You’ll get used of it.”

Batman still isn’t smiling. “Those frown lines are going to kill your mysterious persona when you 50. Anyway, why are you here again?”

“I saw a light and I came to make sure nothing was being stolen.”

Peter hums. “Yeah forgot that’s kinda your job. Well nothing being stolen! Sooo…”

Batman doesn’t leave. Peter has a feeling he won’t just be able to push him out.

“That’s kinda your cue to leave…so I’m just gonna.” He makes muliple gestures from a thumbs up to a flying eagle before resuming his work red in the face.

The silent statue stays. He can barely hear him breathe. He doesn’t know what to do except to finish Jason’s bike. Forty five minutes later and viola! Jason’s bike is officially upgraded. He turns round to the Batman and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Cool huh. I know you’re jealous. You’re thinking ‘I wish I was that good at making cool upgrades but all I can build are bat themed things’.”

Batman cracks, what Peter would like to think is a smile. Either that or the man’s gone insane. Either option is as equally scary.

“It’s good.”

He’s a man of many words he can tell.

“How would you like to go to dinner…?”

Batman asks…awkwardly. Is he nervous? If anyone in the situation should be nervous, it should be Peter. Which totally isn’t but he’s got the right to!

Why would he want to take Peter to dinner. He doesn’t look that thin does he. Maybe he should’ve ate more this week.

“Is this how you lure your children and collect your Robins?”

“No.”

“Alright you’ve convinced me with that astounding answer. However why do you want to take me to dinner.”

He looks Peter dead in the eye. “It’s very nice of you to fix up my so— someone’s (slick, real slick) bike for their birthday. Doesn’t happen a lot in Gotham and I’m hungry.” Batman mumbles out (more like grumbles).

‘You look like you’re hungry and near the brink of death’ is what’s he thinking. He’s right though. He is hungry. Starving. Batman is a billionaire. It’s not like he doesn’t have money to spare but still. It’s the principle of the thing. He already owes Dick a jacket and for dinner. Now’s he going to owe Batman for dinner. He will pay them back though. When he has the money.

“Yeah I could eat.”

Peter loves sitting on rooftops. Batman had taken him to Batmobile and oh my god. It was freaking AWESOME. Peter couldn’t stop staring at everything. He wanted to press every button but he didn’t want to push his luck. They pulled up at Bat Burger (of course) and they got two burgers two fries and two drinks. His metabolism could rip through 5 of everything and still be hungry, his stomach reminded him miserably. He still hadn’t healed fully (read at all). At least he was eating he suppose.

They got to the window quickly. Their food was handed over by an ‘already over it’ middle aged man. He passed no heed by seeing the most feared vigilante and a 14 year old kid pull up at 3am. Only handed them their food and shouted over his shoulder: “He’s got another one Marie.”

Marie only responded if it was a boy or girl.

They didn’t eat their food in the car asPeter said he knew a spot. So here he was eating two bat burgers (all the food was for him. Batman was on a diet or so he was told) with the Bat himself while looking up at the Bat other identity’s business, Wayne Enterprises. He was hoping he would see Cass tonight or more so the look on her face when she saw him.

Batman had placed his hand in front of Peter when he was insistent that he sit on the edge. He didn’t mind. He trusted him and so did his army of children. Batman was good in his books. So far.

“Do you live in a cave?” He knew he lived in a gigantic mansion but he wanted to ask anyway.

“No.”

“Do you at least have a cave.?” Batman hesitates for a mili micro second before answering. “No.”

“Oh you so do but don’t worry, my lips are sealed.” He mimicked locking his lips and throwing away the keys.

He didn’t bring any jacket out tonight. He thought it would be a quick few hours of work. Not eating dinner in a rooftop with the big man himself. He drapes Batman cape over himself. He looks over at him. He gives Peter a nod so he doesn’t take it off himself. He keeps asking Batman a hundred and one questions to keep his mind occupied.

“What’s your favourite Disney movie.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Liar.”

“…Cinderella”

“AHA!”

“Are you and Superman like best bros.”

“Superman and I are not ‘bros’.”

“Are you Superman’s bro but he’s not your bro. Is that why your salty.”

“I’m not salty.”

“Sorry you just spewed out sea water there. Can you repeat what you said?” He asks innocently.

“Are you and Cat Woman…a thing.”

He found out Selina was Cat Woman a week ago. She just told him so she could tell him about how rude a cop who was guarding a famous painting was to her. She said if he ever met Batman to ask him that question. “Make him sweat.” She just laughed when he asked why.

“Why would you want to or need to know that.” Bruce asks suspiciously.

“Heard it through the grape vine. Need to make sure I’ve got the facts rights.”

“Yes…I think?”

Peter only nods.

“What do you think of Bruce Wayne?”

“He’s alright.”

“I think he’s the Flash.”

“How on Earth did you come to that conclusion?” Batman grunted out. But not one of his normal ones. Oops. Touched a nerve.

“He looks like a fast guy.”

“Well he’s not.” He says like a petulant child who’s just been called young. Sometimes Peter is like that when someone calls him 12.

“You’re right. Bruce is far too cool for that.”

“Yeah you’re right.” Batman agrees.

“Who’s your favourite superhero and don’t say yourself.”

“No superhero needs their ego boosted.”

“True story.”

“What’s yours?” Batman had only asked him the minimal questions. He knew he was itching to ask where he lived and who he was he staying with but Peter didn’t want to lie or answer those questions. So as soon as Batman made any move toward that direction Peter switched it up.

FRIEND!!! HI.

“Hmmm. Well I love—“

“Orphan. He loves Orphan.” Cass plonks herself down. Peter beams at her.

“I was gonna say Red Hood but I suppose you work as-well.”

She gives him a gentle shove and then turned to Bruce. She put her cape on top of Peter aswell. “My friend. Nice.”

“Aw. Your nice too Bats.”

Her mouth mask moved so he assumed Cass was smiling.

“Hmph.” Was all Bruce said. Looking at the pair trying to figure them out.

“Have you met the others?”

“Nah. They don’t come round these parts.” He sounds like he’s in a western movie but it’s true! They don’t come round these parts. Bruce seems satisfied at that. Peter resumes his questions with nothing else to do while he finishes his food.

“So why do you have the urge to adopt children?”

“I do not adopt that many children.”

“I need both hands to count them all.”

“Eat your food bud.”

Peter hums happily away until all his food is eaten. Then a beeping sound is going off on both Batmans and Cass’ cowls. Must be important. As he gets up he grunts. The food will help his healing but he’ll have to sleep first.

“Thanks a lot for the food Mr Batman. It was lovely. Cass always a pleasure.” He’s about to leave when Cass catches his hand. “Hurt.”

Peter heart hammers in his chest. Think Parker.

“Nah, just slept in a funny angle.” Cass nods but he can tell she doesn’t believe him. Hell, Batmans looking like he doesn’t believe him. He feels another question is coming when the beeping comes persistent. They both look at each other. Cass places her hand on his shoulder. “Goodbye Peter.” She then leaps off the building and gets swallowed up into the dark.

He’s left standing there with Batman. “If you ever need help…you can always ask Cass or any of us…” He places his hand awkwardly on Peters shoulder. He doesn’t know who’s more uncomfortable in this situation. 1,2,3 seconds go by and then he’s off.

What a strange man.

Holy Fuck did he refer to Cass as Cass instead of Orphan.

🕸️🕷️🕸️

Peter was avoiding the Bat Fam like the plague. It was Halloween night and Gotham Criminals were having just or maybe even more fun than the little kids.

He had gone round with several children and their guardians in case of anything bad happening.

“Hey! That’s not nice.”

Peter dodged the punch that was coming for his head. He sent a web at the man’s hand and stuck him to the wall. Crook No.2 decided it was his time to shine and aimed a kick at his Crown Jewels. He dodged it and sent him flying back at Crook No.1.

Spider-Man:36 Crooks :1.

Someone got a shot at his ribs and he swears he heard a crack but that’s between you and him.

He’s also got a stalker on his hands. Robin has been trailing after him. Watching how he fights. It was kinda creepy cool you know but he thinks it’s time for him to face the music.

“Thanks for helping Robin.”

“Tt. You don’t need my help. Who trained you?”

“Wow I’m good thanks for asking Robin. Also why would I tell you that.”

“Were you trained by the league?” Robin accused. He can’t believe no ones figured out Damian and Robin are the same person. Both have that same ‘get away from me this instant, cat hair standing up’ vibe.

“I have no idea who they are man.”

He narrows his eyes. “You swear.”

“I swear.”

“Well then who?”

“Is it really important you know?”

“Yes.”

“An assassin, an ex-soldier, two scientists, a spy, the streets and far too many others.”

He seems satisfied with that as an answer.

“There’s a mugging on Narrow Street. I would be pleased if you would accompany me.”

“Well since you’ve asked so nicely.”

The rest of the night was spent fighting criminals. Damian was twisting his elbow and the crook put the other one to use by trying to jab Peter in the eye.

“Hey! That’s not very nice.”

The crook voiced his opinion to Peter on the matter.

“ILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

Peter knocks his legs out and webs him up.

“Reach for the stars little guy.”

Damian huffs. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Nope.” He pops the P.

“Tt. Very well. The cops will be coming to get this delinquent. Let us go.”

An hour later and the streets are clear. He and Damian stuck to the smaller stuff, which was unusual for Damian he could tell. He heard that the Penguin was out tonight along with Mr. Freeze.

They were swinging and bickering when Damian had admitted to had never gone trick or treating.

“Seriously?!”

“Why would I lie?”

“I don’t know man. I’ve got trust issues.”

“Mhm.”

“Only with certain stuff! Still this is an outrage.”

Peter had 12 bucks and a mission to make a dream to come true, whether Damian wants it to come true or not.

Whoever was in Petra’s Pounch at 2 and saw Robin and Spider-Man buy a trolley worth of sweets…no you didn’t.

Once Damian realised Peter only had 12 dollars on him he threw what was left of the candy into the cart and said he was paying. Peter still gave him his money. Just cause he was rich doesn’t mean the money can’t run out. Damian eyeballed him the entire time. He had a feeling that cash would make it back to him.

“These aren’t that disappointing—“ Damian was a big fan of candy corn “—but I do not know why we have to dress up.”

They were sitting on top of an abandoned shop, munching away on their contraband. Peter had snuck a witches hat, a marker and a red bucket into the cart. Damian actually kept the witches hat on after his initial shock at the offensive garment being placed on his head.

“It’s for fun! Look I’m Red Hood, I’m built like a brick shit house and act tough but I’m secretly a softie.”

Peter had drew Jason’s design onto the bucket and placed it on his head. Damian merely shakes his head.

“You look ridiculous.”

“That’s the whole point silly.”

“You’re strange.”

“So?”

“I like you.” Damian declares.

“That’s good Rockin Robin cause I like you too.”

“May I ask you a question.”

“Only if it’s invasive.”

“Are you Peter Parker.”

“Didn’t think you’d take that literally. No. Who’s that?.”

“You’re a liar.”

They stare each other down. How does he know? He hasn’t been anywhere near the Bats except for Cass. He knows they’ve been watching him. Batman and Red Robin especially. It’s getting to the stage of very weird. Maybe they figured him out but no…that can’t be the case.

It’s a battle of wills and Damian wins out. Something tells him that this is the easier way out.

“Fine. Yes. Yes I am. Happy.”

“Yes. I’ve one upped one of my associates.”

“Always happy to help. How did you know it was me?”

“Your smile.”

Peter immediately pulls his mask down.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Damian said it so stoically Peter had to laugh.

“Well no more eating in front of anyone while I’m in the mask.”

“I doubt anyone but me could ever find out your secret identity.”

“Going to have to take you down a couple of notches there. Cass found out before you.”

“Bullshit. That’s utter bullshit.”

Peter was enjoying this. He didn’t know Damian was capable of swearing. “Yuh huh.”

He scowls before letting out a puff of breath. “I suppose since it’s Cain it’s allowed.”

“Well I need to get going. Last time I checked I’ve hit the most lampposts. Wanna have one more round, winner takes all?”

“You’re on.”

“Also I know you’re Damian Wayne.”

Damian nearly falls off the building.

🕸️🕷️🕸️

“Ace is not usually like this I apologise.”

Damian had shaken off all his family this morning. After last night he was surprised Father still let him go out. He surprisingly doesn’t regret it. He actually enjoys talking with Peter…and thinks Peter likes him too.

He had brought Ace, Titus and Alfred the cat with him. Alfred had drawn the line at bringing the Bat Cow to the park. More importantly he wouldn’t bring her into the car.

Alfred was going to do his shopping while he was out with Peter. He had spotted Peter immediately as he was the only one at the park. It was four in the evening but he supposed the park was not the nicest one in the world.

It was rumored to hold Killer Croc in its lake but Damian knew that wasn’t true. He knows the reptile prefers the sewers. Although in Gotham, their lakes and sewers look rather similar.

Upon seeing Peter, Ace plonked himself down on Peter and refused to get off him. Peter insisted he was fine. Duchess was on top of Peter head and was looking down upon Alfred. Alfred just cleaned himself on Damian’s lap. Titus was getting the ball thrown to him by Damian.

He was instructed by Father yesterday to tail Spider-Man. He didn’t know how Peter knew where he was. He was completely encased in the shadows. Maybe another session of training with the league was needed.

When asked about this and his powers he only gave a vague answer. When he began to eat, he had lifted up his mask and the dots just clicked into place.

He recognised Dicks smile straight away and there’s only one other person that they know of that could have had that smile. He couldn’t believe it. The one person who was driving their whole family up the wall this month was the same person who they had all claimed as one of their own.

Peter was pretty much perfect for their family. They were told by Cass that Bruce was smitten with Peter and had bought him dinner. Father denied all of it.

Dick had nearly burst a vein. He promptly told. Bruce that he had no rights to his child. Bruce said who said it was even his and if it was how could he have been so stupid. He also told Dick that he would be delighted with Peter as a Grandson. That diffused the big fight. There was still some bickering.

Father then had to be told everything they knew and how Damian was supposed to get a hair from Peter today. Todd had come back for dinner yesterday and told him that the kid had upgraded his motorbike. There were tears in his eyes. He then demanded that Peter must be invited to his Party at the weekend.

He said it would make it far more bearable.

Damian was actually enjoying himself at the park that he didn’t realise that an hour had already passed.

“How old are you?”

“I’m 13 and a half.”

“Cool I’m 15.”

“What school do you got to?” Damian inquired.

“Oh I’m homeschooled. What about you.”

“Gotham Prep. Do you ever get people telling you look like your parent?”

With such little time left he decided to dam tact and go straight for bluntness.

“When I was little everyone said I looked so much like my dad. Why?”

“Everyone tells me I look like my dad in school. I hate it.”

Damian tolerated it to a certain degree. He just wanted to know if Peter thought he looked like Dick or some insight to his backstory.

Peter nods sympathetically. “Must be annoying.”

Before Damian can ask anymore questions a buzz goes off. Alfred says he’s done shopping and is waiting. Damian thinks fast. He still hasn’t gotten the sample.

He likes Peter. He’d go as far to say that he’s on the way to becoming a close acquaintance. He still needs his hair sample and Peter, how does he say this politely…looks like he’s homeless and starving.

“Would you like to come back for dinner?”

Peter looks a bit taken back. “I wouldn’t want to bother.”

“I assure you you wouldn’t.” Damian says with as much conviction as he can.

“No really I should get going.”

“You could come see Bat Cow.”

“There is no way that’s real.”

“Well there’s only one way to find out. Come on. Alfred is waiting.”

Peter bites his lip. Pondering. “If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

“Alright then. I’d love to.”

Thoughts: I don’t know how to feel about this chapter but what’s done is done.

First off, the idea of Peter fixing up Jason’s motorbike came form GinnyNotGinny. I thought it was such a great idea and I was like I need to use it. All credit goes to her for the idea.

All that’s left is for Peter to meet Alfred. I want Peter to meet Alfred outside of the manor. I’ve got an idea for that. Of course he’ll meet Alfred when he gets in the car with Damian but to meet him separately.

Peter gets asked any question about his home life and either A short answer or B I’m homeschooled.

The trio in the shop were done quickly but they will each be getting their own pov along with more time with Peter.

Batman had multiple flashbacks from the last when he saw a kid with wheels. Of course he was going to love Peter straight away.

So I got really confused when writing this chapter on what day we were in so. Peter arrived on the 1st of October it’s now the 1st of November. The school heist will be happening on the 2nd of November and Jason’s Birthday is being celebrated on the 4th. I had to draw up a calendar. It’s official guys I’m invested.

Any suggestions I’d love to hear them. It’s getting late and I’ve got school in the morning. Good night and see you in the next one xxx

Day this was wrote: 13/10/24

[insociometry]

"Some of the guys would honestly probably get off on jacking off on her thighs or something while she ignores them too so there’s always that as an option" ron!hyunjin would be so willing to do this 🛐🛐🛐🛐

(Referencing this ask!)

NSFW, vaguely post-RON/future fic, ~2k words

You’re lying on the couch on your phone when a shadow falls over you. You ignore it, at first; the summer heat is making you sleepy and lazy, and your boys come to check on you near-constantly as they come in and out, lingering and watching you without any participation needed on your part until something clicks in their alpha brains and they leave you be, satisfied.

This doesn’t seem to be that kind of interaction, though. “Hi bunny,” a voice murmurs sweetly, couch cushion deflating with added weight, “I missed you.”

When your eyes flick up, you find Hyunjin, as expected: kneeling between your legs still in his outside clothes, jeans hanging low on his hips and t-shirt sleeves pushed up to his shoulders. His hands hover loosely over your knees, but when you look at him, they lower, thumbs rubbing loose, light circles into your thighs.

His blockers are wearing off, a smoky, urgent tinge of arousal coloring his scent. When you take a cursory peek, you find a telltale bulge in his jeans.

“Hi, Jinnie,” you say back, smiling at the bashful tinge to his grin, the way he bites his lip cutely. “How was your day?”

“Good,” he murmurs, maintaining eye contact even as he bends down, pressing a chaste kiss to the inside of your knee that nonetheless makes your pulse flutter. “Need you.”

As he speaks, his eyes flick down your body — nearly bare, only covered with Jeongin’s t-shirt and a pair of panties, unwilling to dress further in the heat. The house has air conditioning but you like letting the temperature stay a little high when you’re home mostly alone, and even with this level of proximity, you warm fast from his body suspended above you.

It’s obvious what’s on his mind, especially as his big hands take to kneading at your thighs, moving steadily down. He subtly spreads your legs in the process, kissing your knee again, then just a little higher, then again, lowering himself each time. At this rate, he’ll be on his elbows in no time — and he knows it, too, eyes already laser-focused on your panties, pierced tongue swiping quick over his lip.

He’s so sexy, and you consider him thoughtfully. Minho fucked you to exhaustion this morning before his later schedule, and you’re still feeling a little shaky in the legs, but—

Then your phone buzzes, and he loses your attention, just like that. Automatically, as you start to read your new text, you bend your leg to pull it closer to yourself, knocking off Hyunjin’s hand in the process.

He pauses, cocking his head to the side, voice soft. “No?”

You hum, reaching out to pat his arm soothingly. “Sorry, Jinnie,” you say, still looking at your phone, “I’m kind of busy.”

It’s not really a no; you all have your own ways to communicate varying levels of disinterest. But it does mean you’re not about to have a full-on romp on the couch. Hyunjin lets you go, sitting back on his knees, thinking.

“Can I just,” he breathes, and when you look up, you find him just as hard, his scent just as pressing, biting his pretty lip and looking at you with big, pleading eyes. As you watch, he hooks his thumb in his waistband, fingers hovering over the bulge in his jeans. “I won’t bother you, but can I…?”

His eyes flick again down your bare legs. You hum, watching him: his pretty face, the elegant line of his nose, the way his bangs are just long enough to fall into his face again. As you watch, he takes a break from the baby-doll eyes to blow a lock away — which makes you laugh, which makes him laugh, beaming at you crescent-eyed like he isn’t asking to jack off over you.

“If you want,” you shrug, continuing to grin as your eyes drag slow down his body. He shivers at even that much attention, hands clenching into fists on his thighs.

Then you flop over, almost kicking him in the process, and return to your phone. There’s a second’s pause before Hyunjin adjusts with the change, hovering above your knees.

You really do go back to your text conversation, so you’re not paying much attention to the sounds behind you: a zipper and a quiet exhale, the sound of spit and then a wet slide. You’re aware of it, in a vague kind of way — but you’re more focused on looking up noodle restaurants with Mikyung. You think Hyunjin would pout to death if he knew — but then, you guess he does. He’s just so desperate to get off that he doesn’t care.

Some time passes — enough that it startles you when Hyunjin’s hand lands on your thighs again. “Sorry,” he mumbles when you jump, pulling away — but you just shake your head, peeking over your shoulder at him.

“It’s okay,” you say, taking the opportunity to check him out again — oversized shirt bunched up under his arms to get it out of the way, muscular chest and abdomen exposed, jeans unzipped and underwear pulled down, his pretty cock clutched in his fist. It’s red and weeping, and when you lick your lips without thinking, it twitches, more pre-cum dripping pearly down his knuckles.

Then you turn back around and wiggle your butt. “You can touch a little,” you say absently, returning to your screen. “Just not too much, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your tailbone over your shirt before slowly, gently pushing it up. “Thank you.”

You lift to help him bunch it under your waist, exposing your lower back and panties. It’s kind of nice; it’s getting hot quickly with Hyunjin’s body above you and his hand on your skin, settling firm on the small of your back as though to hold you down the way he sometimes does when he fucks you. You arch your back in response as an absentminded, instinctual response. Hyunjin gives you one last kiss — to your shoulder, this time — before returning to his previous spot hovering above your knees.

It’s a little harder to pay absolutely no attention this time, because now that he has permission, Hyunjin is touching you: not excessively, and not even overtly sexually, just the occasional brush of fingers along your thigh, or a hot palm settling above the back of your knee. Still, texts keep coming, so Hyunjin and his lovely hands and lovely cock occupy only a back corner of your mind, even as his pre-cum drips onto your skin, even as little sounds fall from his lips.

It’s taking him a little longer than usual today, made evident by the impatient huff he lets out. Still, his voice when he speaks to you is perfectly sweet and wheedling. “Bunny,” he asks, desperate, nearly shy, “can you talk to me about what you’re up to?”

You glance at him over your shoulder — the sweat on his brow, the pout on his lip, his bangs still falling into his eyes. “It’s really boring,” you say, eyes already straying back to your screen. “Not sexy at all.”

“Everything you say is sexy,” he objects, and you can hear the pout so clearly, even though you aren’t looking at it anymore.

It makes you giggle. “Well, Mikyung wants to hang out soon,” you say absently, “and she has a whole list of places she’s been looking at, so I’ve been looking them up…”

Your voice trails off as a new message comes in. Hyunjin prompts you just a few seconds later, needy and breathless. “Do any look good?”

“They all look good,” you mumble, typing your next message in. “That’s the problem.”

Hyunjin whines at your inattention, but when you continue looking at your phone, he settles down. His hands wander more, though: grabbing at you instead of just touching, taking handfuls of your thighs, kneading at your skin. When he wanders high enough, you jerk — hips jolting up, thighs pressing together. He takes a breath — and at that same moment, you realize, suddenly, that you’re turned on.

It makes sense, you think as you ignore the wandering hands with red cheeks and a bitten lip. A very handsome man that you happen to be in love with is kneeling above you touching you and jerking off. Anyone would be turned on, you decide.

Still, it’s — distracting. Hyunjin never quite goes beyond your ‘not too much’ instruction, but he definitely grows increasingly bold as the scent of your arousal blooms in the air: thumb tucking between your thighs, increasingly high, fingers digging possessively into the flesh, even slipping his fingers under the bottom edge of your panties or grabbing at your ass.

And as a result, it’s harder and harder to focus on your messages. You eventually give in and tell Mikyung your replies might be sporadic, pushing your hips up and back into Hyunjin’s touch. Hyunjin swallows, his scent thick in your throat, hand pushing so high up your leg that it just barely brushes the gusset of your panties.

You gasp, and Hyunjin does, too. “Bunny,” Hyunjin says, raspy and nearly begging, “bunny, can I—”

His hand hovers over your panties, and when you don’t object, he presses his knuckle shallowly into your entrance through the fabric, wet with your slick. You gasp again, head dropping, forehead pressing into the couch — and Hyunjin moans before pulling your underwear to one side and sinking his thumb inside you.

You swallow your moan as best you’re able — but Hyunjin hears it anyway; of course he does. He laughs, breathless and almost disbelieving, the sound of him touching himself growing louder and wetter.

“What about your friend, pretty girl?” he breathes, a teasing, dominant edge creeping over the obedient taffy-pull of him. “I thought you were busy.”

Twisting to glare at him over your shoulder, you say, just as breathless, “And I thought you weren’t going to bother me.”

His thumb crooks inside you like a hook, knocking any thought from your head. His giggle is high and silly, but his voice is dark.

“Is that what I’m doing?” he asks. “Bothering you?��

This time, you don’t bother replying, shakily picking up your phone and unlocking it with the determination that only pure brattiness can supply. Hyunjin laughs again and pulls out of you obligingly, hand leaving you entirely for the first time in a while — only for you to immediately hear the sound of him sticking his thumb in his mouth, sucking on it around a loud, shameless moan.

You’re suitably more distracted for the short period of time it takes for Hyunjin to come, made somehow worse by the fact that he isn’t touching you at all anymore. Instead, you can tell just by the sound that he’s using both hands on himself, and you picture it, because you’ve seen it so many times before: one attending to the head and the other stroking the shaft, wet with his own pre-cum, flushed and thick and pretty. You can picture his expression, the way his brow furrows and his head tosses back, exposing the long line of his neck, his vulnerable throat and bitable Adam’s apple. And you can smell him hurtling towards his peak, especially when you open your mouth to taste it behind your fangs: musky and thick and smoky over that distinct rosy scent, increasingly hot and urgent, making your heartbeat stutter and slick drip down your thighs.

When you’re touching him, you can get Hyunjin so loud it feels like it should be shaking the walls. This time, when it’s just him, he’s quiet; you don’t even realize what that long, drawn out whimper signifies until you feel the hot spill of his come on your thighs.

It’s so much — and it’s always so much, but it surprises you every time, dripping down your skin, pooling where your twitching thighs are pressed tight together. Hyunjin doesn’t even give you the chance to catch your breath before he’s dipping his fingers into his own mess, rubbing it into your skin until you’re absolutely drenched in his scent.

“Mine,” he sighs dreamily, still in that post-orgasm high as he strokes himself a few more times to come down.

And you have a smart reply ready on your tongue — but before you have to chance to actually say it, Hyunjin is yanking your hips up and your panties down, uncaring of the way it makes his still-hot come drip down your legs on its inevitable descent to the cushions below.

“Are you still busy?” he asks, face so close to your now bare pussy that you can feel his breath hot on your skin.

Your pride holds out for about five seconds before you throw your phone to the other side of the couch.

[maxdibert]

The thing that gets me about that one post is where they said Snape *needs* to be straight and white because his reasons for bullying Harry are petty. Like, what does that even mean?? If James truly bullied Snape because he was already a blood purist and death eater like they claim, then what does it matter if he's black and gay? If it really was just a rivalry over Lily's attention, then there shouldn't be a problem right? Why are Snape's actions petty if he's white and straight, but somehow more legitimate when he has a different race and sexual orientation? Is pettiness only a white, straight trait? Are other people not allowed to be petty? Are white, straight people not allowed to be traumatized by bullying? They can only acknowledge it was traumatizing if its done to a marginalized group? Lmao I need their thought processes explained to me.

Yeah, so, there’s something really messed up going on with all this, because what they’re saying has like two layers, two different readings, and both are pretty disturbing if you actually stop and think about it. On the one hand, what they seem to be implying — without saying it directly but definitely suggesting it — is that someone who isn’t white and/or straight can’t do bad things. Like, that’s the takeaway. According to this weird logic, if you make Snape queer and racialized, suddenly nothing he does matters. He could literally be Voldemort, he could turn into a serial killer like Ted Bundy, and somehow he’d still be… untouchable or something, because that’s the unspoken rule. Since he belongs to a historically oppressed group, his actions automatically stop being questionable. And that’s incredibly dangerous, not just because it’s essentialist to the core, but because it basically means you're assigning ethical or moral capacity based on who you sleep with or how you look in the mirror. It's completely fucking absurd on every level.

But the second point is even more fucked up. What’s being implied —almost unconsciously but very clearly— is that if a white, straight, working-class person like Snape is humiliated, bullied, stripped in public, and subjected to systematic psychological abuse during his teenage years by a bunch of rich, powerful kids —because let’s remember, James and Sirius weren’t exactly struggling— then suddenly it doesn’t matter. Apparently, according to these people, that kind of abuse only counts if it happens to someone who fits into a particular identity category they’ve decided is worthy of empathy. In other words, trauma is only valid if the victim is part of an oppressed group. But if the victim is a white, straight dude, then he had it coming, right? Then it’s not bullying, it’s not trauma, it’s not something that could scar you for life or mess you up psychologically.

And that’s where it all becomes a complete mess. Because if we start from the idea that only certain people have the right to be hurt, to suffer, to have trauma, or to react badly to the things that happen to them, then what we’re doing is accepting a worldview that’s incredibly dangerous, one where morality is distributed based on identity categories instead of actions or context. And I’m sorry, but that’s not social justice, and it’s not fighting oppression. That’s just swapping one arbitrary system for another equally unfair one, just dressed up as progressivism.

And finally, what pisses me off the most about all of this is how deeply dehumanizing it is. Because denying someone the capacity to do wrong just because they’re not white or straight is just as absurd as denying someone the capacity to suffer because they are. Both things reduce people to symbols, to archetypes, to puppets in some ideological narrative. And that, to me, is the most dehumanizing thing of all. Because every single one of us has the right to be complex, contradictory, vulnerable and yes, sometimes petty or even cruel. There’s no identity that automatically makes you a better person, and there’s no skin color or orientation that exempts you from doing horrible things or from experiencing horrible things.

So yeah, I’d love for these people to explain their thought process, because either they haven’t thought it through at all, or —if they have— then where it leads is kind of terrifying.

[codywinter-isms]

any anapacody thoughts? headcanons?

So many— WHERE DO I START?!? ❤️💜💚

1. They have blankets. So many blankets. On days where it isn’t too hot and when they just feel like snuggling, the three make a pallet in the floor and nap for hours on end (it’s barely an hour but Pat stresses that it feels like more)

2. Ananya is always coming up with new, random hobbies. One time she showed up with a bunch of fabric and told Cody that she wanted to make a tapestry to hang. Cody helped her with all the supplies-organizing and Pat hung the (horrendously ugly) finished product once it was finally ‘complete’ aka the ends weren’t totally frayed and falling apart.

3. Cody still doesn’t share a bed with AnaPat. Hence the pallet-naps when they can pull it off. Something like still needing their own space, what with still being on the fence about being a full-on ‘throuple.’

4. Cody talks about AnaPat to Jean… a lot. Just passing comments, almost always good. And in doing so they ‘accidentally’ opened the door for Jean to speak up about Jeremy more, and between you and me: Cody makes sure to tag every ‘Jeremy-fixated’ text that Jean sends.

5. Pat is the most short-tempered. But he has very good self control and when he doesn’t, Ananya is there to rein him in and Cody is there to carefully pat (lol) his back after her scolding. Ananya can be vicious when needed, fyi.

6. Cody knows that they want to take it to the next step with AnaPat but to be honest, fear still stands in the way… and they know they have very many steps to go. It’s a process.

7. Anapacoday & Catlaila have a bet going for when Jerejean finally get together. The only ones that still consider it an ‘if’ and not a ‘when’ are Pat and Laila, but the rest urge them to “have more faith in the sexy frenchman.”

I love answering asks on here so thank you!!!

[merrybloomwrites]

When The Wolves Come Out (Chapter 11)

Story Summary: When Y/N gets hired to play drums for One Direction, the last thing she expects is to find herself as part of their pack. Especially since it seems that they don’t want her there. Only time will tell if they’ll accept her, or if the omega will have to deal with rejection from the others.

Chapter Summary: The post concert incident leads to a situation you never saw coming.

Word Count: 2.1K

CW/tags: omega verse, omega reader, alpha Harry, alpha Zayn, alpha Louis, beta Niall, beta Liam, poly, omega drop

Previous chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten

AN: Thought of another twist and couldn’t resist adding it. Sorry 🙃

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours.

That’s how long you remain in the drop. Two long hours, during which you’re unaware of what’s happening around you.

After placing you carefully in Zayn’s arms, Louis distances himself, leaving the back room and heading to the small kitchenette in the front of the bus so that his current emotions won’t negatively affect you. He trusts Harry and Zayn to remain calm and take care of you. Niall stays with you as well.

It’s Liam who follows the alpha, wondering what’s wrong, unaware of what happened.

“Lou,” the beta says cautiously. “What’s going on?”

“There was an alpha,” Louis growls. “Cornered her. Made advances. I could feel her fear. And he just- He wouldn’t let her go.”

“But you got there in time?”

“Yes.”

“And then she dropped?”

“No.”

“Louis-”

“The fans. The people who say they love us. They were out there shouting horrible comments at her. Calling her all sorts of horrible things. I don’t understand how they could be so cruel. It was all just too much. Y/N dropped right before we got on the bus. I stayed calm but I am enraged. I want to go back out there and rip that alphas throat out. And. Well obviously I don’t want to hurt the fans. But it would feel nice to yell at them. Tell them how hurtful they were being.”

Liam doesn’t say anything, processing the situation while Louis continues to pace and wear out his angry energy. Finally, the alpha flops onto a chair, letting out a loud sigh.

“I want to keep her safe,” he says softy.

“You did. You did everything you could. Got her away from the alpha. Got her back to the bus. There’s not much any of us can do about unruly fans. Think we figured that out a while ago,” Liam says.

“I know. I got used to whatever they threw at us. But I hate it being directed at her. She doesn’t deserve that. She’s being called names because of us. It’s not right.”

Slowly, carefully, Liam kneels on the ground next to Louis. The older man places a hand on the other's neck, a position that brings them both comfort. For the alpha, it’s a safe way to express dominance, allowing Louis to gain a sense of control. The beta finds it comforting, his alpha accepting and caring for him.

They stay that way until Niall walks in and says, “Lou, the others are asking for you.”

“Y/N’s up?” Louis asks, his voice hopeful.

“Sorry, no. Not yet. Zayn and Harry want to talk to you,” Niall answers.

With a nod and one final squeeze to the beta, Louis gets up. Niall stops him as he passes, pulling him in for a quick reassuring kiss. It soothes the alpha enough that he’s calm when he gets back to you.

Harry has you in his lap now, and Zayn is rubbing his wrist against yours, using the glands there to help douse you in his scent.

The two men look up as Louis enters, and he asks, “How is she?”

“Calm,” Harry answers. “She was a little restless at first but she’s better now. I think she’s past the fear and into the resting and refreshing stage of the drop.”

“Good. That’s good. Niall said that you wanted to talk to me?”

“We’re worried,” Zayn states. “This isn’t good for her health. Mental or physical.”

“I know.”

“What do we do?” Harry asks.

“That I don’t know,” Louis replies. “Let’s just finish the last couple of shows. Maybe during the break she can see a doctor, talk to a therapist, figure out if there’s anything that can help her handle this type of career.”

“You think going to a doctor is going to help stop alphas being creeps and fans being rude?” Zayn asks, a touch of accusation in his voice.

“No of course not! We can’t control the actions of other people, but we can increase security to keep her safe.”

They sit in silence and Louis quietly adds. “We’ll figure this out. It might take some work, but, we’ll just, we’ll figure it out.”

He wishes he could explain it better, but honestly he’s exhausted. It’s the middle of the night, he’s stressed and tired, the bus is moving in a rocking motion that makes him just want to lay down and sleep. But he can’t. Not until you come up and he’s sure you’re okay.

A few minutes later you breathe a deep sigh, so different from the even breaths of the last two hours that they all turn to watch you. Slowly you begin to shift until finally your eyes open.

“Hey there,” Zayn says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Early morning, nearly 2,” Harry replies.

“Great. I’m going to sleep,” you state.

“I’m sure you’re exhausted,” Louis says. “Should we all lay down here?”

“No, I’m going to my bunk,” you reply, confusing the others. They honestly can’t remember the last time you slept in your bunk, always back here with at least one other pack member. But they don’t stop you, letting you stand, reaching out just in case you’re a little unsteady. You ignore the arms outstretched towards you and head to the bathroom before crawling into your bunk.

You don’t sleep, instead laying there and listening to the others all make their way to their own bunks. Your mind is busy, swirling with thoughts of what happened earlier and the conversation you had overheard as you came up from your drop.

What had happened after the concert was bad enough. But the alphas thinking you need medical attention? Therapy?

So they do think you’re weak. That something is wrong with you. And they’re probably right. You love performing, but you have to admit, there are other ways to live. Ones that won’t leave you drained, constantly running on empty. Maybe it’s time for a career change.

You’re sure the boys would support you; they care about you and your health. It might take some extra planning, but it could probably work.

With a potential solution in mind you feel better. There are only a few days left of the tour. You can make it through that and then figure things out from there.

You eventually fall asleep thinking that everything will be okay.

You’re less sure of that when you wake up to an email telling you that you’ll be meeting with Simon Cowell. Face to face, one on one. It’ll be the first time you’re meeting him like this since your first day on the job months ago. This time you truly have no idea what to expect.

When the boys ask where you are going you reply, “To a meeting.” And when they ask for details you just say, “Not sure. Probably a performance review or discussion of my contract since the tour is ending.”

You leave the bus and enter the car that’s waiting for you. Thankfully Paul is driving you, so you have a friendly face. It’s a short drive and soon you arrive at an office building. Following the instructions you’ve been given, you make your way inside and upstairs.

It’s weird sitting across a desk from Simon again. The energy is not good, and your anxiety starts to rise.

“I’m going to say something that I don’t often say,” he begins. You don’t answer, instead watching him expectantly.

“I made a mistake. I thought bringing you in would be a help to the boys. But unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be happening.”

Now you’re confused.

“But it has been good for them. They’ve learned how to care for an omega, care about me. They’ve really opened up and I’ve seen them grow.”

“And that’s all well and good. But unfortunately, adding you to the band, and to the pack, will be a detriment to their careers.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Ratings are suffering. People are leaving the fandom. With you there, they no longer get to imagine it will be them that’s chosen to be the final piece of One Direction. The boys are no longer desirable. You are hurting their career. Everything they’ve worked towards.”

It knocks the air out of you. Because it makes sense. The fans were angry last night. They hate you. Having you there is dragging the boys down.

And who are you to wreck the empire they’ve spent years creating? How selfish would you be if you let your feelings destroy all the time and energy they’ve put into this band?

“You understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” you reply in a quiet voice.

“So you understand why I'm not offering you a new contract after this one ends on Friday?”

“Yes.”

“And why it would be in everyone’s best interest if you broke off your relationship?”

Finding it hard now to breathe, you just nod yes to show you understand.

“I know this will be difficult, but it’s the right choice. Here is your new flight information. You’ll be traveling back to New Jersey on Saturday morning. Your belongings will be shipped to you. Do you need us to arrange a car home from the airport?”

“No. I’ll call someone.”

“Excellent. Contact Ryan if you have any questions about the logistics.”

You nod once again.

“Y/N, it has been a pleasure working with you. Truly, you are a very talented drummer. If you ever need a reference for a new job please reach out and we will happily recommend you.”

“Thank you,” you hear yourself say.

In a daze you make your way back to the car.

“Is there any way I can stop at a cafe or something? I could use a little time before going back to the bus,” you ask Paul.

“Of course. There’s one a couple blocks away,” he says and begins driving. Once there he comes in with you, but gives you space, just remaining nearby to keep an eye on you.

On auto pilot, you order a coffee and find a seat in a back corner, needing some time alone to think through everything. One thing is for sure. You will do anything to protect the boys. You want them to be happy and successful. As painful as it will be, you know that leaving is the best choice.

But you can’t do a goodbye. Maybe that’s selfish, but you know they’ll fight you on this decision. That they’ll beg you to stay. And that will just hurt you more.

You pull out the notebook and pen you always keep in your bag and begin to write. A letter may never truly capture everything you want to say to them, but this is the best you can think to do. When you finish writing you somehow feel better, and also one hundred times worse. Reality sinks in. You’re leaving. In just a few days, you’ll separate from them for good.

But you still have a few days. And no one is stopping you from enjoying them, soaking in the last bit of time you have. So you put a smile on your face and head over to Paul, asking him to take you back to the bus.

Of course, the next few days fly by. The concerts are amazing, and you mourn the fact that you won’t be performing again. At least, not for a while. You have no idea when you’ll get to be back on stage, if ever. And that’s just another reason why this whole situation sucks.

There’s a party after the final show, and you lower your inhibitions, dancing the night away with the boys. Back at the hotel you all pile in bed, exchanging heated kisses. If things were different, this would be the night you’d go all the way with them.

But you can’t do that. Not to them, since you’d feel like you were using them. And not to yourself. You can’t open yourself up, experience what it’d be like to truly connect with them, only to leave them the next day. Better not to know what you’re missing out on.

You barely sleep, not wanting to miss a moment of the little time you have left. You sneak items from each of them into your bag, knowing you’ll want their scents around for at least a little while to ease the pain.

All too soon, the sun starts to rise and it’s time for you to leave. Carefully, so gently as to not wake anyone, you lean and press a kiss to each of them. Before you can even comprehend what this means, you quickly grab your bags and force yourself out of the room, leaving behind the people you love, and the future you thought you had.

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AN: Honestly, who wrote this angst, because I didn’t even know I could write angst but this just flowed out in about 2 hours total

taglist: @luxiorchive

[winterinsept]

caleb drabble 01.

the sunlight that hit your face woke you up, a sure sign that you should probably get up and get ready for the day. you let out a yawn as you stretched and got out of the shared bed and walked over to the bathroom.

when you opened the door to the bathroom, you caught sight of your blue toothbrush in caleb’s hand. he glanced at you through the bathroom mirror, quickly rinsing the foam of toothpaste from his mouth.

“did you need something?”

“no, but… why aren’t you using your toothbrush?”

“mine’s charging. i figured to use yours for now,”

you stood there frozen for a few minutes trying to process what you just heard: him using your toothbrush just because he was charging his? sure, you share many things with caleb, but it never occurred to you that one day he’d use your toothbrush too.

“you do know that you can still use it, right? it’s still a toothbrush…”

“well, yeah, but it just, doesn’t feel the same.”

caleb rinsed your toothbrush and handed it to you.

“it’s not like we don’t share our things, y’know.”

“you could’ve at least asked before using it…”

he simply chuckled and gently pat your head.

“relax, pipsqueak. just don’t let anyone else share it with you. i can’t have you sharing yourself with anyone else that isn’t me.”

you felt the heat rush to your cheeks and heard caleb’s chuckle grow louder by your embarrassment. he simply shrugged and left the bathroom, leaving you stood there with the toothbrush in hand, knowing that you’ll never find anyone else just like him.

divider by @kodaswrld! all i got for this was ‘caleb toothbrush’ WHAHAHAHA

[archivewriter1ont]

Thoughts on Echo as a Senator

I’ve seen a ton of people saying the Fives would be the perfect representative of the clones in an AU where Order 66 was forestalled and the clones were able to obtain rights and a Senate seat, etc… but I actually think he’s the wrong Domino twin to assume this role. I think the perfect, most willing and capable person to represent the clones would be Echo.

Note: I’m still working my way through certain seasons of TCW, so bear with me on this… I might update this post later based on new observations. (I’m stopping the analysis at the end of the TCW Bad Batch arc because the only way I see Echo actually becoming a senator is if Order 66 was stopped by the clones and the Jedi.)

In the Clone Cadets episode when Echo and Fives go to Shaak Ti to ask for a transfer, Fives doesn’t say very much because Echo is the one taking the lead. Echo is the one advocating for himself and his brother. As much as he doesn’t want his squad to fail as a whole, he definitely doesn’t want Fives to get stuck on Kamino as a ‘defect’ and he doesn’t want to, either. He’s willing to go above their trainers’ heads and speak directly to the Jedi (who the clone may or may not be very fond of at the point depending on what they’ve been taught on Kamino, because there’s no way Shaak could have personally interacted with every single trooper) in charge, demonstrating a resolve and sense of justice that required him to do something regardless of how effective his request might be.

In Rookies, Echo isn’t the first to speak to Cody and Rex when they arrive after the attack, but he is the one who tried to share helpful information that would have kept his brothers safe and displayed sorrow for Cutup when they didn’t listen. (The sergeant also looked to Echo first for information after the attack and didn’t really have anything to say to him while chastising the others at the beginning, so that’s something, too.) He speaks up to answer Rex’s questions, and though he still shows concern later on when they retake the base because he doesn’t want to lose any more of his squad, he’s the first to present the liquid tibanna as a way to even the odds (a plan that while a bit crazy, was formulated quickly and logically and ultimately succeeded).

In On the Wings of Keeradaks, not only does Echo push himself to the brink as soon as he’s out of that stasis chamber in order to help his siblings, most of whom he has never met, escape the Techno Union, he turns the results of how his captors butchered his body into their escape plan by hacking the systems and plotting their way out. There are so many more things in this episode that I could include in this list, but the main one that comes to mind is how Echo reacts when Rex points at him and says look what they did to my brother. He doesn’t cower back, ashamed to let his scars and trauma be seen – he steps forward. At this point he has been starved and enslaved, saddled with eternal medical, physical, and spiritual trauma, and yet instead of sitting down to process his own pain this man walks forward on legs that are a representation of how he was mutilated and hurt, baring a chest that’s scarred and caving in from the torment he’s endured, to present himself as a warning of what will happen to others if action isn’t taken, as a prophet of what evil exists hidden beyond the sheen of compliance most people don’t want to peek past. 

Can I say anything about Unfinished Business that isn’t abundantly clear? Echo pushed himself to the limit again, trying to prove his loyalty but also doing his best to protect Rex and, unbeknownst to him, his newfound squad. He almost fries himself in Tambor’s ship and then leaves everything he’s ever known, the only close brother he has left, to help where he can (plus he gets four new brothers out of the deal but still, that’s a major sacrifice).

Basically, I love Echo to death and think HE is actually the one who would do best in representing the clones in the Senate, because he is...

Selfless

Loyal

Determine

A Leader.

This wasn’t supposed to be so long but oh well.