#This has me unnecessarily irritated

[thetardisisnotourdivision]

So hhow would you like us to perform Shakespeare, sir? Mouthing it? Sign language? Interpretive dance? Oh, you mean you're a pretentious gatekeeping snob who thinks Shakespeare was some aristocratic literary genius. The man was the son of a glove maker and the actors would have been working class, some of them will have been foreigners (I know, shocking, right?), and you're saying they wouldn't have had strong accents - because that's what you mean, isn't it? Give me a break. Go do your research, you idiot, and then you can write stupid articles about Shakespeare.

[makedamnsvre]

'no love' from barriers is sooo dean and rory in gilmore girls

[deebris]

From annoying to beloved

Homelander x fem!Reader

Synopsis: The new member of the Seven annoys Captain Patria with their habit of doodling in the corners all the time, but he didn't expect to end up liking it.

During the fourth season, it can be read as both romantic and platonic.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of murder, the reader has the power to control plasma, fluffy.

The reader is also kind of anxious.

Word count: 2.9k

"You gotta be fucking kidding with me." Homelander interrupted abruptly upon hearing snores in the room. "Is Noir sleeping?"

"Mmhmm," Firecracker murmured in agreement, but the masked superhero jolted awake when The Deep kicked his chair.

"Oh, shit! Sorry, guys." Black Noir straightened up, while the Captain shook his head in disbelief, unable to fathom what he had just witnessed.

"Ah, what the fuck." The blonde furrowed his brows, eyes darting around the room quickly, then fixing on a specific point when something else caught his attention. He had noticed you earlier with a notebook and pencil, but now you're not writing but drawing. The irritating sound of the graphite scraping against the paper had been bothering him for some time, but he had tried to ignore it, assuming as a newcomer you were taking notes.

He wouldn't lie. Though he found taking notes utterly stupid, he liked to think someone was that focused on what he said. Not that he needed it, just opening his lips and everyone would be watching him. But as if that weren't enough, he finally realized you were dressed in regular civilian clothes.

"Radiance, where's your suit?" He asked slowly, but angrily. "Can't anyone do anything right around here?"

You finally tore your attention from the paper, meeting Homelander gaze directly. It's not that you weren't paying attention—in fact, you were, maybe more than anyone else there. It was easier to absorb things while doodling, a way to calm your nerves. Well, that or rubbing your sweaty fingers together until they hurt.

No one ever understood. Even back in school, your parents used to receive complaints about you drawing during class, no matter how high your grades were or the fact that you were the top student.

This was your first meeting with the Seven, and the last thing you wanted was to give the impression of being careless or not caring about being there. It could be said that one of the best days of your life was yesterday when Vought sent you a notice, letting you know that the greatest superhero of all had personally chosen you to join the team. After so many "retarded" - in his words - he had been forced to accept into the Seven, Homelander saw in you, above all, the opportunity to make up for Firecracker's ridiculous weakness.

When Ashley began talking about your powers, he had no doubt the last spot was yours. It was simply brilliant. Who the hell would have imagined someone would have powers to control a state of matter? You could maneuver fire, generate electrical discharges, disrupt magnetic fields, and damn it, you could split atoms as if slicing butter.

Vought's scientists said they didn't know if it was possible, but you could destroy the damn out of a star one day. Homelander wasn't a science guy, but in one of his moments of boredom, he got curious and did some research. He didn't even know that plasma crap was all that, he thought it was a cell thing or whatever.

He always thought someone with a power as peculiar as yours, and at your age, would be arrogant or just plain dumb. But you were actually the complete opposite. You didn't speak unnecessarily, and while you seemed very aware of your own actions, you had no clue how powerful you were, or perhaps ignored that fact. The blonde thought you were an idiot for it, but he appreciated the inferiority you submitted to, especially in relation to himself.

"I don't have one, sir," you replied to his question, feeling small with everyone looking.

"What the hell?" He continued, focusing on you with incredulous voice, he couldn't believe it. How did someone end up here without even having a superhero suit?

The truth was, you had never been part of any team before, nor had you received any sponsorship during your life, or even attended Godolkin University. The only thing you had were your powers, which were indeed impressive. You never chased after any position, nor were you ever obsessed with being a famous superheroine, but lately you thought it would be a good adventure to radicalize your life. That's when you applied to join the Seven.

"How do you have a name and not have a fucking suit?" He asked, boiling with anger, fists clenching tightly behind his back.

"They gave me a name when I filled out the application," you answered honestly. That day, after they chose to call you Radiance, a random and easily commercial name, you couldn't complain much and didn't want to bother, so you left it at that.

"You'll be introduced as an official member of the Seven tomorrow, how do you not have a suit?" He took his hands off his back, moving them as he spoke to express his confusion, and for a few moments you followed it movement like a child who can't keep their attention on anything for long. "Who's handling your marketing?"

You couldn't answer, so you stayed silent and no one else dared to say a word either. You had no idea who was handling your marketing, not knowing you should even have that. You glanced quickly around the table, perhaps seeking some kind of help for the situation, but everyone looked down when they realized you were staring at them. They were enjoying themselves, and that made you exhale through your nose in embarrassment.

"You know what? Fuck it, doesn't matter." Homelander brought his fingers to his furrowed forehead, letting out a loud sigh as he calmed down. "Just... don't show up like this in public until someone gives you a suit."

"Yes, sir," you replied tensely, relieved that he had resolved the matter.

Sister Sage widened her eyes in relief when she finally saw the superhero sitting beside her. She opened her mouth to begin speaking, as she had intended from the beginning, but when some sound was about to come out of her mouth, Homelander spoke to you again, this time pointing an accusatory finger at you:

"And stop drawing, damn it," he ordered, causing you to slowly drop the pencil on the table, as if caught doing something wrong with the weapon of the crime in hand. You stared at your lap throughout the entire meeting, embarrassed for messing everything up on your first day.

When the meeting ended, you followed most people out of the room, but stopped nearby in one of the hallways. You slid down the wall, crouching in a hidden corner, and lightly tapped the sketchbook against your forehead in annoyance.

"Stupid," you murmured softly to yourself. It was so ridiculous, yet it embarrassed you so much. Maybe this first day wasn't so bad after all. You would have plenty of time to prove your worth to everyone, no need to dwell on this situation. Even though you had been corrected in front of some of the most iconic supers by Homelander himself, this situation could be overcome. It was thinking about it that kept you from letting the burning tears fall.

"I can hear you whining," Homelander voice made you jump to your feet, startled to be caught once again doing something you shouldn't. He didn't seem happy, and his expression was so intimidating that you felt like Mariah Carey performing for a crowd of Eminem fans.

He approached you in slow steps and you held the sketchtebook protectively to your chest, as if that could protect you from something. He glanced down to briefly see the object in your hands and looked at you with disgust.

"If you don't straighten up, I'll kick you out. Got it?" Everything about him exuded threat. Maybe if he weren't so imposing and powerful, that sentence would have sounded a bit like the janitor from your old school scolding you for spending too much time in the bathroom during class.

You were paralyzed standing there and all you could do was a nod. But your gesture made him more aggressive.

"Answer with your mouth. Are you mute or something?" And there he was, hands behind his back again. He seemed to enjoy that pose.

"I won't mess up, sir," you said, swallowing your saliva.

"And get rid of that. Or burn it, do whatever, just get rid of it. And I better not see you with that again," he said referring to your notebook, walking away faster than before. "These kids..." you heard him mutter distantly.

After that happened, you didn't destroy the sketchtebook, but you were afraid of being caught and kept it safely tucked away in the back of a drawer in your room. What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't feel, right? You mentally made a promise to yourself not to use it anywhere else but here, to avoid causing more trouble.

It's been a week since you've been with the Seven, and several strange things have happened. You quickly realized that Homelander wasn't the pristine and merciful hero everyone believed him to be. But the truth was that deep down you already expected that. Everything about heroes always seemed too perfect and pure, there had to be a catch. Despite everything, you still remained yourself, never intentionally hurting anyone or getting involved in murders and conspiracies.

You were comfortable helping out with some minor crimes that Vought sent you to solve, but by now you suspected that sooner or later Homelander would ask you to do some of his atrocities. It was still hard to think about how to feel about it, but you weren't naive, you were already mentally preparing to submit to it or else be killed.

During that time, as you adjusted and interacted with the team, it didn't go unnoticed by Homelander that you were drawing on your own hand, or on napkins and on random sheets you found lying around, even though you hadn't shown up with your sketchtebook again. This was starting to wear on his last nerve, but he tried to ignore it. As long stayed as you were, without asking too many questions and obedient, he made an effort to continue overlooking your makeshift drawings.

"Meeting's over," the blond suddenly declared, interrupting another of the Seven's weekly gatherings while cutting off The Deep's rambling about his ideas.

"But I haven't even talked about the flying shark yet," he tried to defend himself.

"Shut up," Homelander's voice rang out sternly in the room, issuing a warning that the man promptly obeyed.

"Right. Meeting's over." Ashley nervously moved to gather the portfolios on the new soda advertisement she had come to present, but as soon as she touched the first folder, specifically the A-Train one, the superhero exploded in rage:

"Ashley! Get out!" She immediately dropped the folder in place and hurried out in her heels, unable to run in them. "All of you! Get out of here."

Everyone got up from their chairs, even you, and filed out through the front door, leaving the folders on the table. Sister Sage hesitated, thinking she might be an exception, but when his scowl deepened, she understood she should leave too.

With the room empty, Captain Patria took a few minutes to admire the view from the tower. He enjoyed staring at it sometimes, even when bored.

"Bunch of idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head in denial, indignant. If he had to spend one more minute with these morons, he would have a heart attack, even though that was technically impossible for him.

He threw his cape back as he turned to leave, looking down and not focusing on anything in particular. But his eyes caught something different from the other folders. It was obviously yours, with a huge drawing covering the text and images printed on it.

That was the first time he actually saw something you had scribbled. And damn, it was perfect. It was a drawing of everyone in the room, with him in the center looking angry. Just as he was. His ego flared up as he noticed that his figure was more detailed than the others'. You must have started drawing him first, hence had more time to detail him. The idea of you making him the main focus of this particular drawing made his pupils dilate. He used his super hearing to check if anyone else was around and secretly took that sheet for himself.

The next time he saw you drawing in the Seven's room, he couldn't help but wonder if you were drawing him again. As soon as he noticed you sneakily reaching for a pen that belonged to Ashley, he looked in your direction. The noise that used to annoy him now sparked curiosity. And after staring at you for so long, it didn't take long for you to look back at him too. The blond thought you would be embarrassed, like most people, but you just grinned as if you were used to being caught looking. And indeed, you were.

You began drawing Homelander more frequently when you realized he never caught you watching him. It was easier and avoided awkward situations with other people. After two whole weeks of drawing him continuously while taking advantage of this freedom, you felt capable of drawing his face without even needing to see a photo, having memorized most of his distinctive features.

Well, it seems he's finally noticed you.

Sometimes, when alone in your room, you took out your sketchbook and started practicing the memory of his facial features you had developed. Just like every other time, you became absorbed in the drawing, focusing only on the voices around you to understand what was being said. This was also a way to keep yourself engaged during conversations, so you wouldn't get restless from being still while being a mere spectator of everything. After all, you never participated much or gave opinions; Deep already did enough for two.

The meeting had already ended, but you stayed in your chair, even as everyone else left, to finish just a part of the hair. You thought no one would mind, and then you would leave as usual, but a voice caught you by surprise:

"Can I take a look?" Homelander asked, for the first time, using a gentle voice beside you. His expression was enigmatic, somewhat relaxed, and shy at the same time.

You turned the stack of post-it notes, also taken from Ashley, for him to see what you had drawn, fearing what he would say. You weren't ashamed of drawing people, much less of them catching you doing it. You feared because he found your habit annoying.

He observed the drawing, seeing his posture from the side, upright and imposing. He wondered if you drew him exactly as you saw him, or if it was just another caricature of reality, like those Photoshopped pictures spread around. He looked much better than he imagined, though he had that superiority complex that made him see himself as a god.

For a moment, he was offended to see his image stamped on such despicable things as scraps of paper and these damn post-it notes. Your fingerprints were also visible stains, and the paper was slightly wrinkled from his sweat. He had noticed that sometimes you drew calmly, as if you had all the time in the world, and other times it was like drawing on a boat in a storm. Today seemed to be the latter situation.

"Do you like drawing me?" He glanced at you.

"I do," you shrugged. That was the simplest and most truthful answer you could give. "Sorry, I won't do it anymore," you said, thinking he was bothered by it.

"Why?" He ignored your apology.

"You're drawable... I guess," you stared at the table, not understanding the flow of the conversation.

"And what the fuck does that mean?" He asked in a louder voice, turning to face you, obviously confused. "Is this some artistic shit?"

"It's just that you're easy to draw because you have unusual characteristics. It's a good thing," was your answer, and it inflated his chest with narcissistic pride. Unusual, that's what you said, but to him, it was like being called extraordinary.

"Next time you draw me, try using a sketchbook," he said sternly, pretending to reject your work, but deep down, he just didn't want to show that he really liked it. That statement was his way of encouraging you to continue, but at the same time, it was so ironic, considering he got mad at you just when you were drawing him in the sketchtebook that day.

"But you asked me to get rid of mine," you said simply, your voice dwindling with each word of the sentence, not wanting him to find out that you had never thrown it away.

"I'll get you a new one," he said dismissively, taking the entire stack of post-it notes with him, including the drawing, as if you wouldn't notice.

[euthymiya]

flu season (aka wrio’s nightmare) — ft. wriothesley

wriothesley finds flu season utterly dreadful when he’s banned from visiting you in the infirmary. you say it’s for his own good, but he thinks he’s never been worse ; or—a short drabble based on this post

before you read: fem reader ; fortress nurse reader ; grumpy and drama queen wriothesley ; established relationship ; suggestiveness ; reader sits on his lap ; banter and fluff

Wriothesley is sulking.

You know it before you hear it from the other inmates—mostly because you know him well enough by now, but mainly because Sigewinne’s concerned comments about the guy have made it abundantly clear that he’s not his normal self. You feel a little bad, considering it’s your doing and all, but it’s for his own good along with the functions of the fortress.

Unfortunately, it’s not so good for the other inmates, it seems. You seem to hear a new rumor every day.

His grace has confiscated credit coupons from me for being late to my shift!

Yesterday, I heard his grace joined a pankration tournament. He was in such a sour mood, twelve participants dropped out before it even began out of fear!

Have you seen his grace lately? He seems rather…tense.

Finally, for the sake of everyone’s sanity as much as your own, you decide to pay him a visit. The only person who can fix this issue is the cause of it in the first place—you.

“Wriothesley,” you say tiredly, walking into his office as he taps a pen against his desk irritably while he reads over documents. “This madness needs to end—don’t be such a baby.”

“Why, hello to you too, dear lady of mine,” he grumbles, “it’s lovely to see you as well, I too have really missed you. Would you care for a cup of tea?”

You stifle a snort at his grumpiness, coming forward to cup his cheeks and lean down to plant a path of soft, lingering kisses across his forehead.

“There. You have my attention. Cheered up now?”

“No,” he grunts. He’s lying, of course. He’s significantly loosened his rigid posture and melted under your touch quite a bit, but his arms have crossed in an effort to stay firm.

This time, you really do giggle—he sends you an offended glare in response.

“This is for your own good, Wrio.”

“I think I’m considerably capable enough to handle a light cold if I happen to catch one,” he raises a brow, “I’ve been banned from visiting my own girlfriend.”

“It’s flu season, you know,” you hum, stroking back a few strands of messy hair from his forehead, “I could never, in good conscience, let the duke allow himself to get sick! That would set the fortress back quite a bit in paperwork.”

“Perhaps my girlfriend just doesn’t want to see me,” he huffs, “perhaps she’s grown tired of me. How unfortunate for my poor heart.”

“Oh, Wrio, you dramatic thing!” You swat at his shoulders, and the slightest ghost of a smile tugs at the corners his lips before they pull into a frown again forcefully.

You smile knowingly at the beginning cracks in his resolve.

“Don’t you miss me? Even just a little?” He slumps against your body, burying his face into your shirt and wrapping his arms around your waist as you run your fingers through his hair. He shivers when your nails scratch gently at the nape of his neck.

“I do,” you hum, “of course I miss your routine little visits in the middle of my working hours. But that doesn’t change my decision—it’s flu season and the infirmary is filled with flu patients. You’ll stay out as much as you can help it, understood?”

“Fine,” he deflates.

“And quit taking out your grumpiness on the poor inmates. You’re giving them an unnecessarily hard time.”

“I’m not,” he protests, “I’m simply keeping them in line. It’s my job to—”

“Wriothesley,” you warn.

He clicks his teeth and sighs in frustration. “It’s ridiculous that they can visit the infirmary whenever they please and I can’t!”

You chuckle and bring his face to tilt towards you, leaning closer and kissing along his cheeks, pressing a peck to the tip of his nose before you hover over his lips. His breath hitches for a moment, leaning in slightly on instinct only to curl his lips in a slight pout (though he’d never admit it) when you keep him in place with a firm grip on his face.

“But if you don’t get sick,” you murmur lowly, kissing the corner of his mouth, “then you won’t be too tired for after-hour activities once I leave the infirmary for the night. Don’t you think?”

He swallows thickly at the implications, weighing your words in his head for a moment before deciding there’s some merit to them. You almost want to roll your eyes at the simplicity of his mind sometimes.

His hands grab your hips and pull you to take a seat on his lap, burying his head into your neck as he mumbles, “I suppose that’s a valid point.”

“If you’re nicer,” you trace a finger along his bicep, earning a shiver from him, “and don’t give the poor prisoners a hard time, I could think of a way or two to help you let your frustrations out.”

“Oh?” He grins into your neck, pressing a hot kiss or two against the skin, “what an enticing offer, dear nurse. You really care for my wellbeing, it seems.”

“I do,” you roll your eyes fondly, shaking your head. Finally, you climb off his lap—much to his dismay, of course, making his shoulders droop as you abruptly cut off his (very) limited moment of attention for the day, “so do me a favor and don’t make my job any harder than it has to be.”

“Can I at least swing by during your lunch hour—”

“No.”

He groans in defeat behind you as you giggle and turn, swiftly leaving his office.

My teensy weensy drama queen baby :(

[sokuroo]

in the spirit of matrimony.

summary — iwaizumi hajime is getting married, and you and your ex, oikawa tooru, must pretend you’re still together to avoid ruining his big day. the charade, however, proves to be a lot more complicated than you thought.

pairing — oikawa tooru x fem!reader genres — romance, angst; exes to lovers, fake dating!au word count — 3.0k

warnings — profanity, alcohol consumption author’s note — please excuse the writing, it is wildly inconsistent, and most of it feels like i wrote through a fever dream 😭 a little bit of info on some terms used: an izakaya is a type of informal japanese bar; oshibori is a wet towel offered at dining places used to clean one’s hands before eating; otoshi is an appetizer offered at izakaya

Oikawa Tooru is currently using the shower in your hotel room, and you are running late for dinner with Iwaizumi Hajime because of this.

You sit on the plush armchair in the corner of the room, picking at the raised swirls and curlicues embroidered on the cushion. You’re supposed to be meeting with Iwaizumi for dinner in fifteen minutes, but Oikawa seems to be taking his own sweet time getting ready. You can’t say you’re surprised. 

Irritated? Yes.

When he finally bursts out of the bathroom, looking like a Louis Vuitton model, you simply grab your purse and hotel card, and stride out the door without a second glance. Oikawa Tooru isn’t worth your time or energy—for now.

He catches up with you quickly—volleyball legs, and all that—and you can smell his perfume: Cremo spice and black vanilla. You hate the fact that you remember; you’d rather not, but he hasn’t changed the scent in five years and it’s always the little things that are the hardest to forget. In his black button down shirt and with his hair styled carefully with gel, Oikawa definitely looks attractive. He knows it, too, probably, and it gives you a twisted sort of satisfaction knowing that he can’t go about flirting with every person who catches his eye.

He simply cannot, because as far as Iwaizumi Hajime is concerned, you and Oikawa are still together.

“Don’t forget,” you mutter, just low enough that only he can hear you.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves his hand dismissively before tucking it back into his pocket. “It’s just Hajime. Don’t worry.”

You bite back a sigh. It would do you no good to appear so visibly vexed—and it would cause Hajime to worry unnecessarily, which does a lot more harm to everyone involved. The only thing you want him to be worried about is wedding preparations and becoming a husband in three days. 

Your old friend meets you at the hotel lobby, right before Oikawa furtively slips his hand into yours. Iwaizumi looks tired—his clothes look rumpled and he has dark circles under his eyes—but he still smiles at you and Oikawa in the same way: boyish and crooked. You grin back at him.

“Hey, you two.” Iwaizumi opens his arms and pulls you in for a hug. His stubble brushes against your cheek, and you frown. 

“You’re growing a beard?” you ask incredulously, when you pull away.

He chuckles. “I wish. I need to look handsome on the day of the wedding. Akari thinks it makes me look rugged.” He shrugs and adds, “Personally, I can’t tell the difference.”

“How’s Mrs. Iwaizumi doing?” Oikawa cuts in. He smiles at his best friend, a quick flash of his teeth that you haven’t seen in ages. It almost makes you wish he still smiled at you like that. Almost.

“Akari’s great,” Hajime answers, the edges of his smile turning fond. His fiancé is truly the sweetest, and she’s perfect for Iwaizumi in ways no one else ever could be. It’s difficult to doubt their love, and you consider yourself lucky to have witnessed them falling for each other in college. “Really great, actually. She told me to tell you she’s sorry she couldn’t make it today, but she can’t wait to see you both tomorrow.”

Your ex-boyfriend sighs dramatically. “Iwa-chan. The only entertaining person of the evening is missing. Whatever shall I do?”

“I’m sure your girlfriend will provide ample entertainment, Oikawa,” Hajime deadpans.

Your cheeks flood with heat at the implication. You’re the furthest thing from being Oikawa Tooru’s entertainment tonight, and you don’t need to look at him to know he’s laughing internally at the predicament.

“She’s good at entertaining me with other things,” he retorts, waggling his eyebrows in that infuriating way of his. “Not funny enough, unfortunately.”

You bristle. “Uncalled for, Oikawa.”

He turns to you—the first time he’s looked at you properly since you arrived at the hotel in their hometown—and, taking your hand in his, rubs his thumb along the back of your palm. You nearly shiver; Oikawa used to do that all the time when you were still together, and the small gesture now makes a lump form in your throat. 

“Just kidding, babe,” he says indulgently. “You know I make up for the lack of humour on your part.”

You have to give it to him. Oikawa Tooru is a magnificent actor. 

The way he talks to you, as though both of you hadn’t walked out of the hotel room without saying a word to each other is a feat in itself. He speaks to you as though nothing has changed, as though everything about the way you’re projecting yourselves to your friend is completely natural. You close the hole in your chest where Oikawa used to reside; you will not fall for his little antics—not when he chose to leave you alone.

You roll your eyes, meeting Hajime’s fond—if exasperated—gaze. “Ignore him.”

“I’ve been doing it my entire life,” he responds.

“You are mean and I hate you both,” Oikawa whines. Both of you ignore him.

“Let’s go,” Hajime says. “The izakaya gets really crowded later in the night.”

You wipe your hands on the soft cotton of the oshibori, scanning the menu taped onto the wall. Next to you, Oikawa digs into the otoshi, and in front of you, Hajime sips on his glass of beer. 

“Yakisoba noodles sounds good,” you murmur, “don’t you think?”

“I wan’ the chmmkn kraagh,” Oikawa says immediately through a mouthful of potato salad.

Iwaizumi sighs and translates, “He wants the chicken karaage.”

You scowl. You and Oikawa Tooru can never agree about things. You’re both too stubborn and hot-headed to budge from your opinions, and towards the end of your relationship, the number of petty arguments that were a result of your clashing personalities was high. At one point of time, you might have said that it was one of Oikawa’s qualities that you admired.

Right now, it just irks you to no end.

“We can order both,” you suggest. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Oikawa rolls his eyes. He makes a show of swallowing, exaggerating the bob of his throat, before he turns to you and states, “I want the chicken karaage, and I know Iwa-chan likes it more than yakisoba noodles.”

“Actually,” Hajime says mildly, “I kind of want the sashimi.”

“Let’s just order all three.” You bring your glass of beer to your lips and take a sip.

Iwaizumi looks curiously between you both. You take another sip of your beer, and you come to the realisation that for an outsider—like Hajime—you and Oikawa look absolutely nothing like a couple.

The fault is yours: You didn’t tell Hajime about your break up with Oikawa, and neither did he. Hajime still thinks you’re together. Neither you nor your ex-boyfriend are tactless enough to tell him that you aren’t dating anymore three days before he’s getting married. Iwaizumi is excited, and you aren’t about to dampen his happiness by telling him his two best friends haven’t spoken to each other in months.

That’s how, for the first time in ages, you and Oikawa Tooru decided that you couldn’t ruin Iwaizumi Hajime’s Big Day, and it was also how Operation: Pretend Like You’re Madly In Love So Your Surprisingly Intuitive Best Friend Doesn’t Feel Bad came about.

You set your beer down again, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Can I try some of that?” you ask, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder with yours.

He pauses mid-chew, chopsticks held high in the air. “Sure.”

You nudge his shoulder again, a little bit more forcefully this time. Oikawa glares at you. You narrow your eyes at him, trying to send him some sort of telepathic signal. His eyes widen.

“Here, babe,” he says, plastering a grin on his face. He picks up a chunk of the creamy potato salad that was served as the otoshi and holds it up. He uses his thumb and pointer finger to gently bring your face closer to his chopsticks. You fist your fingers, nails cutting crescents into your palms, and accept the mouthful he holds out to you.

“Good?” Oikawa murmurs, his eyes not leaving your face.

You hum. It is good, rich and tart with a touch of sweetness, but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to verbalise it. Your gaze flits downwards as you gently pull away from his grasp. Your jaw tingles where he held it.

Iwaizumi grins at you—almost knowingly—when you pick up your beer again. He holds a hand up, calling for the waiter to take your orders.

The alcohol washes down the taste of the food, but your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

It is always alcohol that loosens your tongue, and it’s the same for Oikawa Tooru as well. The beer you had at the izakaya lowers the towering walls between you both somewhat. It’s easier to speak to him, now, and after you switch on the lights in the hotel room and kick off your sandals, you whirl around and face Oikawa.

“What the hell was that?” you seethe, glaring at your ex-boyfriend.

He pauses in the middle of taking off his shoes. “What the hell was what?”

“You almost blew our cover! Didn’t you see the way Hajime looked at us?”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, and his cluelessness only infuriates you even more.

“God, you haven’t changed one bit!” you rant. Your chest heaves with emotion—you’re not sure what emotion, exactly. Anger? Resentment? Foolish hope? Or perhaps a cocktail of all three that causes you to feel nothing but confusion. “Hajime is getting married in two days, and I know you couldn’t care less, but for his sake, can’t you make this whole—whole act more believable?”

“You— What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” Oikawa’s eyebrows raise upwards incredulously. “You think I don’t care about Iwaizumi’s wedding? I met him before I even knew you existed.” He scoffs. “Of fucking course I care!”

“Then would it kill you to act like you still love me?” You take a step forward, eyes narrowed and index finger pointing at him. “Is that it? Is it so repulsive to pretend like you still have feelings for me, so that your best friend doesn’t worry about us?”

“That’s not it, and you know it,” Oikawa snarls, a frown marring his features. “We should’ve told him as soon as it happened.”

Hearing him refer to your relationship as it feels like a slap to the face. You falter, cursing yourself inwardly.

Of course he doesn’t care for you now. Why would he, after he decided that long-distance relationships were too much effort? I don’t see us working out in the long run, he’d explained over FaceTime. I’m sorry.

Two days later, you declared yourself officially single. You burrowed yourself in piles of work and forgot to tell Iwaizumi Hajime because talking to Hajime would remind you of Oikawa, and you weren’t ready for that yet. Eventually, you just… didn’t tell him.

That’s why it came as an unwelcome surprise to you when you walked into the hotel lobby and found Oikawa Tooru waiting there, with his arms crossed over his chest and his suitcase by his feet. You’re here, he’d said, and you wanted to punch yourself for the way your heart somersaulted in your chest.

You finally find your voice again. “But we didn’t, so would it kill you to just… not be so fucking obvious?”

Oikawa remains stoic, though you suspect he’s just as agitated as you are. “Yes. I don’t want to do this at all.”

Something in you breaks. How easy it is for Oikawa to break your heart. You’d given him the fragile thing, made of glass, and he had knocked it over like it was a house of cards more than once. 

“Fine,” you grit out, bending down and picking up your footwear again. The alcohol buzzing in your head isn’t enough—you need to stop thinking, need to find some way to stop yourself from constantly imagining him. “See if I care.”

You shoulder past him and place your hand on the doorknob.

“Where are you going?”

If you really strained your ears, you could almost hear the imperceptible concern in Oikawa’s voice. You brush it off; he doesn’t have any feelings towards you, as he’s made so amply clear.

“Why do you care?” you retort, before pushing open the door and heading in the direction of the hotel restaurant’s bar.

The room is dark when you open the door.

It’s a little past one in the morning—or so one of the bellhops had said when he kindly escorted you back to your room. Your mind is swirling.

It seems even getting yourself batshit drunk isn’t enough to eradicate all thoughts of Oikawa.

The walls spin. You stumble inside. Your hip bumps against something solid—a table, probably—and you let out a startled yelp. 

Oikawa’s voice is like a balm, soothing your feverish forehead, when he says your name.

How are you supposed to get over him? How are you supposed to go back to living alone when you’ve had this taste of what it could be like, regardless of how authentic it is?

The answer is clear as day: You cannot.

A pair of hands guides you by the shoulders to the bed. Oikawa is careful, gentle with his hold on you. You sprawl on the bed sheets, the fabric cool against your cheek. He appears like an outline in the darkness. 

“Are you okay?”

“God,” you mumble, screwing your eyes shut. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Oikawa.”

He remains silent for a moment, before he clears his throat and says, “You asked me why I care about where you go.”

You don’t say anything.

“I just do,” he continues, “and I don’t know how to explain it. But I do care.”

His fingers are warm when he caresses your cheek. The last thing you do before succumbing to sleep is murmur his name—a curse, but somehow reverent.

When you wake up the next morning, the sheets next to you are rumpled. There is no sign of Oikawa anywhere in the room, but there is a tall glass of water placed on the bedside table.

Through the pounding of your head, you squint at the note written using the hotel stationery placed beside it. 

Drink up. Hajime and Akari are bringing us breakfast.

Breakfast is a lively affair. You’re glad to see Akari again, happy to see the to-be-newlyweds so patently in love with each other.

Oikawa keeps his hand on your thigh, steady and comforting, and offers you golden smiles whenever you catch his eye, and you swallow down the awful lump in your throat.

The day passes by in a blur.

It’s on the day before Iwaizumi’s wedding that Oikawa Tooru kisses you.

Wedding photos are unnecessary, you think. After all, you’re not the one getting married. But Akari had been insistent that you and Oikawa take some pictures together, and you couldn’t refuse her beseeching gaze.

Oikawa, clad in his dapper suit, with his hair styled using copious amounts of hair gel, places his hands on your waist and draws you in. His fingers bunch up the material of your dress. The photographer asks you to place your hands on his chest. His heartbeat is a steady thrum underneath the pads of your fingertips. 

“Is this okay?” he whispers, leaning in. 

You nod.

His mouth tastes like spearmint and the chocolate muffins he’d shared with you at breakfast. 

The afternoon passes by in a daze.

As you walk through the wedding venue, noting all the decorations and the flower arrangements, Oikawa slips his hand into yours. 

“You don’t have to,” you say. “No one’s here to see us.”

“I want to,” he replies simply. He is serious now, not his usual boisterous self, the way he is around Hajime and Akari. “It’s a nice place, no?”

You press your lips together. His words are oddly reminiscent of what he said the night you were drunk. Your stomach twists into knots, but if you don’t ask him the one question that has been nagging at you since then, who will do it for you?

“Tooru,” you say.

He stiffens. It’s the first time you’ve used his first name since you broke up with him.

“Why didn’t you tell Hajime we broke up?” you ask.

His shoulders loosen and his mouth twists upwards in a crooked, sad sort of smile. 

“Because I love you, and breaking up with you broke me in some way.”

Your voice is quiet when you ask, “Why did you?”

“I didn’t want to be the one holding you back,” he says, just as quietly. “I didn’t want you to be constantly worrying about someone who didn’t even live in the same country as you. You deserve someone who will be there for you. Someone you can come home to after work, and talk about your day, and cook dinner together with. I couldn’t give you that.”

You want to hit him and kiss him at the same time. What a stupid, idiotic fool you’re in love with.

“Silly,” you say. “I only want you.”

The wedding happens on a sunny afternoon, and it is beautiful. Akari is radiant, and Hajime tells her that he’s the luckiest man ever. They are in love, and looking at them doesn’t hurt anymore. Your ex-boyfriend turned current boyfriend presses his shoulder against yours and gives you a small, knowing smile when he catches you almost tearing up. You nudge him back, and his smile grows into a grin that envelops his face in gold.

(“You’re the golden one,” he’ll tell you later, pressing feather-light kisses to your collarbones and cheeks. You’ll say he’s wrong.)

Right before the crowd disperses, Oikawa takes your hand and brings it to his lips. He presses a soft kiss against the knuckle of your ring finger.

Later, he whispers to you that it’s all in the spirit of matrimony.

Oikawa Tooru is using the shower in your bedroom, and he’s running late to catch his flight back to Argentina, and everything is perfect.

author’s note (again): this fic is a birthday gift to my best friend, @hanluex! it's the most last-minute thing ever and i apologise but HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOKI!!!

[babydollitzel]

hiiii I love your works and I was wondering if you can do dating hcs for soda and dally? You don’t have too tho 🫶🫶🫶

𝐃𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐜’𝐬

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Dallas Winston x Fem!reader

warnings/extra; just mention of leaving hickeys and smacking your bum

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ tysm I really appreciate it💕 and btw the Soda hc’s are next

∞༺♡༻∞༺♡༻∞༺♡༻∞༺♡༻∞

𐙚 he won’t give you his skull ring until he’s sure that you two would last because he lowkey has trust issues from Sylvia

𐙚 though you always reassure him that you’d never cheat on him and that you’re not like her

𐙚 For pet names I feel like he’d call you doll. Sometimes he’d call you “man” like he does to most people but you’re not so fond of it

𐙚 When he talks about you, not to shit talk but to probably brag about you, he’ll refer to you as his ‘broad’ or just by your name

𐙚 He lets you wear his jacket but most of the time you steal it

𐙚 When you guys are walking he puts his hand on your back pocket

𐙚 Also smacks your butt really hard and laughs when you squeal

𐙚 He steals stuff for you, and even though you tell him not to he does it anyway

𐙚 Much to your dismay he sneaks in through your window in the middle of the night while you’re sleeping

𐙚 At first the gang wasn’t sure about you because they were wary that you were like Sylvia but they eventually warmed up to you

𐙚 Randomly tugs your hair just to irritate you. He can be really annoying🫤

𐙚 Related to that, he like annoying you or making you mad because that little sht thinks it’s funny

𐙚 Likes to flick your forehead unnecessarily hard too like what

𐙚 Sometimes he’ll blow his cig smoke in your face and laugh when you scrunch your face. If you tell him to stop then he probably stop or say some sht like “make me”

𐙚 He doesn’t really say that he loves you because ‘It would be a miracle if Dally loved anything’🤓 and because he doesn’t want to admit it but he does show you that he loves you

𐙚 You always clean him up after a rumble while scolding him, as to which he acts like he doesn’t care but he does feel bad about making you worry

𐙚 When he kisses you it’s as if the dude’s trying to eat your face

𐙚 He’s also really protective, does not like it when he catches other guys checking you out.

𐙚 He either starts getting touchy in front of the guy or says something like “tf you looking at🤨”

𐙚 He loves leaving hickeys everywhere, especially where other people can see. He likes showing off that you’re his only

𐙚 He brags about you a lot and likes to show you off

𐙚 You hate when Dallas gets into jail and hate when you’re the one who has to bail him out. He also hates seeing your distraught face whenever you see him in his cell or in handcuffs

𐙚 Dallas is the typa guy to say, “Where my hug at?” or cover your eyes and say “Guess who?” like pls stop💕

𐙚 You guys bicker a lot because you’re both kinda petty but you always make up in the end

𐙚 He drives you around town and he purposely drives terribly just to spook you but he still keeps a hand GRIPPING your thigh

𐙚 He likes taking you to the drive in, sometimes yall don’t even watch the move. You spend the whole time eating popcorn and chit chatting or just making out at the back of the drive in

𐙚 When he’s drunk he gets really touchy

𐙚 please come back we miss you Dally🙏🏻

[amaranthineghost]

| 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐒. ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando norris x reader

ꕥ summary: you don't want him to go

ꕥ author note: first imagine :3 it's been sitting in my drafts for months because I was too scared to post but reading it back, it low-key eats.

“COME ON DARLING…you’ve got to let me go…” lando’s voice muffled softly against the skin of my neck, a chuckle escaping his lips and the vibrations sent butterflies fluttering through my body.

the belgian grand prix had finished days ago, and lando was eager to get back to his flat in the uk for summer break. despite my adamant protests, we flew out the very next morning and was happily greeted by max fewtrell when we’d arrived.

days later, lando’s trainer insisted on getting some training done, he wouldn't be gone for long, i knew it well

but still not wanting him to leave, i clung to him, shrouding him in my arms to prevent him from leaving. i reached around his neck, standing on the tips of my toes to haul him down to meet my height and suffocate him in my embrace. his head naturally fell between the crevice of my neck, chuckling lowly when i did so.

his breath fanned across my neck like warm winds in autumn, goosebumps forming on my skin.

i hate the effect he has on me.

yet i’d continue to hold him captive, his body heat radiating onto to me like a heated blanket. his hands placed firmly on my waist, his thumb dragging across the exposed skin, the result of my shirt riding up. his finger occasionally disappearing under the fabric.

the way he held me…

“baby…” his voice was slightly hoarse, unnecessarily dragging out the ‘y’ as he spoke lowly. his fingers pressed tighter against my exposed waist in a pulsating manner.

god, the way he spoke to me…

“don't go…” i muttered against the soft fabric of his hoodie he wore to combat the cool air and soft sprinkling of rain drops. my voice was muffled, almost lost in the layers of his clothes.

i slowly inhaled after i spoke, taking in his faded cologne that resided on his hoodie. it was like a drug and i couldn't get enough.

“i've got to…” he reiterated with an amused tone, but made no effort to be the first to let go, “i’ll be back later…”

i groaned faintly into his hoodie, my arms firmly looped around his nape loosened gradually. i lifted my head from the spot on his hoodie, which prompted him to pull his head away.

his soft curls grazed across my neck, emanating a soft ticklish sensation through my skin. his hands remained by my sides as his body pulled away from mine. the comfort of having him quickly dissipated and i was left with the abnormally cold air to keep me company.

the last touch of warmth i had from him left as he’d removed his hands from my waist, though quickly replacing it on my chin.

his hand pushed against the underside of my chin, making me meet his gaze as he looked down on me. his green eyes were enthralling.

oh how I love his eyes.

my pupils dilated as i stared into his, and i was stuck in his half-lidded gaze. my eyes flickered when i had realized his forehead had come to rest against mine. his finger brushed against the side of my face, inciting a sharp inhale as he tucked loose strands of hair behind my ear.

his forehead was warm against mine, the warmth i so desperately craved from him. His nose bumped against mine softly, heat spreading across my face as i felt his breath pan across my face.

his lips ghosted over mine. it was a slight contact but not enough.

i needed more.

and as i watched his tired eyes continuously as they glanced from my dilated eyes down to my irritated lips when his lips began to press against mine.

the contact i needed, that I craved from him…I finally had as his lips pressed mine, taking his time as he moved against me.

the comfort of his body returned to me again, like it'd never even left. his hand tangled in my hair as he pushed me closer to him. his other hand traced along my jaw before resting by my ear.

he felt like sitting by a fireplace, watching the flames flicker and ashes fly as you sat by on the floor.

he felt like home.

and as his lips moved against mine, i feel a fire igniting in my chest, as it always did, and my lips sting softly. a curse of biting them regularly.

though the sting of having his lips against mine is an odd comfort, it's a mere familiarity that brings content.

the moment feels like it lasts forever, like it could last forever, and it would if we allowed it to

but when he pulls away, the warmth, the contact, the comfort i desperately crave from him, had quickly went with it. as if i never had it to begin with.

he paused for a second, taking in a breath before leaning in again, but this time only connecting our lips for a short second.

and then i was craving warmth and homeliness i already had as his body remained on mine but knowing it was coming to an end.

he chuckled softly, the ghostly vibrations fell over my lips as he pulled away, pursing his lips to hide his toothy smile.

“i’ll be back, you know i will…” he muttered , his eyes transfixed on his hand, running my hair between the pads of his fingers. he pulled away, the lack of heat caused goosebumps to arise across my skin.

it was like throwing a heated blanket off your body, except i didn't want him to go.

home is where he is.

“bye darling…”

I'm not home when he isn't here.

[lustlovehart]

Hi, will you continue with the twisted wonderland monster au? Could you write something about vile, please?

Bed and Desperation

A/n: This ask was from so long ago 😭. Also, I wasn’t too sure if you wanted Yandere or not? The monster Au is a Yandere Au, but just n case I didn’t make it like extreme, kinda.

Pairing: Incubus! Vil Schoenheit x Reader

Summary: [Yandere] Even during a mission, the wretched monsters you hunt can’t leave you alone, and unfortunately, the incubus that accompanies you today is one of them, and it wouldn’tbe the first time you’ve found yourself held by his arms.

Warnings: Heavily Suggestive, as well as implied NSFW, Reader has injuries, Vil’s a meanie, Seduction (Vil to Reader), Stitches, Biting, Part nudity (Reader is in their underwear)

The bedsheets on your mattress smell heavenly.

This isn’t your bed, since when did you wash your blankets?

It also seems to have an extra weight added to it. The softest hands on your waist are felt, as well as the feeling of a skinny tail being tightly wrapped around your thigh.

“What the…” Your eyes look down, glossing over the hand that’s currently spooning you, only looking at the numerous bandaged wounds and stitches on your skin. It’s only when you finally look at the culprit who fixed you up do you understand.

You really should’ve known, with such well-manicured hands that have been moisturized to hell and back, and the most heavenly scent shifting in the air, there really should’ve been no doubt in your mind.

You’re in bed with Vil Schoenheit. The all-famed model and actor, who’s well renowned for his feats.

The well-known incubus who has led millions to their downfall.

And unfortunately, this wouldn’t be the first time you were in his bed. Seems even a hunter isn’t immune to such charms.

Maybe if I get out quietly… Your hand slowly takes hold of his, moving it away from your waist as you slide to the side of the mattress. Your footsteps are gentle as you glide towards the door, at this point you’re about to turn the doorknob before the sound of the bed creaking attracts your attention.

The sight of bright purple diamond-shaped pupils gives paints an irritation on your face, the purple tattoos of mist dully glowing on his fit lean body, and pretty horns a companied by a golden crown, also serving in your annoyance.

“Your hands are so calloused, even the tiniest touch would have woken me up anyway.”

“Damn it…” his body is propped up on his elbow as he looks up and down at your body, only an oversized t-shirt and underwear covering any sense of decency you have.

You still remember the previous night, having suffered blows with a monster somewhere in the inn you were sent to. You had stripped yourself of your clothes in an empty room to tend to your injuries before losing consciousness from your lack of sleep.

Curse you, Crowley, if you hadn’t sent me on an extra assignment I could’ve gotten some rest and not end up here…!

“Are you gonna thank me? Or does hunting not come with any lessons in etiquette?”

“Thank you for…?” His head leans down with a sigh, before throwing the blanket off and covering himself in his very unnecessarily luxurious robe, you distantly remember passing by a vendor selling the exact same robe for 360,000 madol. I hate rich people.

“What? Did you think you bandaged yourself up in your sleep?” His footsteps are heard as he slowly walks towards you, his eyes still looking over every inch of your body for any injuries he could’ve possibly missed.

“Obviously not… Wait, hey why did you make me sleep in your bed if you were sleeping there too…?!” You don’t move from your spot, staying in place to show you’re not bothered, your finger being the only thing that moves as you point it at him.

When he gets close to you, his face leans in towards your own, making you accidentally lean back from shock, causing a sharp pain blooming on the side of your thigh at that exact moment. He quickly catches you before you have the chance to fall, laying you on his bed once more.

“Hah, look, now you’ve undone my work. I should really…” he pauses before sighing for the second time tonight, “Stay still.” He doesn’t finish his thought, only grabbing a needle and thread, his left hand taking hold of the fat under your thigh, lifting it slightly up so he can work easier.

“You didn’t answer my question Vil…” he looks up for a moment, giving you that prideful smirk he’s always shown when he feels triumph, the ridges on his horns being more noticeable, making the expression he holds remind you, he is in fact, still a monster. You’re sure the next words that leave his mouth will be something you can’t counter, so it’d be best to prepare yourself for embarrassment.

“Hmm? I thought you wouldn’t mind considering we’ve slept in a bed together before, even done more than sleeping—“

“Okay yeah, never mind don’t answer me please.”

“I think it’s a fair trade, let me demean you for being so careless and I’ll get you back to the way you were.” He’s being mean again. Every time you meet him he’s always nitpicking you about some imperfection on your person, whether it be messy hair, wrinkled clothes, eye bags, or even scars from your job.

Yet he always stays to fix them up. You still remember the last time when you had noticeable eye bags and he gasped at the sight, grabbing his own formula of beauty cream and rubbing it into your skin with his fingers.

“Those eye bags of yours are looking better, did you use what I gave you, or did you get better sleep?” His fingers still skillfully sewing your skin together with the thread, the pain bearable but stillthere nonetheless.

“I only did your eye cream, it works though— Hey…!” Now instead of your leg being in pain, it’s your cheeks, his fingers taking hold of your jaw, squishing the fat of your face together.

“That’s not good enough.” When you reply your voice comes out slightly muffled from your muscles being squeezed together, your hand reaching up to massage the soreness in your face when he releases you from his grip.

“Okay okay sorry, Blame my boss, he keeps sending me on back-to-back missions without rest, it’s not my fault!” He pauses for a moment after, the thread through your skin freezing alongside him. “… Vil…?”

“Then why don’t you find a new job?”

“I’m not suited for any other job.” A single leaves him, though you can’t tell if it’s one of humor or one of pity. His hand that was previously holding up your thigh curves and takes your free hand, ghosting his breath over it as he places a kiss on the palm of your skin.

“Riddle said you’re terrible at your job, and, if you didn’t notice, all of us are still alive and well.” He’s acting all romantic while saying such a thing to you. Charm, charm is a part of his pathetic abilities but he doesn’t seem to be using that right now. He’s acting. He’s acting… he has to…

He’s right.

“[Name], it seems out of this entire group, not a single of us has been slain yet. Please, tell me why that is?” He pulls your hand down, making you lean in closer to him, your face only inches away from his own. His pretty face. “I have a better job for you.”

“Are you saying you want me to work for you…?” Your voice stays firm, maybe if you try holding your ground he’ll leave you alone. Maybe…? Your head lingers around his, before realizing this distance is a little too close for comfort.“It’s a no Vil.” You finally move away from them, your eyes looking for something else to garner their attention.

Vil’s eyes don’t break hold from yours despite your desperate attempts to move away from his gaze.

“Pity, you would’ve done beautifully at it, had you accepted. A perfect fit, only if you worked hard at it of course.” Now you’re just curious as to what this secret job was before turning it down. But, you’ll leave it as a mystery.

His fingers sew in the rest of the skin, when he finishes threading the wound closed though, he doesn’t cut off the string, only placing the needle down on your thigh before looking back up at you.

“[Name], you know, you’re beautiful. It’s a shame you don’t make the effort to maintain that.” He takes your hands in his right palm, standing back up to his full height before dropping the two of you on his bed.

“But I do? At least I think so, I do what you tell me to do anyway.” His knee is positioned to the side of your thigh as his tail draws patterns in your skin.

“But that’s not enough, I need you to go further than that, dear.”

…

He doesn’t use dear on you outside of bed.

You really can’t tell if he’s using his charm from being an incubus or just being an extremely good actor. Either way, it’s unfortunately working.

“Vil, I need to go back, my boss will be questioning where I am—“ his finger is swiftly placed on your lips, shushing you from speaking any further.

“And you will go back, I’ll let you leave when you want, of course, just indulge for a moment.” Indulge… He’s being tempting again. “I will make you reach a height you’ve never experienced before.”

For the third time of the night, you’re scandalously doing something with this… this monster, you shouldn’t be doing. Let alone for a third time.

If Crowley finds out… You can’t. Your hand quickly escapes his grasp to grab the needle he left in your thigh, snapping the thread ready to jab it through his eyes.

You’re only a centimeter away from his pupil, only being stopped by a hand that tightly grips your wrist.

“I’m disappointed, and that’s the first time. It’s a shame [Name], it seems we’ll just have to keep playing your silly game of Hunter.” Before you have a chance to react, he pulls your arm up and bites into your flesh, your vision going dark immediately after.

The dimly lit hallways of the inn you were stationed at are the first sight you see, the second being the corpses of the monsters you were sent to kill.

You’re sat on the carpet floors, the moon of the night still shining through the windows. The clothes you were originally wearing are back on your skin, with tears and grime from your previous ministrations still there.

Could he have used hallucinations…? No that felt too real.

There seems to be only one way to check, your fingers grip the end of your shorts, slowly pulling them up, your eyes peaking over and seeing exactly what you hoped you wouldn’t.

Black seams from stitches.

“Damn it…” your head hits the wall behind you, as your arms collect your legs and hug them to your chest.

It’s a shame you spared him the first time around, maybe if you had killed him you would have one less beast on you.

Oh right, he’s not the only one.

You go back to burying your head in your knees, the sound of footsteps resonating through the empty halls of the inn, the light from the windows shining through to show off who it is.

“Crowley, what do you want—”

“That was the third time you met with that incubus wasn’t it?”

…What?

“You know…?” He doesn't have that usual “humble” smile, his lips shut in a straight line, a sight you’re only seeing for the first time.

“I’ve always known.” your heart starts beating faster in your chest. What now? What will he do knowing you’ve broken the code? Everything you’ve done will go in vain if he rides himself off you. You won’t get to see any of them anymore, you won’t be able to finish your job and finally kill them off, you won’t—

Crowley’s hand is wobbly. He’s not real. A hallucination by Vil. Wait but… Is this inn…

Even real at all?

A/n: Ahaha, I need someone to strap me to a chair so I actually finish the first chapter of the Monster Au. Heartslaybul has been neglected and only Riddle’s portion has been finished. Ahaha.

[threestripeslider]

the collective Rise fandom has given me the worst case of Mandela Effect by repeatedly drawing Raph with an alligator tail to the point i once got unnecessarily irritated when i kept seeing screenshots of the show and he doesnt have it like what the fuck give my boy back his tail. what do you MEAN he doesn't have one??

[sunflowerdigs]

It's kind of wild to read takes about how Buck "finally" has someone to love and support him unconditionally when I thought that's exactly what Eddie was doing for the last 7 seasons. I think that's the thing that irritates me most about people who have replaced Buddie with BT (not multishippers) - it's like they've completely forgotten 7 years of canon because of a few kisses. Especially because, as recently as 7x06, the show deliberately had Eddie demonstrate much more love and support for Buck than Tommy. In fact, that was the point of even having Tommy in that first scene at Chim's party. It's the willful blindness to more incisive and richer readings of the show combined with a weird pride in that more shallow reading because it's spoonfed that I think is really irritating to me. Buck and Tommy have some of the outward appearances of a committed relationship but I'm really hoping that in these last 2 episodes, Buck demonstrates who he's actually canonically committed to.

Some speculation under the cut.

It's worth pointing out that the Bucktaylor breakup happened in 5x17 and 5x18 with pretty much no warning. 5x17 set up the reasons for the breakup and then, in 5x18, the breakup happened. There was nothing about them in the official description for 5x17 and, from what I can gather, only one unofficial description for 5x18 contained anything about them.

While I agree that 7x09/7x10 would be pretty early for a BT breakup, it's hard for me to believe that the show wants to spend much more time on another hamster wheel relationship for Buck. Especially since, after 7x04, the hamster wheel is more visible than ever, what with the obvious contradictions in Buck's actions vs the conclusions he reached about those actions (similar to 4x14, where he prioritized Eddie over Taylor unnecessarily but then came to the conclusion that he wanted to be with Taylor).

I keep thinking about the 7x03 scene where Buck paused and smiled at Tommy for a bit before following Eddie. That scene right there was an indication that the relationship would be short-lived. Additionally, Lou wearing the same outfit in 7x10 that he wore in 7x04 is potentially a bookend, possibly indicative of a reset of his relationship with Buck back to what it was the first time he wore that outfit. After all, Buck was never jumping ship, he was just keeping his options fluid.

Finally, I think it's telling that Ryan keeps saying both that Eddie is heterosexual and that Buddie is possible because those two statements are contradictory. It makes me think his heterosexuality may not be permanent. Because if it was, then Buddie would be off the table, and discussions of Buddie would be banned in interviews like they were in previous seasons.

So...obviously no one can say anything for certain until the rest of the season plays out. I'm not here to promise anyone anything because I don't work on the show and my interpretation could always be wrong. But there's certainly reason for hope, at least.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Show Him Up

Michael gavey x reader

A/N: had a request for Michael x clever reader so here it is!!

WARNINGS: smut!

WORD COUNT: 1,185 words

The most humiliating thing that he can imagine has happened. He raised his hand to answer a question and was proven wrong. The professor didn’t even find fault with what he said, but you did, sticking your hand straight up in the air and saying, “I see what Michael is trying to explain but I think it would be more accurate to say…” and then completely destroying his whole argument. He wants you dead. He wants you out of his class. He wants you to stop batting those pretty eyelashes. He wants you to stop biting your plush lips… he wants to bite those plush lips.

“Michael? Michael, are you ignoring me?” You ask, waving a hand in front of his face.

Oh yeah, he forgot to mention that you’re also his best friend - his only friend.

“No, ‘course not.” He grumbles.

“Why are you pouting so much? You’ve been like that since we finished class.” You tease playfully before licking the yogurt from your spoon.

“I’m not pouting.”

“Yes you are.” You say matter of factly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Stop being such a brat about it.” He snaps at you.

You squint your eyes and tilt your head as you look at him. He hates when you do that. It feels like you’re looking into his soul.

“Are you upset because I corrected you in class today?”

“No.” He states firmly.

“You are!” You accuse and he rolls his eyes, getting up from the lunch table. “Don’t walk away from me!” You call out, starting to chase after him as he makes his way to his dorm.

“You’re being irritating.”

“And you’re a sore loser.”

“Stop following me!” He says but does nothing to stop you when you walk right into his room behind him.

“No. It’s not my fault i’m cleverer than you. There’s no need to be all pissy about it.” You reply with a gloating smile.

“Don’t boast about something we both know isn’t true.” Michael scoffs.

“Somebody clearly can’t handle the truth.” You giggle and in his anger, embarrassment, and lust, he jolts forward and pushes you against the wall.

“I can’t handle you being so insufferable about getting a single question right.” You glance down at his lips, feeling flushed about being pressed against the wall but also enjoying it.

“I’ve proven you wrong more than once.” You press your knee between his legs. “And you’re hard so I don’t think you really mind the competition.”

“I-It’s a natural bodily function!” He stammers as he steps back.

“Do you always get hard when I show you up?”

“What? I don’t know why’d you even say something like that!” His face is redder than a tomato at this point.

“Because i’m not blind, Gavey.” You lilt. “I just don’t understand why you haven’t done anything about it yet.”

“You want me to do something about it?” He asks in a disbelieving tone.

“Well you’re clearly not going to so I might as well just go.” You turn towards the door but barely make it two steps before you feel the hand on your wrist. Michael pulls you back to him and before you can make a snarky remark about how you knew he wanted you, his lips are on yours, kissing you hungrily.

“Where’d you learn to kiss like that?” You ask as he pushes you over to his bed.

“It all comes naturally with you.”

He pulls off his sweater and now that you’ve realized you’re actually doing this, you pull off your top.

He gulps when he looks back at you. “Oh, god.” He murmurs, sitting beside you, giving you a hopeful look as his hands graze your waist. “This is really okay?”

“I think you should take my bra off, Gavey.” You say in confirmation and he looks giddy.

His fingers trail up your back before he starts to fumble with the clasp. Michael’s brows furrow as he struggles to get the garment off.

You giggle and he somehow gets even redder. “Let me help.” You say sweetly before reaching back to unclasp your bra. He wants to make a comment about how unnecessarily complicated it is to unclasp a bra but when your bare tits are revealed, he ceases the ability to form a coherent thought.

“They’re so… oh my god.” He just groans and wills himself to focus.

“I think we need to get your pants off.” You grab his belt and begin to unbuckle it, knowing he won’t last much longer without some attention.

“I-I can do it.” He mumbles, wanting your hands free so you can get your sweats off as quickly as possible.

You giggle and pull off your remaining clothes, teasing him as you pull your panties off slowly and he watches, inch by inch, as they go down.

“Can I?” He asks in a hesitant voice as his hand inches up your thigh.

“Mhm.” You nod.

His fingers trail all the way up until he feels your soaked folds. He rubs your wetness around, curious and enamoured by it before slipping two fingers in. He groans at how warm you are inside and his other hand moves to tug at his aching cock.

“You gonna fuck me, Gavey?” Your voice breathes out sensually.

“Yes please.” He replies quickly, giving you big puppy dog eyes before he remembers something.

He reaches down to his trousers and pulls a rubber out of his pocket.

“Had that waiting, did you?”

“Maybe.” He mumbles bashfully before tearing it open and sliding in down his length.

“Thought so.” You giggle. “Be slow with it, yeah?” You advise as you lay back, legs spread.

“Of course. I’d never hurt you.” Michael says so seriously that it tugs on your heartstrings.

“I know.”

He hovers over you, pressing a swift kiss to your lips before beginning to push himself in. He goes slowly, just as you asked and when he bottoms out, you feel perfectly full.

“You can move.” You whisper after a moment.

He nods, the action more to hype himself up rather than as confirmation. He moans as he starts to push in and out of you. The way your walls squeeze around him is a feeling impossible to replicate.

“You feel so good.” He whines, starting to buck his hips faster now. “Do you like it?”

You nod, running fingers through his hair before you pull him into another kiss. You can tell he won’t last long but it’s okay. You rub your clit fast enough that you rise to your peak of pleasure with him.

“Can - can I cum?” He asks, not even knowing if he’s supposed to.

“Yes.” You breathe out, reaching your high with him and squeezing around his cock as he fucks you through the orgasm with stuttering thrusts.

“God, that was so good.” He says into your skin after collapsing on top of you.

“It was very good.” You muse, continuing to play with his hair as he uses your soft tits as a pillow.

“Can we do that everyday?”

You giggle. “Yeah, we can do it everyday.”

Comment to be added to taglist

[deonsx]

If Your Boyfriend Turns Into A Little Boy

Feat: Dazai, Chuuya, Ranpo, Fyodor, Nikolai

Dazai Osamu

Two The beautiful brown orbs were brighter than ever, pouting all the time, and a little kid who didn't want to get off the lap, A little boy who laughs more when you give him kisses and snuggles into your bosom and constantly caresses your hair with his hands

"Oh what am I going to do with you?" You told him as his eyes narrowed and a genuine smile formed on his face, You gave him pen and paper to mess with things but his drawing was really bad you just laughed at it

You felt lucky to see him little, thinking about how pure and beautiful your boyfriend looked when he was little "You are the most beautiful thing in the world Osamu" You whispered to the sleeping little boy in your lap and then closed your eyes to sleep

When you open your eyes in the morning, you see that your lover has returned to normal, resting him head on your chest and sleeping comfortably with a slight smile on his face “I can stay in this beautiful woman's arms forever”

Chuuya Nakahara

Your baby boyfriend who is constantly sleeping and slightly unnecessarily constantly irritable, This gave you some comfort as he was sleeping all the time, but when he woke up he was making a big effort to do whatever he really wanted, because he was small he couldn't fully control his strength, when he tried to pick up an item with his power, his ability could suddenly disappear

He said he didn't like toys and even told you to throw them away but you caught him playing with toys by himself, he was acting like an angry cat when you tried to pick him up he say didn't want to but he finally fell asleep there and you sleep with him

When you opened your eyes, you met the crystal eyes that woke up before you "Hm dear? Would you prefer me in your lap?"

Ranpo Edogawa

He may be the only kid who can really entertain you, always laughing and very shy, doesn't like to be praised

"Ranpo!! You're so smart" you patted his head in the game he solved even though he was a baby, he grimaced and nudged your hand with his hand "Even an idiot could figure this out" His voice came out in an incomprehensible tone and made you laugh

He was a very shy boy and was very proud "Where is my prize! Prize!" He wanted a reward, sweets, for being smart "No more sugar, my love" "I won't talk if there is no reward" He refused to talk to you for a while pouting and you finally had to give him the candy

Then you took him in your arms and showered him with kisses "My smart darling" continued to eat his candy with his little cheeks flushed and just fell asleep in your bed, when you woke up your boyfriend kissed your eyes "Prize time"

Fyodor Dostoyevski

He was really mature even when he was this young, he always wanted to know something, to acquire new knowledge, to read books and to beat you with knowledge games like chess

"Fedya,How would you like to make a dessert?" you asked him with a smile because it was boring to you that he was always curious about knowledge even as a child. His purple eyes rolled to the right and he turned his head to the book he was trying to read "Bullshit, who would want such a childish thing?"

You shook your head and bent down to pick him up, "But now you're my little kid to take care of" You seated him next to you, prepared the cake ingredients and started making the dessert. "You're doing it wrong. You doesn't even know how to bake?" you pretended to be a little upset when he warned you, half of fyodor's brain was still the same and the other half was a small boy couldn't even say most words correctly

"I can teach you" he averted his night purple eyes You took his sophistication throughout the whole recipe and eventually he fell asleep with his little body tired You were lying on his lap when you woke up. You see him normal "Did the Sleeping Princess wake up?"

Nikolai Gogol

He was really a kid who loved to have fun even when he was a kid, he was always at home, watching movies and running around, he was really no different from a normal little baby

He was constantly disappearing and it was causing you anxiety. For 1 week, your day was spent at home playing hide and seek as he said."GOTCHA!" you quickly picked him up from hiding

"You're cheating! Let's play again!!" You shook your head and looked at the light hair of the white-haired boy whose energy had not yet run out. "Shall we braid your hair?"

His white hair was scattered all over the place and his eyes were radiant with color "Okay but then let's keep playing!" You smiled and sat your boyfriend on your lap and started braiding his hair, When it was over, he finally put on his hat and was back to being energetic again. You watched movies and played games all day and couldn't help kissing him

Finally, you both fell asleep in the TV room hugging from exhaustion, when you woke up, two different colored eyes grinned at you, "Did you enjoy playing with me, dear?"

Enjoy!

[harmonysanreads]

Sumeru hexagon brainrot because I've been rewatching the recent event scenes but also expanding on the one thing of darling being a commentator as well!

I'm thinking of darling freaking out watching the boys trying to hurt each other and especially after Kaveh deals with the diadem they rush towards him and begin fawning over him super worried about him being hurt. (Subtle side glare to wanderer as well for being real rough on the poor boy's side. That ameno blast got him good!)

And Kaveh is so dramatic he'd definitely play it up some more to bask in the undivided attention. And then him learning of what exactly happened to his dad? Darling gets a drunk Kaveh at her doorstep in the middle of the night and ends up caring for him more.

Of course as a thank you Kaveh invites her for a meal (and pays for it! Thanks to Cyno buying the card). Instead of inviting them to the meal with Cyno and Tighnari because he'd be able to have darling to himself. (But we know how resourceful those other boys are and they may or may not have found out and crashed the date).

[ au masterlist ]

If Kaveh had a mora for everytime his advances faced subjugation, he'd have... a lot of mora.

At this point, he can't say he's surprised at the turn of events. If anything, it's Kaveh's failure for not expecting it and taking necessary precautions. Oh well, he just wanted to share a nice meal with you! Was that so much to ask for??

Apparently.

“[Name], I told you, you should've left him outside last night instead of inviting him over. See the look he's giving me!” the hatted boy Kaveh's seen hanging by your person more often than not side eyes him, “whispering” not so discreetly but very purposefully by your ear, a hand raised in mock cover and all the shebang. Kaveh's left eye twitches as he struggles to keep the amiable smile on his face, hands curling into fists beneath the table as his eyes meet coy blue ones.

“I think Hat Guy here has a point, you look unnecessarily agitated, Kaveh.” chimes in a certain scholar seated on your right, Tighnari and Cyno take an eager sip of their drinks at the sight.

Kaveh's carefully maintained countenance almost shatters at the comment, but a look at your face has him halt at the last second, he promised to keep himself in check, he reminds himself. The sheer audacity of these kids! Crashing on his moment and then blaming him for getting annoyed?

“Well, why do you think I am as agitated as I look?” the architect points a fork towards the Scribe from across the table.

“Simple, because you cannot keep your emotions in check.”

“That's it, I've had—”

“Enough, you two.”

Kaveh freezes in his position as your words still the chatters. Yet, the tension in the air only becomes more tangible as five pairs of eyes await your next course of action.

You gently remove the hatted boy's arm from yours (ignoring his reluctance to let go), shifting to address each of the men, “Kaveh has a valid point for being irritated, after all, you four did barge in uninvited. But we're not strangers, so there shouldn't be an issue for us to cooperate and make the most of this meal. Right, Kaveh?”

The addressed architect sits back down with a huff, acquiescing with a heated ‘fine’ after some deliberation. With your declaration, everyone relaxes in various degrees. It's not until Tighnari quips up does the silence break, “[Name] is right, you know. We're all friends, do we really need permission to join each other?”

The ex-harbinger notices the General Mahamatra look at the Forest Ranger by the corner of his eye, the impish tone of Tighnari's words is just noticeable enough for everyone to catch but not to comment on, how interesting.

“Well, it wouldn't hurt to let your friends know beforehand, either, right?” the architect shots back.

Cyno takes over unexpectedly, “Of course not. But I'm with Tighnari on this, friends trust each other enough to let down boundaries. It's not like we have any other intention except wanting to spend time with each other, so what is there to get worked up for?”

“There is a reason to get worked up because I was on a da—”

Kaveh chokes back his words midway, the air suddenly feeling electric. He dares not look, he doesn't need to, for he can feel the men's eyes piercing through his soul at the slip up.

“You were on a da...?” Tighnari urges and despite not following, you find yourself holding your breath.

“I was on a, on a.. da.. da..dat—”

Kaveh makes the mistake of looking right and the sight of a pulsating anemo vision has him gulp.

“—dessert! I was on my dessert! Oh goodness, this thing is delicious! Why would you all interrupt me enjoying it? Hahaha.”

The electricity dissipates without a trace, the air suddenly much easier to breath in. You're left there blinking, not really grasping the point of that exchange as Kaveh gobbles up a random sweet treat to affirm his words. Cyno and Tighnari exchange triumphant glances and Alhaitham goes back to his book, Hat Guy leans back in his seat and Kaveh heaves a sigh of relief.

What a close call.

[chuuya4040]

Imagine if Chuuya and Dazai in the PM days had accidentally gotten themselves on wanted posters that were plastered across for all of Yokohama to see.

Wanted posters weren’t unnecessarily uncommon within the Port Mafia. Usually it was low level grunts, who had the misfortune of having an unflattering photo of themselves plastered across the city, all for the citizens to walk past and be wary of. However, it was of utmost importance that high level mafia personnels remain anonymous to ensure that they never get recognised by the public.

“I think they really captured your angry, chibi face and ugly red hair well, don’t you think?”

However, two teenage boys happened to break this rule.

“Hah?! That looks nothing like me or my hair, it looks like some sewer rat!”

“Exactly my point, it is accurate!”

Two teenage boys who happened to also be the most dangerous duo in the underworld.

“Fuck off! Yours looks like you don’t have basic hygiene and haven’t even showered in days– oh wait, that’s actually true!”

“Hmph, I’d say the rough look they’ve given me gives me charm.”

“Yeah, a charm that says stay ten feet away from this man unless you want to catch a disease.”

Both boys yell at each other on a busy street in the city, screaming obscenities and accusations of their appearance to one another only growing louder and louder by the minute.

Each of them had been horrified by their own posters when they stumbled upon them on their way back from a mission. Whoever the artist was, clearly did not have a good eye for this profession.

Chuuya rips the poster off the wall, nearly ripping it in half in the process. “That looks nothing like me, just watch” he declares and approaches the first person he sees.

“Excuse me,” the redhead stops an elderly lady, a sweet faux smile on his face, “my.. friend thinks this looks like me, would you agree?”

The older woman blinks for a few moments, dazed by the random interaction and narrows her eyes at the poster before shaking her head “Oh, no you look nothing like that person!”

Chuuya looks at Dazai with a victorious smirk, his mind already forming of how he can make the bandaged bastard suffer.

He claimed his victory too quickly it seemed.

She continues with a small chuckle, “you’re just a sweet little thing aren't you?” The elderly woman coos, “you could possibly never look that menacing!” She fondly says, pinching his cheeks.

An uncontrollable giggle bursts out behind him, the gross (heavenly) noise reverberating in Chuuya’s brain and a constant reminder of his humiliation. His cheeks grew warm and red as his own hair, and in that moment with the woman's innocent smile and his partner's evergrowing giggle, he wished the earth would swallow him whole.

“And what about me?~” Dazai muses, a splitting grin on his face, a face that knows he has won.

The woman steps closer to investigate the poster, her eyebrows narrowing in question before they rise on her forehead and she turns pale. “Oh.. oh yes that does look like you. How strange..”

Dazai’s mouth hangs open in bewilderment, and a hearty, uncontrollable laugh bounces off the walls of the city.

Hushed tears blur the redhead's vision as he watches the elderly woman apologize and swiftly make her exit at the realization of who they are.

“Y-you.. You must be mistaken! Please, I definitely look more handsome than this, just look at me!” Dazai yells out after her, despair and horror clinging onto his voice as he watches her disappear into the busy crowd.

The brunet rounds on his partner, irritation leaking in his single eye when he yells, “what are you laughing at?! You are so small she thought you were a child!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Chuuya yells, annoyance dancing through his veins before he huffs in resignation. He begins walking towards headquarters, leaving before a dazed partner before blurting, “don’t sweat it, yeah? You look good half the time anyways.” Checkmate, Chuuya thought.

“Chuu–.. Chuuya, Chuuya! What do you mean by that? Is the slug finally admitting his undying love for me?!”

“Shut. Up!”

If years later they now have those exact wanted posters in a small frame in their shared apartment, that is no one’s business to know except their own.

[starry-bi-sky]

i have... ✨Danyal Al Ghul Headcanons✨ but specifically for my yaelokre danyal oneshot

There's also the tumblr post here but I recommend the link in the title because its the ao3 version, and that one is edited and has some stuff in it that's not in the tumblr post, and will be the version I'm using.

So for summary: this Danyal is also from a Demon Siblings Au where Danny is five years older than Damian. However, things turned out a bit differently, and Danny and Damian had a fantastic relationship with one another. Danny loved music and regularly came up with songs to sing to Damian with. Specifically the folk band Yaelokre's EP "Hayfields" (seriously go fucking listen to it its sooo good. Harpy Hare is the second song but its my favorite. Special shoutout to @gascansposts for introducing the band to me)

He falls off a train when he's twelve and Damian is seven while the two of them and Talia are on mission. He ends up with magically induced amnesia and wakes up in Arkansas while the Fentons are on their yearly Divorce-iversary visit to Aunt Alica, and since he can only remember his name, he ends up being taken into their care.

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

Yaelokre Danny has the same facial scar as Things in Threes Danyal, since he was initially another version of him where things turned out better. I'm debating on whether or not I should take it away however, and give him a different scar (maybe from when he fell off the train?), just because the scar is a pretty key identifier for Ti3 Danyal.

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

Danny frequently visits Aunt Alicia in Arkansas! Well, only after he gets settled in and stuff. He doesn't really like the city that much and prefers the countryside where Alicia lives. I know she lives in a cabin but I'm changing it to a farm, so she puts Danny to work and gets him to help her.

I don't want to confine his hobbies to only being star stuff, because people tend to have more than one hobby and I feel like it reduces him to one-dimensionality, so he likes to garden, and learns guitar. His room becomes filled with plants, and he turns their roof into a rooftop greenhouse right below to OPS Center.

He has a complex relationship with the weapons from his past, but he's not... like... appalled by it? When he finds his weapons in the Fenton attic all he thinks is that they're his weapons, and he starts carrying a knife on him afterwards. Essentially he becomes fascinated with weaponry because its one of the few physical ties he has to his past, and while he's not training like he is in the League, he allows his strong muscle memory to guide him through his katas.

Danny likes climbing things. This causes Problems For Everyone Else.

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

Danny was not the "kinder Al Ghul" in the League. His kindness extended to his brother and family, and that's it. To everyone else he had high expectations out of them, and the pride you'd expect from the grandson of Ra's Al Ghul and trained by its top members. While he wasn't like, unnecessarily cruel or anything, he wasn't merciful either.

This transfers post-train fall as him coming off as no-nonsense and unforgiving. He's not fond of the idea of giving people second chances, and is skeptical of the idea. He's disgusted by incompetency and views it as an unforgivable offense, especially if he thinks that the person should know better, although he's not sure why. Some egocentrism for the soul.

He doesn't like being touched by anyone who isn't family, and gets irritated when anyone grabs him or holds onto him for extended amounts of time. Dash has gotten hit so many times. With Jack Fenton's tendency for abrupt physical affection, it doesn't make it any better. I'd argue it'd make it worse because Danny doesn't want to be touched more often than not.

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

Danyal had a red scarf in the League that he wore on his last mission, it came off before he fell off and caught itself on the roof. Damian still has it and took it with him to Wayne Manor. He's got it locked in his room and takes it out when he's alone and missing Danny the most. One time he forgot to put it away before leaving his room, and Dick was visiting the manor for something and found it. Damian found him holding it and freaked out.

Dick could only say "I've never seen you wear this, Damian, this is really pretty--" before Damian shoved him to the floor and stole it out of his hands, before screaming at him; "Don't touch this! You don't ever touch this! This is mine! You hear me!?"

It caused such a commotion that the rest of the family present came to see what the fuss was about, and Damian kicked them all out of his room. Dick is the one brother Damian's the closest with, so the fact he reacted so strongly shocked them all.

This is likely what leads to the "Danyal" conversation.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — YUTA x FEM READER

Yuta’s just like a puppy. 

wc — 1k

tags —  mdni, aged up, dog boy Yuta, unfortunately have been reading too much borderline furry (boys with cat ears) manga and was converted, if I was braver I’d make this more intense, gentle fem dom, hand job on a desk, this is going to appeal to exactly one (1) person

You expected this. Yuta has never tried to hide the man that he is. 

Still, you think this is a bit too much. 

You’ve been standing in front of the mirror for at least ten minutes, trying to figure out how you’ll hide this mark in the summer heat. Yuta loves all of you, but he has a special fondness for the nape of your neck. More specifically - biting it. 

You know he can’t help it. It’s the nature of a guard dog. You had thought as much when you had first met him, all those months ago. 

Yuta naturally assumes the role of the protector. It’s instinctual to him, in everything from the way he shoves you behind him during fights or the way he pushes your favorite foods onto your plate from his. He’s always been like this. 

When you’re in danger, his hackles rise. He’s total in his brutality, an effortlessly efficient killing machine. Although he’s never thought of himself as such, in truth, Yuta is as much a prodigy as Gojo is. Having Rika makes it too easy to play at heroics. He’s never had to fear much when he’s the object of her devotion. 

Perhaps it’s because her love is all he’s ever known that he’s turned out the way he has. 

Yuta loves in the same way the Queen of Curses does. They’re both beasts tamed only by the leash their partners hold, weapons of mass destruction cradled in soft hands. Like Rika, Yuta is single minded in his devotion towards you. 

Dogged, one might say. 

He’s always touching you, like a puppy begging for attention from his master. A hand on your waist or curled around the back of your neck, Yuta needs to feel your skin on his. 

He dotes on you endlessly, constantly at your beck and call. He’ll deliver whatever you want to you on a silver platter. The way he waits eagerly for praise afterwards is adorable. 

Because of this, you’ll usually forgive him for anything. 

But you had woken up unnecessarily angry this morning, and the bite mark just sealed the deal. It had been too hot underneath your sheets, leaving you groggy and irritated. You had lashed out at your puppy, who was such an easy target. Yuta never argued or fought back, even if it was undeserved. He just took it. 

You’re feeling particularly guilty because he’s so patient with you. He had gotten back from a mission hours ago, and instead of cleaning up or resting, he was waiting outside your office patiently. He hadn’t even gotten out of the suit he had been wearing for this undercover assignment. 

His legs are drawn up to his chest so he can rest his head on his knees, staring at the closed door that separates him from you. When it finally opens, his ears perk up and his tail starts wagging. 

It’s hard to repress the urge to coo over him, to pet over his soft ears and praise him for being a good boy. 

Instead, you grab his tie, wrap it around your fist like a leash, and tug him inside your office. 

There’s blood on his face from his work. You shouldn’t find it so hot. 

“Are you still mad at me?” He asks. 

“I was never mad at you, pup,” you say gently, pushing him towards your desk. He lands sprawled across your documents on his back, looking bewildered. 

It’s evident he came here looking to make it up to you. You’d rather give him his dues, instead. 

“Pants off, baby,” you tell him, and he scrambles to obey. His hands are shaking a little as he undoes his belt, fumbling the latch over and over until finally you take pity on him and undo it yourself. 

Yuta goes a little cross eyed at your gentle handling of him. Of course, that only spurs you on further. 

“What do we say, Yu?”

“Thank you, thank you,” he chants.

“Good boy,” you croon, watching as his eyes practically turn into hearts and his tail wags furiously between his legs. You give it a light tug and he whimpers. There’s already a tent forming in his boxers. 

Playfully, you snap the waistband of his boxers against his skin. Yuta throws an arm over his eyes. His cheeks are turning red from embarrassment, but you can’t have that. 

“Don’t hide from me,” you say as you pull his arm away from his face. 

Yuta’s been so good. You don’t want to make him wait for it anymore. You tug his boxers off and wrap one hand around his cock. He’s already leaking so much you don’t need lube. Your giggle only makes him turn his face away, shy and even more embarrassed. 

Yuta’s hips thrust up involuntarily at the first slow, sweet stroke the tight circle of your fist makes around his cock. It’s followed by a string of gasped out sobs as Yuta tries to keep himself still, only to jerk like he’s been electrocuted at the next pump of your hand. 

“You don’t need to restrain yourself,” you tell him, and that’s all the encouragement he needs. Yuta’s loud. He whines and cries and begs even as you’re willingly giving him all he wants and more. 

He chases his high like a man starved, humping into your hand with a sweetly depraved desperation. When you twist your wrist just the way he likes, he sobs, a wretched, pathetic noise that makes something awful inside of you preen in delight. You want to hear him make that noise again.

When you look up again to gauge his reaction, Yuta’s biting his lip. “I’m close,” he whimpers when he catches you watching. “I’m gonna-I’m- fuck-“ 

“Go on, sweetheart,” you tell him. “Be a good boy and cum for me.” 

Praise always works well on Yuta. 

He cums into your hand with a sob, shaking through his orgasm. His knees knock together before you force them apart, pushing him just shy of overstimulation before you finally pull away. Yuta practically melts into your desk, boneless. 

“Was that a good enough apology?” You tease him. 

Yuta blinks at you. His brain is practically melting out of his ears. Then he shakes his head as if he’s shaking water off, his dark hair flying around his face. With the dumbest, cutest smile in the world, he says, “Repeat that?”