#anon prompt

[ghost-bxrd]

(okay so full disclosure i haven't read any dc stuff but ive been in the fandom for a while so i know the stuff pretty well, i have also slowly been coming up with prompts and i saw your prompts i thought i would send them to you in case they were decent, if they arent pls feel no pressure to respond :) )

so what if before the titans tower incident nightwing was visiting gotham and his grapple malfunctioned or snapped or smth and then all of a sudden he was just falling, cue the whole dead parent flashbacks, and then all of a sudden someone just caught him.

Red hood was patrolling crime alley when he saw nightwing get too close to his territory, so he followed at a distance too make sure he wasn't trying to pull some sort of trick, when he saw him fall. and fuck thats his big brother, so he runs, and saves him and how the hell is he going to explain this??

oh wow that angst is starting off GOOD!

Like, Dick’s split second of shock when the grapple catches and the line suddenly goes slack again, the swooping sensation of gravity pulling him towards the ground, and a short, hysterical moment to wonder if that’s what his parents felt when they died because— it’s not so bad. He expected there to be more… fear. Bust mostly he’s just sad because he knows Bruce and Tim and Alfred are going to be devastated.

And then there’s another body slamming into him mid air, and for a moment Dick thinks it’s got to be Bruce with the amount of muscle and body armor but he blinks and sees red (shit, shit, shit, Red Hood, this is bad)— but then the crime lord does something unexpected. He pushes off the side of a building in a startlingly familiar move and flips through the air. Something Dick does on the daily. Something Jason used to do with a stilted sort of grace. Something Tim is only just learning to get the hang of.

And suddenly Dick is livid.

Because Hood shouldn’t know how to do this. Nobody but him and Jason Tim should know how to do this. And the fact that Hood does… it can only mean Hood’s either been stalking them for much longer than he feels comfortable with, or——

Or somehow he must have learned from one of the three people ever to exist who know the technique.

Dick knows he didn’t teach Hood, and Tim would sooner break his own leg than help a crime lord…

But that only leaves Jason, and while it can’t be possible Dick can’t help the spark of traitorous hope he feels.

Meanwhile Jason, gesticulating with a gun: (shit fuck ok how do I salvage this ok I need to use this to my advantage somehow oh shit ok—) YOU ARE NOW MY HOSTAGE

Dick, who wasn’t planning on letting Hood leave before he gets some answers anyway: sure :)))

Jason: …what?

Dick: I said sure! Let’s go! You wanna cuff me?

Jason: … wtf?

[kissingghouls]

SOFT PROMPTS ok ok...how about "you're shivering. here, take my jacket" with Mary x Reader ORRrrrr Secondo x Reader?? I can't decide

beloved anon. you were so right about this 💖✨

Winter Chill - Mary Goore x Reader

no warnings, relatively fluffy, kinda soft Mary, he/they Mary, first kiss, 2300 words

-x-

“He’s a dick,” a familiar voice states behind you. It’s followed by the tell-tale sound of spit hitting the pavement.

You’re not exactly surprised to find the silhouette of Mary Goore appearing like a ghostly apparition in the dim light of the porch. It was in their nature to just show up like that—especially when there was something to be said about your ex—but you were surprised by the lack of singsong taunting in their tone. Mary didn’t usually hold back when it came to voicing their distaste for him.

It’s obvious from their presence that they’d seen the confrontation inside—a fact that makes you feel slightly embarrassed as he shuffles around in the dark. The rotting wood of the aptly named Chaos House creaks under his boots, the thick soles landing with a thunk! thunk! thunk! as he stomps down a few steps and drops next to you. They shoot you a crooked, toothy smile and gently nudge you with an elbow.  “But you knew that already.”

“You’re a little late for an ‘I told you so,’ Goore,” you warn with a sigh. The breakup between you and that asshole was well beyond old news. There was next to no way Mary hadn’t heard and probably celebrated by now. Gossip travels fast in small towns, even faster in small social circles like yours.

“Aw c’mon,” he groans, arching his back to stretch his long legs like a cat. He pats down the pockets of his tight jeans and produces a pack of smokes and an old lighter. With a cigarette tucked between his teeth, he draws his knees back up before turning to you. “I’m not here for that.”

“Why are you here, Mary?” you ask softly.

Inside, the party swells with sound. A cluster of people all shouting to be heard while a metal band starts their set in the basement. It’s a mix of rumbling bass and the crack of drums with the occasional scream. The noise is just as normal as the hint of stale beer and body odor that permeates the old house. It’s as natural as the stains and cigarette burns on the weirdly orange tinted carpet that covers the stairs. Neither of you bat an eye as cymbals crash under your feet.

Mary flicks the lighter over their thigh, sparking it to life and drawing the flame toward their lips. They breathe deep, inhaling the toxic burn before leaning back on their elbows and letting out a puff of smoke. “To offer you a ride home.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you turn to the metalhead sprawled on the porch next to you. Pale, bony knees jut out from the holes in his jeans. The trademark leather jacket covered in bright patches and studs hangs loose around his skinny frame as he reclines against the steps. Underneath their battle jacket the faded, well-loved t-shirt older than either of you is barely held together by more than a few threads. A shock of dark hair styled haphazardly hangs over those pretty green eyes that hadn’t moved from your face since he sat down.

It was a well-known fact that Mary couldn’t be trusted to operate a vehicle. Every time they’d tried had ended in varying degrees of disaster—one of which included a cliff.

“You can’t drive,” you remind him through a laugh.

“No, but I got you to smile.” He sounds triumphant, proud almost. “You got a good one, you know?”

“What?”

“Your smile. It’s…I dunno.” He shrugs and waves his hand through the air. “It’s…nice.”

“Goore,” you level. “Are you drunk?”

They shake their head and take a long drag. The orange glow of the embers hits just right, illuminating the places on his face painted white. The shadows are darker, the blurry edges of makeup smeared into the hollow of his cheeks look more intense in the dark like this. It’s a look you’ve appreciated once or twice before at other house parties or in the dim light of the local dive bar while you pretend not to notice how they only charge you for every other drink they slide your way.

Your heart skips as he grins up at you, dried fake blood cracking on his face.

“I’m sober as a judge, sweetheart,” they tell you as they sit up, a well-practiced smirk playing on their lips.

There’s a tightness in your chest again, a feeling so familiar around Mary. While this thing between you started a long time ago, you never took it too seriously. After all, you couldn’t take Mary seriously half the time. So, the teasing and light flirting never really meant anything and that was how the two of you had operated for as long as you could remember. It never went further than that because neither of you ever seemed to be single at the same time.

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t found yourself a little curious from time to time.

The rumor mill spun both ways when it came to Mary Goore. Some days the story was they were some delinquent hellbent on burning the entire town to the ground. Other days there were tales of kindness that extended as far as feeding the feral street cats that lived in the alley behind their apartment. He was a loyal friend to the point of violence on more than one occasion, but everyone who dated them considered them a caring partner despite their apparent fear of commitment.

In your estimation, Mary was no different than anyone else—not all good or all bad, just another human trying to get by. When it came down to it, you’d rather have Mary in your corner than not. The fact that they were out here with you now, well, that just meant they already were.

“As a judge, huh?” you ask and lean forward to pluck the burning cigarette from his fingers. His eyes follow your movements as you set the filter between your lips and take an easy drag before offering the thing right back to him.

“Careful darlin’,” he warns, fingers brushing yours as he accepts. “These things are worse for you than I am.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

They raise an eyebrow, half-expecting you to follow up with a “just kidding” or a “not like that.” When you don’t their composure slips, and they struggle to hide a look of surprise mixed with a little bit of excitement. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, soft as the stubble poking through his makeup.

Those green eyes sparkle in the moonlight, watching as you stand and stretch your arms over your head. The wind picks up, carrying the undercurrent of much colder weather slowly moving in. It should be snowing by now, but the air is just a mist of wet fog soaking into everything without the beauty or smell of rain. The lawn is soft under your feet, little more than an oversaturated lump of clover and weeds that fails to connect the muddy patches from one end of the yard to the other. It’s all still as green as Mary’s eyes somehow, still thriving and you’re standing outside in a t-shirt next to Mary Goore in December.

The end of the cigarette whips past you and lands in a shower of orange sparks near the driveway. Mary leans up, the last little bit of smoke curling from their lips as the hole in the left knee of their jeans rips loudly.

“Aw, fuck,” Mary whines helplessly, leg now exposed halfway to the calf.

“C’mon,” you offer with a soft smile and hold your hand out to a guy who might or might not be trouble.

“Where are we going?” they ask, wiping their hands on their jeans as they stand.

“No idea,” you admit with a shrug. “Somewhere else.”

“Alright then,” Mary agrees with a grin and takes your hand.

You make it to the end of the block before you realize neither of you have let go. Their hand is warm and much larger than yours, their palm an odd mix of soft in places and calloused in others. For every step he takes, you take two to keep up though there’s no real destination in sight. Maybe you should have thought it through a little better, but being around Mary always made your brain a little fuzzy. And maybe that was why you’d avoided situations like this before—because the fear of something was too great. The risk of Mary was like jumping into a body of water completely blind. Dangerous. Unpredictable. Thrilling. Incredible.

The two of you walk east toward the river, passing patrons on the main drag crawling from one bar to another. A few toss looks your way, judgements whispered under their breath as they hurry by. If Mary notices, they hide it well. Their shoulders never seem to sag with the weight of what everyone else thinks you and him should be.

At the crosswalk you wait to pass and he rather impressively digs out another cigarette, lighting it one-handed. You’re unsure of how many cars pass under the stoplight or how many times the two of you miss your chance to cross, but you’re acutely aware of the way Mary looks wrapped in a haze of smoke and the city lights.

It’s not bad.

“Do I have something on my face?” they ask with an eyebrow raised, using the hand holding yours to pull you closer.

“Yeah, actually,” you respond playfully.

He frowns and pretends to swipe at his face. “Better?”

“Eh, your face is still there,” you tease with a shrug.

He tugs you even closer. “Don’t act like you don’t like my face, sweetheart.”

“It’s ok. I guess.”

“Just ok?”

It’s a question you barely hear. It’s not the rush of traffic or the random people walking past, but your heart hammering away in your ears that nearly deafens you. Warmth radiates off Mary like he’s the fucking sun. You know because he’s so close, close enough that you catch a hint of cologne under the nicotine and leather. And god those eyes, with them fixed on you like this you spot the soft flecks of gold they hide from everyone else.

You nod carefully. “It’s a good face. Ten out of ten. Would look again.”

He breaks first, averting his eyes as he struggles not to laugh. “I guess I better stick around so you can keep looking.”

“I appreciate the effort, Goore.”

“Anything for you, darlin’.”

You shake your head and let the moment fade as you pull them across the street.

Mary leads now, their other hand placed carefully at your hip as they guide you down the wet stairs. It’s dead quiet by the water. There’s never much of a crowd on the riverfront but this time of night it’s completely deserted. Traffic roars across the bridge overhead, a stream of bright red brake lights stretching across the river. You feel like you’re in another world entirely, tucked against Mary Goore of all people. You stand still, watching the gentle current roll over the rocky shore and pretend not to notice the way he moves closer and closer.

Winter arrives and surrounds the two of you within seconds as the wind picks up again. A blast of frigid, arctic air that smells like snow bites at the exposed skin of your arms. It’s cliche but as tears sting your eyes, you can’t help the chill that seeps into your bones.

“Huh. I think it’s gonna snow.”

Mary’s voice is uncharacteristically soft, barely more than a whisper. It’s a sharp contrast to all those times you’d seen them growl their way through songs about blood and corpses, but it makes the butterflies stir in your stomach all the same. Maybe there was something behind all those free drinks and flirty words. Something different.

The thought sends a shock through your body, the electric hum of realization. You like Mary.

He shifts slightly, turning his body toward yours. “Shit, you’re shivering. Here, take my jacket.”

Before you can say anything, they’ve shrugged out of the thing and wrapped you in soft, worn leather. You hide your hands in the sleeves, but they itch to reach out, to pull him in. The lining is still warm and it’s heavier than you expect, but none of it matters as Mary’s gaze falls to your lips.

But they don’t kiss you. At least, not in the way you thought they might.

“Goore?” you ask as they pull away slightly.

“Uh-huh?”

“Did…did you just…kiss my forehead?”

“Yep.”

“Instead of like…actually kissing me. You kissed my forehead?”

“Well, I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I’m not just gonna put out for you because you expect me to.”

“Oh my god,” you huff with an annoyed roll of your eyes. “You—hmph!”

Mary cuts off your complaints by grabbing the lapels of the jacket and smashing his lips against yours. Your arms loop around their neck, pulling them as close as you can. There’s a warm hand pressed to the small of your back, under the jacket and under your t-shirt. Mary’s other hand tangles in your hair as they break the kiss to speak.

“Sorry darlin’,” they whisper. “You’re just so fuckin’ cute when you’re annoyed. I can’t help it.”

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me, Goore.”

It’s rough and brash when his mouth claims yours, and you think Mary kisses like he plays guitar—aggressive with a practiced ease. He nips at your bottom lip, practically melting against you when you let out a little whine in response. His tongue brushes yours and he tastes of smoke and something sugary you can’t quite place. It doesn’t matter anyway because your senses are filled with all things Mary and you’re content to keep them that way.

“Mm, I always knew you’d be trouble, sweetheart,” they groan as you press your body against theirs.

“Aw Goore, do you have a crush on me?”

“Yeah, actually. For so fucking long,” he admits freely.

You grin and lean up to kiss him again as tiny snowflakes begin to collect in his hair.

[vylad243]

Prompt

An Overlord meeting was about to start, but they were still missing one more person. The Media Overlord, Vox. It was very unlike him to show up late. But when it does happen, it’s usually because he either forgot about it or he was dealing with the other Vees. So they waited for him.

When the TV headed demon finally did show up, he looked exhausted. Clothes put on lazily and messily, barely able to hold himself up while slightly swaying back and forth. His eyes were barely open, and it was very clear he had no idea where he was.

All in all, he looked like he was about to pass out at any moment.

Alastor makes a small comment about how Vox looks, that causes the tired demon to slowly look over to him, before walking to the radio demon.

The other Overlords braced themselves for the fight that was about to back out between the two rivals, but it never came.

Instead, the media demon sat down in the radio demon’s lap and cuddled into him.

Now, Alastor and Vox are dating, but the other Overlords don’t know that. So they’re all waiting for Alastor, the most touch aversion demon they know, to kill the now sleeping Vox.

But instead, Alastor wraps his arms around Vox’s waist and rests his head on the media demon’s shoulder with a big lovesick smile on his face.

The others didn’t know what to say. Like, what do you say in a situation like this?

So, they decided to get on with the meeting.

By the next day after some rest, Vox realizes what he did and is beyond embarrassed. Alastor is more focused on making sure his mate gets more rest from now on.

And fingerguns. Once again, not exactly what you asked for but I hope it's okay regardless!

[makeitastrength]

Chenford + 6x01 post ep/fight

[fanfictilltheend]

A Trick of the Winter Light (Joel Miller/You)

AO3 Link

Masterlist

A/n: To fill the anon tumblr prompt: "I have a Joel x daddy issues!reader request!! Reader sees how good Joel is with Ellie, and it makes her happy and sad at the same time. She's happy Ellie gets to have an amazing father, but she can't stop thinking about what was wrong with herself that her father couldn't love her the way Joel loves Ellie. This causes a bit of trouble in their little family until Joel and ellie confront reader about why she's being distant. I'd like a happy ending where joel comforts reader too!!!"

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort, past abusive father mention, daddy issues, referenced past domestic violence, sarah mention, please take care of yourself!!

Summary: Reader comes from an abusive home and seeing Joel and Ellie's good relationship is heartwarming but also confusing at times. When Joel and Ellie get in a snowball fight reader assumes the worst between the two of them and Joel and Ellie comfort you the best way they know how.

Your dad was an asshole. There was no other way of saying it. You can’t even count the number of times that fucker came after you with a belt. This wasn’t the worst of it though, you think. The worst was that that motherfucker basically ignored you your entire childhood except to criticize or beat you. No playing dolls, no showing up to soccer games, no high-fives if you managed to scrape up an A on your report card. Instead, radio silence except for the slamming of fists or the shouting of harsh words. 

To say this didn’t fuck you up would be a lie. But it didn’t just fuck up how you felt about yourself, that could have filled up a novel, no, it also fucked up how you perceived other people’s relationships. And that’s where Joel and Ellie came in.

When Joel and Ellie moved into Jackson it turned your life upside down in the best possible way. You were an assistant teacher in the Jackson high school and met Ellie first. She charmed her way into her heart and that dark and mysterious Joel Miller was soon to follow with prompting from Ellie. Joel had initially been cold to you as he was to everyone (maybe that’s what drew you to him – another emotionally unavailable older man who actively didn’t give a shit about you), but he warmed up to you quickly when he saw how awesome you could be with Ellie. The rest was history and you moved in with Joel and Ellie soon after.

Most days were amazing! You were so impressed with the way Joel fathered Ellie, always being so kind and considerate to her and the way he looked at her like the sun shone out of her ass always melted your heart. But it was a lot to get used to, seeing a real, mostly-functional father-daughter relationship that you just never had. And then sometimes you were transported into the past against your will.

Take today, for example. It was winter and snow covered Jackson like a Christmas card. School had been canceled for you and Ellie and a construction project Joel had been helping with became a snow hazard so he had off too. You and Joel had been reading contentedly on the couch until Ellie raced inside and threw a live snowball right into Joel’s chest. You died laughing until Joel got up and declared war on Ellie who raced back outside, giggling hysterically. You and Joel grabbed coats and gloves and ran out into the front yard and began lobbing snowballs at Ellie who was screaming with glee from behind a snowbank. Everything was fine until Ellie managed to hit Joel square in the face. Joel stopped what he was doing, wiped the melting snow off his face gruffly, got up from the embankment you two had hidden behind, and marched over to Ellie. Ellie’s eyes widened in fear and she ducked down behind her snowbank. In seconds, Joel was upon her and tackled her to the ground behind the large pile of snow and you simply lost it. You didn’t think Joel would ever be capable of hurting Ellie, but you had seen that ferocious look in his eye – that same look you’d seen in your father’s. 

“Joel!” you yelled urgently, running over. “Get the fuck off of her! How the fuck could you–”

But you cut yourself off the second you realized the two were just laughing, rolling around, and play-fighting in the freezing snow. 

Oh, I am an idiot . You thought to yourself, wiping away the tears that had somehow collected in your eyes.

“Chill out, Y/N–” Ellie giggled, turning over to face you. “Oh my god. Shit. Are you crying!? We were just messing around…” she trailed off, looking over at Joel with worry.

Joel was looking up at you now with concern too. He knew about your past, but you didn’t blame him for not connecting the convoluted dots. 

“Shit, darlin’,” he said gently. “Don’t cry. What’s the matter now?”

“I-I-thought–” you began, but suddenly you were crying. You were always a crier. Every time your dad hurt you verbally or physically, you always cried. Like clockwork. “Thought you were m-mad at Ellie. I-I’m so sorry,” you sobbed pathetically, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Ellie looked up at you again with worry. Then she put two and two together. (Always was a smart kid).

“You…you thought he was really gonna hurt me?” She asked, looking up at Joel from her spot on the ground. 

“Kinda,” you nodded, staring down at the snow-drenched earth.

“Joel’d never ever hurt me like that, Y/N,” Ellie said, getting up and taking your hand. “Don’t you know that?”

“Yeah, is the thing,” you replied, looking over into Joel’s eyes. “I know he never, ever would. You’re so lucky to have that, Ellie. I just knew some people who weren’t like that is all. And I sometimes forget how good people can be.”

Joel stood up too and put a large hand on your shoulder.

“Over my dead body, I’d ever hurt either one of you,” he said meaningfully, looking into your eyes and you knew he was telling the truth. 

And because of that, you burst into tears.

“Ellie, kiddo, why don’t you go over to Dina’s for a little?” Joel suggested gently.

Ellie gave you a kind of awkward side hug and nodded and made her way over to Dina’s house, looking back a little uneasily.

Joel mouthed something to her, but you couldn’t tell what because tears had flooded your vision.

“Hey, I dunno who you’re talking about, Y/N,” Ellie shouted from half-way down the block, cupping her mittens around her mouth. “About those asshole people. But I’ll kick their asses for you!”

“Thanks, Els!” you giggled through the tears. She was always looking out for you like that even though she was only fourteen. “You’re a good kid.”

And with that, Ellie disappeared into town with a last nod.

“Uh, why don’t we head on inside and have something hot to drink,” Joel suggested. 

You nodded your head and Joel took your hand so gently, which was so different than how you’d seen him handle a weapon on patrol that your heart broke a little more, unsure how you got lucky enough to find someone who handled you so tenderly. 

***

You both sat at the kitchen counter with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate as the sun got lower in the winter sky.

“Gonna tell me what that was all about?” Joel asked, putting his hand on yours.

“It’s so fucking stupid,” you replied, taking your hand away.

Joel frowned. 

“Not to me it ain’t,” he responded seriously, his brown eyes meeting yours. “Nothing you say is stupid. Hell, half the time I’ve gotta look up words you just slip into normal conversation.”

You grinned at that. This was Joel after all. You knew you could tell him pretty much anything and he wouldn’t judge you, had probably done fifty times worse. 

“You just…had this angry look in your eye when Ellie threw that snowball at you. It reminded me of how my dad used to look at me before he’d…get physical. In my mind, I know you would never, ever hurt Ellie. But it’s like my body hasn’t caught up to my thoughts and it’s still a little girl, living at home with a terrifying asshole.”

“I get that,” Joel said after a moment. 

“You do?”

“Sure. Sometimes…sometimes my body still feels like it’s holding Sarah the day I lost her even though it’s been twenty years.”

Joel rarely mentioned Sarah so you were honored he felt comfortable enough to bring her up. You put your hand back on his and rubbed his calloused skin tenderly.

“Never’d hurt you or Ellie though. Over my dead body, alright?” Joel continued meaningfully, reaching out a large hand to rub your back. “But your dad? That asshole? Like Ellie said, I’d kick his ass six ways to Sunday.”

You snort into Joel’s flannel-covered shoulder, trying to imagine it. Joel would rip that asshole limb from limb with his bare hands, you were sure of it. You’d heard stories of what he was capable of, had seen glimpses of it on patrols. Ellie would be more than happy to assist. Come to think of it, maybe you’d get a kick or punch in edgewise of your own.

“Can I tell you something?” you asked slowly, your foot tangling with his own. 

“‘Course, doll,” He replied with a kind smile.

“This may not mean a lot coming from me, seeing as I don’t know much better, but I really do think you’re an amazing father.”

“To me, angel, that means the world,” Joel told you with a genuine grin.

He leaned over and kissed you on the top of your forehead and then between your lips. You kissed him back lovingly.

“Your dad didn’t know what the fuck he was missing with someone like you,” Joel murmured low against your ear.

You grinned.

“Love you, Joel,” you told him, pulling him in for a hug.

“Love you too, babygirl. Never gonna let anyone lay a finger on you ever again.”

A/n: Any feedback would be much appreciated! Lmk prompts or suggestions or if you would like to be tagged! Thanks for reading!! ❤️

Masterlist

[spotsandsocks]

I believe eddie is a goner when buck plays with his hair (so is buck). I mean like when he has his head on bucks lap and buck gently brushes through it with his fingers, eddie falls asleep so fast he thinks bucks fingers might be magic

Oh yes!

Imagine if it started by accident- Buck’s reading on the couch, his arm out across the back. Eddie sitting as close as he thinks he can get away with and suddenly fingers touch the back of Eddie’s neck and Buck’s fingers start to brush through his hair. Eddie freezes, heart hammering. He knows Buck’s not really playing attention to what he’s doing, it’s an absent minded gesture and he has no intention of breaking the moment. He stays as still as he can planning to enjoy the feeling for as long as he can.

Meanwhile Buck becomes slowly aware of what he’s doing and that Eddie doesn’t exactly object. He keeps it casual for now but plans to see how far this can get him.

The next time they watch a film together he sits down and pretends Eddie has something in his hair, takes his time ‘removing it’ and then straightening Eddie hair again. He doesn’t fail to notice how Eddie goes loose limbs and his eyes flutter closed as his fingers roam.

The next time it’s a headache- Eddie’s got no resistance to Buck as he offers a head massage which then becomes Eddie’s head in Buck’s lap and soft fingers running through his hair until his the pain is forgotten but he’s not moving anyway.

It becomes a habit neither mentions because neither of them want it to stop.

Buck comes up behind Eddie while he’s sitting at the table reading and his hand automatically winds itself into the soft strands at the back of his head. Eddie leans into it and can’t help the quiet hum of satisfaction the sensation give him. His breath slows and Buck finally feels brave enough to acknowledge what they’re doing isn’t typical.

He says something like your hairs so soft in a whisper. Eddie reaches up and holds his wrist and pulls his hand down there’s a moment of panic as Buck thinks he’s ruined it and then Eddie presses a kiss to his wrist and then his palm.

Another whispered breath and Buck says your lips are too.

Eddie stands looks him in they eyes and says

Are yours?

Buck smiles and let’s Eddie find out….

Well anon look what you made me do - now I’m all of a flutter 🤣

[do-it-for-the-fandom]

14. Gentle prompt. “Your hands are freezing.”

This prompt painted a very specific picture in my mind that I just don't think I've quite portrayed here... but I just can't quite figure out what about this drabble just isn't 'right'.

Season 5.

She let herself in with her key. He had gifted it to her not long after they started dating but, given that they were always together, she'd never had reason to use it.

But she had been determined to finish up her paperwork before heading home for the night and - seeing as he could barely keep his eyes open while sitting in his chair by her desk - she had insisted he go home and try to get some sleep. It had been a long few days, and she promised that she wouldn't be too far behind him.

Two hours later she was tiptoeing through the darkness of his home, eager to be able to curl up beside him and drift off to sleep in the warmth of his arms.

She pulled his dresser drawer open slowly - careful not to make too much noise - and pulled a sweater from the very back of the drawer. She couldn't see which one she'd pulled out but she knew he wouldn't mind; even if he hadn't made such an effort in the past to tell her how much he loved the sight of her in his clothes, she could always tell by the way he couldn't help but stare, the way his eyes darkened as he got lost in whatever thoughts occupied his mind.

She dropped her clothes in a pile beside the dresser to deal with in the morning and slipped the sweater over her head.

"Don't cover up," Castle mumbled, still half asleep. "Was enjoying the show."

"It's almost pitch-black in here," Beckett whispered as she slowly made her way toward the bed. "How can you enjoy what you can barely even see?"

Castle pulled the sheets back for her and she crawled into bed with him.

"I think you underestimate the allure of a sexy silhouette undressing," he explained.

In the darkness he found her face, pressed his palm to her cheek and guided her toward him for a short but sweet kiss. He gasped - no, shrieked! - when she slipped her hands under his shirt.

"Your hands are freezing!" he complained as he grabbed her wrists and pulled her hands from his sides.

She tried not to laugh but when he squirmed away from her touch, she couldn't help it.

"I'm sorry," she insisted in between infectious little giggles.

"Yeah, sounds like it," he grumbled as he released one of her wrists and reached to tickle her side.

"Castle!" she squawked as her body jerked away from him and her giggles turned to bursts of deep, hearty laughter as she flailed about under the attack of his fingers at her ribs.

She pushed off of the mattress, onto her knees and crawled to the end of the bed but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her back against him.

"No, I'll stop," he promised through his breathless laughter. He leant back against the pillows, bringing her with him, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "I'm done, I promise."

She turned in his arms, cuddled into his chest. "Happy now that you got your revenge?"

"Mm-hmm," he hummed. He fixed up the bedding, tucked the sheets around them both and pulled the duvet up to cover her shoulders before settling in closing his eyes. "Very happy."

Slowly, she inched her hands closer to the hem of his shirt but - although he couldn't quite stop his abs from twitching when she slipped them under the material - he didn't say or do anything to try to stop her. He appreciated his new role of human heater, cherished the fact that his was the bed she chose to crawl into on the cold winter nights.

"Goodnight, my love," he whispered as he began to drift off to sleep again.

"Goodnight," she whispered back. "Love you."

[madmanwonder]

Prompt

Jaune is ready to spar with Penny, when his new cheerleaders go to do what they are suppose to. While Neon is having fun, Reese is having issue with the skirt keep riding up her butt, and May is dealing with her chest bouncing too much. A very good, but distracting show for Jaune.

Jaune stared at the short ginger-haired Atlasian girl with a determined look on his face, ready to test his skills toward Penny...

"GO JAUNE! GO JAUNE! GO JAUNE!"

...if only his attention wasn't on Neon cheering him on her cheerleader outfit doing a chant that does wonderful things to certain parts of her body.

Reese, the skilled skater was having issues with her skirt that keep riding up her butt and revealing her butt to the red-faced embarrassment

May the wallflower sniper was dealing with her chest bouncing far too much causing many many distracted from the short, hyper-endowed woman who look like she was about to die from embarrassment.

It was a very good but distracting show for Jaune.

[therealmofamorus]

Prompt

Original male stud

Yang acknowledges that she is punsexual, while Weiss has come to terms that she is moronsexual. Jaune makes a pun towards them, followed by a stupid statement.

Imminent sex

Yang and Weiss was outside of Beacon Academy talking amicably.

Yang: I done some research on my sexuality and I discovered that I neither lesbian or bisexual but punsexual.

Weiss: And also come to the conclusion that I am moronsexual.

Jaune walked up to Weiss and Yang.

Jaune: Guess that mean I am sexualsexual for being attracted to sex~ *Wink* But do this mean I am attracted to non-sexual people or not?

Weiss and Yang looked at Jaune and to each other as they stood up and grabbed Jaune arms, dragging him

Weiss/Yang: God you are fucking moron/you are going to get some

[tonbane]

Seeing how Zelda is barefoot in your “Against Fate” comic, I headcanon that Link also enjoyed going in bare feet and Zelda picked up his habit after the Calamity.

I can see that too! They're definitely that kind of critter! Thanks for the ask, been ages since i doodled AF Link :)

[gregorovitch-adler]

Hi! I love your fics & ficlets. Idk if you take prompts. But I have one. Sherlock not gravely injured but getting two butt shots for said disease/injury (at his bottom) by Dr. John Watson. I think this may turn out to be a quite hilarious fic for us readers. I'd like to know what you think of this.

Hello! I'm so glad you like my writing. I usually don't take prompts, but this one sounded fun. So, here you are.

--

The Unconventional Solution

John was reading a book at night, sitting on his chair in the living room. Sherlock was lying on the sofa, covered in a thick blanket, and staring at the ceiling.

It was the fourth day of Sherlock suffering from a viral fever.

Sherlock had been susceptible to seasonal changes quite often, in the past.

John had made him go through a three-day medicinal course, but strangely, Sherlock's body was still weak, and the thermometer reading refused to drop from forty degrees.

Good that his runny nose and coughing had subsided. The frequency of his fever had also reduced, but not its intensity. It was once a day for an hour or two, but significantly high.

"John," he called out weakly. "I'm still burning."

John kept his book on the side table and got up to walk to Sherlock. He touched Sherlock's forehead with the back of his hand, and withdrew it immediately. It was indeed burning.

"That's odd. It should've become milder by now. Let me measure it," he said and went to the bathroom to get his medical kit from the shelf. When he came back, Sherlock was already trying to sit up.

"Wait," John said and walked across the room to help him up by his shoulders. John squeezed his shoulders, and placed his medical kit on the coffee table. He opened it to grab the thermometer, and gave it to Sherlock after turning it on.

Sherlock placed it inside his shirt, in his armpit and they waited for a minute.

"I'll take you to hospital tomorrow, if you don't get better by the morning."

"Not a chance."

"I'll drag you if I have to," said John and folded his arms.

"I'd like to see you try." Sherlock smirked.

Oh, how John was dying to kiss that smirk off that damned mouth!

They'd had to place two pillows between them on their bed since the past few nights, and John had been growing impatient now.

The thermometer beeped. Sherlock took it out. "Forty degrees, still. Are you sure it's working?" he asked, looking up at John through his lashes.

"Oh, it's working just fine!" John kept his thermometer back in his kit, placed his hands on his hips, and wondered. What was he supposed to do now? Surely, he couldn't let Sherlock sleep in that condition. It was half past eleven, so the pharmaceutical shops nearby must be closed by now.

Suddenly, one of the medicines caught John's eye. An ibuprofen vial - intramuscular. John knitted his brows, trying to remember why he had that with him. Ah, yes. A post-op patient had needed it when John was doing his rounds.

John had ordered some extra after having administered it to that patient - which he had paid for, afterwards. To be prepared for something like this.

John cleared his throat. "Lie down on your stomach."

"Why?"

"I'm gonna give this to you," said John, pointing at the vial as he began to sterilise his hands. He took out the vial to prepare the syringe.

"What the hell is that?"

"Ibuprofen."

"What about giving me a tablet of that, like a normal person?!" Sherlock was tapping his thighs with his fingers restlessly.

"We're out."

"We can obviously wait till the morning!"

"I could barely touch your forehead, Sherlock! We really can't. And you need to sleep."

"Boring," he said, trying to sound non-chalant, but grabbing his blanket sort of defensively at the same time.

"Are you scared?" John asked, unable to keep his disbelief out of his tone, as he flicked the syringe to check for any air-bubbles.

Even after being together with him for four months now, and being his flatmate for ages, there was still something new to learn about all the time when it came to Sherlock.

"Not at all," he said sternly but began to wrap himself with that blanket.

John bit his bottom lip to control his laugh, trying to maintain his best bedside manner. "Well, that blanket or any amount of layers isn't going to save you." John held up his syringe, which was now ready. "Get on your stomach."

"But -"

"Now," he ordered.

They locked eyes with each other. John was going to hold Sherlock's intense gaze forever, if he had to. John could see his pupils dilate, and his cheeks a bit flushed up - not necessarily because of the fever - as Sherlock looked away and cleared his throat.

Sherlock huffed and put his blanket away and lay down on his stomach.

Knew it would work, John thought as he walked closer to the sofa. "I'm going to take these off," he said, meaning the pyjama bottoms.

Sherlock nodded, but his body still looked a bit tense. John pulled down Sherlock's pyjamas and boxer briefs till his upper thighs.

He took out some methanol swab from his kit to rub at the upper, lateral quadrant of his left butt.

Sherlock hissed.

"Cold?"

Sherlock nodded and made an uncomfortable sound at the base of his throat. If John weren't in a professional mode, he would've paid attention to whatever unwanted thoughts that were intruding his mind at the moment. Sherlock always made him feel that way - couldn't be helped.

Especially with that arse on display. Stop it! John scolded himself as he palpated the area where he'd applied methanol to feel for Sherlock's gluteus maximus.

"Don't worry. Just keep breathing and you won't feel a thing."

"John, you know it doesn't work. Especially with a syringe that big-"

"Not really."

"It is!"

"Picture me in my old fatigues," said John and placed the syringe needle at a ninety-degree angle to the skin surface.

"Oh." Sherlock's body visibly relaxed at that.

With that, John began to administer the ibuprofen steadily. Sherlock gasped a bit in pain, but John soothed that area with his fingers. When he was done, he carefully took out the needle at the same angle and pressed a cotton ball against the tender surface to help Sherlock relax.

John pulled up Sherlock's pants and pyjamas and patted his butt as he got up to keep everything back in his medical kit. He noticed that Sherlock's eyes were still closed. "We're done," he said and cleared his throat. "Let's go to bed."

Sherlock opened his eyes and let out a relieved sigh. John gave him a hand to help him up, and they both walked slowly to the bedroom.

In the room, Sherlock began to grab extra pillows from the wardrobe.

"What are those for?" asked John.

"We've been placing them between us since I fell ill," Sherlock replied, with his brows furrowed in confusion.

John took them from his hands and placed them back in the wardrobe. He grabbed Sherlock by the shoulders to push him onto the bed. "Not today," he said and walked to the other side of the bed to get inside the duvet with Sherlock.

"But what if you catch it?"

John just wrapped his arms around Sherlock without replying and kissed him on his cheek. "Good night. Try to get some sleep," he said and yawned.

It didn't take either of them long to doze off.

*

John's eyes fluttered open in the morning, only to find Sherlock pinning him with his intense gaze, with his head propped up on his elbow.

"How long have you been awake?" asked John in a scratchy voice, with his eyes half open.

"Five minutes."

"How are you feeling?" John was wide awake now, remembering last night. "Were you able to sleep?" John reached out to touch Sherlock's forehead.

He did not have fever anymore, and he certainly looked better than he did last night.

"Yes. Quite well, in fact," he said and leaned in to kiss John's forehead. "Already feeling better."

"You sure about that?" John asked, looking at Sherlock properly, hoping he wasn't just saying that to avoid going to the hospital.

Sherlock hummed and nodded. Without warning, Sherlock climbed on top of John and planted a long, searing kiss on his mouth. John made a surprised sound but kissed him back, not caring about their morning breaths too much.

"Don't think this means you aren't still under observation," John murmured, as he moved his mouth to place kisses along Sherlock's jawline.

"I don't mind that at all," Sherlock said with a sigh as he moved his hands around John's chest, dropping them to his arse.

"Might give you another dose of ibuprofen if necessary."

"Maybe refrain from that," he said and they both began to laugh with their foreheads touching.

John was glad to see Sherlock back in his form. He couldn't possibly be more in love with this man, even if he tried.

--

AN - Just a quick medical realism here: Butt is usually not the first choice to administer IM medication in a lot of cases, but I just wanted to go with the flow of this prompt to fulfill it. I know ibuprofen is most commonly given orally or through IV, but... eh. I hope you liked this one, Anon!

Tags: @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely @a-victorian-girl @gaylilsherlock @lisbeth-kk @totallysilvergirl @keirgreeneyes, etc.

[milkywaybottles]

Hiya! Wanted to request a one shot of rain from the band ghost of him asking out a gender neutral reader? He’s my favorite ghoul and i love how you write him 👉👈 like they’re both oblivious to how each other feel abt the other and the rest of the ghouls give him a push to ask the reader out!

Of course, my love! Thank you for the ask, it was an excellent prompt. I'm so so sorry it took so long to come out! xx

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The Second Biggest Question - Rain (The Band Ghost) x Reader Oneshot

Reader Pronouns: Unspecified gn!neutral

Word Count: 1.1k

"Come on, Rain" you chirped happily. The ghoul smiled sheepishly, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants before looking back at the other ghouls. He lifted his finger into the air and you tilted your head to the side, blowing a tuft of hair from your face impatiently. A million questions ran through your mind as to the hold-up of your, shamingly admitted, favourite ghoul.

Rain continued to advance toward the group of Ghouls and Ghoulettes which had fallen behind on your walk. Your stomach fluttered with nerves, watching his back intently as he seemed to divulge in a deep conversation with them.

A new Sister of Sin had been walking past the Ministry halls at that moment, a friend. She called out your name, waving feverishly. You grinned at the sight of the well-dressed woman, eyes glazing over her figure. Her shoulders were draped with the usual black and white clothing, crystalline blue rosary beads hanging from her neck. Since Papa IV's introduction, fewer Sisters had chosen to wear traditional clothing, and while you also stopped wearing it for practical reasons, you admired her fresh dedication. You supposed that as a baby Sister of Sin, from memory the beginner handbook was ancient, older than Papa I had been.

Nevertheless, while you were contently chatting away, your mind began to drift from the real task at hand.

“Rain, it’s easy, an infant could do it” Dew posed, placing his hand on to his hip. Compared to Mountain, who towered over all the clergy members, Dew appeared minuscule. And yet, his wrath was vicious and feisty, similar to a firecracker. On one of your first days at the ministry, you had easily determined that he was the most outgoing and abrasive of the Ghouls, to which was met with much dismay from Papa. Dewdrop, who had the tendency to fall out of line. Dewdrop, who had attempted to ‘get’ with you as a fresh Sibling of Sin. You admired his ambition, but nothing ever happened.

The shorter Ghoulette shook her head softly, “Look, what we’re saying is that it’s obvious you two have a sort of connection, so what’s the harm in asking?”. Despite Cumulus’ attempt at reassuring Rain, his mind still raced with all the possibilities for something to go terribly wrong. What if you said no- or became so outraged you slapped him- or worse, never want to speak to him again?

“Is it… obvious?” He blushed, wringing his hands together. The steel rings on his fingers inched closer to his knuckles as they became drenched with sweat. Without protest, the crowd shook their head unanimously as if he had asked the easiest question in the world. His face dropped and became pale with realisation. At that point, they knew his feelings better than he did.

“Go on, ask them the big question!” Aether blurted, before realising his mistake. Rain’s face ran red, a spluttering mess, using his hands to rub it. “I mean the second biggest question”

His shoulders slumped as he turned back to face you, heart fluttering at the sight of you happily chattering away, engrossed in conversation. There was a group effort to nudge him in your general direction, to which he responded “Alright, alright!” and began his long and treacherous advance.

Rain’s palms began to sweat.

All of the Ghouls and Ghoulette’s naturally had the instinct to be playful and somewhat hornier than humans, but this didn’t seem to quell his fears. They lived to serve, mainly, and pairings with Ghouls and humans were less common. Though, the ministry and clergy in question appeared to be extremely supportive of you and Rain. Unbeknownst to you, almost all clergy members had placed bets to the longevity of your relationship, how long it would take Rain to ask to go out with you, and how soon the binding ritual (the marriage) would take place.

Safe to say, this had been going on for a long while.

Your eyes widened in excitement to see Rain come back into view, previously a speck in the distance turn into almost a full figure. When he approached, he exchanged your smile and slid his hand over your back, guiding you as you walked towards the gazebo. "Come on, the bunch will catch up any second". You grinned with a slight blush as you felt the spade of his tale creep its way up your calf, the leather-like material causing you to shiver.

Did he know what he was doing to you?

You took a step up onto the gazebo, Rain's arm lingering on the small of your back before removing it.

The plan was to see Primo's new plants, the best spot being from the gazebo, which he had been rambling about for days. Finally, all the ghouls gave in and took time out of their day to meet in the garden while Primo supposedly gave a tour. At first, they had all sighed but in the end, had decided to humour the old papa. But, of course, Primo was late, and to your suspicion, most likely taking a nap somewhere. Rain hadn't planned for Primo to not be there, but he supposed it worked to his advantage anyways.

"(Y/N)" he called, voice wavering with a mix of hesitancy and anxiety.

"Hmm?" you hummed, pursing your lips as you turned to face the ghoul. There was no time to study him before he had taken your, slightly chilly, hands in his. Your skin immediately was swept with the warmth from his palms.

"(Y/N)-" he repeated, chest heaving as he took a deep breath. Your eyes narrowed seeing his words simply get caught in his throat. "-We've known each other for a really long time and... well... I really like you and I think you're really lovely and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go on a date with me-" he paused in a gasp for air, "-if that's something that you would want to do". You couldn't decipher his exact words in his haste.

Before he could finish, you acted instinctively to press a kiss to his soft lips, mind still racing. There was no resistance until you pulled back, a satisfied smile creeping up your lips.

"That's a yes....?" Rain questioned softly. His eyes were caught in a dreamy daze and his tail hung loosely, the tip of his ears were steaming hot.

You nodded, "Yes, that's a yes, Rain"

A chorus of loud cheering erupted from just outside the gazebo, causing you both to turn to the cause of the sound. You couldn't entirely process the stampede of ghouls and ghoulettes that were sprinting toward you at an incredible pace. There was a mix of squealing as you were enveloped in pairs of ashen arms, belonging to Cirrus and Cumulus. They giggled, almost squeezing the life out of you as you winced.

"So, when's the wedding?" Swiss asked in a curiously playful manner.

You smiled from ear to ear as you glanced back to Rain, heart softening, "One thing at a time, hmm?"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

[alexanderlightweight]

what about something revolving around Alec and jewelry? Maybe him wearing magnus' or pieces gifted to him by Magnus?

Hi! Thanks for the ask. Hope you like this

—

Alexander doesn’t do it on purpose. Not the first time, or the second: not even after a dozen times. But then instinct becomes habit and Alexander continues.

So Magnus learns to watch as Alexander gets ready to leave and how he hesitates. It doesn’t matter if Magnus is awake or sleeping, in the room or getting ready himself, but Alec will lingers.

Alexander will pace around the room and touches different items. He’ll straighten pictures and brush his fingers over specific items, and no matter how often he does it, Magnus still hasn’t figured out why.

And then Alexander wallows, feet pausing by Magnus’ vanity and his fingers petting over the various trinkets there.

He sorts Magnus’ makeup brushes, and stacks whatever eyeshadow has been left out. Sometimes he even sharpens Magnus’ eyeliner, as if his magic doesn’t do it for him.

And then he hovers over the jewelry. Lifting pieces out and putting them back in and sometimes he takes nothing and other times Magnus hides a smile as Alexander pockets a piece of jewelry.

Magnus knows it will be returned the next time Alexander is back, as if it has never left. And something else will be gone in it’s place, little tokens Alexander takes of Magnus.

It takes time. But slowly instead of pocketing the jewelry, Alexander wears it instead.

Magnus remembers the first time he notices, and truly, since he pays such ardent attention to Alexander, he thinks it must be the first time at all.

It’s a bracelet. A hand carved wooden bracelet, polished to perfection and carved with little verses of good fortune.

It peeks out of Alexander’s shirt sleeve and Magnus wants to leave a mark on Alec’s wrist, so that he’ll have two reminders of Magnus.

When they smile at each other across the table that night, somehow, it’s even softer, but deeper.

It starts to happen more frequently, though not always, until Magnus enters the Institute on a priority call.

Alexander is standing shirtless in the command center, hes already handing off the shreds of a T-shirt and is zipping up a sleeveless, leather vest. There is a wound healing on his chest and a still raw, newly drawn iratze on his hip.

One of Magnus arm cuffs is snugly curled around Alexander’s bicep. It fits there, as tight as a lovers grip and defines the muscles even more when Alexander moves.

Magnus licks his lips and tries not to also remember the long silver chain looped around Alexander’s neck, or the pendant tucked into the curl of his chest hair.

He wants. In a way that he’s very unused to. So much so that it takes everything he has not to fuck Alexander against the main console of the mission room. Instead he tucks himself close, letting his fingers dip into the sliver of space between vest and pants and greedily pets warm skin.

This is a temptation Magnus can no longer bear and he promises himself that the next time before Alexander leaves, Magnus will drapes Alexander in marks and jewelry himself, and then admire the art he’s made later.

[vylad243]

Angsty prompt: Vanetino and Vox are ambushed and Vox is killed--body completely annihilated. And it happens two days before Alastor's rut. Valentino barely escapes, but is heavily wounded--but is able to tell who attacked them. Alastor is too lost in his instincts, too feral to stop himself from hunting down those who dare destroyed his mate--who is slowly but surely reconstructing himself in Alastor's room in the hotel (He had to argue with Velvette and Valentino to get the few peices of his Vox that had already reformed at the tower to take to the nest he'd carefully made.) He slaughters the fools who harmed his mate, making a beautiful broadcast of it (making no mention of Valentino in it) and returns to the hotel, going straight to his room and mate, ignoring everyone else. He needs to be beside Vox. What if he regains consciousness while reforming? What if he's in pain? Alastor hates this.

It's not exactly what you asked for, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

[makeitastrength]

I don’t know if you do “fix its”/“rewrites” but if you ever get the time I’d love your rewrite on the episode when Bailey is trapped in the water tank. But it’s Lucy in the tank and Rosalind calls Tim and he takes the shot.

Okay so I actually really love this prompt. But I'm also struggling with it, so I'm gonna put this out here in hopes of gathering some feedback from the fandom. Anyone who wants to chime in, please feel free to do so!

There are two main things I need to figure out before I can start working on this:

Would Tim actually leave Lucy like Nolan left Bailey?

Would Tim take the shot?

It's been pretty well established that some things matter more than rules and that Lucy is one of those things. We know Tim will do almost anything to protect her. But I guess I just struggle a bit with picturing him leaving her alone in that tank (vs. staying there to help get her out) and then actually shooting Rosalind (because yes, some things matter more, but murdering someone is much more serious than what we've seen him do previously for the people he loves).

What do you guys think? Very interested to hear opinions and explanations on both sides of these issues.

[sheikahwarriork]

prompt for childhood enemies dimileth!!!

When Byleth was 6 years old, and Jeralt left her in the care of an inkeeper while he was doing merc jobs, a traveling caravan of rich people arrived to the inn, and she heard an ugly rich bowlcut blonde baby say his dad was the strongest and could beat anybody's dad and she choose violence.

Someone had to put the bowlcut in his place and make him understand Jeralt was the strongest.

Dimitri didn't want to fight back for his crest until Byleth called him a wussy... which is a word the mercs used around her and she didn't know what it meant.

(she fondly recalls this story as the first time she won a fight)

(dimitri still has bite scars from the incident and was very scared of girls for a long time)

(gustave was worried sick a commoner kid got the crown prince rabbies)

(they haven't connected the dots)

(This is the same anon who hates Dimitri's hair)

(hello dear dimitri's hair hater anon, i loved this prompt a lot! i changed some little points in the narration, but the main plotis the one you wrote. i really hope you'll like this :3)

wordcount: 1.2k

Byleth was extremely bored. Jeralt— no, he said to call him dad— Dad ­­went to do some cool mercenary stuff he said were 'too dangerous' for Byleth to attend. How silly! She was perfectly capable of taking care of enemies. She had the best teacher in the world, after all; the Blade Breaker’s abilities were well known along all Fodlan.

Of course, she was still only six, while her father was… How many years old was Jeralt again? She realised she didn’t know exactly. Probably the same age all dads were. Like three-hundred years old or something like that.

Byleth frowned. Did she need to wait three-hundred years to become as powerful as Jeralt? No, it was too far away from now! The little girl stood up. She needed to go training now.

She went out the little inn where Jeralt— Dad left her some days ago, heading for that nice spot she found out the day before to train with her new super powerful sword. (Well, wood sword. After the last time Byleth tried to train by herself, she almost chopped her own leg, so Jeralt took precautions by giving her a weapon that 'woudn’t hurt his precious little girl'. How melodramatic! But he chose it precisely for her. It was special. She wasn’t gonna break it!)

Her wandering gaze stopped when she noticed some people a few meters from her. She frowned. A tall guy with dark hair and a younger blonde boy with an ugly bowlcut were talking under a tree, the very tree of her perfect nice training spot.

She frowned again. As people said, Byleth wasn’t… the best at social interactions. She didn’t like talking to people, especially strangers. And she hated when she had to. Like this moment. She needed those two to get out of her new special training spot. She needed to train! To become more powerful! Like, right now!

The urge to train was bigger than her despise for talking to strangers, so she got closer to the tree, holding hard her sword. Byleth repeated in her mind Jeralt— Dad’s lessons about how ‘not to be too scary with other people’. She had to act nice.

“Hi. Get out of my training spot”.

A greeting! Super nice. ‘Good job, me’, she thought, pleased with herself.

The taller boy looked at her with surprise, but his expression quickly changed in a smile. “Hello, you fellow warrior”, he said in a condescending tone, winking.

Ugh. That was one of the thing Byleth hated the most: grown-ups treating her like she was just a little child!

“Get out, I said! I need to train”, she said, pointing at her sword.

Bowlcut boy frowned. “But you’re too young to train by your own!”

“What?!” Byleth exclaimed to him, annoyed.

“Yes! My dad says children shouldn’t fight until they grow up. And you look almost my age! So, you can’t train”, Bowlcut boy explained, nodding.

Byleth crossed her arms. “It doesn’t make sense! My dad helps me train since I was… younger than you!”

Bowlcut boy looked troubled. “Why does you dad train you?”

“Because I want to become strong, and he’s the strongest mercenary of all Fodlan!”, Byleth said with a hint of pride.

Now Bowlcut boy looked annoyed. “That’s not true! My dad is the strongest one! Glenn, tell her!” he added, looking at the taller annoying guy.

Tall-annoying guy was watching at them holding a hand over his mouth as if he wanted to hide it, slightly shaking. Then he proceeded to burst into laughter, hitting the ground with his fist, without saying a thing.

Byleth frowned. What a weird guy.

Bowlcut boy frowned too, but apparently he decided to let the matter drop, as he looked at Byleth again. “My dad is stronger! He has big muscles, and he’s the only one that can use a super uper big powerful spear!” Then he looked down at Tall-annoying guy, who was still on the floor. “Glenn! Tell her!”

The guy tried to stop laughing, but miserably failed. “So… sorry, Dimitri… you’ll have to… deal with her yourself… PUAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Byleth crossed her arms; then, she got an idea. “Let’s settle this with a fight. However wins, has the strongest dad!”

Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened. “N… no! I can’t! I’ll hurt you!”

Byleth was really annoyed now: how dared that little brat imply he could beat her?!

She lifted her sword, pointing at Bowlcut boy. “Prepare yourself!”

“Oh, fuck!” Tall-annoying guy stopped laughing and stood up between them. “Ok, party’s over. Let’s try to get along, shall we?”

Bowlcut boy sighed in relief. Byleth sticked her tongue out, looking at him. “Your dad’s just a… wussy!”

Byleth really liked the word ‘wussy’. The way it sounded was funny. She didn’t exactly know the meaning, but Jeralt’s mercenaries often used it when someone was arguing (usually when drinking that weird ‘grown-ups fruit juice’) with some other of the band, getting the latter very angry. And Byleth wanted to make Bowlcut boy angry.

And she succeded! Bowlcut boy’s eyes widened, and he proceeded to run towards her. Byleth was ready, and promptly dodged the boy. She grabbed his arm, and sinked her teeth in it.

The boy screamed in pain until Tall-annoying boy managed to pull him away. “Shit shit shit! What the hell is wrong with you two?!” he said in a high-pitched tone. Bowlcut boy started crying.

‘Pathetic’, Byleth thought.

“Okay, little girl, we’re leaving, but promise me you’ll stay away from Dimitri!” Tall-annoying guy said, while taking Bowlcut boy in his arms. “We’re leaving soon anyway, so forget about this and do not tell anyone!” he added, going inside the inn, without waiting for Byleth to respond. “Shit! I did tell Gustave I’m not a good babysitter…” she heard him muttering, while Bowlcut boy was still crying.

She looked at the now closed door for a few seconds more, then turned around. “Okay. Melee training for day: done. I should practice with my sword now…”

“You did what?!” Jeralt—Dad screamed in shock.

Byleth crossed her arms. “I bit him, I told you! He was saying some crap about you!”

Dad looked at her in disbelief, and then bursted into laughter.

‘Why is everyone laughing at me today?!’

“You… you bit him… you bit the… freaking… AHAHAHAHAHA!” Dad was laughing so hard he didn’t finish the phrase.

Byleth shrugged, deciding to let him be. ‘It’s not like I’m gonna ever see Bowlcut boy again…’

15 years later

Byleth didn’t know if she was getting better at reading people, or if Jeralt was acting strange more than usual. Since she told him she chose to lead the Blue Lion House, her father started to make a soft giggle everytime she mentioned the house-leader, Dimitri. It was getting annoying.

“Are you going to tell me why do you make that sound everytime I mention Dimitri, dad?!” she finally said one afternoon, while her and Jeralt were having tea in her room.

Jeralt smiled. “Ah! Never. But maybe, you’ll have your answer if you’ll ever see his arm… Summer is starting, after all…”