#meet ugly au

[yueebby]

indulge me? — gojo satoru

synopsis you and gojo go on an overnight mission and it goes wrong in every way

contents so. much. pining. (2.8k words of it!?), one bed trope, whipped!gojo, ooc gojo, completely self indulgent, a lot of cardiovascular talk, they’re first years in this!

notes first time i’ve written in AGES. sorry :3 ps this is a little snippet from a satosugu x reader series im thinking about starting. thoughts?

(edit: i wrote a part ii)

Gojo Satoru was born blessed. From birth and to death he will always be honored. It wasn't his fault that the Heavens delighted in him. So when Yaga had announced that he and you would be sharing an overnight mission to Kyushu, he nearly leapt in joy (lucky him)!

You, on the other hand, were less than thrilled to find out that you were going to be traveling alone with Gojo Satoru. For two whole days. It was a death sentence.

“Make sure to text me, so I know you're not dead.” Shoko looks between you and Gojo. Either your head will implode as a result of Gojo, or he is gonna be on the receiving end of your wrath. Shoko can’t wait to see which.

“Do take pictures, I heard the onsens there are incredible.” Suguru slyly adds. Satoru perks up at his comment. The two of them share a knowing look before Gojo speaks up.

“Wanna take a dip with me once we get there, [Name]?” He looks into your eyes, his lips are quirked upwards like he’s up to no good (which he is). “I promise I won’t take a peek!” He winks.

“Keep fantasizing, Gojo.”

“Oh I will.” He hums happily. The smile on his lips is kind of cute, you decide. Just a little.

— — — — — — — 

Kurokawa, you come to find out is a very small town in Kyushu. So when people start to go missing, the entire town falls into shambles. Before your trip, Yaga had made it known the enemy you’d be facing. 

“A common denominator of the missing persons is that they were all young women.” He had warned you and Gojo. “It’s an unidentified curse, but I trust that the two of you will be able to handle it.”

Three missing girls. All under the age of 25. Two of which were locals, one being a tourist. 

The moment you arrive on the island of Kyushu, your guard is higher than ever. This doesn’t go unnoticed by Gojo.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of some horny curse,” He looks down at you as the two of you make your way down a small street to your ryokan. Kurokawa was a traditional town, its pride resting on the old culture causing it to be untouched by modern architecture.

Unamused by his nonchalant attitude, you decide to ignore his vulgar comment, “What grade curse do you think we’re up against?”

He makes a noise to show that he’s thinking. “Does it really matter? It’ll be no match for me either way.”

You roll your eyes, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, we still have to figure out what happened to the victims.”

“I don’t see why that’s necessary, but okay.” Your snow haired peer dismisses. It makes you a bit envious that he doesn’t have to ever feel fear for his life. Must be nice.

The two of you arrived at your designated ryokan soon enough, it was a small town after all. Gojo leads the way with you following right after. You can’t discern any cursed energy in the building, but you still make a mental note to ask Gojo about it after you both are situated. 

An elderly lady in an orange kimono stood behind the desk, smiling at you and you returned it back happily.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a young couple here.” She says. That’s right, with the recent disappearance of young girls, there would be a sudden decrease of tourism around this part of town. “You certainly are a beautiful match!”

You gratefully accept her compliment, “Thank you, but we’re not–”

“Thanks granny!” Gojo wraps a strong arm around your shoulder. “I don’t know how I even managed to win her over!” There’s a wide grin on his face that makes your eye twitch. Leave it to him to tell people the two of you were together. Not only that but he totally disrespected the old lady with his informal talk!

“Unhand me, you!” You forcefully whisper at him, while trying to unwrap yourself from his hold. His arm does not budge even as you try to push it off. What the hell is this boy eating? Gojo chuckles with the old lady while you struggle.

“My, the two of you remind me so much of my husband and I in the days of our youth,” She sighs dreamily. Her age must be interfering with her memory because there was nothing inherently romantic going on between you and Gojo. “How long will you be staying here?”

“Only one night,” Gojo decides that he has tormented you enough and lets you go. He slides her his card and she pulls out something from the old wooden counter she stands behind. 

A single key.

Your eyes bug out. Gojo’s eyebrows raise. You laugh nervously, face feeling warmer than it was thirty seconds ago.

“There must have been a misunderstanding. We need two rooms, ma’am.” You hold up two fingers to emphasize your point. 

The smile on the old woman’s face falls, “I’m afraid I cannot do that.” Your jaw drops.

“Huh? Why not?” You press on further. Surely they could not have been booked out of all of their rooms. Tourism is at an all time low after the strange disappearances.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the strange disappearances in the area. It’s a miracle the two of you have even decided to stay here, which I am very grateful for. That is why I must repay you back by ensuring your safety. Otherwise I must ask you to leave and stay in the next town because I will not allow you to endanger yourself so carelessly.” 

You blink. Neighboring town? That was hours away. The curse was here in Kurokawa. You can’t afford to jeopardize a mission just because of your own feelings.

Gojo’s hand is halfway to the key, but he waits for your approval. You sigh.

“It’s fine, we can do one. Thank you.” You bow your head. She smiled apologetically as she handed Gojo the key. Gojo, unbothered by the revelation, whistles happily as the lady leads the way to your suite.

— — — — — — — 

operation satoru x [name]!!!!

Gojosatowu added getosugu, shoko.ieiri

Gojosatowu You wont believe it!!! shoko.ieiri What the hell is this gc And what the hell is Operation satoru x [name]?  getosugu  how come [name] isn’t in this? Gojosatowu Ladies, ladies, one question at a time please getosugu  Expect a forehead flick for that comment shoko.ieiri  Stfu and just answer the questions Gojosatowu alright alright [name] and i are sharing a room in kyushu!! i may come out of this mission a changed man. shoko.ieiri  someone make sure [name] is still alive and well Gojosatowu I dont appreciate your lack of faith in me >:( shoko.ieiri  Keep a six feet distance from her at all times perv Gojosatowu I might have to for my own sanity. What do you think she wears to bed? shoko.ieiri  You disgust me sometimes getosugu  Only sometimes? shoko.ieiri  Let me correct myself. You disgust me. Gojosatowu Im feeling the love :(

“What are you giggling to yourself about?” You place a hand on your hips as you watch Gojo smile at his flip phone.

“Oh don’t you worry about it,” He closes it. Weird. “What’s the living situation?”

You sigh. “Despite its traditional arrangement, there is a bed.”

Gojo perks up. “Yeesh I’m glad! If I had to sleep on the floor my back would be all sore right on a mission. Y'know how annoying that is?”

You suck your teeth. “Allow me to rephrase myself. There is only one bed.” 

There is an awful silence in the room, save for your erratically beating heart. Of course the old woman decided to place you in a couple’s suite.  

“Heh.” Gojo chortles happily. “Wow, this must be a divine sign from God Himself. I mean, who are we to ignore this?”

“Don’t start,” You hold out an accusatory finger at him. “I’m gonna go request an extra futon.”

He pouts, “Don’t be like that, sharing a bed with me can’t be that bad.”

“I’m willing to bet otherwise.” You walk past him. The white haired boy watches you go like a sad puppy.

— — — — — — — 

You took your time getting an extra futon, using it as an excuse to get all of the nervousness out of your system of sharing the same room as Gojo Satoru. Sharing a room with a boy was already bad enough, but Gojo? Your heart skipped a beat (out of nervousness, you insist!).

By the time you make it back to the room, the lights are out. You assume that Gojo decided to go to sleep early. You don’t blame him. Tomorrow is gonna be a long day of hunting for the curse rampaging Kurokawa. 

The only light source in the room is coming from the bathroom. You sigh. The idiot must’ve forgotten to turn it off. Nonetheless, you were gonna go get unready either way so you make your way to the half open door.

On the sink is a complimentary toothbrush that you help yourself to. You apply some paste and–

There is a sound of something sliding shut from behind you. You look up at the mirror. Standing behind you was Gojo. Wet. And naked. 

“Oh my gosh!” You spit out your toothpaste and ran out of the room. How did you fail to see that Gojo was in the restroom? You blame it on the sliding doors separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom. Oh my gosh. Your face feels like it’s on fire. He has a six pack. And why does his stupid hair look like that when it's wet? Your heart was beating at an abnormal rate. This is so inappropriate.

Shortly after your freakout, Gojo steps out of the bathroom. There was no way you could face him now.

“Aw, don't be so shy now. It’s not like this will be the last time you’ll see me like this.” Gojo stands in the doorway. There is a towel wrapped around his waist, still leaving him indecent in your eyes.

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating Gojo! And lock the door when you’re in the restroom you creep!” You look anywhere but him.

“Hey, it wasn’t my fault, was it? You were taking so long I thought you left me here alone.” You can practically hear him pouting. “Either way, you were the one checking me out.”

Your eyes widen, “I was not checking you out! Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Don’t feel ashamed, this can all be yours,” He gestures down to his body.

“You freak.” you blanch.

He winks at you.

This was going to be a long night.

— — — — — — — 

It takes you about half an hour to calm down from the bathroom catastrophe. By now, you’re situated in your futon while Gojo is tucked on the bed. If you had to guess, it’d be nearing midnight around now. You just need to close your eyes and get some sleep before your mission tomorrow.

Except you can’t sleep.

Every time you close your eyes, your mind betrays you and an image of Gojo post shower illustrates itself in your mind. And it doesn’t help that he sleeps shirtless. You seriously need your mind cleansed.

That wasn’t your only issue. The room was sub zero. Who knew traditional ryokans had such advanced air conditioning systems? All you could hear was the air conditioning machine overworking itself. You could even argue that it was colder than Shoko’s morgue. And your sleep shirt and shorts were doing little to help insulate you. 

“Wanna come cuddle with me?” The last person you wanted to hear from breaks the silence. You pretend to be asleep. “I know you’re not asleep! My six eyes tell me that you’re shivering.” Busted.

“I am not cuddling with you.” You stare at the ceiling above you, arms crossed. How could he even propose such an idea? Has he no shame?

“Well I can’t face the old granny here if my girlfriend ends up dead by freezing!”

“I am not your girlfriend, Gojo. Nor will I die.”

“That’s not what she thinks. Plus we have a mission tomorrow, so I can’t have you getting sick on me now.”

“I’ll be fine, Gojo. Now go to sleep.”

“I run hot when I sleep, y’know. Let me be your personal heater.” You don’t have to see his face to know that he’s grinning.

“I refuse.”

“Well I refuse your refusal.”

You blink.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now c'mon,” He pats the spot next to him. “I’ll even make a wall in between us.”

You hear the bedsheets shuffle and you have to sit up to see that Gojo was stacking two pillows in the middle of the bed to prove his point. You’re nearly certain that the only thing you’ll be catching soon is a headache if you keep up with his antics. It was a tempting offer, one that you would surely accept if it wasn’t Gojo Satoru.

“Gojo, I—”

“...Please?” His voice is softer than you have ever heard it. It was unfair how Gojo was making it harder and harder to reject his offer.

A silent moment passes by.

“...Fine,” You reluctantly get up from your pathetic excuse of a futon. “But no funny business!” You warn him. 

You see Gojo perk up from the bed. He looks at you with expectant eyes, “You got it!” He gives you a thumbs up. 

Whatever. If Gojo knew what was best for him, he wouldn’t try anything. You take in a deep breath before turning to face the opposite direction of where Gojo laid. 

“Good night [Name],” You hear Gojo whisper. You sigh.

“Yeah, yeah, goodnight Gojo.”

Eyes closed, you pray a silent prayer that everything will be fine for the remainder of the mission.

— — — — — — — 

Ever since Gojo was young, his body has been used to getting little amounts of sleep. Unsurprisingly, that caused him to have a natural alarm. It was always annoying whenever he woke up at the crack of dawn on a day when he didn't need to, but luckily for him, today it proved to be a blessing. There was an unfamiliar warmth radiating onto his body. Satoru opens his eyes.

He thinks he feels all of his six eyes widen when he feels himself wrapped around another body.

There you were, in all your beauty, lying fast asleep. In his embrace. Soft snores were escaping your mouth and there were stray hairs in your face. Did he mention how beautiful you looked sleeping? He might have to ask Shoko about heart disease because of how fast his heart was beating.

Unfortunately for him, you also seemed to be drifting away from dreamland and back to reality. Your eyes flutter and your eyebrows furrow. Gojo takes this to his advantage and does the worst thing he can think of; pretend to be asleep.

When you wake up, your mind is still hazy from the good night’s rest you had gotten, but not hazy enough to realize that your body was tangled with another’s. And you’re pretty sure the pillow you had been laying on last night was not this hard. You try to delude yourself into believing that this is all a dream, but the effects of your sleep were fading.

It takes all the strength in you to summon the courage to open your eyes. To your horror, you were firmly wrapped in Gojo’s arms and your legs were intertwined.

“What the hell?” You pull yourself away from him. On the floor below the bed laid the two pillows that Gojo had set up as a makeshift wall. You stare at them utter shock.

“No, don’t go, I’ll freeze to death,” Gojo whines, miraculously waking up. You glare at him.

“Explain to me what just happened or I swear Gojo, I’m going to–” You try to threaten him, but you can’t seem to formulate anything.

Unlike you, Gojo looked unbothered by the sudden turn of events. He even looked pleased. There was a lopsided smile on his face as he sighed, “What can I say, I guess you subconsciously want me after all.” 

"I do not—"

“But if I had to guess, I’d say the room got too cold and we most likely cuddled for warmth unconsciously.” He shrugs it off like it was no big deal. You note that his hair is tousled from the night before.

You leave the warm bed you and Gojo had made. His theory was probably true, meaning it was neither of your faults. You purse your lips.

“I suppose that makes sense. I apologize for overreacting, I guess I was under the impression that we had done something lewd last night.” With that comment, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up both your mind and body.

You don’t end up seeing how red Gojo’s face got. It was foreign to feel all the blood rising to his cheeks. He takes one of his hands to slap it over his eyes before chuckling to himself. Yeah, he definitely knows why he likes you. 

All of a sudden Gojo feels like he’s on top of the world. For you, it was just a moment of weakness.

┊⋆｡˚. ੈ ┊

Extra notes:

gojo wished he and you got to go to the onsen together. 

gojo also regretted not taking a photo of you sleeping soundly in his arms. it would’ve been his new wallpaper. 

for the remainder of the trip, gojo was at an all time high, successfully locating and exorcising the curse in less than an hour.

[02511213942]

two unstoppable forces + two immovable objects :)) thank you @wuzeio for striking my two neil shaped brain cells together in drawing fox neil and raven neil together!!! 💥

[wttcsms]

single reader who is not looking for a relationship rn and the “i have a boyfriend” excuse is abt to be your best option. when you feel conversation with this guy flirting with you might veer towards him asking for your number, you quickly say a generic name and go “oh! my boyfriend, [character name], also likes that sport!” this usually works pretty well in deterring unwanted advances and the guy looks disappointed for all but one second and goes “wait, you’re dating [character]?” so you nod and give the biggest sigh of relief as he walks off.

only for you to feel a tap on your shoulder. it’s [character], but you don’t know who he is until he finally breaks the silence and goes, “are you going around this party telling people we’re dating?”

[ellecdc]

Things You Can Say in a Swim Lesson & Also in Bed

meet cute/ugly - swim instructor!marauders + fem!reader

find part two here!

CW: learning to swim/fear of drowning, sexual innuendos, swearing (you know what to expect from me by now)

You were excited. Really, you were. 

Your best friend in the entire world was getting married, and she wanted to be married in the Maldives. So, that’s where you were going.

It didn’t matter if you might need to take out a small loan to afford the trip and time off, and it doesn’t matter that all of the events happening before the event were just as expensive.

This was your best friend, dammit! And you were happy for her.

There was only one problem.

You can’t swim.

But that was going to change today! Or...at least in the next few weeks starting today because you were officially taking swimming lessons.

You were not going to fly to the most beautiful beaches and islands in the world and be the fall risk on bridges, docks, and boats. And for fuck’s sake, you were going to swim with the dolphins whether it killed you (literally) or not.

So, you signed up to take swimming lessons. You felt ridiculous.

You felt even more ridiculous as you stood in the changeroom of a very posh country club that your best friend’s fiancé’s parents own, in a one-piece swimsuit you bought just for these lessons (the only swimsuit’s you owned her two pieces because their main use was for tanning).

You tried to find the most modest swimsuit you could, which was very difficult and still not quite as modest as you’d like because for fuck’s sake why won’t the bum cover your entire arse cheek!?

The people leaving behind you were all middle-aged to senior couples who obviously worked in ‘the business’ whatever the fuck that meant because they can clearly afford the membership fees this place obviously charges per month if their gold and crystal chandeliers in the bathroom stalls meant anything.

You tried to readjust your poor swimsuit one last time before grabbing your towel and making your way to the pool. You just hoped you didn’t flash your tits to the other children likely attending swimming lessons.

Except...you got to the pool and there was no one else there. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. There was one sexy looking lifeguard covered in various tattoos which stood out brilliantly against his fair skin. His black hair rivaled the ink of his tattoos and was long enough to be pulled back into a messy bun behind his head – though a few stray locks seemed determined to keep their place next to his sharp jawline.

You were jealous of strands of hair.

There was also another lifeguard on the other end of the pool putting away various life rings, flutter boards and lane dividers. He was just as striking as the first lifeguard for nearly opposite reasons. His skin was a deep tan colour, and he wasn’t built like a swimmer – rather, he was built quite like a body builder. His arms and torso were lined with hard defined muscle and his thighs...

For fuck’s sake, stop staring at the man’s thighs.

He had a mop of curly dark hair and a pair of glasses that seemed foggy with the humidity of the room; he seemed no less happy about his current surroundings because of it, however.

You awkwardly looked behind you into the changeroom to see if the rest of your class was coming out. Maybe you should text your friend? Ask her to confirm with her fiancé that you got the times right?

“Here for the swim lessons, love?” a deep, lilting voice startled you from your pondering.

You turned towards the voice and were accosted by the view of a third beautiful man.

Is it, like, a requirement to be hot as hell to work here!? 

The man had honey blonde curls and eyes to match that screamed trouble, but the kind of trouble you’d far too willingly find yourself immersed in. Unlike his tanned, spectacled friend, this man was built like a swimmer; he was all long limbs and long muscles, and unfairly tall. You forgot how to speak.

“I’m Remus, I’ll be the instructor tonight. What’s your name?” He asked you like he didn’t have it in front of him on his damp clipboard.

You cleared your throat and offered it to him, and he smiled at your shyness. The smile pulled at a scar that ran through the right side of his lip, and you noticed that he had a few more scattered across his face. They didn’t make him any less handsome, however. Damn him.

“Alright, Y/N. What has motivated you to learn to swim?”

You furrowed your brows at him and looked behind yourself again. “Shouldn’t we wait for the rest of the class?”

His smile faltered as his brows furrowed to match yours. “Class?”

“Private lessons, Dollface.” The tattooed man drawled as he made his way over to you.

“You’ve got the pool to yourself tonight.” He added with a wink.

“This is a private class.” Remus clarified.

“Jesus Christ.” You muttered. You were startled by a bark of a laugh from the tattooed man and immediately flushed to realize you’d said that out loud.

“How did you not know you booked a private class?” Remus asked with a bemused smile.

You sighed, face feeling like it was about to melt off from sheer embarrassment. “I didn’t book it. My uhm, my friend’s fiancé’s family owns this place and said he’d set it up for me. I thought it was going to be a group thing.”

You felt awfully foolish as the two men nodded. “What made you want to learn?” Remus asked again.

“Uhm, that same friend – her wedding is this spring, and it’s a destination wedding.” But the tattooed man started nodding before you’d even finished. 

“You wanna swim with the fishes, but not in the mobster way. Got it.” He said as he clapped his hands together.

“Sirius.” Remus gently chided the man. “That’s fair, well, you’ve given yourself a lot of time to learn. I figured we’d start by finding out how much you already know.”

You grimaced.

“Well, that’ll be easy, seeing as I know nothing.” 

“Nothing?” Remus asked.

“Nothing.” You confirmed.

Sirius and Remus shared a glance before turning back to you with matching smiles.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” 

“Prongs! We got a firstie!” The tattooed man – Sirius – shouted to the tanned man across the pool as he confidently made his way to the edge of the pool. You opted to skirt around the edge – widely.

The tanned man gasped (far more dramatically than you felt the situation called for) and immediately dropped everything that had been in his arms. 

“No.” He bellowed. “Can I help?!”

Great, now you were going to be inhaling pool water whilst three of the hottest men on earth watched – no big deal.

“That’s up to our swimmer.” Remus said as he looked towards you for an answer.

“I’d relax on the use of that title until you see me in the water.” You muttered.

Sirius barked another laugh, which made the corners of your mouth lift in comradery. He had a way of making you feel funnier than you likely were, just by enjoying your banter. 

“What do you think? Me and James here can be the rest of the class you thought you would be a part of.” He offered with a smirk.

“Class?” James asked, “I thought this was a private session.”

“It is.” Remus answered with a slight edge, clearly used to the other two men getting off topic. “She had the lessons booked for her – she didn’t realize.”

“Gotcha” James said with a clap of his hands. “Okay, I’m all caught up, lets swim!” and with that, he jumped sideways and made a large splash as he landed in the water.

“You’re welcome to use the stairs like a civilized person.” Remus said to you kindly as Sirius cannonballed himself into the pool behind him. Upon hearing the splash, Remus closed his eyes in exasperation. 

You took his advice and used the stairs, wading into the pool until the water hit around your waist.

“So, you’ve never been in a pool before?” Remus asked as he placed his clipboard on a flutter board and mindlessly sent it sailing to Sirius.

“No, not like this.”

“Okay. Do you know how to float?” He continued

You shook your head and looked down to the water.

“That’s alright. That’s perfect, that’s where we’ll start, alright?” He offered you, bending to try and catch your eyes. He was smiling kindly at you and his eyes oozed empathy.

“Here, Jamie and Sirius will demonstrate what we’ll do.”

Without a second though, James threw himself onto his back and brought his feet up, so he was floating on top of the water in a star-fished position. 

Sirius smiled down at him like he was the sun and placed his arm just below him to ‘support his weight’ – though you were well aware that part was just for show.

“Now, we’ll do it right here where you are now; you can touch the bottom, so even if you feel like you’re going to sink, you can just stand up.” Remus encouraged you.

Your heart fell at the ‘sink’ part.

“You also have three certified lifeguards here.” James offered sympathetically.

Yeah, three real Adonis’ here to watch me drown.

“Nothing will happen, love.” Sirius offered in the softest tone you’ve heard him speak since you met him, apparently your trepidation made itself known on your face.

“I’ll help you get into position, okay? Lean back... atta girl, just like that.” Remus coached you as he supported your back, and one of the other men grabbed your ankles to ease them up. The hands near your feet surprised you and you breathed in a gasp, which was mistaken for anxiety. 

“Hey, you’re alright, okay?” Remus said as he paused all movements, “I will not let anything happen to you.”

Jesus Christ, he was going to put you into cardiac arrest.

“Okay.” You offered instead of swearing at him and continued to lean back with his support.

Suddenly, you were suspended above the water as the hands (apparently, they were James’) let go of your ankles. Your instinct was to start kicking and tense up.

“No, you’re alright, keep your legs up and relax.” Sirius coached you from your other side.

Things you can say in a swim lesson and also in bed. 

“I’ve still got you.” Remus reminded you as you tried to do what you were told.

Your legs kept wanting to sink to the bottom, but you did your best to will them upward. 

“Try to take in a breath – the more air you have in your chest, the more buoyant you’ll be.” Remus told you.

You did as you were told, and your ears sunk just below the water.

“You can keep breathing, dollface.” Sirius said, and you felt your cheeks flush as you let out the breath you were apparently holding.

You listened to the sound of the water lapping against your head and the edge of the pool and timed seemed to slow.

This was actually quite nice – floating. You like floating, you decide. You’d like to do more of it; maybe this will be how you would spend your time at the beach in the Maldives and oh my god where is he going get back here you son of a bitch. 

Remus’ hand began to sneak away from you, and in your panic to correct yourself without his assistance, you overcompensated and ended up below the water line.

Gentle hands grabbed your forearms and hauled you above the surface again and you made terribly embarrassing choking and gasping sounds as you wrapped your arms and legs around the being like a newborn koala bear.

“Easy, easy. Hey, you’re okay! You almost had it! You did so well, look at you.” James said brightly as he pushed some of your wet hair away from your face with careful fingers, apparently unaffected by your attaching yourself to him.

Between the men, their flustering you, and the water up your nose – you decided you’ll just spend your vacation at the beach side bar.

[starry-bi-sky]

I'm in A Mood™ (stressed) so im going back to my roots of melting two character together into one person. So bruce wayne!danny fenton. Danny Fenton who, for eight years, grew up in a beautiful gothic manor with his mom and dad under the name "Bruce Wayne". Playing piano with his mother, running around the manor with his father.

Then when he's eight it's ripped away from him. There's blood on his hands and pearls pooling at his feet, and both his parents are dead in front of him.

And he gets shipped off to distant relatives "the Fentons" shortly after, Alfred close on his heels because someone needs to take care of him, someone that knows him. Bruce goes to the Fentons for the safety of anonymity. Gotham's press wants to sink its teeth into him.

Danny misses his city even if it took everything from him. There are shadows in his eyes and he's pale as a sheet even beside his distant cousins, and they change his name to "Danny Fenton' because nobody should know that their newest child was illustrious orphan Bruce Wayne.

They call him Bruce behind closed doors. Danny prefers it that way, he clings onto the name -- the one his parents gave him -- like a lifeline. He makes friends with Sam and Tucker. Tucker takes one look at the willowy, morbid little boy standing in the corner like a shade, ghosts in his eyes, and drags him out into the sunlight, and takes him over to Sam.

When Danny is twelve, he's still not over it -- and he's a little obsessed with the Fentons' research, with the morbid. He has books upon books on death, murder, detective work. Anything he can get his hands on. And stars. He loves stars.

Alfred owns the apartment next to them and comes over regularly. Danny clings to him.

When Danny is twelve, he's still quiet, meek, a shy little thing prone to being bullied. Freaky little Fenton with the night in his eyes and too-cold skin even before he put one foot in the grave. in a sleepover in his room with Sam and Tucker, he tells them the truth. They're his friends, he trusts them.

"My name is Bruce." he murmurs, voice quiet as the breeze, always quiet. he's staring at his star-covered sheets.

"Like Bruce Wayne?" Tucker asks, a joking tone in his voice.

Danny smiles a little, lamb-like with insecurity. "I am Bruce Wayne." And he takes them down to the lab, disrupting Maddie and Jack, to prove it. Sam tells them of her own wealth then shortly after. They start calling Danny "Bruce" in private too -- its trust. Thats what it is. It's trust.

Sam goes to media functions and comes back with aching feet and complaints on her tongue -- and Danny soaks it up all like a sponge, splayed across a beanbag chair with Tucker in her room. He's not envious of her, he used to go to events with his parents and they kept him safe from the ugly of Gotham's Elite. For the most part. He's had comments made at him, he doesn't miss them.

Alfred returns to the manor semi-regularly, Danny goes with him. he wanders the hallways and helps Alfred clean, the last thing either of them want is for their home to fall into disrepair. He brings Jazz with him next time, then Tucker, then Sam. They all help him clean, and he shows them his room. The one across from his parents', it feels strange.

When Danny dies when he's fourteen, the first adult he tells is Alfred. He and Jazz go over to his house more often than they stay in the Fentonworks building. At least at Alfred's, the food doesn't come to life. Alfred sits at the kitchen table and weeps when Danny tells him, Jazz is upstairs, and its just the two of them.

Danny's ghost form wears pearls around his wrist and the gloves look stained with some kind of black substance. He looks like a child who died in a lab accident, but he also looks like a child who has shadows dripping off his shoulders, curling at his feet, hanging from his eyes.

because amorphous blob batman has my heart always and danny/bruce will not escape it even in death even if that IS the only reason im giving him Mild BatBlob Vibes...so far

when they go to the manor, alfred helps danny make a pile of stones between Martha and Thomas' graves, nobody but the two of them (and sam and tucker) will know what it means. (not even bruce's children later down the line, not for a long, long time)

danny dives into ghost fighting on shaky feet and not half as witty as he once was in one world. he's skittish, skittering between blasts from shadow to shadow and clumsily making his way through each battle. but helping people lights a fire in him. he still has shadows dripping off his feet but there's a purpose in his eyes.

and god help him, he's going to help people.

[fortunxa]

Blue hair, blue eyes, blue lights

Jinx x fem!reader / modern AU

summary: The chances of a blue-haired girl being chased by the cops and hopping in my car, simply yelling “Drive!” are low, but never zero.

author’s note: It’s my first time publishing a Jinx one-shot of mine, I hope you enjoy! This is a relatively new blog, so if anyone wants to become mutuals I’m definitely open to the idea! :)

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Fourteen days.

A mere two weeks stand between me and move-in day for my freshman year of college. In other words, summer break is slowly coming to an end, and I’ve done fuck all to make it memorable.

I can feel life passing me by as I watch like a bystander. Usually, the clock is my enemy—a constant reminder of my youth running out, and, shit, I’m too young to feel that way. This time, it serves as a way to free me from the shackles of the evening shift as a front desk worker at our local gym.

The clock strikes midnight, and, like a modern-day Cinderella, I jump up from my seat and make a beeline for the exit, hurriedly clocking out. I simultaneously greet and say goodbye to the night shift going in, already halfway through the small yet relatively empty parking lot. The smell of sweaty ‘gym bros’ is long forgotten as the breeze engulfs me, my dirty sneakers thudding on the concrete. The rust on my beat-up jeep shines in the moonlight as I approach—so seductive, I snicker to myself. I toss my duffel bag in the trunk, hop behind the wheel, and start the engine. I take this moment to commence my connect-phone-to-car-or-die-trying mission and thank the universe for its successful outcome. I browse a bit through the plethora of playlists before settling on the usual one, the sound of Arctic Monkeys filling the space as I leave the parking lot.

I don’t want to go home—not yet, at least—so I settle for a late-night drive. The cookie-cutter, upper-class houses pass me by as I mindlessly cruise through the clean streets—a stark contrast to my neighborhood, where you either learn to stick up for yourself or go home crying to your mama. A place where there is more sewage sludge than trees. A place where I grew up and one I learned to love.

In the midst of it all, I don’t notice the particularly nasty bump on the road that makes my song abruptly cut off. I take a right, pulling over in an alley with an annoyed groan as I resort to phase two, also known as connect-phone-back-to-car-before-I-impulsively-crash, of my initial mission. As I fiddle with the settings, showing my inner cheek no mercy as my teeth dig into their feast, a hissing and spritzing sound comes through my open window.

I think I’m imagining things at first, that post-shift fatigue surely getting the best of me, but I spot the source of the sound rather quickly: a figure, hidden almost out of sight between the fancy houses, switching between various colors of spray paint as she defaces the picture-perfect facade with her graffiti. The sheer speed of her actions makes it look like she’s juggling.

How do I know it’s a girl? Well, although she is wearing a hat to shield her face from any surveillance cameras, a neck warmer up to her nose, and a black, oversized tracksuit already covered in pink paint splotches, her disguise was blown the moment she decided to leave her blue, ankle-length, twin braids out. I twist my neck and reach over the dashboard to try and get a better look at her work. I can barely make out the shape of a green monkey’s face before moving on to the next element. ‘Get ji-’

My reading is interrupted by the sound of sirens piercing the air and blue lights illuminating the area. Instinctively, I turn my headlights off and duck, watching the girl as she hastily packs the cans into her backpack. I swear I can see her eyes twinkle with excitement as she takes one last glance at her—presumably—finished artwork and takes off running through the gardens. Her faint giggle reaches my ears, and a bewildered smile graces my features. I wanted fun, and now it’s right in front of me. I definitely couldn’t get a clearer sign than this.

I observe as one of the cops chases after her as the other drives away, seemingly trying to cut her off. Lightbulb moment. I put the car into gear and waste no time following them from the comfort of the dark alleys, reaching the mysterious girl first through the shortcuts. I catch her contemplating her next move and, without hesitation, quickly flash my high beams at her twice. This seems to grab her attention, and I signal for her to get in with a simple nod, tapping the car door as confirmation.

To my surprise, she actually runs over and hops in the backseat, her back lying flat as she takes a swift peek through the window, and holy shit, I didn’t think that she actually would.

“Drive!” she yells through her panting, and I do. I feel my heart beating wildly against my ribcage as the blue lights appear once again in my rearview mirror. Don’t fuck this up, I think before taking a sharp left. I hear her elated squeals as I visualize the district’s roads and plan the perfect getaway.

Right.

Right, once again.

Left.

Straight down the street.

Sharp right.

I can hear the sirens getting closer as I speed through the familiar routes. It doesn’t matter that I know this area like the back of my hand; the cops probably do, too. There is only one thing left to try, and, albeit risky, it should work. They hadn’t spotted my car yet, and we were quickly approaching a busy intersection—the perfect distraction.

The tires squeak as I harshly pull into an empty driveway, turning the engine off in hopes of blending in.

“What the hell are you doing?!” the blue-haired girl grumbles with brooding eyes. I don’t reply. Instead, I shush her as I grab her waist and roll her off the seat, pushing her into the legroom before ducking underneath the steering wheel. We fall silent, holding our breaths in as the police car passes us by. I watch as they get lost in the dense traffic, a sigh of relief escaping me as I throw my head back. I climb into my seat again and take a peek at the tagger in the back, confusion crossing my features as I watch her stuff her face with candy. My candy. “Hefty stash you got back there.” Her mouth twists at the sour taste of a Warhead she picked. She seems completely unfazed by this whole situation.

I notice that she had discarded her hat and neck warmer and take the opportunity to get a better look at her: blue eyes matching her hair, light freckles splattered across her straight nose and rosy cheeks, pouty lips, her dark and expressive brows… She truly is breathtaking. I feel a blush creep up my face as she climbs over the console, wiggling her way into the passenger seat. She takes her hoodie off, revealing her black tank top, and fuck me, she has tattoos.

She faces me with a curious look herself, seemingly analyzing me too. Her gaze is difficult to decipher as her eyes trail over my figure, and I stiffen. She shoots me a knowing smile before throwing her hands around my neck and placing a kiss on my cheek. “You’re a lifesaver, toots,” she muses into my ear. The pleasant smell of paint and bubble gum hits my nose making me lick my lips. “Name’s Jinx, by the way. Stands for Jinx,” she cackles to herself, drawing her lower lip between her teeth awaiting my introduction.

I blink a couple of times, realizing how silent I’ve been throughout this whole ordeal. I can get awkward, sure, but I’m not timid, so I muster up the courage and consciously relax, trying to project a nonchalant attitude. “I’m Y/N.” I shoot her a smile of my own.

“Y/N. Hmm…” Jinx gives an approving hum as she repeats after me, my name rolling off her tongue like honey. “What made you help little ol’ me?” New observation: she’s a teaser.

“I need some excitement in my life,” I answer truthfully and she perks up with a spark in her eyes.

“Toots, you’ve just made friends with the perfect candidate to help you with that.” Her giddy attitude returns as she beams at me.

“We’re friends, huh?” I tease at her choice of words, my eyebrows raised in a cocky manner.

“Sure we are! I feel like running from the cops together is the perfect bonding experience, don’t ya?” She gives me a once-over before her mouth curves into a smirk. “Unless you want to be more than friends. That could work, too.” She winks. Her straightforwardness should make me turn crimson, but instead, it makes my confidence grow. I give a low chuckle as I shake my head in disbelief.

“Tell you what,” I begin, starting the engine and trying to connect my phone back to the car for the third time already, “let me get you home safely, and we’ll see what tomorrow brings to our friendship. Deal?” I extend my hand toward her, and she ponders my proposition. I can practically see the cogs turning in her head, her facial expressions jumping from sour to doubtful, as if she were battling her thoughts before settling on a satisfied grin.

Her soft hand reaches mine in a princess handshake, and I try not to look at her manicured nails for too long. “Deal.” The blue-haired girl snatches the phone out of my hands, adding her number to my contact list and sending a quick text to herself. Just when I think she’s giving it back, she picks a song, and I hear Arabella playing through the speakers. How fitting.

As I leave the stranger’s driveway, I sense her shuffling in the passenger seat, throwing her legs out the window. She puts her head on my lap freely, toying with the colorful charms on my keychain. In the spur of the moment, I gingerly brush her bangs behind her ear, revealing her side profile. Her gaze catches mine, and I see her eyes soften before I turn mine on the road again.

Jinx tells me her address, and I realize how close to me she lives—the perfect circumstances. I feel her lightly bobbing her head to the music as her left cheek strokes my thigh, her fingers tracing mine as they sit on the gear stick. Her demeanor feels different from the badass tagger who willingly hopped in a stranger’s car. She looks peaceful and content now.

My shoulders slump in disappointment as I park outside her house. She clicks her tongue and lazily lifts her head from the comfort of my lap. She looks around the empty streets of her neighborhood and hums, her curious eyes now shifting to mine. As we take each other in, I can’t help but gravitate toward her—her presence feels almost intoxicating, and I don’t want to part ways just yet. To my surprise, she copies my actions. She’s so close I can feel her minty breath mingle with mine. Instinctively, my gaze drops to her lips as she tentatively licks them. I let out a faint sigh, and she slowly closes the distance. I can hear my heartbeat as I wait for our lips to meet.

But they never do. “I don’t kiss on a first date,” she murmurs in my ear, and my face flushes. Jinx pulls away as she flashes me a toothy grin, and before I can even react, she’s already skipping to her front door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. Wha-? When did she grab her stuff? I stare in disbelief as she turns around, her braids flailing behind her. “Let’s see what tomorrow brings,” she teases and blows me a kiss before disappearing into the dark hallway of her home.

Fourteen days.

Give me two weeks to make her mine.

╰┈➤ sequel – ‘Fourteen days’

[xxbottlecapx]

I saw someone talk about this idea (can’t find them now) so- 

Steve is walking down the street and he hears the jingling of a dog collar so he turns around to ask to pet their dog but it’s just Eddie. 

Steve might have a meltdown. He seriously might. This was the worst day he’s had in a long fucking time. 

The day started with a fucking seizure, of all things, when Steve hasn’t had one in months, so he decided to go to the emergency room to get checked up just in case. 

The doctors said he was fine, the scans and blood tests came back just as normal, but he ended up missing lunch so he didn’t get to have down time with his best friend Robin, and she was the biggest reason he could manage his anxiety and PTSD.

His mom called him when he was at the hospital, even though she disowned him ten years ago when he was forced out of the closet as bisexual. He thought she wanted to talk but apparently her husband (Steve’s father, unfortunately) was dying and wanted Steve to help with the hospital bills considering apparently their business went under, which Steve hadn’t known about because he hasn’t seen them in ten years. It led to a fight over the phone which triggered another seizure, so he’s had two in one day. Because of his history with seizures, the hospital decided to let him go, which he wasn’t entirely sure would be a good idea, but what else were they supposed to do? It’s not like Steve knew. Besides, he’s pretty sure they were understaffed and maybe they just didn’t have a place for him. They just gave him some painkillers, gave him a form so he wouldn’t have to go to work for a week, and let him go after giving him an IV. Steve would have argued about the work thing, but the doctor was able to convince him that having a bad seizure in front of a bunch of toddlers might be a bad idea, even if they’ve dealt with his smaller ones before. 

He decided he would go for a run because that always relaxes him before remembering that he shouldn’t go running after having two seizures, so he decided to go for a walk instead. Of course, this only makes things worse for himself. First, he forgets to take his dog Farrah with him on the walk, and then he realizes that he’s wearing a thick knitted yellow sweater in 86 degree heat, also he lost his glasses somehow? 

He must have still had some postictal confusion left because he very quickly got lost and then he couldn’t find wherever the fuck he put his phone, so he couldn’t call Robin to pick him up, and it’s not like his anxiety would let him walk up to some random person and ask. 

It was getting dark, so he wasn’t going to approach a woman, which was something Robin had to teach, and Steve was kind of scared of men, which might be stupid because he was a man, and also taller than most men, but anxiety is a bitch so it’s not like he could argue with it. 

His heart beating outside his chest, Steve realized he very well could have a third seizure, or a panic attack if he didn’t calm the fuck down, so he went to hide behind a alley which just so happened to be behind a bar. 

That was fine. 

The music was dampened by the concrete wall and sometimes silence made Steve’s existential dread even worse. He missed his dog. Farrah was a white teacup chihuahua and Pomeranian mix that Steve had adopted from a shelter he had been volunteering at. She kept getting bullied for her size even when they put her in with the other babies, and the shelter asked someone to foster her. It was a foster fail but Steve didn’t regret it. 

Steve tried to think of her as he sat down, working on the deep breathing his therapist had told him about. Of course, Steve sat on the floor and got beer and gunk on his jeans, but he was so tired that he was past caring. 

A migraine was coming on, all of his bones hurt, and he had white spots dancing in his vision. His hands were shaking. It’s very possible he had a small seizure when he was getting here and he didn’t remember it, that happened sometimes. He really hoped Robin had done okay at school without him. They taught a kindergarten class together. He really should have called to get her an aid but it had slipped his mind and she was going to be pissed. 

He would just stay on the floor until he felt better. Then he’d call and apologize. 

He did remember to feed Farrah and she had some pads on his living room so she would be okay. When he got home he would give her a lot of treats. Maybe he would make Robin cupcakes. 

Steve’s nerves picked up when he heard someone open a door behind him. Luckily for him, he had a switchblade in his pocket (he got it from Max, and who knows where she got it from) so he could use that in case of an emergency if anyone tried to accost him. Then again, this was a bar, maybe they’d just think he was drunk and leave him alone. 

The jingling of a dog tag gets Steve’s attention, and suddenly he thinks he might actually cry if he doesn’t get to pet this dog right now. 

The person’s heavy footsteps get closer, the dog chain making cute clinking sounds, and Steve readily looks up to ask, even though his face is already red with embarrassment, because what if the person says no?

But then he sees the man’s thick-heeled boots, and then his leather jacket with all the metal spikes on the shoulders, and Steve thinks no, he doesn’t have to ask to pet the guys dog, and then he chokes when he realizes there isn’t any fucking dog. The man is wearing a collar. 

Steve tries to quickly shove his head between his legs, curl into a ball so the man might not notice him, but whatever sound he makes is enough to draw the guy's attention. Fuck. 

“Hey, what were you going to say? I saw you try to ask something.” The guys crouches down in front of Steve. Steve assumes the guy is going to beat him up for looking at him weird or something, but the man’s voice, while deep, is actually very calm. He has a few more chains hanging from his black jeans, which were absolutely shredded, and the clinking noise still reminds Steve of Farrah but now he’s embarrassed about it. Is he wearing fishnets under his jeans? Oh my god, Robin is going to kill Steve in the morning if this guy doesn’t kill him first. 

Steve thinks about answering but his words get clogged in his throat. Sure, he didn’t ask to pet the guy, but he thought about it, and his face burns and Steve wishes he could jump into the dumpster a few feet away. 

He must look weird, because the guy, already crouching down to him, gets closer until their knees are touching. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, very gently putting a heavily ringed hand on Steve’s arm. 

“I’m so sorry,” Steve sobbed, finally lifting his head to meet the guy's face. The dude’s hair is long, held up in a ponytail, which shows off the fact that he has an undercut with a pattern shaved on it. This man is absolutely terrifying, oh my God, how is Steve going to get out of this situation without dying? 

The guy's eyes widen at the words, but he keeps his movements slow as he places his hands against both of Steve’s trembling arms. Not constricting him, just pressing, just adding a bit of pressure. 

“You’re okay, I’m not angry.” The guy says soothingly, “You haven’t done anything. Why- why are you crying?” The guy’s voice goes high pitched, cracking a little. If Steve wasn’t so terrified, maybe he’d find it comforting. 

Steve doesn’t know what comes over him. He tells himself he’ll come up with something stupid, but his body hurts and lying takes a mental energy that Steve doesn’t have right now. His head pounds and the sound of his blood rushes past his ears. 

“Uh, I heard your collar and I thought you were a dog.” He whispered, putting his head between his knees again. “I was gonna ask to pet you. I’m so sorry.” He sounds absolutely mortified, which is good because he is. Why was he saying this? Steve was about to die and then Farrah would go back to the shelter and Robin would find another teacher and forget about him and no one would be able to teach Dustin to drive because he’s too annoying to keep a normal driving instructor- 

“You can pet me, if you want.” The guys interrupt Steve’s spiral. He moves so he’s sitting next to Steve, both their backs to the wall, his chains clinking all the while until their thighs are touching. Steve could briefly feel the dull spikes on the guys jacket pressing Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve’s brain completely blanks out. 

“…Uh-“ his hands are close to his chest, in fists, but mostly he’s just confused. Why is this guy being so nice to him? Steve thought he was a dog. He was never going to live this down. 

“I like petting.” The guy says, a small smirk on his face that brings charming wrinkles to his cheeks. Steve blushes. 

“Ca….” He can’t tell if the guy is serious, but the dude quickly pulls his hair out of his ponytail, shaking his head- like a dog. 

Maybe it’s just the seizure talking, but Steve tries to call his bluff. 

“Can I pet you?” Steve whispers, confusion and uncertainty lacing his shaking voice. 

“Yeah.” The dude replies calmly, tilting his head. 

Well, Steve realizes, now he kind of has to, doesn’t he? Shit. The guys hair looks really fucking soft. Steve’s allowed to touch it? 

Without knowing what else to do, Steve stiffly pats the guys on the head, which makes the guy laugh. Still, he doesn’t attempt to make Steve stop. In fact, he gets closer, until Steve’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder, playing with the hair on the crown of his head. Steve doesn’t really know what to do at first, but the dude smells really minty, but also like weed, and Steve doesn’t hate it as much as he thinks he should. He brushes his fingers through the guy's brown hair until there are no knots, letting his heart settle until the spots in his vision go away.

“So, what are you doing out here?” The guy asks quietly, letting Steve mess with his hair, his eyes are closed almost like he’s enjoying it. 

“I got lost.” Steve starts. The guy hums, so Steve continues. “I, uh, I had a few seizures this morning, and I got confused and got lost and I can’t find my phone or my glasses-“ Steve only realizes he’s rambling when the guy gives him a very concerned look. 

“Do I need to get you to a hospital?” He asks, clearly trying not to frighten Steve. 

“Oh? No, no, it’s okay, I’m sorry,” Steve said, almost absently as he braided a small strand of the guy's hair. He tried to focus on that instead of the raging headache he has crawling up his spine. “I went to the emergency room already, this is normal, it happens a lot, it’s just been a bad day. I’m sorry.” 

He can feel the guy nod, his body relaxing slightly. His hand casually moves to touch Steve’s collar with the tips on his fingers, his short nails painted black. 

“Your glasses are on your shirt.” 

Steve looks down where his glasses were hanging off the collar of his sweater. He blanches. 

“Shit, thank you. I’m sorry.” He mumbled, hurriedly putting them on. His face goes hot, and he wants to sink into the floor. He might cry again, he was so embarrassed. 

“Can you call someone?” The guy asks, not bringing up the panic on Steve’s face, which Steve is mighty grateful for because bringing it up will make him cry, he thinks. 

Steve shakes his head, “I lost my phone. Sorry.” He chokes out. 

“Can I call someone?” The guy specifies. 

That’s a really good idea. Sure, it’s getting dark, but Robin always has time for him. She’s probably out of work and blowing up his phone trying to contact him. She might even have broken into Steve’s apartment by now. 

Steve closes his eyes, trying to push past the fog in his brain. The only thing it does is add pressure to the backs of his eyes. 

“I… I can’t remember any numbers right now, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He puts his hand over his mouth to stop himself from speaking. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” The guy delicately pressed his palm to Steve’s shoulder, which draws attention to the fact that Steve’s breathing has sped up again. 

Steve gulps, blinking hard to stop himself from tearing up. He feels so fucking stupid. 

“Uh, with chronic seizures, there’s this thing, called a- uh, postictal state,” he tries to explain, voice way more breathy than he would like. He’s gripping maybe a bit too firmly to the frayed ends of the guy’s hair but he makes no move to stop him. “Which I like to say just means my brain hasn’t, hasn’t caught up to my body, like it’s, um, still processing.“

The guy nods, taking Steve’s rambling with grace. “Do you like champurrado?” He asks, Steve opens his mouth, closing it, opening it again. The guy nods, hurrying to explain himself. 

“We could go to my apartment and I could make you some. You look like you could eat. I made albondigas yesterday. When you can remember, we’ll call someone.” 

Steve really shouldn’t. This guy has already been too nice to him. Steve didn’t want to impose. Also, the guy was very kind, yeah, but Robin would kill him if he got hurt following this dude somewhere. But then Steve takes stock of the aches in his body. If he didn’t go with the guy, what would he do? Sit here all night? It was going to get cold and Steve’s anxiety wouldn’t let him sleep outside in the dark in an alleyway behind a bar playing very loud, aggressive metal music. 

Steve sighs, defeated. “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry.” He felt like he was doing something wrong. 

The guys smile brightly, almost blindingly so. He stands, chains jingling, and holds out a hand for Steve to take it. 

“You gotta stop saying sorry, man, you just had what, two seizures? It’s fi- holy shit.” 

The man’s hands were soft, which Steve wasn’t expecting, save for a few well placed calluses on his fingers. Steve tried not to think about it as he stood and wiped some gunk off his jeans, staring at the messy floor before figuring out something was wrong. He looked up, and the dude was staring up at Steve with his eyes wide, mouth agape. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Steve whispers, folding in on himself a little. What the fuck did he do now? 

The music rages on, but now it’s overwhelming. He feels static in his head. 

The guy’s heavily tattooed arms were held limply at his sides, “You- you’re really fucking tall.” He says unabashedly. 

Steve gulps, trying to shrink a little to make himself smaller, like that may alleviate the problem. Unfortunately, thought he did this often, It did mean he had terrible posture so his neck began to hurt. 

“Oh, I’m really sorry.” Steve wouldn’t look at him. 

“Why are you apologizing? It’s hot.” The guy says, Steve’s head shoots up to look at him as they stare at each other until the dude realizes what he just said. “Wait, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” The guy puts his hands up, a nervous huff coming out past his lips as he was the one to start panicking now. 

Steve can’t help but let out a small laugh, covering his mouth with his hands. He’s never had someone say he’s hot in such a way, he couldn’t help but be a bit flattered.  Steve nods so the dude knows he isn’t upset by the random comment. Steve’s face was already red, and now he couldn’t even tell why. 

The guy’s eyes brighten, if that were possible. 

“Okay, let’s go. I’m Eddie.” He says, motioning for Steve to follow him. It takes a second for Steve to get the memo, with how slow his brain is working, so Eddie cautiously takes Steve’s arm in the way Steve watches men do in old movies. 

“I’m Steve. Thank you.” Steve, honest to God, giggled. Maybe he should be worrying about his dad and the fight he had with his mother, but he tries not to think about it. They’re not his problem, and he has better things to do. 

He does have to look down to see Eddie’s face when they’re not sitting, but that’s normal for Steve. He’s a few heads taller than most people he knows, and he works with kids so he’s obviously taller than them. He kind of just forgets, most of the time. No one else has mentioned it. His height was why he was so popular in high school before the seizures and anxiety messed it all up, though Steve is grateful he isn’t a bitch anymore. He’s only about a head and a half taller than Eddie, though. 

Eddie laughs, and it’s a cracky, beautiful sound. “You’re welcome, big boy.” 

Steve squints at Eddie as he leads him down the street. “Big boy?” He asks. As they get farther from the bar, there are less and less people out on the streets. No one jostles Steve, though, probably on account of the guy next to him, covered head to toe in spikes with black eye makeup. 

“Really? Do you not see how large you are?” Eddie continued, looking up at Steve like he was insane as he led him to the left, then the right. “It’s honestly kind of scary.”

“Me?” Steve wasn’t scary, this guy had it wrong. Sure, he was big, but nothing about him was frightening. Steve couldn’t remember the last person he met who actually looked afraid of him. None of his students ever were. 

“Yeah, you!” 

“I’m not scared.” Steve protested, though he was also smiling. “If anything, you’re scary.” 

Eddie throws his head back dramatically, covering his face with his curly hair. The bandana in his back pockets whips around.

“Why thank you.” Eddie grins, “Just so you know, flattery works on me.” He continued until they got to what appeared to be Eddie’s apartment building. Steve held on to his arm tighter. Eddie's dramatics calm him a little. 

“I have a dog, so you can pet a real one.” Eddie teases, unlocking the door with his free arm. “Her name is Ozzy, she’s a Doberman Great Dane mix, so I hope big dogs don’t scare you. I promise she’s not violent.” There’s something in his voice that tells Steve there’s something else. 

Steve smiles softly, “She sounds perfect.”

[fuctacles]

Steve has barely started college, and he’s running late again. But this time he passes the ridiculously long line by the café and runs straight to the lecture ball. He can do it without a coffee. Or rather, he can charm his way into someone else’s cup.

He makes it just in time and runs down the rows of seats looking for a target. Skips the white girl lattes and gym bros protein shakes. If only he could find a half-alive artist type or…

Bingo!

He slides smoothly into the empty space next to a guy dressed all in black. He has long hair, multitude of rings and tattoos. The whole package. Even the mug in his hand was black with a skull.

Steve turns on his charm as he leans in.

“Hey, man. Hate to be so forward, but may I have a sip? Couldn’t make it to the café today.” He gives the man his best puppy dog eyes. Sometimes it even works on Robin so he knows it’s good.

The man studies him for a second and seems to be an even tougher opponent than his bestie, but then he just shrugs.

“Have at it,” he says and pushes the mug in Steve’s direction.

“Thanks, you’re a saviour.” Steve smiles brightly at him and revels in the warmth of the metallic travel mug. The warmth in his mouth and seeping into his bones.

And the completely wrong taste.

He bristles, gulps down what has already hit his tongue, and starts coughing.

The guy just watches him without much of a reaction. The professor eyes them and turns out to be more sympathetic.

“Everything alright there?”

“Yeah,” he calls back, eyes on Steve. “Went down the wrong pipe.”

Steve feels like strangling him. He looks up with watery eyes.

“Are you drinking hot chocolate? At 9 in the morning?!” He barely manages to keep it a whisper. At least now he’s feeling fully awake.

“What? Read one too many "I like my coffee black like my soul” text posts?“ The guy raises an eyebrow and Steve is not going to blush at being called out like that. He did totally judge him based on his looks alone. "Besides, it has espresso in it. I’m not a complete freak,” he adds, sipping his caffeinated chocolate abomination.

Steve sees it as a spark of hope.

“Sorry,” he whispers, straightening in his seat to start paying attention to the lecture. “I’m Steve, by the way.”

Should have probably started with his name, but first impressions are already ruined, thrown in the garbage disposal and on their way to the sewers. Might as well try and not make his first enemy in a new city.

It takes long enough for the guy to respond, but the quirk of his mouth makes not-enemy turn into possible-ally.

“Eddie.”

masterpost

[cult-of-the-eye]

Meet ugly idea specifically for jmart: Jon is living with Georgie and she has tasked him with trying to cancel one of her TV subscriptions and Jon is like sure how hard could it be, cue 5 hours later where he's trying not to scream at a very apologetic, soft voiced customer service person (Martin) who's adamant that he shouldn't leave this service.

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 51

Geralt isn't a fan of the new intern his family's office has hired. He never stops humming or snapping his fingers, and he always gets Geralt's coffee wrong, and he trips over nothing and spills paperwork everywhere at least twice a week, and he won't stop flirting with Geralt, but more than anything, the absolute worst part about it all... is Geralt's starting to look forward to his shenanigans. This all comes to a head when one night when everyone is going home, Geralt and Jaskier are last in the building. They're on their way down in the elevator when it stops. Oh shit- They're stuck in the elevator. Possibly overnight. I like to imagine Jaskier thinks Geralt hates him, and is also terrified of their current situation, so he has a quirky fun lil panic attack (I can make this joke i used to have really bad panic attacks before i got on better meds) and the person talking him down from it is the chiseled god of a man he wants to drool over but Jaskier is SURE must hate his guts. Geralt doesn't hate his guts. Anymore-

[italiansteebie]

*** I got my tongue pierced today, and the interaction I had with the piercer inspired this lil thing. (The sexy part and the "good boy girl" part both happened to me, however I left due to being extremely flustered as soon as the transaction finished)

piercer!Eddie and client!Steve when Steve goes in to Eddie's shop to get his tongue pierced Eddie has him rinse his mouth out with listerine before getting started and everything is fine and normal.

and Steve sits while continuing to swish and the spits in back into the disposable cup, avoiding eye contact with Eddie who has been staring at him this whole time, but not in a creepy way (in a omg this guy is so hot way)- anyways Eddie has been staring at Steve, and watches his spit the mouth wash back into the cup and the only thing Eddie's brain comes up with to say is "sexy."

Steve smirks slightly and then flatly says "thank you." from that moment on things are quiet between the two of them until Eddie has finished the piercing and wipes the drool off Steve's face and says a simple "good boy," before standing and finishing the transaction.

only then does Eddie realize what he's done, turning around to apologize only to find Steve half hard in his jeans.

things aren't quiet for much longer, although there still isn't much talking, save for the "ah, ah, pretty boy. no oral for at least two weeks while your piercing heals. luckily for us, my mouth is free. and so are your hands."

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 2637

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

7. Strawberry Cream Puffs

Mary

Mary doesn’t realize what she’s hearing at first. If she did, she’d hightail it right back out the front door, phone be damned. But the sound of Bucky and Steve talking is muffled and indistinct from the distance of their bedroom, and Mary hurries around the apartment, checking for her phone by the coffee maker in the kitchen and then in the couch cushions after that. “Fucking fuck,” she hisses, annoyed. She doesn’t have time for this! She has to get back to work.

It’s only when she walks down the hall to check in her bedroom and is passing the door to Bucky and Steve’s room that she figures it out.

"Bucky!"

"That’s it, Princess, just like that. You’re almost there."

Mary freezes, whole body tensing as she realizes that Bucky and Steve are not just “talking.” Her face flushes, arousal swirling hard and sudden in her core at the sounds.

“Fuck, fuck … unhshit."

That’s Steve moaning. He sounds totally gone for whatever Bucky’s doing to him (God, Mary wishes she could see what Bucky’s doing to him). Against all common decency, she takes a step closer, putting her ear millimeters from the door. She can hear their heavy breathing, can hear the wet sounds of them fucking. Steve is making all sorts of obscene sounds, and Bucky’s talking to him, encouraging him in a dark, goading voice that Mary’s only ever heard the barest hint of.

"Ride Daddy’s hand, thaat’s it. Fuck back on it. Good girl."

Oh. my. god. Mary’s eyes go wide and her panties are suddenly, horribly wet. She forces herself to step away, then hears Steve wailing and grunting like he’s coming. Maybe he is, she doesn’t stay to find out.

Her face is flaming hot as she hurries into her room. And of-fucking-course: there’s her phone, still sitting plugged into the nightstand. She scowls at it, as if it’s the phone’s fault that she’s just witnessed what she has.

Wet panties don’t feel great, so she shucks her leggings off and changes, then grabs her phone and cautiously makes her way back out into the hall. Bucky and Steve are still in their room—she can hear them talking in there (this time only talking). But Mary knows they both have freakishly good hearing, so she’s dreadfully careful as she sneaks back out of the apartment. If they catch her now, the jig’ll be up. There’s no way in hell Bucky won’t take one look at her face and know. Then he’ll tell Steve, of course, because those two freaking live in each other’s skin. And then Mary’ll have to face them every day with the common knowledge between the three of them that she knows Bucky calls Steve a “good girl” in bed.

She makes it out of the apartment unnoticed, goes back to work, and spends most of her shift in a distracted daze, messing up more than one coffee order as she contemplates why she finds it so hot.

Bucky

It’s the weekend, so after Bucky’s done “teaching” his husband in bed that morning, they both get dressed and head out for their usual Saturday routine of going to the gym together.

Bucky’s not as obsessed with lifting as Steve is, so he finishes first and sits by the overpriced juice bar, entertaining himself with a little sample cup of some green apple-kale concoction and the view of his sweaty husband’s backside as he does weighted squats. “Looking good, Cap!” he calls out, loud enough for Steve to hear. Steve shoots him a peevish glance from across the way, which Bucky knows means Shut the fuck up. You’re so embarrassing. Bucky snickers and brings his green juice up for another sip.

“Been discharged for over a decade and you’re still using that,” Steve grumps at him when he’s finished and they’re walking out of the gym.

Bucky hums and kisses him on the cheek. “It suits you.” They join hands and start off down the sidewalk. Their Saturday morning routine is to get coffee after a workout—Bucky’s iced, Steve’s with whatever horrifically sugary additives he can think up. “My baby made Captain at twenty-five. That’s fucking hot.” He sees Steve’s blush and feels accomplished. “Plus, I know you like it.”

“Don’t hear me calling you Sergeant.”

“That’s cause I’m higher rank than you and you know it,” Bucky quips, and the two of them share a saucy grin that kind of makes Bucky want to shove Steve up against the nearest building and “teach” him something else. He refrains. “Have you told her we served?” he asks, referring to Mary. He’s steering them in the direction of the café where she works, rather than their usual place, and he’s sure Steve notices.

“No. But we haven’t gotten much into the details about anything.” Steve’s tone is slightly disapproving. “You let her avoid us with too much streaming."

Steve’s not wrong. They are halfway through the third season of Game of Thrones. Bucky squeezes Steve’s right hand with his left, indicating the metal arm. “She hasn’t asked about this.”

“S’probably just trying to be polite.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Bucky’s arm is StarkTech, so even though he’s a veteran with an amputation, he doesn’t come off that way to strangers at first glance. He gets passed over for the usual silent deference. And when people do clock the arm, he’s more likely to get stares and questions, rather than pity. He’s noticed Mary looking a few times, but she hasn’t said anything.

“You’re in long sleeves all the time, Babe,” Steve says. “She’ll ask when the weather warms up, I bet.”

“Yeah.” Bucky remembers why he likes winter so much. “… You think she’ll be with us that long?”

Steve looks over at him. “Honestly? Yeah. I do. She’s got a lot of issues, Buck. Have you noticed her eating habits?”

Bucky frowns. “I mean, she’s picky …”

“She restricts,” Steve corrects. “Her counselor called the other day and recommended we file a petition to extend the custody order.”

“Really? We’re not even halfway through it yet.”

“I know.” Steve twists his lips unhappily, looking down at the pavement as the walk. “Linda said we should try and talk to her about it now, rather than later. Try and frame it in a positive way.”

Bucky scoffs. “She’s gonna throw a fit!” (She does about most things.) “It’d be better if you or Linda brought it up,” he grumbles. “She hates me.”

“Hey.” Steve stops walking, stilling Bucky with a hand to his shoulder. “Hey. She does not. She’s just reacting to you cause you don’t pull any punches. I mean imagine how scary it must be, what we’re asking of her.”

Bucky frowns as he thinks about it. “I guess.”

“We bring her in, telling her she’s an incapable mess and that her life’s a shambles, and then she’s supposed to just one hundred percent trust us?”

"Well when you put it like that,” Bucky grumps. Not like they haven’t been doing absolutely everything in their power to show this woman that they’re not pervert serial killers, or whatever.

“Plus, she’s embarrassed about it. About what she needs.”

Bucky grunts, thinking back to how he’d felt when he was a kid and got placed on the spectrum. “You think evenings are helping?” he asks, looking to Steve for reassurance. “I’ve been trying to keep it as light as I know how …"

“Babe, aw. C’mere.” Steve pulls him in for a big hug and presses his face against Bucky’s neck. “Of course evenings are helping.”

“Steeve! Gross! Get off me, you’re all—"

“Shuddup,” Steve scolds quietly. He kisses his cheek, then pulls back with smiling eyes. “You’re a good Dom, Buck. Even a normie like me can tell that.”

Bucky’s insides warm at the praise, but he masks it with a theatrical scowl and a shove to Steve’s chest. “You’re all sweaty.”

“So are you, Jerk.” Steve takes his hand again and pulls him along. “It’s slow going, but it’s going. We just gotta give it time.”

Bucky grumbles quietly. They both know that giving anything time is not his forte. A few shops down, the café comes into sight, and Steve gives his hand a squeeze. “You know, she did tell me the other day that she thinks you’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“She said that?” Bucky blurts before he can catch himself. Steve’s smirk widens and Bucky drops his hand. “Punk,” he huffs, pushing past him to open the café’s door and hold it for his husband.

The smell assaults them as soon as they step inside. It smells like heaven; like coffee beans and yeast, warm spices and flaky pastries. Bucky looks for Mary at the service counter, but when he doesn’t immediately see her he joins Steve in front of the pastry case to drool over said pastries.

“Oh my God,” Steve moans. “How’m I gonna choose?”

“How is my BMI not gonna go up with this chick?” Bucky agrees.

The case is stocked full for the Saturday brunch rush. Bucky’s eyes flit between the shiny-glazed doughnuts, the already-crumbling scones, the sugar-crusted muffins, and the cheese-stuffed Danish. “Fuuck,” he breathes, imagining a mouthful of cream cheese and dough. Steve makes a similar sound right next to him.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts in. “No jerking off to the baked goods. This is a family establishment."

Bucky’s eyes shoot up at the sound of Mary’s voice, then he grins as her words register. This is the first time he’s ever heard her use sexual innuendo. “Well I dunno …” he drawls. “That cream filling really gets Steve going.” Steve shoots him a dirty glare and Bucky thrills a little at the blush he can see creeping up the big lunk’s neck. So fucking easy. He looks back to Mary: She’s got her hair up in a sporty ponytail today, and there’s something shiny on her lips that makes them look extra plump. “How’s your shift going?” he asks, tearing his eyes away from her mouth.

“Good.” She offers him a little smile for asking, which is something she wouldn’t have done two weeks ago. She’s been resentful up until recently, of Bucky and Steve keeping such close tabs on her. Bucky’s hopeful though, because lately it seems like she’s taking to it. Maybe even mellowing out. “You guys look like you’ve been working out,” she says. The way her eyes sweep over them is appreciative, lingering on their chests and arms. 

Bucky can’t help it; he swells a little with ego. “Worked up an appetite,” he agrees. “Stevie and I usually go to a coffee shop that closer to the gym, but ever since we discovered this place …” Since we discovered you, he wants to say. “Well, let’s just say it doesn’t hold a candle to here. This place’s got better pastries—cuter baristas, too.” He winks at her and watches in satisfaction as she flusters and looks away, unable to keep from smiling just a little bit. As a Dom, Bucky’s always been drawn to that kinda thing. A girl who can’t take a compliment is damn tempting. It’s that shy little blushing smile that does it; it makes him want to tie her down in his bed, take her apart bit by bit while he forces her to cum and take compliments over and over again.

Bucky shakes himself out of it when he hears Steve asking Mary what she recommends from the case that morning.”Oh! Well, let me see…” She gives the pastry case some consideration. The way her lips purse in a thoughtful moue as she thinks seriously about it is very cute. “Hm, maybe the frangipane mousseline …  no! Oh, no, get the cream puffs. I made strawberry and raspberry ones today!”

Her enthusiasm is infectious, and Bucky but help and smile back at her. “Right. Two of those, then. And our usual coffee order.” He pays for the order and she starts flitting around making their drinks. On the other side of the counter, Bucky glances over to Steve. “Gotta get that cream filling,” he murmurs, and Steve rolls his eyes and tells him he’s a lousy human being.

Later on, Bucky goes to meet Mary after her shift ends. It’s been unseasonably cold for October and it had sleeted a bit during the afternoon earlier in the day. There’s a slick patch of sidewalk just outside the café’s front doors, which Bucky avoids but Mary doesn’t. It catches her off guard and her feet go out from under her in a flash. Bucky doesn’t think, he just reacts, catching her in his arms and yanking her in against his body. She gasps and grabs onto him, and once they’ve caught their footing, they’re just left standing there on the sidewalk, pressed as close together as they’ve ever been. Mary’s cheeks color so prettily, and her lips are parted, and they’ve still got some of that shiny whatever-it-is smeared on them, making them look vulnerable and kissable … Bucky’s struck hard by the sudden urge to take.

For once, he gives in to his urges.

Her reaction is a tightening of fingers on his jacket and a tiny gasp against his mouth. Bucky moves his lips against hers, urging her to respond. He’s kind of expecting her to push away, so he’s pleasantly surprised when she makes a sweet little noise in her throat and starts kissing back.

The shiny stuff, it turns out, is strawberry, and he’s not sure if he knows that more through taste or smell. Mary’s lips are so soft and so goddamned plush, her mouth incredibly yielding under his. It’s been years since Bucky’s kissed a woman, and he thrills with how small she is in his arms, how smooth the skin of her face is where it touches his. Everything about the way she opens up to him makes him think about how easy it’d be to take her apart in other ways. She whimpers against his mouth again, and that’s what it is about women that he misses, Bucky thinks. They’re such easy prey. The predator in Bucky likes that. He tries to remember to tell Steve that later. When he dares to swipe out with his tongue, she looses the tiniest little sigh and lets him in.

Dominant satisfaction at the small victory zips through him, and he moves his hands on her, down to her waist and around to the small of her back. He pulls her against him, just a firm tug into where they’re already pretty much pressed together. She whimpers and pants into his mouth and rubs against him needily, and Bucky has to pull back at the way that reaction makes blood rush from his head to other places.

He doesn’t want to be a creep, after all, but a submissive woman whimpering into his mouth and rubbing up on him like that can really only make one thing happen.

They’re left standing only inches apart, panting into each other’s faces. Bucky’s still holding her steady but she manages to find her footing. He pulls his hands back to himself.

Mary’s flushed and her lips are still parted. The way she’s looking up at him makes it very hard for Bucky not to just grab her again. He manages not to, offering her a crooked smile. “Well. That was … unexpected.”

“Yeah,” she breathes. Absently, she licks her lips, almost as if she’s trying to taste what just happened. “Yeah it was.”

They lock eyes, and Bucky knows from that look that he doesn’t have to bother asking if it was okay that he kissed her. She liked it.

They wind up walking home holding hands, Bucky pushing back a grin the entire time like a goddamn virgin.

Series Masterlist

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[bazzybelle]

Square/Prompt: B1 - Meet Ugly

Title: Trouble is a Friend

Rating: Teen

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus / Hob Gadling

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Additional Tags: Meet-Ugly, Alternate Universe-Modern Setting, Grey's Anatomy AU, neurosurgeon Dream, Surgical Nurse Hob Gadling, Human Matthew the Raven, Pre-relationship, Awkward First Meetings

Summary:

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s some hot-shot businessman. Oh God, maybe he’s a big-headed neurosurgeon like your buddy over there, eh?” Hob chuckles before finally noticing the look on Matthew’s face. “Oh fuck, he’s right behind me, isn’t he?” “Indeed, I am. And maybe I wouldn’t have been so aggressive on the road had a certain cyclist left me some room to maneuver.” Hob Gadling's day starts off wonderfully when he's splashed head to toe by one of the rudest drivers he's ever had to encounter. Luckily the day can't possibly get any worse, right? Too bad that same rude driver just happens to be one of the surgeons he'll be working with at his new job. An insanely attractive, yet imperious neurosurgeon to be exact. This is fine. He'll be fine, right?

Link, if full work is posted elsewhere:

Here is my first submission for @dreamlingbingo! The prompt was Meet-Ugly! I am planning on making all of my submissions fit into a larger Grey's Anatomy AU I'm slowly building.

Thank you to msdonnanoble and @embroiderling for the beta-reading and the wonderful notes. Hugs and love!

[stardust948]

Half Off Chocolate

Prompt: They fight over discounted Valentine's Day chocolate while arguing over who had it worse.

Katara didn’t know why she didn’t just go home.

Her makeup was smeared from crying, dress wrinkled, and hair slipping out of its neat bun. She was a messed and felt even worse inside. Maybe that is why she stopped at the nearest convenient store for some well deserved and frankly overdue, sweets.

The store was a ghost town. Scattered pink and red merchandise laid abandoned on the floor and nearly empty shelves. Of course. Though it was still Valentine’s Day, the hour was late and most of the good stuff was long gone.

Katara wandered to the candy section, feeling like a lost spirit herself; haunting the remains of a once beautiful dwelling now succumbed to ruin. The candy ail was picked clean, as expected. Even the less popular treats were gone. Nothing left except a lone heart shaped red box. An ugly orange sticker slapped hastily on read the box was 50% off due to damage.

‘How fitting. A damaged heart for a damaged heart.’ Katara thought to herself.

A bitter half smile grew on her face as she reached out to pick it up. She did not notice the other hand reaching at the same time until they both grabbed the box. Katara gasped, more out of annoyance than surprise.

The person was a Fire Nation man about her age. He wore a fancy suit with the neck tie partly undone and had long black hair that spilled onto his face. Bits of red peaked under the hair on his left side, probably from a rash or blemish he was trying to hide. Despite this, he was admittedly attractive in his own way.

Katara glared. He must have forgotten what day it was, hastily threw on the fancy outfit and rushed to the store to buy sweets for his disappointed partner. Well too bad! Katara needed it more!

“Excuse you.” Katara said coldly. “I had that first.”

“What? No I did.”

“You’re wrong.” Katara yanked it, but the man held firm. “Let go!”

“I had it first! You let go!”

“No you!”

They yelled and tugged on the chocolate box like a couple of kids fighting on the playground.

“Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?!” Katara spat. “I’ve earned that chocolate!”

“Earned?! I need it more!!!”

“It’s not my fault you forgot Valentines’ Day and had to last minute shopping!”

“I didn’t forget! My girlfriend dumped me today of all days!”

“Oh boohoo! My long term boyfriend proposed today-“

“Well congratulations!” His voice dripped in sarcasm.

“After I caught him cheating, you prick!” Katara snapped. “He didn’t even apologize! Just pulled out a ring and thought that would fix everything!”

“You think that’s bad?! My ex dumped me by bringing the guy she was cheating on me with for the past 2 years!”

“My ex brought his fangirls to the proposal! The very ones who treated me like a maid and constantly threatened me just because I was dating him!”

“My ex threw a glass bottle at my head just for dating another girl while we were on break!”

“My ex threw a lit candle at me because I didn’t want to kiss him right then!”

“My ex did kiss me just to shut me up from talking about confused emotions!”

“My ex purposefully kept me away from my family and constantly belittled my culture!”

“My ex insulted me just for having different opinions from her!”  

“My ex compared my grief of my mom’s murder to losing his pet! Then scolded me for giving a witness report against the murder in trail!!!”

“My ex told my sister where I was knowing she’ll tell my abusive father!!!”

The box ripped in half, sending them flying back and pelting them with chocolate. The two stared at each other in stunned silence before the owner came storming up and kicked them out. The slammed door echoed across the bare parking lot as the two continued to stand there awkwardly.

“Did she really do those things?” Katara asked in a hushed tone.

“Yeah.” The man rasped. There was no hiding the sadness in his voice. “Yours’s?”

Katara nodded. “Yeah…”

“Sounds like a really crappy person.”

“Yours’s too.”

There was another brief silence before he spoke again.

“We’re better off without them.”

“Are we?” Katara asked. “We were just fighting over discounted chocolate 5 minutes ago.”

“Okay, maybe not tonight specifically… But in the long run, we’re better off.”

Katara rubbed her necklace as tears formed. She wanted to agree but a large part of her life was tied to that relationship. Tied to him. Katara shook her head. The stranger was right.

“We are better off.”

“Sorry about…” He gestured to the store behind them. ”That.”

“I’m sorry too.” Katara undid her messy bun, letting her hair fall free, then extended her hand. “I’m Katara.”

He accepted with a firm grip. “Zuko.”

[starry-bi-sky]

new Danyal al Ghul au just dropped! --or at least some art of it did. I call it the "Stillborn? No, no, still born" au (or stillborn just for short)

it's based off a batfam comment I saw that mentioned in the early comics Bruce knew about Talia's pregnancy and was ecstatic to be a father. So much so that Talia feared he'd give up being Batman for it, so when she gave birth she put the baby (Damian) on a doorstep and (seemingly) told Bruce that the baby was stillborn.

I saw it, thought "mm, tasty!" and thought what if that baby was Danny instead of Damian? By default I was thinking of making him a few years older, however, it works just as well with demon twins. I need to think it over. Meet Daniel Brown! 14 year old foster kid whose been with the Fentons for the last two years! He has SO many issues haha. hah. lmfao even.

Danny's theme song is literally just "Good Kid" from the Percy Jackson musical, to sum him up.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith doesn’t leave his apartment a lot.

Despite all of Shiro’s urging, Keith tends to stay home. His apartment is really nice, once he gets over the occasional mouse and entirely broken heating. Plus, the water is mostly potable, so it’s all good.

Look. It’s $500 a month.

But, y’know. Every once in a while Keith actually can’t study over the sounds of his neighbours having extremely loud and largely disturbing sex — why on Earth would cheetos ever be mentioned in regards to anyone’s hole is something Keith wish remained a mystery to him — so he makes his way down to the campus library. It’s admittedly kind of nice down there. He’s currently sitting at a table that’s decently clean, and the wifi connection is certainly better than it is at home. He’s actually able to get some stuff done —

“Motherfucker!”

Keith jumps out of his skin as the hottie a couple seats in front of him slams his hands on the table. Hottie whips his head up, catching Keith’s eye. His hair is wildly curly, sticking up off his head so intensely that it almost defies gravity. His eyes are big and brown and a little crazed. His expression can only be described as ‘intense’, or perhaps ‘unstable’.

“You,” he snarls.

Keith points at himself with wide eyes.

“Have you ever heard of a mountain chicken,” Hottie says, still staring at Keith with the same crazed intensity.

“Please don’t hurt me,” Keith squeaks. Hottie may be one of the most attractive people he has ever seen, but Keith has learned his lesson about pretty people. They tend to be the most dangerous and likely to maim (looking at you, Allura).

Hottie stalks towards Keith’s table, deliberately placing his hands on the surface and leaning very, very close.

“Have you ever heard,” he says again, voice very low, “of a mountain chicken.”

“No,” Keith says, because he hasn’t and he’s a little (a lot) intimidated.

And attracted.

There’s admittedly a lot of attraction there.

Suddenly the crazed air shifts from Hottie’s face, but the intensity remains.

“Whaddaya think it looks like?”

He sounds almost curious. Almost.

Keith blinks. “Like a really big chicken?”

The crazed looks is back as soon as it left.

“That’s what I thought, but it’s this mother fucker!” Hottie yells, reaching over to grab his laptop and slam it in front of Keith. It’s open to a picture of a strange little frog.

Keith squints at the picture.

“…Huh,” he says, because that is strange, and he can kind of understand why Hottie is going a little nutty about it.

“Exactly,” Hottie says emphatically. “Fuckin’ taxonomists.”

Keith raises an amused eyebrow. “You sound like you have beef with taxonomists. I’ve never known anyone who has a personally problem with them before.”

“Okay, listen,” Hottie says, pulling out a chair and sitting down properly. “They’re really bad at their jobs. All of ‘em. Why are watermelons berries? No. That’s bullshit. And you know who’s fault it is? Taxonomists.”

Keith bursts out laughing. “I see,” he manages between wheezes.

Hottie sniffs. “I’m allowing your laughter because you’re stupid hot.”

“Are you.”

“Mhm. Also, because I couldn’t stop you if I wanted to. I’m about three seconds away from passing out.”

Hottie says it pleasantly, but not in the way that sounds like he’s joking, which sobers Keith up quickly.

“Wait, what —”

The words don’t even leave his mouth before Hottie’s eyes roll back into his head and his forehead smacks the table.

———

“Thank you, again,” the man says.

Keith shoots him a small smile. “It’s really not a problem.”

The man — who Keith has learnt is named Hunk, and is the best friend of the aforementioned Hottie, who’s name is apparently Lance — sighs. “It kind of is. He’s — I would like to say that this is not a regular occurrence. But he’s fuckin’ allergic to a proper sleep schedule. And peanuts. But the sleeping thing is a bigger issue. He’s given himself four concussions because he’s passed out mid-sentence and brained himself on a random surface hard enough to make an impact on his thick fucking skull.”

Hunk is clearly exasperated, and annoyed, but his words are so fond that Keith can’t help the smile that pulls across his face. He sounds just like Shiro, after Keith has managed to land himself squarely into one of his many Shenanigans. Loving and also five seconds away from throttling you.

It’s nice.

“You his brother?”

Hunk snorts, readjusting Lance’s floppy arm over his shoulder. Keith does the same, hefting him up — he’s surprisingly heavy for someone who’s about as thick as a toothbrush, but what does Keith know — and keeping on in the direction of the off-campus apartments. (The decently nice ones, that you can only afford with at least two roommates and a part-time job. Keith knows. He checked.)

“Nah, not really. I mean, I’m basically his brother in that he’s the annoyance who’s been latched on to my person for the last several years and who I love too much to murder, but you know. He has enough siblings without me thrown into the mix. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” Keith says. “You remind me of me and my brother, is all. He’s also the one who’s usually dragging my dumb ass to safety.”

Laughing, Hunk digs his key out of his pocket, opening up the door.

“I see.”

He struggles for a moment, trying to both keep Lance from falling — who is firmly unconscious, although Hunk has assured him that he’s not injured and it’s just been six days since he last slept and he’s just kind of Like This — and get the door open.

Keith isn’t sure how to help, so he just kind of stands there awkwardly, still holding half of Lance’s weight.

“Thank you,” Hunk says, once Lance has been transferred to his arms and he’s standing just inside the doors to their apartment complex. “I appreciate your help.”

“No problem.”

Keith forces himself to take a step back, shoving the random wistfulness deep down in his gut.

He’s not lonely. He’s not.

(He does kind of miss his brother, though. Ugh.)

“I’ll see you around, Keith.”

“Yeah. You, too.”

Keith stands there for a full ten seconds after Hunk turns around and heads down the hallway, and then he shakes himself, blushing, before speedwalking back to his own shitty apartment.

God, he needs a fucking hobby.

———

“What do you mean, I can’t get eight shots of espresso? It’s not like it’ll kill me. You need 76 shots to kill you. I checked.”

“Sir…it’s company policy. I’m not allowed to put more than eight shots in one cup. Sorry.”

“No, no, don’t apologise. It’s not your fault. Hm.” The man — who is he kidding, Keith recognised Lance as soon as he saw that poofy hair in the Starbucks line, as embarrassing as it is — rocks back on his heels, tapping a finger to his chin. “Can I order two drinks, with eight shots each?”

Jesus Christ.

The barista blinks at him. “I mean, I guess so. I think you’re going to die, but that’s not my problem, I guess.”

Lance laughs, and the sound is so bright and musical that it actually makes Keith sigh.

Like, out loud.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“That works! Let’s do that.”

“…If you’re sure. That’ll be $7.29.”

Lance pays, then heads over to the other end of the counter, humming as he waits. As soon as his eyes land on Keith, they narrow.

“Hey, wait a minute. I know you. Obviously. I would never forget a face so flawlessly beautiful. Why do I know you?”

Keith goes so red he can actually feel his heart pounding through the capillaries under his skin, which is humiliating.

“Um.”

Lance giggles, which makes the blush worse.

Oh, God, Keith is losing any and all game he possesses by the minute. Fuck, isn’t he usually good at this? He usually is! He’s usually a pretty decent flirt! What the fuck!

“Oh!” Lance says, snapping his fingers. “You’re the hot guy from the library! The one who called Hunk when I passed out! Keith, right?”

Keith can only nod. Holy shit, the force of those brown doe eyes at full intensity on his face is going to fry his brain.

He clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. I’m Keith. You — obviously, you knew that.” Keith resists the urge to slam his head through the nearest wall.

Lance giggles again. Keith wonders if the fuckin’ sweat is actually dripping from his palms, or it just feels like it is.

Gross.

“You’re cute. You should take me on a date. I have class until five, room A112 in the biology building. Pick me up, and we’ll go to dinner?”

Keith can only nod. Frantically. So quickly his hair escapes from his ponytail and smacks him in the face.

“Great,” Lance says, grinning. He grabs Keith hand — Keith offers absolutely no resistance and only prays that his palms aren’t actually as disgusting as he thinks they are — and takes out a pen, scrawling down a number and then drawing a big heart around it.

Lord above, Lance is the cutest boy Keith has ever seen in his entire life. He’s going to explode.

“That’s my number,” Lance says, and he’s still holding onto Keith’s forearm.

His fingers are freezing, and that’s the only rational thought Keith’s brain manages to form.

“2 coffees with more caffeine than I’ve ever seen one person consume?” the barista calls. She looks at them warily.

“Coming!” Lance chirps, and Keith mourns the loss of those cold fingers on his skin as Lance steps over to grab his coffee.

(Well. ‘Coffee’.)

Lance skips to the doors, pausing to smile and wiggle his fingers in a wave. “I’ll see you after class, okay, Keith?”

“See you,” Keith says, and his voice cracks so many times that the barista winces on his behalf.

Lance grins wider, then disappears out the door.

“That was the most romcom shit I’ve ever seen,” the barista informs him bluntly, and Keith can only nod.

———

Keith is buzzing out of his skin, he thinks.

So he does what he always does when he’s feeling Big Boy Feelings™️.

He bothers his brother.

to: takashit

shiro oh my god it’s almost five his class is almost done what do i do.

to: takashit

what if he was joking? it didn’t seem like a joke. but what if?

to: takashit

fuck, what if i screw it up? what if i’m a lame loser who says lame loser things? oh my god i’m so nervous

to: takashit

OH MY GOD SHIRO WHAT IF I YARF

to: keith kardashian

KEITH MOTHERFUCKING YORAK KOGANE. SHUT THE FUCK UP. I AM BUSY.

to: takashit

🥺🥺🥺 worst brother ever

to: takashit

🥺🥺 you don’t love me. you don’t care about me or my anxiety 💔

Keith can actually hear his brother’s guilt complex acting up through the phone.

It’s hilarious.

to: keith kardashian

the worst part about that is i know you’re manipulating me.

to: takashit

😔 😔

to: takashit

⬆️ my face rn as i realise my brother whom i look up to and adore wishes he left me on the street corner where i was standing 😔😔😔

to: keith kardashian

i should have, you little motherfucker.

There’s a solid minute of angry typing before Shiro continues.

to: keith kardashian

fuck you. call me.

Keith does. Shiro picks up immediately.

“You are a rat bastard,” he growls.

Keith pretends to sniffle, fully fighting back a laugh.

“I just thought you promised to always be there for me,” he says, as pitifully as he can manage.

Shiro makes a vague screaming noise.

“Fuck! Fine. Fuck. Tell me why you’re nervous.”

“It’s a cute boy with a lot of confidence and social grace, Shiro! Fucking obviously I’m nervous!”

“Didn’t y’all meet because he yelled at you about taxonomists and then brained himself on a library table when he passed out from sleep deprivation?”

“…Yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound very socially graceful to me.”

“Okay, fair, but he asked me out this morning like it was the smoothest thing ever. I blushed so hard I thought my heart was going to explode. I swear to God my voice cracked at least twelve times.”

Shiro sniggers. “It does that all the time, so no big thing there.”

“Fuck off,” Keith says, scowling, because hey. Being the shithead is Keith’s job.

“Anyway, you big nerd,” Shiro continues, “you’re going to be fine. In five minutes this ridiculously confident cute boy is going to waltz out of class and then you two are going to go on what’s probably the cringiest date of all time, but he will be charmed by your earnest nature and geek tendencies, and then you’ll get married and adopt every dog in the world. Okay?”

Honestly, yeah. Okay. That did make him feel better.

But Keith is the younger brother, and as such is contractually obligated to be a pain in the ass, so.

“Yeah, yeah. At least I didn’t trip and, in a desperate attempt to not land face-first on the pavement, pants my future husband.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Shiro says venomously, as is par for the course when Keith brings up his and Adam’s disastrous first meeting.

Keith smirks to himself.

“My bad.”

“Ugh. You’re so annoying. Do you feel better now, you stupid dweeb?”

Keith started feeling better the second he started pestering Shiro, but he supposes he can be grateful for a change.

“Yeah. I guess your dorky pep talk helped. I can’t do any worse than you did, anyway.”

“I’m hanging up and blocking your number. Goodbye.”

Keith snickers as the call drops. It’s 4:59, and Lance still has another minute of class.

to: takashit

you didn’t say u love me :(((

to: takashit

u just hung up without any care in the world :((

to: takashit

i’m telling adam he’s my new favourite brother now

to: takashit

adam would never hang up without saying i love you

to: keith kardashian

oh my GOD

to: takashit

:(((((((((

to: keith kardashian

fine. fuck.

to: keith kardashian

i love you, you booger. tell me how your stupid date goes.

to: takashit

:D

Keith puts his phone away, grinning, and the second he does, the door to room A112 pushes open and students start spilling out. He waits, scanning everyone as they pass, but there’s no sign of Lance until the very last person walks out.

He beams when he sees Keith leaning on the wall.

“Keith! Hi!”

Keith grins back.

“Hi, Lance.”

“Ready to go on a date?” Lance says, strolling up and tangling his free hand in Keith’s, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

It might be.

“Yeah. I’m excited, really.”

“Awesome! Did you pick a place?”

Keith was a little stressed about that, to be real, because he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to pick somewhere or if Lance already had something picked.

The he remembered he had Hunk’s number “in case my dumbass best friend passed out in your vicinity again, because neither of us can afford an ambulance in this economy”, so he texted him in what could not be technically called a panic.

Maybe a light anxiety.

Hunk had sent back several laughing emojis, and then told him to take Lance for an ice cream dinner and then to the park on campus for him to get very excited about beetles.

“I figured I’d take you to Coran’s ice cream parlour,” Keith says. “You seem like an ice cream guy.”

Lance lights up, and then narrows his eyes in playful suspicion. “You asked Hunk, huh?”

Keith shrugs, cheeks warming. “I’ll be honest with you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the library incident, and you’re so pretty you kind of make my brain go mushy. I panicked.”

Shockingly, that makes Lance’s jaw drop. He’s quiet for several moments, before his ears go read and he looks away.

Holy shit. Did Keith make Lance all blushy?

“Point to Keith,” Lance says eventually.

Keith laughs, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. The other is still firmly clamped in Lance’s. “Didn’t know it was a competition.”

Lance winks. “Everything’s a competition with me.”

———

Ice cream is fun. Keith shouldn’t be eating it, not really, and there will be Consequences with his digestive system later, but he’s not afraid of hell and mint chip is delicious.

“You are eating frozen toothpaste.”

“I can only assume that you’ve never tried mint chip or you’ve never brushed your teeth, Lance, because mint chip does not taste like toothpaste. It’s delicious. Besides, you are having cotton candy. That’s essentially frozen blue food colouring! Besides, what flavour is cotton candy even supposed to be? Like, what does cotton candy taste like?”

Turns out that Keith had no reason to be nervous. He and Lance just… click. And, besides, Lance thinks Keith is funny when he’s not trying, which is excellent.

They go to the park, just as Hunk suggested, after they finish their ice cream. They spend the whole time just chatting, talking about nothing and everything, interspersed with Lance’s regular mini-lectures whenever he spots something particularly cool. Which is a lot of things, because Lance seems to be endlessly fascinated with the world at large.

It’s adorable. And also enlightening. Did you know one tree can be home to over 2.3 million life forms at one time? Keith didn’t. That’s dope as hell.

“…and oh, hey, an incipient hornet nest! Cool! Did you know wasp larvae can spin silk?”

Keith did not know that. He is also not fond of wasps, nor has he ever felt any sort of inclination to be near them. But he is becoming increasingly fond of Lance. Also, Lance seems to be some sort of animal whisperer. They’d been swarmed by yellowjackets outside of the ice cream parlour, but before Keith could even panic Lance had stood very still and said “no” in a firm, calm voice, and they all flew away immediately.

It did make Lance hotter, truly.

“I did not,” Keith says magnanimously, peering over Lance’s shoulder to look at the nest. Luckily, it’s empty. “That is pretty cool, though.”

Lance turns back to him and grins; a big, beaming smile that makes him glow.

God, he’s beautiful.

Keith can’t stop staring at him.

“You should kiss me,” Lance says bluntly, after a moment of them just softly looking at each other.

Keith blinks. “Okay.”

He lets go of Lance’s hand, reaching over to cup his face. He stays there for a moment, gently cradling Lance’s face in his arms, stroking his thumbs over sharp cheekbones, cataloguing the splash of freckles on his nose and the curve of his cupid’s bow.

Lance reaches up, after a few seconds, sliding careful fingers across the skin of Keith’s neck to tangle in his hair. He doesn’t pull, just — holds it, carefully.

“You going to kiss me now?”

Keith swallows. “I’m nervous. I don’t want to mess it up.”

Lance’s eyes flutter shut, and he sighs. “You don’t need to be. I want — I really want you to kiss me. I like you.”

“I like you too.”

“Okay.”

And that’s all it takes. The ‘okay’, breathy and quick and soft and maybe a little nervous, too, like for all his straightforward brazenness Lance is a little scared of messing this up as well.

He leans forward, faster than he thought he would, and presses his lips to Lance’s. The air is warm but Lance’s lips are still chilly from the ice cream, and his cheeks are hot beneath Keith’s hands, blushing. His lips curve into a smile that’s pressed firmly to Keith’s mirroring grin and he sighs again, a little, a happy sound, and tilts his head so their mouths fit together even better. And then his fingers are tracing little circles at the back of Keith’s neck and he makes a little humming noise on the back of his throat and Keith leans the tiniest little bit closer.

It’s good. It’s great.

It’s everything, really, and Keith doesn’t want it to end.

“You’re a good kisser,” Lance mumbles, not moving away even an inch.

“I like kissing you,” Keith says, pressing just as close.

Keith doesn’t remember why he was nervous.

———

to: keith kardashian

how did it go????

to: takashit

i beat your mess by a mile

to: keith kardashian

low bar, boogerbrain. also, shut up.

to: takashit

no :)

to: takashit

but it went REALLY well. we went for ice cream and then walked around the park for hours and then we kissed and he is so fucking cute, shiro. oh my god. seriously.

to: keith kardashian

good, kiddo. really. are y’all gonna go out again?

to: takashit

yeah

to: takashit

tomorrow night actually

to: keith kardashian

that’s awesome! i have a really good feeling about you guys.

to: takashit

…

to: takashit

me too :)