#this doesn't look as good as the purple one but it was the best i could do

[fallenneziah]

hello!!! Sorry to bother or bother you, but I was wondering if you could tell me Tmnt Bayverser's reaction to a reader doing parkour? like they are very good at it, but as no one is perfect sometimes they end up with some marks on their bodyfor example, the reader reaches out to greet Bumblebee and the Optimus eyes fixate on the purple bruise on the reader's skin

Optimus: You're running again, aren't you?

reader: yes!!! I broke my record!!

At first I was a tiny bit confused since you seemed to reference Ninja Turtles but then you brought up transformers... So I'm assuming you want Transformers. Thanks for the asks anon, I apologize for this being stuck in my drafts for so long. 😓

Transformers x Reader who does Parkour.

I'd like to think that they aren't that new to the concept. Thri seeking, tricks, jumping around on things and still doing it even after getting hurt.

I'm sure other than the very extreme gladiator pit and other training arenas that they had things like that on Cybertron.

Although you are different from them, so Optimus doesn't totally understand why you would do something that would cause you pain.

When he saw your bruises and callouses when meeting you he was curious.

He bent down, looking at you, scanning you. Then he introduced himself. "My name is Optimus Prime," you do your best to shake his hand, holding onto his finger. That's when he noticed a bruise on your bicep.

He hummed thoughtfully. "You're injured." You looked down and chuckle. "No, I'm not, I'm actually just a sporty person. The bruises are normal."

"Do you need medical examination?"

"Nah, I'll be alright." You smile at him, and Optimus nods.

Overtime of your friendship with the team they come to understand more of what you do. Bumblebee will drive with you to the outdoor climbing park so he can watch you from some feet away as you do your thing.

He used to be something of a parkour artist on Cybertron as well I would think. But they did become much more concerned for you.

You returned to base early, huffing and puffing, covered in sweat when you saw Optimus, his attention stolen by your state. "Y/n, I'd wondered if you'd disappeared. Are you alright??"

You nodded, bending down and settling your hands on your knees. "I'm good, big guy- phew- oh man that was fun."

Optimus raised an optic ridge and approached, kneeling down to you again. "You've been running again then?" You nod, leaning against his hand that he offers so you can relax. When you grab on he notices a few setting bruises.

"Seems you've been busy."

"I had to break my record." You pant, looking up at him with an electrifying smile.

Optimus firmly nods, hearing the sound of bumblebee coming over, noticing you. His radio going off with a "Hallelujah everybody!"

You chuckle breathlessly and smile. "Hey 'Bee! I broke my record!!"

Bumblebee revs his engine and bends down next to Optimus, who leans you back up and steps back for some space.

"Oh yeah 'Bee." You showed him your watch, which had recorded your time. "Look at that 😄"

Bumblebee whirred loudly, giving you a fist bump.

He noticed the bruises, whining softly, checking them. "Oh they aren't too bad 'Bee. I'm just a little banged up."

Your way of explaining bruises to the team had been it's essentially buffering, the dent stays for a bit until your body buffers it out.

'Bee nodded, gently patting your head.

Now, If Ratchet ever saw your injuries you know he's be ready to lecture you. Telling you how humans are inherently stupid for getting themselves hurt all the time. Unless you point out how they fight and get hurt all the time... Then he'll shut up and just look you over.

He doesn't dislike you, he cares for you and your fragile human body very much.

Overtime they get used to you coming back with minor injuries like bruises. Bumblebee even gets into how big can the bruise get?? And you entertain the idea while the others just... Watch in disbelief of you two.

And then one day you come back with a little more than a bruise. Bumblebee came to pick you up, whirring when he saw the wrist guard you were wearing.

"It's ok 'Bee, just a sprain."

'Bee whirred his engine. and on the way back to their little hideout you told him what a sprain was.

Yeah, don't even get me started on what happened when Optimus saw that. Sauntering into base without a fully functioning hand!? Off to Ratchet!

"Y/n, you need to be more careful." Optimus said while leading you to Ratchet.

"I know, but we've got medical tools to help me heal Optimus, it's not like I'm dying." You teased.

He shot you a look, a brief note of frustration, before resting his expression again. "I am still going to let Ratchet look at you."

You gulped. Aw man...

When Optimus brought you in, Ratchet reacted how you can expect. He crossed his arms and took a look at your hand. "You aren't being careful." He said firmly.

"I am-"

"No more running, even after you heal." He said firmly.

"Yeah, well you can't ban me." You also crossed your arms.

Optimus sighed softly, giving his old friend a look. They didn't understand, but hey, if you wanted to do it, they couldn't stop you. They just worried when you got hurt.

[haunted-doodles]

not really the type who likes posting their ocs much but here's a Nim :}

[lxnarphase]

g. satoru who is a massive pervert and constantly whines for you to let him touch you all the time, even when you're both around others. you've lost count of how many times he grabs you and pulls you into his lap, his warm hands slipping under your shirt while sitting next to g. suguru, who's attention is no longer on the tv.

'he doesn't mind,' satoru always comforts you, grinning into the skin of your neck. 'sugu's my best friend, he knows i can't help but touch you, baby.'

best friend or not, that doesn't explain how you always ended up with your legs spread open wide in satoru's lap, your jeans and panties discarded somewhere on the floor as suguru kisses all over your thighs. the two of them talk like you aren't even there, as if you aren't growing wetter as each second passes.

"satoru," suguru purrs, his fingers running up and down your soft lips, parting them open to watch slick slowly drip out of you. "you must be doing something else to her. i've never seen it get wet so quickly." the way he speaks so calmly makes you dizzy. it's unfair, so fucking unfair how calm and collected suguru is when he's inches away from your pussy, those pretty purple eyes focused on it.

"yeah? 's wet?" it's also unfair how riled up it gets satoru, seeing his pretty baby getting shy because his best friend is rubbing his fingers up and down her slick folds. "she's so messy, isn't she? she's the prettiest little pussy," he coos into your ear. that gets a chuckle from suguru, his eyes finally looking at you. "always the one to talk to the pussy and not about it, aren't you, satoru?"

his fingers finally focus on your clit, rubbing little circles into it. both you and satoru look pretty from this angle, suguru notices. the pure need and shyness on your face paired with that manic desperation on satoru's...it's a perfect picture, one he wants saved forever. maybe next time you'll let him take some pictures...after all, he needs a new background for his phone.

"c'mooon, sugu...give her a kiss? c'mon, c'mon, give that cunt a kiss, tell me how sticky 'n' wet she is," satoru fucking begs, acting as if he's the one spread open and dripping. but you second the thought, giving suguru the prettiest little puppy eyes.

"anything for you, princess," he coos softly, leaning down and pressing a little kiss on your clit. it's so light you barely feel it but then he's peppering kisses on it, your wetness starting to get on his lips and making each press of his lips sticker and wetter. "s-sugu-!" before you can even beg for more, his mouth is on you. his tongue is so wet and hot on your cunt, it feels like he was drooling for you.

"does she taste good? how wet is she, suguru, c'mon, tell me, tell me how that pussy tastes, pretty please?"

"mm, satoru, it's almost as if you wanted to be between her legs."

"who wouldn't? she's so pretty, she's squirmin' so cutely, my pretty baby, my needy little mochi, her pussy's always so creamy and warm and messy, god, i miss it right now."

"shit...stop talking like that, you're gettin' me flustered, should i-"

"s-sugu, please, keep going," you so politely ask. it's unbearable how cute you are, it's taking everything in him to keep being nice, to keep treating your cunt nicely. he knows satoru is mean and practically bullies your pretty slit almost every day, but he wants to be the nice one, the one who you go to when your 'toru' is being too mean. yet, you're making it so fucking hard when you look at him with lidded eyes that beg him to be rougher with you...

but he knows he's done for when satoru whispers something in your ear that has your eyes fluttering a bit and gets a pretty little gasp from you. those gorgeous eyes—oh, do you have little tears in them too?—connect with his and he's fucked.

"s-suguuu, please," you coo to him, moving your legs to hook over his shoulders and pull him closer to the apex of your thighs. "i need your mouth on my pussy r-really bad, please don't tease me." you take a pause and squeeze your eyes shut, whining a little as satoru coos for you to keep going. "g-give my...my messy cunt attention, suguru..."

suguru shakily sighs and the next thing you know, his mouth is smushed against your pussy, his tongue hungrily swirling against your clit as his hands grab onto the fat of your thighs. he doesn't know what gojo told you in order to hear you say that, but he's silently thanking him as he messily sucks and slurps at your juicy cunt.

it's so hot, all it takes is a few swipes of his tongue and you're gushing everywhere. suguru lowers his head to dip into your hole and he moans. he missed this, missed the sweet taste of your juices on his tongue as you squirmed and moaned for him, your boyfriend's best friend.

"fuck, i-i can hear how wet she is," comes satoru's pitiful whine, his hand dipping down to swipe at your clit as suguru focused on lapping up everything that dripped out of you. "lemme help, lemme help, wanna help you get her creamy, sugu." the feeling of suguru groaning into your puffy folds has you keening, arching your back against satoru's chest. oh, he's in heaven watching you both. "yeah, you didn't know she could cream, didya? put your fingers in her, sugu, put 'em in that sticky little pussy 'n' angle up."

reluctantly pulling his mouth off you with a wet sound, suguru slips two of his fingers in you. he doesn't miss the cry of his name, but he really doesn't miss the delirious giggle and moan when he angles his fingers up, rubbing against that spongy spot.

"f-fuck, she's dripping..."

"go on, fuck her with your fingers, you know you wanna see her make a mess. make her fucking cream, suguru, get her prepped. maybe t'day she'll let you put it in...oh, based on your face, she just clenched on your fingers, yeah?"

his fingers are still swirling around your clit, his other coming down to press on your abdomen. he can hear you getting wetter, your little whimpers turning to moans as you slur their names desperately. he wants you to lose all thoughts, only able to think about him and suguru...yeah, he wants you all soft and sweet so he and his best friend can try and slip into those warm, slick walls.

"mmn...she's really creaming...god, pretty girl, can you cum for me? i wanna see you cum on my fingers. satoru, move your fingers, the poor thing needs my mouth on her."

"hmmm, suddenly you know what she needs? ehehehe, you're learninggg, suguruuuu!" if you had turned to look at satoru, you'd see the charged look in his eye, blue eyes practically glowing with insanity. his hand grabs a fistful of suguru's hair and pulls his face directly into your cunt, unable to handle any more of this. he wanted to see you cum on suguru's face.

"c'mon, c'mon, kiss it, suguru, make it messy for the both of us. mmh, fuck, listen to you making out with her pussy, s' wet and sticky, isn't it? oohmygod, both of you sound so good, she's gonna cum, sugu, she's gonna cum in your mouth...fuck, i love you both so much, can't wait to see you both fucking each other."

[gallusrostromegalus]

The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

F***ing FINALLY!!! I've been looking for stuff with a Reader saving Dogday since he's been introduced and I've only got like, three so far-

And I want this Reader to be resourceful, using anything to patch Dogday up(including scraps of Miss Delight's dress)

I hear your calls <3

...............

"You're wasting precious time, angel. Poppy needs you. I'm only gonna slow you down. Just leave me here, and tell her I'm-"

"You'll get to tell her that yourself, Dogday. Because I'm not going anywhere. I'm gonna help you whether you like it or not."

With a huff, you used the grabpack to wheel in a cart filled with an assortment of items you picked up around the Playcare area: doll parts, plush felt, metal bars, and even Dogday's other missing leg, which you have miraculously found in the playhouse.

You did your best to stitch them back onto his body, although the real challenge was fixing them up first--considering how badly they got mangled by the smaller Smiling Critters. Through sheer luck, you were still able to recognize them as his legs.

And conveniently, you've retained some of your craftsmanship skills from your days working with Playtime Co.

You were given some praise for being able to speedily patch up broken and torn-up toys, but you've never touched upon any of the "Bigger Bodies" despite seeing similar injuries on them. They simply never gave you that clearance, and dealing with blood and organs (and possible death) was something way above your paygrade.

But with Dogday, you were able to apply similar techniques you used in doll repair. You made patches out of Miss Delight's polka-dot dress to cover up any tears, and you created small mechanisms to put inside his legs that would (hopefully) enable him to walk again.

It was like you were performing a surgical operation..

Except, well..that's exactly what was going on.

Despite your unwavering determination--and the fact that you succeeded in reattaching one leg to him so far--he insisted that you were only putting yourself at risk trying to help him.

Hell, you nearly got torn apart by those little Smiling Critters who chased you both down, being scared off by the flares you shot at them. He didn't think you'd have enough..but by the grace of god, you did. And you escaped and found a safe place where Kissy Missy and Poppy were also hiding out.

Not only did you finally get a breather, but also a chance to help one of the few toys left here who somehow didn't lose their humanity.

Even so, Dogday still feared for your safety.

"You know..this will only enrage Catnap, right?" He rasped, choking out a wet cough. "He'll know that I'm missing. And he'll know you have something to do with it.."

"Wait.." Pausing in your work, you glanced up at him with furrowed eyebrows. "Why would he care about where you are? Or better yet..why would he keep you alive at all?"

"...because I was his favorite."

"Huh..?"

"Before the Prototype became his sole focus, we did everything together." He explained somberly. "We helped the others fall asleep, stayed out of trouble. Catnap and I..we were like day and night. Two peas in a pod. He brands me a heretic now, but...somehow, I don't believe he likes doing so. Maybe..he hasn't forgotten our friendship, after all."

'Well, stringing someone up by belts and ripping off half their body doesn't sound like something a good friend would do..' You thought to yourself, although you understood where he was coming from.

Yet it didn't change the fact you still wanted to kill that stupid purple cat. Especially after he gave you that hellish nightmare of Huggy crawling out of a television.

"I know you wanna believe there's still good in him, but..he's long gone." You shook your head. "Those critters..they tried crawling inside your body, and he was just gonna allow it all because you didn't wanna follow the Prototype's will."

"........"

Silence was your only reply, but you decided to shift your focus back on repairing the other leg. Dogday allowed you to work, no longer protesting as he instead looked at the stitches on his arms, feeling grateful yet unworthy at the same time.

Him and the others...they were all monsters. He never killed a single human in his existence (or at least none that he could recall), but he felt like he was just as terrible as those who did.

Eventually, you finished, and his ears perked up at your sigh of relief as you set down your tools and pushed the cart away. "There we go. Try to stand up, but take it slow. Okay?"

He nodded, feeling quite nervous as he looked at his legs, before he slowly pushed himself off the ground. For a few moments, he was able to stand, but he wobbled a little and had to hold onto the nearest wall so he didn't lose balance.

'When was the last time I had my legs? It's been so long...'

Then he felt your grabpack's hands gently steady him, and soon enough he could stand on his own without their support.

You smiled and retracted them. "How do you feel?"

"Much better...thank you, angel." Dogday looked down at you, the corners of his wide smile turning further upwards. "You truly are something divine. You've come to heal us, mend all of our broken pieces, even when we do not deserve such kindness. How could I ever repay you?"

Right as you were about to respond, you heard sounds of plush feet moving and turned around, seeing Kissy and Poppy entering the room.

You didn't really he'd nearly be as tall as Huggy's spouse.

"You fixed him! What can't you do?" The redhaired doll gasped in awe, hopping onto Kissy's hand before she was carefully transferred over to Dogday's paws, stepping into them.

He held her gently, smiling. "Poppy."

"It's so good to see you, my friend." She smiled, although it was quick to disappear. "I thought all of you were gone."

"It's just me now, and...I'm....I-I'm...." He began to sniffle, his voice breaking as the weight of everything that's happened came crashing down. "I'm so sorry...I tried so hard, but...I-I failed! I couldn't protect them!"

Thin streams of tears seeped from the corners of his eyes, darkening the fur along his cheeks. "Kickin'...B-Bobby..they all died because of me! I was supposed to be their leader, but all I did was lead them to their demise! I-I should have joined them in-"

"There, there..it's going to be alright." Poppy softly hushed him, patting his arm in comfort. "You did your best to protect them given the circumstances. I promise we'll have our chance to avenge them. But you must live, for their sake..and for [y/n]'s sake, too. They went through a lot to fix you up."

"I know but..I-I'm so scared. I don't wanna face him alone-"

"You won't be alone, because I'm gonna take care of him."

With another sniffle, Dogday looked down at you, feeling you gently petting his ear as another comforting gesture. Your eyes held nothing but sympathy and heartache for this poor creature. "I'm sorry, but we have to put him down. It's the only way we can move forward."

"Are you sure?" He mumbled. "He's gotten more powerful, and hungry-"

"So were Huggy and Mommy, but I saw how [y/n] dealt with them..and they're more than capable." Poppy remarked. "But now that Catnap's onto them, they'll need all the protection they can get."

"Then..I'll do my best to help." He finally declared, smiling at you.

You blinked, surprised that he was willing to stand up against the one who tortured him. But you simply nodded and smiled back, watching as he returned Poppy to Kissy, before he turned back to you and crouched down.

He enveloped you in a warm hug, the vanilla scent still seeping from his suit and helping you feel more at ease.

"Thank you, Dogday." You chuckled, hugging him back.

"No..thank you, my guardian angel. I will follow you to the ends of the earth."

[specshroom]

A Mischievous Fairy

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

When a humble farmer decided to live on the outskirts of town right next to the forest he did not expect to make friends with a small temperamental creature from the forest.

It was a pretty good deal you had going on, you help his plants grow with fairy magic and he gives you a safe warm place to sleep and home cooked meals. Most days are spent with you doing your best to annoy the poor farmer as he tries to remind himself that you're the reason his produce sells for such high prices.

You fly around his head making little jingle noises and he tries to ignore you and go on with his work. You steal little things like spoons, screwdrivers, pencils and put them in places he can't reach like on top of the cabinets and shelves. When you get mad at him you grow weeds in his crops until he apologizes or gives you a gift to your liking. Despite this the farmer has grown to truly enjoy your company...for the most part.

His loneliness is getting to him and he's tried to have company over but it's kind of hard to explain to guests why there's a little, scantily clad fairy staring daggers at them the whole time. It definitely ruins the mood as he tries to convince them you won't bite (you will and you have).

One day the farmer comes home from town looking more excited than usual. You plop yourself on his head as he walks around his little cottage.

As he sorts through all the items he bought you get impatient and decide he's not paying enough attention to you. You fly right in front of his face and pose for him, showing off the new outfit you made out of flower petals in his garden.

"Not right now, Tiny."

The farmer rolls his eyes and gently shoos you away with his hand, focusing back onto his apparently very interesting haul from the market. The very rude gesture gets you all fired up and you're in his face again this time with your hands on your hips and an angry expression. The farmer sighs and gently cradles your tiny body in his hands.

"Look, I'm busy. Alright?"

He walks over to the windowsill and gently plops you down onto the little pincushion he set aside for you. You sit there with your arms crossed, glaring at him as he puts away his items.

While you're sulking you notice a little bottle of purple liquid poking out of the farmers front pocket. You quietly flutter over and sneakily inch the tiny thing out of his pocket.

"Hey!"

The farmer tries to stop you but you're much faster than him and fly up, out of his reach. The glass bottle is a little bigger than you're torso and when you inspect it the label says "Growth serum"

You let out quite a dramatic gasp and look down at the farmer, betrayal written all over your face.

"Now Tiny, don't jump to conclu-"

The farmer starts but is interrupted by a very angry fairy yelling things he doesn't understand right in his face. All he can hear is jingles but he's sure he's getting severely cussed at. He understands why, you helped this man grow his crops bigger and better than ever and now you think he wants to replace you for some stupid, probably overpriced serum?

You angrily throw the bottle to the ground and the farmer dives down to clumsily catch it before it smashes onto the floor.

As you feel tears fall down your hot cheeks, you flutter back to your windowsill and sit with your head between your knees.

"Hey, don't cry now."

The farmer sheepishly leans against the windowsill next to you.

"I promise, it's not for the plants. You already help me out so much with that and I appreciate it a lot. I don't need anything else."

You peak your head out from your arms and look at him skeptically.

He holds his hand out to you and you hesitantly flutter onto his palm, enjoying the warmth of his touch despite the cold wetness of your cheeks.

"Truth is, it's lonely for me out here... and I know you get lonely too."

You scoff at him. Obviously, the whole reason you were upset in the first place was because he was ignoring you.

"I uh... I got this for you. So we could....uh well only if you want to, I mean... I don't know."

You stare at him dumbfounded as he fumbles his words, you've never seen the farmer like this before.

You shoot up to hug his cheek, jingling in excitement. You give him tiny kisses and he laughs at the ticklish feeling. You float to the counter in front of him and bounce on your heels waiting for him.

"Alright, alright."

He chuckles at your stark change in mood and uncaps the tiny bottle of magic liquid. You brace yourself as he carefully lets one single drop fall onto your little head.

Nothing happens for a moment but before you could feel disappointed the world blurs and you're suddenly face to face with your farmer.

He stares down at where you sit on his counter, now perfectly human sized. Your cute dress didn't survive the quick transition but you don't seem to mind as you jump the poor farmer.

You grab his face and kiss him deeply. Finally feeling his lips on yours makes your wings flutter and your heart sing as you lock your legs around him to pull his body closer.

"Alright, slow down."

He says through kisses and huffed laughs as you kiss all over his face and neck.

"Now why don't you let me show you how much I appreciate you."

He mumbles in a sultry tone, bringing his hands down to grip your ass and grind your hips into him.

He laughs at the way your wings violently flutter and takes that as eager agreement.

˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˚˖′.⊹ ࣪ ˖˚·˖*.⊹

[iamespecter]

Hi. I have new stuff to show. There are more coming as well, I just had to stop with three for now because it's so hot rn.

(tw for body horror)! | Digital Nightmares post

Now, when tackling the monster designs for this little crossover, I had to keep in mind what made the LN monsters so unique and uncanny in the first place. Which meant simple, but exaggerated, contorting body horror features. I had to not stray from original TADC concepts and try to embody them in these designs as best as possible, and made them extra grotesque. For Jax's case, he's become a farmer that also doubles as a scarecrow, something he asked the Doll (Ragatha) to do to him. His purple complexion is the result of this decision.

There's also the factor of making them have more muted colors as opposed to bright and saturated ones, to really make it hit home and the cast would fit in the universe of Little Nightmares (even though the environments are most definitely not gonna be the same as the games, since the monsters' environments reflect their occupation/role) Ragatha in this one is a Dollmaker whom had an unfortunate run in with the Entomologist (Kinger), resulting in stitches.

The designs may look simple enough, but make no mistake; I had a TON of trouble figuring out how to incorporate the TADC cast into a more monstrous versions of themselves because of just how vastly different the vibes between the two medias are. These designs underwent at least 2-3 tries before being finalized, because goddamn character design is my passion but does it kick ass sometimes Good ol' Kinger here is an Entomologist (Insect collector), who doesn't like his "focus" on his work and belongings being disturbed. He has two detached hands that roam around.

Obviously this isn't where it ends because I still have to do Gangle, Zooble, Gummigoo, Gloink Queen and Loolilalu (Maybe even Martha Mildenhall) so this may be a multiple part series.

Not to mention, Pomni and Caine's monster selves too because I'm not gonna ignore that, everyone becomes a monster in this and no one can stop meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[vivwritesfics]

You want an excuse to write fratboy!Lando?

Well good thing then that I just absolutely devoured the last fic you posted, isn't it?

If you're up for it, could you maybe do a little 5+1 type thing of Lando being the dominant one and pushing his girl around and telling her what he wants her to do/what he's going to do to her and then one time where he drops the tough act and lets her have control and take care of him and even though he doesn't want to admit it he kind of enjoys being a bit subby from time to time?

I absolutely get it if that's not the direction you were thinking, but the cogs in my head started turning and I thought it wouldn't hurt to drop you an ask ;)

Hope you're doing well luv^^

Okay so I'm baaaad at thinking of 5+1 things lol, so I went 3+1

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, fingering, p in v, unprotected, dom lando, very very very light choking, dacryphilia (but not rly), oral (male!receiving), attempted dom reader, handcuffs

The Library

"Lan," she pushed his hand away. He was being annoying while she was studying, and she kind of loved it.

But she was still trying to study. She batted his hand away when it travelled up her thigh. "I love you, but I really need to get this essay done," she mumbled and squeezed his hand as she placed it back on his own lap.

He sat quietly for a few minutes. But then he got bored, hands tapping against his thighs. "Baby, c'mon," he whined, fingers touching her chin.

He pulled her face towards him. "Let's just have a little fun," he said and pecked her lips. "I." He pecked them again. "Promise." He pecked them again. "To let." He pecked them again. "You study." He pecked them again. "After." Another peck. "Some." He pecked them again. "Fun."

She brought her hands up to touch his cheeks. "Okay Lando," she whispered and pulled him in.

Her arms wrapped around his neck as Lando pulled her onto his lap. The way his hands grippe her hips had her rolling them again him, against his cock. Too many layers of clothing separated them, and Lando hated it.

She was hyper aware of the other people in the library. Pulling away from him, she looked from side to side.

"Relax," he whispered. "Nobody is going to see." He kissed down her throat, leaving purple bruises as he went.

His hands moved to her thighs. The way his fingers travelled beneath her skirt was ticklish, but she didn't laugh, hips moving slowly against him.

He didn't remove her underwear, just pushed it to the side. A laugh left his lips and she quickly clamped her hand over his mouth. "Shut up," she mumbled, head falling onto his shoulder in embarrassment.

"Sorry baby," he said through giggles. "I just didn't expect you to be that wet." His fingers touched her folds and she shuddered.

He toyed with her, traced his fingers around his folds and pressed his thumb to her clit. The mess she was making on his trousers was going to be impossible to hide. He played with her body, pushed two fingers inside of her, breaching her hole.

Two fingers. It was enough of a stretch to have her squeezing her eyes shut and crying out. Lando shushed her and ran his fingers through her hair. "I've got you. Just enjoy it, Baby," he whispered, and she gave a weak nod.

Frat House Couch

Lando held her ass cheeks in his hands, fingers gripping her flesh hard enough to bruise as she rode him. The leather couch beneath them squeaked, but neither of them cared.

Her boobs were bouncing in his face and Lando was loving every second of it. "Fucking hell," he growled out.

His hand came away from her ass, fingers wrapping around her neck. She had tears in her eyes and a smile on her face, her own hand coming up to rest on top of his own.

"This okay, baby?" He whispered, a moment of sweetness.

She nodded as best she could with his hand on her throat. He gave a gentle squeeze and she released a whine. God, she loved it.

"Lando." But that was all he could understand before she started incoherently babbling.

"Oh, baby," he cooed mockingly. "You can let go."

Her legs shook as she obeyed him, squeezing him tight as she came.

Lando thrust up into her just a few more times. If it wasn't for his hand on her throat, she would have completely slumped against him, body bouncing on him.

Lando came inside of her. He stilled as he spilled and slipped out, dick falling limp.

His arms wrapped around her body as she finally slumped against him. "Sweet girl," he whispered and kissed her tear stained cheek. He looked down, watched as their mess dribbled onto his thigh. "Let's get you cleaned up."

Childhood Bedroom

He'd taken her home for Christmas, and couldn't wait to show her the bed he'd lost his virginity in. It had been admittedly awkward when his parents showed her around and he'd whispered that in her ear.

He'd made it so clear that he wanted to recreate that night when he was seventeen, pinched her ass as they followed his unsuspecting parents away from the bedroom.

They waited a few days, until his parents went out for drinks with friends, until they got naked in front of each other.

They'd been taking turns to get dressed in the bathroom. It had been her idea, a way to stop temptation while under his parents roof.

The minute the front door shut, Landos lips was on her. He unbuttoned her blouse and pushed it away from her shoulders, exposing herself to him. "No bra?" He asked, reaching out to touch her boobs, to roll her nipples between her fingers.

"Didn't feel like wearing one," she answered with a giggle as she unzipped his trousers and reached her hand inside.

She felt him over his underwear and Lando let out a guttural moan.

Lando grabbed her wrists and pulled her away from his dick. He sat her down and pulled himself from her trousers. "Wanna do me the honours?" He asked as he moved his fingers through her hair and gripped it, holding it up in a ponytail.

She nodded and slipped down to her knees. She wrapped her fingers around his base and kissed his tip.

Fuck, the noise he released was delicious. She could have listened to it on a loop for the rest of her life.

She wrapped her lips around his tip and sucked. She didn't go any further than that, fingers squeezing his base. Sucking and placing little, kitten licks all over.

"Baby, please," lando practically begged, holding himself still so he didn't buck his hips, fuck her face.

She pulled away to blink up at him before taking as much of him as she could into her mouth. His pubic hair tickled her noise before she pulled away.

She worked him, throat constricting around him. Lando threw his head back, eyes shut as he let instincts take over, hips moving forward.

It wasn't something she couldn't handle, though. She let him use her, drool dribbling down her chin.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her.

"On the bed," he commanded and she climbed up onto the bed. Lando pulled off her skirt and underwear. He ran his finger through her folds, felt how wet she was. Anything he gathered up ended smeared on his tip.

He took her hand and squeezed. "You ready for me?"

She gave a desperate nod and Lando pushed himself inside of her.

Her Turn

She sat on the bed, looking so pretty in her lacy black lingerie and pretty heels. Lando was due home any minute; he had no idea what she had in store for him.

She kept it hidden behind her back, one hand on it as she heard the door open. Her leg bounced, listening as Lando made his way up the stairs.

The bedroom door opened and the smile on her face few. "Hi baby," he said as he walked into the room. But then he stopped and took her in. The lingerie, the heels, she looked so damn pretty.

"What's this?" He asked as he strode over and placed a kiss on her lips, hand cupping her cheek.

She stood up, her heels making them the same height. She still held it behind her back as she pushed him back on the bed. A grinned crossed her face as she climbed on top of him, sitting on his midsection.

"What're you up to?" He asked as she revealed the item behind her back.

The fluffy pink handcuffs. They'd been bought as a joke, never to actually be used in sex. But by the way Landos dick pressed against his jeans, he was loving it.

She took his hands and raised them above his hand. Securing the handcuffs around his wrists, she attached him to the headboard.

Lando gave an experimental tug. A grin crossed his face when he realised he was secure and sat her mercy.

Her nail trailed down his chest, towards his trousers. She popped the button and pulled down the zipper. Lando raised his hips as she pulled down his trousers and pants, freeing him completely.

Her fingers wrapped around him. She pumped her hand twice before she moved to sit on top of him. Pushing her underwear to the side, she held his cock as she sank down onto him.

Lando let out a groan, head hitting the headboard. "Fuck, baby," he whispered his hips moving.

Leaning down, she gripped his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. It told him everything he needed to know, that she was the one in charge. She rolled her hips once, listened to the noise it pulled from him.

She wasn't ready for how difficult being the one in charge was. She bounced on his cock, getting more and more tired with each movement of her hips.

She let out a whine and stopped moving. "Lando," she mumbled, hand on his chest.

He understood it instantly, a laugh leaving his lips. "Getting tired, baby?" He asked and she gave a pitiful nod. Lando tugged on the handcuffs and she reached forward to unlock it.

As soon as he was free, Lando grabbed her and flipped her over. He tore off her underwear and pushed his dick into her. Each role of his hips had her crying out, finally giving control back to Lando. Well, that was if she ever really had it in the first place.

His pace was brutal and she was loving every second of it. This was where she belonged, beneath Lando as he fucked her senseless.

[bbokicidal]

Marriage? Marriage. | Maknae Line! SKZ [OT8]

Genre : Fluff Warnings : None Pairing : Maknae Line SKZ x Fem!Reader

Notes : Ever wondered what your wedding would be like with SKZ? How they would propose? What their tux/outfit would look like? Your ring? The venue? Well I've got it all right here! (Completely w/ photo references!)

Other Notes : This is just how i picture things going down/looking. If you disagree or have other opinions, that's totally fine! But please don't go in the comments complaining it isn't how you pictured it. If you don't like it, scroll past. Thank you!

Jisung

The Proposal : Jisung is the one to make a big spectacle of it, creating an entire song to ask you to marry him in front of the guys. He does it at the venue for their concert during soundcheck so it's a little more personal, wanting you to be there for what he's calling 'practice' so you can hear and critique his new song. Or that's what he says - it's really just a massive proposal. He even gets Chan and Minho to run down the stage throwing flower petals in the air while he sings.

The Venue : Nothing too fancy. He wants it to be personal between just your families (and the guys, of course.) So he chooses a smaller venue with plenty of floral decorations to satisfy the both of you. He lets you pick out the colors however, agreeing that a nice muted purple would be a good mix between casual and elegant.

First Look : Oh, he bawls. He's on his knees the moment he turns around, tears streaking down round cheeks and hands covering his mouth in admiration. You have to cup his face and pull him up - but the photographer gets a perfect picture of you two kissing while Jisung bawls his eyeballs out at how beautiful you look.

His Best Man : Minho. (We all saw that coming.)

Felix

The Proposal : Felix takes you to his childhood home to do it. It's bigger than expected (because he came from a pretty well off family,) and still as wonderful as he remembers growing up. His family tags along to witness it all, but they aren't even aware of the proposal and his sisters are screaming before you are when they see him get down on one knee. Very romantic, very wholesome - biggest ring you've ever seen.

The Venue : Massive venue, very fairytale-esque. He wants it to be grand, as perfect as you are. He falls in love with the ballroom feel of the venue and his mind is made up the moment he steps inside to check it out for the first time. "It's perfect," He'll nod, later admiring how it looks with all of the decorations the two of you had picked out. The theme comes out to a soft pale blue and white.

First Look : He doesn't want to do a first look, but he lets the guys go and see you. His heart slams in his chest the moment Chris comes back with rosy cheeks, exclaiming how beautiful you looked and how Felix had gotten oh-so lucky to be with you. Of course, he tears up a bit and maybe bawls a little when he sees you walking down the aisle.

His Best Man : Jisung.

Seungmin

The Proposal : He's the one to do it on stage. Unexpected, right? He wants to make it memorable for everyone - especially you. He'll ask you to come out, take your hand the moment you enter the stage and then walk with you to the middle to give the most heartwarming and sincere speak you've heard since their Maniac tour. "I said once that I didn't believe in the word 'forever,' but... in this moment, I want to believe I'll be with you for eternity."

The Venue : Also something bigger. Plenty of room to hold many guests but not as grand of a venue as Felix's pick. It's outdoors, for one, the theme of the wedding a warm green with pale pinks and roses speckled in for accent. He lets you do most of the decorating because he trusts you with it, but he will give you his input if you ask for it. However, his favorite thing about the venue has to be the archway he'll marry you under.

First Look : Oh he's getting a first look. He's a bit impatient the day of and asks to see you as soon as possible, only to be met with your arms wrapping around him from behind. He'll sink into your embrace before turning to look at you, backing away only so he can take in the full view. He'll even ask you to do a little spin, holding your hand with care and smiling at how beautiful you are.

His Best Man : Jeongin.

Jeongin

The Proposal : It just sort of... falls out of his mouth. You're having dinner with the group out at a nicer restaurant and he's sitting at your side, seeming a bit distracted and distant. Lost in thought, he snaps back into his own mind before murmuring a soft, "Do you want to get married?" as he looks over. It catches you by surprise, especially when he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it to reveal a gorgeous diamond ring. He couldn't find the perfect way to do it, and he grew impatient with himself - so he just asked.

The Venue : He lets you pick it out, with you settling on a smaller church that gave the most basic, traditional wedding possible - which is how he preferred it, if he were honest. He liked how it felt normal, like he was just another person existing in the universe. Nothing too special, nothing too grand. Just... normal and perfect for you two.

First Look : His first look is during pictures, and as he sees you coming up to him he's all full of giggles and bouncy excitement. He turns away to whisper to Seungmin how he's not sure how he bagged such a baddie, before turning back to gather himself and hold your hands while telling you how beautiful you are. Absolute menace even during his own wedding but he's doing his best.

His Best Man : Technically? Seungmin. But he gives each member of the group a special Boutonniere because in his mind, they're all the best. He wants all of his hyungs involved in his wedding.

[sugarlywhispers]

b.katsuki x fem reader | virgin!bakugou × experienced!reader + first time + both heroes.

a.n; i was watching the Twilight movies, and when Breaking Dawn started, one particular scene inspired this… sorry, not sorry. ✌🏻🙃

The first time Bakugou Katsuki and you are intimate is a completely different experience for both of you.

For you, it has been a night you'll never forget. It has been the most magical and intimate experience of your life. His hands caressing the skin of your body has marked you as his forever. His kisses on each corner of your body has sealed a pact in which your soul became one with his. And when he finally entered you, you felt doomed and blessed at the same time. He flew you to heaven with each thrust, each shared breath. But the sight of his red eyes made you feel the burn of hell. The desire, the passion, the all consuming warmth of which you would gladly get addicted to.

It has been a magnificent night for you.

Yet for him…

When you wake up, you feel the pleasurable ache of your limbs and the satisfying burn down there, witnesses of the best night shared with the love of your life. Perfect. It has been perfect. You smile happily, opening your eyes, and finally taking in your surroundings. Headboard of the bed was destroyed, and no amount of effort could repair the damage of broken and burnt wood. Some pillows had been ripped, small feathers still dancing in the air around you. Even the sheets had been burnt and ripped in some places, specifically where his hands had been placed.

Your smile turned a bit cheeky. And proud. Honestly, it is a lie if you say that the environment that shined around you doesn't bust your ego up a bit.

Your boyfriend is nowhere to be seen though.

But you find him after a few minutes of searching for him.

Katsuki is sitting over the arm of the couch in the living room, head hanging low and an almost grunt leaving his mouth showing his annoyance. That's weird.

“Hey, love,” you say almost in a whisper. Knowing your man the way you do, you are always slow and gentle in your approach. He has healed tons after the war, but you are still careful and considerate to not provoke any bad reaction –even though he has told you millions of times that he doesn't mind you, or anything that came from you.

Katsuki raises his head towards you as you stand in front of him in between his legs, your arms immediately surrounding his neck and fingers playing with the hair in the back of his head. His expression softens immediately, but it doesn't match your shining smile.

You're expecting a “good morning, love” in a sweet tone, yet what you receive is completely the opposite.

“How badly are you hurt?” His tone is annoyed, angry almost. But also there's worry right in the front, so you know he's not angry with you.

Yet you can't avoid but to frown in confusion, “What? I'm not-...”

“Fuck, yes, you are… Look,” he signals the mirror right behind you as he pulls down one side of the robe you put on right when you got up from bed, exposing your right shoulder and a bit of your back.

Your eyebrows shoot straight up at the sight the mirror reflects, surprised. There's bruises that are turning purple and small burns that definitely weren't there before last night started.

A flashback immediately fills your mind, remembering you what provided such a wound.

You close your legs around his hips as he slowly raises the strength and speed of his thrust. Your moans and whines sing in his ears as the most beautiful song he has ever heard. He is so close to you, face almost hidden in your neck as he breathes strongly, eyes closed.

You get bold and decide to kiss and lick his neck, right under his ear. And that is what finally gets him to make a more prominent sound, groaning from deep within his chest, one forceful thrust that almost takes all the breath from your lungs and makes you see stars behind your eyes. One of his hands instantly holds the back of your shoulder to try and ground himself from the sudden burst of pleasure both of you felt.

You remember feeling a bit of a burn, but honestly, you had been so lost in the pleasure you barely felt it.

“Baby, that's nothin’...”

“No, it fucking isn't! Look here!” He pulls up the end of the robe, exposing now the back of your left thigh.

Oh. Wow. The burn there is way more deep and red and painful looking. That will definitely need an ointment or something. You get now why it hurt a little bit when you walked.

And again, a flashback.

Of Katsuki resting his forehead over yours, grunts and pants leaving his mouth freely as his thrusts get a bit erratic, desperate to catch that orgasm that is pushing him from the inside out. His left forearm is resting next to your head –you remember now hearing some tearing sound then– holding his weight as much as he can, yet you feel all of him over you. And you love it. His other hand holds the back of your thigh tightly against his hip, like it is the anchor that reminds him where he is. Like the only thing that keeps him from losing himself in the farthest cloud of heaven.

One, two, three more thrusts, and he loses the battle to all of his senses as your hands almost scratch the skin of his back, your walls closing on him and pushing him towards an exquisite feeling he couldn't describe. It is too precious to define it in one mundane word.

Again, you felt the burn at the moment, but it had been so filled with pleasure as you both came together that your mind barely registered it as a wound.

“Fuck! I'm so sorry…” The desperation and regret are clear in all his face and movements as he walks away from you towards the other side of the room.

You feel… disappointed. Why is he getting away from you? Why is he so angry? This is definitely not how you imagined the day after being.

“Don't. Don't do this…” You protest, walking again towards him. “I'm fine-...”

“NO. Don't you say you're fine, ‘cause you're clearly fucking not!”

“Katsuki, please, don't ruin this!”

“I already fucking ruined it!”

You sigh. You know what's happening. He's letting his self-destructive thoughts get to him. He's blaming himself over something that he didn't have control over. And that makes you sad. So you approach him again, this time more calmed.

“Love, I am a hero too. I have been injured way worse than this… Please. Don't you see how freaking happy I am?”

Your tone is calm, sweet even. And he lets you get closer again, your hands touching his chest, sliding up towards his neck. He breathes in deeply.

“Or was, five seconds ago. I'm actually a bit pissed off now…” You admit.

“You should be fucking angry with me.”

You roll your eyes. “Katsuki, we talked about it. We knew our Quirks could backfire a bit on us, especially in a moment like that… Neither of us were alert enough.” Your hands caress his cheeks, body pressing against his. But he doesn't touch you, or moves in any way. “For me, it has been one of the best nights of my life… I don't know… I hope that… it was at least good for you too…”

He snorts, “That's what you're worried about? That I didn't fucking enjoyed myself?”

Your eyes don't look at his. Bakugou Katsuki had never been with another woman before you. He has been so focused on his job and dream of becoming one the best heroes in the world that he never made time to even think about a partner. Never let himself feel deeper than friendship for anybody. Until you appeared in his life. Like a whirlwind that shook his entire life, twirling a fucking chaos inside his being and made him question everything he believed in and gave him new sensations he never felt before. 

He admits that he felt happy once again when you came into his life. And he will always be hugely grateful for that.

He fucking loves you for that.

However, you don't know exactly what or how he felt last night. So you don't know if he actually enjoyed it as you did.

You suddenly feel his forehead press over yours and you look up at his eyes as he says, “Not one single fucking word is enough to express how fucking perfect last night was for me. Not even the word ‘perfect’ encompasses the feeling of what it felt to be one with you… Not a word, or expression, fucking exist to describe it.”

Your eyes water at his confession, chest filled with the love Katsuki just washed you with thanks to his words.

“I love you, Bakugou Katsuki.”

You smile standing on your tiptoes, trying to reach for his lips. He's way taller than you, so you push him down with a hand on the back of his neck so you can succeed. He lets you do it. Lips finding each other, kissing sweetly and slowly. But a fire raises inside you, yearning, screaming for him. You try to deepen the kiss, your mouth opening and catching his bottom lip between yours, sucking on it lightly but clear in your intentions.

That's when he puts both of his hands on each side of your shoulders and pushes you away. A little bit and gently. But he pushes you away.

You frown. And he's frowning too, but not looking at you. 

Realization washes over you.

“You're not gonna touch me again, aren't you?”

Katsuki's eyes find yours, filled with a sadness that makes your heart hurt. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand.

You shake your head, “That's not what I meant…”

You know what is happening. He's so afraid to touch you he doesn't even let the inside of his hand, where his Quirk is expelled from, get in contact with your skin. And that's… sad. You feel offended for him. Even when the offender is himself.

He can see the protest in your eyes, but he completely ignores you by saying, “I'll make you some breakfast, okay?”

He sounds wounded. And you know the expression on your face probably looked like that too.

Bakugou walks away towards the kitchen, leaving you there alone. Sad and hurt. But so in love with this man, it's almost unbearable.

So you decide then… you're not going to give up. You love him, and you're not going to give up on him.

a.n; am i also gonna write when Bella begs Edward to have sex? yes, i am. wait for it~😉

[sagesskies]

been reading a lot of qt bl recently, and this idea struck me:

imagine you've just transmigrated into a world where you're the second male lead's best friend, when him and the fl enter a rough patch in their relationship because seriously, that guy flirts with way too many girls despite being in a committed relationship, and this time the fl has had enough and breaks up with him.

the 2nd male lead just has a downward spiral, because he was super dependent on the fl, and you, doing your job as his best friend, give him words of encouragement, as you were instructed by the system. but when he, unexpectedly, asks you to do more than give him advice, and instead help him in the direct process of fixing their relationship, you can't exactly say no when he's asking you so pitifully with tears in his eyes.

so, you help him, concocting schemes to win the fl over, sabotage the 1st male lead, and the like. this is way more than the original best friend did, where he just said some encouraging words and then proceeded to dip out of the plot till the emotional climax where he gets hit by a car and the female lead and 2nd male lead supposedly "make up" and "date again" at least, till the 1st male lead wins her back over.

you're able to actually get closer to him as well, past the shallow mask that all humans don, and get to know him as more than just 'a playboy with unhealthy attachment issues'

you learn that he likes to play the guitar and sing, that he cries when watching romance movies, that his favorite color is purple, that he dreams of making a career out of his music, and that nobody ever believes he can.

but when you place your arm around his shoulder, and look deep into eyes and tell him that you do, you believe in him, you see the way that his eyes widen in surprise, and how tears start to well up in his eyes, but completely miss the way his cheeks start to redden.

you actually miss a lot of things. how he always remembers your coffee order, how he knows the way you like your eggs made, how he remembers your favorite show and movie, and knows your handwriting by how you write your m's.

you also miss how he wraps his arm around your waist, drapes his jacket over you when you get cold, and likes to loop his arms around your shoulders and cling to you like a koala does to a tree.

what you do notice is how he's stopped talking about the female lead as much, how he only asks you how you're doing, invites you out not to plan something but to instead just hang like friends would, and when you bring up how the female lead has started dating the 1st ml he just blinks, and then says "Okay, good for them," like he wasn't bemoaning how close they were only three months ago.

and what you are forced to see is that the only person he's feeling possessive over is you. he's always texting you, asking where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. he's glaring at anybody who even breathes in your direction, and one time your friends told you he threatened them to leave you alone.

slowly, you start to distance yourself from him. you decline his offers to hang out, you avoid him on campus, and have even gone so far as to mute his notifications because he's been sending you so many messages.

the system is alerting you of his unnatural behavior, and you tell it that you're very aware, and trying your best to get the story back on track. but by god, is he making this so hard.

it all comes to a head when you hear pounding at your front door, the sound muffled by the heavy downpour of rain, and when you open it you're, sadly, not surprised to see that it's the 2nd male lead, clothes soaked and sobbing, he's telling you he misses you. that he doesn't know why you're avoiding him, but whatever he did he's sorry for it.

"Just don't ignore me, please [Name]," he whines, "If you do, I might die!"

how will you get yourself out of this mess now?

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[starry-bi-sky]

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag III

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Baby!Reader

Summary: When Emma and Frida found you

Frida is leaving for England.

Arsenal have been interested in her since the season began so it was only natural that she went off there to develop her career further.

But, still, Emma doesn't want to see Frida leave.

Frida occupies a space in Emma's heart that she can't put into words. Frida is everything to her, the air, the ground, the sky and the stars.

But Emma would never discourage Frida from finding her place in a league abroad.

Frida deserves everything in life, even if it's half a world away from where Emma is looking after their home in Sweden.

It will be different in the beginning, Emma knows this, but together there isn't much they can't overcome.

But, still, she'll miss the way Frida's body feels against hers. Even now, as they sneak around the back of the training centre to kiss.

It's not the most professional they've ever been but she just can't help herself when it comes to Frida.

"E-Emma," Frida says in a hushed tone, pushing Emma's roaming lips from her neck," Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Emma pulls away, glancing around for whatever errant sound Frida has heard.

"I..."

There's nothing but the breeze in the wind, the rustle of leafless branches in the height of winter.

It's absolutely freezing. It's predicted that this is to be the coldest day of the year.

"Nothing," Frida says," I must have imagined it."

Emma's lips go back to her neck, leaving dainty kisses all over her skin. Each one a labour of love, red hot in a way that feels beautiful as the snow falls around them.

Emma stops though, pulling away again.

"No," She says," Wait. I think I can hear it too."

It's faint, barely audible whimpers and whines that are getting more and more quiet as they go on.

But Emma and Frida are alone in an icy cold wasteland.

There's not even birds in the trees. Yet, now that Emma's straining her ears, she can hear the noises with crystal clear clarity.

She shivers as another freezing breeze cuts through her like a knife.

"I...I think it's coming from over there," Frida says, looking over at the clump of dense bushes over by the bins.

"Stay here," Emma says, wary of if it's some wild animal," I'll go and luck."

"Emma-"

"Stay here, Frida. I'll check it out."

She approaches the bushes carefully, slowly in case the animal jumps at her.

But there's no animal.

Just you.

"Emma?" Frida calls, watching as Emma lowers herself to her knees," What is it?"

Emma turns, a singular blanket in her hold and, in that blanket, is you.

"I...I think we need to call an ambulance," She says shakily," I-I think she's been abandoned."

You're tiny, smaller than any baby that Frida's ever seen before. You don't look good either. You're obviously freezing, little lips turning a concerning shade of purple and the cries from your mouth are getting quieter and quieter the longer you're outside.

Teammates clamber over themselves to help when Emma and Frida run in with you.

Somewhere along the way, Frida loses her top when it's clear that you're either nearly hypothermic or already developing it. Skin-to-skin seems to be what's best for you as you lay weakly on Frida's chest with layers of blankets over you both.

Now that she can see you properly, it's with a sinking feeling that she realises how underweight you actually are. You're nothing but skin and bones as Frida holds you close while they wait for the ambulance.

"They're calling her the Linköping baby," Emma says softly," The staff and the girls, that is. Word has spread pretty quickly."

"That's unfair," Frida replies, her own voice barely above a whisper as she feels your lungs inflate shakily against her," They can't call her that. She needs a name."

"They don't think she's going to survive," Emma says," Even before the ambulance gets here. She's in bad shape. They don't think she's going to make it."

"And you?" Frida finally tears her eyes away from you to look at her girlfriend. "What do you think?"

"I think..."

Your head barely pokes out from under all of the blankets, your eyes half open. You're not moving much. It seems to almost be too much effort to even breath, like everything in you is fighting to do something as basic and instinctual as that.

Emma didn't know what to expect when she looked in that bush. You were laying there, weak and unmoving in just a singular blanket and a thin onesie. One could almost mistake you for being asleep if it weren't from the stilted way your chest rose and fell and the way faint noises would escape your mouth every so often.

"I think...I think she's a fighter."

"I think so too."

Emma can tell what Frida's thinking before Frida herself even knows what she's thinking. She can tell by the way Frida's holding, you the way she's looking at you, the way she presses a soft kiss to the wispy hair at the top of your head.

Emma can tell because she's thinking the exact same thing.

"She looks like you," Emma says, starting off gently," Don't you think?"

Frida giggles a little bit. "I was thinking she had your nose. What part of her looks like me exactly?"

"Her hair, maybe," Emma says," And I'm sure once she opens this eyes of hers, they'll be like yours."

"You don't know that."

"I think I do."

"She might never open them," Frida says suddenly," If everyone is thinking she won't come out of this. They might never open."

"She will. She's a fighter."

Frida's throat bobs. "But if she doesn't...What would they even put on her grave? The Linköping baby?"

"You want to name her?"

"Everyone deserves a name. No matter how little they are."

"Then name her."

"I-"

"Ambulance is here," One of their teammates pokes their heads through the door," Medics are coming in now. They said to stay put."

"Y/N," Frida says suddenly.

"Huh?" Emma asks.

"She looks like a y/n."

You're tiny and malnourished and halfway to death's door. The possibility of you surviving the night is astronomically low.

But you have a name now and, in Emma's mind, you have a bedroom at home. A bedroom with a soft, warm crib and a dog companion who would just adore you. A bedroom in a house full of toys and soft clothes and two mothers who would adore you too.

A first name and a last name from the mothers who found you freezing cold in the dead of winter, buried in a bush as snow fell over you.

"Yeah," Emma says as the paramedics rush in," She does."

[devilstruly]

FRI(END)S -

- 'let's put the end in friends'

pairing (drumroll please) - jason todd x f.reader

includes - mutual pining, best friend dick grayson, batfam being nosy as shit, reader is kind of camera shy/insecure, jealous jason but in a cute way, angry confession (personal fav), mild angst but with a happy ending obvi, swearing, briefly mentioned smut (like one sentence at the end) + anything i might've missed

a/n - hi hello...idk what to say honestly. this was a very random idea i got at like 3am and i can just hope that you guys will like it. also my characteristics of the fam are solely based on the webtoon. yes the title is inspired by taehyung's single what about it

@dreamingaboutsakuratrees this one's for you (and everyone else who voted on that poll) <3

'Yes! Yes, that's perfect! Gosh, the camera absolutely loves you two!'

'Thanks, Delilah ~'

Dick sends the photographer a wink, paired with that signature grin of his, and she nearly falls on her ass. You roll your eyes at the scene affectionately, focused on fixing your hair and checking your makeup for the nth time in the past hour.

'Will you quit it?'

Beside you, your best friend whines and you swat him away with your hand, eyes never leaving the mirror.

'I'm sorry! I just wanna make sure it looks good!'

'You look beautiful. You're doing great, you just need to relax. Focus on me, yeah?'

It's honestly impossible to say no to those eyes, you've learned that a long while ago. The fact that he knows the effect he has doesn't help either.

The photoshoot goes by in a blur. You've changed at least five outfits, done the couple shoots, done the single ones, had a lunch break, etc etc. Throughout the day you learn that the crew that works for Gotham Gazette is actually quite nice, which helped ease your nerves immensely.

Now six hours later, you're sitting in your comfortable clothes, in the passenger seat of Dick's car, on the familiar road towards the Wayne Mansion.

As soon as you step through the door you're greeted with a flash of purple.

'How was it?! Tell me everything! When will the cover be out?! What did you wear?! Who did you see?!'

Stephanie looks as if she's about to burst and simultaneously split her face in half with her grin.

'It went...well, it went.'

Beside you Dick rolls his eyes so hard you could almost hear the gesture.

'Don't listen to her, it was great. She was great.'

'Stoppppp!'

You immediately hide your face in your hands, much to the man's amusement. One of Dick's arms wraps around your shoulders and the three of you head for the library.

'Well, well, well, if it isn't Gotham's power couple ~'

'Gross. Everybody knows they are mere friends.'

'We know. But the rest of Gotham is skeptical.'

'You are hallucinating, Drake. This is why you should stop drinking multitudinous of coffee.'

'Listen here you little shit-'

'O-kay!'

Dick, as always, steps in between the two brothers, effectively averting what could result in another prank war between the two. And it's not even prank season yet.

'Damian, you and I need to discuss that plan for tonight, right?'

'What are you talking ab-'

'The sooner we start the better!'

With that the two dissappear from the room, a very confused Damian letting himself be led by a beaming Dick.

Allowing yourself to feel the tiredness from everything you've done today, you plop on the now empty seat on the couch and sigh deeply.

'Cookie?'

'Thanks, Cass.'

You smile gratefully at the girl, sinking into the cushions more and more while chewing on the chocolate chip cookie.

'Sooo...'

Duke begins, the suspicious tone causing you to raise a brow before he continues.

'...When do we get to see the pictures?'

With this, every pair of eyes in the room turns to you, and you have to avoid the urge to groan.

'The actual magazine comes out in a week. But they'll email us the pictures the day after tomorrow I think.'

'I can't wait to see them! I bet you and Dick had so much chemistry in the photos!'

'Honestly, next to him I don't think anyone will notice me.'

'Of course they will! Especially if you did a couple shoot and got all close and-'

A loud slam interrupts Steph and her rambling and all of you turn to look at a very annoyed Jason. Which, to be fair, is just normal Jason.

He's silent when he stands up and walks across the room, hands stuffed in his pockets. If you had to guess, you'd say he was avoiding eye-contact too.

'Awkward...'

'Not helping Duke.'

- a few days later -

Everyone is sitting in the living room, crowded around Tim's computer, with you and Dick in the middle.

'Jason!'

Dick chirps as soon as he sees his brother enter the room.

'Come look at the photos!'

'No thanks.'

That was the second time that week that Jason refused to look you in the eyes and downright ignored your existence. But you knew better than to press Jason Todd.

Besides, maybe it wasn't even personal.

-

This was definitely personal.

You haven't talked to Jason in days, and it was driving you insane. The worst part is that you have no idea what the fuck you did.

So naturally, as one does, you'll ask him about it. Deciding that it's best to do it after patrol, particularly after the two of you took down some thugs together and were left alone, you refuse to go back home until you two work this out.

'See you tomorrow.'

'Jason.'

Red Hood stops dead in his tracks, and despite his back being turned to you, you can see the tension in his shoulders.

'This needs to stop.'

'I have no idea what-'

'Cut the bullshit, Jay. Why the fuck have you been avoiding me?'

He inhales deeply, mustering up the courage to turn around and face you. Your arms are crossed in front of your chest, accompanied with a very annoyed glare.

'I'm waiting.'

'It's nothing that concerns you.'

His answer makes you at least five times more furious and you scoff.

'Oh yeah? Well I beg to differ. I think I deserve to know why my friend has spent an entire week actively avoiding me.'

Due to his helmet you can't see it, but Jason rolls his eyes in annoyance.

'Why do you care, anyway? I'd say Richard has been keeping you busy.'

This makes you splutter, completely catching you of guard. His words are on repeat in your mind as you try to piece two and two together.

'What the fuck does Dick have to do with any of this?!'

'You tell me!'

Both of your voices echo off the empty walls in the alleyway before a thick silence takes over. Jason takes off his helmet and places it on a nearby fire escape so he can run a hand through his hair.

You watch him, still mildly annoyed, but the sight of his face welcoming nonetheless. And then he looks up and you feel an arrow shoot right through your heart.

His green eyes are soft, dare you say pleading, when they meet your own.

'I-' He takes a deep breath. 'It's the damn photoshoot.'

Before you can ask him to elaborate he's already going off, arms flying every which way with gestures he uses to emphasize his points.

'All I've been hearing for days has been about you and Dick looking all couple-y and what not. I mean you looked gorgeous, honestly why would anyone pay attention to him when you're right there, but god was it getting annoying.'

You have to blink a few times before your brain catches up with his words. Much to his dismay, you don't soften, if anything you look even more pissed now.

'I still don't understand why you've been avoiding me.'

'Because I fucking like you!'

The volume of his words startles you and you swear he was heard a couple blocks away.

'You what now-'

Jason takes a step closer to you.

'I-'

Another step.

'-like-'

Another step.

'-you.'

He's gotten so close to the point of cornering you against a wall, the intensity behind his eyes rendering you unable to look away. You allow yourself a few silent moments to simply appreciate his beauty this close before putting him out of his misery. By your standards at least.

'So this whole time you've just been jealous?'

It takes all of your willpower not to laugh when he deadpans.

'I never took you for a jealous guy to be hones-'

'Shut the fuck up already and kiss me.'

'Yessir ~'

He groans at the term and you make a mental note to use it again later when you're at his apartment.

Who needs to sleep anyway?

[tragedy-of-commons]

fuck it we ball. hsr prom date hcs because i am on something different tonight. based on my very limited experience.

dan heng

he's painfully awkward. like you expected it when you asked him to be your date but it's even worse than you predicted...

he DID pick you up and he WAS almost an hour early, causing you to rush down the stairs and almost trip (not very magical-teen-coming-of-age-moment-like of you). that kind of lightened the mood though.

also painfully sweet! upon your arrival he gives you a boutonniere/corsage that matches your outfit which he had managed to keep hidden. his sweaty palms were not just because he was nervous, then...

march helped him pick it out, he admits with red-tipped ears. that makes sense, because she was suspiciously interested in what you were wearing to the function.

but he did also forget to pick out one for him. oops.

during the slow dance bit, his hands are sweaty. you don't care because your eyes lock and there's the fuzziness curling in your gut that plagues you whenever you're with dan heng.

overall, a good experience! polite and always willing to humor your whims, even if he's a little stiff.

and if you peck him on the cheek after he walks you back to your doorstep, well, that's alright with him. more than alright.

black swan

life of the party. not in a screaming-getting-way-too-into-the-music kinda way, but in the way that everyone wants a sliver of her attention. she's always relaxed, interesting to talk to, and dreamy to boot! it wouldn't be any different at prom.

but black swan, above all else, wants to just... spend time with you. anyone that wants to chat can wait until later, when she's not watching you stuff snacks into your pockets with a fond look in her faraway eyes.

to commemorate the occasion, you're cajoled into the photobooth where you both hold up props and make funny faces for the camera. you know black swan doesn't cherish much above memories, even if they're immortalized in a gag reel where you're clad in silly-straw glasses and her in a purple mustache.

but in the last photo, right before the camera flashes, she sneaks a kiss on your cheek. your eyes are blown wide in surprise in the picture and that's her favorite part!

surprisingly adept at dancing. depending on your taste, she will either dip you dramatically and take the lead, or fall into your steps and try to make you feel more comfortable if you're nervous.

cherishes any memento from the event. she does the teasing, though, so don't get any ideas about poking fun at her for being sappy.

a great date, i dare say.

aventurine

it's a given that both of you look the best. dressed to the nines.

the whole thing is a bit sensationalized, though. mostly because he's used to everything being treated like a spectacle, aventurine tries his best (while looking like he isn't trying at all) to give you a good time.

his saving grace is that... he's here with you. everything is more enjoyable this way, even the distastefully loud music matches the pulse in his ears when he looks at y💥💥

his favorite part of the event, surprisingly, is when you ask him to ditch with you early. makes a little joke like "wow, are you having that bad of a time with me?" but there's a bit of weight behind it that you can sense. anyway, you answer by rolling your eyes and pulling him outside.

away from the noise, pretenses drop and You Hold His Hand, telling him that any time with him is a good time. but this is infinitely better, even if you're both just stood in the parking lot.

you both decide to stay a little longer. at the end of the night, the principal gets into one of those dunking booths for the children to throw balls at to get them dunked in water. aventurine bets you a date that he'll hit the target.

you know he'll win (his luck kind of scares you), so of course you take him up on that wager, very excited to lose. it's very sweet.

lol he does hit the target

you both are prom celebrities for the rest of the night with another date set in stone a week from now!

kafka

imo she would make the best date out of everyone on this list.

mostly because any outing with kafka is almost cataclysmic in its impact... starting when she pops over at your place to help you get ready! surprise!

zips you up/adjusts your lapels/make sure your makeup looks good/whatever is part of this whole routine for you. she does so while humming a dulcet tune. she wants to be involved with every aspect of your pivotal prom experience tbh. keen on making memories like black swan is, but the effort is unconscious.

also. since blade has his driver's license, she basically bribed him into being your chauffeur for the night. i think that'd be a fun detail.

if you suck at dancing, never fear, because she also isn't very good (or so she says, but she's kafka, so of course she makes it work).

is not opposed to silly photobooth pics but she'd rather have someone take a candid of you both together by persuading them nicely - more her speed.

her eyes are ENCHANTING in that dim lighting... i just know... you get so distracted that you trip over her feet. silver wolf, the resident DJ that the school hired, sees and laughs.

has that tattered jacket thrown over whatever she decides to wear. she drapes it over you if you get cold due to the weather or temperature inside of the building.