#But also he is just some guy not really an expert

[supakixbabe]

Some KEY points heading into Worlds End & 2025:

- Hangman and The Bucks are still OKAY (I THINK). They also don’t necessarily have any beef other than the Bucks suspending him indefinitely and Hangman causing them to lose their ROH Six Man tag team titles to Gates of Agony. I still think they’re semi-okay though. (I could be wrong, but I’ll be delulu for now)

- Hangman and Kenny Omega are still OKAY. They don’t really have any hatred or beef with each other. They are victims of circumstances called, “The Young Bucks.”

- Kenny and The Bucks are NOT okay. Leading up to Full Gear 2023, they are enemies and will be for a while. Plus being fired from The Elite — they are COOKED. Also being attacked and pushed off a stretcher while in serious stomach pain would also count towards why Kenny might despise their very existence. I’m not an expert, but I feel like that would strain a relationship.

- Kenny hates Jay (so any excuse to screw him over, he will in a heart beat.) Let me remind you that Kenny Omega tried recruiting Jay into the Bullet Club then Jay turned around and turned on Kenny by hitting him with the blade runner.

- Mox hates Kenny and Kenny doesn’t really like Mox; mutual respect I believe though. I mean, the fact Mox tossed him off poker chips, put him through a glass table, etc. I can see why.

- Hangman HATES Jay. Jay HATES Hangman. Hangman screwed Jay out of his way to the title and Jay has interrupted Hangman’s quest for the AEW World Championship. Orange Cassidy is just in the wrong place at the wrong time — someone fighting for the very company who gave him a chance.

- Moxley does not give a damn. He isn’t here to make friends or have a drink or smoke with them — he wants FEAR. He wants OBEDIENCE. He wants to push these guys past their limits and make them BREAK. He even said that neither one deserved to be anywhere near the AEW World Championship title.

“Abandon All Hope” is NOT just a catchphrase — it’s a motto. And Moxley’s reign I don’t believe will be over anytime soon.

Ps. Here’s a tip: FOCUS ON EVERY LITTLE INTRICATE DETAIL. TRUST ME.

[dodger-chan]

On this, a totally normal day, please enjoy this short scene featuring demon Steve Harrington:

“They’re con artists,” Steve asserted, rolling his eyes. “They’re nothing I need to worry about.”

It wasn’t that Eddie thought Steve was wrong. He’d read a book about their involvement in that possession and murder case in Connecticut five years back. It had certainly read more like fiction to him.

It was just that demons tended towards overconfidence. Or at least Steve did. Maybe that was more of a jock thing than a demon thing.

“You’re bound to the mortal plain by a two-bit ring from a Crackerjack box,” Robin snarked. “Forgive me if I’m a little concerned.”

There was that, too.

“I’ll have you know that ring cost me fifty cents. It’s solid nickel,” Eddie joked. But he kind of agreed with Robin. The ring was a flimsy object, and entirely incongruous with Steve’s preppy look. Even if the couple weren’t practiced demon killers, the ring would be an obvious target.

“So that’s why my finger keeps turning green,” Steve mused. “Look, I can’t let this stand, but one of you can wear the ring until they’re gone, okay?”

-------

Which was how Edde found himself twisting his old ouroboros ring around his finger, sitting in a diner booth across from Robin. Stealthily watching the demon hunters eat their lunch. Waiting for Steve to arrive. The wait wasn’t long, but it was tense.

Steve ignored them when he walked in, only paying attention to the couple seated behind them. Robin leaned forward and stole some of Eddie’s french fries.

“I think we’re in trouble,” she whispered. She was only half joking. They weren’t supposed to be there; Steve didn’t want either of them associated with a demon. But Robin was not about to let Steve face even fake demon hunters completely alone. And - coward or not - neither was Eddie.

He shushed her, keeping an eye on Steve as he sat down at the hunters’ table.

“I read the contract you signed with Susan Mayfield. Book rights to her daughter's story for a flat fee? Seriously? My deals are more fair.” Steve was facing away from them, so Eddie had to imagine the smug expression on his face. The older couple looked confused.

“Your deals?” The man asked, like maybe he hadn’t put it together yet.

“I’m sitting here right in front of you and you still have no idea.” Steve shook his head. “And you call yourself demon hunters. I knew you were just con artists.”

Understanding dawn on the woman first.

“You’re the demon,” she said, fear in her voice. “The one who killed those kids.”

“I am a demon. But no, I haven’t killed any kids in Hawkins,” Steve corrected. “Those three dead kids, the Mayfield girl’s injuries, that really was a human. People can be evil all on their own, you know.”

“Why should we believe you?” the man asked. He didn’t appear as afraid as his wife, but Eddie was an expert on posturing. The guy was about thirty seconds away from shitting his pants.

“Believe, don’t believe. I don’t give a fuck. I’m not here to keep you from writing your little book and ripping off the American public with your absolutely true demon stories.” Eddie would bet good money Steve was rolling his eyes. “I’m here about this.”

Robin nearly turned around to see what Steve was holding even though she knew what it would be. Eddie kicked her ankle and she turned back.

“You see,” Steve went on, “I made a deal with the Mayfield girl’s brother. It means I owe her a certain amount of protection. So this contract you sweet-talked her mom into signing? We’re going to rework the terms. I’m thinking percent off the gross?”

-----------

Notes:

"that possession and murder case" refers to the Arne Johnson murder trial, where the defense tried to argue the killer had been possessed by a demon. The book was titled The Devil in Connecticut and published in 1983. It's also the inspiration for one of the Conjuring films.

Allegedly (and I'm not doing enough research to confirm it because this six hundred word story has enough notes already) the Warrens paid people flat fees for the rights to their stories and then made bank themselves off of books and films about the 'hauntings' and 'possessions.' Frankly, everything I've read about them makes them sound like unscrupulous con artists.

"two-bit ring from a cracker jack box" is a reference to a Firesign Theatre sketch (The Further Adventures of Nick Danger) released in 1969; Robin knows it from her parents.

Two-bit means cheap in general, but also two-bits refers to a quarter, so when Eddie says he paid fifty cents for the ring he's saying it cost twice as much as Robin implied (still pretty cheap)

I doubt Eddie knows for sure what alloy any of his rings are made of, but cheap jewelry often contains nickel, and nickel can turn your skin green.

"percent off the gross" is revenue percentage rather than a percentage of the profit, so Max can't be cheated out of money via creative accounting.

[crow-n-tell]

Autism

not as far as I’m aware

do have adhd tho.

[thelesbianthespianposts]

“Jason’s so rebellious”, “he’s the problem child” bro is NOT. He THINKS he is. But if anything he’s the kiss ass child trying to seem cool and rebellious. He’ll blow up a building and immediately be like “did Bruce see that?” “Did he see how rebellious I am??” “What’d he say???”. Rebellious my ass.

[fili-oeuvre]

{ INT. CONTAINMENT LABS - CONTAINMENT CELL B: 213 }

Mortimer: *sitting behind Cosmos, making a series of small braids in his hair, expertly using his claws to weave the thick curls* By the way, I have a question. Why does your kind call us “no-furs”? Is that some kind of term or insult for us?

Cosmos: *wonders if him talking would make his situation worse or not* *eventually decides that not cooperating with the larger figure behind him would probably just cause more problems than just responding* It’s because you don’t have any fur on your bodies. Or just not a lot of fur... *he fidgeted with the fur of his tail to ease his anxiety* So, we just call you “no-furs”.

Mortimer: Oh, *hums in acknowledgement* that makes sense. *finishes one small braid before starting a new one* I suppose it is a weird sight for your species. Since, we have so little fur compared to you. Or we don’t even really have fur. Just hair.

Cosmos: [ It is weird, how can you stand being furless? Don’t you get cold all the time from the wind, maybe that's why they seem to wear things over their naked skin ]

Mortimer: *continues with his small braid* *a content smile on his face* We’re actually called humans.

Cosmos: Hoo... mans? *he tried to pronounce the new term but it didn't sound quite right* *he tried to say it again, matching how the human had said it* Humans.

Mortimer: Yep, you said it right. *gently patted the top of Cosmos's head as if saying "good job"* *his tail moved to curl around the front, somewhat trapping Cosmos as it reduced the available space in front of him* Our scientific name is Homo sapiens, but humans is just quicker to say.

——————

Part 1 >:3

Braiding hair as a "bonding" activity. And learning the actual name of the species that is currently keeping you captive.

Proctor: My Paragon, what are you holding?

Mortimer: *holding Cosmos up like a cat* I found him on the streets! Can we keep him?

Cosmos: *confused* *flattens his ears at the sight of Proctor*

Proctor: *”displeased” expression* You really shouldn’t touch strange creatures like that. What if it’s rabid?

Mortimer: *poking Cosmos’s cheek* He’s not rabid. I already scanned for that. Besides isn’t he cute? *ruffles Cosmos's hair in a playful manner*

Proctor: *sighs, tail flicking in annoyance* Don’t let it bite anyone just to be safe.

Previous: Part 10 (Chapter 1)

Next: Part 2

[vaultboyenthusiast]

see. do i write out a long essay review of the fallout show or do i just say i have mixed feelings and leave it at that. i’m vibing with the dialogue + characterization, love the set and costume design, but. ya know. not huge on the way they took the usual fallout accidental (?) bigotry and managed to make it Worse

there’s more thoughts than that in my brain rn and i probably could write a whole review but. would anyone read that

[airenyah]

ok so today i had my first thai class after a really long christmas break and somehow andreas gabalier (an austrian folk singer) and his music came up. and i don't remember what exactly my teacher said but he made a comment along the lines of "andreas gabalier is considered a standard good looking dude here in austria, right?" (my teacher is from thailand, so he wasn't sure about austrian people's preferences)

and his question was met with complete silence, because the thing is... our class consists of 3 middle aged guys plus one more guy in his mid 30s. and then there's me. the only girl

and since no one answered the question about andreas gabalier's looks, our teacher then addressed me directly and following conversation ensued:

teacher: "[airenyah]?" me: (feeling slightly shy and embarrassed) ".....i don't know what andreas gabalier looks like 🙈" everyone: (breaks out in laughter) middle-aged classmate: (highly amused) "i suspect he's not your type..." (me: "oh 🙈") "you're not missing out on anything :D"

i really like my teacher but god, let me live. don't put me on the spot like that 😩😩😩

[termitesisagrandslam]

my dad is weirdly critical of customer service ppl. not to their faces, he's always polite to them, but if someone is like, aloof or not super attentive or not 100% "professional" in some way, afterwards he'll complain about it and i want to strangle him. it's especially annoying since HE has worked in customer service his entire life, that's been all his jobs, so it's ridiculous he holds everyone to such a high standard.

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

A murder mystery film set in a medieval village. After an outbreak of plague, the villagers make the decision to shut their borders so as to protect the disease from spreading (see the real life case of the village of Eyam). As the disease decimates the population, however, some bodies start showing up that very obviously were not killed by plague.

Since nobody has been in or out since the outbreak began, the killer has to be somebody in the local community.

The village constable (who is essentially just Some Guy, because being a medieval constable was a bit like getting jury duty, if jury duty gave you the power to arrest people) struggles to investigate the crime without exposing himself to the disease, and to maintain order as the plague-stricken villagers begin to turn on each other.

The killer strikes repeatedly, seemingly taking advantage of the empty streets and forced isolation to strike without witnesses. As with any other murder mystery, the audience is given exactly the same information to solve the crime as the detective.

Except, that is, whenever another character is killed, at which point we cut to the present day where said character's remains are being carefully examined by a team of modern archaeologists and historians who are also trying to figure out why so many of the people in this plague-pit died from blunt force trauma.

The archaeologists and historians, btw, are real experts who haven't been allowed to read the script. The filmmakers just give them a model of the victim's remains, along with some artefacts, and they have to treat it like a real case and give their real opinion on how they think this person died.

We then cut back to the past, where the constable is trying to do the same thing. Unlike the archaeologists, he doesn't have the advantage of modern tech and medical knowledge to examine the body, but he does have a more complete crime scene (since certain clues obviously wouldn't survive to be dug up in the modern day) and personal knowledge from having probably known the victim.

The audience then gets a more complete picture than either group, and an insight into both the strengths and limits of modern archaeology, explaining what we can and can't learn from studying a person's remains.

At the end of the film, after the killer is revealed and the main plot is resolved, we then get to see the archaeologists get shown the actual scenes where their 'victims' were killed, so they can see how well their conclusions match up with what 'really' happened.

[hurtspideyparker]

If Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together Part 2

Read Part 1 and Part 3

Tony: Why is Underoos mopping the ceiling?

Sam: Told him since he's sticky that's his chore

Bucky: It's only fair he helps out around the house

Tony: Hm. Makes sense

-

Vision cooked dinner:

Peter: *pushing around food to make it look eaten*

Natasha: *surreptitiously spitting into napkin*

Steve: *taking small bites with tons of water*

Bucky: *just stares at full plate*

Tony: Well this is disgusting, I'm ordering pizza

-

Sam: C'mon man stop moping around, you gotta get yourself a girl

Bucky: Ok.

Sam: Ok? Okayyyyy! I know-

Bucky: Give me your phone

Sam: Oh you got a number in mind already hotshot? *hands phone over*

Bucky: *ring* Hi Sarah ;)

Sam: BOY-

-

Peter: Ned thought you would seperate your colours from your lights but he also thought you'd be homophobic so I don't pay him much mind cuz clearly I'm more of a superhero expert than him but he does have a 2% better average than me in history so like maybe you do hand wash your clothes and that's why I asked what underwear you wear because-

Steve: *listening intently with apprehension and alarm*

Natasha: I can't believe you found the one person on Earth who talks more nonsense than you

Tony: I know right, it's incredibly unnerving. I'm planning on adopting him

-

Peter: Mr. Stark I have to tell you something. I think Vision is a... *whispers* pervert

Tony: Um, why?

Peter: He keeps floating through my room without knocking! He saw me changing, he saw my nipples !

Tony: Well if anyone's a predator here it would be you. I mean showing your nipples to a 2 year old? Deplorable.

Peter:

Peter: Oh god, I'm the pervert...

-

Bucky: Y'know animosity isn't good between teammates. I think we should spend more time together

Sam: Am I being punked right now? Where's the camera

Bucky: I'm serious. I think it would be healthy for us to bond

Sam: Okay fine I'll bite... what did you have in mind

Bucky: Wanna go for a run?

Sam: *slams door in Bucky's face*

-

*staring at Bucky's sparkly clean metal arm*

Bucky: Dishwasher?

Peter: Dishwasher :)

(later that day)

Bucky: I've decided to let the child live

Peter: YoU wHaT?!

-

Thwip

Tony: Who took my coffee cup, It was right here

Thwip

Bruce: Um, has someone seen my book? I just had it

Thwip

Steve: I could've sworn I was holding a pen a moment ago

*giggling from the ceiling*

Tony: Young man I will take those webshooters away if you use them for shenanigans and rascality

Peter, muffled: Mr. Hawkeye told me to!

Clint: Oh so you're just gonna rat me out like that?

Peter: Sor- OOF

*falls out of ceiling vent*

-

Sam: You're in my spot

Bucky: There are no spots, it's a common area

Sam: Well that's my spot

Bucky: Did you buy the chair??

Sam: No, but everyone knows that's where I sit. Right Steve?

Steve: Oops I forgot something in my car, be right back *leaves*

Sam: Still my spot

Bucky: Still not

Sam: *sits on him*

Bucky: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL THE COUCHES ARE FREE-

Sam: IT'S MY SPOT YOU CAN'T TAKE A MAN'S FAVOURITE CHAIR-

BUCKY: YOU HAVE ISSUES GET OFF ME-

(one hour later)

Steve: Hey so turns out I don't have a car! Isn't that funn...

Sam & Bucky: *Squeezed awkwardly on the chair together*

Steve: I think I left something in my car

-

Steve: Leave the bedroom door open when you have Vision in there

Wanda: UGH you're so protective

Tony: Teenagers, am I right? Caught Pete reassembling my particle accelerator at midnight because he needed to neutralize a miniature nuclear bomb he nabbed off some guy he neglected to tell me was trying to kill him

Steve:

Steve: Wanda y'know what do whatever you want

Wanda: Really?

Steve: Yes just keep being normal. At least I can read about our issues in a parenting book

-

Thor: Ah, new warriors I see! Good to make all your acquaintance. But why are you so grumpy my friend?

Bucky: *glaring*

Peter: He's always like that. It's um, P- P- PMS? Wait -

Natasha: Yes it's PMS

Wanda: He's got it bad

Steve: *genuinely concerned* Bucky you didn't tell me something was wrong. What can I do to help?

Bucky:

Bucky: I like chocolate

-

Wanda: Welcome to the first annual girls night! This place reeks of men, so I thought we needed some women time

Pepper: Why is Vision here?

Wanda: I get sad when he's gone

Natasha: Why is Pietro here?

Pietro: Slay queens

Wanda: Moral support I think

Maria: Why is Peter here?

Wanda: He looked really upset when I said he wasn't included and I felt bad

Wanda: Anyways... yay girls! Who wants me to paint their nails?

Peter: ME ME ME

-

Steve: Pancakes or waffles?

Natasha: Pancakes

Steve: Good because I don't have a waffle maker

Natasha: Then why would you ask-

Steve: It's important for your voice to be heard, as team leader I value your opinion

*2 minutes later*

Steve: Good morning Clint, pancakes or waffles?

Clint: Waffles

Steve: Oh no.

-

Some of these were based on requests (ex. more Sam & Bucky, dad Steve w/ Wanda) so if you have certain dynamics you enjoy let me know !

[spookberry]

one of my favorite ways to interpret the trio is that Sam and Tucker actually have the most shared dweeb interests meanwhile Danny is just Some Guy.

Sam and Tucker will unapologetically argue about anime characters and video game strats. They're experts in two completely separate fields of nerdom which can and WILL cause problems. they're in a constant state of having just the most niche ass nerd conversations you can imagine.

meanwhile Danny is just so painfully generic at times which belies the fact that he's really weird in a completely unhuman way (also the teen angst of hiding things about yourself you view as weird out of a desperate desire to be liked by the general populace)

[hischierhoney]

Just Friends

Jack Hughes x Best Friend!Reader

summary: You’ve been best friends with Jack for ages. He’s also been in love with you for ages, but he’s got that completely under control. Really, he does. Right? 5.2k words

warnings: alcohol/intoxication, non graphic mentions of surgery/blood/stitches, hospital stay, reference to Jack’s shoulder surgery :(

Jack finds you in his apartment kitchen, a black tie in his hand. He’s already dressed in his suit pants and shirt, and for once, he feels like hair looks almost presentable. You take the tie from him without a word, and you loop it around his neck, underneath the collar of his shirt. Meanwhile, he grabs your necklace off the counter and fiddles with the clasp.

You hum to yourself as you start to tie the tie. “Ready for the game today?”

He shrugs. “I’m always ready.”

Luke is there, too, shoveling cereal into his mouth and watching the two of you warily. As you loop the tie around your fingers, Jack slips the necklace around your neck, your skin soft under his fingers. He latches it, blindly, with expert precision, muscle memory. He’s done it a million times now.

You tug the tie into place and then smooth it out on his chest. He hasn’t put his jacket on yet, but you’ll fix the lapels of it, too. You take a half a step back and give him a once over. He stands, waiting for your approval with his breath held in his chest. It shouldn’t mean this much, you making sure he looks good, but it does. You reach up and tuck a lock of hair back into place atop his head, and he smiles happily.

“All good,” you say, dusting your hands together as if you’ve just finished a hard day’s work.

Jack squints at your face, spotting something, and he brings a finger up to brush against your cheekbone. “Eyelash,” he explains, and you hum, closing your eyes as he brushes it away. “Got it.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “Come on, don’t wanna be late. And no cereal in the car, Luke.”

Jack rushes off to grab his jacket. When he comes back, Luke is dumping the last of his cereal into the sink, and Jack grimaces. You’re in the hallway, stepping into a pair of shoes. Luke turns to him with a smirk, and Jack shakes his head before his brother can even open his mouth.

“Don’t,” he whispers.

Luke rolls his eyes. “I just think you guys are-“

“You thinking is dangerous,” Jack says. “Save all that energy for the game.”

He walks away, down the hallway to find you. You reach up to fix his jacket for him, and then you reach for the car keys and hand them off to him. He grins and nudges his elbow against your side.

“You’re such a passenger princess,” he teases.

You shrug. “I’m very good at it!”

He’s not complaining, really. There’s nobody he’d rather see in his passenger seat than you. Your jersey hangs proudly from your shoulders, his name and number on the back, and it makes his chest feel warm. You’re his good luck charm. He just hasn’t told you that yet.

…..

Jack’s spent so much time convincing his brothers and his teammates and his parents that he’s not in love with you, that he can’t pinpoint when it actually happened. He’s not sure there was some big moment, some realization, some day where he looked at you and everything changed. You’ve just been so present in his life that maybe it was a sort of gradual thing. Maybe it’s always been there, and he’s been in denial since he was eleven and Quinn was teasing him on the playground near their house.

Now you’re in New York, closer than you have been in years, both distance wise and friendship wise. You have season tickets, because he’s playing in the NHL and he wants you at every game possible. You spend half your nights at his place when he’s home, and he ignores the funny looks Luke gives him about it. Honestly, he’s a bit tired of denying it all. He thinks maybe if someone just asked point blank he’d let it all spill out.

He reads the text from you and smiles- you’re on your way to the Rock, one of your friends in tow. He’d gotten you two seats for the season, so you wouldn’t have to sit alone. He sort of dreads the day you decide to bring a date, but then he wonders what guy would be stupid enough to go along with that. Jack’s cocky, he’ll admit it. He knows he’s good at hockey. He laughs at the thought of you dragging a date along to see him play.

Someone announces they’re ordering food before the game, from the deli down the street. Jack listens as his teammates put in their orders. Luke goes with his usual. Timo changes things up. When the assistant gets to him, he grins. He orders his go to, and then another, and asks for a can of Coke, too, for good measure. Luke gives a knowing roll of his eyes.

When the guy brings the food in, Jack takes his bag, fishes his sandwich out of it, and hands the other sandwich and the can of Coke back. “Can you get this to seat B322?” He asks, grinning widely. He knows your seat number by heart.

Luke sighs heavily next to him. The guy agrees, of course. Nico, who’s standing nearby, cocks his head in confusion.

“She’s coming straight from work,” Jack defends. The ribbing he gets from the guys will be worth it when he sees you after the game. “She’s gonna be hungry.”

“It’s a hockey arena,” Luke says drily. “There’s so much food here.”

“But she loves Krauszer’s,” Jack says, and Nico rolls his eyes. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t order her some?”

“Friend,” Nico says, drawing out the word. “Sure.”

Jack ignores him. He ignores Luke’s smirk, too. He eats his sandwich and finishes getting ready, and then he heads out onto the ice, knowing you’re there somewhere, probably sipping on a can of Coke.

…..

The issue, Jack finds, is that it’s getting harder to ignore the fact that he’s in love with you.

It was easier, before, when you were younger and he was more dumb and less aware of… everything. He could convince himself it was just puppy love, just absence making the heart grow fonder, when post high school saw the two of you split apart. But now you’re here, close, and yet not close enough. Jack wants more, and he can’t really ignore that feeling these days.

He’s out at a bar, team bonding, as Nico put it. Except that half the team is drunk, including Nico, and the only bonding Jack’s doing is the brotherly kind, trying to keep Luke from sneaking drinks, or worse, getting caught sneaking drinks. Sometimes he hates being an older brother. He’d wanted to come out, maybe talk to a girl, maybe take said girl home, or get her to take him back to her place so he wouldn’t have to worry about Luke overhearing. But it’s not really working, not with Nico hanging off his shoulder like a leech and Luke sneaking another shot, and god, Jack’s going to kill him. If you were here, you’d be keeping an eye on Luke, too. He wishes you were here.

He has a shot to take the edge of the annoyance off. Then he has another, and another, and then there’s a girl across the bar, smiling at him, and- she sort of looks like you, is the thing, but not quite. The sort of uncanny valley of it all is freaking him out. For a moment he wonders if hooking up with her would make it better- would get it out of his system, would scratch the itch. The sane, more sober part of him thinks it might just make it all worse. To have some girl under him and hear a voice that isn’t yours. Jack used to do this all the time. The thought of it makes him feel sick now. That’s new.

He downs another shot and passes his leech of a captain off on his problem of a brother, hoping the two of them will keep each other in line. Then he pulls his phone from his pocket and gets an Uber.

It’s only when he’s standing at your apartment door that he realizes he probably should’ve called first. You might already be asleep. You might be out. Maybe you have a guy over. His stomach does a somersault at the thought. He raises his hand to knock anyways- he’s come all this way.

You open the door with a smile on your face. “Nico called to ask if I knew where you went. Thought you might be headed here.”

Jack lets his shoulders drop. “They were annoying me.”

That’s not the real reason he left, but he can’t exactly tell you he saw the uncanny valley version of you and decided to leave. That would be… a lot. You seem to take his answer as the truth, because Luke is annoying on a night out, and Nico can be, too. Jack still probably should’ve told them he was leaving. He’ll get an earful about it. Oh well. The way you step aside to let him into your apartment makes it worth it.

He heads for the couch, and you laugh when he flops onto it, facedown. He likes your laugh. It sounds so much like you. He remembers the years when you were in college and he was far, far away from you, when he’d crack jokes on the phone calls just to hear you giggle. He presses his face into a pillow and hopes you don’t see the blush on his cheeks, or that you’ll attribute it to his drunkenness.

“Want food?” You call out, from the kitchen, he thinks. He groans loudly in response. “I have mozz sticks.”

He turns his head to the side and says, “fuck, I love you.”

He can say it here, in the comfort and privacy of your living room, in the relative safeness of the fact that he’s been drinking. You won’t think anything of it. You won’t realize how much he really means it.

The sound of your laugh is music to his ears. “Love you too, Rowdy.”

You don’t mean it the way he wants you to. That’s okay. He came to terms with that a while ago, listening to you say it over staticky phone calls. But you’ll make him mozzarella sticks, and you’re not upset that he’s here, so he’ll take it. He’ll take anything, really.

You come into the living room a few minutes later, plate full of food in hand, and make him roll over. He sits up slightly, leaning against the arm of the couch, and you lift his legs to sit under them. He doesn’t complain when you turn on some stupid reality tv show he hates- there are mozzarella sticks for him to eat, and the warmth of you under him, the weight of your arm where it’s draped across his calves. He can put up with the host’s annoying voice for this.

He falls asleep on your couch, half a mozz stick in his hand. When he wakes up, he’s tucked in with the quilt you’ve had for years now, a pillow under his head, and water waiting for him on the coffee table. You’re probably at work by now. He’ll send you a text to say thank you, later, unless he decides to just wait here until you come home. That doesn’t sound like such a bad idea, really.

…..

It’s a Saturday, and Luke is out for lunch with some of the other younger players, so Jack’s fending for himself. Trevor, knowing this due to what he would call their cosmic connection, has seen it as an opportunity to talk Jack’s ear off over FaceTime. Jack has his phone propped on the kitchen counter, half listening as he cooks.

He loves Trevor- really, he does, but the guy could talk for hours upon hours and never run out of things to say. Jack lets him, because he knows Trevor likes talking, so he’s not going to be mean. He just chimes in with noises of agreement or disagreement at the right times. Then Trevor says your name, and he zones back in.

“I fucking knew you weren’t listening!” Trevor cackles, wide grin taking up most of the phone screen. “But the second I mention-“

“Shut up,” Jack groans, rolling his eyes. “I’m listening. I’m just also making lunch.”

“Right, right,” Trevor snarks. “Just for you?”

Jack knows what he’s insinuating. Honestly, as much as he hates to admit it, it’s not a bad idea. You’re not working today, and he could probably convince you to come hang out with him in exchange for free food. He’s bored enough to listen to Trevor go on and on. You could save him from it.

“Yeah,” he says, and immediately contradicts himself by picking up his phone and sending you a text.

He tries to listen this time, he really does. He cares about Trevor, he wants to hear what he has to say. He finishes cooking lunch, and then Trevor has to go, shouting something to someone in the background, and he hangs up. Jack sighs at the empty, quiet room. He thinks about texting Luke to see when he’ll be back, but that feels pathetic. Maybe Nico’s not busy.

His heart leaps when his phone buzzes with a text from you.

Lunch sounds good. I’ll be over soon.

He can’t wipe the grin off his face the whole rest of the day. You come over, and eat the rest of the food happily, sitting at the kitchen counter. He watches fondly and tells you all the drama Trevor just told him- screw you, Zegras, he was listening. You smile brightly up at him.

“Got plans for the rest of the day?” He asks, hoping desperately that you don’t.

You shrug. “Nope. I’m all yours.”

God, he wishes.

…..

Jack thinks that maybe, just maybe, he can’t really be blamed when it all comes crashing down on a Wednesday afternoon in April. It’s been coming for a while. He’s had time to prepare. It shouldn’t take him out the way it does, because he’s seen it coming from miles away. It shouldn’t, but it does anyways.

They pull him from the games and finally, finally, ship him off to Colorado to have surgery. He gets an email with the flight information, another with a hotel to stay in the night before, and instructions on how to book his flight back to Jersey after he’s released. They don’t want to book it now, for fear of something going wrong in surgery. Hockey teams are superstitious like that, even their travel management.

There’s another set of emails, too- ones from the surgeon, about his prep and things he needs to do and bring and what to expect from the healing process. He hasn’t bothered to open it. That’ll make it real. He just packs up some of his clothes, shuts himself in his room, and waits. He ignores Luke, then he ignores Nico, who he’s sure Luke has brought over. He ignores Quinn’s phone calls, too, and everyone else’s.

When you show up, though, knocking on his bedroom door and calling out his name, he can’t ignore it. He makes a noise that isn’t a go away, and you take it as an invitation in, which he supposes it was. You make a soft noise of disapproval when you see him, curled up in his bed, hood pulled up around his head to block out the world.

“Hey, J,” you murmur, padding your way across his bedroom. “What’s going on?”

He sniffles and presses his face into the mattress. “The surgery.”

You sigh and sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah.”

Jack’s not afraid of having surgery, really. He’s never been very squeamish, never one to shy away from blood draws or stitches or IVs. You know this. Everyone knows it, which is probably why they’re all so worried about his reaction to this. He doesn’t want to admit it really, but it’s you, so he finds the words slipping past his lips.

“Mom can’t come,” he says, voice raw and scraping. “Or dad. Too short notice. And- and Luke and Nico and Quinn are gonna be busy, obviously, and I just… all this talk about surgery all this time and I didn’t think I’d have to do it alone, you know? It couldn’t wait till after the season so I could-“

He breaks off into an embarrassing, breath stealing sob. You make a soothing little noise and lean down next to him, scooping him up into your arms. It sort of helps and sort of makes it worse. The tears flow freely now. It’s just you. All his walls are down.

“You won’t be by yourself, Jack,” you murmur, and he waits for the reassuring words, that you’ll all be with him in spirit, that he’ll be home in no time, that he’s never alone. Instead, you say, “I took some time off. I’m gonna fly out with you, be there for the surgery.”

He pries one eye open, waiting for the punch line. There isn’t one. Just you, watching him carefully, holding him close. He knows how hard it is for you to get time off right now. It’s your busy season at work. And yet, here you are. Tears start running again. The whole world goes blurry. You just brush them away, one by one.

“Oh, honey,” you soothe, voice low and soft. “You didn’t think I’d let you do it alone, did you?”

God, he loves you. And he thinks this might be the final straw, the last puzzle piece. There’s no denying it now. You brush stray hairs from his face and press warm kisses to his forehead while he admits that he’s scared, not of the surgery but of what comes after, of the healing and the rehab and everything involved in it. You draw soothing patterns on his skin and just listen, because you know him well enough to know he needs to get it off his chest. He thinks about telling you how much he loves you as he starts to drift off, but he thinks better of it. There’ll be a better time than this, tear stained and curled up in his bed like a little kid. For now, it’s enough to know you love him, in any way, shape, or form.

…..

Jack wakes up in a hospital bed in Vail, Colorado, utterly disoriented and freezing cold. The ceiling is this ugly grey color, just like the rest of the ceilings in the building have been. He’s spent a lot of time staring at them in the last 24 hours. He blinks, and the tiles blur and swirl, and he hears his name in your voice. He tries to hold on, but he’s so, so sleepy, so he closes his eyes.

He wakes up again with no idea how long he’s been out. He’s warmer now. There’s an extra blanket laid over him, and a hand holding his. Hm. It feels nice. He squeezes his fingers experimentally. He hears movement to his left. A plastic cup appears in his field of vision, and he suddenly realizes how thirsty he is. He turns, slightly, and finds you.

“You’re here,” he says, quietly.

Your face is a little out of focus, but he thinks you smile. “Yeah, of course I am. Told you I would be.”

He knows that. He knows you flew out here with him, eating snacks on the plane before he hit the 12 hours before surgery mark and he had to stop. You checked into the hotel with him, got all the supplies ready for after the surgery, got him here, promised you’d be waiting when he woke up. But now he’s here, post surgery, and you’re holding his hand, and his chest hurts in the best way.

“Hey, hey, don’t cry,” you murmur, lifting the cup to his lips. He takes a sip. “Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head gingerly. He’s a little achy, but nothing that would make him cry normally. He can’t help it, it’s probably the meds. He remembers crying when he got his wisdom teeth out, too. He tries to tell you as much, but it comes out garbled and teary and raw. You shush him, smoothing your hand over his forehead and pushing his hair out of his face. That feels nice. You’re warm.

“Okay. It’s okay,” you soothe. “Take a breath. It’s alright.”

He does his best. You help him take little sips of water, and eventually the tears dry up. He’s left sitting there, your hand running through his hair, and he suddenly feels so, so sleepy. He turns his head and blinks at you. You’re clear in his vision now, beautiful as ever.

“You’re pretty,” he mumbles.

He thinks it all the time, he may as well say it. Nothing’s holding him back now. You laugh, and your face gets blurry again. He sighs.

“You’re pretty,” you say back.

He rolls his eyes, but he smiles anyways. “Hmm.”

“Are you sleepy?” You ask, thumb brushing against his temple. He nods. “You can go to sleep, okay?”

“You’ll be here when I wake up?” He asks, feeling a little vulnerable, suddenly.

“Yeah, Jacky,” you murmur, and when he closes his eyes, he thinks he feels your lips against his temple. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The third time he wakes up, you’re sitting next to him, eating ice cream out of a little plastic cup with one of the tiny wooden spoons. The tv in the room is playing that same stupid reality show. The host’s voice would piss him off if he wasn’t so focused on how adorable you look. He inches the fingers of his good hand towards you, towards where your knee is pressed against his bed. When he makes contact, you jump nearly a foot in the air. He can’t help but giggle.

“Jesus,” you mutter, shaking your head at him.

“Nah, just Jack,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Someone’s feeling better.”

If he’s being honest, he still feels a little loopy. Your face is in focus, but everything feels a little softer around the edges. His fingers scramble against your knee, and you laugh, leaning close. You set down the ice cream and reach to tangle your hand up in his. That’s nice. He doesn’t get to do that a lot- hold your hand. Maybe he should have surgery more often. You smooth his hair out of his face again. It’s such a caring motion that it sends his heart stuttering.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he says, quietly.

You shrug. “What kind of best friend would I be if I wasn’t?”

And. That’s nice, but it’s not really what he wants to hear. He wants you to be here because you love him. He probably wouldn’t spend hours in a hospital waiting room for Nico, probably wouldn’t sit and wait for him to wake up. He’d bring him food after, when he got home, would help him however he needed. But to fly halfway across the country just to be here? He’d do that for you in a heartbeat, but he’s not sure there are many others he’d do the same for.

You seem to notice the way he’s staring, and you wave the wooden spoon at him. “You want some ice cream? The nurse said to call when you actually woke up. I’m sure she’ll give you one if you turn on the charm.”

He blinks slowly. “I love you, you know that?”

It’s past his lips before he can take it back. It should be terrifying. He should feel sick to his stomach. Maybe it’s the hospital drugs, or maybe it’s just that he’s been holding it in for so long, but it doesn’t feel scary. He sort of just feels relieved.

You smile brightly. “Yeah, I love you, too, Jack.”

He huffs. “No, you don’t get it-“

Before he can get another word out, the nurse comes in. He wonders if you pressed the button when he wasn’t paying attention, or if hospital staff just have comically bad timing. He lets out a groan. You give him an amused smile.

“Welcome back, Jack,” the nurse says. He reads her nametag- Nancy. “I’m just going to do a little checkup, alright?” She turns to you. “If you want, you can step out into the hall.”

By the time he’s squeezing your hand to keep you there, you’re holding onto him tightly, too. Huh. That’s interesting.

“She can stay,” Jack says.

You nod. So does Nancy, a knowing smile on her lips. Jack wonders if she sees this a lot. Guys with friends who sit by their bed, oblivious to the fact that said guy is hopelessly in love with them. Maybe it’s a common thing in hospitals. Maybe it’s not just Jack. That’s a nice thought.

He gets his blood pressure taken, and his pulse, and he gets asked to take a few deep breaths for what seems to be just the fun of it. She asks his pain level- a 3, at which point you break in and tell the nurse that his three is more like a five. She smiles at the two of you. When she goes to leave, Jack speaks up.

“Could I have some ice cream?” He asks, hoping the way his voice cracks on the words makes her sympathetic.

Ice cream does sound good. His throat feels raw, and his mouth is dry. And he’s starving.

Nurse Nancy smiles and looks at you. “What do you think? Has he been well behaved enough?”

Normally, Jack would take a little offense to it. But he turns to you, and you’re smiling bright, lighting up the whole room. His stomach does a somersault. He wonders if the way he feels about you is visible on the heart monitor, if his pulse picks up every time he looks at you.

“He’s the best,” you answer, and he melts. “Give him all the ice cream you’ve got.”

Ten minutes later, you sit there, holding a container of chocolate vanilla swirl. He’d been ready to eat it on his own until he remembered his arm, the surgery, the whole reason he’s here. He’d had to settle for letting you feed it to him. Maybe settle is the wrong word, really. It’s nice to be taken care of, even nicer when you’re the one who’s doing it for him.

He thinks maybe he’s still loopy, because in between bites, he pauses, looks at you, opens his mouth, and puts his foot directly in it. “I meant it, you know. I love you.”

You nod. “I know.”

He’s too far into this to stop now. “No, I-“

You interrupt, dropping the spoon in the cup to place your hand over his. “Jack, honey. Tell me later, when you’re not high off anesthesia, okay?”

Oh. He cocks his head, slightly. His mouth tastes like chocolate and vanilla. You smell like flowers. Like the lilacs in the backyard of his childhood home. There’s a light and warmth in your eyes that makes everything feel a little bit better.

“And if I tell you later,” he says, feeling braver than he ever has before, “are you gonna tell me something back?”

You laugh. It’s still music to his ears. You pick up the spoon again, scooping up a bit of ice cream. His gaze stays locked on you.

“Yeah,” you say with a nod. “That I mean it the same way you mean it.”

That’s enough for Jack, for now.

He tells you again the next day, waits a full 24 hours because a part of him is worried it was all some sort of drug induced dream. But you’re packing up the suitcases, that same stupid show on the TV, and he turns to you where he sits on the edge of the bed and says it.

“I love you. Like, really love you. As more than a friend.” His heart is in his throat.

You drop the hoodie you’d been holding into the bag, walk across the room to him, and come to stand between his legs. He’s holding his breath. You hook your finger under his chin and pull his face to yours. He thinks he recognizes the look on your face, from the kitchen when you helped him tie his tie, from the living room with a plate of mozzarella sticks in your hand, from every moment he was feeling all his feelings for you.

“Yeah,” you say, kissing his cheek. “I really love you too.”

When you kiss him on the lips, soft and sweet and everything he’s wanted for ages now, he thinks that maybe the whole mess has been worth it.

…..

He sits in a wooden chair on the back deck of the lake house. It’s mid summer, the week of the 4th of July. The heat is nearly unbearable, heavy and sticky and inescapable. Trevor and Luke are on the grass, throwing a football back and forth. Jack’s trying not to check the time obsessively.

Quinn, who’s sitting next to him, gives him a look when he picks up his phone again. “She’ll get here when she gets here.”

Jack rolls his eyes and sinks further into his seat. “You’re a dick.”

“Jesus, I know she’s your friend but…” Quinn is shaking his head. “You’re being obsessive.”

He hasn’t told any of them. Not about the hospital bed confession, or the kiss, or anything that came after it. The flight back to Jersey, his head on your shoulder. The way you took care of him before he flew to Michigan for the off season. The late night calls the two of you have shared since then. He’s itching to see you. It’s been far too long. He’s been scared to tell them because he’s scared you’ll get here and it won’t be real. He’s being ridiculous, he knows it, but he can’t help it. It’s you.

He hears it when your car pulls up in the driveway. He stands up, ignoring the look Quinn gives him. He’s not quick enough- you must’ve parked and ran inside immediately. You come racing out onto the back porch, eyes wide, smile even wider, and he could melt into a puddle right there in the hot summer sun. You’re brighter than all of it.

He pulls you into a kiss right there, in front of everyone, earning a series of surprised yelps and gasps and cheers. He doesn’t care about anything else. You’re here, and you’re kissing him back, and that’s more than enough.

“Fucking called it!” Trevor yells, and Jack laughs.

“We all did,” Quinn says. “Glad you two finally figured it out.”

You won’t be here forever. You have work, and a life in the city. But for now, for this little slice of time, he gets to have everything he’s always wanted. That’ll hold him over for the rest of the off season. Or, more likely, until he caves in and gets an early flight back to Jersey to spend more time with you. From the way you smile when you stare up at him, he thinks it probably won’t be long.

a/n: thanks for reading! have been wanting to write about Jack for a bit & he’s just so best friends to lovers coded. so here we go!

[quantum1mmortality]

The crew & using toys on their S/O in bed please with a cherry on top??

First time writing the whole crew kinda nervous 🤭🤭 I'm not writing Swansea tho I will NOT be writing nsfw of a married man

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, winners love winning in Anyas hcs (use of the term pillow princess), jorkinit jumpscare

Not proofread

Curly

I'm actually not sure if he'd be into toys

I've literally only written for Curly so I'd say I'm a Curly expert, and I just don't think he'd be into toys

He'd use a vibrator on you every now and then, but he'd just use it to tease you and make you beg for him.

He'd probably use cock rings. I am a firm believer Curly would use cock rings. Not all the time, but if he's had a really stressful day at work, he's wanting an extra hard hitting orgasm.

Omg not a toy but APHRODISIACS!!! This man would go crazy for some aphrodisiacs, whether he's taking it or you are.

Now I wanna write a wedding night one shot with Curly and aphrodisiacs thanks a lot anon 😔😔😔 I've got enough shit to write already

Anya

I don't care what any of you say this woman is a pillow princess

YOU'D be using toys on HER

She'd also be a cryer but that's not the point

She'd have a drawer dedicated to sex toys. She's trying to get into med school, she's CONSTANTLY stressed, how else is she supposed to release some of that stress? Don't judge her.

She wouldn't be into straps or dildos, she'd be into shit that vibrates. Vibrators obviously, rose toys, anything that stimulates the clit honestly

I lied she is into dildos this woman is a sucker for a RABBIT!!! Like I said, if it vibrates, she wants it.

Her favorite combo is the rose toy/vibrator + pussy licking. She cums so fast, then gets embarrassed, then begs for more. Praise her a bunch and she'll be able to go a few more rounds

BONUS CONTENT!!; she has a Christina and Princess Albertina, no further comments

Daisuke

Oh yeah, he's using toys.

He has a tongue piercing and sometimes he'll swap it out for a bar that vibrates but y'all aren't ready for that convo

He's gonna use the basic toys, nothing we haven't gone over yet. Vibrators, rose toys, cock rings, ect. He's just trying to figure out what he likes for right now, and he likes all of them

In missionary, he'd hold either a vibrator or rose up to your clit while he fucks you. Kind of uncomfortable as a position, but if it gets you off, it's worth it to him.

Not sure if this is considered a toy but he'd be interested in sounding. He's definitely had you try it on him once or twice, and he never lasts for more than a minute 😭 poor boy

He's just trying new things out. He's new to having a committed relationship, so anything you'd be into, he'd be willing to try. He'd let you peg him if you wanted, but don't ask me to write that.

My pegging days are over

Jonathan

The kinkiest cunt that ever cursed this god forsaken ship

Toys are a must have for him. On you, not him. He only likes using them on you, because it gives him a sense of power over you.

He'd be one of those assholes that would put a bluetooth vibrator in your panties and wait till you're in public to turn it on the highest setting. Like an asshole

Jizzdaddy would have a lot of toys. He'd have one of those robotic dildo setups that like.. idk does the thrusting how the fuck do I explain this????

You guys get what I mean if you've ever been on a porn site you've seen one

Anyway, he'd have one of those setups and watch it fuck you. Ass up, head down, grasping at whatever you could since HIS sadistic ass turned it up to the highest speed.

Eventually hed get pissed off and fuck you himself, claiming that you love the toy more than you love him 😔 the allegations are true but he doesn't have to know that

He'd also use plugs on you. In public, too. He doesn't care. If you humiliate yourself, that's your fault, not his.

vibrators are used during sex, nothing new. But it's the same situation as before. Claiming you love the toy more than him, so he stops using it.

Sometimes he'll just give in though and decide he doesn't care, and wants to tease you more than anything. Highest speed it can go, or the slowest. No in-between. He'll have you begging one way or another.

Chat I hate writing rough characters someone request ooc soft Joshua hcs so I can write him like I do Curly 🙏🙏🙏

A/N; Anya makes me wanna kiss girls

[eiralunaire]

Headcanos of Damian Wayne.

1. Small Gestures of Tenderness.

Although Damian would never admit it out loud, he always feels inexplicably more relaxed when he's around his girlfriend. He often watches her in silence, observing the small details, like the way she laughs, her expression when she's focused, or how she always has something to say, even when she doesn't feel like talking. There's something about those moments that makes him feel, for the first time in his life, that war and fighting aren't everything.

2. Defender of Her Well-Being.

Damian, who has been trained to be cold and calculating, can't help but become extremely protective when it comes to her. If someone looks at her wrong, even in jest, he'll step in without thinking, making it clear with his gaze (and sometimes his threat of "don't do it again") that no one can hurt her. He's convinced that it's his responsibility to take care of her, but it's more of an internal desire to make sure nothing bad ever happens to her.

3. The Typical Sarcastic and Jealous Behavior.

When it comes to other men, Damian is relentless. Although he would never express it in an obvious way, he feels extremely uncomfortable if any kind of unwanted attention is directed towards his girlfriend. It is common for his sarcastic tone to appear when some guy talks too close to her. "Really? Do you think she wants to hear that?" he would say, with an almost imperceptible smile on his lips, as he takes a step forward.

4. Thoughtful (albeit weird) Gifts.

He is not the type of boyfriend to buy expensive jewelry or flowers (because he doesn't know how those things work), but what he does do is remember the little details about what his girlfriend likes. One day, unbeknownst to her, Damian shows up with a rare book she mentioned in a casual conversation, or with that chocolate she is known to like a lot. The truth is, he's become an expert at listening to her, not just because of his tactical intelligence, but because he genuinely wants to please her, even if his way of showing it is... unconventional.

5. Intimate Moments of Vulnerability.

When Damian is with his girlfriend, his guard is down in ways that only happen with her. It can be something as simple as watching a movie together, or lying next to her after a long day of training, but in those moments, he doesn't have to live up to his last name or his lineage. It's just him, Damian Wayne, simply enjoying her company. It's a luxury he doesn't usually get with anyone else, but with her, it's something that constantly draws him in and comforts him.

6. Interactions with His Family.

Despite his reserved attitude, Damian has found himself talking more to his family about his girlfriend, albeit in a slightly brusque manner. With Bruce, for example, his attitude towards her is a kind of possessiveness that makes it clear that he wants her in his life, but he also knows that his father will never really understand what he feels. With Alfred, however, he seems more relaxed, because he knows that the butler sees what he sometimes can't recognize: how happy their relationship makes him.

7. Subtle but Efficient Jealousy.

Damian can't help but show jealousy, although he does it in a subtle and almost childish way. For example, if his girlfriend talks a lot with another guy (even if he's a close friend), he may make comments like: "Since when are you so interested in what he has to say?" or suddenly offer to take her back to her apartment, as if there was some "urgent" business to attend to, to prevent her from staying too long with that person. It's his way of saying "I want you all to myself" without having to say it directly.

8. He Likes Deep Conversations.

Damian isn’t a man of many words, but when he’s with his girlfriend, he finds it easy to open up and share things he never thought he’d say. He likes to talk to her about topics that have nothing to do with war or fighting, like his views on the future or what he thinks about life. Sometimes, he catches himself talking more than he planned, but he doesn’t mind, because he knows he can be vulnerable with her, something he’s learned to deeply appreciate.

9. The Vulnerability of Being “The Man”.

When he’s with her, Damian feels weird about not being able to show off everything he knows how to do. I mean, with his combat skills and tactical intelligence, he could defend her from anything, but what really attracts him to her is how she calms him down and makes him feel more human. In her mind, that makes him more than just Bruce Wayne’s son or trained assassin. He makes her feel a little more normal, like any other guy in love, and that thought baffles him, but he loves it at the same time.

10. Sudden Moments of Insecurity.

Despite all his training and his confident facade, Damian sometimes feels insecure in their relationship. There are times when he doubts himself: Is he really up to par with her? Will he be enough for someone like her, who has so much to offer? Although he would never admit it, he has those moments of uncertainty that make him more human. However, as time goes on, he realizes that all he really needs to do is be himself, and sometimes, even a more vulnerable and caring Damian can be what attracts her the most.

11. The Unspoken "I Protect You".

Although he never says it outright, Damian is obsessed with the idea of ​​protecting her. If she is ever sad, he turns into a wall of ice, willing to face anything to make her feel safe. This leads to more possessive behavior, but he doesn't see it that way. It's his way of showing her that even though he's not the traditional boyfriend type, he'll always be there for her, even if that means walking away from conflict and just offering his company.

[catssluvr]

𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅, spencer reid

spencer reid x roommate!reader

in which everybody’s falling in love and you’re falling behind or you come back from an awful date and spencer comforts you. well, he does his best

warnings: kinda sad for a bit, r really wants to be loved, two idiots in love <3

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You take off your shoes as soon as you reach your apartment's floor, exhaustion taking over. One hand reaches inside the bag to pull of the keys and the other rubs against your face one more time. You're sure your mascara is all smudged already. Not that you would ever cry for someone like that, but you don't think you've heard someone talk about their car as much as him and it honestly made you get sleepy.

You regret accepting to go on a blind date, deeply. It's never been your thing so why did you decide it was a good idea?

The truth is that it's hard to watch all of your friends fall in love and brag about their happy relationships when you don't even know how it feels to truly be loved. It's also not great that you're in love with your roommate when it's clearly not reciprocate. You have so much love to give, so why can't you find love as well?

Besides, the guy you just went out with is a total jerk. He made at least four sex jokes before the drinks arrived and bragged about his career for about half of the time (the other half was about his car). As soon as dinner was over you practically bolted out the restaurant, ignoring his comment about a 'second desert'. It's safe to say you never want to see him again.

Unlocking the door with a sigh, you are met with the sight of Spencer sitting comfortably on the couch with a book in his hands. You curse inside your head, it's not that you don't want to see him. In fact, you think he looks absolutely adorable in a sweatshirt all curled up in his seat. But you don't want him to see you like this, it's obvious your date didn't go well.

"Hey, you're home early." His voice is laced with fatigue. He leaves the book behind and approaches you, his signature smile in full display.

"Yep." You use all your strength to give him a smile back. You don't want to be unpleasant with him just because of a not so great date. Turning your back to him just as fast to place your shoes on the shoe rack.

"How did it go?" He asks tentatively and you frown at the way he seems nervous to know the answer.

"Uh- not great." You decide to not elaborate it, all you want right now is to bury yourself in your bed covers and cry.

"Oh, i'm sorry." You can't bring yourself to look him in the eye, you really don't want his pity. What you miss is the way a sparkle of what looks like relief flashes across his eyes. Before you can dismiss yourself he adds, "You know, given half a billion potential soulmates, the chances of finding your true love on a blind date are one in ten thousand."

As much as you want to tell him that's not necessarily what you need to hear right now, you don't feel like you have enough strength to do it. You know he's mostly trying to comfort you and he's just really not an expert when it comes to emotions.

"Yeah, i guess so." You answer and it's now his time to frown. You're usually way more excited to hear about his statistics. "I'm just gonna go to my room. Night, Spence." And then you're scrambling to your room, closing the door behind you before he can have a reaction.

Exhaling deeply, you throw your bag somewhere in the room and move to the bathroom. You turn on the shower and quickly discard your clothes to the floor, feeling immediately better when the warm water hits your skin.

Stepping out, you get yourself into some comfy sweats and a large old shirt before rushing through your skincare. Not bothering to dry your hair, you slip under the covers with a content hum. You can't help but imagine how it would be better if Spencer was laying with you, it would be tempting to curl up against his sweatshirt and forget about all of your problems.

Snapping out of your daze, you grab your laptop and settle for a comfort show that you know will help you relax. Your stomach grumbles slightly in hunger and you now realize how you had barely touched your food at dinner. Ignoring it anyway because the chances of you leaving your bed for the rest of the night are very low.

A gentle knock sounds from your door and you grumble, dragging yourself to open it. But as soon as you do, regret fills you for getting annoyed at all. There stands Spencer, wide and concerned eyes staring at you.

Now you take a moment to actually look at him and not just his sweatshirt. His hair is mussed by his position in the couch, his mismatched socks peeking from his sweatpants and his lanky hands hold a bowl of mac and cheese and a can of your favorite soda - like he's read your mind. It just reminds you of a few of the reasons to why you're so head over heels for him. He can read you like a book without having to profile you.

Sometimes you wonder how you're ever even going to get over him. Since becoming his roommate a year ago, this was the first time you had gone out on a date. It's not that you didn't want to go on dates, not being the most outgoing person came with it's liabilities. But you always thought going out with someone would make you forget about Spencer. Turns out it just made you realize how perfect he is compared to any other guy.

"I-I just thought maybe this could cheer you up. I know i wasn't much of a help." He smiles sheepishly, standing awkwardly on his feet. Your heart clenches at remembering how you dismissed him earlier.

"Thank you. You really didn't have to." You smile back kindly, looking at him with nothing but adoration.

He clears his throat nervously, "You know- uh- there's a study that says hugs slow down the heart rate and decreases the level of cortisol, the stress hormone. In turn, it makes people feel relaxed and safe." He stutters along his words.

You can't help but chuckle at his peculiar way of offering a hug. "A hug would be great, Spence." You say as you take the food from his and settle it somewhere on your bed. Returning quickly to stand by him and wrapping your arms around his shoulder with no hesitation.

He visibly relaxes at that, nose burying in your head and breathing in lightly. His sweatshirt really does feel just as soft as it looks. He squeezes you, hard enough to pull a giggle out of you but somehow affectionately.

You find yourself not wanting to pull away, a dramatic pout forming in your mouth when you force yourself to do it.

"You wanna make me company while i eat? We can watch Star Trek." Your fingers move almost involuntarily to untangle his curls as you speak.

He nods eagerly before mumbling, "Yes, but we're watching Friends. Last time i picked so we should watch something you like this time." Before he's walking to your bed, sitting comfortably with the covers to his lap.

You almost blush at the thought of him wanting to watch your favorite sitcom with you.

When you join him in bed, he's already setting up the show on your laptop and your heart almost bursts at how comfortable you feel with it, with him.

You eat your mac and cheese, occasionally offering him a few bites.

You feel a weight on your shoulder and turn to see Spencer with his cheek pressed up against it comfortably. You question if he feels sleepy but his he looks wide awake, gaze fixated on the screen in front of you.

Your thoughts drift again as you look at him. You question if maybe this i all just a silly crush because he's so nice to you. But you really don't think you're supposed to be thinking about a silly crush on a date with another guy.

Or maybe you just need to tell him. Maybe if you confess it to him it'll be easier for you. It wouldn't be a secret anymore and even though he doesn't feel the same, a weight would be lifted off your shoulders. You don't really get to think much about it before the words are spilling out of your mouth.

"Spencer?" You call gently and he answers with a small hum, not moving from his position on your shoulder. "I only went on that date because of you." You admit, heart breaking when you feel him tense up and sit up.

"Why- What do you mean?" His brows furrow in confusion.

"I only went on a date because i thought it would help me get over my feelings for you, turns out i'm way too in love for that. And i'm sorry, i know it's one sided. But can we please keep being friends? I promise i can pretend we didn't have this talk- i just needed to get it off my chest." You feel your eyes grow wet as the words come out, imagining the worse scenarios possible. It's already bad enough to feel like you're never going to experience true love, you don't want to lose your best friend too.

"You think i don't love you?" Spencer seems even more confused now, but he looks at you more gently than ever. His eyes glow with the dim yellow light and you find it hard to concentrate on his words.

"Not the way i do, Spence." You breath out, eyes fully glassy now and you're sure that anything can cause you to fall apart now.

"I leave you coffee and a note every morning, i've read all of your favorite books just so i could learn about your interests, i got an email just so you could send me videos of cats and i don't feel disgusted with the idea of eating your food or giving you hugs - not at all." He pauses before adding, "You think i don't love you?" He asks again, just as gentle as before - if not more. It's more of an affirmation then a question.

"Oh." You can't help but feel like you've been blind for all this time. You were so stuck with thinking that you would never find someone you could comfortably show your love for that you didn't notice he was right there, right under the same roof.

"I'm such an idiot." You chuckle, rubbing the tears off your eyes with the back of your hands.

"You are. But i'm also a complete idiot for never doing anything about it." He grinned sweetly, moving to sit closer and tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Hm, how 'bout i kiss you, you kiss me back, and we call it even?" You play with the long sleeves of his sweatshirt, smile mirroring his.

Spencer's cheeks redden as he pretends to think before he lets out a chuckle of his own, "I'm in."

You have to contain your smile when you lean closer, lips finally touching his after waiting for so long. And now that you get to do it, you don't think you ever want to stop. His hands gently hold your face, thumbs rubbing against your cheeks in the softest way, as if you can break with anything.

It doesn't last as long as you would have wished, both your smiles getting in the way.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

love you,

cat 🤍

[redflagshipwriter]

Ghost Driver 4

masterpost

Danny was starting to suspect he had kidnapped a child. He rapped his fingers against the steering wheel nervously. Jeeze. That was bad. Was Danny the stranger danger? He hit the brakes hard and turned the wheel hard to pull off a parking trick. He didn’t intend to be the stranger danger!

‘I think that is a human child. Wow, I hate myself.’ Danny turned off the car and resisted the urge to beat himself into unconsciousness against the steering wheel. ‘But he’s been helpful. Maybe it’s fine?’

He put that anxiety away to deal with later. 

“Here we are.” Robin unbuckled gingerly, another nail in the coffin he definitely didn’t have. What kind of ghost would use a seatbelt? Danny wanted to slap himself in the face. Maybe Robin didn’t know what Danny had thought. He hadn’t called him a ghost, right? Not directly. Maybe there was a way out of this social situation that wouldn’t be really awkward.

‘He appeared out of like, nowhere,’ Danny defended himself miserably. ‘In a graveyard! He moves weird- he’s just a spooky little guy.’

It was probably the kind of mistake that anyone could make. 

Whatever. 

He let Robin take the lead, mind and stomach churning. This had been such a weird day. First off, Victor had turned out to be not Victor, and also to be a total knockout babe. Then, Jay did like, a big hero thing promising to keep Danny safe and kissed his hand and—

His face burnt at the memory. Anyway, of course he was trying to find the guy. Anyone would want to secure a date. 

‘I am starting to wonder if he’s dead, though, and I just didn’t notice. The news articles about his death and also the headstone are pretty compelling evidence. Did I fail to notice he was dead?’

In past he would have said “fat fucking chance, I am an expert.” But, uh.

‘It’s not like I’ve never been fooled before. I thought Spectra was alive at first. And...’

He cut a look at Robin. Christ, his chest was expanding. Yeah, he was breathing. Danny wound fingers through his hair and pulled. Real. Human. Child. He grimaced.

 He was going to jail for like, ever. 

“I’m a disgrace to ectology and the afterlife,” he said mournfully.

Robin cut him a surprised look, movement sharp and aptly birdlike. “What’s that?”

“Nothing,” Danny dismissed. “Get the door open, it’s fine.”

“Like it’s that easy,” Robin muttered, but he went back to whatever arcane stuff he was doing. Because he was not a ghost, and couldn’t just phase through. Danny stuck his hands in his pockets, resigned to seeing how this played out.

It took Robin nearly ten minutes to disarm the security system, but he opened the door to the safe house gingerly. Nothing shot them. 

“Lemme go first,” Danny said, because he sort of still hoped that Batman wouldn’t break his fingers with a novelty bat-shaped hammer for this offense. He edged past Robin and into the apartment. He flicked on a light. “Oh, there he is,” Danny said, relieved.

Robin ducked in under his shoulder shockingly fast. “Jason?” He pulled up short. 

“Yeah, he’s out of it,” Danny agreed. Jason was slouched on the sofa, hand hanging over the side. He had some kind of road rash up the side of his face, scabbing up to his left ear. He had bandages around a hand and his neck. He had stripped down to the sleeveless undershirt and sports leggings. Unf. 

“Nice,” Danny said appreciatively.

“Is he dead?” Robin asked, sotto voice. 

Danny shrugged. “Not more dead than he was before?” He hedged. 

“….Are there quantifiable variations of being dead?” Robin asked. 

Shit. Danny went stiff. “No, finish your milk,” he snapped. 

“I’m… not drinking any milk.” 

Danny frowned, thrown off his groove.

Right. This wasn’t the neighbor’s kid he occasionally babysat. That tactic wouldn’t work to shut down unwanted questions. Or would it?

“Go get some, the kitchen is over there.” 

Robin stood still and looked very offended. That was good enough. Danny pushed past him to check Jason over a little more closely. He noticed a cheap flip phone on the floor near where his hand was dangling. He picked it up to see a message on the screen that said “serry I canf come but I call latert”. It was unsent. He checked. It was almost directed to his phone: Jason had gotten the last digit wrong.

“Aww,” Danny said, charmed. “He tried.” He snapped the phone shut and made sure the guy was breathing and not bleeding through his bandages or anything. Danny checked the color of his fingernails for oxygen discoloration, his heart rate, his pallor. He finished and stood back with his hands on his hips. 

“Well?” Robin snapped. 

Danny shrugged. “His blood is inside? I’m not a doctor yet and it’s not like there’s any equipment here. His pulse is fine, color looks good…” He scratched the back of his head. “I think he’s just sleeping off a concussion.” 

“A concussion?” Robin’s voice went high. 

Jason groaned, head lolling.

“He’s up!” Danny hovered off the ground. “Hey, you undead?” He poked at Jay’s chest gently. 

Jay batted at his hand, poorly. It didn’t connect. “Mm not dead anymore,” he complained, face scrunched up. “Joker’s not dead either. Leave me to suffer.” 

“…Do you want Joker dead?” Danny asked. He cocked his head to the side. “I think we can hide that.” There was nothing saying that a prisoner transferred to the Infinite Realms had to be kept there alive. In fact, it might be more convenient for Walker if the guy fit his usual prisoners’ general description. 

“We can not hide that,” Robin interrupted. Party pooper.

He cut a sideways glance at the child. Hmm. “Isn’t it your bedtime?” Danny asked casually. They needed to ditch him to get anything done. 

“It’s time for breakfast,” Robin snarked. “Look outside.” 

“…Do I have to feed you?” Danny asked, alarmed by the expanding nature of responsibility. He didn’t wait for a response, because it was obvious. When you cart around a child, you have to feed them at mealtimes. What did Jay even have in this kitchen? Danny wasn’t a particularly accomplished cook. He crossed the apartment in a panic to peer around the fridge. 

12 eggs, still within date. Uh… there was some butter in the fridge as well, and milk with two days left. He shook the carton. Basically full. Um…. He opened cupboards in search of carbs. Nothing. 

“Freezer,” Robin suggested. 

Danny checked. “I didn’t know you could freeze bread.” He turned it over in his hands dubiously. “Okay… toast and eggs.” 

Thank god he didn’t have any classes today. He was going to crash so hard once he’d finished everything important.

Jason didn’t react to anything they had said or done. Danny stuck his head out of the kitchenette to squint at him. The guy was still immobile on the sofa.

“Maybe breakfast is what he needs,” Danny decided, dubious. But that was a real thing! People need food to recover. Calories might help him.

Robin perched on the counter and watched Danny with a weird intensity. “I’m just melting butter in a warm pan,” Danny told him. Maybe the kid didn’t know how to cook. “Wanna help? Put the bread in the toaster.” 

Robin didn’t move. “You’d better do it.” 

…weird. 

Danny took out two slices of frozen bread and stuck them in the toaster. “It’s easy, bro,” he said, nonplussed. “Insert, and pull this lever down.” He demonstrated. “Check the time— I’ve got it for two minutes, it probably won’t be enough but we can check on it.” 

He turned back to the fry pan. The butter was bubbling now. He cracked two eggs in. It sizzled pleasantly. 

The sound helped him think things through. How was he going to do this? Skulker might fight to keep his new guest. And Walker- Danny grimaced. Walker had never really forgiven him for that prison break thing. 

‘I might need to lean on someone else’s authority,’ Danny mused. ‘Walker respects other cops. So I should, like, get that police guy to come and ask for the paperwork directly.’

It felt like no time at all until he scraped an egg off onto a piece of toast and handed it to Robin. He put the other on a plate and made one more toast and egg for Jay. 

Robin followed him to the living room,  toast in hand. 

“Go on, eat up.” Danny shoved his own toast into his mouth in one ghastly crunch. His cheeks stuck out as he began chewing on it. Then he plopped down on the floor next to Jay and started prodding his face again. “Hey. Hey.” Poke. “Breakfast.” 

Jay groaned. He unsuccessfully tried several times to bat Danny’s hand away, but eventually gave up and clutched the open-faced sandwich. 

“Gucky,” Danny said, observing the very odd way Jason was gripping the egg directly. Yolk leaked out under his middle finger. But he ate it, though, so it was fine. 

He turned on Robin when he remembered he was there. “Can you get home by yourself?” He asked. 

Robin looked at him with his creepy white eyes. “…No.” His wrist was flashing red. Was that like, a bird message system? Was it some kind of alarm going off because he had gone out of the acceptable Robin roaming range? Robin was pretending not to notice it.

Danny groaned and let his head rest against Jason’s leg. “Fine,” he complained. “Uh. I’ll take you home, then go move the Joker, get paperwork from Walker, and come back to give it to- what’s up?” He looked up through his bangs. Jason had grabbed onto his hair. 

“Joker?” He peeled an eye open. “No…” 

“You heard the man,” chirped Robin. “He doesn’t want you to interfere with the course of justice.”

Jason, Danny discovered, still had the egg yolk in his hand. He discovered this because Jason flung it dead center on Robin’s face. 

“Ha,” Danny said. The child was a downer, what could he say? “I think he wants me to interfere with the course of justice,” he parroted snootily. Even though that wasn’t at all what was going on. 

“Dangerous,” Jason said. He peeled one bloodshot eye open. He looked terrible.

“You look awful,” said Danny. “Lie down- no, don’t get up, what are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you,” Jason grunted. He waved a hand at Robin. “And this hallucination of my childhood innocence.”

“Actually-“

“Sh.” Robin rushed to get the door open. “Support his arm, will you?” 

“You still have an egg face,” Danny told him sulkily. He picked Jason up effortlessly. He ignored the muttered:

“I can fly?” 

from his passenger. “Come in, bird, we gotta get you home before someone murders me.” Danny jangled the keys and sunk down through the floor to make a point. Robin’s shouted “hey!” was muffled through the floor. Danny snickered and settled Jason in the passenger seat.