#I wanna fight a mouse

[singswan-springswan]

epic (2013) fr underrated film. cosmic struggle? little guys? fake ecology? heartwrenching score? flawless character dynamics with emphasis on friendship and familial development? not to mention Beyoncé

[bleh1bleh2]

altean mice!!!

[littleplantfreak]

I can see you being a good puppy hybrid mari! Very enthusiastic, sweet, and loyal <3

(Also I think ume would love giving puppy you head scritches!)

this can be us if you're a cat! (tho your rat/mice is winning in ur poll)

I'm taking this to heart you know. Puppy Mari is a thing forever in my head now. Ugh I'd love head scritches from Ume T-T

[sodacowboy]

every day I wake up and wish I could play video games

[scrambledslut]

i was bored so here’s my stardew valley farmer Remy in all her different outfits using my favorite picrew :3

[charliesinfern0]

ough thinking about Undertale again

[faggotyuri]

why the fuck did my brain get randomly attached to the cuphead rap today. i literally cannot stop looping it

[witherby]

Absolutely loving the littlest wayne au 😍😍😍😍. Your most recent post made me think. Damien is relieved that mouse doesn't decided to join the bats, but I'd love to know how the other react when mouse reject the robin title.

Keep up the great work seriously you're super talented✨️.

Thank you so much for saying that! I appreciate it!

Bruce and Damian are relieved. He's getting older, and Gotham still needs protectors right now, but the city is getting better. Slowly and steadily, he hasn't needed to patrol every single night anymore. Gothamites are learning to defend themselves. Rogues are dwindling. Not only are you not particularly needed to defend the city, Bruce wants you to enjoy your life without the burden of that responsibility weighing down your shoulders. Maybe, one day, he'll be able to retire and do the same.

Bruce was going to stop recruiting Robins after Tim, truth be told, but Damian was raised with the League of Assassins and needed a more pacifistic outlet for all that rage that blossomed under Ra's Al Ghul, so he almost had no choice but to pass the mantle down again. Your disinterest doesn't offend him, it brings him peace.

Tim, briefly, considers it a waste of potential. You have the ability to control darkness and shadows. The bats operate exclusively in the night. Are you joking? Why wouldn't you want to protect the city with that? A couple weeks later, though, he comes around when he gets home from a days-long mission and wishes he had the time to just lie in bed and decompress for the foreseeable future. He thinks about his lack of free time, and about how he's always thinking about casework, and updating his suit, and picking up his next round of antibiotics because Damian's grandfather took his fucking spleen, and realizes he really doesn't want you doing all of that. It's bad enough you're keeping the secret of your family's double lives as they run around in spandex beating up criminals. You don't need to live a complicated double life of your own, and he doesn't want you to.

Dick is confused. He loves being Nightwing! He defends the citizens of Gotham and Blüdhaven when they can't defend themselves. Saving lives gives him a great sense of fulfillment. (It's the Parentification making him think he's only lovable if he's useful, actually, but 🤫) Dick will try to convince you to give the vigilantism a shot, just in a small supporting role for a bank heist or something, but if you put your foot down and insist you aren't interested in crime fighting, he kinda becomes a fish out of water. You don't want your big bro to be your superhero mentor? You're just his baby sibling and that's it? What are you guys supposed to find in common, now? How does he remain lovable to you if you aren't partners in the field?

He'll come around, but you gotta give him some time. Having a civilian sibling is going to do him a surprising amount of good.

Jason was rooting on you not becoming a Robin. He was prepared to do anything and everything to talk you out of it, including kidnapping you and taking you to his apartment in Crime Alley if need be so your other family members can't influence your decision. He doesn't want you to collect scars like trading cards. He doesn't want you learning how to apply a field tourniquet to avoid bleeding out from a gunshot wound. He doesn't want you getting a deeper glimpse of Gotham's rotted underbelly than you absolutely have to. He doesn't want you to die saving a city that takes and takes and takes and very rarely gives back. You are worth more than what you can do for others, and he was gearing up to talk that lesson into you until he was blue in the face.

So I'd like you to picture him just sagging in his seat, thanking a god he doesn't believe in that you're already unwilling to join their seemingly neverending crusade. Then he's gonna sit back up and ask if you wanna go play video games or something.

[sosasturns]

streamin - c. sturniolo

blurb, in which reader gets a little distracted during chris’s late night stream so matt takes over. bot ver.

"you good?" chris asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, his hand still lazily moving the mouse around.

"mhm," you hum, shifting in your seat.

he's too locked in to notice at first, leaning closer to the monitor, the black tee stretched over his back, sleeves hugging his arms. his stubble is doing things to you, catching the glow of the desk light, and don't even get started on the messy headphone hair and tired smile he throws at chat every now and then. you're trying to focus on the youtube video he queued up, but the way he looks is making that impossible.

"sure?" he pushes, glancing at you again, this time catching the way your gaze lingers a little too long on him.

"yeah," you mutter, brushing it off.

you settle back in your seat, legs crossing and uncrossing, but your mind's racing. before you can second guess it, your hand lands on his lap, your fingers trailing along his thigh.

his movements still for a second, and his lips twitch, trying to fight the smirk creeping in. "what you want?" he asks, voice low but steady as he keeps his eyes on the game.

you shrug, playing it cool, even though your hand's still rubbing slow circles against his leg.

"nah," he says, finally cutting his mic audio, leaning back in his chair as he tilts his head at you. "you're lying. what you want?"

you hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip as you glance at his lap, your face heating up when you can feel him watching you.

"use your words, baby," he murmurs, his voice softer now, teasing, as he leans in just slightly.

your voice barely comes out as you mumble, "i wanna fuck," hiding behind your hand like it'll save you from his reaction.

he freezes for a second, lips twitching, and then he glances toward the screen, his eyes flicking over the chat. his grin spreads, slow and smug, like he knows something they don't. the comments flood in: what'd she say? why's he smiling like that? what's going on?

"alright, y'all," he drawls, leaning back and casually tossing his arm over the back of your chair. "matt's gonna take over the rest of the stream."

you shoot him a look, your face heating up as he's already pushing back his chair, standing, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door.

just as the two of you slip out, matt's voice filters in. "yeah, yeah, i'm here. hold up."

he strolls into the room, the headset resting crooked on his head as he squints at the screen. "what’re y’all going off about?" he mutters, reading a few comments.

one catches his attention: what's chris gonna go do?

matt glances toward the desktop camera, sinking back into the chair and placing his drink down with a smirk. "who do ya think?" he says, his voice dripping with humor as he adjusts his headset.

the chat erupts: NOT MATT EXPOSING HIM LMAO.

matt takes a sip from his cup, sighing in content. "y'all are too easy," he says, shaking his head as he queues up a game.

@ sosasturns

sosas 💬’s : new blurb theme incoming? had to type this up, chris looked insanely good in last night‘s stream. want more? sound off in my inbox! requests r open

“sosa mafia” taglist: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns

[nastybuckybarnes]

Clumsy Corporals

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Summary: Someone takes a tumble in Ghost's bathroom, leaving him to clean up the mess.

Warnings: Angst, attempted assault, language, violence, injuries, fluff, murder(?), Nudity,

Word Count: 2.2K

A/n: fun fact - this is the first instalment for Ghost and Mouse that I ever wrote, and everything else kinda fell into place around this which I think is beautiful

A/n2: Posting this cause I feel like I just wanna escape reality a lot now and maybe some of you do too.

~*~

"Johnny told me you didn't join 'em for dinner again," Ghost says after closing the door to his quarters.

He can hear the shower running and shakes his head, following the sound and pushing open the ajar door.

"How are they supposed to warm up to you if..." the words die on his tongue almost comically as he takes in the scene before him.

You're curled up in a ball on the bathroom counter, bloodied hands clutching a towel tightly around what appears to be your naked body.

On the ground is Corporal Jacobs, a knife through the underside of his chin and a pool of blood around his head.

His lifeless eyes are open, and your eyes are focused on his body as if waiting for him to get up, to move, to attack.

Ghost surveys the scene quickly, taking in the marks around your neck, the blood on your hairline, and the cut on your cheek.

"What happened?"

He doesn't need to ask, but he does anyway.

Your bottom lip quivers, and for a moment he's not sure if you even heard him. You don't flinch, your breathing doesn't change, and you don't lift your eyes from the corpse on the ground.

"Mouse. Eyes on me."

Your gaze finally snaps to his and you suck in a sharp breath as if realizing his presence for the first time.

He inspects your face once more, swallowing his rage when he sees the bruise blooming by your eye.

"What happened here?" He nods to the body on the ground.

You follow his gaze and he watches intently as your fists tighten and you swallow hard. Your lip quivers so fast it nearly vibrates, but you take a deep breath and eventually speak.

"He fell."

He thinks he's misheard you at first, glancing between the dead man and you.

He kneels down and grabs hold of the hilt of the knife stuck under the man's chin. A knife that Ghost distinctly remembers you taking from him a long while ago.

"He fell?" He asks, tilting the dead man's head to the side and grinding his teeth together at the claw marks on the side of his face.

You put up quite the fight. He'd be proud if he wasn't so filled with fury.

You slowly lift your eyes to his and his stone heart cracks a bit at the unshed tears he sees.

"Yes," you whisper.

He watches you for a breath longer then nods slowly, looking back down to the mess on the bathroom floor.

"Looks like he took quite the tumble, hmm? Silly prick, s'what you get for running with knives."

A weight lifts slightly off of your shoulders and you nod, wiping a tear off of your cheek with a bloody hand, leaving a mess in your wake.

"Now, did he fall before or after your shower?"

You swallow hard before answering, shaking your head as if trying to get rid of the memory of what happened.

"Before." Your voice is so quiet, quieter than usual, and he finds himself straining to hear you.

He pieces together all that he can with what's before him, and quickly comes up with a plan.

"It's late, little one. How's about you finish your shower, and-"

"No!"

He's taken aback by the force of your words, the ferocity of them. The terror in your eyes is twice as surprising.

"No shower?" He clarifies, glancing at the running water, no doubt cold by now.

You shake your head, confirming his words, and he nods his understanding.

Slowly, he stands up and turns the water off, then takes a step toward you.

"New plan. You sit right here, and I stay with you. I'll call Price and Johnny to come clean this up. How's that sound?" He asks, his eyes locked on yours.

You think about it for a long moment then slowly nod, leaning into his hand when he pushes some of your hair back.

A soft sigh leaves his lips and he leans forward, placing a soft kiss to your hairline before stepping back to send a quick generic text to the two men he trusts most.

Pipe burst in my quarters. Get here now.

It takes a minute and a half for Price to get there, two minutes for Soap.

"I'm gonna go meet them at the door, Mouse, but I won't be out of eyeshot, okay? Keep your eyes on me the whole time. That's an order."

You nod carefully, your eyes never leaving his as he takes calculated steps backward out of the bathroom to meet the other men at the door.

"What's going on, Lt?" Soap's gruff voice asks quietly.

The huge man takes a slow step back, allowing the two into his room.

Each man does a sweep of the room, their eyes finally landing on the bathroom and the bloody scene within.

"Fuckin' hell," Soap murmurs, rubbing his jaw.

"What happened?" Price asks quietly, looking at you skeptically.

Your eyes, however, are still locked onto Ghost's.

Ghost gives you a gentle nod then glances over at his teammates, his friends.

"He fell."

"What the bloody hell was he doin' in 'ere in the first place?" Soap asks, slowly walking toward the bathroom to inspect.

His eyes take you in, take in the blood on your hands, the bruising wrapping like a necklace around your neck.

"I think I have an idea," is Ghost's grunted reply.

Your eyes are on the Scot as he steps into the bathroom. Your breath hitches and you scoot back on the counter the tiniest bit.

"Easy, Mouse. Johnny's just gonna help clean up. You can trust him, remember?"

Soap looks up at you and gives you a gentle smile, his own anger rising when he sees more of the damage on your soft face.

"You've saved my arse. More than once, I imagine. S'only fair I help clean up after the poor man's fall," he says gently.

You watch him for a long while then slowly nod, sniffling then wiping your face against your arm, only to hiss at the unexpected pain.

"Why don't you let the Lieutenant get you patched up, sweetheart, hmm? Let Soap and I deal with this?" Price offers, stepping into the doorway.

You look between the three of them then nod again, watching in awe as they move like a well-oiled machine.

Soap takes a step further into the bathroom and Price steps out of it, making way for Ghost to walk in and carefully scoop you up in his arms.

He carries you from the bathroom and sits you down on his desk, turning his back for just long enough to grab a first aid kit.

Price and Soap immediately get to work in the bathroom as Ghost gets to work tending to your -visible- wounds.

He starts with your face, spraying a gentle antiseptic onto the cut on your cheek.

Your eyes stay focused on his as he works, and every now and then he meets your gaze.

The bathroom door opens but you don't look away from Ghost as Price and Soap shuffle by.

Ghost, however, takes a pause and shoots a glance over his shoulder.

"Dump 'im outside. I'll do the rest."

They don't question him.

The only thing allowing him to keep a level head right now is the promise of chopping that pathetic piece of shit's body up into a thousand unrecognizable pieces and feeding him to the stray dogs in the city.

But he needs to make sure you're taken care of, first.

"When we're done here, Johnny will get you a snack while I take care of... our friend. Okay?" Though it's posed like a question, you know he's telling you what's happening and leaving little room to argue.

The door shuts with a soft click, leaving the two of you alone.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" He asks, scooting back to inspect you as much as he can.

You swallow hard and glance down, shrugging.

"I know you don't want to, but I think you should shower. I'll be right outside the door, won't let anyone in. I swear."

You look at him with wide eyes and shake your head.

"Come with me?" You finally ask, looking toward the bathroom as if it's where nightmares spawn.

For you, it is.

His brows draw together.

"You want me to sit in there with you?"

You shake your head again.

"In the water... please?"

Realization dawns on him and he's not too sure how to feel.

"You want me to shower with you?"

You nod, dainty fingers sliding over his wrist almost absentmindedly.

He doesn't have the heart to refuse you. To tell you that the shower is hardly big enough to fit him comfortably, let alone the both of you.

Instead, he just nods and helps you to your feet.

He's gentle with you, alarmingly so, as he helps you into the -now clean- bathroom, locking the door and turning the shower on.

You lean against the counter, towel held tightly around your body as he undresses swiftly.

When he's naked, he reaches a hand out to you and waits patiently for you to drop your towel, then steadies you as you step into the shower.

You barely made it this far before Corporal Jacobs-

Your thoughts are cut off by Simon stepping into the shower behind you, big warm hand holding your hip gently.

His chest presses against your back, the tiny shower even tinier now that it accommodates two.

"You okay, pretty mouse?" He asks, arms winding around your waist.

You shrug, leaning into him for a moment before slowly turning around to look up at him.

His eyes find yours, reading you, hearing the words you don't have the strength to say out loud, and then he's pressing his forehead against yours.

"You did good, little one. M'proud of you. Next time let me kill him, though. Poor bastard got off too easy, thinkin' he can go around n' touch what's mine. 'sides, don't need any blood on your pretty hands."

Your lip quivers and you tug your head away to lean it against his chest.

"Was scared," you whisper after a moment.

"Yeah, I bet."

"Of you," you add after a moment, not lifting your head even when you feel him stiffen.

"Why?" He finally asks, the fingers of his right hand trailing up and down your spine.

"Thought you... would not listen. Would think it was me."

His hand snakes up your back to grab your hair, tugging your head back gently and forcing you to look up at him.

His face is bare for your viewing pleasure, the steam the only thing between the two of you.

"Do you understand how much you mean to me? 've killed for you, love. 'n I'd do it again in a heartbeat, without question."

A silent tear slips down your cheek and is quickly lost in the humidity of the bathroom.

No more words are spoken for the rest of the shower.

He helps you gently wash your hair and your body, taking note of every scratch and bruise that wasn't there when he left you this morning.

Every new mark on your soft supple skin is another piece he's going to be cutting Jacob's body into, and he cannot wait.

But he needs to take care of his Mouse first.

When your fingers start to prune and the water is running a little cold, Simon helps you out of the shower and wraps a towel around you tightly.

He ushers you out of the bathroom, sitting you on the bed while he dries himself and tugs on some clothes.

After that, his focus is entirely on you. He dries you off gently, his eyes focused on yours the entire time, and you can't help but melt into his touch.

He helps you into one of his shirts then slides a pair of socks onto your feet.

"Do you want some water?" He asks quietly, his warm hands on your bare knees.

You shake your head, reaching forward and sliding your fingers over his thick shoulders.

"Want you. Stay."

He obeys, climbing into bed with you.

You curl up against him, nuzzling your head under his chin and taking deep comforting breaths of his scent.

He holds you against him until you fall asleep, moving only when his phone vibrates from its spot on the ground beside the bed.

Reaching for it slowly, careful not to move you too much, he scoops it up off the ground and reads the message quickly.

He sets his phone down and gingerly rolls you out of his arms, tucking you in tightly and then silently getting dressed.

He shoots you one last look once he's all dressed and ready, then slips out the door, shutting it tightly behind himself.

Soap stands outside the door, silently nodding to his Lieutenant, then turning his back to the door - keeping guard.

No words are spoken as the skull-faced man heads out to the coordinates on his phone. No questions are asked when he returns hours later with his sweater and gloves discarded and the faint smell of fire in his hair.

And when you wake up and start asking questions, he's sure to kiss them away and reassure you that you're safe. That Corporal Jacobs will never lift a finger to harm you again.

How can he? All ten are chopped off and sprinkled in different parts of the city.

Let that be a lesson to the next idiot who tries to harm his sweet little Mouse.

[wonderjanga]

Trauma

Billy has trauma. Only, it isn’t his trauma. See, at first, he couldn’t access the previous Champions’ memories, but after a bit, they slowly eased in, even without him realizing it. Now, at first, when he realized the memories were kinda there he didn’t think much of it. He only ever really thought about them when something reminded him of something from the memories. The first time this happened in a really negative way was when the Wonder Woman and him were in Tartarus.

Marvel and Wondy: *in Tartarus, walking around and talking about whatever they were there to do*

Wondy: “This is a pain.”

Marvel: “I know-” *stops talking when he sees her a little too close to some hellfire*

As for why he suddenly stopped? He was suddenly bombarded with a memory of feeling his own flesh melt and bubble, falling off clumps as he, or rather a past Champion screamed in pain, clawing at their skin as if that would do something to stop the burning.

Wondy: “Brother? Brother is something wrong?” *sounds concerned*

Marvel: *snaps out of the memory* “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just uh…” *walks over, much to his displeasure as just feeling the heat radiating off the hellfire is making him shake*

Wondy: *feels his shaky hands, move her away from the fire* “Brother, are you sure?” *sounds more concerned now* “You’re shaking.”

Marvel: *gives her reassuring smile* “I’m fine. I promise, Diana.”

Despite what he said, he was obviously not fine. The day after this, any fire he saw was met with a violent flinch comparable to that of Martin Manhunter whenever the Martian would see a flame. Billy couldn’t stand looking at normal fire for the rest of the week due to it reminding him of the memory. He’d had no idea a past Champion had died so painfully like that. Unfortunately for the boy, this was just the beginning of him experiencing these types of flashbacks.

The next time this happened to him was three months later. The Justice League were all in Metropolis because some magicians predicted that something big would happen there. So far there’s only been a very large earthquake which resulted in everyone having to help civilians out of rubble and such. Then, for some reason, something big crawled its way out of the Earth. It was a massive, and Billy means massive, stone dragon.

The JL: *fighting this creature*

Marvel: *smacked away by its tail*

Dragon: *lunges at Marvel, mouth wide open displaying its sharp teeth*

Marvel: *freezes, genuine fear on his face*

This scene with the dragon caused him to be pulled into another memory. A similar dragon with its tail coiled around him, trying to crush him like a snake coiled around and trying to crush a mouse. The Dragon peered down at him, opened its jaws, and before he, or rather she, as he was sure he was a female Champion this time, could do anything, it chomped down. Gosh, he felt the bones in his neck, snap under its teeth. It was sort of slow too because of his/her durability.

Supes: *notices Marvel looking like he’s going through PTSD, dashes over, and tackles him out of the way of the dragon*

Marvel: *gets his head back in the game after rubbing his neck a bit*

After the fight…

Supes: *pulls Marvel aside when they get to the Watchtower* “What was that back there?”

Marvel: “Uh… What do you mean?”

Supes: “I mean, you just froze! If I hadn’t tackled you, you would’ve been eaten by that thing!” *sounds extremely concerned* “I just wanna know if something’s wrong.”

Marvel: “Nothing is! I’m sorry- I just got caught up in the moment. I won’t let it happen again.” *sounds guilty*

Supes: *sighs* “You don’t need to apologize. Just please don’t put yourself in danger like that again.”

After this incident, Billy decided he didn’t like dragons anymore. It was nothing personal- never mind, it was, but still. He won’t ever be able to look at them the same again.

Then there was arguably the worst flashback, and this wasn’t even induced when he was Marvel. It was induced as Billy, right in the of one of his radio broadcasts..

Billy: “And this just in! On Maple Street, an uncle… killed his nephew.”

You might already know whose memory he was forced to relive, but in case it wasn’t obvious, it was Aman’s.

He doesn’t exactly remember how he was killed this time, but he does remember what he felt at the time. The dirty, bitter, ugly feeling of betrayal that bubbled up inside of him. It was like it was choking him, filling up his throat and lungs, replacing his entire being with an icky tar-like feeling. Though that might not have been the betrayal at all. It might’ve just been him dying.

He couldn’t stop himself looking at Adam with anything other than genuine, cold hearted hatred after that.

[ofbatsandballads]

darling, won’t you take me home?

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: reader has a mild cold, but nothing much else (lmk if I missed anything)

a/n: this is just a lighthearted sick fic that got real prose-y at the end bc I was listening to my Jason playlist and got all in my feelings while drowsy off cold medicine. again, i give thee my wares.

divider credit: saradika-graphics

You wake to soft light filtering in through the white curtains of your bedroom and the warm weight of your lover’s arm across your waist. The quiet snores echoing in the air and the soothing rise and fall of his chest against your back would usually be enough to lull you into a gentle morning sleep. But usually you can breathe out of both sides of your nose. And you usually don’t feel like there’s sandpaper in your throat. And your body doesn’t usually feel this heavy.

Goddamn it–you’re sick.

You feel a sneeze coming on and try to stifle it, to keep it locked tight in your lungs so you won’t wake the love of your life from the rare bit of peace and quiet he gets. You make no noise, but the shaking of your body stirs him anyway. Damn vigilantes and their preternatural awareness. He hums lazily as he pulls you further into his chest. You think he might be able to doze back off and you’re glad for it. Then your hopes are dashed. One, two, three sneezes wrack your body in succession and you are finally forced to admit defeat.

“Are you sneezing?” Jason asks, groggy but inquiring.

“…no.”

You don’t even know why you tried to lie to him. You’re a bad liar in most cases, and an absolutely abysmal liar when it comes to Jason. He simply sighs and you’d bet twenty dollars that he’s rolling those pretty seafoam eyes of his. He easily turns you in his arms so that you’re facing him. Great, now you really won’t be able to lie to him.

“I told ya that you were gettin’ sick,” he scolds gently.

“‘M not sick!”

He did. And you are.

“Then why do you sound like the Swedish Chef from the Muppets?”

“Oh, fuck you!”

He tries to keep his face serious, but soon the facade cracks and he lets out a deep belly laugh as you glare at him. You push yourself out of his arms and make it as far as the edge of the bed before he’s pulling you back to him again.

“Aw, c’mon, ma. Don’t be mad. You are sick. Just admit it,” he says, voice kind as he runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Okay. Fine. Whatever,” you mumble, your words trailing off unintelligibly.

Jason doesn’t miss it. He never does. Fucking vigilantes and their fine tuned hearing.

“What was that?” he smirks.

You whisper it again, quiet as a mouse. He shakes his head. You smack him in the chest.

“Ah ah, I wanna hear it,” he laughs.

“I said you were right! There! You happy now?” you pout, burying your head in his chest.

You can feel the giggles travel through his body and find it impossible to fight the smile it brings to your face, even if your head feels foggier than Gotham after a heavy rain. You squeeze him tight, a sudden aggressive love for him that you just need to let out. It does nothing to his strong frame. He just squeezes you back, then manhandles your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. He rises from your bed like you weigh nothing to him, hefting you into the air so that you’re better positioned.

“C’mon, we’re makin’ soup.”

One thing about Jason Todd is that he’s an amazing cook. He didn’t cook much for himself before he met you. He’s told you he didn’t see any point when cheap takeout would fuel his body just fine for whatever fight was inevitably coming for him. But now he has both the reason and the time to care. And he cares. So much.

You can see it in the way he sets the chicken to bake while he tells you about the new book he got from the bookstore down the block. You can see it in the way his skilled hands, calloused and bruised, slice the carrots razor thin because he knows you hate the crunch of them. You can see it in the barely noticeable look of pride on his face as all the ingredients simmer in the big metal pot, giving your shared home a warm aroma of comfort. You can see it in the fact that everything he needed for this was already in your kitchen, in the fact that none of it was there when you fell asleep last night while he was on patrol. Jason cares. He cares from the tip of the stubborn curl that sticks up on the top of his head to the soles of his feet that guide you in a slow waltz around the kitchen.

“I know you probably aren’t too hungry, but I need you to try to eat at least one bowl for me,” he says in his gentlest negotiation voice as he puts a bowl of chicken noodle soup on the counter.

You nod your head that’s tucked against his chest, sniffling as you feel your nose start to run. Without missing a beat, Jason pulls a tissue from the pocket of his pajama pants and hands it to you.

“And you’re takin’ cold medicine the second you get some food in you.”

He’s not asking anymore, just stating facts.

“Gonna stay up all night watching me too?” you ask teasingly.

“I might,” he retorts.

“I love you too, Jay.”

He goes rigid momentarily before he relaxes against you. Then a soft smile breaks out on his face. He chuckles and shakes his head, turning his face away from you. But you can be observant too. You don’t miss the way pink dusts his cheeks and, oh, he looks so pretty like this. You tell him as much just to watch the soft pink turn to vibrant red.

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

One bowl of soup and a disgusting shot of cold medicine later, you find yourself wrapped in the arms of your lover as you both lounge on the couch. Jason reads the new book he was telling you about as you listen to music, dozing in and out of consciousness. It’s not your fault he makes such a great pillow; his large body is warm and soft as he lies relaxed on your sofa. Every now and then, especially when he thinks you’ve fallen into a light sleep, he’ll place a featherlight kiss on the top of your head.

You may not be a vigilante or The World’s Greatest Detective, but you can put all the pieces of the day together well enough. Carrying you out of bed, making you soup, letting you rest on him, the soft kisses and touches he flutters over your skin; it’s all his way of saying he loves you when the words themselves are simply too much or not enough. But the words are enough for you. You swear that you’ll go to your grave finding all the prettiest ways to tell him just how much you love him. Because you do.

And maybe it’s the homemade soup settled in your belly, or the afternoon sunlight shining through the window, or the warmth of the man you love beneath you, but you soon find yourself lulled into a peaceful sleep that feels just like home.

[signedaiko]

begging- BEGGING PLEASSEE!!

for a Bumblee Bee x Decepticon reader who’s short like him but more timid than their comrades. Like they mess up on missions, but they can be snappy too and fast like Bumblebee! I imagine him chasing them in a fun cat and mouse and accidentally takes it like a fun game. all scaring the heck out of them as he catches up with a smile. He would start crushing on them and just says things like it’s a fun idea “you should totally switch sides! Join us!” And the reader is all bewildered but wary.

Bumblebee [Animated]

In which the small bot finds a con just about his size that he wants to spend more time with.

Reader is: Gender Neutral | Cybertronian | Decepticon. Romantic.

Bee has a fair few con encounters now that he is fighting for Earth

Usually they were against the likes of Blitzwing, Lugnut, and the odd Starscream

But you were new; you were something that paled in size but made up for in interest

You were mostly known for your ability to distract; that's right, the cons used you as a lure on purpose

You were small, nimble, decently fast, and as Random had once told you;

"You have the face of an Autobot!"

Autobots thought you were an easy target, easy to manipulate, perhaps less smart

But you were dedicated to the cause, and while you hated being bait and preferred your spot on intelligence collection, you were happy to do whatever Megatron wished of you

Usually, it was fine

But recently, the yellow one had gotten too close, and he was only getting better at catching up to you

Telling the cons you were scared was out of the question, but it was seriously concerning how obsessive it had become

Every time you made yourself visible to the Bots, he was racing towards you with a smile and a hand extended, like he expected you to reach out and accept him just like that

More recently, you were worried he'd actually catch you

Racing down a frozen-over river as thick snow slowly fell from the sky, leafless trees whizzing past your vision as your peds left compacted snow marks behind you

He had special wheels made for snow, but you didn't, and he was fast behind you, yelling some more of his pleas

"Aren't you tired of running? I just wanna talk!"

He sounded so young, certainly near your age, someone you could get along with had it not been for the war

But what if it was only a trick? What if he only played this game for his own amusement?

You'd long since called Blitzwing to help get you, since you couldn't fly, and he was on his way, but visibility was low with all the snow, fog, and your distant location

You had to keep running, but Bee was only a few meters behind by now; you could hear the snow crunching beneath his tires

"C'mon! Join the bots! We can race like this more often on real roads!"

He offered again, but you refused

"You make it sound easy; how about you just join the cons?"

You were just as snappy, though

Just as he got on your heels and transformed, digits inches away from grabbing your arm, you jumped up and grabbed onto the wing of the purple and tan jet that swooped down, dragged away from his reach in seconds

He stopped in his tracks and groaned, but his smile never left

"Next time, then!"

Authors Note - This prompt is so cute!!! It honestly reminds me of a Blitzwing fic I read by @vhaos-chaotic-writing that was him being yandere and kinda doing the same!

[rollingspicevee]

Do any of the beast's cookies have any kinks

MDNI!

Oh, absolutely! Here’s a few I’ve thought of them having

Shadow Milk:

• Edging and overstimulation. I feel those go hand in hand most of the time, but he definitely enjoys both

• I can see a bit of degradation? Mostly depends on his mood. If he’s in a jealous mood, like if he just took you back from an Ancient, especially Pure Vanilla Cookie, oh, he’s being degrading when he talks dirty to you. Angrily hissing in your ear like a snake throwing a fit, words like venom dripping from his fangs, even if it’s not necessarily your fault. It’s the insecurities-

• Oh, but if you’re a good lil mouse for him, he will offer praise and, if you’re lucky, gentle sex. Positive reinforcement! He wants you to keep behaving, after all~

• Roleplay! What, he’s an actor- you expected any less?

• He likes a little risk. He has more shame than Burning Spice, but not as much as Mystic Flour. He won’t fuck you in front of others unless he has a reason (such as to assert his claim over you in front of his minions or Truthless Recluse), but he likes the thought of fucking you around others, just out of sight. Perhaps behind the curtains before a show. Make sure to keep your voice down if you don’t wanna be caught~ He’ll have to punish whoever gets curious enough to check it out, after all~

• Biggest. Fucking. Tease. EVER! He is not above edging his darling in a semi public space and then denying you your orgasm for the sole purpose of enjoying himself as he watches you squirm, and no matter how much you ask, you’ll be teasingly denied until in a more private area. He could do it there if he wanted of course, but he loves the tension it creates and how much of a mess it leaves his darling lil mouse for him until you’re begging him to fuck you by the time you’re in private together. Be prepared to go all night, because he just can’t resist that adorable face you make when you beg~

• Bite him. I dare you.

Mystic Flour:

• I see her having a Mistress kink- I just do-

• Praise is not too uncommon with her. Though she may not be super vocal, she will tell you that you’re doing a good job and other words of praise every now and then. It’s so far off from her usual “everything is futile” and basically “just give up and give in” attitude that it almost gives you whiplash-

• I see sensory deprivation as one of her biggest kinks, so she often likes to blindfold her darling. Makes you much more reactive to her touch.

• I also see her liking a bit of bondage (she’s a rigger though, not a rope bunny, if there was any question). She especially likes to combine it with the sensory deprivation.

• Dommy mommy? Absolutely baiehchc

• Not a big risk taker, unlike the other two on this list. Nothing even remotely public. Ever. As for danger, she’s- iffy about it. She doesn’t mind a lil danger if you want that, but nothing major.

Burning Spice:

• Size kink. 100%. Have you seen that guy?! He’s HUGE! He towers over most, if not all, other cookies, including his fellow Beasts. He’s also built and strong. He loves how small his darling is in comparison to him, how snug you are in his arms, how tightly you squeeze his cock…

• Ngl, he’s probs the roughest of the five. He does occasionally have his gentle moments in the bedroom with you, but he’s rough more often than not and very rough on top of that

• Primal kink. He’s said before how much he loves the thrill of the chase! So be careful every time you decide to try and run from him. That’s when his predator instincts kick into high gear and, more likely than not, the thought of hunting you down will get his jam pumping in more ways than one. Good luck.

• He loves it when you fight him. When you’re feisty. When you’ve got a bit of bite to you. Just be careful not to rile him up too much if you wanna be able to move for the week.

• He’s been around a long time and can get bored very easily. He never gets bored of you, of course, but this does lead to some… interesting proposals from him. Unless it puts your life in danger, nothing is off the table for him to want to try at least once. That’s not to say he doesn’t like a little danger tho.

• Zero shame. Actually- negative shame. Will fuck you in front of the Spice Swarm if he’s in the mood for it.

I can’t really say much for Eternal Sugar or Silent Salt since we know so little about them so far. I can say I see Eternal Sugar enjoying somno tho-

All:

• Corruption Kink. That is all.

[luveline]

hey jade! i’ve been missing kbd sm lol. can i request one where reader and steve get into another argument over something but ofc they try to go away from the girls and handle it privately. sorry that’s so vague but idk it just heals my heart how they resolve arguments. thanks girl i literally love you and ur work!!

tysm!!! luv u <3 KBD mom!reader

“Daaaaad…” 

Steve frowns at a crusting of cranberry sauce dedicating itself to the times of a fork and doesn’t answer. 

“Dad!” 

Steve gives the fork a last few useless scrubs with the burgs before tossing it back into the inch of water in the sink. “Yeah?” he asks, moving on to the next plate, scrubbing at it quickly with another dousing of dish soap.  

Avery jams her sharp chin into his side. “Daddy, can I have another ice cream, please?” 

“I don’t think so.” Steve rinses the plate and puts it in the drying rack. 

“Please?” 

“We already had our after dinner treats,” he says, not too gentle nor too rigid. “Are you still hungry?” 

“Yes!” 

“I’ll make you something, then, a sandwich or a dinner roll,” you say. 

Avery twists around, frame already wracked with injustice. “I’m not that hungry for turkey, mom. Not that it wasn’t yummy!” She tips her head back. Upside down, Steve can see up her nose. “I just think I have more room for ice cream.” 

Steve can’t blame Avery for wanting it. It’s dulce de leche flavour with chocolate chips. Yummiest shit ever, Steve could eat all ten pots from the pack in one sitting. And Avery is real cute. 

“You can‘t tell your sisters.” 

“Steve.” You frown at the table, dishrag on pause in your hand. “Avery, you can’t have another one, okay? One was enough.” 

“I don’t see what it would hurt,” Steve says. 

“That’s not the point.” 

Steve gives you a sideways look. “Well, what’s the point?” 

“She had her ice cream, because she was a really good girl and she deserved it,” you say, giving Avery a soft smile, “but we can’t just eat whatever we want, not all the time. If you’re hungry, we can have a turkey sandwich, or some granola or something.” 

Avery pouts. “Please?” 

“No, honey,” you say. 

Steve wants to say, Why? Avery is a slight girl. He understands wanting the best for kids and the importance of healthy meals, but those pots of ice cream are treat-sized and Avery won’t have two tomorrow. But he waits for Avery to say, “Okay, I’ll have a sandwich,” and for you to say, “Alright, good girl. Why don’t you go back to finish Mouse Detective and I’ll bring one in?” before he opens his mouth. 

“I really don’t get why she couldn’t have one.” 

You wince, waiting pointedly for the door between the kitchen and the living room to stop swinging. “Uh, ‘cos it’s an hour before bedtime and she had one already. If she has one, Beth will want one–” You glare at him, his jaw snapping closed. “I know that would be a good thing, okay, but then Dove will want one, and we’ll have to clean her up all over again.” 

“So I’d do that.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to, and you’re not going to.” 

“I’m not going to?” he asks, smirking. 

“No,” you say, and you don’t seem to find it very funny, but the fight in your eyes is dying down. “You’re not. It’s not– there’s no need for the fuss of it when you can just say no. Takes five seconds.” 

“Or I can just say yes and make her smile.” 

“Don’t act like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Steve.” 

“I’m not really acting like anything, and I don’t wanna fight.” 

You seem to not like realising that it’s a fight, and then that he’s dodging it, grimacing, running a stressed hand over your collar like you’re too hot. “It’s not about wanting to fight, I don’t want to fight with you. You asked me why she couldn’t have one and I told you why I think so.” 

“Bossed me around a bit.” 

“You don’t do that to me?” 

Steve tries not to, but he probably does. And there’s a part of him that feels subtly wounded at the whole thing. He wants to give Avery an ice cream, you say no, Avery doesn’t get an ice cream, and he’s still in trouble? 

You lean against the counter in the crux of the cabinets and hold your collar for a bit. Steve finishes the dishes, setting them to dry, and he goes for the fridge as you open the bread bin. 

“Mayonnaise too heavy for bed?” Steve murmurs. 

“No, don’t think so. She doesn’t like much.” 

Steve knows that, and you know he knows, it’s just words to fill the quiet. “Should we ask Dove n’ Beth?” 

“No point.” Beth didn’t finish her dinner because she very much didn’t want to, and Dove stuffed herself until she got sleepy in your lap. She’s probably sleeping on the couch already. 

Steve hands you the mayonnaise. You spread it on the bread. Steve cuts up some of the turkey and you press it down flat like Avery likes. 

“Sorry,” you murmur. 

“Uh…” Steve scratches his scalp. “Baby, I don’t really see what the big deal was.” 

You scrunch up your face. “That’s not ideal.” 

“That’s a nice way to say annoying.” 

“M’not trying to make things worse,” you mutter.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for fucking you off–”

You snort, lining up Avery’s sandwich for a decisive cut corner to corner. “Sure.” 

“For the record, I think she could’ve had her ice cream, and I would’ve cleaned them up, but it’s obviously fine that you said no. Alright?” He holds your gaze. “I don’t get why it got you all prickly. So just– explain that to me, and we can– and I’ll try not to say something stupid back.” 

“You don’t,” you say. 

“I do, that’s fine.” 

“It’s not like it was a conscious decision. You asking me what the point was right in front of Ave made me feel like an idiot.” 

He nods, but he doesn’t look up. “But baby, I already told her she could have the ice cream. We weren’t exactly a paragon of unity from the beginning.” 

You breathe out slowly. “Right,” you say, moving on instinct to grab a bag of honey-bacon chips from the cabinet. You uncurl the top of the bag and take a handful, pouring them onto Avery’s plate. 

You take a couple more from the bag and hold them toward him. He opens his hand for them. Tentative, you raise yourself up to kiss his cheek. “Okay,” you gently, “got it.”

“Alright?” 

“Yeah. Are you?” 

“Mm,” he hums.

“Yeah?”

Steve makes a face at his hand. “Oh, god, I don’t know. Should I forgive my beautiful wife for a small disagreement before we go lay up in bed together to cuddle?” Tipping his head back, he dumps his chips into his mouth and says between crunches, “Jury’s in. I love you.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t speak with your mouth full.” 

“Or what?” 

Steve watches you take the plate in to Avery through the door. Listens to you tell her that she did a great job today and that you’re not trying to be mean, just ice cream is a once in a while sort of treat. Listens to Avery say she loves you and she doesn’t mind, and thanks for the sandwich. 

Later that night, in bed, little tenseness to be found, you’re letting your forehead tip against the curve of his shoulder. Your hand cream hints of lavender, your hair oil something warmer. 

“I should’ve given her the ice cream,” you murmur. 

“I think so, but it’s not… it’s not a big deal. We tell them no all the time. Just this time I made you feel guilty.” 

“No, her face when she told me thanks for the sandwich made me feel guilty. She said it was awesome.” 

“Probably was. I fucking aced that turkey, basted that shit five different times.” His stomach gurgles. “Fuck, we should have turkey sandwiches for breakfast.” 

“Okay.” 

“Hm?” 

“Okay, let’s have turkey sandwiches for breakfast.” You rub your eye tiredly into his shoulder, and the motion turns his heart.

“Or we can have something less gluttonous.” 

“What’s gluttonous about a turkey sandwich?” you ask. What he’s trying to say is, you don’t have to let him do something out of the ordinary to make up for the ice cream thing. You must know that, though. You gotta. It’s in his arm snaking behind your back as he presses you nearer, his breath on your forehead, none of what happened earlier matters enough to need this kind of worry. He wants you to close your eyes, curl into his chest, and rest without stress. 

“What about turkey, egg and cheese?” he suggests softly, letting his fingertips tumble lovingly up and in the dip of your spine. 

“Sounds gluttonous.” 

“You admit it.” 

Steve barely holds in a giggle, tightening the hold he has around you to force you onto his front. You don’t hold yours in, laugh syrupy and slow as your legs fall between his and your hands take up station under his arms. 

“Love you,” you mumble. 

“You owe me one from earlier.” 

“Love you, love you.” 

He reaches blindly for the sheets to tug over your cuddling. “Love you love you, too. That’s our fight for the month though, you hear me?” he murmurs, allowing himself the pleasure of a lazy kiss pressed to your temple. He holds it there, speaking right into your skin, “I hate that way your eyebrows go up. It makes me sad. Don’t wanna see that again, okay?” Rubs your back. Makes sure you get it. “Okay? So don’t think I’m mad or something. M’not mad at you.” 

“M’not that mad at you either.” 

“That mad?” he laughs. 

”Not much. I’m sure I’ll forget by the morning,” you tease.

“Then sleep tight, honey.”  

[hitomisuzuya]

Demon! Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Scara playing cat and mouse, really. Degradation. Scenting. Corruption. Creampie. SELF INDULGENT

@missunstxble pitched the idea. I have one more Demon!Scara smut planned. Written listening to Animal by Magnolia Park.

"Hey, Scara?" You asked, looking up from the book of urban legends he'd been watching you read, "Do you think demons exist?"

"Hm?" Scaramouche said, focusing his attention on what you said as opposed to watching the way you played with your lower lip in thought while you read. "Elaborate your question, I'll amuse you," He has to fight to keep the smirk from tugging at the corners of his lips.

You were so cute, asking a demon about demons. Your innocent question made it twice as cute for him. You didn't know he is a demon.

"Do you believe in demons?" You repeated, showing him a illustration of what the author thought a demon would look like (to which he had to swallow back a snort). "And if you were a demon, what would be do to obtain that one human you really, really want?"

Well, he'd asked you elaborate, so you did.

Did you have any idea what you were really asking? Such naive innocence made him have to have you more. I mean look at you. All small and delicate. Fragile and defenseless.

So deliciously corruptible.

Scaramouche sighed, considering how to play his cards. He took the book from you, and closed it, holding it above his head when you tried to reach for it. "Let me frank, kitten," He began, flicking you in the forehead, "You are pure demon bait."

A shy blush reddened your cheeks. "Huh?" His answer blind sided you, "H-How?" For a hypothetical question, Scaramouche sure sounded like he'd taken the question seriously.

He almost licked his lips. You just continued to ooze innocence from every fiber of your being. That's what made you smell so fucking good. To tease you, he ignores your question. "To start with, I would start scenting you as soon as possible. The sooner you smelled like me, the better. It would deter other demon scum from taking what's mine."

He'd been doing that for weeks. Any opportunity he could find for you to wear his hoodie, or one of his shirts, he took it. "I would start marking that pretty skin if yours. Your collarbones, your throat," Raising a hand, his fingers followed the pattern of his words, ghosting over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake, "your chest, your hips, your thighs. Any intimate part on your body would have my teeth marks."

Every word Scaramouche said was making your heart shake. You were stunned into silence, looking at him in awe. "Hypothetically speaking, of course," He chuckled, seeing the way your eyes lingered on his hand when he took it off your thigh.

"You know, honestly, that doesn't sound that bad," You said, making him raise an eyebrow at you. More more like a cat pricking his ears in attention. "That kind of possession just sounds so comforting to me," You blushed realizing Scaramouche's words started to make you wet.

Now Scaramouche allowed himself to smirk. Tug tug went the cat, pulling on the string attached to the mouse. You'd only put yourself that much closer to being his. You were practically begging for him to take you now.

A demon needed to have patience.

"Hey, Scara?" You asked, the shy tone in your voice made his cock twitch. He could hear your heart pounding in your chest, smell your sudden arousal filtering in the air. "You wanna unwind, and have sex?" Even the shy quiver that went through your body was irresistible to him.

"Offering yourself up on a silver plate," Scaramouche purred, moving closer to you on your bed, "how very characteristic of demon bait," His hands were already unzipping and taking his hoodie off of you. He'd purposely turned your air conditioner down more than a few degrees so you would get cold and ask to wear it.

He would allow himself to lose control a little while still keeping his secret. You didn't have time to think about much his teasing flustered you. His hands were pawing at your clothes, his mouth and lips on your skin steadily starting to draw shaky moans from you.

Scaramouche groaned, scooping a fold of skin into his mouth. The taste nearly made his eyes roll into the back of his head, his teeth feverishly sucking and grinding on your pliable flesh. Your arms wound around his neck, a shaky hand finding the back of his head.

You pressed his mouth against your neck, your hips jerking up to grind your clothed pussy against his cock. He'd left only your panties on, just so he could feel your juices through the flimsy fabric onto his cock. One hand found your hips, holding them down as he grinded his cock against your panties.

"Fuck, what a slut," Scaramouche laughed shakily, his degradation sending jolts of pleasure to your throbbing clit, "already so wet for me," A wet pop accompanied his mouth as he took it off your neck.

You were already reaching to take your panties off, earning you a gentle smack on your hand. He hastily tugged your panties off. "Do you know how long I've wanted to devour you?" There was a somewhat unfocused, drunk look in his striking indigo eyes.

Such a desperation for Scaramouche gripped your body. It reflected in your eyes, in the way your body pressed against his. You were clinging to him, which is what he craved more than anything. You moaned as he pushed the head of his leaking cock against your entrance.

"To stretch this pretty pussy out, and fuck my cock deep inside?" Sweet mewls keened from you as he started to push his cock inside of you, his fingers dancing on your clit. "To feel you clench like a whore on my cock?" He pinched your clit, hissing in pleasure as your gummy walls clutched around his length.

Leaning down, Scaramouche scooped one of your nipples into his mouth to suck on. You gasped in pleasure, eagerly rocking your hips up to help draw his cock inside of you. He was fast overwhelming your senses, your body twitching sensitive as his tongue swirled around your nipple.

With a growl, he bottomed out with a quick snap of his hips. His cock nudging firm into your sweet spot before he started thrusting made you see stars. "So soft, and warm. So fucking tight," He groaned, pressing his weight down on you, giving himself leeway to fuck himself deeper into you.

Your fingernails dug into his back, racking along his skin in a way that made him shudder in pleasure. If only you knew that a demon was fucking you this good.

He sat up, firmly gripping your thighs to hold them apart. He wanted to admire his cock pumping in and out of you, juices seeping around his cock as you lost the ability to form coherent words.

"So big.." You whimpered, writhing on the bed in his grasp, "Sc-Scara.." was about all you could manage. Each stroke of his cock, stretching and rubbing between your walls sent you that much closer to the edge. Your words fell apart into uncontrolled moans.

"Fuck, moan just like that while I empty my cock inside you," He kept a possessive grip on one of your thighs, rubbing your clit, "cum on my cock like an obedient slut," Putting his hand under your head, he picked it up so he could press a heated, possessive kiss on your lips.

"Look at you shake," Scaramouche purred in approval as you suddenly creamed on his cock, shaking and drooling from the intensity of your orgasm. "Such a good girl deserves a reward," The sensation of his cock ribboning cum inside of you further melted you underneath him.