#and uh tims just fucked up dog

[ants-personal]

i know i should just write the full fic but listen no djejsk so in the meantime i will type up the short hand of the lil snippets in time alright ejejej

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.��

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me—back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II

[incorrectbatfam]

Tim and stpeh’s top ten patrol fails

——— (10) ———

Tim and Steph: *chained together*

Two-Face: *monologues*

Tim: *picks the lock*

Steph, whispering: Free me first.

Tim: Why?

Steph: Just do it.

Tim: *frees her*

Steph: *sprints past Two-Face to the bathroom*

——— (9) ———

Steph: I'm closing in on the museum. Where are you?

Tim: ETA one minute.

Steph: Alright, I'm doing a quick perimeter check. Doesn't seem like there's much happening here.

Tim: Where are you? I don't see you. And this entire gallery looks deserted.

Steph: I've never heard anyone call a science museum a gallery.

Tim: Science? I'm at the modern art museum.

Steph: Red?

Tim: Yeah?

Steph: We're both at the wrong place, aren't we?

——— (8) ———

Tim and Steph: *tied to chairs*

Ivy: I gave the city ONE REASONABLE DEMAND and they—

Steph: *scoots her chair*

Ivy: —but all they cared about was—

Steph: *scoots her chair*

Ivy: So now I'm going to make them pay for—what are you doing?

Steph, biting an apple: ...

Tim: She gets snacky.

——— (7) ———

[on a stakeout]

Tim, stifling a yawn: What time is it?

Steph: Half past one. Still nothing on the drop site. If you need some shut eye you can tell me.

Tim: Nah, I'll just use my phone.

Steph: *peers over his shoulder*

Steph: You're reading an adopted by Batman AU?

Tim: ...I was hacked. Just right now.

——— (6) ———

Steph: I could use a little backup.

Tim, shooting his grapple: I'm on my way. How many are there?

Steph: Four, though I bet more are hiding.

Tim: In that case, we better get you out of there instead of wasting time.

Tim: *swings by*

Tim: Grab on.

Steph: *grabs his legs and pulls his pants down*

——— (5) ———

Tim: What should I call my next contingency plan?

Steph: Fuck if I know.

[later]

Barbara: Alright, Tim, let's review your plan for...

Barbara: *squints*

Barbara: Everybody leave. I want to talk to Tim alone.

——— (4) ———

Tim: I'm not so sure about my disguise.

Steph, dressed like the 1980s: It's an 80s-themed roller derby. No way you can mess that up.

Tim: *shows up dressed like the 1880s*

Steph: I stand corrected.

——— (3) ———

Steph: You need to put that computer down. Have a Batburger.

Tim: No. I've almost got it. And don't try to distract me 'cause I've seen everything.

Steph, whispering under her breath: You haven't seen Superboy.

Kon: You called?

Tim: Oh for crying out loud.

——— (2) ———

Tim: *driving the Batmobile*

Steph: Hey, what does this button do?

Tim: NO DON'T THAT—

Steph: *hits the button*

Tim: *gets ejected*

——— (1) ———

Steph: Another successful patrol, if I say so myself.

Tim: All in a night's work.

Bruce: Where's Damian?

Tim: Huh?

Bruce: You were supposed to watch him.

Steph: Pfft, we knew that. He's right... uh...

Tim: We're just gonna—

Tim and Steph: *hop in the car and speed away*

——— (Honorable mention) ———

Steph: No sign of Robin at the dog shelter either. Did you locate his tracker?

Tim: It's offline. Best case scenario he just disabled it, but...

Steph: Oh God, we are in so much trouble.

Tim: Any other ideas?

Steph: Nope. I'm gonna get a drink of water real quick.

Steph: *goes into a store*

Steph: *comes back out with Damian*

Steph: Guess who I found trying to buy a butterfly knife?

Tim: I'll update Batman.

Tim, on the phone: Hey B, guess what?

Damian: *snatches the phone*

Damian: They abandoned me in Crime Alley!

Bruce: Red Robin, Spoiler, you're cleaning the lockers when you get back.

Tim: No wait—

Damian: *hangs up*

[002yb]

I just had a funny thought that I thought might get you to giggle a little bit

Jason isn’t expecting Dick to be in the apartment, he’s supposed to be off on a mission, due to get back in only a few days.

And so what if Jason missed him? That doesn’t have anything to do with this goddamn it! 😤

But he’s lonely, and he’s missing Dick’s hugs (not that he’d ever admit it) and the little German Shepherd was so sad and cold out in that Gotham alleyway 😞

Anyway, something something Dick comes home early and is hiding in some dark corner of the apartment to surprise Jason after patrol, only he climbs ever so slowly in through the window with his helmet cradled in his hands.

Blah blah, Dick scares the hell out of Jason, only for a little fuzzy head to pop up out of the helmet, and when Jason looks down at the little thing he just goes all sweet and melty and Dick just can’t say no to him like that, but he still had to put up a little bit of resistance, so…

Dick gives Jason a look, like a “what do you have”

And Jason is immediately on the defensive, all “Don’t you give me that shit Dickie, this is my son!”

“Your son?”

“My son! You get the Demon, and I get the fluffball. Fair’s fair!” Because dammit, this pup may be a rash decision on his part but he would die for him already!

Cue dick swooning over Mama Jason

Awwww, thank you so much for writing me something to make me giggle~ that made my day! ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩)💗

All of this, but it's prompted by Jason being an empty nester. He might say that Damian was Dick's kid, but the truth is they were both Damian's guardians. Even if Jason's memories of it are fuzzy, Damian is his baby.

So with Damian grown and frequently out with the Teen Titans and not home with them, Jason is restless from the quiet, the loneliness, the lack of purpose.

It's worse when Dick ups and leaves at the same time.

Necessary as his departure was, fuck him. ˙◠˙

So Jason busies himself with casework, housework, the brotherly chore of tormenting Tim and the others. But at the end of the day he's still home in an apartment that's too cold and too still.

It's depressing. He hates it.

Basically, Jason is in a perfect state of mind for what happens next. Taking on the responsibility of caring for an animal when you're in a state of distress is a perfectly sound decision.

The dog? A rescue. From the Alley's underground dog fighting ring.

That Jason doesn't have great memories of dogs doesn't matter (a childhood spent fighting strays for scraps, being bit by one too many who were just as wounded as him, etc). This one looks at him like it needs saving. Because it was hurt. Because it was left for dead—the only dog left behind. Kept in a too small, dirty cage. Muzzled.

Jason saves the dog. Maybe they adventure together and wreak havoc once they track the dog fighting ring down. The trust and loyalty starts from there.

Basically, the dog comes to be very protective of Jason.

So when Dick comes back from his mission early to surprise Jason, the dog doesn't take kindly to a stranger encroaching on his person's home/territory.

Which is how Jason finds them after patrol. With Dick flat on his back, a dog paw pinning him at the chest and sharp teeth bared in his face.

The dog's ears perk when they hear Jason climbing in through the window. And for a moment there's stillness because uh-oh. They all look between each other, waiting for anyone to make a move but obviously it's Jason who needs to do something to deescalate the situation, so...

'I rescued a dog.' Because apparently soothing Dick is more important than comforting or calling off the dog. True in rare instances, but not this one. Despite being one wrong move away from being mauled, Dick looks relatively chill.

So Jason tells the dog that it's okay and the dog is placated, easy as that. Aggression shifting into curiosity as he sniffs at Dick, seems to recognize his scent as being one that's on just about everything in the apartment.

Something something, Jason sitting beside them and running his hand through Dick's hair and the dog recognizing it as a pet. Associating Dick as another one of Jason's bloodhounds. //u///

So the dog goes from having an enemy to a fellow associate, so he settles and lowers himself to lay on Dick's torso. Soft and sweet as he receives his own pats from Jason. As he listens to the two of them talk.

And then...another associate? Because once Jason eases the dog off of Dick, Dick sits up and there in the breast pocket of his coat is a kitten.

Which he purposefully rescued and brought home because Jason has been having such a bad time with the empty nesting. ;U;

The kitten being so small in Dick's hand and just as small when they get passed off to Jason and held up against Jason's chest. And the dog snuffles at it. And it's sweet.

Jason being so endeared by the thought. Because not only did Dick make it a point to come home early, he was thinking of Jason throughout the mission and that's really nice. ;///////;

Note: the cat was also a rescue. From a lab. Powers TBD lol.

And yes, Dickjay talking about Jason's empty nesting struggles. Jason being embarrassed over it because Damian and he weren't that close.

Which Dick scoffs about because Jason is oblivious. Maybe Damian would come to Dick for advice and talks with him more easily, but whenever Damian needed help or comfort? That was largely Jason. Because Damian trusted Jason just as much as Dick.

But also? Jason having fallen into the Al Ghul nursemaid mindset once Damian was back in the fold. Cooking specially for Damian. Nagging him to be responsible. Tending to him after patrols.

Not that Dick didn't also, but lolol Jason being this intimidating figure that needs to mother for his own peace of mind, get out of his way big bird.

Wwwwww, Dick missing Damian a lot, too. And the general dynamic they had around the house. Especially because it made Jason so happy. ;////////; Like Jason thrives when caring for Damian.

So yes, just two not-quiet-parents talking through missing their not-quiet-kid. Laughing at 'remember when's and snickering about 'Do you think he remembers how to...'

Note: Damian does not remember how to. He calls Dickjay on occasion to eat crow and he hates it, but Dickjay are so happy. //U///

Something something, Dick trying to capitalize help by extending another invitation out to join the Titans. Like, this man wants Jason on his team come onnnnnn

And idk them falling into some kinky roleplay that would give any HR rep a heart attack ahhhhahahaha.

Any thoughts of hanky panky being interrupted by their new dog and kitten though, which is so familiar because Damian used to interrupt them so much, so it's nostalgic and stupid and <3

Extras:

The cat's favorite place to exist is on Jason's chest. They knead Jason's pecs like biscuits and ahhhhahaha, Dick has so many videos on his phone. It never fails that Dick will knead them, too, only Jason shoots him the dirtiest of looks.

The cat and dog being best friends. Where the cat will stand on the dog's back to be transported around the apartment. And they'll sleep curled around each other. <3

Damian visiting home a lot more often and being a little petulant because how is it that when Damian wanted pets, they said no, but the moment he leaves they get two??

Damian asserting dominance as the most loved person the moment he comes home and interacts with the dog and cat. <3

Extra commentary:

One of my many ultimate weaknesses is dickjay missing each other while they're away on jobs that keep them away from home for prolonged periods. It's so cute and sweet wwwwwww!! ;////////; There's something especially cute about when it's Jason, too. Because he gets so prickly about it LOL.

Also, another ultimate weakness ahahaha, dickjay jump scaring each other omgggg!! The cutest. ;A; In this scenario where Jason startles and is all caught out for doing something impulsive too, pfffffft. Sweet boy.

Thank you again for sharing, @batmansball5~ this was so nice of you. ♡♡♡♡

[gothamite-rambler]

Dentists seem to be their one weakness

Yes, this is based of Tori and Trina when Trina got her wisdom teeth removed.

Cass, Tim, and Stephanie entered the department store, but Cass quickly glanced at her phone and noticed that a couple of people were missing.

Cass: Where are Dick and Jason?

Tim: Um, I guess they didn’t tell you. Jason had all his wisdom teeth removed, and Dick guessed the wrong number, so he’s taking care of him.

Stephanie (alarmed): He got… all his wisdom teeth removed?

Tim: Yep. The crazy thing about the Lazarus Pit is that the liquid grew his wisdom teeth back, even though Bruce paid to have them removed before Jason died. Apparently, the dentist convinced Bruce it was best to take them all out because of the damage already done to Jason's mouth when he went last week.

Stephanie: Why would they even tell Bruce—he's covering the payment for the removal?

Tim nodded, chuckling.

Stephanie (snarky): Let me guess, Bruce dipped for an important vacation or mission?

Tim (feigning shock): Oh my God, how did you guess? He even brought Selina along to 'keep him company.'

Stephanie (shaking her head with a smile): All to avoid dealing with loopy Jason. Poor, poor Richard.

Cass: Why wouldn’t Bruce want to take care of Jason?

Stephanie snorted in laughter, waving her hand for Tim to explain.

Tim: Who do you think came up with this system? He’ll provide a ride home—that’s it.

Stephanie: It’s deceiving as heck, but I admire it.

Tim rolled his eyes.

Tim: You would.

Cass (doubtful): Jason has been through worse pain; he can’t be that bad.

Tim and Stephanie exchanged a knowing glance, then resumed their shopping without discussing the matter further.

---------------------------------------

Meanwhile, at Dick's apartment, Jason sat on the couch, arms crossed, in pain from the novocaine wearing off, refusing to open his mouth for his medication.

Dick (holding out a purple pill): Take the pill.

Jason (with gauze in his mouth): No.

Dick (for the tenth time): I need you to take the pill.

Jason (muffled): Nuh-uh, they taste nasty!

Dick: We’ve been at this for thirty minutes!

Jason’s eyes darted toward the door, searching for an escape. In a sudden burst of energy, he elbowed his brother in the stomach. Dick fell to the ground but managed to grab Jason's leg before he could escape, knocking him down as well.

Dick (angry): You’re going to take this fucking pill—

Jason punched Dick in the cheek, sending him backward. In retaliation, Dick kicked Jason in the stomach.

Dick: We’re doing this the hard way, got it?

Dick grabbed his brother’s leg again and dragged him back. The brothers started grappling as Dick tried to pry open Jason’s mouth.

Jason (whining): I don’t want the pill!

Dick (shouting): You need it, or you’ll get an infection!

Jason flipped Dick across the coffee table, causing the irritated, tired man to growl in frustration.

Dick (enraged): I will break every bone in your body until you take this pill!

Jason: Catch me first!

Jason ran across the apartment as Dick chased after him. Hayley the dog and Austen the cat watched from a distance, amused by their antics.

Dick (pinning his brother): Take the pill! I don’t care what you say!

Jason: No, I don’t want it! They taste awful!

Dick: I’ve been dealing with this for five hours! Take it! Take it now!

With a final surge of determination, Dick held Jason down, pried his mouth open, and forced the pill down his throat. Jason screamed but eventually swallowed the pill, whining as he shoved Dick off him. Dick collapsed onto the floor, grumbling.

Jason rubbed his sore mouth, cursing the fact that his wisdom teeth had regrown since he’d been brought back to life. Dick calmly stood up, grabbed a glass of water, and lifted Jason by the shirt collar.

Dick: Here’s your water!

He tossed the liquid into Jason’s face, then dropped him back to the ground.

Jason: When my mouth is healed, I will break your arm, your leg, and all your teeth!

Dick: Awesome, I’m just going to lay down. Stupid number-guessing game!

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you WIP excerpt behind the cut, as promised, friends; 7k of kidnapping your soulmate for fun and profit. (and non-chrono link for anyone on the app.)

Tana Moon follows Leech over to the group, looking a little wary herself. Tim sizes her up in his peripheral vision, pretending not to notice her approach. He’s “just” found out who his soulmate is, so he can sell the illusion of only paying attention to Superboy right now. It’s not an unusual reaction. 

It’s a pretty typical one, actually. The fact that Superboy decided to immediately show him off to everyone he knows is actually the less usual option, in fact. Not unheard of either, of course, but still. A lot of newly-discovered soulmates tend to just forget about the outside world for a few hours. Or days, even. A few missing person cases that Tim’s been involved in solving turned out to be cases of “I met my soulmate and we just eloped/ran away/went on a road trip/holed up in a hotel room without telling anyone”. 

Tim had thought it was ridiculous at the time, if obviously preferable to ending up with either a dead body or a traumatized victim, but Tim is currently in the process of planning an ethically-necessary kidnapping less than twenty-four hours after first cracking into Superboy’s file, so he supposes soulmates just bring out most people’s less pragmatic sides. 

Though he personally thinks carefully-planned ethical kidnappings are an improvement on spontaneous weekends in Vegas, pragmatically-speaking. But whatever. 

“He showed you?” Tana Moon says, glancing Tim over suspiciously. Superboy’s face reddens this time and he tugs at the slash in his own suit. 

“He, uh, saw mine first,” he says. “Kinda got into it with a dude downtown and Tim here was in the area, and like, he recognized it, obviously.”

“It’s fairly noticeable as a mark,” Tim supplies helpfully, figuring he should be being supportive of his soulmate here, and also be shutting Rex Leech up as efficiently as possible. “And Superboy came over to check on me after the fight, so it was hard to miss.” 

“Sure it was,” Leech says, his face souring. “So then you won’t mind showin’ yours to–” 

“Shut up, Dad!” Roxy hisses, kicking him viciously hard in the ankle. Leech yelps in pain. Roxy is immediately his favorite, Tim decides. By far Roxy is his favorite. The dog’s kind of cute and Dubbilex seems decent, but definitely Roxy is his favorite. 

Her dad definitely fucking sucks, though. 

And as for Tana Moon . . . 

“You’re a tourist?” Tana says, just barely frowning down at Tim. She’s taller than him. She’s also taller than Superboy, because she’s a grown-ass woman and why, exactly, is a reporter even here right now? How is that necessary or reasonable? 

. . . admittedly she’s also taller than Leech and he’s a middle-aged man, but that’s not the point here. If Tim has to “no comment” this situation and figure out how to get either his parents or Bruce to kill a story, he absolutely will. He isn’t even slightly gonna hesitate there. He is gonna the opposite of hesitate, in fact. 

“Yes,” he lies, which might not endear him to Moon, given she’s a native, but is better than confessing to having premeditated designs on kidnapping a teen idol superhero. Especially to a reporter. 

Even if it is legally salvage. 

“I’m just in town for the day,” he continues. “I needed to get away for a little while, you know how it is.” 

“Sure,” Moon says, narrowing her eyes at him. “Who doesn’t.” 

“He’s from Gotham. And he helped the civilians get out of the area while I was fighting that guy downtown!” Superboy says eagerly, which is . . . odd, actually, and throws Tim off a bit. That seems like a weird thing for Superboy to be eager about, considering. Like . . . just very weird. 

“Well, that’s a Gotham thing, probably,” Tim says, putting on a sheepish Civilian Smile (#7). “We’re used to rogue attacks with area of effect concerns involved, so we get pretty good at clearing a street.” 

“You did awesome,” Superboy says, grinning excitedly at him. That is . . . still weird, yeah. Tim really doesn’t get it. 

Well, maybe Superboy’s just relieved to have a soulmate who knows how to stay out of the line of fire and what to do in a crisis, given how often crisises probably come up in his life. That would make sense, considering. 

“It was nothing, just a little light crowd control,” Tim tries, assuming that’s what a normal civilian would say. Probably, right? Almost definitely. “Nobody even needed any urgent medical attention. And you used your TTK really strategically and contained the guy too, that was much more impressive to pull off in a mess like that.” 

Yeah, that was normal civilian talk, he thinks, pleased with himself for managing it. 

Superboy turns pink, then grins again. Dubbilex . . . tilts his head. 

Normal. Normal. Normal civilian. That’s what Tim is. A civilian! Who’s normal! Very, very normal! 

Normal. 

He smiles Normal Civilian Smile #4 and pats Krypto’s head again. Krypto makes an enthusiastic attempt at licking his fingers off. 

Ew. 

“‘Light crowd control’,” Moon echoes. That’s what Tim said, yeah, so he’s not sure why she’s repeating it. Well–reporter, again, so It’s probably a trap. 

It’s almost definitely a trap, actually. 

Really definitely it’s a trap. 

“Sorry to just show up like this, hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he says to Roxy and Dubbilex with a smile, politely pretending not to be ignoring Moon. He is definitely ignoring Moon, though. Again: reporter. She may not be a Lois Lane or even a Vicki Vale, but he’s still not giving her any information he can avoid giving her. And he’ll just ignore Leech while he’s at it, too. 

“I invited you, man!” Superboy says with a laugh, shaking his head. “We’re gonna hit the beach for a while, go hang out. Just swung by to grab Tim a swimsuit I can lend him.” 

“You came to Hawaii to ‘get away’ and didn’t pack a swimsuit?” Moon says skeptically. 

“Yup,” Tim replies with the most placidly innocent expression he’s ever worn in his life. Nothing. He is giving her nothing. Let all her reporter instincts strike against mirrored glass and high-security privacy windows and come to naught. 

Moon stares at him in silence, clearly waiting for him to fill it. Tim doesn’t fall for the incredibly obvious bait and just keeps the placidly innocent expression on. 

She frowns. 

“C’mon, man,” Superboy says cheerfully, apparently–and fortunately–oblivious to their stand-off. He grabs Tim’s arm and drags him towards the front porch. Tim seriously doubts its structural stability, from the look of it, but tactile telekinesis is hard to argue with. 

The steps manage not to collapse–possibly also because of tactile telekinesis, Tim can’t help suspecting–and Superboy pulls him straight into the house, which is . . . not particularly well taken care of, no surprise. The furniture looks like it all came from a thrift store, and not a nice thrift store. 

Admittedly Tim’s upbringing might be showing here, but also the corners need swept and there’s random boxes of assorted Superboy merch everywhere, most of which looks like cheap junk, and a huge stack of mail and four empty pizza boxes on the coffee table and overflowing trash cans with random junk scattered around, and it’s just . . . it doesn’t look taken care of, no. Which is something Tim would expect from a teenager or two, and maybe Dubbilex doesn’t know how chore wheels work or whatever, but fucking Rex Leech should at least be capable of getting out the broom once a week. 

Assuming there is one, anyway. Tim isn’t particularly optimistic on that one, honestly. 

Superboy’s room is even messier than the living room, covered in dirty clothes and abandoned comics and crumpled-up papers, but Tim’s bedroom looks like a bomb went off in it so he’s not gonna judge. Anyway, that’s Superboy’s personal space, not a common area. He can keep it however he likes, Tim figures. 

Somebody should really sweep that living room, though. And throw out those old pizza boxes, too. 

Tim isn’t judging, just–well, no, he is very much judging, actually. Specifically what he’s judging is Rex Leech, noted asshole sleazeball manager with predatory business tactics. 

Fuck that guy, seriously. 

“You want trunks or a speedo?” Superboy asks as he lets go of his arm to fly over to the cluttered dresser. Tim turns seventeen different shades of red and nearly disassociates. 

“Trunks,” he says quickly. “Please.” 

“Gotcha, man,” Superboy says easily, and then all the dresser drawers yank out at once and dump out crumpled piles of . . . mostly swimsuits and super-suits, it looks like, yeah. Like, basically nothing else but swimsuits and super-suits and a couple of cheesy-looking Hawaiian shirts. 

Well, that might be one lonely, lonely pair of cutoffs sticking out from underneath the swimsuits. But otherwise, that’s pretty much it, yeah. 

Fuck, that’s depressing, Tim thinks. 

Superboy comes back over with an armful of swimsuits, just about all of which have the S-shield either printed or stitched on them. Tim wonders why the guy even has this many swimsuits, especially considering he barely has any other clothes at all. At least not as far as he can see, anyway. 

He also wonders if he’s gonna die if he wears Superboy’s clothes. Is that a thing that might happen? Because it really might happen, yeah. 

Also wearing something with an S-shield on it feels like just a little too much to handle right now, so Tim’s hoping for a basic black option to be buried somewhere in that pile. Given Superboy’s apparent fashion sense, it seems unlikely, but hope springs eternal. 

“Take a look, see what’s good,” Superboy says, dumping the entire armful of swimsuits on Tim. Tim’s just grateful he remembered to stick to just the trunks, at this point. 

“So you spend a lot of time on the beach, huh?” he says wryly. 

“C’mon, man, it’s Hawaii,” Superboy says with a sheepish grin. “And I mean, I look good in anything but wet leather is just not a comfortable fit, you know?” 

“I guess it wouldn’t be, no,” Tim says, giving him Civilian Smile #4 again. Superboy’s ears redden a little again, and then he leans back and zips back across the room to shove all his drawers back shut. Tim lays out the pile of swimsuits on the bed, since it’s right there anyway, and then immediately feels embarrassed to be this close to Superboy’s bed. Which is stupid, even if they aren’t platonics. They’ve just met; it’s not like anything’s gonna happen. 

. . . even if Superboy is a notorious flirt and totally shameless and–

Tim is just not gonna pursue that line of thought right now, he decides. Just for his own sanity and all. 

He accidentally knocks some paper off the bed as he’s laying out the suits to get a look at them, and reflexively leans down to pick it up. The room’s a mess, yeah, but it’s Superboy’s mess. It’s still rude to just drop shit wherever. 

The paper isn’t as crumpled as some of the others, and Tim sees a glimpse of color as he picks it up. His inner detective reflexively wonders what it is, and . . .

Tim uncrumples the paper a little, and blinks down at it in surprise. It’s a little kid’s drawing, it looks like. A sunny beach rendered in bright colored pencil and simple, awkward shapes all painstakingly but clumsily colored in and–

Superboy’s suddenly right back next to him snatching the paper from him and immediately hiding it behind his back, looking absolutely mortified. Tim’s confused, for a moment. What’s he embarrassed about? It’s obviously not anything he’d have drawn himself. It’s probably just something a fan or a neighbor’s kid gave him, or . . . 

Tim pauses. Then he recontextualizes just how much of the crumpled-up paper is lying around Superboy’s room and wonders, very briefly, if a bunch of STEM majors with delusions of grandeur would’ve bothered programming their custom-designed “Superman” with anything resembling art skills. 

So . . . maybe that is something Superboy drew himself. If Cadmus didn’t program him with the muscle memory or knowledge of how to draw . . . well, then he probably would draw like a little kid, wouldn’t he.

And given Superboy’s cocky, braggart personality and defensive ego and how all that paper is all crumpled up as if in frustration . . .

“Gift from a fan?” Tim “assumes” with Smiling Civilian Face #4, pretending to be oblivious. 

“Uh–yeah!” Superboy blurts quickly as he jumps on the provided excuse, though he keeps the paper behind his back. “Yeah, just–you know, just some kid gave it to me at a signing, whatever. Uh, bathroom’s through there, if you wanna get changed. Or like, whatever.” 

“Thanks,” Tim says, and resists the itching urge to peek at a few more of those crumpled-up papers. It’s just a lot of paper, especially if Superboy’s upset with the results.

He wonders why the guy draws so much, if he’s that frustrated and embarrassed by it. Maybe it’s a rebellion thing, since it’s something Cadmus didn’t want him to know how to do. Tim would definitely understand that logic, if he were in Superboy’s situation. Or maybe he’s just bothered not to know how and trying to teach himself to make up for the perceived failing. 

Or maybe he just likes it, Tim supposes. That’s an option too. 

Probably a less likely one, though, given that it’s Superboy. Not to be an asshole or anything, just it’s a lot easier picturing the guy assuming he should be able to do something and getting fixated on trying to pull it off than just, like . . . liking to draw. Also, judging by all that balled-up paper, it doesn’t seem like there’s much there for him to “like”, either.

Tim takes the plainest set of trunks with a drawstring waist, which are black and dark blue but still have an S-shield iron-on patch sewn onto their waistband, for whatever reason, and ducks into the bathroom with them. He realizes belatedly that said S-shield is probably going to rest right up against his soulmark, then feels like an idiot for feeling flustered by that idea and just sets his bag against the wall and starts getting undressed. 

He’s definitely wearing one of the spare shirts in his go-bag for this, he decides as he stuffs his clothes into his bag. Just–definitely, yeah. 

The trunks fit once he cinches the drawstring enough, but the S-shield definitely does rest right against his soulmark. Tim has never actually considered the sight of the S-shield to be, like . . . relevant or interesting outside of work, but he’s realizing that he sure does feel differently about it now that he knows his soulmate’s one of the people wearing it. 

Which is a little ironic, really, considering Superboy wears the S-shield as a branding thing or whatever and lets Leech slap it on whatever cheap shitty merch he can think of. Like, he’s probably the least respectful S-wearer there is. 

Tim pulls on a plain clean T-shirt and a short-sleeve button-down to go over it, figuring that’s beach-friendly enough. He should’ve packed sunglasses, probably, but he was a little distracted by his kidnapping plans and didn’t think to. 

Seriously. He didn’t think to bring sunglasses to Hawaii. 

This whole situation definitely has him off his game, yeah. 

Soulmate thing, he guesses.

Tim eyes himself in the bathroom mirror, mentally decides he’s being an idiot to worry about how he looks right now, and then grabs his bag and heads back out into the bedroom. Superboy’s changed into low-waisted S-shield-themed trunks of his own and flip-flops and nothing else, which does in fact give Tim an embarrassingly good and embarrassingly distracting view of their soulmark. It’s not quite distracting enough for him to miss the fact that the amount of crumpled papers strewn around the room has noticeably decreased, though. And there’s definitely more of them sticking out from under the bed and dresser and in the back of the closet than there previously were. 

Which is kinda cute, honestly, but Tim should probably not say that. Like, ever. 

“Thanks for waiting,” he says, smiling Normal Civilian Smile #4 at Superboy as he hitches his bag up a little higher on his shoulder. “And for the loan.” 

Superboy stares blankly at him for half a second, then seems to startle a little and puffs himself up. 

“Uh–sure, yeah!” he says quickly. “No problem, man. Anytime.” 

“‘Anytime’ seems pretty open, as an offer,” Tim jokes, because normal civilians make that kind of joke, and Superboy turns red. 

“Oh, uh–you know what I mean!” he sputters awkwardly, holding his hands up, which seems kind of a lot as a reaction, and then somehow manages to nearly knock over his dresser without even touching it. Well–that'd be the TTK, Tim guesses. 

It wasn't even that much of a joke. Like, lame suburban dad joke territory, that's all. 

“I do, yeah,” he says with a wry smile. Superboy finds a way to turn even redder and shoves his dresser back into a corner. That also seems like kind of a lot as a reaction, but Tim doesn't comment. Just seems, well . . . awkward? Unnecessary? “Are we good to go, then?” 

“Um, yeah, yeah,” Superboy says, clearing his throat and then zipping out into the hall. Tim wonders if he always flies indoors this much. “All good, dude! Let's head out.” 

“Sure,” Tim says, keeping the smile on. Superboy is still red, but floats along down the hall. Tim follows. Okay. They’re almost definitely not platonic, but Superboy clearly isn’t any more sure what to do with that than Tim is, so . . . small favors, he guesses. Like–that they’re at least roughly on the same page there, he means. 

Unless he’s just reading into things because of weird personal biases he didn’t even know he had, and Superboy is completely straight and just kind of socially awkward around civilians, and Tim’s just being socially pressured by the background radiation of living in a society that over-values romantic soulmates in comparison to platonic ones and sometimes disavows platonic soulmates altogether. 

He supposes technically they could be familial, rare as that is. It’s not like he really knows how he’d feel about having a brother. Dick’s the closest thing to one he’s ever had, and that’s just . . . not actually the same thing, obviously, even if sometimes he wishes . . . 

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. He’s pretty sure having a brother wouldn’t in any way involve this level of embarrassment and unexpected hormones and just general sexuality-questioning over every little thing. Like, that seems very much not like what having a brother would be like. 

So–maybe he isn’t straight, or maybe Superboy’s not actually a boy, or maybe both of those things are true, or maybe he’s just really, really bad at having a soulmate.

Entirely possible, under the circumstances. Tim’s not really all that good at getting close to people. If he got a little confused about how to handle having a soulmate, well . . . that wouldn’t really be a surprise, would it. 

Or maybe he just doesn’t want to have to figure out how to come out to his dad or Dana or the goddamn Batman. 

One or the other, probably.

. . . statistically speaking, the likelier explanation probably is not wanting to come out to the goddamn Batman. 

“Wanna fly someplace or just chill on the beach out front?” Superboy asks as he floats backwards into the living room. Krypto runs up and jumps on Tim excitedly, his tail wagging so hard his whole little body’s wagging with it. He’s a weird-looking little mutt, but he’s really friendly, apparently. “Krypto, oh my god, get off him.” 

“I don't mind,” Tim says, leaning down to give Krypto a polite little pat on the head. Krypto barks happily and wags his tail so hard he knocks himself over. 

Yeah, weird dog in general, Tim thinks. But again, really friendly. 

“We can go wherever,” he says. “You're the local, you know the best places to get a little time alone to hang out, right?” 

“‘Alone’?” Superboy repeats, his ears reddening again as he somehow manages to trip in mid-air and hits his head on the doorframe. Tim can probably safely write off the idea of “platonic” at this point, but is still a little bit wary of his personal bias interfering. Though . . . “Uh–yeah! Totally! Yeah! We can do that!” 

Yeah, Superboy really isn’t selling the “platonic” idea here either. 

Does Tim have a boyfriend now? Is this how boyfriends happen? 

. . . well, or a girlfriend, maybe. He still hasn’t ruled out the “maybe Superboy’s just trans” option. That seems like a thing that might confuse his sexuality a little, if nothing else. 

This is definitely not anything like any previous girlfriend-getting he’s experienced, though. Like, not even a little bit. He’s not complaining, exactly, because admittedly it’s actually a little bit easier going into a new relationship with a plan and a cover established, even if the plan is admittedly still in flux and the relationship’s “romantic" vs "platonic” status is still unclear. It’s still something he can approach like a case, which is much more straightforward than just floundering around trying to figure out how normal people work. 

And Superboy’s about as far from a “normal person” as it gets, so really, this is a pretty ideal set-up on Tim’s end. 

Hopefully Superboy feels similarly, though he also, like . . . is lacking some pretty important information there, so . . . yeah, that might be an issue. Bruce would definitely not have appreciated Robin telling Superboy he was his soulmate, though, and who knows how Superboy would’ve even taken that. Going in as a civilian is going pretty smoothly, though, so Tim’s pretty sure it was the right choice. 

Hopefully it was, anyway. 

“Cool,” Tim says, keeping up the placid harmless civilian face and thoughts and Totally-Not-A-Vigilante vibes. Superboy does a very bad job of pretending he didn’t just bump into the doorframe and ducks back outside, putting on a cocky grin of his own as he does. It occurs to Tim, briefly, that maybe Superboy has his own catalog of performative expressions. None of his friends really seem to, but Superboy is in the community too, so . . . well, it’d make sense, right? 

Also he does sell his likeness via a sleazy manager’s sleazy business deals, so yeah. It does kind of make sense. 

Huh. That’s . . . a thought, he guesses. 

Not a thought he’d really had yet. 

Just . . . something they might have in common, Tim guesses. 

Though so is being in the community to begin with, obviously. And they're physiologically about the same age and have similar coloring, though Superboy is–well, not actually mixed with East Asian, because Krypton did not have an actual place called “Asia”, but he does have subtle hints of that look, same as Superman. Easy to mistake for just being white, but recognizable if you know what you're looking for. Superboy would be at least half-white given Westfield's DNA, Tim guesses, but . . . 

Yeah, no, he doesn't even know how to begin to figure out the nuances of racial identity on a dead planet he knows next to nothing about, much less any potential experience parallels there might be for a second-generation half-alien immigrant with effectively zero access to their own culture, but maybe he could–

Right, okay, he needs to focus here. There's some fascinating stuff there that he can theorize about and investigate later, once he's kidnapped Superboy properly. The kidnapping is the current priority, though. Like, it is very much the current priority. 

Tim follows Superboy back out onto the porch. Everyone else is still out there, which is fine in regards to Roxy and Dubbilex and not fine in regards to Leech and . . . well, jury's out on Moon, maybe. 

Also the dog. He doesn't really know about the dog. Though said dog does run after him and jump up for attention wagging his scruffy little tail hard enough to wag his whole little body, which is sort of cute. 

Or as cute as a wet dishrag can get, anyway. 

Tim’s trying not to judge Krypto for that, since obviously he didn't ask to be born as the living embodiment of a wet dishrag, and anyway he's a really friendly dog, so judging by appearances seems like a dick move. Even if Tim kind of wants to iron him, to be honest. Steam-clean, maybe. 

At least take him to a decent groomer, if nothing else. 

“Down, you little shit, Jesus!” Kon says, scowling down at Krypto and trying to shoo him away. Krypto growls at him, which seems weird, then goes back to fawning all over Tim. Tim leans down and pats his head, figuring it might calm him down. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “He is cute.” 

“Whatever,” Superboy grumbles, folding his arms and inexplicably glowering at his dog. 

“You gonna go swim, or just hang out?” Roxy asks curiously as she comes over to them again. 

“Oh, we’re–” Superboy starts, but Moon cuts him off. 

“Want some company?” Moon inquires, pleasant and suspicious all at once. Superboy looks–conflicted, momentarily, and then awkward. 

“Um, well–Tim’s only in town for today, so . . . next time?” he hedges. Tim resists the urge to eye Moon. Can I just spontaneously insert myself in your first day with your brand-new soulmate? is incredibly rude, as a suggestion. And incredibly fucking disrespectful to boot. Like, what entitled-ass kind of thing is that to ask, exactly? 

How old is she again? Twenty? Twenty-one? He should look that up later. Well–no, she’d graduated college and started her career by the time Superman had died, which was a good eight or nine months ago now, so unless she skipped a grade or two in there, she’s gotta be closer to twenty-four, if not twenty-five or twenty-six. 

That’s . . . a thought, considering there is definitely news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. Like, Tim very definitely saw news footage of Superboy kissing her in Metropolis. And she was very definitely kissing him too.

In retrospect, that seems like something someone should’ve, like . . . done something about? Or at least addressed? And is definitely further proof of how fucking useless and slimy Rex Leech is. Sure, let the five-minute-old clone make out with a twentysomething reporter and hang out with her at home; all publicity is good publicity, so it’s fine, right? Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? 

Tim is going to absolutely decimate that bastard’s credit the first chance he gets. Leech probably already has terrible credit, mind, but he’ll make it worse. He’ll find a way. 

. . . though he’ll wait until he’s sure Roxy is eighteen and financially independent, he doesn’t actually know if she is or not. Roxy seems nice, she doesn’t deserve that particular fallout. 

“It’d be nice to get to know each other later, I’m sure,” Tim says before Moon can say anything, smiling Gala Smile #1 at her, which is a targeted psychological attack and not actually very moral to be trotting out this quick, probably. 

He has no regrets, for the record. Absolutely none. 

Moon narrows her eyes suspiciously. Tim blithely strokes Krypto’s ears, Gala Smile #1 flawless and unphased. 

“I’m sure,” she “agrees” frostily. Superboy remains apparently oblivious to the tension and grins brightly at both of them. 

“Cool!” he says. Oh, sweet summer child who has clearly never socialized with sharks, Tim thinks resignedly, petting Krypto again. Has Leech taught him literally nothing about conversational warfare, for fuck’s sake? At least living with your sleaze of a manager should be good for that, dammit! 

Then again, Leech is probably not actually competent enough to teach Superboy anything actually useful, so maybe that’s for the best. 

If nothing else, Superman could’ve taught him a bit of “bless your heart”, but apparently that’s not a thing either. 

Tim has a brief moment of dread that maybe underneath his personal list of performative expressions, Superboy might just be a straightforward and honest person, which is a concerning thought. He doesn’t even know how to talk to a straightforward and honest person at this point, after this long as Batman’s emotional support sidekick. How do you form a lasting relationship with someone who isn’t habitually using at least three layers of double-talk and constantly locked in on all your microexpressions, anyway? 

That’s going to be a weird experience, yeah. 

“Ready to go?” Superboy asks Tim, grinning brighter at him. Tim feels momentarily overwhelmed and just sort of . . . has to collect himself about that, a little. 

Or a lot.

“Lead the way,” he says, smiling at him. He’s flustered enough to forget to use an appropriately-planned smile, which is embarrassing, but Superboy just grins even brighter–which should not be physically possible, but apparently is–and reaches out to scoop him up into his arms and into the air again as Krypto lets out an offended bark. It’s totally overkill and not even slightly necessary. 

Tim isn’t complaining, just–well–

It’s really flustering. 

“Air Superboy up, up, and away!” Superboy says cheerfully as they float up over the others’ heads. His face is way too close to Tim’s face. 

Tim is gonna need a bit longer to collect himself this time, he’s pretty sure. 

“Do I get an in-flight meal?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Superboy laughs, which is even worse than his grin, and then takes off across the beachfront with him. It’s another bridal carry, which is quietly mortifying but could be worse, probably. Maybe. 

Somehow. 

Superboy flies them straight across the beach and then straight out over the water, skimming them along just above the waves. Tim makes a briefly startled noise, reflexively tightening his grip on the strap of his bag. 

“This isn’t waterproof,” he says just as reflexively, and Superboy laughs again. 

“I’m not gonna drop you, dude,” he says. Tim actually more assumed Superboy was intending to either dive-bomb them both into the water or just dump him in on purpose, because that seems like Superboy’s sense of humor, but maybe that was an unfair assumption. 

He really is not prepared for how it feels to be held in close against Superboy’s bare chest and arms like this, even if he’s still wearing a shirt himself. The idea of possibly doing that while they’re both wet seems a lot worse. 

Yeah. Definitely worse. 

Tim should’ve worn long sleeves. And maybe a wetsuit. And maybe a few layers on top of that. 

Jesus. 

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” he says, barely resisting the urge to loop his arms around Superboy’s neck as the other hangs a right and swoops them back around towards shore. Flying over the water like this is a pretty cool experience, admittedly, now that he’s not worried about Superboy dumping him in the water. 

Well. Less worried, anyway. 

Camera next time, Tim promises himself, glancing back over Superboy’s shoulder towards the shining horizon. The sun reflects off the waves bright and beautiful, and the sky is a smooth and perfect blue dotted with sparse but billowing clouds, and everything smells like salt and sea and leather, which is probably Superboy, even without the jacket on anymore. 

Definitely camera next time.

“Definitely holding you to that, actually,” he says, and Superboy laughs again and brings them down in the surf just past the tideline with a splash. Neither the splash or the water goes high enough to soak Tim's bag, so he figures it could've been worse. 

Assuming Superboy isn't planning to toss him or anything before he can put his bag down somewhere safe, anyway. 

They both settle down into the surf and onto their feet, and Tim becomes very aware of how close together they’re standing and also how very, very shirtless Superboy is, and in fact the only thing between their soulmarks is the very thin layer of cotton of Tim’s own shirt, and if he leaned in just a little bit . . . 

Jesus, Tim thinks faintly, and forces himself to take a step back before he can make it weird. 

He smiles Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 just to make sure he doesn’t look like a creep or anything, and Superboy grins excitedly at him. Tim allows himself all of two seconds to be overwhelmed by that gorgeous expression and their physical closeness and the reflection of the light in Superboy’s eyes, as bright and perfectly blue as both the sky and water, and then reasserts standard operating procedures and keeps Generically Pleasant Civilian Smile #2 locked in place on his face. 

“The water’s really warm,” he observes, glancing down at it. “Is that normal?” 

It’s probably not an impending supervillain thing, he tells himself. 

Maybe global warming or something, though.

“I mean, feels normal to me?” Superboy says with a shrug. Tim considers mentioning the average ocean temperature, comparatively speaking, or at least the average temperature of the water off the docks in Gotham. Admittedly, Gotham waters barely count as “water”, legally speaking, but that’s not the point. 

“It’s pretty out here,” he says instead, and Superboy grins at him and leans in. He’s pretty sure it’s more an instinctive thing than a deliberate one, just from the way Superboy does it, but that doesn’t exactly make it less flattering. 

Or flustering. 

“I mean, it’s Hawaii, man!” Superboy says, grinning wider before kicking at the surf. “‘Course it’s gonna be pretty!” 

Actually you specifically are possibly the prettiest damn thing that I have ever seen, Tim thinks, but isn’t stupid enough to actually let out of his mouth. Superboy, unfortunately, continues to be all warm and grinning and lit up by the island sun. Tim did not come prepared enough for this. 

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sure I’d be the guy who came to Hawaii and got a monsoon,” Tim says wryly, and Superboy laughs brightly. 

Tim really did not come prepared enough for this. Like, not at all. Not even slightly. 

“Guess you’d just have to come back, then,” Superboy says, grinning wider again and kicking at the surf again as he floats back up out of it. It’s–weird, a little, looking up at him like this. 

Well, not weird, just . . . yeah. 

Something like that. 

“Guess so,” Tim agrees, feeling embarrassingly flustered. Superboy’s friends can probably still see them from the porch, distant though it is, but part of him is still just considering very weird and dumb ideas like maybe tugging Superboy back down to earth and into the surf and just . . . confirming the little sexuality crisis he’s been having since breaking into the other’s file and seeing their soulmark in it, maybe. 

Just, you know, ruling things out. Making deductions. Going through the process of elimination. 

Kissing him, maybe. 

He could very, very much kiss Superboy right now. They’re on a gorgeous beach in the surf and under the sun and Superboy is floating in front of him and grinning as happy and excited as could be and Tim’s stomach is fluttering in a stupid and also-embarrassing way, and . . . 

He could kiss him. That’s all. 

“I mean, it’s a nice place to visit, right?” Superboy says casually, linking his hands together behind his back. 

“The tourism industry seems to think so,” Tim says wryly, and wonders what the “normal civilian who didn’t come here specifically looking for his soulmate to kidnap/salvage him to begin with” thing to say is here. He has absolutely no idea, because he actually has absolutely no idea how normal civilians react to superheroes. Robin is . . . not exactly an urban myth, necessarily, but definitely not a publicly-recognized superhero. He’s a vigilante that’s just barely allowed to operate outside the law, and not one with any kind of publicity or celebrity involved. 

eSuperboy, on the other hand, is not only a superhero, but a professional superhero. He’s selling his likeness and doing events and has signed a stupid predatory contract with a sleaze of a manager that technically shouldn’t even be legal, given Superboy isn’t even considered a legal person by the government. Apparently no one has ever realized that, though, or at least no one’s ever let Superboy realize that. 

Tim really doesn’t love that that’s a thing, to put it mildly. 

Actually, he just fucking hates it. 

Superboy laughs, and looks very, very pretty doing it. Tim continues to wonder what a normal civilian would do here, and for lack of a better idea falls back on small talk. 

God, his best plan right now is small talk. What is his life, even? 

No wonder he’s gonna have to take six months to kidnap Superboy, ugh.

“So, uh–this seems like a weird question to be bringing up this late in the conversation, but what’s your name?” he asks, because it’s occurred to him that he actually has no idea what Superboy goes by when he’s off-duty. He knows he doesn’t have a secret identity, of course, but there’s no way his friends just call him “Superboy”. Well–maybe his slimy asshole manager does, but otherwise. “I mean, if that’s okay to ask. Marks or not, I understand if you don’t feel like we’re there yet, given the whole superhero thing and all.” 

Robin knows Superboy doesn’t have a secret identity, after all, but Tim Drake is a normal civilian and shouldn’t act like he knows too much about any superhero in general, so–

“Naw, it’s fine, I don’t even have one,” Superboy says, for some reason just beaming at him, which is . . . weird, Tim thinks, but nowhere near as weird as that answer is. 

“You don’t . . . have one?” he repeats slowly, and Superboy shrugs easily. “Like–not at all?” 

“Yeah, everybody pretty much just calls me 'Kid' or 'SB', when it's not Superboy,” Superboy says. “Oh, and Knockout calls me 'Pup' when she's around but like, that's really just a 'her' thing. So, you know, you can call me whatever.” 

Tim stares blankly at him for a long, long moment, speed-runs all five stages of grief, and also discovers a couple of new and unexpected ones. 

Alright. Well, he officially regrets literally nothing about this impending kidnapping. 

“Oh, okay,” he says. “Um–sorry, I guess I just assumed you’d have a more . . . civilian-ish name too, I guess?” 

“I’m a clone, man,” Superboy says, looking amused. “The only other name I’ve got is ‘Experiment Thirteen’, which is definitely not something I answer to."

Tim discovers a few more stages of grief that hit with all the subtlety of a spiked baseball bat and makes himself nod as much like a normal person as he can. 

“Yeah, I don’t think I’d go for that one if I were you either,” he says. “Kind of a mouthful, if nothing else.” 

Superboy laughs, then grins at him again. He is actually doing so, so much of that, Tim’s realizing. Tim was really not prepared for how much of that he’s been doing, in fact. He just did not come prepared for any of that at all. He’s got some nebulous kidnapping plans, but everything else here–from the supervillain attack to Superboy’s ripped suit and exposed soulmark–has been a crime of opportunity. 

He probably should’ve done more research. Actually, he definitely should’ve done more research. He kind of just panicked and bought a ticket and flew right over, and just because Dick didn’t stop him doesn’t mean it was a good idea. He just–he should’ve done more research. Planned more. Not shown up without something concrete. 

Admittedly Superboy doesn’t hate him yet or anything, but this was just . . . yeah, this was not his brightest idea at all. Not even slightly. 

Why didn’t he do more research? 

“You really can just call me whatever you wanna, don’t worry about it,” Superboy says with an easy shrug as he settles back down into the surf, which, unfortunately, puts him back into kissing range and is therefore incredibly distracting. 

Dammit, Tim thinks, trying to beat his stupid teenage hormones into order. 

“Whatever I wanna?” he repeats. 

“Except for Experiment Thirteen,” Superboy says with another grin. Tim politely pretends not to notice the slight tightening of the corners of his mouth as he says the word “experiment”. 

“Uh, okay,” he says, clearing his throat. He guesses Superboy doesn’t really care what his name is, then, but being told to just call him whatever he wants to is . . . well, a weird feeling, maybe. “What do you do when you just want to be a civilian for a while, though?” 

“I don’t,” Superboy says. 

“. . . don’t . . . what?” Tim asks slowly, not sure if he should be dreading the answer or not, but–

“Be a civilian,” Superboy says. 

Tim’s running out of new stages of grief, he’s pretty sure. 

“Ah,” he says. 

Superboy–for a second, Tim thinks he looks self-conscious, but then he’s grinning again before he can be sure, and . . . 

“Why would I?” Superboy says, puffing up proudly. “I’m Superboy, man! Nothing else I’d rather be.” 

Given how limited Superboy’s options for anything “else” he could be probably are . . . well, Tim’s not sure what to think of that statement. 

He doesn’t think it’s anything good, though. 

Yeah, no, he thinks as he looks at Superboy’s too-bright grin and thinks about how he just said "nothing" and not "no one". Definitely not anything good. 

Who wouldn’t pick being “Superboy” over being “Experiment Thirteen”, after all? 

And what else would Superboy even know how to pick, if he thought those were his only options?

[bruciemilf]

which do you like for Jaime/Jason better, gunbug or redbeetle? i saw redbeetle’s also used for Jaime/Tim

GUNBUG?! CUTE.

genuinely I think Jaime would be the golden retriever boyfriend, but like. Cleansed from the tik tok connotation.

He brings Jason beat up, janky books from his local bookstore.

The ones with the wrinkles and the paper cracks and just the softest layer of dust on them. And handmade socks, and cool pens neither of them need, but just really want.

He sends Jay snaps of cats following him around, small videos that always, always, always start with “papi watch this” or “BABE you’re not gonna believe this—“and it’s literally just dogs doing mildly impressive jumps.

Jason loves them so much.

But I’m more interested in the pre relationship. Like.

Imagine you’re Two-Face, infamous Gotham mobster, who’s considered more dangerous for sleeping with Wayne than your actual crimes (we all know Batman likes the rich brat, after all) and Red Hood clears his throat one meeting.

“Dent,” Jason has the same fake, forced deep voice he used as Robin, when he tried intimidating others. Harvey wonders if he knows, and prays he doesn’t. “A word. “

“Listen, kid, I’ve already agreed on the 20% turf cut, which is BULLSHIT, by the way, —“

“It’s NOT bullshit, and you’ll see why, but that’s not why I wanna talk. Just. Uh,” the kid is nervous. You can smell it off him. “You’re, like…Good with romance. And stuff. Right?”

“…Hold on, I’ll be right back.”

Harvey rushes into his car, Bruce in SPEED dial,

“Baby, listen— I— yeah, shitface, I’m aware this is an emergency line, this IS a fuckin’ emergency. NO, I didn’t fist fight Selina again, I ain’t risking my skin for your pair of heels, — LISTEN. Code Cupid. YEAH!”

A beat.

“I didn’t think this day would come either! The kid listened to Nickleback, for fuck’s sake… I don’t know, I didn’t ask! Don’t embarrass him- Bruce, he’s a goddam drug lord, he embarrassed himself plenty. ‘Just for a bit’ — are you hearing yourself—“

Two beats.

“…Yeah. No yeah, — okay. Alright. Alright, babe. Yeah, whatever you want, sorry. I SAID ALRIGHT - okay, yeah. Love you too, fuckface, Huh? Uh, can’t hear. See you home.”

Now he just has to figure out how to drag Jason to the Wayne mansion without revealing they ALL know he’s been red hood since he started.

[worlds-worst-ships]

Do you ship it? ((C*nt of the month edition) trying not to get banned)

Hi Matt! Since I know comedians these days love googling themselves and finding things about them that piss them off so they can whinge on stage about it, I have something to show you. Here's a list of people in history with disabilities who made more of an impact on the world than you could possibly imagine;

1: Michael Bisping, professional MMA fighter, had multiple fights at the highest level on the trot with an impressive win ratio with a missing eye, unbeknownst to anyone but him (would love to see you make fun of him)

2: Albert Einstein, most famed and celebrated professor of the 20th century, was on the autistic spectrum. Gave more to the world in a year than you did in your life.

3: Tim Burton, among the most famous directors, producers and animators in history, revolutionizing goth culture in his long career, is also autistic. He put in far more work than standing on stage and being a dick.

4: Stephen Hawking. Even an idiot like you knows this one. I'll leave it at that.

5: Hellen Keller, was literally deaf and blind for most of her life and was still a famous author. So whats your excuse for writing such shit, tasteless jokes?

6: Zack Gottsagen, an actor with down syndrome, became the first actor with down syndrome to present an Oscar.

7: Stevie Wonder. I imagine even he could see how utterly insufferable modern comedians are.

Nooooow then, lemme guess, "yOu'Re jUsT a PiSsEd oFf TrAnS pErSoN gEtTiNg OFfEnDeD" lemme tell everyone something about myself.

I'm not trans.

I'm straight.

I have no physical disabilities whatsoever.

I actually don't get along with a lot of lgbt people because they're, guess what, PEOPLE, very few of whom I get along with anyway. Its never once been to do with their identities or rights, but purely because, as is the case with every demographic, most of the ones I've met are pricks.

"BuT ThEy GEt OFfEnDeD-" yes, when you deliberately scroll twitter looking for offended lgbt people, you tend to stumble across them. Wouldn't ya know it?

Anyways. Comedy is dog shit. Getting up on stage and deliberately being edgy because you've lived no sort of life away from people who you know you'll offend is not talent. Its something a 14 year old with an inferiority complex would do. Thanks for being another nail in the coffin of actual, watchable comedy.

Oh yeah, and if you want an example on how to actually joke about domestic violence, cross-reference the name "Wilbur" on my blog. See, its funny when you're making fun of the abuser and the fact that they do these things, but not when you mock a victim and make fun of them for having these things happen to them. Never once do I mention his victims, its purely making fun of him and the sheer absurdity of his behavior in the scope of who he is. And we're on Tumblr, literally the symbol of people getting offended, and never once have I gotten backlash for those jokes, so you, as a man with a Netflix special, have no excuse for such lacking creativity.

One last thing, for my readers... anyone wanna bet some petty cash that a woman or three from his past are gonna come out with a few tasty bits of drama about ol' Matty boy, if you know what I mean?

[avianyuh]

Deadline; Mark Lee

Summary: You and Mark are coworkers and have a project due by tomorrow morning. But things quickly go off course which leaves the two of you improvising your after work plans.

Office Worker Mark!

Gotta stay focused, I have to stay focused!

This was my only thought. I had a deadline for this project at work and I had barely made a dent in it. My boss, Tim, made it clear to me that I could not leave until this file was fully completed and on his desk. I don't know if it's good or bad that I was working on this with Mark.

Mark has always been my favorite person to talk to at work. He's funny, helpful and not to mention...he's really cute. We've had this back and forth flirting thing going on for over a year now.

So here we were, 6pm, basically no one left at the office, huddled together in my cubicle. We were sitting so close to each other that our knees were touching. But of course, I didn't mind that.

I fiddled with the pen in my hand as I tried not to stare at him.

He had these thin framed glasses on, and he was sitting in his chair, hunched over. His eyebrows were furrowed together, giving off the impression that he was focused on the paper he was working on.

I turned back towards my own papers in front of me. I finished the page in front of me before moving on to the next one. Halfway through skimming it and I realized there was an error. I let out a frustrated sigh, which Mark picked up on.

"What's wrong?", he questioned, looking up from his work in front of him.

"Julia didn't fill this out correctly, the whole thing is wrong."

"Are you serious?", he asked, when I nodded he responded by slamming his fist on the table,"FUCK", he exclamied. Now we were both frustrated.

"Mark, you know what this means right... everything else is wrong. All our work, it's crap". I buried my head in my hands, Mark did the same.

"Well, we're gonna have to tell him", Mark started to talk. I looked up at him, I had an idea of what he was going to say. "We have to tell him that we couldn't complete the file because Julia's a fucking idiot.", I laughed as he finished his sentence. It was even more comical when I noticed he wasn't laughing, he was being serious.

"Mark, you know Julia can do no wrong to management. They love her. Especially Tim."

"Well, it's not our fault. If we start over we'll finish by the time we're supposed to come back tomorrow. Y/n this is two weeks worth of work in this file, there's no way we could finish this", Mark explained.

I knew he was right. There's no way we could finish this file in enough time.

"I feel like we'll get fired if we come in tomorrow morning empty handed...", I said thinking out loud.

"Y/n, I don't about you but me personally? I don't want to work for someone who leaves us here to work all night. We have lives outside of work. I have a dog to go home and feed", I smiled at that. He always talks about his dog and is constantly showing me pictures of him.

"No, I get it. You know what? Let's get out of here and go get a drink or something, unless you have to go home right now?", I asked. I can't believe I even offered in the first place. Mark and I had never hung out with each other outside of the office. We did have each other's phone numbers and we did text quite a bit, but never made any plans.

"What if you just came to my place? I have a bottle of wine in the cabinet.", Mark said. I tried to analyze his tone, but he sounded casual and calm.

"Uh, yeah...sure", I agreed. "Let me just grab my coat...", Oh god, now I was acting awkward.

Pull it together, I thought to myself.

This is what I've been waiting for since I met him. I just hope I don't do anything stupid.

~

By the time we made it inside of his apartment, I felt like the walk over made me break out in a nervous sweat. I was trying to play it cool, act like all I viewed him as was a work friend. Which to the best of Mark's knowledge (hopefully) was all he was picking up on.

His apartment was really nice. His kitchen was small, and you could definitely tell that he loved one sinxe he only had maybe five plates and two cups. One of which was sitting in the sink, waiting to be washed.

He followed my gaze to his lack of dishware and tried to explain, "I don't really host at my place", he let out a light laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was a habit of his that he would do when he was nervous.

Wait, is he nervous?

"No, no, it's all good", I reassured him. He scanned the kitchen, most likely thinking about what we were going to be drinking out of. While he was searching in his cabinets for the wine and cups, I continued to look around.

First I greeted his dog, who sat politely at my feet and allowed me to rub his head. Then I looked around at the living room. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a couch, TV, a window overlooking the city, which he had a curtain covering. He had a coffee table that I assumed he ate his meals on since there was no room for a kitchen table. But most importantly, I tried to look around for any indication of a girlfriend. A hairtie, a hoodie, an extra pair of shoes, anything. But nothing seemed off. He truly seemed to be single.

"Aha!", I looked over, smiling and comfortable now that I knew I had no apparent competition.

"You found the wine?" I asked. He looked over at me with this playful expression on his face.

"No, even better, I found some apple juice!"

"Mark", I laughed,"How are we supposed to drink our problems away when we can't get drunk?"

"We pretend", he shrugged as he poured the juice into two plastic cups.

"For you", he said as he handed me my drink. We sat down on the couch.

For awhile, we sat there just talking like we usually do in the office. Though we never met up out of work, we were always in the loop on each other's lives. He'd tell me about his friends and all of the dumb stuff he did with them, which was always entertaining to hear about. We always talked about out families. I had even told him about that horrible blind date my friend set me up on. Conversations always flowed naturally between us and tonight was no exception.

He had just finished telling me this story about his friend who forgot his passport right before they were going to get in their flight. Long story short, his friend tried to sneak past the staff and almost got detained. We were laughing hysterically for what felt like ten minutes but was probably at most two. Then when the laughter died down, Mark started to speak.

"Honestly", he started but cut himself off momentarily to take a sip of his drink, "I hate our job, but I don't want to get fired, cuz then I won't see you as much.", he said, staring at me intently. I waved him off and tried to conceal the fact that I was now blushing. "No I'm serious. You're like, the highlight of that job for me. I hate it but I look forward to going to work everyday cuz I know I'll see you."

"Markkk", I said. I honestly didn't know what to say. I wasn't sure if he was being sweet and sentimental since we were probably going to be getting the boot tomorrow morning, or if he was trying to hint at something more. "You're my favorite thing about work too. I always look forward to seeing you." I responded. He gave me a soft smile, before staring down into his lap.

"Can I tell you something else?" he asked as he looked back up at me.

"Sure", I nodded.

"I hated when you told me about that date you went on. And I wasn't sure why I was so bothered by it..." he scoffed before continuing, "I think it's because I was jealous".

I felt my heart skip a beat. I looked at him with even more intensity than he was giving me moments ago.

"Why were you jealous?"I pressed, trying to play dumb.

"I don't know...I guess it's because I sort of have a thing for you." I noticed that he was avoiding my gaze now. He was looking to the left, near the window.

I figured that it was now or never.

"Well, if we're handing out confessions, I have a thing for you too", I said, not even hiding the blush that by now had spread across both cheeks. We both were quiet for a minute. We just sat next to each other, staring right into each other's eyes. I noticed his were dodging back and forth between my eyes and my lips. But he wasn't making any kind of move and I was getting impatient. So, I grabbed him by the shirt and pressed my lips to his.

I closed my eyes and there we were. My coworker and I who I had had the hots for, basically over a year now. Eventually the kissed became steady. It was hot and sloppy and longing. It was the sexual tension that was being released as our lips collided continuously.

His hands started to travel up and down my body. My hands found their way into his black tresses of hair.

~

Though we did indeed get fired the next morning, we walked out of that building hand and hand. I lost a job but gained a boyfriend and to me that was a pretty fair trade off.

[d0g0r0t]

Hello

Can I please ask for some fluff with Toby pls 🙈

Toby fluff hcs!

Got me kicking me feet and shit

Before you guys started dating he didn't know he had a crush on you until Tim told him

Toby: she's cool and strong and pretty and-

Tim: so you have a crush on her?

Toby: what

Tim: you literally just expressed to me you have a crush on her..

Toby:... no I didnt..

Tim: yes the fuck you did

Toby:.... nuh uh...

Yea....

But when it finally clicked to him he had a crush on you he couldn't get the thought of you out of his head

He would draw you along with your name on literally everything, his hand, walls, floors, tables, paper. If it can be drawed on he'll do it

He saw you in everything and it actually started to effect his performance on missions and overall life

That tree over there? Sees your face. The sky? Sees your eyes. The grass? Sees your hair. The dirt? Sees your skin. Everywhere he goes he always sees you and he always becomes a hot mess

Everything your around he always gets super quiet and anxious and his face is very clearly red, his heads down and he always fiddles with his fingers and sleeve trying his best to make himself look small.

EVERY SINGLE TIME you talk to him his stutters and tics get super bad and it makes him frustrated cause he feels like you'll be weirded out. But when you don't care he can't help but feel butterflies in his stomach.

He's always staring at you when your around. He doesn't really realize that you guys are making eye contact and that you caught him.

When he finally got the courage to ask you out and you said yes. All he said was "Ok" and walked away. The moment he was alone he was jumping up and down, kicking his feet, screaming into his pillow and overall fan girling over you and the fact you guys were dating

The first few days were so awkward

Everytime you were near he would glance over and smile at you and give you small very awkward compliments "you look very pretty today... well I mean you look pretty everyday!" "You remind me of a jelly fish.. fuck wait that sounds so weird.."

He gives you little gifts. Probably stole them

He BEGS all the girls in the mansion for advice on how to be atleast a decant boyfriend

LIGHT NIGHT CAMPFIRES. Will take you by the hand and hold you close making sure your safe and he doesn't lose you in the dark and starts a nice warm fire for just the two of you as you guys eat snacks and do silly couple things

He gets really off track and will start following random squirrels and will be really sad when it runs up and hides in a tree. "Awe man the squirrel ran away :("

He's a human dog.. that's it he's an actual dog stuck in a humans body

He follows you around LIKE A DOG.

everytime you speak to him he always gets really happy and he stims and gets all giddy

He gets even more happy when you guys get physical. He's never really had any good physical interactions so the first time you were gentle with him he started to cry because you were so nice

Doesn't really understand boundaries. He's always on you one way or another and doesn't think about you personally, your just in his arms and that's all that matters

But when you tell him the boundaries he broke he'll get really sappy and upset with himself and won't shut up about how sorry he is

Back to him being an actual dog he growls when people get to close to you ad he holds you tightly in his arms with his head on top of yours. "Mine >:("

HELP I HAVE SO MANY MORE HCS I JUST DONT WANT THIS TO BE TO LONG 😭

Also i accidentally posted this to early and couldn't UNPOST IT. So if you saw it before it was finished no u didnt

[dollhouse-lied]

Dog new tricks: tim wright x tm reader smut fic

Straight out the fuckin psych ward we getting freaky

Choking, pet play, hitting, riding, under desk sex, bondage, overstim, creampie, transmasc reader (duh)

Enjoy~

This must be a form of torture.

Sitting under his desk, tied to his arm as he worked, hands tied behind you, you found yourself wondering why you did this to yourself. You made a small noise of desperation, scooting towards his crotch. He noticed, smirking

“Cmon (y/n) be a good boy, put that pretty mouth to use,” he muttered, still focused on his work.

“Tim i-” you stopped suddenly as he kicked you in the gut. It was wasnt hard, but you still yelped.

He glared down at you, yanking your leash closer to him. “What did i say? No words, understand?”

You nodded. He smiled and pet your head like the stupid mutt you are. “Good boy,” he looked up, refocusing on his work.

You whined as you stared at his erection, the head dripping. You wanted to drag this out so he had enough energy to fuck your boycunt to oblivion, but weak enough that you could ride him. You scooted even closer, giving the head a little lick. You felt his arm that was holding your leash twitch, and you smirked.

Slowly, you ran your tounge up the back of his dick, getting every veiny bit covered in your slobber. He stifled a moan as you reached the head, still not taking it in your mouth.

“Fuck, just… be good…” he muttered, clearly feeling overwhelmed with the thought of your mouth on him.

You made a small “woof” and rested your head on the chair, licking where the base of his dick hit his balls. He gasped, holding back a moan as you licked up and down agonizingly slowly. You felt your tail in you as you shifted, wet cunt slowly dripping down your inner thighs.

“Fuck just- mmph-” he groaned, leaning back in his chair to look at you.

You smiled, licking a large stripe up his shaft before taking the head in your mouth. “Yeah, like that, good boy,” he groaned, relieved at the stimulation. You started to take him deep in your throat, looking up at him while whining. He was a red mess, petting your head while softly moaning praise.

“Do you- hah- do you wanna go on the bed puppy? Youve been su- uh- such a good boy,” he grinned, and you quickly removed him from your mouth, nodding and whimpering. “Speak,” he commanded.

“Yes-” you started, only to be slapped in the face.

He grabbed your leash and pulled you into him, causing you to fall into him.

“Not like that pup, use your puppy words. Try again.” He smiled.

“Woof! Woof woof!!” You barked, earning a laugh.

“Good boy, your so smart! Cmon, lets go on the bed. Stay on your knees.” He stood up, leading you from under the desk to the bed.

You climbed up, his lips meeting yours as you sat on the edge of the bed. You whined as he bit your lip, lips parting as he pushed you down. He slipped his tongue in, straddling you while holding your arms above your head.

He broke the kiss, smiling at the dumb look on your face. “You wanna use human words?”

You nodded quickly, desperate to feel his name in your mouth.

“Ok baby, you can,” he chuckled.

“Tim, can i… ride… you?” you sheepishly whined.

He looked dumbfounded at first, quickly turning red. “I- uh- yeah? That sounds nice. Can we just start, im so fucking hard.” He mumbled, quickly rolling you so that you were on top of him, his leaking dick tracing your stomach.

You positioned yourself over him, slowly going down while he covered his eyes, face flushed. You moaned at the fullness, boycunt throbbing at the need for stimulation. You started up and down on him, softly whimpering.

“Fuck, Tim,” you moaned, speeding up.

He grabbed your waist, sliding to cup your ass. He slapped your ass as you bounced on him, moaning. You felt his cock twitch inside of you, the wet slapping noise getting faster as you desperately mumbled his name. It felt so good in your mouth, almost as good as his dick had.

“Yeah baby boy, like th- like that,” he groaned, running his hands up and down your thighs. “Youre so good, so.. fucking.. good.. hah-”

You ran your hands up and down his chest, whining as he dug his nails into your thighs. “Yeah? You like th- that?” You giggled, gasping as the grip on your leash tightened.

“Dont get cocky baby boy, i can go all night, until you cant- fuck- cant fucking walk tomorrow,” he growled, eyes darkening. You whined, entertaining the idea for a minute.

You felt him twitch inside you, earning a small whisper of desperation from you. Your instincts took over, going back to bouncing up and down on him. Your leash went slack as he dug his nails into your waist with a groan.

“Fuck, good boy, good- fucking- boy-” he groaned, slapping your ass with each word as hard as he could. You cried out, feeling your peak get closer and closer.

“Fuck tim, im gonna- fuck- im so fucking close-” you gasped, words running together as he smirked.

“Oh yeah? Who said you can?” He mocked, watching your head roll back in desperation.

“Please, fuck please- ah-” you went as fast as you could on him, the slapping sounds filling the room. With a loud squeak, you suddenly released on him, feeling the warmth spill out over his dick. His face grew agitated.

“Get off and on your back. Now.” He ordered, face flushed and angry. You obeyed, head still hazey from cumming so hard.

“Im sorry sir, I didn't mean-” you were interrupted by a hand around your throat.

“Yet, you did. You think thats ok?” He whispered into your neck, biting on your collar bone as you whined. He unclipped your leash, quickly tying a knot around your wrists and the beds headboard. “Its not puppy, and im gonna have to teach you how to obey, aren't i?”

He watched with pleasure as you gasped for air, how you nodded desperately and wiggled under him.

God, he fucking loved it.

He quickly inserted himself, earning a squeak from your lips as he bucked into you. It quickly became painful, but your screams didnt stop him. In fact, he seemed to love it. And to be fair, it was nice to be completely at his mercy.

“Fuck- tim it- it fucking hurts-” you whimpered, tears running down your cheeks as he continued, even speeding up.

He huffed into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy, ignoring your cries as he exhaled and came into you. Your tears streamed down your cheeks as you panted, mindlessly staring at the ceiling as he untied your arms.

“Was it too much?” He asked, gently wiping a tear off your face as you turned to face him.

“No, just… just a lot. Not bad but…. i dont know, do it more,”

He laughed in surprise, unlocking your collar. “Your so cute,” He pulled you into him, gently kissing your nose. “Shower or bath?”

You weakly laughed, smiling. “Theres no way i can stand right now, can we use that bathbomb i got?”

“Of course pretty boy,” he smiled, standing and wiping himself off. “I love you y’know,”

“I love you too babe,”

[mamawasatesttube]

workin on some very silly timkons. you know that trope of one character recovering from anesthesia etc and gushing over the other sitting at their bedside? yeah. :)

Tim eases him back down. “Don’t be stupid,” he warns. “You need to rest and recover.”

Oh, fuck. The puppy-dog eyes go to kicked puppy mode, and to Tim’s growing horror, it doesn’t stop there; Kon drops his gaze, and his lip juts out in a little pout.

He’s pouting. This man, simultaneously the hottest and the cutest man in the entire world, is pouting at Tim.

What the fuck is Tim supposed to do with him?

…Ah, to hell with it. He knows precisely what the fuck he’s supposed to do with him.

Okay. He takes the incredulity and puts it in a box, seals that up, and ships it off to nowhere, then turns the dial on his brain all the way down to “acceptance”. Then he heaves a sigh and settles onto the edge of the bed. Kon brightens.

“Here,” Tim says, doing his best not to bother wondering how exactly he got to this point in his life. “Did you want to, uh… look at my arms…?”

Kon lights up with a big, luminous, dopey smile, like the world’s most precious, idiotic sunrise. “Yeah!” he cheers, and after a moment, Tim feels the strange, familiar brush of his TTK skimming along the inside of his wrist. It moves up to his forearm, a gentle hold like being immersed in room-temperature water, but just a band the width of two fingers around his arm, not the entire thing; Kon’s face is full of wonder.

At this point, Tim is pretty sure it’s either a head injury, or something worse. Was there red kryptonite involved, or something? He thought he only saw green, but he was frantic and more occupied with getting it all out of Kon than analyzing the composition, and given how much blood there was, it’s very possible he missed some red spots in the spear.

“I like your arm muscles,” Kon declares. “Wow.”

Yeah. Tim should investigate the remnants of the spear. Red kryptonite is sounding more and more likely by the minute.

[ladytauria]

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH “Let me ride you.” for... jaycass :"O

ahhh thank you so much for the prompt <3

so, initially i wasn't sure what to do for this one, but then yesterday, i read a post from @deepwithintheabyss, and, uh. well. later that night i wrote the first 300 words for this <3

it ended up being jaytimcass instead of just jaycass, and uhhh. somehow it spiraled into a little over 4k of... pure smut. featuring: established jaytim with dom tim and sub jay having a threesome with dom cass <3

oh, and a tiny bit of incest, because in one line tim does call cass his sister<3

same day edit: some rephrasing, sentence restructures, and some clarifications added in certain spots. nothing major has changed, though, so if you've read it already you don't need to reread <3

>> AO3 <<

Tim and Cass (and to a lesser extent, Steph) share everything. That’s just a fact. Clothes, safe houses, gear, food, showers, toothbrushes—

—and sexual partners.

Albeit, Jason’s more than that to Tim. Tim loves him, wholeheartedly, which—everything he’s ever seen and read says that should mean he wants to keep Jason all to himself.

And he does. Mostly. With one little exception.

Tim loves him, adores him, and that means… he wants desperately to share him with Cass. Not all the time, or even frequently, but. She’s such a part of him that it feels only natural for her to share in this too, even if it’s only once.

Which is the only reason he brings it up to Jason at all.

Jason’s response is a quick and emphatic no. Tim doesn’t pout or plead—he takes the rejection gracefully, kissing his cheek and reassuring him that no is a complete sentence, and if he’s not comfortable, that’s okay. Tim still loves him, he’s not upset.(Maybe, privately, a bit disappointed, but he knows better than to say that.)

He’s pretty sure that’s the end of it.

Until Jason brings it up again, later. The image, the thought, hasn’t left his mind, and… tentatively, he’s willing to try it. 

Which brings them to now. Here. In Tim’s bedroom, the lights low, the three of them stripped to their underwear. Cass hangs back for now, perched to the side, watching.

Tim straddles Jason’s thighs. It splays his legs wide open, the kind of stretch that might burn a little if he wasn’t as flexible as he is. He’s got both hands buried in Jason’s hair, tipping his head back so he can kiss him hard and deep—fucking his mouth with his tongue.

Jason moans under him, hands resting on Tim’s hips. Spit smears around their mouths, dripping down their chins. It’s wet and messy and good, especially with how lax Jason’s mouth is. If Tim’s own tongue wasn’t in the way, he’s sure Jason’s would be hanging out like a dog.

God.

He’s so good. Part of Tim wants to glance over at Cass, ask with his eyes, Do you see this? Do you see how beautiful he is for me? But he doesn’t, because right now, this is about Jason.

About getting him comfortable and aroused and ready for Cass to join them.

He plunges his tongue as far in Jason’s mouth as it’ll go, straining his frenulum  in the process. It’s worth it for the noise Jason makes; for the flex of Jason hands on his hips. Fuck. Tim loves how strong he is, how easily he could manhandle him if he really wanted to.

How he doesn’t, because he wants Tim to manhandle him instead. (And Tim does, and can, because he may be small, but he’s strong.) He wants to be good. And that—

It’s heady.

He tugs Jason’s hair with one hand, drawing a delicious noise from him. His other hand slips down, gliding over Jason’s neck, shoulder, to grip at his bicep. The muscle is pliant under his hands; squishing easily when he kneads at it. Under the fat and lose muscle, though… Solid as rock. That makes Tim moan, licking into Jason’s mouth one more time before pulling back.

The lack of air is making him dizzy.

Jason, too, he thinks, judging by the way he blinks blearily at Tim, sucking in a deep lungful of air like he’d forgotten he was supposed to be breathing. It’s cute. Cuter still is the high noise Jason makes when Tim attacks his neck with lips and teeth and tongue. He refreshes old, faded markings before moving down, down.

He slides his other hand from Jason’s hair now—down his neck, over his shoulder and down to his collarbone, where it’s joined by the other. He cups Jason’s pecs in his hands. They fit in his palms almost like tits, fat and relaxed muscle plush and soft as he kneads with his fingers.

Jason’s moan is high and sweet.

It gets higher, sweeter, when Tim wraps his mouth around a nipple.

He usually likes to start slow. Soft. But he knows Cass’s mood tonight is neither of those things. Patient as she’s being, there’s an antsiness in her. Tim had offered to reschedule, but…

He’d known by the look in her eye what his sister wanted. He also knew that Jason was more than capable of rising to the occasion, regardless of how Tim chose to prep him. Still. Tim was going to get him used to it now, starting by sucking hard on his nipple… and following that with a scrape of his teeth.

Jason shudders, his skin pebbling with bumps, a sweet little whimper in his voice.

He hears Cass shift. Chances a quick glance over at her, and nearly smiles at what he sees, the way her gaze has gotten more intense. More interested. He can’t blame her. Jason really does make such lovely sounds.

It motivates Tim to draw more from him. He plays with Jason’s nipples until the man is shying under his touch—then, he leaves a ring of bruises around his pecs, loving the way he squirms.

Tim can feel Jason’s hips working. Small, minute shifts, seeking friction. His cock strains at his briefs—tight, black, with a little bit of red lace trim. Tim presses the heel of his palm against it, letting Jason grind on it.

It makes him pant, open mouthed, body trembling with each breath. When Tim takes his hand away, he whimpers again, looking at him with wide, pleading eyes. A glossy sheen of tears coats them, starting to gather in the corners.

Adorable.

Tim kisses his nose, and shoves at his shoulders. Jason goes, falling back into the bed willingly. He looks up at Tim with the sweetest expression—needy and wanting and so so adoring. Tim loves him.

Jason lifts his hips obediently when Tim hooks his fingers in the waistband of his briefs. They look so good on him it’s almost a shame to take them off, but. Tim knows for a fact what’s underneath is far prettier. He tugs them down his legs and tosses them toward the hamper.

Tim skims his fingers up the underside of Jason’s cock, watching the way he shudders; bumps pebbling on his skin. The flesh of him is hot under Tim’s fingers—precome saturates the head, drooling down the shaft. Tim swipes his finger through it, and sticks it in his mouth, ignoring the needy whimper Jason makes, instead humming, pleased, at the feeling of salt on his tongue.

“Grip the headboard, Jay— Good boy. Knees up for me, yes, just like that, that’s beautiful.” Tim reaches—Cass hands him the pillow he was looking for, and he thanks her with a brief smile. Jason blinks at her, like he’d forgotten she was here—and then smiles, shyly.

Cass smiles back, ghosting her fingers over the underside of his thigh. Jason shivers, arms twitching. Before Tim can ask, he’s raising his hips, letting Tim slip the pillow under them.

Cass hands him the lube next.

Tim cups Jason’s balls. Lifts them to expose his perineum, and drizzles lube over it, letting it dribble down to Jason’s hole. Jason flinches, keens. The headboard creaks under his grip, his hands twisting around it.

He stays where he was put, though, even as tears trickle down his temples. Cass hums, pressing up against Tim’s back, stroking over Jason’s calf as she hooks her chin over Tim’s shoulder.

Tim rolls his balls in his palm in reward—Jason shudders, head tipping back with a soft moan. Then Tim lets them go so he can slick up two of his fingers. He circles them around Jason’s rim, massaging the muscle. The muscles in Jason’s thighs twitch as they quiver. His belly jumps.

Tim pushes in with his index finger; just to the first knuckle. He keeps rubbing his rim with forefinger, biting back a smile as Jason fights to stay still. His cock drools, dripping onto his abdomen. Cass pets over Tim’s belly, humming as she watches. Her other hand is still tracing patterns over Jason’s calf.

He pushes in to the second knuckle, rubbing at Jason’s walls. Jason is hot around him, his passage silken. He pumps his finger once, twice—then withdraws. Jason whimpers, though it cuts off sharply when Tim plunges back in with both fingers, to the second knuckle. Jason clenches around him, wiggling his hips, a needy, plaintive sound in his throat.

Tim works his fingers, quickly working his fingers in to the third knuckle. Jason’s passage spasms around him, as if he can milk his fingers.

“Needy,” Cass says. 

Tim hums in agreement, and Jason whines, pouting at them both. The pout drops off his face when Tim crooks his fingers, rubbing over his prostate. Jason’s lashes flutter, mouth open in an O, more tears rolling down his face as he whimpers. His hips twitch a little, like he can ride Tim’s fingers.

The angle’s not good enough, though, and he’s forced to simply take what Tim gives him.

When Tim adds a third finger, Jason keens again, bucking, hands straining against the headboard. He can feel Cass’s breathing deepen, feel the way her hand presses down on his belly, the way she presses closer against his back.

“Taking me so well,” Tim croons as he stretches Jason open. He tears his eyes away from Jason’s face to watch his hole, the way it swallows Tim’s fingers. Such a pretty sight. He hums to himself.

Tim keeps teasing him, massaging his prostate, stretching his walls, until Jason is sniffling, crying, sweet, desperate sounds falling from his mouth. Then, Tim takes pity. Cass slicks up the plug Tim had set out, passing it to him when it’s ready. Tim withdraws his fingers. Jason doesn’t even have time to whine before Tim is rubbing the base of the plug against his hole.

It’s a little thicker than even three of Tim’s fingers—he watches Jason’s hole stretch to accommodate it, enjoys the way he strains, arching up off the bed, sweet little cries leaving him.

Tim rocks it until he’s sure it’s nestled right against his prostate. Then he pats Jason’s thigh. “Good boy,” he praises.

Jason sniffles at him, widening his eyes, pleading silently.

Cass laughs sweetly in Tim’s ear.

“Not yet." His cock throbs at the way Jason’s face drops. He holds his hand out automatically, accepting the final toy from Cass—a cock ring.

Jason whimpers at the sight of it, but he doesn’t put up a fuss when Tim works it over him, fixing it to the base of Jason's cock. He kisses the tip, precome smearing on his lips, and pets Jason’s flanks.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he says. “You just relax for me. Deep breaths—just like that, very good. Keep your hands on the headboard for me.” He cards his fingers through the hair on Jason’s belly a few times, watching as Jason does what he’s told, eyes fluttering shut.

When some of the tension has eased from his shoulders, Tim moves, sliding up to sit next to Jason’s head, leaning back against the headboard. Cass crawls after him, her movements graceful and languid like a predator. Jason, eyes open again, watches her with wide eyes. She straddles Tim’s thighs and twins her arms around his neck, toying with the short hairs at his nape, making him shiver minutely. Tim cups her hips, stroking his thumbs over the v leading to her groin.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she echoes, mouth twitching. The light in her eyes is dancing with amusement and anticipation. Tim tips his head back as Cass kisses him; mouths moving in perfect sync, tongues slipping and sliding together wetly, neither of them taking more from the other than they’re given. Push and pull—back and forth. A dance Tim thinks both of them were born knowing the steps to.

The headboard creaks. Jason whines pleadingly.

They ignore him.

Tim’s hands smooth up Cass’s rib cage, counting each bone under her skin before palming her breasts. He knows Cass doesn’t usually wear a bra—that the lacy thing cupping them is for their benefit alone. He plays with her nipples through the fabric, enjoying the way she rolls her hips against him in return.

When she nips his tongue, he goes for the band, unhooking it with practiced ease. Cass shrugs it off, tossing it carelessly over her shoulder.

The headboard creaks again as Jason makes a soft, plaintive sound. Tim smiles into Cass’s mouth before she breaks the kiss. This time, it’s her turn. She pays only a little attention to his chest—pinching his nipples until he squirms. Then she focuses on other things, spaces of his body that Tim had never known were sensitive until she found them. His side, his stomach, even spots on his back. Cass works them all while Tim holds onto her hips and moans.

It drives Jason crazy beside them. Tim can hear him squirming. Hear the sweet, needy sounds he makes. Can picture the way tears fall on his cheeks. It would be so easy for him to look over, to see it for himself, but.

Ignoring him while they put on a show will drive him that much crazier. And Tim loves to drive Jason crazy.

Tim’s turn again. He kisses Cass’s neck, using far less teeth than he had on Jason and leaving no marks. His hands roam her body, mapping out the places that make her squirm, make her breathing hitch, make her even moan. It’s always a treat, getting a sound from Cass. She’s so silent. (Tim likes that too, though: reading her pleasure from breath and expression alone.)

They don’t stop until both of them are leaking through their underwear; damp spots where their arousal pools the thickest.

Tim discards his—Cass does the same above him, both of them tossing them carelessly. He turns to Jason again, finally, finding him watching them. He’s just as Tim pictured; face rosy red, tears glistening in his eyes and on his cheeks, hands twisting around the headboard, grip white-knuckled. A pearly pool of precome glitters on his stomach.

Tim strokes his cheek with his knuckles, stopping to cup his jaw, thumb catching over his full bottom lip. Jason’s lips wrap around the tip, suckling., looking up at Tim with wide, pleading eyes.

Tim smiles at him. “Good boy,” he praises. “Being so patient, keeping your hands where I told you… Do you think you can keep being good for me?”

Jason nods, immediately, curls falling into his eyes.

Tim brushes them back to plant a kiss on his forehead. “Of course you can,” he croons. He takes a condom off the bedside table, sitting up. He works his hand over Jason’s cock, gentle, making sure it’s thoroughly coated in pre before he rolls it on. He can hear the way Jason’s breath hitches in anticipation. “You’re gonna stay nice and still, and let her ride you, aren’t you?”

Jason’s breath hitches, and he nods again; quick, sharp jerks. “Yes. Please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

Tim strokes his face, fingertips skimming over his jaw. He looks over at Cass, nodding, giving her the go ahead.

She’s all languid limbs when she climbs over Jason, settling onto his thighs. Tim lies on his side, ignoring his own erection in favor of propping his head up with one hand, and trailing the other over Jason’s chest, twirling his fingertips through the wiry curls.

Cass wraps her hand around Jason’s cock—looking pale and small against his cock. The contrast makes his fingers itch for a camera. She rubs the tip through her folds, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth parted.

The headboard jerks under Jason’s grip, knocking against the wall. Tim kisses his jaw. Cass teases Jason for a moment more—Tim can see her eyes glittering under her lashes, the twitch at her mouth that shows just how much she’s enjoying the sounds Jason makes.

And then…

Cass slams down, taking Jason to the root with a single thrust.

He shouts—Tim is half worried the headboard is going to snap under his hands. It doesn’t. Instead, it slams back against the wall again; a loud sound that makes him glad he doesn’t have neighbors. Jason’s chest heaves, his arms shake.

Cass sets a hard, brutal pace. Tim can barely hear her soft grunts under Jason’s cries. She switches back and forth between riding him and grinding on him, rubbing her clit against him. Fat tears roll down Jason’s face; his skin is flushed from head to chest. His tongue lolls out of his mouth—Tim can’t resist plunging two fingers between his lips.

He’s rewarded by Jason sucking; cheeks hollowing, swallowing around them. Tim pets his tongue idly, turning back to watch Cass.

He can tell the moment she comes—clamping tight around Jason’s cock, her movements stilling. Jason lets out a strangled cry, teeth grazing over Tim's skin. Cass's head tips back, chest thrust forward. She still looks so composed; only a slight flush on her skin; the barest sheen of sweat.

She isn't still for long. Bending backwards, reaching for the remote at the foot of the bed. Jason’s brow furrows in confusion at the sight of it—until she presses the button, and the plug in his ass buzzes to life. Jason’s breath hitches. He whines needily around Tim’s fingers. He pumps them, fucking Jason’s mouth properly, watching the way his eyelids droop. He pants, breath hot and humid.

Tim brushes his mouth against Jason’s ear. “Such a good boy, letting her use you like this,” he whispers. “Letting her use that pretty cock of yours to make herself come. A sweet little toy for her.”

Jason moans around his fingers, shivering, looking up at Tim through his lashes. His sucks turn more insistent, and Tim chuckles. “Do you need something more in your mouth, baby?” 

Jason whines, nodding. Tim drags himself back up, moving until Jason’s head and shoulders are pillowed on his legs. He takes his fingers, wiping them on Jason’s cheek. He feeds Jason his cock.

Tim will never tire of Jason’s mouth. His body is a furnace, running a few degrees hotter than everyone else’s. He feels molten and soft around Tim’s flesh, and when he sucks—

Stars dance in Tim’s eyes.

He pets Jason’s face, deepening his breaths to try and keep them even. Jason moans, whines, cries around Tim’s cock—but he never, ever stops sucking and licking, doing his best to bob his head, and staring up at Tim, hazy-eyed and adoring. He soaks up ever stroke of Tim's hand like he's starving for it.

If Tim was even a fraction less horny it would make his heart ache. As it is—he just gets harder, belly tight and hot.

He's nearly undone when Cass comes again—Jason's mouth tightening around him, moaning long and low, the sound vibrating around his cock.

Tim reaches out with his other hand—Cass takes it, tangling their fingers together. She’s showing signs of exertion now, sweat glittering and glistening on her skin. As beautiful now as she is on stage, arms raised in a perfect pirouette.

She squeezes Tim’s hand.

Tim squeezes back. He taps Jason’s cheek with the other, getting his attention. “You’re going to make Cass come one more time, baby,” he says. “And then you get a reward, alright?”

Jason hums, blinking slowly up at him in acknowledgement. His lashes are clumped with tears, eyes rimmed with red. Tim strokes a finger down the line of his nose, over his bulging cheek.

Cass’s pace is slower this time—her hips rolling. Her breaths quicken, quiet moans tumbling from her mouth. The movements of Jason’s mouth grow clumsier; too focused on Cass. Tim doesn’t mind. He is too.

When Cass’s stomach starts to tighten, the muscles flexing, showing off her abs, Tim lets go of her hand, rising up a little to pull her into a kiss over Jason’s head. He hears, feels, Jason groans—the vibrations make him moan. A particularly hard thrust has Cass tensing, then coming with a sigh, melting against Tim’s mouth.

She pats his cheek when she pulls away, smiling at him, eyes hazy and face pink, looking far more relaxed than when they started. Tim smiles to see it. She slips off of Jason, resting on his other side, curling her legs under her. 

Tim eases his cock from Jason’s mouth—when he whimpers, Cass replaces it with her fingers. Jason’s eyes blow wide in surprise, and then he sucks eagerly. Cass smiles down at him.

Tim settles between his legs, cupping his balls lifting them as if he's testing the weight of them before making a low, sympathetic noise. "Aw, poor baby. You're so full. I bet it hurts, doesn't it?"

Jason whines around Cass’s fingers. Tim is sure he would be begging to come if he could speak—especially when Tim rolls them in his palm, rubbing them with his fingertips. Jason thrashes his head, his hips moving in short, aborted jerks as he tries to stay still, like Tim asked.

“What do you think, Cass?” Tim asks, contemplatively. “Has he earned it?”

Cass hums, her mouth quirking on one side. “Hasn’t made you come yet,” she points out, to Jason’s distress. Idly, she starts circling one of his nipples with her free hand. Tim watches his chest jerk, both up and away.

Tim lets his eyes widen, pretending surprise. “You’re right. He hasn’t. That’s not really fair, is it Jay?” he asks, and Jason whines, pouting around Cass’s fingers. He’s so cute, with his curls falling into those big, pleading eyes, glassy with lust and tears.

Ignoring him, Tim hums contemplatively. “Although... I did promise him a reward for making you come again." He pets Jason's thigh, cocking his head like he's thinking. “Hm… I suppose for your reward, darling, I’ll take this off for you.” Tim eases the cock ring from him, and lets it fall on the bed beside them. “But if you want to come…” He grabs the base of the plug, Cass turning it off as pulls it out. “You’re going to have to do it on my cock. Think you can do that?”

Jason nods, frantically. His cheeks have hollowed, and Tim knows he’s got to be sucking Cass’s fingers like a champ. He can see her moving slightly, probably petting his tongue.

Tim lets the plug drop on the bed with the cock ring. He grabs the lube again. Hisses at the cold liquid on his heated flesh before he strokes himself, smearing it everywhere. He doesn’t bother with a condom; just lines himself up with Jason’s hole, lifting up one of Jason’s legs and pushing it toward his chest. 

With one snap of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt.

Jason sobs. His cock and balls twitch, a spurt of precome splattering on his skin. He tightens beautifully around Tim, making him snarl at the tight, wet heat of him.

Cass hums, watching with dark eyes. She presses her mouth against Jason’s temple and whispers, just loud enough for Tim to hear, “Beautiful.”

The praise makes Jason shake, sobbing again. Cass brushes hair from his forehead, looking from him to Tim, clear approval in her eyes. Keep him, she tells him silently, without so much as moving her lips.

I intend to, Tim says back, snapping his hips again. Jason keens.

Cass keeps petting Jason, touch firm and soothing, letting him suck on her fingers as Tim fucks him. He uses the same pace as Cass, right at the very start. Hard and punishing, slowing occasionally to roll his hips, angling for Jason’s prostate.

It doesn’t take very long at all for Jason to come. Especially not when Cass starts teasing his tit again—scraping a nail over his tight, puckered nipple.

Tim has to hold his hips and Cass his shoulders to keep him from arching completely off the bed, mouth hanging open in a silent shout. He paints his own chest with come—Tim helps him, massaging his balls and perineum while fucking him shallowly.

When Jason collapses, he looks half passed out. 

Tim pets his flanks, giving both of them a moment to catch their breaths and then... he keeps going, chasing his own bliss in the tight heat of Jason's body.

Cass drags three fingers through Jason’s come—examines them curiously, tilting them in the light. Then, she slips her fingers from Jason's mouth, holding up the ones covered in his come instead. Jason swallows them down without hesitation, moaning when he tastes himself on her fingers, and that—

That’s when Tim spills, deep inside him. He feels Jason shudder, hears his quiet moan, feels the way he clenches around him. He clenches tighter when Tim pulls out, as if he can hold him inside, but Tim ignores him. A line of come follows his cock; Tim scoops it up with his fingers, stuffs it back inside, using them to keep him plugged while he snags the plug. He uses his come to slick the plug before working back inside him. As soon as it's settled, Jason sighs sweetly, relaxing back against the mattress, suckling contentedly on Cass's fingers.

Tim crawls up to the headboard, settling down on Jason's other side. He strokes Jason's cheek. "You can let go of the headboard now, sweetheart," he whispers. Jason blinks up at him. It takes him a second to comply, and when he does, it's slow, finger-by-finger before he lowers his arms. Cass slips her fingers from his mouth, then; she and Tim each taking one of his arms, massaging them. Jason hums, low and rumbly like a purr.

Tim raises Jason's hand to his mouth, turning it to kiss his palm before threading their fingers together. "Very well done, sweetheart. You were so good for us, thank you."

Jason shivers, blinking sleepily at him, a little smile on his mouth.

Cass sweeps Jason's bangs from his face again so she can kiss his forehead. "Good boy," she tells him when she comes back up. Jason blinks at her, wide-eyed with surprise. Then he flushes, smiling shyly at her. She smiles back, sweetly, patting his cheek before leaning over him.

Tim meets her halfway, sighing into her slow, languid kiss.

They say sharing is caring, and right now, Tim couldn’t agree more.

[no-quit-lucy]

Chenford's first kiss from Tamara's pov

read on ao3 rated T wc: 1326

Tamara was annoyed, walking home from the bus stop two blocks away. The day had not gone according to plan, not even close. After Lucy’s recommendation to check out C’s car auction for a good deal on buying her first car, Tamara showed up to their special Memorial Day sale and fell in love with this mega cute light blue mini with the white stripes. She had seen it listed on their outdated website, stoked Lucy had known about them since they were frequently used by police and the fire department to remove vehicles in the streets blocking entrances, fire hydrants, and other fire and safety codes.

It was a good car and probably sat in a parking garage for most of the pandemic so it didn't have too many miles on it yet and looked fairly clean. It had the retro center dash, no touch screen. The perfect car to zip around LA and look cute while doing it. Tamara balked at the low price, excited to see it was below the amount she had saved for her first car purchase, able to snag it with enthusiasm. 

Just that morning, she showed up to offer her cash in exchange for the car. After Lucy’s insistence that she meet her at the station to show off her new ride, (so Lucy would know it was her driving if she needed to pull her over), Tamara saw her dream car snatched away from her the instant that police dog started barking at her trunk.

Forced back onto the bus just hours after thinking she was done with it, Tamara contemplated stealing acquiring her 6th car. Instead, she had asked the cute boy who worked in the police garage to keep an eye on when the car would be released from Evidence so she could repurchase it before it went to auction. She had considered texting Tim to keep track of it, knowing he would just to get Lucy off his back; she ended up not, expecting him to be in a bad mood after meeting his doppelgänger. 

Not being able to stick around and see him, to make fun of Tim, sucked, but she had to catch the bus in time for her late morning class and had to miss out on what Lucy had later texted and could only be described as “Florida Tim.”

She liked the car and freaking hated taking the bus. All she wanted to do when she walked in the door was get to relax, and not worry about her car. Then she wanted to bother Lucy about Dim and hear about Tim’s reaction to it all over a bowl of whatever cliptok recipe she had saved last.

Walking up to the building, she looked up and saw a low light emitting from their 6th-floor corner apartment even though the shades were closed. Lucy probably had candles lit, the cute wall sconces, and her lanterns. The apartment got so much sun, alternative lighting was more of an ambiance thing than anything else. 

Then she noticed Tim’s car parked in their second parking spot, her parking spot. The one she would have used had that dog not found the black-tar heroin in her trunk. And thank fuck it was Lucy and Tim who had been there, instead of some random cops on Melrose.

Tamara took the elevator up to their floor, shuffling her backpack to get out her apartment keys, so much lighter missing the weight of her car key. It was only there a short time, but damn it had been so emotionally bonding struggling to take it on and then off again just an hour later. Only one drive in on their journey together. She flipped the light blue coiled rubber around her finger, waiting for the elevator to finish ascending, wondering what Tim was doing at their apartment. He and Lucy didn't really hang out outside of work, not since Tim started dating Ashley and Lucy started seeing Chris.

What she didn't expect to see, but couldn’t say surprised her, when she unlocked her apartment door– Tim and Lucy standing fully pressed together, and making out. 

“Ooh? Uh, I—” Tamara startled, interrupting their moment.

They backed away from each other, like teens caught doing something they knew they shouldn't have, shocked and outed, fear dripping off their faces with fright. 

Breathless and affected by a good kiss, Tamara knew it was a long time coming and immediately offered to vacate for their privacy so they could continue. It was about damn time those two idiots wised up and did a little more than just make out. 

“I should probably go,” she thumbed back to the hallway, sure she could let Lucy and Tim have the apartment for the night.

“No!” Lucy protested, pointing accusingly to Tim she explained, “This is work. This is work.”

Tim, panting, nodding along with what she was saying, jumped in on their alibi, “Yeah, yeah, we-we’re going undercover. And its—”

Tamara interrupted, not needing to hear their half-baked excuses, “I mean, hey- hey, it's cool. I mean, you don't have to explain yourself. Alright?” She huffed with a laugh, wanting to show her support for their budding relationship. “I should probably go.” nodding back to herself and the door, Tamara stepped toward it.

“Nope!” Lucy protested as Tim chanted behind her a series of no’s.

“I was just about to leave. You know what?” Tim rushed toward the coffee table, both of them having no idea what to do with themselves or their bodies. “No, I don't have anything.”

Tim stepped around the couch and looked to Lucy to say goodbye but thought better of it, instead just awkwardly pointing at her and saying, “I'll see you tomorrow,” in a low and even tone.

“Good— good work tonight,” Lucy muttered clearly in reply. Turning away from him, hating out that sounded.

Tim echoed his reply, “Great work as well,” before saying a curt “bye” to Tamara and shutting the apartment door looking like he was still stuck in the gravitation pull of Lucy’s kiss.

Tamara looked around the apartment as he left, trying to see if anything was out of place, giving Lucy an extra moment to compose herself before offering up anything, really. Seeing the events still processing on Lucy’s face, Tamara did the kind thing and offered to leave her to it, “I’m gonna go to my room,” she announced, watching Lucy immediately turn away in agreement.

“Yeah, me too. Good.” Stalking off tall and proud, Lucy went to her room to spiral for a minute, or two.

***

Tamara got the rundown at breakfast– they’re doing an undercover assignment as their doppelgängers who happen to be dating each other… Lucy warned Tamara not to comment on it and swore that the kiss didn’t mean anything. He was dating Ashley, she was dating Chris, he was her boss, and nothing was going to come from it. It was just a part of becoming an undercover cop and Lucy was going to have to get used to pretending with her coworkers if she wanted to be halfway decent at her job.

Plus, she needed to debrief with Tim, needed to see how he was reacting, if they would talk about it and do something about the chemistry they both felt or if they were going to move on like it was just part of crafting their undercover personas– which is what it was, part of their backstory. They had to be good at kissing, and they were, maybe a little too good.

Whatever her excuse, Tamara didn’t quite believe her, always having advocated for appreciation of Tim’s zaddy-ness and knowing Lucy had a thing for older guys. Ah, it would only be a matter of time now, until Tamara needed to get a car to give her an even easier out to leaving the apartment vacant most nights for Tim and Lucy to practice more.

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 52

First

Previous

“What the fuck,” Marinette mumbled, her eyes fixed on her computer, a hand hovering above the trackpad unsurely.

Tim shifted his legs from her lap so he could lean over and look.

Marinette slammed the laptop closed.

Which, she supposed, was probably the most suspicious way to go about that. Something that was confirmed by the way Tim stared at her with wide eyes.

She smiled sheepishly. “Oh noooooo my – uh – I don’t know – fuck – porn I was watching porn yes totally – my porn closed out! Guess I can’t show you!”

“You do realize you said all of that out loud, right?”

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re going to snoop if I say you shouldn’t.”

Tim pressed his lips together thinly.

And then he groaned, coming to rest his head on her shoulder again. “You know, if you’re going to play the whole ‘you are a moral person and would never do anything wrong’ card then I’m going to pull the ‘you know you can come to me with anything’ routine to guilt you.”

Damn. That’s a good routine.

Marinette thought it over for just a few moments more, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully, before she sighed and opened up her computer again to show off her many tabs dedicated to college searching. “I’ve been thinking about applying to get into college. Y’know, since we’re going to be here for a while. Figured I might as well get my degree and all that, since my last attempt at going to college was rudely interrupted.”

Tim smiled despite the tiny jab she had sent his way. “That sounds nice. Why’ve you been hiding it?”

A blush rose to her face. “Don’t know. Just. It would be… embarrassing if I told you about it and then didn’t get in. Could you imagine? How lame would that be?”

He hummed and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Well, if you don’t get in, I’ll just hack the system and change it for you.”

“Aw, honey,” she said, turning to press her forehead against his, her lips curled into a cheeky kind of smile. “You’d commit domestic terrorism for me? So romantic.”

“I’m very sure you’re not using the word right. It’s closer to fraud than anything.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Getting less and less romantic by the second.”

“I will commit domestic terrorism for you, darling,” Tim corrected himself.

She snickered and pressed a short kiss to his lips.

He smiled a little dopily as she pulled back, and she was very tempted to kiss him again, but she had suddenly remembered what had started this conversation in the first place:

She pointed an accusing finger at her screen. “Why are college apps in Gotham so weird?”

“Hm?” He said, blinking once to snap himself out of it, and then looking down at her computer.

He snorted.

Because the essay prompt read as followed:

Tell us about an event that played a major role in shaping who you are today. (We advise you to choose something unique, and not fall back on cliches such as a car crash, kidnapping, or mugging.)

~

Tim smiled as he watched Damian draw. The kid was getting better at it. As he aged, his hands got steadier and steadier, allowing for more clean-looking pictures.

And what was he drawing?

Well, at the moment, Frank. For some reason, the kid really liked drawing things in the world around him. Not that Tim was complaining, he really didn’t mind.

The only one that minded was, apparently, Frank. The dog was trained to stay with Damian but, usually, that still allowed for some movement.

Which is where Tim came in. He petted the dog to keep her still and satisfied while Damian attempted to figure out shading on his own.

Tim and Marinette had both, of course, tried to show him themselves… but Damian had seemed less than happy with this. Their little boy was growing up so fast. He didn’t need them anymore.

Just kidding. The moment he deemed the picture finished, he held it up for Tim’s approval.

Tim, of course, didn’t hesitate: “It’s really good, kiddo. I really like how you used grey to show the lighting of the room. Really adds depth.”

Whether or not he fully understood it, Damian beamed at the praise.

And then, after a few moments where he seemed to mull it over, he showed Frank, too.

Frank, of course, didn’t seem to know quite what was going on. She nosed at the picture a little bit, but didn’t seem to know what to do with the fact that she had been presented with something that was not food.

Damian started to look a little nervous the longer he went without response.

Tim shifted his hand to scratch behind the dog’s ear instead, in that spot he knew she loved.

Frank’s tail wagged accordingly.

“I think she likes it!”

Damian’s eyes lit up. He nodded once, as if to say this was the only possible outcome and he had entirely expected it, and then pointed to the fridge.

Said fridge was running out of space to put drawings on, but Tim would find a way.

Anything for Damian.

~

Marinette poked her head around the doorframe, peering into Bruce’s office. He had no appointments at the moment, she knew (as that was literally her job), but she felt that it was perfectly normal to be somewhat cautious. Even though she knew firsthand about all of the amazing benefits that Wayne Enterprises offered – it was why she had started working there in the first place – she couldn’t help but be hesitant about asking.

Bruce, apparently having the strange sixth sense that all parents do to know when their kid wants something from them, looked up at her.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, Marinette?”

She grimaced. No going back now.

She slipped inside, shutting the door behind her, and made her way over to the chair in front of his desk.

Somehow, Bruce’s eyebrow crept higher.

She sighed, deciding to cut to the chase: “I’ve been applying to colleges. And, uh, I was wondering about the scholarships the company offers.”

“Oh,” said Bruce, his expression lightening into something that could almost be described as fond. “Well, we pay for up to $30,000 of what FAFSA and the school’s scholarships don’t cover, which is basically everything for most people.”

She nodded dutifully. She knew this, she had looked it up. But she wasn’t going to tell that to the person paying vast sums of money for her.

“Coolcoolcool,” she mumbled, running a hand through her hair as she thought everything over.

“Are you going full-time or part-time?”

“Full-time. I’m enrolling in twelve credits – for scholarship reasons – but they’re all night and early morning classes so it won’t affect you too much, promise.”

“I’ll reduce your hours either way. I’m sure Tim would run over to beat me up if he heard I was overworking you,” Bruce said.

Then, he laughed at the bitter look that came over her face.

Marinette thought her pout-iness was more than justified. How dare her husband care about her mental and physical well-being? Truly, he must hate her.

“And… what are you going to do about recommendations?”

Marinette smiled nervously. “Well, as you are my current employer, I’m going to have to list you… as for the others, I’m going to ask the WP people to help me.”

(This was, of course, a lie. They were not in witness protection, and therefore would find it very difficult to get an agent to give them a recommendation. In reality, they were going to commit so much fraud.)

He smiled. “I’ll be sure to give you a glowing review.”

“Please don’t,” she groaned, her face flushing. “I’m fine with a normal recommendation.”

He laughed lightly. “Fine, fine. I won’t go into ‘proud dad gushing about his kids mode’, as Jason likes to call it.”

Marinette breathed a sigh of relief. That had gone well. Not that she had thought that it wouldn’t, but she was allowed to be nervous about things. She pushed herself up to stand.

Only to be stopped with a quiet question: “What are you intending on studying?”

Marinette hesitated. She had, originally, been intending on going back into psychology. But that wasn’t really useful for her, and she understood herself well enough to know that she had never gone into psychology because of passion. She had gone because it was the closest she could come to what she was comfortable with.

And everything about this reality was so different, so why not make a tiny change? One that would help once she got home?

“Medicine, I think. It’ll take a while, but the time will pass anyways –.”

And then, to her horror, she realized Bruce’s eyes were starting to water.

She, awkwardly, walked over and gave him a couple of pats on the back. “Are you okay, Bruce?”

He sniffed loudly, rubbing under his eyes. “Of course.”

~

There are many lessons that could be taken from this story. People, over time, with the right kind of support, will get better. Love, be it platonic or romantic, is a beautiful thing. Do not try and rush life, things will come when they come regardless of what you do. But do not run away from the things life throws at you either, because you are only ever just delaying the inevitable, and prolonging your stress.

Tim, however, would impress upon you a different, very specific lesson he would like you to learn: never go to Japanese restaurants with karaoke bars if you aren’t alone.

If you go with friends, it’s very likely you will end up peer-pressured into going up with them, or dared to go up alone, or drunk enough off of sake to go up on your own accord. Sure, maybe you and your friends are the type to make fun of people that go up there, but you’ll never really know until you’re there, and is this really something you want to risk being wrong about?

Want to go have food with your family? Too bad. Now you’re singing a song from The Tiny Merperson’s soundtrack in front of a crowd.

Tim isn’t sure what’s more embarrassing. The fact that he is singing a kid’s song up on stage (Damian is singing into the mic with him, belting his heart out, and they both sound terrible, but since when is the point of karaoke to be good), the fact that Marinette is definitely recording this (she has a soft smile on her face, and this only makes cheeks go even more red), or the fact that he doesn’t have to look at the lyrics on the screen once (his kid stumbles over a good third of the words, his eyes narrowed to near slits in concentration as he looks at the lyrics as if he can will the words to make more sense).

Okay, it was somewhat fun. Embarrassing beyond belief, but he did enjoy it. If only a little bit.

It ended up being worth it, though, because when they got back to the table, Marinette leaned to press a kiss to the corner of his lips and said that she loved him quite a lot.

This wasn’t news, really, but it was always nice to be reminded.

~

Marinette wasn’t a coward. She had been through too much – done too much – to ever be called a coward.

She did, however, have anxiety.

Which is why she was currently staring at a particular bit of mail. It sat on the counter, looking far too innocent for something that could ruin either her next week as she dealt with the pain of rejection… or her next several years as she struggled through school.

Basically, the options weren’t great, and she couldn’t bring herself to open it.

Frank was bumping her nose against her repeatedly, and Marinette scratched her behind the ears distractedly. She knew that this meant that she needed to sit down and give herself a couple of minutes to relax, but she was too jittery to sit.

Thankfully, Tim chose that exact minute to get home from work, Damian on his hip.

He blinked a couple of times at the scene – she must have looked weird, hands braced on the counter in front of the letter, staring at the slip of paper like it was going to explode.

Which, admittedly, was normal in Gotham, but not this version of Gotham.

And then a soft look came over his face. He set down Damian (who immediately ran to greet Frank) and walked over until he could wrap his arms around her from behind. “Do you want me to open it and read it for you?”

Marinette snorted, even as a strange kind of warmth seemed to envelop her. Surely, it was this sudden hot flash that was causing her face to redden. “I’m fully capable of opening it, Tim.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and she could feel the way his lips were curved into a smile against her skin. “But I’m not sure I want to wait until next year to find out.”

She whirled around in his arms to glare at him, but it was hard to be angry when he was smiling at her so sweetly.

She huffed. The tension bled out of her, bit by bit. She gave a tiny groan and pressed her forehead against his. The arms around her squeezed.

“Dickhead,” she mumbled.

He laughed. “Only for you.” He pressed a short kiss to her lips, and then slowly reached past her for the letter.

She let him, so he was quick to open it and empty the envelope into his hands, not feeling any need to drag it out any more than she already had. There was more than one slip of paper, which was promising, at least.

His eyes scanned over the first line, and she just barely had enough time to take in the way his smile widened before he pulled her into another hug.

She hugged back, if hesitantly. “This… is a good hug, right?”

“You got in!” He said brightly.

And relief flooded into her, nearly making her knees buckle. She was sure that Tim would have caught her if they had. But she didn’t, she held steady, and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Holy fuck,” she whispered.

She pulled away to look for herself, and the bolded words of congratulation at the top of the page made a smile stretch itself over her face.

Damian made grabby hands, and she didn’t hesitate to hand it over.

Green eyes narrowed as he looked down at the paper. Brows furrowed as he scanned over the contents. It was plain to see that he didn’t really understand what was going on. But, still, he looked up at her with a tiny smile.

“Proud of it?” Damian asked.

Marinette exchanged mildly confused looks with Tim, but told him that she was.

“Then it's for the fridge,” Damian said. He nodded once, as if agreeing with himself. 

And it was a little embarrassing, but the kid was clearly trying to support her in his own way and how was she supposed to say no to that?

So, it was tacked to the fridge beside one of Damian’s drawings.

If her eyes were a little wet, it wasn’t because she felt like she was drowning in love or anything, she had just yawned.

~

Steph was the one that had pointed it out to him. She hadn’t even realized what he’d done – couldn’t, for she didn’t have any context. But she had ruined his life.

How, you make ask?

She had just mentioned, offhandedly, that he should tell her if Marinette needed help with her homework, because she didn't trust her to do it herself, and med school was difficult.

Which promptly sent him spiraling.

Steph. Marinette. Hell, even Bernard was an EMT, even if it was only an alternate version of him that was dating the man. This was starting to get ridiculous.

Why was his type so specific?!

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @queenz-z @imarivers8 @jeminiikrystal @adrestar @twsssmlmaa @literaryhiraeth @trippingovermyfeet @ev-cupcake @its-maemain

[strawberrycamel]

15 Questions 15 Mutuals

The rules are: Answer the 15 questions and tag 15 of your mutuals.

Thanks @kinglazrus for the tag :D

1. Are you named after anyone? Technically yeah

2. When was the last time you cried? about a month ago i think; i was sitting in a pretty empty Tim Horton's and teared up about something or other that i've since forgotten about

3. Do you have kids? nope!

4. What sports do you play/have played? Track and Field, Softball, and Basketball briefly.

5. Do you use sarcasm? Me? Sarcasm? Never. ( :3 )

6. What's the first thing you notice about people? oh god dude i dont know, probably whatever's the most colourful thing on them

7. What's your eye color? Brown

8. Scary movies or Happy endings Happy endings pls. I can't handle scary movies at all.

9. Any talents? uhhhhhhhhhhh i dont think so

10. Where were you born? Canada

11. What are your hobbies? Writing, doodling, reading fic & fiction books, watching anime. Also playing a handful of very specific games.

12. Do you have any pets? no, BUT my cousin has a dog and he is a very sweet boy and i love him with all my heart

13. How tall are you? 5'7 and a half. or smth like that

14. Favourite subject in school Writer's Craft and. Accounting. [HEAR ME OUT, high school accounting classes were hella easy so i NEVER had homework to take home because i always got it done in class and then it was just. idk. weak sauce so most of the time i was goofing off.]

Runner ups are Marketing and International Business because I had the same teacher for that class and he didn't give a shit if you were late or absent or w/e, but if you were going out for food or something, he'd give you some cash and ask you to bring him some coffee and we were all chill. He let me use his empty classroom to eat lunch in too aaa. Mr. M you were quite literally the best. [Also, one time, despite being the Good Student and also taking the bus to school, the student council president was like "hey you wanna go to Tim's" and I was like "yeah sure" because I was playing it cool but genuinely. Ditching school to go to Tim's during school time as a high schooler was such a magical experience. okay im done now]

Favourite university class was Participatory Media and Communication hands fucking down, very specifically the assignments were always amazing and mostly carte blanche and the topics did not shy away from the harsh stuff and encouraged lots of discussion and analysis on the people and groups we were reading about. like, learning about the origins of BLM Canada, analyzing parts of The Finkelstein 5 by Nana Kwame Adjei-Brenyah and Boys Go To Jupiter by Danielle Evans, the AIDS crisis in Canada, or how black queer people faired during the 80s. There was other stuff, but uh, *cough* those four bits really stuck with me for totally no reason whatsoever <- black queer person who likes learning about and discussing black, queer, and black queer history

15. Dream Job? shit man idk. whatever pays the bills and i don't hate completely. i dont really like the thing i majored in anymore, but woodworking/carpentry seems cool

Tags! @kawaiijohn @echoghost1 @sheepheadfred @goliath-de-senfina-sango @princessfanonanona @redead-red @ectoplasmicsoda @ln-ofx @grub-xd @ghost-pasta @themockingcrows @bubblegumbeech @redajcted @glorious-typo @basedstoutland

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