#and a module with questions to complete

[feidude]

why is it so hard to stay focused

[jrueships]

guess whos not going in at all this week, actually

[echthr0s]

@oldxenomorph replied to your post “every time I go "eh what the hell" and fire up...”:

i stopped using duolingo a while ago when i realized i was making more progress watching shows/movies with spanish subtitles (which are not always accurate but i still find helpful) or being around the language more irl

​A multi-pronged approach is more likely to work for me if I were to be serious about learning one language in particular, and I'm sure watching things with German subtitles would be a great addition (listening and singing along to music in the target language is another fun one) but I feel like a structured approach is also helpful for me to fully grasp what the fuck is going on in a language. Also, I assume Irish subtitles are.... scarce at best--

I don't like it and I'm going to complain bitterly about it the entire time but the reason I keep going back is because it's what I've got 💀

[polygondotcomvideoproducer]

Uni lecture is making me think about my future for a minute and auuuggghhhh the agonies

[drysauce]

i don't know whether to laugh or cry because of that but it's so typical for me that i messed up a whole equation on the exam because i simply can't fucking read

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Safe

~900 words

Gotham is dangerous. You know that. The whole world knows that. But that doesn't mean your job lets you go home before sunset. You didn't intend to be out so late, but your coworker had an emergency, and of course, no one else could come in. So, great, now you're walking Gothams streets when you should be warm in bed. At least your boss promised you overtime.

You're pulled from your thoughts at the sound of heavy footsteps behind you. It makes you tense, your fingers curl tighter around the pepper spray in your pocket. A quick glance in the window you pass revels a bulky, disgruntled, stumbling group of figures following you. Your throat tightens, and you walk a little quicker. You should have called Jason. Why didn't you call Jason? Usually, he walks you home if your shift is this late. Because it's a short walk. Because you can handle yourself, and he's busy, and you weren't supposed to be out tonight. You remind yourself, cursing silently. This is fine. You can handle yourself.

You count them as you pass the next window. One quickly turns into two. Then three. And then, your heart skips a beat as a fourth figure turns the corner in front of you. Okay, change of plans, cross the street and enter whatever rundown 24/7 shop is open.

That plan is quickly derailed when they start shouting at you, threatening you. Your steps slow, fear pooling in your gut as your mind races to find a way out of this situation. Your fingers slip against your phone, weighing calling GCPD.

Faster than you can process, a hand grabs your arm and tugs you into the alley, causing a strangled noise to leave your throat.

"Move." A heavily modulated voice. Rough leather gloves. A lingering gunpowder smell. Jason. No, not completely– He's Red Hood right now. A towering, intimidating mass of heavy weaponry and unyielding armor.

"C'mon." He pushes you along quickly, a steady hand guiding you by the small of your back into a shadowed hiding place in the alley.

You don't quite manage words, but the relief spreading through your body nearly brings tears to your eyes.

Jason crowds you against the wall, cool, sturdy armor, a shield between you and the dim light of the street. He tilts his head towards the entrance of the alley, listening as rough, slurring voices call for you. But they don't come closer, agitated by the loss of what seemed like easy prey and eventually fade. His helmet tips down to focus on you.

"Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, unable to form the words just yet.

He nods, slowly taking stock of you. "You're out late." The words coming out half questioning, half accusing but so, very gentle.

"Work– someone called out. No one else could take the shift."

"You should have called." He says evenly, voice softening as he takes in your shaky tone. He dips his head to rest his face place against your shoulder, and you're not quite sure who's more relieved that he's here.

"I know. I'm sorry. I should have listened." You say quickly, knowing full well what could have happened, what he sees every night when he spends his nights protecting Gothams streets. He always tells you to call if you need anything, but the idea of bothering him while he was saving lives? You couldn't bring yourself to dial his number.

"You did listen," he replies, soothing and silencing your worries as he nuzzles into your neck again. "That's what makes you so special. You listen to me. You follow my lead, right into safety. I don't even have to say anything and you trust me. You just do it. You're perfect."

Jason pauses for a moment and pulls back to trace his thumb over your jaw.

"You know that?"

His words send your heart into flutters and you hope, that even with his focus on you, always on you, he doesn't see the goosebumps forming under his touch.

"Shouldn't you, you know, go after them?" You ask after a moment, careful to change the topic from yourself.

He hums softly. "Batgirl's already on it. I'm walking you home."

"You don't have to do–" You start, gulit settling in your chest.

"I do. I want to. Let me?" He runs his thumb over your cheek, slow and almost reverent. The leather slides over your skin, the gesture so familiar it might as well be indented into your skin. You don't have it in you to read into what it means. But it soothes the guilt nonetheless.

You nod once, relenting. How could you deny him? It makes him smile beneath the helmet how easily you agree to him. For both your sakes, he needs to see you home safe.

He hesitates, glowing eyes of his mask studying you. He carefully steps out of the tiny hiding place he shielded you in, and if the adrenaline wasn't fading from your system, maybe you would have noticed the reluctance seeped into his movements. He offers you his hand.

You take it without a second thought.

He squeezes your fingers once and begins to guide you home. Gotham is still dangerous, dark and cold.

But Jason's there. And there's nowhere safer for you than with him.

[toxicanonymity]

rat in a cage.

1.2k, m!ghostface x f!reader | slasher master

A/N: This is NOT the Every Inch ghostface/universe. This is a completely standalone one shot. SUMMARY: Ghostface is pursuing you. When you both get trapped in a lab on campus, you make a temporary truce. WARNINGS: I8+ Dubcon P in V, cockwarming, degradation, choking, creampie, lab rats in the building, huddling for warmth lmaoo, reader can sit on him and be partially lifted.

Before you realized you were both trapped in the building, you got into a scuffle and caused his knife to fall down a drain in the floor. He got on top of you, pinned you with his weight, and choked you, but it wasn't a choke to kill. His gloved hand was applying just enough pressure in just the right places to feel good. That's when it hit you that he didn't want to kill you. He could've snapped you like a twig from that position if he wanted.

You smiled, and he released your throat.

“Mm,” you sighed. “take off your mask if ya wanna kiss me that bad.”

Ghostface tilted his head and looked at you. The voice modulator kicked in. “what makes you think I want that filthy mouth on me?” He grabbed your jaw and squeezed your mouth open. He brought his other gloved hand to your lips and gagged you with two gloved fingers.

"I asked you a question," he prodded.

"I 'unno" you mumbled into his fingers and reached for his crotch, trying to wedge your hand between your torsos. His fingers slid out of your mouth and his hand flew to your wrist to stop you. He pinned your hands above your head, one of his gloves wet with your saliva.

“You don't wanna kill me,” you breathed.

You seemed to have him at a loss for words. He was a different guy without his knife -- still menacing, but not lethal.

“Not tonight." He got up and left you on the ground. He swiftly made for the exit, robe trailing behind him.

But the door was locked. Awkward.

—

Now you've been trapped long enough that he’s run out of clever, taunting things to say, so he just doesn't talk. The main sound is lab rats squeaking and trying to burrow for warmth in their enclosure. It's cold in this building. You don't have sleeves and your legs are bare, too.

Ghostface sits against the wall with his knees up. You're shivering in a corner by yourself, replaying your interactions with Ghostface in your mind. Has he ever really, truly hurt you? He's had chances to kill you. Why didn't he? Your teeth start chattering.

Eventually he sighs and says "Get over here." You look at him, pondering it. He opens his arms and adds, “This offer expires in thirty seconds.”

You scurry over to him, planning to sit between his knees but he straightens his legs out so they're together, and he lifts up his robe for you to get underneath. He's wearing joggers and a matching sweatshirt underneath. You're more scantily clad. "Why don't you just give me the robe," you ask.

"Don't press your luck," he answers.

You duck under his robe and straddle his thighs with your knees on the floor. "You're gonna wanna get closer than that, little rat."

You scoot forward and he lets the robe down on top of you. It's a little heavier and warmer than you imagined. When he's chasing after you, it moves like it weighs nothing.

It's pitch black under his robe. He wraps his arms around you and hugs you into him so your crotch meets his. You gasp when you feel the shape of his warm package against your crotch. "Feel somethin’ ya like?" He asks.

"You're warm," you answer, laying your cheek on his chest with your eyes closed under his robe. "Who are you?"

His laugh is as dark as it is quiet.

You tuck your arms under your chest and he keeps his arms wrapped around you. He smells good. A woodsy, minty scent. He caresses you as he holds you. God, he feels like. . .a man. A real man. His breaths get deeper, his chest rising under you. It happens gradually, but at some point there's no mistaking the bulge you're sitting on is hard, and it's for you. He brings his arms into the robe. His gloved hands pull your skirt up over your ass with a soft grunt not caught by the voice changer. Then he takes his gloves off.

His hands are huge and warm on your bare ass cheeks. He kneads them and his hips lift under you, the swell of his hard cock making you dizzy with need under the pitch black darkness of his robe. You sigh and he wedges a finger under your pointless little thong and snaps it. You reach back to un-wedge it from your ass cheeks and when you pull it out, he slips his finger between your ass and the garment. He slides his finger all the way down, under you, until he reaches your wet little hole. You're beginning to gush.

He sighs, then the voice changer says - "You're making a mess on me, princess."

He lifts you with a grunt, then pulls his joggers down under his cock. He sets you back down, angling you strategically so your front meets his smooth, thick shaft. It's throbbing and burning hot, right between your legs. You sigh. His hands return to your ass and he moves your body, grinding you against his hard cock a few times.

Then, to your horror, you help him take it further. You pull your thong to the side as he lifts you and notches himself at your entrance. You whimper as your cunt swallows his tip, then your body spreads itself apart for him as you sink down his thick shaft. Ghostface shudders and you gasp when your bodies are flush.

“Good,” he whispers in a deep, human voice. Your body accommodates him and you get even wetter. You begin to move, needing to fuck yourself on his cock, but he holds you down and makes you still. “Sit,” he commands at full volume ghostface voice. “Stay.” The hair on your neck stands up.

You sit still on his cock.

“Good,” he says, then adds, "Hmm." He pats your head where it rests on his shoulder.

You sit there in his lap, wrapped around the body of this man, in total darkness under his robe, absolutely full of his cock. You relax enough that you begin to get sleepy. You yawn.

You sit there for what feels like an eternity. You feel stretched out, even after you relax. Your walls occasionally twitch around him, and his cock throbs and moves inside you. You’re cozy under his robe, comfortable in his arms, and throbbing on his cock. The warmth of his robe and the feeling of his arms around you lull you to sleep.

Almost as soon as you drift off, he thrusts his hips up and jolts you awake with the punch of his cock. He braces one hand on the floor and has the other arm around you. He leans back so you're held against his chest and he's fucking up into you. He grunts and sighs and the modulator harshly spits, “yeah, you're a good little bitch.”

He keeps fucking you from the bottom, and you feel a heat bubbling in the pit of your belly as his big cock pistons into you. Then he holds you tight against him and fucks you slower, grinding your pubic bone against his, and it's rubbing your clit and making you spasm. "You like that?" He asks.

“Oh, baby,” he breathes, then his voice is changed again. “Gonna make me cum if you're not careful.”

His words make you clench down as you see stars. You moan into his sweatshirt, and the pleasure pulses from your clit as your whole body jerks and your cunt chokes his cock. You're not finished coming when Ghostface holds you down.

You try to get off him, but he holds you down harder and erupts, filling you with his hot seed. You can't deny how good it feels with him pulsing inside you as your own climax wanes. At least you're alive, you think. At least Plan B exists.

When you begin to get off his cock, he doesn't let you. He keeps you plugged, impaled on him, long enough that you both fall asleep.

----

thank you for reading. my main ghostface series, unrelated to this one shot, is Every Inch.

i have a michael blurb with a kinda similar premise here. idk why i'm into this scenario but i guess i am lol.

[spacedace]

Still thinking about the Social Worker Jazz concept that @gilbirda posted about and it's slowly turning into a full Anger Management fic send help

-

Jason at length - much longer than it really should have taken really - set the resume down.

The new Social Worker’s resume. Because she was there, in his office, trying to convince him to hire her as a member of his criminal organization.

Crime Alley’s new social worker. A bright eyed Midwestern transplant from some tiny speck of a place that only qualified as a city because there was nothing bigger in a hundred miles in any direction to claim otherwise. The new social worker who had a Psy D. and three masters degrees and who had graduated Valedictorian. The one that had high paying private gigs lined up all over the country with the offering companies fighting over her.

The one who had, apparently, decided to take a shit job in Gotham’s shoddy social services department instead. The one that got kicked to Crime Alley - which was its own division despite technically being a small neighborhood in the grand scheme of things - within her first month. Supposedly for the sole purpose of scaring her off or getting her killed for all the questions she was asking and secret dealings she was sticking her nose into.

That social worker.

“I’m gonna need you to run this by me again.” Jason said, never so grateful for the voice modulator in his helmet as he was in that moment. It stripped out the bewilderment that had bled through into his words and made him sound stoic instead.

“I’d like to work for you.” The social worker - one Dr. Jasmine Nightingale - repeated primly. Back straight, clothes neat - if skewing more on the librarian side of professional - expression confident and hopeful. Completely and utterly oblivious of how fucking insane she sounded. “I was told that you’re the person in charge of Crime Alley.”

He resisted the urge to scrub at his face. It’d just look weird with his helmet on and not do anything to actually settle him in that moment anyway. “I understood that part.”

“Look, Doc,” She earned a doctorate and she was crazy enough to waltz into the office of one of Gotham’s most powerful Crime Lords, he’d be respectful about using her proper title at least, even if he suspected she was ten pounds of crazy in a five pound bag. “You’re going to have to tell me why. I was under the impression the only reason you ended up dumped on our end of the city ws because you wouldn’t play ball. But now you want to sign up for my crew?”

Nightingale frowned a little at that.

“Is that what people are saying?”

“What else are they gonna say?” Jason answered, leaning back in his seat, “Head of the department only dumps Crime Alley on folks he don’t like. And everyone knows he doesn’t like anyone that can’t or won’t play his game by his rules.”

“Alright, well. I’ll give you that.” Nightingale conceded, “Payne doesn’t like me. The feeling’s mutual. But for the record,” She added giving him a wry smile, as if sharing wry smiles with Red Hood was just something people did, “I asked to be assigned to the Park Row and Bowery neighborhoods.”

“You wanted to work here.”

“Yes.”

“Bullshit.”

Nightingale laughed. It was a bright sound. Not especially clear or pretty, but warm and welcoming in a way that carefully calculated giggles or overdone guffaws couldn’t be. Something with real and honest amusement in it, that encouraged those nearby to laugh along. Not the kind of involuntary, nervous chuckling people tended to slip into when they thought they had pissed someone that scared them off.

She just wasn’t intimidated by him at all, was she?

Behind his helmet, Jason found himself smiling. Just a bit.

“I’m serious.” She assured, blue-green eyes meeting the dark stare of his helmet without a moment of hesitation. He watched as she brushed a lock of her bright red hair behind her ear and out of the way. She’d woven it all into a practical, neat braid but a few sly pieces had snuck out to bounce around her. Gilding her quiet professionalism with a playful charm that worked well with her academia but make it cottagecore kindergarten teacher aesthetic.

“I’ll admit, Gotham wasn’t part of my plan when I first graduated. Time and choices take you funny places sometimes.” She plucked an invisible bit of lint off her soft blue cardigan, not nervous but absent as her gaze went distant for a moment. Thinking back on the events that had led her to his fine city. In a blink, those sharp eyes were back to focusing entirely on him. “But Gotham is where I am now, and I want to help.”

She looked at him, a serious, determined expression settling easily on her face. “The city as a whole has so much chaos and crime breaking out all the time.” No censure or horror in her voice, just a neutral fact to be observed. “But where the rest of the city has millions of dollars poured into it by various foundations or charities run by the Waynes, Park Row is largely ignored.”

Jason watched as steeliness sharpened her gaze, the blue-green shifting from the shine of a bird’s wing to the warning hue of something poisonous and deadly. “No one deserves that. No one.” Her chin tilted up, proud but not imperious. “So yes, I want to work here. There are people in Park Row and the Bowery who need help and I refuse to let any of them feel like they are going to be ignored.”

Jason considered her.

Really looked at her. Pealing back his initial off handed impression of her as some clueless transplant in over her head with no idea of what she was doing or what she was poking her nose into to find the real woman beneath. Her confident poise, her clear unshakable belief, her unflinching willingness to look danger in the eye and not blink. The tense curve of her frown, the lines of pain at the corners of her eyes, the simmering anger beneath it all. There was an edge to her, too. Something sharp and dangerously well hidden by the cardigan and folksy charm of her accent.

It was personal for the woman before him, Jason realized. Maybe not Crime Alley specifically, but something about the whole situation. The treatment the neighborhood and its residents received from the city at large, from those even beyond it.

Crime Alley wasn’t a place that received much in the way of charitable thought. The average joe with their house in Somerset and job at some corporate shithole hating every second of their life but thinking at least I don’t live in Crime Alley. Those asshole hoity-toites in city hall throwing money around equally between shit that’d get them re-elected and their off-shore slush funds in the Caymens doing their damn level best to pretend the black mark on the other end of the city just didn’t exist. Bruce, flooding the entire city with charitable programs and carefully constructed infrastructures shying away from the manifested grief and trauma that was the place he watched his parents get murdered.

For the most part no one from outside of the Alley gave a shit about the Alley other than as a place to avoid at all costs. And most of the time those natives that manages to claw their way out into better and brighter lives didn’t ever turn to glance back. Orpheus could have learned a thing or to from an ex-Alley Kid who managed to eek out a steady 9-to-5 and move to Burnley.

And something about that seemed to piss Dr. Jasmine Nightingale Psy. D right the fuck off.

He could see why Bill said he liked her enough to let her in.

“Alright.” He said, tilting his head, watching the woman seated across from him carefully, “Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here. Why you’re trying to get on my payroll.”

“I’m not trying to get on your payroll.” She said, some of the glinting edge softening, but the steel remaining. Strong and unyielding. “I’m trying to get into your community outreach program.”

Jason thanked god and all the saints once again for the gift of his helmet. That baby had saved his ass more times than he could count both by keeping his head in one piece and keeping his stupefied expressions wrapped up and hidden from view. Dr. Nightingale was one hell of a woman to make him have to rely on that fact twice in one conversation.

“Wasn’t aware that was something I had.”

Nightingale, not fortunate enough to have a full face covering helmet of her own, had nothing to hide her stupefied expression behind. Jason had a feeling she might have removed it to make sure he saw even if she did though. She looked like she had caught him eating glue like it was a cheese stick.

“Yes you do.” She said, sounding deeply confused but unshakable confident in what she was saying. “I’ve seen it. The soup kitchens, the shelters, the collection boxes for donating old clothes, the after school day care.” Nightingale ticked off on her fingers, “I’ve lived here for less than two weeks and I’ve lost count of all the things I’ve seen setup to help people struggling in the area that I’ve been very reliably informed you and your organization are behind.”

Oh.

Those.

“Those aren’t part of some community outreach program.” He said, “We are simply locals offering services for our neighbors.”

He watched as her caught-him-eating-glue expression shifted into one that said she’d stumbled upon him licking electrical sockets for a mid-day pick-me-up instead. He had to give it to her, the woman was not afraid to let one of the most dangerous men in the city know she thought he was a fucking idiot.

“Let me see if I understand this right.” She said, and he appreciated that there wasn’t any kind of condescension in her voice, even though she very clearly thought he’d been dropped on his head as a baby. Possibly from the top of a three story building. “You have a large group of people working together to plan, organize and execute multiple services in your area - your community, if you will - that provide aid and support to those that otherwise would not receive it. Reaching out with your available time and resources to offer these services, that you provide. For free.”

Alright, Jason got it. He had stumbled ass backwards into creating a community outreach program. But he wasn’t just going to let her think she won this one. He was Red Hood, he had a reputation to uphold here.

“What makes you think any of that is free?” He tilted his head at just the right angle, the one that cast shadows across the planes of his helmet and made him look hell-touched and terrifying. “Just because we don’t charge money, doesn’t mean there isn’t a price to pay.”

Dr. Nightingale, dressed like a damn kindergarten teacher, laughed at him.

[hyperdramas]

1-800-got-stress | jeon wonwoo

pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader

warnings: non-idol au, college/professor au, slight romance (?), english professor wonwoo x teacher's assistant reader, tiny sprinkles of humor, one-sided crush (?), wonwoo is very dense when it comes to reader's romantic feelings (not really though), reader still loves him anyways, cute ending??

now playing: return of the mack, mack morrison

dedicated to: @k1eev (<3)

"After the lecture, I want you all to come see my assistant before you leave. She has the next module printed out and organized for you all." Wonwoo's deep voice is the next thing you hear once you snap back into reality, and many of the college student's eyes dart away from you as you look around, more than likely aware of how long you've been gaping at the English professor.

Jeon Wonwoo was the person always on your mind now—ever since you started as his teacher's assistant earlier this month, you've always been thinking about him.

He was everything you weren't—calm, professional, disciplined and put-together. He knew what to say and how to say it, and what to do and how to do it—you were ninety-nine percent convinced that there was nothing Wonwoo couldn't do.

Not only was he annoyingly perfect at his job, but he was annoyingly handsome too—he was handsome to a massive amount of people, students and other professors included. He had sharp eyes that seemed to grow even sharper with the perfect amount of tiredness, and hard-edged features that you had memorized now with how much you had stared at him when he worked.

Time went slow as Wonwoo talked, deep voice echoing through the lecture hall as he gave his presentation on the deeper story of Romeo and Juliet, asking his class questions as he gaged their attention span.

You thought about how nervous you would feel under Wonwoo's gaze. Your face just heated up at it, imagining how you wouldn't be able to look him in the face without feeling completely inadequate.

It was already hard for you to look him in the face, and you were his personal assistant.

"Please finish the last essay I assigned at the beginning of the month. Since we're starting a new module this Friday, I want everyone to be on the same page." Wonwoo's voice was monotonous as students started to pack their things, and you placed the stack of module papers on the desk, letting the students grab and go.

The class filtered out slowly, some staying behind to ask Wonwoo questions and garner advice from him. You watched them quietly, straightening the closet as you dipped in and out of their conversations.

You had just heard another professor enter the room, asking Wonwoo to go out with her tonight for a drink, (to which he politely refused), when Wonwoo had addressed you.

"Are you doing alright? You've looked really tired today." Wonwoo's thick, stern eyebrows are flat as he stares at you blankly, and you try to read his sharp eyes for any flicker of emotion for a quick second, giving up as you give him an awkward smile.

"Oh, I'm fine, Mr. Jeon. I'm not even tired—just a bit distracted, that's all." You reassure him, and Wonwoo nods, looking down at his watch as you finish straightening up your desk.

"You should get some rest. It's not good for you to be tired and trying to assist me, is it?" Wonwoo has a faint smile on his lips when he says this, and you try not to blush or melt under his hot gaze against your skin, fiddling with your collar awkwardly as you nod.

"Here, let me help you with those." Wonwoo's voice is directed to the stack of heavy books teetering on the end of your desk. You nod to him gratefully, allowing him to pick them up as you walk to the other side of the room, unlocking the storage closet door.

He held the books without strain, face still as he waited for you to finish putting your share of books down. Wonwoo followed you, cologne wafting in the air and drifting under your nose as he turned off the lights.

"Thank you for today. You did very well." Wonwoo's voice was sweet as he smiled at you, and you returned the gesture stiffly, making your way back to the desk as you grabbed your things.

"Of course, Mr. Jeon. You did well too, I mean—you did well with the lectures and everything. You teach everything in such a fresh way, it's tough for anyone to not be compelled or interested in what you're teaching." You were a sucker for Jeon Wonwoo, and it was starting to show more and more now—how were you supposed to be normal about him?

"It takes a lot to make the lecture engaging and informative, so I'm glad you think that of me. Many students call me the boring teacher." Wonwoo's voice is lighthearted as he finishes straightening up his desk, and you chuckle, mostly at the absurdity of his words.

"You're quite the opposite of a boring teacher, in my opinion. Your stories and explanations are way more animated than the textbooks could be." Were you showering your superior-turned-crush with embellished compliments? Yes. Did you want him to notice?

...Not really.

"You sure do have a lot to think about me, don't you?" Wonwoo's voice is still playful, even if it has a neutralness to it. You blush slightly at his words, earning a smile from Wonwoo as he smiles. "I'm just teasing you. I appreciate everything you say to me."

A slight pink tint to Wonwoo's cheeks brings an even brighter one to yours, and the two of you fall silent, obviously sensing something between you. Wonwoo's eyes rake over your form, and you shyly look up at him, dark brown eyes behind his frame still making you warm inside as you sigh (dreamily and deliriously, as you might add).

You had made Wonwoo—Professor Jeon Wonwoo, the boring, scarily neutral English professor—blush from your compliments. You would be wallowing in your achievement if you weren't also blushing at the moment.

"Well, I, uh—" You stumble over your words, also stumbling over your book as you pick it up from the floor. Wonwoo watches you quietly, glasses sliding down his strong nose bridge slightly as he watches you head towards the door. "I should get going. It's getting late, and I have to be back here early tomorrow."

"I'll walk you to your car." Wonwoo nods, following suit as he slips his jacket over his broad shoulders and picks up his briefcase. His dress shoes hit the wooden floor as he follows after you, and he turns out the light, leaving you two engulfed in darkness for a few seconds as you stumble back, stepping on Wonwoo's foot.

He grunts harshly under you, and you scramble back, lights in the hallway illuminating your embarrassed blush. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry."

Wonwoo just smiles again, smile lines sending butterflies that go straight to your stomach. "No worries. You couldn't see because of me, and I'm sorry." His cologne is so strong and so him you can't think straight, but you do your best to string your words together.

"Well, Mr. Jeon, I'll see you tomorrow," The two of you had just left the building, now by your car as you unlock the door. Wonwoo watches you with sharp eyes, clearing his throat as you turn to him.

"If—If you'd like, we should converse over dinner sometime. Not as coworkers, but as good friends." Wonwoo's sentence brought a rude awakening to your world, and you stood in shocked silence for a second, processing what he said to you as you blinked blankly.

Wonwoo considered you to be a good friend—you would have never told by how unfazed he was by most things, but he considered you to be more than a coworker or partner. He saw you as a friend. A good friend who was asking you to dinner.

"Yeah, we—we should, Mr. Jeon." You agree, and Wonwoo clears his throat, sharp eyes daring away as he adds, "Oh, and you can call me Wonwoo. We're comfortable with each other now, so we can drop the formalities."

Not only were you Wonwoo's good friend, but you were such a good friend you could now call Mr. Jeon by his real name, Wonwoo. Too many green flags were going off in your head, but could Wonwoo sense he was giving you all these green flags? It only made your crush on him worse.

"Well, I'll get going, Wonwoo." Even his name on your lips felt sweet, and Wonwoo nodded, giving you a small wave as he closed your car door.

"Until tomorrow." He smiles softly again, and you melt into your seat, smiling as you nod back. "Until tomorrow."

feedback & reblogs are appreciated! love u lyrnation <3

[prokopetz]

Playtest draft 0.4 of Space Gerbils is up. I wasn't going to cut it here, but then I realised that I'd re-written the same page three times in as many days, which is usually a pretty good sign that I need to pump the brakes and talk to other people about it!

Nearly every part of every chapter has undergone substantial rewrites, so a complete changelog may take some time to prepare, but the highlights include:

Updated character creation, including nearly twice as many mech suit upgrades, and support for random space gerbil proficiencies; also, you now have to draw a picture of your space gerbil

Cleanup of protocol scopes and phase cycle workflow, including the removal of mandatory Threat Clocks and drastically simplified scene-ending triggers

Stress and conditions persisting across scenes deprecated in favour of new mechanics for handling long-term damage

Split downtime and away missions into two separate rules modules

Reorganised supplementary playsheets, and created form-fillable interactive versions where applicable (assuming your PDF reader software supports that kind of thing)

Additional print-and-play minifigs and interior illustrations by @artkaninchenbau (including the one up top!); minifigs now include lineart-only versions in case you want to colour them yourself

New mech suit schematics by @pencilbrony

Finally, by repeated popular request, there is now a Penguin King Games Discord server for submitting support inquiries and playtest feedback. I reserve the right to repost any interesting comments or feedback submitted there to other social media platforms for better visibility – don't say I didn't warn you!

As always, questions, criticisms, and bizarre flames are both welcome and encouraged.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Spinoff: Kim Taehyung

Pairing: Actor!Kim Taehyung x Journalist!Reader

A/N: This came to me when I watched the chicken shop date between Amelia and Andrew...gurl I was smiling the whole episode hehehuhu. The chemistry was off the charts

Latibule Universe Masterlist

Sticking to your script, you pressed on, and to your surprise, he did too. The banter flowed smoothly, and you found yourself navigating the questions with a surprising ease, the audience hanging on every word. You were almost at the end of the show, your cue to ask one last thing that had been requested by his fans.

“Now, Taehyung, as you know, the show conducted a survey online about what your fans want to know the most,” you began, your smile brightening as the moment approached. “And surprise, surprise! Most, if not all of them, wanted to know more about your love life. So, Taehyung, how is your love life?”

You flashed a knowing smile at the camera before turning back to him, eager for a response so you could wrap up the show and finally escape this whirlwind of situation. But instead of a quick answer, he leaned back, his signature tata smile beaming as he playfully looked at the audience and then back to you.

You could almost feel the anticipation ripple through the studio. The audience was captivated, their murmurs growing louder, eager for his reply.

“I never speak about my lovelife…” he began, drawing it our for effect. He knew how to modulate his voice enough to tease the audience. “But since this is a special episode, and you are a special dear host to me, I’ll only speak about this here.”

The audience erupted into cheers and laughter, completely enraptured by his charm. You could barely hide your annoyance, though a part of you couldn’t deny the magnetic energy he brought to the stage. This was the moment he thrived in, the very reason he was a star.

Your heart skipped a beat. It was like in the beginning, you knew a trainwreck was coming your way and it did keep you on your toes. You didn’t know when it was coming, nor when Taehyung would struck. But now, you could see how close the train was.

And it was coming for you.

“For the first time in my life, I genuinely like this person,” he shared, a hint of practiced shyness mingling with an undeniable sincerity. The way he said it sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd. “But she wouldn’t give me the time of day.”

The audience gasped collectively, a chorus of “aww” filling the studio as some dramatically clutched their hearts, enraptured by his words. If only they knew how persistent and annoyingly so he had been! He had railroaded your life, manipulating every situation, bending reality to fit his whims, and now he was

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the showrunner gesturing urgently for you to follow up, but you felt frozen, your mind racing. What he was saying left you dumbfounded, and the idea of stepping on a landmine—an active one—terrified you.

“B-But who would say no to Kim Taehyung?” you asked with a faux chuckle, attempting to defuse the tension. The audience nodded in agreement, their laughter mingling with the buzz of excitement.

But then, just as you thought you could shift gears and end the show gracefully, Taehyung leaned closer. His body turned toward you, that familiar smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks, knowing this was the moment you had been praying wouldn’t come.

“But Y/N, you said no to me,” he said, his voice low and teasing, yet carrying an edge that sent your heart racing.

Read the whole scene in Kofi

[villainoustrioau]

Okay, guys, here's the plot

Fanfic by Milkyr (thanks @peachyfnaf for editing <3)

Art by CreesA

Reunion

“Eclipse… Promise me one thing before I turn off and you're loaded into your own body..."

"Yes, of course! Anything for you, Sunny."

"No matter what happens… Don't lose yourself."

Gray fingers touched golden ones, and Eclipse looked at Sun. At his beaming smile and pale blue eyes filled with care and slight excitement.

"Whatever that means, I promise."

This was the last time Eclipse saw his Sun happy and alive.

***

Emerging from his own memories, Solar raised his head from the table. He fell asleep on the blueprints again. Grumbling softly to himself, the inventor got to his feet and stretched, hearing his iron joints creak. The animatronic soundlessly walked in soft slippers to the laboratories exit door. Focusing his hearing module on the space beyond the door, Solar listened to the sound of… nothing.

It was pretty quiet here.

Leaving the lab, Solar shoved his hands into the pockets of his lab coat.

"Ruin?"

He called softly, going first into the living room, then into the kitchen, then into one of the bedrooms.

"Eclipse?"

But he wasn't here either.

"Jack?"

It seems that he was completely alone in the bunker.

Solar went through all the rooms once more to make sure that no one was here, and then returned to his lab, blocking the front door and turning on the sound insulation in the room.

He pulled off the worn gray cloth from a capsule, which was located in the depths of the lab and was securely disguised as a "garbage can" so that no one would have the desire to ask questions about what was there. Pushing aside some wooden crates, the mechanic looked at the horizontal capsule with regret in his eyes. Inside, under the glass, laid Sun. But not Sun of whose dimension they now live.

It was his Sun. It was Sunny. The one who was always kind to Solar when he first woke up in someone else's body and didn't understand why he was no longer part of Moon. The one who sacrificed his life in order for Solar to get a chance at his own. The mechanic shook his head, pushing away the obsessive thoughts. His gaze was determined.

He's going to get Sunny back. He will get Sunny back. He's sacrificed too much not to. His fingers quickly tapped on the keyboard of the hidden device in the capsule, and the light inside it lit up. Solar frowned in concentration as he immersed himself in his calculations. He has been working on restoring Sun for several months now- it was very dangerous to work when someone else was in the bunker. His plans could be discovered, so he had to do everything slowly and carefully.

Suddenly, the computer let out an approving beep. The inventor opened his eyes in surprise, looking at the big green check mark on the screen. Did… Did he do it..? Did he really succeed..?

With trembling hands, Solar typed a couple of commands, and a progress bar was displayed on the monitor, gradually filling in black. The mechanic pressed his palms against the glass of the capsule, watching with hope in his eyes as the light inside grew brighter.

“Download complete. All systems stabilized. All external modules running properly. Turn designation: ‘Sunny’ on?”

Solar pressed the confirmation button on the keyboard, staring in fascination as the animatronic in the capsule began to make soft noises. At first it was the crackle of electricity, then the noise of the fans, which became quieter almost immediately as he switched to silent mode.

Sunny opened his eyes.

At first, his eyes were cloudy, he heard only isolated sounds- an incomprehensible buzzing- and felt a heaviness all over his body. He saw a dark blue spot above him.

"Moon..?”

His vision began to clear, and the dark blue spot turned into a dark orange. Who is that? Sunny could say with confidence that this was the first time he’d seen such an animatronic model, but his gaze caught on a couple of details in the appearance, and he gasped.

"Eclipse..?"

Sun spoke with hesitance, still unsure of his assumption.

"Yes."

Solar replied in a quiet, trembling voice, feeling tears running down his cheeks.

"What… What happened?" Sunny asked in surprise, noticing out of the corner of his eye that he was lying in some kind of capsule, a lot of wires were plugged in all over his body. "There must be some mistake here..."

"What do you mean? You're alive, and that's good!"

Solar replied in euphoric disbelief, opening the lid of the capsule. "...You probably didn't understand me," Sunny smiled awkwardly, "the separation should have killed me. I knew I was going to die, but… I wanted to give you the opportunity to live in your own body, live your own life!..

Or..." Sun's gaze suddenly became sad and hesitant. "Or… Or are we both dead and this is the afterlife? Oh no- I'm so sorry- I never meant for this to happe-..."

"-No, no, it's okay! I'm alive, and you're alive too," Solar grabbed Sunny's hand so that he could feel his touch, squeezing it like he would leave him again if he dared to let go, "And I promise I won't let anything happen to you. Never again."

"...Wait!" Sunny suddenly realized something. Attempting to sit up, he rapidly looked around, whipping his head from side-to-side. But Solar restrained him from his attempts, holding Sunny still as carefully disconnected the capsule's wiring so that nothing would be damaged. "W- Where are we? Where’s Moon?!"

"Be careful! Your systems are still very fragile after such a long period of inactivity," the inventor replied, "I'll... I'll explain everything, just let me make sure you can move safely, okay?"

"...Solar, you're making me a little nervous. Where is our brother?"

Sunny asked his question once more, feeling a familiar anxiety slowly creeping up on his mechanisms, making its way under his endoskeleton and stirring the very core of the animatronic. Finally, he was able to sit up and look around. What kind of place is this…

"...Yes. Yes, you did die that day." Solar began with bitterness in his voice, trying not to look into Sunny's eyes as he recounted the memory. "It shocked both Moon and I, and it broke us, and then… And then..." the inventor's voice went tight as a lump formed his throat, forcing him to sound on the verge of tears as he continued.

"...His killcode took over his body. I couldn't save him, Sunny. There was an… accident." He bitterly squeezed out the words. "I'm Sorry, Sun. I'm so, so sorry. Moon is no longer with us."

The final statement hit Sunny like the crack of a painful whip. The whole world trembled right in front of his eyes. Shaking hands clutched at the face plate, despair flooding his features.

"...N-No... nononono, NO! T-This can't… It can't be..." Sun's voice warbled out in despair, "Please, tell me you're lying! T-That this is all a bad joke! PLEASE!"

Before Sunny could lose himself anymore, he felt thin and trembling arms wrap around his back. It was Solar.

Sunny buried his face in Solar's shoulder, shaking and sobbing like a traumatized child. He was absolutely shattered by the news. Moon was his day-one. His other half. His brother. The animatronic he was closest to before they separated and Eclipse appeared.

Gradually, slowly, the sobs in the air began to subside. A numb, pulsating sadness took the place of despair. Sun slightly pulled away from Solar and sighed loudly, causing his fans to flare up for a moment.

"But... What happened then..? H-How are we here?" He asked hollowly, looking at the mechanic.

"I had to conspire with dangerous criminals to survive. Working with them, I at least had a chance to get you back." Solar lowered the tone of his voice, "As of now, my name is no longer Eclipse. My name is Solar."

"Oh my God…" Sunny gasped in fright, taking Solar's face in his hands and looking at his rays. It was only now that he noticed how dirty and broken they were. "D- Did they do this to you? The criminals?!"

"No, no, I'm fine. They won't touch me, we have an… agreement," the inventor shook his head slightly, "But they must not find out about you. We're currently in a bunker under the pizzaplex. This is my lab, and we're in another dimension. But I promise we'll escape from here. I'll find a way.”

"B-But how can they not find out about me if they literally live here?" Sunny shivered, feeling fear creep up his spine. Poor Solar, what kind of mess did he get into..?

"Don't worry, they won't come into my lab. This is my personal space, and no one can come here without my permission." Solar took Sunny's hands in his own once more and looked into his eyes.

"Their names are Ruin and Eclipse. They're both very dangerous- Ruin can infect you with a virus that makes you want to kill, and Eclipse is just out of control when he's not in the mood- and he's always not in the mood. Knowing him, he'll tear you apart as soon as he sees you! Swear to me that you will not leave the lab under any circumstances. Please."

"Solar, I..." Sunny spoke quietly, confused and terrified eyes gazing into the tired and sad ones of the mechanic. "...I trust you. I promise that I will do whatever you say, and help in any way I can."

"Thank you, Sunny. Thank you." Solar leaned forward to hug Sun again, "I'm glad you're back." "Yes..." Sunny hugged the animatronic in response, "I'm so glad to see you, too…"

[thydungeongal]

You've inspired me to make my own megadungeon (or at least run one), are there any good examples you know of? Since you did once mention current megadungeons doing things wrong.

I also want to say your blog and those like yours have been a major inspiration and make me want to create stuff! And have a great evening :)

Oh, I think the person who you want is @maximumzombiecreator, she's the one who's talked about modern megadungeons doing things wrong! (I think the one she was talking about was some megadungeon for Pathfinder 2e?) Oh, there was a time when @tenleaguesbeneath and @imsobadatnicknames2 vagued about one particularly catastrophic attempt by one blogger to make a D&D 5e megadungeon that never amounted to much. But yeah, I've reblogged those posts in question, and now I've summoned them so they may articulate their thoughts on the matter better.

I don't want to speak over anyone, but if I recall correctly: MZC's criticism of that PF2e megadungeon hinged on it lacking procedures for random encounters and restocking, two important things for making the megadungeon feel alive and reinforce the idea that it can't actually be meaningfully cleared, whereas the criticism of that 5e megadungeon was based on the idea that it was like. A dungeon shaped succession of linear D&D 5e adventure days. I think it was characterized as a "megadungeon-themed theme park ride," which feels very apt.

Personally, I'm a fan of the megadungeon on a conceptual level but have not had a chance to run one, but of the ones I have looked at I have a few that have stuck out to me:

Highfell is a megadungeon plus mini sandbox setting centered around a dungeon on a flying island. So, besides the dungeon itself, it immediately presents the party with the question of HOW THE HELL DO WE GET UP ON THAT FLYING ISLAND?

Rappan Athuk, originally released for 3e but having since been converted to almost every retroclone as well as Pathfinder and 5e, is pretty dang huge. I haven't delved deep into it (ha!) but it also features a whole sandbox surrounding the central dungeon, so there's potentially years worth of content in there.

Finally, not one I have actually read but that I am looking at hungrily, Halls of Arden-Vul. Everyone says it's basically a masterclass of megadungeon design, and I believe them, but also the complete version of that dungeon costs like a hundred bucks. Which is understandable since it was originally released in five volumes. But yeah, it has appeared in Bundles of Holding in the past for as little as twenty smackaroos, so I'm waiting for it to come back.

Anyway, of course a lot of classic TSR modules pretty much fit the megadungeon description these days: Temple of Elemental Evil and Undermountain I feel definitely count, and those two seem to appear on every "greatest D&D adventures ever" list. I've only skimmed through the former, but if you happen to find it floating around somewhere, maybe check it out for ideas!

[korpuskat]

Metal in Flesh

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (GN, has a vagina) Rating: E WC: 4.4k Warnings: None, it's pure smut & fluff. A special thank you to @statuetochka for indulging my silly ideas & drawing his hands so much. ===

He tastes like his machine oil. Freshly cleaned, not a trace of dirt between his purple-painted joints. It’s hard not to flex your tongue against him, to explore the little creases in his plates that tease the side of your tongue.

But the hand on your jaw and the precarious placement of his fingers- two under your tongue, his thumb on top, keep you still. He’s exploring. Though it’s not your tongue itself that he’s examining. He drags his thumb down, making the object of his obsession spin- a particularly strange feeling that is still novel even after so long healed.

It’s only taken him a few months into your relationship to notice- or at least to ask about it.

“…Why?” Is the particularly succinct question he comes up with.

“Becath aylikith”

Ramattra’s gaze lifts ever so slightly, from your pinned tongue to your face. Reluctantly, he lets go. You push saliva over your tongue, wetting it before you try speaking again.

“I said, because I like it. I like how it looks.”

“Aesthetics?” Ramattra tips his head, looks down to your lips. You obligingly open your mouth again and present the jeweled rod again. This time, he just looks at it, rather than trapping the muscle for investigation. “I would think that should hurt rather badly just for aesthetics.”

“It did.” You confirm. “When I first got it, it hurt a lot, I couldn’t even eat the first day. But it’s all healed now. Doesn’t hurt at all.” To prove it, you catch the bead on your top lip and pull your tongue sideways, making the entire piercing rotate again. “Besides, you’re in no place to judge; I know you also changed stuff on yourself for how it looked.”

He scoffs, “That is hardly the same. Repainting my enamel coat isn’t remotely painful, nor did it impair such a basic, important function as eating.” He touches the purple plate at the back of one hand with the other. It’s more subconscious than anything, but you still watch his hands with that same fascination. “Besides, my modifications aren’t exclusively aesthetics.”

You grin widely. That kind of stubbornness, the mild disdain in his vocoder… It’s so easy to goad him. “Neither is mine! It has a very good use, actually.”

Ramattra’s head actually bobs as he modulates a disbelieving noise, “Really? Exactly what functional purpose does a metal rod in your mouth serve?”

Excitement washes over you and you don’t bother trying to hide it. “I can show you! I’ve kind of been meaning to for a while, actually, but you keep insisting I don’t have to.” This alone makes his head twitch to the side, perplexed, intrigued. You reach for his hand, and he happily allows you to take it and bring it back to your face, much too curious.

Here, you pause and stare up at the dark slits for his optics. His huge fingers caress over your cheek, cool and firm against your skin as you gently kiss the circular rubber pad of his palm. Ramattra hums softly- which breaks into a stuttered, staticked mess of a noise as you lick that rubber pad. He can feel it, you’re almost sure given the twitching of his fingers against your cheek. Those pads are sensitive, meant for traction and precision- you know he must feel the warmth, the softness of your tongue completely surrounding the hard point of the piercing’s ball. Even with your spit, the metal drags against rubber, catching on the textured ridges.

“You--” His voice cuts out, glitches sharply as though gasping. It’s a rare treat to see him worked up, indulging his own desires, so you bask in the roughened sound of his voice and the dull hum of his ventilation system ramping up. “I should have known it would be that...”

You grin again, then kiss his palm innocently, as though you don’t feel the warmth that’s now radiating from him. “I did want to use it sooner. You’re too selfless for your own good.” You pull on his arm and he allows you, lets you trail kisses up the smooth plate of his forearm. “Can try it now, though.”

His nod is sharp, firm enough to jostle the endcaps of his mane. “Yes, perhaps I would… enjoy that.”

You snicker, but don’t comment on the breathy tone his voice takes, already dysregulated from a single lick, don’t comment on how quickly he sits on the bed that he’d gotten for your sake nor the speed with which he releases the latches on his pelvic plate. Air rushes from his vents again, almost like a sigh as his cock bobs freely.

You might never get used to it, knowing that he made something so obscene just for you… The thrill of it- of all of him- rushes through you, makes your belly heat. But you set that aside for now, instead pushing the golden joints of his legs apart and lowering yourself down to your knees. Which only makes your growing desire ever worse.

Like this you’re so very, very aware of how big he is. Built for war, he dwarfs you in every way. Beside you, his thin, bird-like legs are almost up to your shoulder, just barely giving you enough room to comfortably lay your arms on his thighs. Looking up at him… He sits so stiffly, one hand curled into the previously pristine sheets, the other is curled across the lowest part of faceplate as though obscuring his mouth. Shy, maybe, you think. Would make sense- he doesn’t particularly enjoy receiving one-sided attention. So, you smile up at him, rub your hands soothingly across his canvas-covered thighs and hope that soothes him.

Finally, you let your eyes wander back down his body. Slowly, you ease your hands in from his legs until they brush the base of his cock, where the silicone meets his inner frame. Without any lubricant it’s a dry, sticking feeling, but it’s still enough for you to hear the hum of his fans pitch up in anticipation.

He’s been so patient, so nice to finally let you try this, so you only tease him a little more. You straighten up and stare up at his faceplace, hands moving firmly onto his cock as though you’re going to take him into your mouth immediately. He tenses, waits the sudden onslaught of your mouth around him-- and finds instead your soft lips laying against the smooth head, pressing a delicate kiss to the silicone. Ramattra’s legs twitch,, a little whiny noise coming from somewhere inside him-

And you lower your head down, dragging the tip of your tongue from the base of his cock all the way up. His ventilation kicks and a staticked gasp slips from his vocoder. With only the tip, not yet letting him feel the jewelry, you lick at him, you flick your tongue against the soft ridge at the head of his cock until you think you might break him.

Ramattra hisses your name, somewhere between a plea and a threat. Desire surges in your core again, but you think he's been patient enough. Slowly, deliberately letting him watch as you move- you open your mouth and ease his tip past your lips.

Immediately, Ramattra groans, both hands twisting into his sheets as he processes your warm, soft mouth on his cock. He's big enough that even just his tip makes your jaw twinge in annoyance, but you relax your muscles and urge him further in. His body bursts with heat, already struggling to keep up with the hot air that’s soaking his processors- but that's not quite the reaction you were expecting. So you press your tongue firmly against the underside of his tip- though you aren't sure if Ramattra's cock is particularly sensitive here too- and drag the piercing over the ridge.

A high-pitched noise spits from his vocoder, almost a yelp as his whole body flinches. You'd almost worry you hurt him, that the metal was too rough on the silicone, except for the rough, rolling gasp that comes after. For Ramattra it's a distinct feeling- your mouth all soft and inviting and one firm bead of resistance that pushes back against him, that emphasizes each stroke of your tongue along his cock. It's addicting, one tiny piece of metal in all of that plush flesh. His hand lifts- nearly burying itself in your hair unbidden, but he kills the impulse- tries desperately to be still for you.

You gently bob your head, working up to a slow rhythm. With each motion you keep your tongue moving, sweeping across the silicone. Each time you move down, you try to take in more of him, slowly inching his cock deeper until he's prodding at the back of your throat. The first touch makes you gag, your mouth tightening around him as spit floods your mouth- and Ramattra's hips jump, momentarily fucking you mouth- and he moans.

You clit throbs at the single rough thrust, at the absolutely musical noise from his speakers- his need completely betrayed with the strain on his synth, the first touches of static to his voice. A desperate whimper escapes you just knowing that you're the one making him feel like that and Ramattra sucks in air in turn, his fists curled so tightly you can hear his actuators whining.

Even just listening to his pleasure, knowing you’re the one causing it-- it's all too much. You take him in deep again, sucking his cock with purpose, but you slip one hand between your legs. Trying to keep your focus on him is nearly impossible when you can hardly think with how badly you need to be touched. You shove your pants down and the first touch on your clit is near ecstasy. Sucking his cock, hearing his appreciation alone has left you swollen and soaked, trembling with pleasure as you moan shamelessly around his cock. You circle your clit and shiver, the pace of your tongue on him stuttering-

And this time, Ramattra doesn’t stop the impulse. Ramattra's fingers curl into your hair. You expect him to push you down, that his self control is broken, that he'll fuck your throat and-

he pulls you up. Your scalp stings softly, but you can only mewl in confusion, in desire- how must you look to him? Your own spit covering his cock, eyes glazed over in lust, one hand working yourself with a desperation- and Ramattra catches your arm with his other hand. You whimper, a mindless plea of no, please don't stop- as he pulls again, draws you up, up off the floor-

And you think for a moment he's going to fuck you, to get you in his lap-

“Come here.” His voice is almost unintelligible, harsh with static. He doesn’t even let you comply, dragging your body onto the bed with him as he lays back. Your head spins, too clouded to understand what he wants- which is fine, because he moves you exactly how he's thinking. He pulls you on top of him, legs spread wide over his broad chest and then spins you around so you're looking at his cock again.

That's all the prompting you need. Still spit-slicked, you take him into your mouth again. The new angle is different, unusual- his cock arcs down towards your tongue, making it easier to take him deeper-- and making the press of your piercing into him all the more intense. Ramattra makes some noise behind you- and you would try to squeeze your hand beneath yourself to keep rubbing, but with your belly pressed to his, it’s too tight a fit. The metal of his chest would dig into your wrist too much. But your clit aches, too needy to be ignored. Desperate, you rut your hips against his chest, hoping to find any friction at all against his hard bands of armor-

And Ramattra's big hands land on your hips.

He pulls you back- back as far as he can without dislodging your mouth from his cock. You want to ask, can't seem to understand what he's doing- until each thumb slips between your legs. You moan softly, try to question what he’s doing, but if he hears you, he makes no response. Ramattra parts your folds, revealing your pussy. Warm air washes over your sex- another rush of his ventilation- and you whimper, twisting in his hands at the embarrassment of him looking at you so closely.

You don't expect the press of cool metal directly to your clit.

The temperature makes you jolt away from him, but his hands keep you still, keep your clit trapped right against his faceplate as Ramattra moans. All crackling and ruined, his voice is vibration right against your clit- and you finally understand. You bob your head again, determined to keep those noises coming from his synth.

You sink down on him, taking as much as you can. Ramattra purrs against your pussy, a low rumble that makes your hips twitch, rutting back against his face, your clit rubbing delightfully on the divot between his faceplate and jaw. It’s so primal, needy-- and Ramattra’s grasp on your hips shifts, pulling you towards him again, urging you to keep going. You’re so close already it’s hard to hold any rhythm, but he helps, pushing his mouth against you each time you come up on his cock- and each time your piercing catches the tip he moans, a bolt of static pleasure rumbling directly into your clit.

You can’t help it. You dig your nails into the coverings on his thighs, try desperately to focus on him, on making him cum- but the sound of him, the taste of his cock, and the incessant buzzing of his moans against your pussy are too much. Your rhythm breaks entirely as he pushes you over the edge. Your own noises are muffled, lost to the silicone in your throat. Metal hands keep your thighs spread as they twitch and try to close around him, forcing you to feel as he moans, praises you indistinctly through your orgasm- the words lost against the overwhelming feeling of the continued vibration of your clit.

You can’t think, the pleasure too sharp, too strong- you try to squirm away, to get any relief, but his grasp shifts, one arm now wrapped around your waist to keep you still. The other presses to the back of your head. His hips lift- and he as fucks your mouth desperately.

Ramattra moans, all static-garbled and needy, still rumbling against your pussy. And still you work your piercing against him, match his careful pace with hard licks of your tongue- and each panting, growing moan you can feel him getting closer, every Ah, ah, ah- buzzing harder into your clit as acute pain- a raw overstimulation that only builds into whimpering, twitching second wave that makes your whole body tremble in his hands-

And it’s your hips throat twitching around him again that makes him gasp- the rushed intake of air and firm press of his face against your pussy in a long, droning note as he overloads entirely. His hips thrust up into your mouth one more time before steam rushes from his vents, fills the room with hot air and every joint in his body goes lax.

For a long time you lay there, shivering and boneless. His arms are a pleasant, heavy weight across your back, a good counterpoint to the weak shudders your body gives from time to time. Your clit and throat ache, but it’s a monumental task to move yourself just enough to no longer be choking on his dick or have your over sensitive clit pressed to his firm metal. It takes three tries on your shaking arms before you can manage it.

You lay there, limp and much too tired to try to extricate yourself further from the heft of him. Instead, you close your eyes and enjoy the silence, letting your body relax and cool off until the soft harmony of Ramatta’s internals returns. First, the hum of his processors, then the fans of his ventilation resume, much quieter than they had been before- then his lights return. Positioned as you are, you don’t see his array’s lights, but you do watch as the indicator lights in his cock turn from a yellow- muddied by the purple tinting in the silicone- to green, to finally red.

Ramattra’s fingers twitch on your back, and you laugh slightly as he mimics clearing his throat. He gently lifts your hips and helps you roll off of him, but with a limp waving request of your hand, he then helps you to turn around and lean against his broad chest, half on top of him again.

If you had any energy left at all, you’d be embarrassed- or perhaps aroused again- at the sight of his faceplate; he’s soaked. Everything between his optics down to the tip of his chin is coated in your wetness.

And yet when he speaks, “I apologize I was… overly enthusiastic.” It’s all contrition. One hand touches the side of your neck, a silent voicing of fear of injury.

Instead, you press your face to his hand and he meets you halfway, stroking along your cheekbone with unspoken reverence. “But you liked it?” While his voice has been perfectly reset, yours is still rough, rasping from the strain on your throat.

“I…” He starts- and immediately his fans hum louder again. Your lips barely crack into a knowing smile before he admits it, “Yes. It was… enjoyable.”

“See, more than just aesthetics.” You say, melting onto his chest more, idly stroking at the long pistons mimicking collar bones.

“I suppose I have to agree. You can hardly see it to begin with.”

“Maybe you should give me a piercing you can see, then.” You say it offhanded, a little joke-

“What? I couldn’t.” Ramattra shoots back immediately, “I have no experience with that.”

And his rejection only makes the idea more appealing, more real. “No, wait, think about it! You could research how to do it and where. Your hands wouldn’t shake, you’d be able to center it better-- I bet you could even design it yourself…” You grin and look up at the dark slits for his optics, half pleading. “Come on, at least you’d be saving me money and a trip out.”

Ramattra’s hands on you stop moving, but he doesn’t pull away. So completely motionless, you know he’s processing it, mulling the idea over. “You… want me to pierce you?”

“Well. Yeah, I guess? I mean I like piercings and I think you’d do a good job… and…” You blush softly, finally averting your gaze from his as though this is somehow more intimate than sucking his cock until he overloaded and cumming on his face twice. “Maybe I kinda… like the idea of having jewelry that you made, that you put there…”

His design on your body. It’s not just intimate; it’s possessive. A silent, private mark of your relationship… If you weren’t not so thoroughly spent, it might bring another wave of heat between your legs. He must have come to the same conclusion, because something shudders in Ramattra’s chest.

“I see.” He says coolly, as though you don’t feel the streams of hot air that again slip from his vents. “Then, I will look into it.”

In all, it takes Ramattra three days. Three days before he’s guiding you into his workshop and lifting you up onto his desk. The thrill of how easily he picks you up- big hands cradling your rib cage as he sets you onto the metal surface- always makes you a little giddy. Even more so is the little purple velvet box that sits nearby. You reach for it-

And Ramattra snatches the box up with a tut, “No peeking.”

“Fine.” You sigh exaggeratedly, watching as he skims over the tools he’s acquired in the last half week. A bottle of antiseptic, forceps, a marker-- and your eyes wander to a small package of needles. Your stomach tightens a little just seeing them, so you look at him instead, distracting yourself as Ramattra finishes his preparations. “Where did you decide?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead gently putting one finger under your chin and turning your head away. His other hand drifts over your ear- and eventually catches the little flap in front of your ear canal between thumb and forefinger. “Here.” His hands abandon you, turning back to his tools and grabbing the marker. “It is called the tragus.”

You hum in acknowledgement, but otherwise keep still as he focuses on your ear. Carefully, methodically- Ramattra touches the tip of the marker to your skin.

He draws your chin back towards him, examining the dot he’s made from the front before retrieving and handing you a mirror. “This is… acceptable?” He prompts as you look at your reflection. You could almost laugh; the ink of the marker is perfectly centered- likely is, mathematically. You knew he’d be good at this.

“Yeah, it looks perfect.” You look at the mark a moment more, picturing jewelry in its spot. It is… a strange location. “Why’d you pick this one?”

Ramattra pauses, his turn towards his tools a little too intentional. “If you wish to remove it later, any scarring should not be too disruptive.”

Something tightens in your chest. You reach out to him, gently touch his forearm. His head only slightly turns back towards you, just enough for you to see the corner of one slit. “I’m not going anywhere.” You say it, squeeze his arm again and hope he’ll internalize it this time. His only response is a small hum, an acknowledgement of the words, if not their meaning. So, you redirect him. “Can I see the jewelry now?”

Again, Ramattra hesitates, but caves with a halting, “Yes, I suppose so.” He holds the box a second too long- so tiny in his big hands- but offering it to you.

You don’t even hide your ecstatic grin as you take it- too excited at the possibilities. His designs are always so sleek, but you don’t know what he would choose for you to wear. You crack open the box- and the first thing you recognize is the color. Purple- the exact shade as his accents, as his jaw. But it’s not just his paint- you hold the tiny box closer and squint. It’s almost an inverted teardrop shape, but not quite. There is a silver dot embedded in the lower half, the point that would be sharp is clipped, a notch taken out of the wider top… You look at it for a moment longer- and your excitement melts into something warmer, recognition.

“It’s your chest plate…” You murmur and reach for him again. Only the lower half is visible under his tan cowl, but Ramattra stands still, lets you lift the soft fabric to reveal his own inverted teardrop- the purple latch right in the center of his chest.

“There’s more…” His voice falters, rasping through a whisper, strained with the same feeling that’s twisting in your throat.

You look back to the jewelry, unsure how there could be more meaning lain into it- but you take it from the little velvet cushions that hold it in place- and understand. The back of it is green with tiny golden lines etched into it. A circuit board. You brow pinches for a moment, dragging a nail over the back- feeling the protective coating over the circuits. It’s too small, too clipped to be functional. Just decorative, symbolic?

“When I…” He starts and stops, stepping closer to you- laying one hand on the outside of your thigh. “When I installed…. that I also had to replace and redesign some chips that were in my hips for functionality. I… kept the originals.”

“This is… you?” You murmur, tracing the tiny golden threads again. An actual chip from his body… “Or, was part of you?”

Ramattra nods stiffly, watches as you examine the tiny thing. “It’s… acceptable?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle, “I love it, Rama…” then hurriedly put the jewelry back in its box and shove it back towards him. You rub at your watering eyes and force out a tight, “Hurry up and pierce me before I cry.”

Ramattra nods again, shifting easily into his practiced movements. He swaps your ear with antiseptic and dips the piercing into the bottle, laying it on a sheet to dry as he picks up his tools. You focus on his faceplate and stare up at him as he steps in front of you. He waits there a moment- soaks in your gaze before touching your chin and urging you to turn your head just as he had earlier.

You close your eyes, don’t look as he clamps the forceps down.

“Breathe.” His voice rumbles, so close to your ear. You shiver, but obey- taking in the cool air of his workspace, the scent of his oil, relax into the warm proximity of him-

And as you exhale he pierces you. Hot pain washes over the whole side of your head. You clench your teeth, try not to flinch as he moves quickly, replacing pieces with a smoothness that you should’ve expected from him.

“Good,” He praises, still low and quiet and so close to you- and finally he pushes his design into the backing.

Ramattra steps away, but you grab at him- hands landing on the silver handles at his hips. He stops, turns towards you- and the tears you’d managed to suppress before being stabbed boil over.

“Does it hurt? I-”

You’re crying before you can even wrap your arms around him.And realizing you’re crying into his cowl- your face pressed right up against the exact plate he used as a design makes you weep harder. But he steps right up against the table and shushes you, strokes your back with an affection no one else has even seen in him.

“I love you,” You manage between shoulder-racking sobs- and something inside Ramattra shudders.

So quickly he adjusts, no longer holding you to his broad chest, but near doubling over, half lifting you off the table to press his faceplate into your shoulder. He buries himself in the warmth of your body- and shudders again as your grasp scrabbles over his back, no longer cinched around his tiny waist, but sliding up under his cowl, grabbing at the long bars of armor and holding yourself up against him.

“I love you so much,” You murmur to him, half broken by sniffles- and he squeezes your ribs in turn.

[comfortscripts]

Santa's Statistics Helper ¬ Michael Gavey

Plot - In the midst of the worst Christmas of your life, you meet an arrogant genius who takes pity on your inability to do statistics. Pairing - Michael Gavey x PsychologyStudent!Reader Notes/Warnings - As a psychology student who hates statistics, this was just based off how my boyfriend explains it to me. Michael is a bit of a sweetheart in this with streaks of arrogance. Not proofread so I apologise in advance if it is terrible Word Count - 1,943

Sunday the 10th of December

“As it helps identify the patterns, the correlation matrix is useful in psychological testing, economics, risk management, and statistics. Calculated as (x(i)-mean(x))*(y(i)-mean(y)) / ((x(i)-mean(x))2 * (y(i)-mean(y))2. This mode- Oh for fuck’s sakes!”

Slamming the monotone textbook of your nightmares closed and shoving it to the opposite side of the oaken table, you breathe a sigh of frustration. Four hours you’ve been trying, 240 minutes of your life spent in a lonely library struggling to grasp the difference between a correlation matrix and covariance matrix. If someone told you when you picked psychology that you’d be sacrificing your Christmas to study for some pathetic quantitative methodologies’ module, you would have switched your career pathway to dogwalker.

Unfortunately, you aren’t a bloody psychic so here you sit with red rimmed eyes, frizzing hair from repeatedly tugging at it, and longing for being home watching The Polar Express. A string of swears partnered with the shuffling of papers acted as your soundtrack for the next few minutes as you attempted to build back up your confidence.

“You made it this far; you can do this! Once this module is done, you can get a pint and burn your calculator.”

Just as you leant to grab the textbook, a voice broke through your bubble of academic frustration.

“Don’t think you’d get very far burning a calculator after a few pints, I’ve seen how you handle your alcohol.”

Jumping backwards in your chair, eyes frantically assessing the source of the teasing words. There he stood, Michael Gavey. You had only met him in once during Freshers, but after minimal contact with him, you understood that he looked down on your choice of degree. Mutterings of how it is a pointless degree for vapid girls who would become housewives or receptionists within years of graduation. Mousy hair that had no clear style, smudged glasses, and an oversized maroon jumper that made him appear wider than usual.

Perhaps it was your lack of sleep, but Michael Gavey seemed to be far better looking than before.

“What the fuck Gavey?! Could have given me a heart attack, and I know you are smart but you aren’t a bloody doctor.” Clutching your chest to emphasise the theatrics of your startled self, a small huff left your person with the final word.

With a soft chuckle, the lanky boy slid into the chair opposite before resting his judgmental eyes on your figure. Assessing your appearance as if you were one of his equations. Those denim blues flickering between you and the scattered papers filled with incorrect or half-complete statistical equations.

Moments passed in silence, and with each second you grew more agitated with the piercing gaze from the bespectacled boy. “What are you even doing here Gavey? Is Christmas too simple and mainstream for you to celebrate?”

“I would ask you the same question, but from what I recall you seem to embrace the simple. Or does that only apply to your choice in degree?”

That fleeting thought of attraction was zapped from the air as his words bit at your confidence. Usually, a quick-witted response would fall from your lips, but after days of struggling, it was difficult to view yourself as anything but a student heading towards failure.

It was clear to tell the atmosphere had shifted, a tense weight fell between the pair of you. Watching as his calculated smirk fell, understanding that perhaps his words might not have been appreciated in this moment.

“What do you want Michael? I’m too busy to be belittled today.”

“Well, I was planning on asking you to be quiet. I’ve had to listen to your ridiculous murmurings for the past 2 hours. Not to mention the constant echoing of you abusing those poor books.” Straightening himself in the padded wooden seat, attempting to appear unphased by how defeated your voice sounded.

Even though Michael would never admit to it, he always harboured a modest crush on you. He remembers the way you walked around the different Fresher events with such confidence, despite not knowing anyone prior to starting University. Eyes following your figure as you made the rounds before making your way to his table of one. That was when he messed up. Something about your presence made any semblance of a filter disappear, and the insults flew from his lips before he could bite the words down. All he could do was stare as that kind spark in your eyes faltered and you muttered a discouraged goodbye before walking away from his lonely table.

Since that day, he kept an eye out for you. Never once daring to speak again, but always glancing at your corner table during dinnertime just to catch a glimpse of that jubilant smile. Yes, he thought any subject outside of mathematics-based degrees were pointless to society. Although for some reason, he never wanted you to feel anything less for your choice of pathway. Everyone else on your course might be a half-wit, but not you. Never you.

Suddenly feeling sheepish, you make a move to pack away. “Oh, I apologise. Truthfully, I thought I was the only one who stayed back for Christmas break.”

Hand reaching across to grab the textbook currently resting before the boy, you were met halfway by a larger colder hand. “Don’t leave on my account, especially before I can explain to you the different applications of correlation matrixes.”

Rearranging the position of his chair to minimise the space between the both of you, as he fumbled through your plethora of mock questions and attempted answers. All whilst your mouth parted with puzzlement, leaving you to watch his movement with questioning eyes.

“Why in the world would you help me?”

“Figures it could balance out my karma for slagging your subject. Plus, I can’t sit here knowing you are desecrating maths and not intervene.”

And with the rippling sounds of the pages followed by the subtle knock of the textbook cover, the pair of you began an unlikely partnership.

Monday the 18th of December

The next seven days were spent in that secluded corner of the century-old building with Michael explaining statistical concepts in his velvety tones. At the start, he found it difficult to not mark his superiority or mock your questions that seemed elementary to him. Eventually, he grew to understand that you really did care about understanding the methods entirely, and that your questions spawned from craving knowledge rather than sheer stupidity. Awkward explanations turned into two-way conversations during study breaks, and silly jokes. If anyone were to enter the library, they would hear the duo of laughs ricochet off the walls of books. Perhaps they would think that two friends were sharing inside jokes, but if anyone saw the pair of you, they would see two fools infatuated with one another.

It was true, within the past week Michael’s crush only grew and you started to realise that Michael might be the unexpected highlight of university. Since Freshers, you felt drawn to him, and maybe at the start it was purely a physical attraction that was shut down by his mean-spirited comments. But this version of Michael, where he feels comfortable and lets down his arrogant guard, this is the boy that you wish you’d known from the beginning. Heart fluttering when he praises you, chest aching from giggles at his nerdy jokes, and fingertips lingering slightly too long on his veiny hand.

As the snow falls outside, the pair of you sat with only the sound of your nervous drumming and the scratch of Michael’s pen across your mock examination. Studying his side profile, getting lost in the way his lips purse with satisfaction when he ticks off a correct answer, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was proud of you. Several moments trickled by in silence, waiting in anticipation to see whether the hours spent together had actually taught you anything. There was the unspoken discomfort of what happens next. If you had passed with flying colours, does that mean you and him go back to strangers? Could you pretend to be less than friends again with all these newfound feelings? Truthfully, part of you wished you failed so he would have to keep tutoring you.

“And you did it. Congratulations, you have officially conquered statistics.” Sliding across the paper marked 86% with a little smile into your expectant hands. Those stormy blues meeting yours to watch the excitement unfold.

“I did it? Oh my god, I did it!”

Waving the paper in the air before bringing it to your chest, eyes sparkling with happiness as the weight of failure floats off your shoulders. Michael could only match your exuberant smile, leaning his chiselled chin on the palm of his hand to watch the subject of his dreams glitter in front of him. He knew the doubts that clouded your judgement were bullshit. In his eyes you were almost as smart as him, only in a different way. Watching your seated celebrations as he commits the image to memory, with fear of today being the last day of closeness between you two. Michael half expected you to drop him after realising you understood the concepts. That you would finally recognise you are worth more than someone like him. Someone of a higher class, someone more muscular, someone who isn’t a social pariah.

Those thoughts were halted by the feel of your jumper-clad arms being thrown around his neck, drawing him close. Snapping out of his daydream just as you bridged the gap between your lush lips and his own. Michael felt you melt into him, arms softening in their hold but your lips still continuing the connection with passion. This kiss was all consuming, built up with each second of vulnerability shown throughout the moments together. He noted that you tasted like spearmint gum, and it perfectly complimented the constant chocolate that lurked on his tastebuds.

Somehow it felt like the pair of you were joined for eternity, feeling as if the cool of his lens would be ingrained on your skin. Reluctantly the two young students separated, faces flushed and chests heaving in a desperate attempt to fill your lungs. The realisation of your bold move flashed in your brain, panic arising in your stomach at all the possible scenarios that could happen next, but those fears settled as you saw the soft look hidden behind those glasses.

“Thank you, Michael. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”

“Well, it does help that I’m a mathematical genius. But truthfully, I’ve enjoyed teaching you and would happily continue our study sessions.” Despite his clear words, Michael was still recovering from the shockwaves in his body from the taste of you on his lips. Mentally he was cringing at his entirely unromantic words, but all you did was smile.

“As much as I would like that, I’d prefer if our relationship went beyond studying? Perhaps we could go for a celebratory pint or get dinner together.” Awkwardly twiddling the hem of his sweater between your fingertips as you avoided his eyeline. “You know, like a date? Only if you would be happy with that, of course.”

“I’ve come to realise that if I was a correlation matrix, and you’d be the variable that’s highly correlated with my happiness. So yes, I’d love to take YOU on a date”

Laughter erupted in your belly at his cheesy line, and he fought the urge to pull in for another kiss. Instead, he chose to intertwine your warm hands with his. “A genius, a gentleman, a teacher, and now a comedian? You, Michael Gavey, are an adventure I can’t wait to explore.”

[captainsophiestark]

Vigilante Book Club

Jason Todd x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist! - Part 2 Part 3

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: DC

Summary: After having an all-around terrible day, the only person who might be able to make it better is a certain book-loving vigilante.

Word Count: 1,562

Category: Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I sighed heavily as the tomato I'd set on the counter and turned my back on for two seconds rolled onto the floor and went splat. Some days were just meant to be shitty, apparently.

Today had started out perfectly nice and ordinary. The sun had even been shining, which was a miracle in itself sometimes in Gotham. But then, I'd left my bag unattended at the coffee shop while grabbing my order from the counter, before returning to my table. It didn't have anything legitimately valuable in it, in terms of what the thief got, but it did have my favorite copy of my favorite book, which I'd had for the better part of a decade. All my little notes, bookmarked favorite pages, and the first edition put into print before a few typos and errors were corrected on later runs; in other words, irreplacable. And now it was gone forever.

The rest of my day had likewise been terrible, although normally mundane events might've been colored a little by the loss of my book. Now, all I wanted to do was eat something I liked and then immediately go to bed. And even that wasn't going to plan.

I huffed, setting down the knife I'd grabbed when I turned my back on the tomato and intending to replace it with some paper towels. I froze mid-turn, however, at the sound of the window in my hallway sliding open. Because of course this day hadn't ended yet.

Slowly, as quietly as possible, I turned back to the counter and picked up the knife. I knew I'd locked that window, but apparently someone had managed to just quietly and easily slide it open. That wasn't a good sign.

I crept across the kitchen, tensed and ready to run at a moment's notice as I neared the corner to the hallway. I wanted to see who or what I might be dealing with, while also being prepared to run if I needed to.

I paused at the edge of the kitchen, taking a few deep breaths to calm my nerves. Finally, I mustered up the courage to slowly lean around the corner to peek into the hallway. When I did, I found someone standing much, much closer than I'd been expecting them to be.

"AH!" I screamed, jumping back while brandishing the knife out in front of me. I made it halfway across the room in one leap as the person in my house shifted backwards too.

"Shit," he swore, voice slightly distorted by the vocal modulator in his very recognizable helmet. The Red Hood. Standing in my apartment, apparently after having broken through my window.

I lowered my knife slightly and stopped in my living room, just a few steps from my kitchen. I wasn't completely relaxed, but in general, the Red Hood seemed to have a helpful, non-dangerous-if-you're-not-evil reputation. But he'd also just broken into my house.

"What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. Red Hood held up his hands to show he was unarmed, and apparently also to answer my question: he held a familiar bag I thought I'd never see again in his hand.

"Sorry for scaring you. I didn't think anyone was here, I was planning to just drop this off and go. But I busted some black market smugglers today, and one of their lower-ranking guys had this. Seemed like something you might want back."

I barely let him get through the end of his sentence before I dropped the knife on the nearest table and rushed across the room to grab my bag. I yanked it open while it was still in Red Hood's hands, peering inside with my heart hammering in my chest. I almost collapsed on the spot when I found my book inside, looking exactly the way I'd left it.

"Oh thank goodness!" I cried. I turned back to Red Hood, still clutching my book tight. "Thank you so much for bringing this back to me! I was heartbroken when it got taken."

Red Hood just shrugged. "Glad I could help."

He started shifting back towards the door, carefully setting my bag and the rest of its contents down on the counter, but I couldn't just let him leave like that. He'd quite literally saved my day; I wanted to do something for him in return.

"Wait! Can I... offer you dinner, or something?" I asked. "I was about to start making some tacos..."

Red Hood's gaze drifted to the kitchen as mine did, landing on the pitiful start I'd made on dinner and the tomato still on the floor. I couldn't be totally sure because of the helmet, but I thought I heard him snort.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but that doesn't look anything like dinner. Maybe next time I bust some criminals I'll find a cookbook I can bring you."

I scoffed in mock-indignation, but I couldn't quite hide a smile all the same.

"I know how to cook, alright? Today's just been... a little rough. Until you brought my book back, at least!"

Red Hood chuckled. "Well, I'm glad I could help. Makes my day a lot better, too."

We shared a smile (I assumed, since I couldn't technically see his face), then I lit up as a shock of inspiration hit me.

"Oh! What if I let you borrow this book!" I cried. "It's absolutley fantastic, I promise you won't forget it. Since you knew it was important, I'm assuming you're a reader?"

He stared at me, looking a bit taken aback.

"I'm a very big reader, but... you'd actually let me borrow this?"

He gestured to the book still clutched tightly in my hand, and I whipped it up to my chest again, holding it tight to me.

"Hell no! I won't let anyone borrow this copy, ever. But I have a loaner copy I've used to get my friends invested in the story that I'd be happy to share with you. And... maybe you could come back when you're done reading it, and we could talk about it? Maybe over dinner? I promise I'm a better cook than the current state of my kitchen would suggest."

He didn't respond right away, to the point that I started to get a little nervous. Maybe he'd really wanted to leave when he'd first started heading back to the window, and didn't want anything to do with me or this conversation. Just when I started crafting something to say to let him off the hook, he finally spoke up again.

"...As long as you're sure it wouldn't be an inconvenience for you."

"What? Of course I'm sure! If you're interested, I'd love someone else to talk to about my favorite book. And I'd still love to make you dinner as a thank you for bringing this back to me."

Red Hood nodded. "Okay. That'd be nice, thanks."

"Sure thing. Let me go and grab you my other copy of this book, one second."

I ducked into my bedroom, going straight to the bedside table and carefully setting down my copy of my favorite book. No way I wanted to take a single risk of anything happening to it again.

Once that book was safe, I turned to my brimming bookshelf to grab the copy for Red Hood. Only a fellow reader would understand the importance of returning the copy he brought back to me, and honestly, I couldn't wait to hear his thoughts on the story after his first read through.

I returned to the hallway and handed the book over with a smile. Red Hood took it, tucking it safely away in a deceptively large pocket in his hero suit.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll come back in... a week?"

My eyebrows shot up. "Is that enough time for you to read it?"

"Of course. I've gotta do something to fill the time I'm not running around catching book thieves."

I smiled, and I got the distinct impression that Red Hood was doing the same. After a moment, he cleared his throat, and started heading back towards the window again.

"Anyway... thanks for the book. I'll see you next week."

"See you next week! Bring your thoughts on the book, and maybe a different mask so you can actually eat dinner."

He chuckled. "Don't worry, I wasn't planning to try to force it under the hood."

"Good. And feel free to use the door instead of the window next time!"

He just waved, clearly making no commitment as he stepped out onto the fire escape. I smiled as I watched him go, waving back when he met my eyes and shut the window. I moved closer and watched him as long as I could before he disappeared over the rooftops, off into the night for whatever other vigilante stuff he had to do tonight.

I sighed, staying at the window for another moment to process the past ten minutes. Everything had started to feel like a hallicination, possibly brought on by my truly terrible day.

No matter what, though, I could reassure myself it was real with the newly-returned book on my bedside table, or the knife I'd left in my living room. Somehow, my precious copy of my favorite story had made its way back to me. And even better, I now had a date with a vigilante scheduled to address said book.

I just needed to figure out what dinner went with 'Red Hood comes over to discuss literature'.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989 @space-helen

DC Taglist: @gaychaosgremlin