#but like do you think he looks into the kids and their backgrounds and thinks how can i make this a safe space for them.

[helpimstuckposting]

From Santa

Prompt: Magic | Rating: G | Wordcount: 2,957 | AO3 | @steddiebingo

Steve was seven when he found out that Santa did not exist. He tried, once, the whole ‘Santa’ thing. After hearing the stories from kids at school, he ran over to Melvald’s and bought a tin of cookies with his allowance before skipping excitedly home. Some of the kids mentioned feeding the magic deer, because flying took a lot out of them obviously, and Steve wasn’t quite sure what magic deer ate, but he left out a few carrots in the yard just in case.

He was so excited, setting out the cookies in front of the big tree in the living room and hoping he’d wake up to find a present underneath, just for him. Maybe it would be a cool Hess Truck like Tommy wanted, or maybe it would be an action figure, or comic books, or maybe his parents would come home. The other kids said Santa was magic, that he could do anything, so Steve wasn’t picky.

He went to bed excited and could barely close his eyes to sleep, but the other kids said Santa didn’t come if you were awake so Steve tried his very best. He finally fell asleep with the taste of ginger snaps on his tongue (there was a whole tin, and Santa had hundreds, maybe thousands of cookies every night, so he didn’t think Santa would mind one less).

He woke up to a spotless and quiet house, no puddles from snow on Santa’s boots, no bites out of the cookies, and no present under the tree. No parents either. Steve didn’t have any more cookies that day. He couldn’t bear it.

When his parents arrived a week later, Steve was greeted not by hugs and exclamations of how much his parents missed him, but by his mother loudly and forcefully demanding answers to why her yard was scattered with gross old carrots, drying and cracking and covered in mud from the melted snow. So he told her. He told her about Santa and how he wanted him to come, how he went to bed early like a good boy, and waited all night. How he didn’t show up.

She laughed.

It was cold and icy, like the shards still hanging from the gutters on their roof. She told him he shouldn’t be impatient for his presents — they were in the car like always — and really, Steven, it doesn’t look good for a boy to be so demanding, and the presents certainly weren’t from Santa because the man did not exist.

Santa didn’t exist.

So yes, Steve knew from a young age that the jolly man in the coat and hat was simply a lie — told to children to excite them and give them something to look forward to. He didn’t really get it at first; were the presents not enough? Was the week off from school not exciting? Did they not look forward to Christmas morning without the story of a man sneaking down the chimney? But he’d also fallen for it. He was so excited, he liked the idea of feeding the magic deer, and leaving a treat out for someone delivering gifts out of kindness. He liked the story, that a man with so much power wanted to use it to make children happy. He liked being thought of, liked being remembered by someone he didn’t even know, liked that it was a reward for being nice throughout the year.

But it wasn’t true. And that was fine, Steve tried to convince himself. He still got the presents, and he still got his parents, even if they were a week late. He still got a hug from his nanny, and his mom let him have the rest of the ginger snaps, and he didn’t even have to clean up the carrots from the yard.

His parents left again, and school started again, and it was fine.

It was fine, until Tommy came barreling through the door with his Hess Truck held high and the praise of Santa spewing from his lips, and Steve noticed that not everyone shared in Tommy’s delight. Most of them did, and a lot of them brought their favorite toy to school just like Tommy, but a few kids (maybe three) sat still in their chairs — like they could avoid any questions if they blended into the background. They ducked their heads and they sank in their seats, and Steve wondered if they also found out Santa wasn’t real.

But Tommy singled one kid out at recess. He dragged him out, to the center of the playground, and told everyone that Santa didn’t go to trailer parks, that the kids in Forest Hills didn’t get presents from Santa, because only good kids got presents, and how could they be good if they lived in a junk yard. Those words didn’t sound like Tommy, but he was always repeating things his dad said, copying him and taking his word as gospel.

The kid, scrawny with a shaved head and angry brown eyes, sank into his shoes. Not in retreat, not in a cowering way. He sank into his shoes like he was grounding himself, like he was making sure his footing was firm and steady, and he shoved Tommy right into the ground.

Of course, only then did a teacher interject, and only the boy Steve didn’t know the name of was dragged away to the office. Tommy angrily scrambled to his feet and spat at the ground where the kid had stood, remarking that he was right and the Forrest Hills kids were definitely on the naughty list, Steve, wasn’t he right? Did he see that? What a freak that kids was.

Steve rolled his eyes and didn’t say anything. He knew interrupting Tommy was just more hassle than it was worth, and Tommy was wrong anyway because Santa wasn’t real. He’d figure it out eventually, Steve supposed, but he wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.

It was his walk home that gave him an idea. He saw the bus pass by as he trudged along, down the road and off in the direction of Forrest Hills trailer park. He wondered if that kid from recess was there, if he saw Steve out the window as he passed, if he really didn’t get any presents. He thought about all the gifts his parents gave him that were still packaged up in his closet because he had too many and he didn’t really like them all. And he thought about how much he wanted someone to think about him on Christmas, with no other purpose or desire but to make him happy.

So, with an inkling of an idea creeping its way through his head, he ran the rest of the way home and pulled out the phone book from the hallway table, as well as his yearbook from the previous year. There weren’t many numbers from Forrest Hills, but he did find the three kids from his class and a couple from the year above. He picked out which of his unopened presents he thought they’d like the most, and he wrapped them crudely in leftover paper he found in the study. He ripped off a few pages from the note pad by the phone, and wrote out in his best writing:

From Santa, sorry I was late

And then:

P.S. my elf wrote this

Because his best writing was still pretty bad.

It took him a couple days to plan and gather things, but in the dead of night — after his neighbors clicked off their porch lights — he piled all five presents into a little red wagon and tied the wagon to the end of his bike. He took off toward Forrest Hills, a little list of names and addresses crinkled in his pocket. He tip-toed around the dirt paths, freezing in fear every time his little wagon’s wheels squeaked, and placed the presents and the notes from ‘Santa’ on the doorsteps that matched his little list. He checked it twice, just for fun.

He felt lighter on the ride back home, and not just because his wagon was empty.

Steve was seven when he decided to become Santa himself.

It wasn’t obvious, the next day at school, and Steve didn’t do it just to listen to kids whisper about Santa visiting Forrest Hills a week late, but he did notice something. The three kids who had sunk low in their seats the first day back, who avoided talking to the others to brag about their presents, were no longer trying to blend into the background. They sat comfortably in their seats, and whispered among themselves, eyes twinkling a little more than they had a few days ago. Steve was ecstatic. He sat, buzzing silently with excitement as he tried to keep his face blank and neutral. Santa had to be kept secret, after all.

He did it again the next year, adding the newest kids to his list from the years below him, and saved up his allowance to get some cuter presents for the girls; some nail polish and art supplies, some coloring books and beads. This time he wasn’t late, and his handwriting had improved a lot from the year before (though he still blamed the elves for his wonky letters).

He had fun, learning how to wrap the paper around each gift, saving up his money to pick out presents he hoped the other kids would like, wondering what their faces looked like when they opened the door to find a present on their front step.

He was a little worried that the kids would be concerned Santa hadn’t made it inside, being magic and all, but he also noticed that none of the trailers had chimneys so maybe that was okay. He also learned that most of the kids in Forrest Hills did get presents, and he felt a little stupid for assuming they didn’t just from Tommy’s dumb comments, but he also knew they weren’t the fancy presents other kids got like bikes and new games.

He tried making his Santa presents a little more extravagant. After all, why would Santa give Tommy a brand new Lego set, but give Willie across town a pack of baseball cards? Steve just wanted to even the playing field a bit, knock Tommy down a peg or two when he tried humiliating another kid on the playground and that kid said Actually Tommy, I got the new Hess Truck from Santa, too! And Steve remembered wrapping it up, much neater this time, and almost getting caught on the stoop when a dog started barking at him. He muffled a giggle into his hand when Tommy floundered for something to say, coming up empty handed.

As the years passed and the kids in his grade stopped believing in Santa, he scratched their names off his list. He kept adding to it as well, though. He paid attention to the new kids in each grade, noticed if they had a little less than those around them, noticed if they were on the outskirts or if they looked a little nervous as the holidays drew nearer and nearer. He left presents for the Byers one year when he heard that Jon’s mom lost her job after his dad left. He left presents almost all over town, had the phone book highlighted with every address he wrote down in his notebook — a much needed upgrade from the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket. He wrote a list, he checked it twice, and he made sure to slip through the dark like a shadow, avoiding anything that might give him away.

He was always surprised when no adults tried to stop him. Surely, the stoop presents were well known throughout town by the time Steve reached high school, but maybe they didn’t want to know who was behind it. Maybe they wanted to keep the magic alive, too. Either way, Steve played a successful Santa for nearly two decades before anyone found out.

It was Eddie.

It was always Eddie.

Eddie, the boy who knocked Tommy clear to the ground that first winter. Eddie, the boy who made Steve want to help. Eddie, the boy who received the first ever gift from Hawkin’s own Santa, though Steve kind of hoped that was a secret he could keep.

They were putting up the tree in their apartment, the first Christmas they were spending together. Eddie had brought several old ornaments from the trailer, ones that he stole from right under Wayne’s nose because lord knows the man wouldn’t want to part with them if he didn’t have to — a collector, that man was. Steve picked up one that, at first, had been unassuming, a clear bauble filled with glitter. Hanging it on the sad twiggy branch of their Charlie Brown tree, however, he noticed a little piece of paper inside. It was aged and a bit crumpled, but not too shabby for how old it was.

From Santa, sorry I was late, it read in squiggled, messy handwriting, the wonky letters leaning to one side more than the other.

P.S. my elf wrote this

Steve stared at it for entirely too long, catching Eddie’s attention as he hung the last ornament.

“Wayne made that one, if you can believe it,” Eddie said, tapping the plastic bauble with the nail of his pointer finger. “I mean, not the note,” he clarified, “that was Santa.” He whispered the last part conspiratorially, as if letting Steve in on a huge secret. Steve felt like he was going to cry, suddenly, the tears pricking behind his eyes. With a start he realized, selfishly, that he didn’t want Eddie to know. He wanted to keep this mystery alive for just a little longer, like a parent too sad to let their child grow out of the world of magic and wonder, like it was too soon though the secret had been brewing for nearly twenty years.

Eddie wrapped a cautious arm around Steve’s shoulders, unsure of where his sudden teary-eyed expression came from. Instead of facing his questioning look, Steve tucked his head into the crook of Eddie’s neck and listened as the man regaled him with the story of his first ever gift from the Santa Claus.

That year, Wayne had lost his job as a trucker because Eddie had fallen into his lap. He couldn’t leave the kid all alone, had to stay and take care of him, and he was between jobs until the holiday snuck right up on them both. They had a tree, just as shabby and sparse as the one they currently stood in front of, but there was no money to spare for gifts. Wayne had apologized, and Eddie had been very understanding for an eight year old — after all, he had been learning not to rely on adults, anyway.

He’d gotten in trouble when the school year resumed, however, for shoving an insufferable Tommy Hagan to the ground during recess. Of course Tommy hadn’t gotten in trouble, since vigilantism was an under appreciated form of justice, Eddie declared. Steve snorted into Eddie’s neck, just imagining the ranting tirade the skinny boy with a shaved head must have gone on, trying to defend himself to the principal.

Eddie was furious as he got back home, pissed off at Hagan, pissed off at his parents, pissed off at the world. And then — what to his wondering eyes did appear — two days later, Wayne had opened the door to the shittiest wrapped present he’d ever seen. Steve bit his tongue. It was for Eddie, according to the name scribbled onto the wrapping paper, and the little note declared it was a lost gift from Santa.

“Like magic,” Eddie smiled.

Steve had no idea that was his first Christmas at Wayne’s, and he had no clue what that first shove on the playground could lead to. He could still picture Eddie’s scrunched brow as he glared daggers at Tommy, could still remember the way he sank into his shoes and grounded himself for a fight, like he was used to it, like he knew what was coming. He wished he could picture Eddie’s face as he realized Santa hadn’t forgotten about him.

“Anyway,” he said, startling Steve from his thoughts, still tucked away in Eddie’s neck, “Wayne kept that note, and I think he’s got the one from the next year, too. He’d saved enough money for a couple presents that year, but I think he was grateful for a little extra help.”

Steve pictured himself, a tiny little thing, curled up in the living room, all alone on Christmas Eve as he wrapped up presents and wrote out his Santa letters. He remembered feeling less alone for the first Christmas in forever, because he was too busy sticking too much tape onto glittery wrapping paper and worrying about not getting caught to care that his parents weren’t home again.

He thought about the bag full of presents, tucked away in the back of the closet so Eddie wouldn’t find them, and his list of kids he collected from the library’s giving tree. He had planned on sneaking out, planned to slip away from Eddie’s prone form and deliver the gifts alone, like always, but Eddie squeezed his shoulder and kissed the top of his head and he realized that he didn’t have to be alone anymore. Maybe this year there could be two Santas, delivering gifts to the children of Hawkins in the dead of night. Maybe this year he could have some help. Maybe this year, there could be twice as much magic as the year before.

—

Bingo Prompts

[justagalwhowrites]

Joyeux Noël - A Lavender AU Christmas Story

Joel and your daughters plan something special for you for the holidays. A Christmas one shot set in the Lavender AU Universe.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut. No outbreak AU. Fluff fluff fluff. Christmas fluff. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ only

Length: 3.6k

A/N: JOEL AND DOC ARE BACK FOR THE HOLIDAYS BECAUSE I MISSED THEM (and hopefully some of you did, too.) This can be read as a stand alone fic with the understanding that Joel and reader are a married couple with a shared biological daughter as well as Ellie and Sarah. I hope you enjoy this tooth rotting-ly sweet fic!

AO3 | Lavender Masterlist | Lavender AU Masterlist | Full Masterlist

December 24, 2024 

“You’re sure you’ve got everything?” Sarah asked, her son, Carson, squealing in the background. 

“Pretty sure,” Joel said, frowning a little. 

“Put me on FaceTime,” she said. “Show me.” 

Joel sighed and fussed with his phone until it became a video call, Sarah on the other end with a smudge of flour on her nose. 

“Busy over there, baby girl?” He teased. 

“Your grandson got me in the face when we were making sugar cookies,” she said. “I haven’t had the chance to get cleaned up yet, the kitchen is a disaster but that’s beside the point, show me Mom’s suitcase.” 

Joel fussed with the phone again - having to search for the little button that let him do it, not a fan of figuring out technology without the help of any of his girls - and got the camera to flip around. 

“So I put in some of the sweaters she wears a lot,” he said, showing Sarah the stacks. “Some of the pants she likes, too. Got this one dress she looks real good in, real good…” 

“Ew,” Sarah said. 

“Shut it, kid,” he said. She laughed. “Got the shoes she says are comfortable, some that are pretty, too…” 

“Do you have a bag for her?” She asked. 

“What do you think you’re lookin’ at?” 

“Not that kind of bag,” she rolled her eyes. “I mean a purse.”

“Wouldn’t she just bring the one she uses all the time?” He asked. 

“Dad, you’re going to be walking around Paris,” Sarah said. “Spending hours in museums and in stores and lounging at chic cafes, she’s not going to want to carry that giant thing around. In her closet, in one of the dust bags at the top is a smaller bag that Ellie, Evie and I went in on for Mother's Day, grab that one. It’s cross body so she can just wear it, she likes that when she’s walking around a lot. Also, do you have her hair stuff?” 

“Hair stuff?” Joel frowned. “Don’t they have that in the room?” 

She sighed.

“See, this is why I make you show me,” Sarah said. “Yes, there’s shampoo and stuff but she uses serums and oils and things, she needs those. Bathroom next.” 

Joel obeyed his oldest daughter’s instructions, thankful that the two of you were so close that she’d know these kinds of things. He got what she told him from the bathroom and packed it. 

“Alright,” she said. “I think you’re all good! Just let her get a book or five at the airport and you’ll be golden, old man.” 

“Thanks, kiddo,” he smiled a little. “You still good to take your sister for a while?” 

“Of course,” she smiled back. “I love Ellie and Evie can stay as long as she wants until she wants to go back to school. Plus Brandon could use someone to give him a run for his money on this new video game, he’s getting over confident.” 

“Thank you for keeping an eye on Ellie,” Joel said. “We’d like to get all you girls on a trip like this with us sometime but for the first one…” 

“It should just be the two of you,” Sarah finished for him with a smile. “She’s going to love it, Dad.” 

He sure hoped so. 

Joel had been planning this for a while. Decades, really. 

Back when the two of you were young and flat broke, a trip to Paris had been a pipe dream. You talked about it that way, the same way Ellie talked about going to the moon now, something that you dreamed about but didn’t expect to ever have. 

Then Evie came along. Then you were in med school and then you were an intern and resident and attending and Sarah got married and Ellie joined the family and life had just gotten in the way, as it always seemed to. 

But it had been a beautiful life and you’d never even come close to complaining about not getting to visit France the way you’d dreamed. As you’d always done, you put everyone else’s needs and wants before your own, constantly looking for a way to make Joel or your daughters’ lives better before thinking of yourself. 

But the Paris trip was possible now. The two of you had made more money than Joel had ever dreamed of making, Sarah and Evie were off on their own and Ellie was in a good enough place that she could spend a few weeks with her sister. Things were even calm at work for both of you - Tommy could run the business for a few weeks and Joel had coordinated with your boss to get you time off. It was the perfect time to finally give you something you’d been dreaming of as long as Joel had known you. 

Joel didn’t want to put more work on your plate, though, so he worked with Sarah, Evie and Ellie to plan everything. Sarah traveled a lot - she’d made it to Europe long before Joel ever had - and knew how to find a good hotel. Ellie told Joel about the different museums to visit, her passion for art coming in handy as he was planning. Evie - who had even taken after your knack for language - helped Joel learn a few phrases in French (though he was going to be pretty dependent on you to get around.) But that was fine. As long as you were happy, he didn’t care if everyone around him was speaking gibberish. 

“Dad!” Ellie yelled from down the hall. “Mom just texted, she’s almost home!” 

“Shit,” Joel said, zipping the suitcase quickly. “Stall her for me, will ya?” 

“Can do!” She yelled back and he heard her pounding down the stairs to intercept you. 

Joel hauled the luggage downstairs the best he could, stashing the packed bags in a room just off the garage so he could wrestle them into the trunk later. He finished just as the garage door opened and Ellie went racing past him to catch you in the car, giving him a chance to slip into the living room unnoticed. You joined him just a minute after he got there, flopping on the couch next to him. 

“Tough day?” He asked, putting his arm up so you could snuggle into him. 

“Just long,” you sighed. “That early start the day before a holiday made this shift feel like 20 hours, not 12. But at least I have Christmas off to spend with you and the girls before I’m back in on Thursday.” 

Joel tried to keep from smiling at the fact that you didn’t know that, by this time on Thursday, you’d be across the world. 

“Want to watch a movie?” He asked. “Your pick.” 

“Sure,” you snuggled closer. “But let’s see what Ellie and Evie want to watch, I’ll be happy as long as I’m with you guys.” 

He kissed your forehead and called the girls down, the two of them settling on Elf followed by Die Hard and you not even putting in a vote for your favorite because you never tried to put yourself first in anything. That’s why Joel was doing all this, to make sure it happened at least now and then. He made you a plate of Chinese food and you fell asleep against him when you finished it, still wearing the Christmas-themed sweater and earrings you’d worn that day to the hospital. 

“Alright, girls,” Joel said quietly. “Upstairs, Santa can’t come ’til you’re in bed.” 

Evie and Ellie shared a look before looking back to Joel. 

“Goodnight, Dad,” Evie said, getting up and helping Ellie to her feet, too. “I hope Santa can get Mom upstairs OK…” 

He snorted and watched the girls go to their rooms before laying you gently on the couch. He went and got the presents out of your closet and stashed the suitcases in the back of the car. He stuffed the stockings - you sleeping peacefully the whole time - and set up the living room the same way he’d done since Sarah was little before gently rousing you from your long winter’s nap. 

“C’mon, baby,” he said softly, cupping your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “Bed time.” 

“But…” you sat up, groggy. “We gotta set up Christmas and…” 

“Already done,” he smiled. “Let’s go, sleepyhead.” 

You sighed contentedly as he looped an arm around your waist and guided you groggily to your room. 

“You’re the best husband in the world, you know that?” You said as you burrowed against his chest once you were both in bed. 

He smiled. 

“Doin’ my best, baby.” 

*** 

You definitely missed having little kids on Christmas morning but having older ones had its perks. 

You woke up before Joel, your unreasonably early day - and bed time - on Christmas Eve rousing you before the sun.

Your husband was still snoring gently and you just watched him for a moment, a peaceful look on his face in the red and green glow of the lights on the eaves outside. You smiled. There was something so damn beautiful about the man you’d married more than 20 years ago, just getting to look at him while he slept made you feel unreasonably lucky, like you were getting away with something you shouldn’t. 

You ran your fingers through his hair, slow and gentle, and he stirred, smiling every so slightly before delicately catching your wrist and bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your pulse. 

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered. 

He smiled broader, his eyes still closed. 

“Merry Christmas.” 

“Want one of your presents now?” You asked and he opened one eye so fast it made you giggle. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

You leaned in close and kissed him softly, almost chastely, before moving down his body and nudging him onto his back as you went. Your lips went over the firm expanse of his chest, the soft warmth of his stomach, down to the top of his pajama pants where his thick length was already hardening for you. 

You tugged the pants down enough that you could get at his cock. You licked the tip of him, tongue circling his head before you wrapped your lips around just the very end, sucking softly at his precome. 

“Goddamn baby,” he said, already breathless, his hand coming to the back of your head as you took the whole of him slowly, tantalizingly into your mouth. 

Once you swallowed him into your throat, you moaned and held him there, sucking and savoring him before starting to move over him. You pressed your tongue against the thick vein that ran along the underside of his cock, making his head run along the roof of your mouth as he started to move in shallow, gentle thrusts, working himself deeper, groaning as he did. 

“Can I have that soft little pussy, too?” He asked eventually, sounding desperate, his grip tightening on your head. “Because goddamn baby if I don’t need you right now.” 

You sucked him all the way to the tip before releasing him from your mouth. 

“You can have as much of me as you want,” you said, breathless yourself. “I’m all yours.” 

Before you had the chance to start sucking him again, he tugged you back up his body, laying you beside him before rolling to face you. He gripped your thigh, tugging your leg over his hip and tucking your panties to the side before petting at your leaking entrance. 

“Good,” he whispered. “Just the way I want you.” 

The tip of his cock replaced his fingers and he thrust just the head of himself inside of you, stretching you enough that you had to press your face into his chest to muffle your moan. 

“How do you always feel so goddamn good, baby?” He asked, tugging you closer as he pushed inside. He tucked your head below his chin, one arm below you and around you, his fingers spread wide between your shoulders, his other on the small of your back holding you in just the right place. You were completely enveloped by him as he filled you to the root, everything about your husband completely surrounding you. “Don’t deserve something as good as you.” 

You just groaned in protest, not really able to form words, too overwhelmed by the way Joel was completing you. 

Instead, you rocked your hips against him and he responded in kind, the two of you moving slowly, firmly against each other. Heat drew low inside you, concentrated on where Joel was shaping you to him and you grew tighter and tighter around him, your orgasm growing sure and steady. 

“You gonna come for me?” He whispered in your ear. You moaned and nodded against him. “Good, want you to come for me, let me feel it baby, milk me dry, c’mon.” 

You let out a strangled little sob as you obeyed, your channel fluttering and rippling around him. 

“There she is,” he breathed, keeping his pace inside you, the tip of his cock pressing into the soft place within you that made your back arch and toes curl as he ground himself deep. “That’s it, baby, keep coming, come on my cock. Fuck, you take it so well, come so pretty for me, just keep… keep…” 

He squeezed you tighter, thrust impossibly deeper and you felt him come apart inside you with a needy grunt, throbbing deep and hard as he filled you, drawing your orgasm out as he did. 

You went limp in his arms as your climax eased and his hold on you loosened just enough that he could kiss you, his lips gentle on yours as both of you came back down to earth. 

“Dunno that anything’ll top that present,” he teased lightly and you laughed. 

“One of the upsides to not having little kids running in here at six in the morning,” you smiled before kissing his chest and snuggling closer. His cock was softening inside you, the combination of his come and yours starting to drip from you. “Can we just stay like this for a while? I miss you when you’re not inside me.” 

He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers trailing over your spine. 

“Course baby,” he said softly. “Think we got a bit before the girls start moving.” 

You luxuriated in the slow start to the morning, drifting in and out of consciousness with Joel’s cock nestled inside you, your husband thrusting slowly and gently now and then so he stayed deep. The sun had just started to peek through the blinds when you heard a toilet flush down the hall and you kissed Joel one last time before slipping him from you, adjusting his pants and your panties before the girls were knocking on your door. 

You loved Christmas morning with your family, loved the sense of joy and closeness as you watched your daughters open presents while you sat on the couch, snuggled up to Joel with a cup of coffee in your hands. You’d never had a holiday quite like this one growing up, always just you and your grandmother making the best of it. You treasured that, too, but it was different now, when you were surrounded by the people you loved more than anything else who loved you in return. 

Ellie was super excited about a set of really nice markers you’d asked Andrew for help in researching, Evie shrieked with glee over concert tickets for her and her girlfriend and Joel kissed you so deep when he opened the fancy coffee maker you got him the aching place between your thighs throbbed again. 

After cinnamon rolls and bacon and coffee made with Joel’s new toy, the four of you headed to Sarah’s, laughing as Carson showed you everything Santa brought him and giving Joel a look when he gave his grandson candy behind his daughter’s back. 

“Well,” Joel said, downing the last of his beer as your entire family sat around Sarah’s table after dinner and dessert, you tucked contentedly against his side. “I’m afraid we gotta hit the road.” 

You frowned, twisting to look at him. 

“What?” You asked, looking down at your watch. It was barely five. “No we don’t, I don’t need to be in until tomorrow afternoon, we can hang out and…” 

“No, Mom, you do really need to go,” Sarah said, a serious look on her face. 

“Yeah,” Ellie nodded. “Don’t wanna be late.” 

“Late for what?” You said. 

Evie looked up from her phone. 

“I just checked and everything is on time,” she said. 

You laughed, looking around at your husband and daughters. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked. “What’s on time, everything is closed. Are we going to a movie?” 

“I mean, we can when we get there if that’s what you wanna do,” Joel shrugged. “But you’d have to translate for me the whole time.”

You frowned, looking around again, all your children looking like they were about to burst with excitement. 

“Can someone clue me in?” You laughed again. “Because I’m at a loss…” 

“Oh, right,” Evie said, going into her purse, pulling out an envelope and handing it over. “Guess you’ll need that.” 

Joel was trying to hide his grin but you knew him too well for that and you just raised your brows at him as you opened the envelope. He just shrugged a little, his smile getting harder and harder to conceal. 

“What are you all up to?” You teased as you opened the envelope, unfolding the papers that were inside. 

“Guess you’ll have to look,” Joel shrugged. 

You rolled your eyes good naturedly before looking at the pages in your hands. 

It took you a second to realize what you were holding: a flight itinerary. 

You frowned. 

“Joel?” You asked looking over at him. 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Joel, this…” you looked back at the paper, your heart racing. “Joel, this is a plane ticket.” 

“Is it?” He asked, smile apparent in his voice. 

“Joel,” you looked at him again. “This is a plane ticket to Paris. And it leaves in four hours.” 

“Technically, I think it’s two plane tickets,” Joel said, sitting up to look over your shoulder. “First class, in case you wanted some room to sleep on your first overseas flight.” 

“But…” Your eyes ranged over the ticket before looking around, all your daughters grinning like the cats who ate the canaries. “I have work!” 

“Well, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” Joel smirked. “Talked with your boss back in October, you’re not due back to the hospital for a few weeks.” 

“I…” you looked down and back up again. “I need to pack!” 

“Wrong again, Mom,” Sarah smiled. “Dad took care of that. And I checked his work, you’re good.” 

“We need to plan…” 

“I gave him a list of all the coolest museums,” Ellie said proudly, cutting you off.  

“And I helped Dad be a little less totally useless in French,” Evie added. 

You looked around at all of them, tears stinging at your eyes. 

“You all planned this?” You asked, a lump in your throat. “For me?” 

“Been a long time coming, baby,” Joel smiled, his large hand cradling your elbow, thumb rubbing gentle circles over you. “You deserve it. Have for a while.” 

“He’s right, Mom,” Sarah smiled, too. “After taking care of all of us over the years, it’s about damn time.” 

“You’re the best mom in the world,” Ellie agreed. “Figured it was time that you see some of it.” 

“You always do everything for all of us,” Evie said. “We really should return the favor now and then.” 

You looked back at the tickets, covering your mouth with one hand, giving up on trying to keep from crying. 

“I…” you sniffed. “I don’t know what to say!” 

“How about we just say bon voyage,” Evie said. “Because you need to get on the road or you’re going to be late for your flight!” 

You let your children usher you and Joel to the car and you gave everyone hugs as Evie and Ellie got their bags from the trunk so they could stay with Sarah. You hugged them all goodbye, having to dry your tears every time you realized exactly what was happening: You were finally going to Paris, a place you’d always wanted to go, on a trip planned by the people you loved most. 

Joel drove the two of you to the airport, you practically glowing the entire way. Joel didn’t let you carry your own bags and you were still in disbelief as you settled into your seat on the plane, a glass of champagne in your hand as you waited to take off. 

“So,” Joel smiled, watching you. “You excited?” 

“I can’t believe it,” you said, laughing a little. “I can’t… You really shouldn’t have done all this, not for me!” 

“Oh baby,” Joel reached out and cupped your cheek. “You’ve done nothin’ but take care of everyone else as long as I’ve known you. Don’t think I can ever do enough to repay you for that but you gotta let me try, at least at Christmas.” 

You smiled and leaned over to kiss him. 

“I think I can handle that.” 

He smiled. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said. “Or should I say… joyeux noël? That right?” 

You laughed, his accent comically bad but so charming you had to love it. 

“That’s right,” you said. “Joyeux noël.”

[gurokiitty]

Hiii! I read your Jimmy fanfic and I absolutely love it so so so much.

I was really curious as to if you could do a babysitter! jimmy x reader, where reader is Curly’s younger sibling and, despite them being of age, Curly is adamant on them being babysat (just in case because he’s a caring brother ☺️) and Jimmy comes to babysit the reader. They order pizza, put on a Christmas movie and get cosy under a blanket. Jimmy starts to get handsy under the blanket and it ends with the Reader sucking Jimmy off on the living room couch.

Thought a sort of Christmassy fanfic would be good this time of year :3

Lots of love, 🌺 ~🫶🫶

a/n : i'm giggling n kicking my feet, anon <33 i love this idea! thank you for your request :3 AND HAPPY HOLIDAYSSS

DON'T TELL

{ babysitter! jimmy x f! reader ]

word count : 1594

warnings/tags : DUBCON, legal age-gap, pre-tulpar, reader is curly's adopted sister, implied incest, groping, rough n messy throatfucking.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn’t him. When you opened the door, he was there—leaning lazily against the frame, all wiry angles and slouching indifference.

Jimmy, you’d assumed, though the man standing on your porch was a far cry from the image you’d pieced together in your mind. The stories your brother told painted him as someone reliable—maybe even admirable, in Curly’s own begrudging way.

But the real Jimmy looked like he’d been scraped off the bottom of a gas station parking lot. His leather jacket was cracked and scuffed, so fatigued it shone in patches. His hair was slicked back, greasy enough to catch the dim porch light like an oil spill. His jaw was shadowed with dark stubble, and his eyes—so dark they almost swallowed the whites—flicked over you with a quick, cutting assessment.

“Curly’s sister?” he asked finally, the cigarette smouldering between his fingers leaving a faint trail of smoke that curled in the frosty air.

You nodded, though something uneasy had stirred in your chest. “Yeah,” you managed, your voice thinner than you wanted. “That’s me.”

You stepped aside, pulling the door open wider, the words spilling out of your mouth before you could think better of it. “Come in.”

“Little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” he drawled, stepping over the threshold as the faint scent of sweat and smoke trailed after him.

He was right—you weren’t a kid, and yet here you were, playing host to someone Curly had insisted on sending to keep an eye on you. It felt absurd, letting this wolfish man into your home just because your brother trusted him. And yet, you did, because trust in your brother was second nature.

Now, the two of you sit on the couch, the glow of the television casting flickering shadows across the room. The Christmas movie you’d picked plays in the background, all twinkling lights and syrupy holiday cheer, but your focus has drifted elsewhere.

It had started innocently enough—Jimmy stretched out at one end of the couch, you curled at the other, a safe distance between you. But slowly, inexorably, he’s crept closer, his presence consuming more and more of the space around you like mould festering, proliferating, spreading to places that were once unspoiled. His knee brushes against yours, then lingers. The blanket you’d wrapped around yourself is now shared, his hand tugging it over his lap as though it had been his all along.

You barely register the movie anymore—some forgettable scene flashing on the screen, colours bleeding into each other without meaning. The warmth of his body radiates through the layers of fabric between you, but it’s his hand that holds your attention. It rests lightly against your thigh beneath the blanket, his fingers splayed just enough to make your breath waver. He doesn’t look at you—his eyes remain fixed on the screen, disinterested, as though his touch is incidental, meaningless.

But it’s not meaningless—not when it shifts higher, grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You should say something, do something, but you sit frozen, your breath shallow, your hands clutching the blanket as though it could shield you. His fingers inch upward, a silent threat to claim the space between your thighs.

“Ever been touched like this before?” he murmurs, his raspy voice cutting through the music on-screen. He finally turns to look at you, his lips stretching into something that resembles a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes.

You swallow hard, your voice barely audible. “My brother—” The words tumble out, an incoherent plea. "He'd be so angry... I don't..."

Jimmy's eyes narrow, his fingers digging a bit harder into your soft flesh like a warning. "Then don't tell him."

Before you can respond, he leans in, his lips capturing yours with a force that steals your breath. The kiss is all tobacco and heat, and it leaves your head spinning. Your hands hover uselessly in the space between you, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, your brother's voice echoes—a reminder, a warning—but it’s drowned out by the way Jimmy’s free hand drifts higher, his palm pressing against your chest through the thin fabric of your shirt.

Your body betrays you, your hips shifting, grinding subtly against the palm he’s pressed between your legs as the blanket falls to the floor. The friction sends a jolt of sensation through you, and you squeeze your eyes shut, shame and desire warring. Curly would hate you if he knew, you think desperately. He’d never forgive you. But even that thought isn’t enough to make you pull away.

When Jimmy finally releases you, there’s a faint trail of saliva connecting your lips, glistening like honey. He grips the back of your head, his fingers tangling roughly in your hair, as his other hand fumbles hastily with his belt. The metallic jingle is sharp, invasive, and your stomach knots as he pushes his jeans down just enough to free himself.

“You worked me up,” he mutters, his voice rough, cracking slightly at the edges like something about to snap. "Now you’ve gotta finish the job." His hand tightens, and he pushes your head down toward his lap—toward his hardening cock.

The world narrows to the feel of his hand gripping the back of your head and the press of his fingers biting into your scalp. His scent curls inside you like a living thing, nauseating and strangely intoxicating. The fabric of his jeans is rough against your cheek as you shift, your lips parting hesitantly over his leaky head.

Salty precum stains your tongue before you can think to resist—his palm driving you down his length. Your warm, wet mouth envelops him, his girth stretching your lips as he invades your throat. He worms his way deeper, making you cough and sputter around him, your trembling fingers seeking the edge of the couch for support.

He’s unrelenting, pushing you down until your nose grazes the coarse hair at the base. Your lungs burn as you struggle to keep up, the pace frantic and uncaring, and you can feel spit beginning to drip from the corners of your mouth, pooling in a glossy mess between you. Your body shudders, muscles straining against the force, but he only growls low in his throat, moving you like a doll in his hands.

His fingers knot tighter, and he begins to guide you up and down, each motion sharper than the last. For a moment, your resistance slackens entirely, your head moving in time with the jerking motions of his hips.

His pelvis lifts slightly, an unspoken command, and you obey, your movements automatic, practiced. You can feel your cheeks hollow with effort as you take him deeper still, your lips brushing against his base with each downward stroke.

The slick sounds meld with the movie playing, obscene and rhythmic, each bob of your head sending a fresh wave of spit down your chin. You swirl your tongue around him with precision, tracing patterns you know by rote, and he groans above you, his fingers tightening as he presses you down further, deeper. His chest rises and falls heavily, his breaths jagged, and you can feel the heat of his shaft pulse against your tongue.

"F-Fuck, where’d you learn to suck cock like this, huh?" Jimmy pants, his hips stuttering as your motions turn quicker, more deliberate.

The words lodge in your chest, clawing at your ribs. Your stomach churns, and for a moment, you falter. Your brother's name blooms in your thoughts unbidden, sharp and sour like bile rising in your throat. It’s there, screaming inside your head, his voice intertwined with the memory of his hands—guiding, demanding, teaching.

Jimmy’s grip on you tightens as if sensing your hesitation, dragging you back to the present—to the bitter saltiness coating your tongue and the searing stretch of your throat. “Hey,” he growls, "I didn't tell you to stop."

Your body responds before your mind catches up, your head dipping again, lips sealing around him with renewed vigour. You move faster now, your tongue fanning over the underside of his cock, pulling needy sounds from him that vibrate in your ears. Your hands find his thighs, nails digging into denim as you try to steady yourself, spittle and mucus bubbling from your nose and mouth, trailing in sticky threads down your jaw.

He holds you there, his breathing ragged as he thrusts shallowly into your throat. You can feel his thighs tense, quivering beneath your fingers as the muscles in his stomach coil tight like a spring. He throws his head back, a steady groan escaping him as his release surges down your constricting throat in thick, pulsing streams.

It floods your mouth, hot and acrid, and you gag as it forces its way through. You tap desperately against his leg, your glassy eyes fluttering open in a silent plea. Finally, he lets you go, and you lurch back, coughing violently as you drag in a breath that burns all the way down. Strings of milky white trail from your lips, and some of it escapes your nostrils to trickle in sticky rivulets down your chin.

Your tangled hair clings to the dampness of your face as you sputter, choking out thick globs of spit and cum. Jimmy leans back against the couch, his breath still heavy, and watches you with a smug curl to his lips. "Shit—if I knew you were such a little slut, I would've babysat more often."

[okasuka]

The sketches between us - Damian wayne x reader.

Part 1: The Classroom Encounter

The classroom buzzed with quiet energy as students worked on their art projects. The assignment was simple: depict your relationship with Gotham. Most kids were drawing familiar landmarks or simple cityscapes, but Damian Wayne was lost in his own world, completely immersed in his sketch.

You sat a few desks away, idly blending charcoal on your paper, when you noticed Damian’s intensity. Unlike the other students, who traded jokes and compared sketches, he worked silently, his pencil moving with laser focus. It wasn’t the first time you’d noticed Damian’s talent, but something about his quiet dedication today drew you in.

Curiosity got the better of you. Setting your project aside, you slid into the empty seat next to him. “Mind if I see what you’re working on?” you asked, your voice soft enough not to startle him.

Damian stiffened, his hand pausing mid-stroke. He turned his head slightly, his sharp green eyes narrowing. “I do mind,” he replied curtly.

You grinned, unfazed by his bluntness. “Too bad,” you said, leaning over just enough to catch a glimpse of his sketch. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

He sighed, clearly annoyed but too prideful to stop you from looking. “If you’re going to hover, at least don’t smudge anything,” he muttered, pulling the sketchpad closer to himself.

You ignored his irritation, your gaze fixed on the drawing. It was Gotham—but not the Gotham you were used to seeing. Damian had captured the city’s skyline in intricate detail, but there was an unexpected warmth to it. Light spilled through windows, and the streets seemed alive, almost hopeful.

“It’s not what I expected,” you said after a moment.

Damian frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean it’s… different. Gotham always feels so harsh, but this feels—” you paused, searching for the right word, “—gentler. Like you’re showing the city how you see it, not how it actually is.”

He stared at you, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he said, “That’s the point. Gotham is more than what people assume.”

“Fair enough,” you said, sitting back a little but not moving away. “You’re really good, you know.”

“Obviously,” Damian replied, though the faintest hint of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Part 2: Small Talk and Sketches

For the next few minutes, you watched in silence as Damian continued to draw. His pencil strokes were precise, deliberate, as if every line held meaning. The classroom noise faded into the background, replaced by the soft scratch of graphite on paper.

“You always draw this kind of stuff?” you asked eventually.

“Not always,” he replied without looking up. “Sometimes I draw people.”

“Like portraits?”

“Sometimes.” He hesitated before adding, “Animals, too.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—Titus?”

He glanced at you, clearly surprised. “How do you know about Titus?”

“Everyone knows about Titus,” you said with a shrug. “You bring him to school sometimes, don’t you?”

“Rarely,” Damian admitted, turning back to his sketch. “But he’s better company than most people.”

“Can’t argue with that,” you said with a grin. “So, do you ever draw classmates? Teachers? Random strangers on the street?”

Damian snorted. “Why would I waste my time on people like that?”

“Not even Bruce?” you teased.

His hand faltered slightly, and he shot you a sharp look. “Father has better things to do than pose for portraits.”

“Fair enough,” you said, though you couldn’t resist adding, “I think he’d like it, though. You’re good at capturing the parts of people most people miss.”

Damian didn’t reply, but you noticed the faintest flush of color on his cheeks.

Part 3: Bruce Notices

Unbeknownst to either of you, Bruce Wayne stood at the back of the classroom, arms crossed as he observed the scene. He had volunteered to assist with the art class as part of his ongoing efforts to support Damian’s school, though he had mostly stayed in the background. Seeing Damian interact with someone—genuinely, without his usual wall of sarcasm or indifference—was a rare sight.

Bruce approached slowly, making just enough noise to avoid startling either of you. “That’s an impressive sketch,” he said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet.

You both turned to look at him. Damian scowled immediately. “Father, don’t you have something else to do?”

Bruce ignored the question and nodded toward the sketchpad. “I didn’t know you were working on Gotham.”

“It’s for the assignment,” Damian said tersely.

“And you’ve clearly exceeded expectations,” Bruce said, his tone almost proud. Then he looked at you. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Bruce Wayne.”

“Y/N,” you said, standing to shake his hand. “I’m in Damian’s class. It’s nice to meet you.”

Bruce smiled faintly, his handshake firm but polite. “Likewise. I can see you and Damian have been working well together.”

Damian huffed. “We’re not working together. Y/N is just nosy.”

You grinned at that. “Guilty as charged.”

Bruce’s gaze lingered on the two of you for a moment before he said, “You should join us for dinner tonight, Y/N.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly. “What? Why?”

“Because I’d like to get to know your friend,” Bruce said simply. “And it’s not every day you let someone sit this close to you while you’re drawing.”

You looked at Damian, whose expression was a mix of irritation and embarrassment, and then back at Bruce. “I’d love to.”

Part 4: Conversations on the Ride Home

The school day ended not long after the art class, and Damian found himself walking alongside you as Bruce led the way to his sleek black car parked out front. The moment felt strange to him. Normally, he preferred his solitude, but something about your energy made the silence less stifling.

You matched his pace easily, your bag slung casually over your shoulder. “So, does your dad always just invite random classmates over for dinner, or am I special?” you teased.

Damian shot you a sidelong glance. “You’re not special,” he said, but there was no venom in his tone. “He’s always trying to… ‘socialize’ me.” He rolled his eyes at the word.

You grinned. “Well, you could use the practice.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need practice. I know how to talk to people. I just choose not to.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” you said, your grin widening. “So, do you have anything else you’re good at besides being mysteriously antisocial and really good at art?”

Damian bristled slightly at the comment, but your tone wasn’t mocking. If anything, you sounded genuinely curious. “I’m skilled at… a lot of things,” he said vaguely.

“Cryptic,” you replied. “Let me guess—archery? Chess? Fencing?”

His expression remained neutral. “Something like that.”

You smirked. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop prying. I’ll tell you something about me instead.”

Damian didn’t respond, but his curious glance was enough encouragement for you to continue. “I box,” you said, almost casually. “And I play football—soccer, if you prefer. What about you? Any sports?”

Damian’s brow furrowed. “You box?” he asked, his tone laced with skepticism.

“Yeah,” you said, raising your chin slightly. “What, I don’t look like I can throw a punch?”

“It’s not that,” Damian said quickly, though his expression remained critical. “It’s just… most people your age don’t.”

“Maybe not,” you said with a shrug. “But I like it. It’s good for focus and discipline, and it helps me stay in shape for football.”

Damian’s interest piqued despite himself. “And football? What position do you play?”

“Midfielder,” you said, your voice tinged with pride. “I like being in the center of the action. What about you? Do you play anything?”

Damian hesitated. It wasn’t as though he could tell you about the hours he spent sparring in the Batcave or his experience in martial arts tournaments across the globe. “I don’t play team sports,” he said finally. “But I do train.”

“Train for what?” you asked, intrigued.

“Self-defense,” he replied, keeping his answer deliberately vague.

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “That makes sense. You strike me as someone who likes to be prepared.”

Damian glanced at you again, surprised by your observation. “And you strike me as someone who asks a lot of questions.”

“I ask because I’m curious,” you said with a shrug. “But I’ll stop if I’m annoying you.”

“You’re not,” Damian admitted, almost grudgingly.

Part 5: Arrival at the Manor

The car ride to Wayne Manor was surprisingly comfortable. You and Damian continued to talk, the conversation flowing easily despite his usual reluctance to engage. By the time the car pulled up to the grand gates of the Wayne estate, you found yourself marveling at how much you’d learned about him—and how much you’d enjoyed his company.

Bruce glanced at the two of you through the rearview mirror, a small smile tugging at his lips as he noted the unusual ease in Damian’s demeanor. “Welcome to Wayne Manor,” he said as the gates opened and the car rolled up the long driveway.

Your eyes widened as the sprawling estate came into view. “Wow,” you said softly. “This is… insane.”

Damian smirked, crossing his arms. “It’s just a house.”

You shot him a look. “Just a house? Are you kidding? It’s practically a castle!”

Bruce chuckled as he parked the car. “It’s been in the family for generations,” he said. “But I admit, it can be a bit overwhelming at first.”

The three of you stepped out of the car, and Alfred appeared at the front door to greet you. “Master Bruce, Master Damian,” he said with his usual impeccable poise before turning to you. “And you must be Miss Y/N. Welcome.”

“Thank you,” you said, still taking in your surroundings.

As you walked inside, Damian gestured toward the staircase. “The dining room is this way. Try not to get lost.”

You laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

Damian glanced at you again, his expression softer than usual. He wouldn’t admit it—not yet, anyway—but he found himself genuinely enjoying your company. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t mind someone being in his space.

Part 6: Quiet Moments in Damian’s Room

Damian’s room was as meticulously organized as you would have expected. Everything had its place—shelves lined with books, a desk free of clutter except for a stack of sketchpads, and a neatly made bed. The only thing that seemed slightly out of place was Titus, his giant black Great Dane, who lay sprawled comfortably on the floor near Damian’s desk.

You sat cross-legged on the floor beside Damian’s chair, leaning slightly forward to peer over his shoulder as he sketched. Once again, Gotham’s skyline took shape under his steady hand, but this time there was a new element—tiny figures in the foreground, a vague suggestion of life amid the towering buildings.

“You’re adding people this time,” you observed.

Damian didn’t pause. “Gotham isn’t just buildings. It’s the people who live there, too.”

You smiled at his response. “True. But I didn’t think you’d care enough to include them.”

He shot you a sidelong glance, his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. “Don’t overanalyze it. It’s just a drawing.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, grinning. “Sure it is.”

Before Damian could retort, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside his room. A moment later, the door swung open, and Dick Grayson’s head poked inside.

“Hey, little D,” Dick began, his cheerful tone carrying into the room. “Bruce sent me up to—oh.” He froze mid-sentence, his gaze shifting to you and then to Damian. A slow, mischievous smile spread across his face. “What’s this?”

Damian groaned audibly, his pencil freezing on the page. “What do you want, Grayson?”

Dick ignored the question and stepped fully into the room, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Am I interrupting something? You’ve got company, and she’s… what? Watching you draw? That’s new.”

You smirked, sitting back slightly but not moving from your spot. “Hi, you must be Dick. I’m Y/N.”

Dick’s grin widened. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’ve gotta say, this is the first time I’ve seen Damian let someone into his sacred art space.”

“She invited herself,” Damian muttered, resuming his sketch with an exaggerated sigh.

“And you didn’t kick her out?” Dick teased, feigning shock. “Wow. You must really like her.”

Damian’s pencil stilled again, and he glared at his brother. “I don’t have time for your nonsense.”

“Sure you don’t,” Dick said, winking at you. “Anyway, I came up here to tell you dinner’s ready. Bruce is waiting, and you know how he gets if people are late.”

“Fine,” Damian said tersely, closing his sketchpad with deliberate care. “We’re coming.”

Dick stepped aside, gesturing grandly for the two of you to follow him. “After you, lovebirds.”

Damian shot him another glare as he got up, but you couldn’t help laughing. “I like him,” you said to Damian as you walked past Dick. “He’s fun.”

“You won’t think that for long,” Damian muttered darkly, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Part 7: Dinner with the Waynes

The dining room at Wayne Manor was as grand as everything else in the house, with a long table stretching nearly the length of the room. Bruce sat at the head, Alfred hovering nearby to serve, and a plate was already set for you beside Damian’s usual seat.

As you all settled in, the conversation was lively, thanks to Dick’s relentless teasing and the occasional sharp remark from Damian. Tim Drake had joined as well, making the room feel even more animated. You couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed, but Damian’s presence beside you was oddly grounding.

“So, Y/N,” Dick said halfway through the meal, “how did you end up spending the afternoon with Damian? Did he actually invite you, or did you have to bribe him?”

“I didn’t have to do anything,” you said with a laugh. “I just sat next to him in art class and wouldn’t go away.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow at that. “And he let you?”

“Yeah,” you said, glancing at Damian. “I think he secretly enjoys the company.”

Damian’s fork clattered against his plate. “I do not.”

Dick snorted. “Sure you don’t, little bro.”

“Leave him alone, Dick,” Tim chimed in with a smirk. “He’s probably just glad someone’s finally willing to put up with him.”

Damian shot Tim a glare but didn’t rise to the bait, instead turning to you. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m having fun,” you said brightly.

For a moment, Damian looked as though he wasn’t sure how to respond. But then, to your surprise, he smirked faintly and said, “That’s a first.”

The rest of the dinner passed in a blur of banter and laughter, and by the time it was over, you felt surprisingly at ease. It was clear that Damian’s family cared deeply for him, even if they showed it in unconventional ways.

Part 8: Dinner and Teasing

Dinner at Wayne Manor was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. The food was incredible, Alfred’s presence was impeccably calm, and the dining room itself felt like something out of a movie. But it wasn’t the grandeur of the setting that stood out the most—it was the energy at the table.

Dick couldn’t seem to stop teasing Damian, much to your amusement.

“So, Y/N,” Dick said with a sly grin as he twirled his fork, “what exactly is it that you find so interesting about my little brother? His sparkling personality? His incredible sense of humor?”

Damian stiffened in his seat, his knife scraping a little too hard against his plate. “Grayson,” he growled, “if you keep this up, I’ll make sure Titus chews on your boots again.”

“You already tried that,” Dick shot back, unfazed. “You forget I’m faster than Titus.”

You chuckled, but before you could respond, Dick leaned in conspiratorially. “Seriously though, you’ve got to tell me—what’s the appeal? I mean, I know he’s secretly a softie, but it must take some serious effort to get past that shell of his.”

Damian’s ears turned a faint shade of red, and he glared at Dick. “Stop talking.”

“See?” Dick said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “So charming.”

“I’m just persistent,” you said with a grin. “And honestly, I think he secretly likes having someone around who doesn’t take him too seriously.”

Damian’s glare shifted to you, but his expression softened ever so slightly. “You’re both insufferable.”

“Aw, he thinks we’re alike,” Dick said, nudging you playfully. “That’s high praise coming from him.”

The teasing continued throughout the meal, with Tim occasionally chiming in, much to Damian’s annoyance. But despite his grumbles and glares, you could tell he wasn’t truly upset. If anything, he seemed almost—dare you think it—comfortable.

When the plates were cleared, Bruce stood, thanking Alfred for the meal. “Damian, Y/N, feel free to use the library if you’d like,” he said before heading toward his study.

“You mean my library,” Damian corrected under his breath, rising from his seat. “Come on,” he said to you, his tone slightly begrudging but not unfriendly.

Part 9: The Wayne Library

The Wayne Manor library was massive, with towering shelves filled with books of every kind. The warm lighting and the faint smell of aged paper gave it a cozy, almost magical atmosphere.

“Wow,” you said, spinning slowly as you took it all in. “This is… incredible.”

“It’s just a library,” Damian said, echoing his earlier dismissal of the manor itself. But there was a faint note of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, but it’s your library,” you said, grinning as you wandered over to one of the shelves. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Damian sat down on one of the plush armchairs by the fireplace, pulling a book from the nearby table. “That depends on what you’re interested in.”

You scanned the shelves for a moment before picking out a random book and flopping into the chair across from him. “I think I’ll just see where this takes me.”

For a while, the two of you read in companionable silence. The crackling of the fireplace and the sheer comfort of the room made the moment feel peaceful, almost intimate.

After a while, you looked up from your book, breaking the quiet. “Hey, Damian,” you said, trying to keep a straight face, “what do you call a book club full of superheroes?”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “What?”

“A Justice Reads League.”

The silence that followed was deafening. For a moment, Damian just stared at you, his face blank. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a short laugh—sharp and quick, but genuine.

“That was terrible,” he said, shaking his head, but there was a small smile on his lips.

“I know,” you said, laughing as well. “That’s what makes it great.”

The laughter lingered between the two of you, a warm, light feeling that seemed to fill the space. Damian closed his book, leaning back in his chair as he looked at you.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, but his tone lacked its usual bite.

“And yet, here we are,” you replied, grinning.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The warmth of the room and the shared laughter seemed to settle into something deeper, something unspoken. You didn’t have to say it aloud to know that, somehow, this quiet evening in the library had brought you closer.

Part 10: Shared Moments in the Library

As the evening stretched on, the two of you remained in the library, the warmth of the fireplace making the vast room feel cozy and intimate. Damian had closed his book entirely by now, his attention subtly shifting toward you. There was something different about the way he looked at you—not with his usual guarded expression, but with a quiet curiosity.

“You spend a lot of time laughing,” Damian said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Is that a bad thing?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him.

“No,” he said after a pause. “I just don’t get it. How can you find so much… joy in things?”

His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of vulnerability that caught you off guard.

You leaned back in your chair, considering your answer. “I guess… I just think life’s better when you don’t take it too seriously. There’s so much we can’t control, but if you can find little things to enjoy, it makes the hard stuff easier to handle.”

Damian frowned slightly, as though turning your words over in his mind. “That’s… naive,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

“Maybe,” you replied with a shrug. “But I’d rather be naive and happy than miserable all the time.”

He didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile flickered across his lips.

Before either of you could say more, Bruce appeared in the doorway. “It’s getting late,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet. “Y/N, I called your parents. They’re fine with you staying the night since it’s so late.”

“Oh,” you said, sitting up straight. “Thanks, Mr. Wayne. That’s really nice of you.”

Bruce gave a small nod. “Unfortunately, most of the guest rooms are under repair, so you’ll have to share Damian’s room tonight.”

Damian stiffened, his eyes widening slightly. “What?”

“Just for tonight,” Bruce said calmly, ignoring Damian’s reaction. “There’s plenty of space in your room. Make sure Y/N has everything she needs.”

Before Damian could argue, Bruce turned and left, leaving the two of you in stunned silence.

Part 11: Sharing a Space

Damian led you back to his room, his jaw tight as though he were holding back a thousand protests. You followed, unsure whether to feel amused or awkward.

When you stepped into his room again, the familiar tidy space felt different somehow. The knowledge that you’d be spending the night there made the air feel heavier.

“You can take the bed,” Damian said stiffly, gesturing toward it.

“And where are you going to sleep?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ll take the floor,” he said firmly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, crossing your arms. “We can both fit on the bed. It’s huge.”

Damian hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find a logical reason to. “Fine,” he muttered.

“Great,” you said with a smile, trying to ease the tension.

As you set your bag down, you realized something. “Uh… I don’t have anything to sleep in.”

Damian blinked, then turned to his dresser. Without a word, he pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain black T-shirt, handing them to you. “These should work,” he said, his voice clipped.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the clothes.

You quickly changed in the adjoining bathroom, the oversized shirt and sweatpants feeling surprisingly comfortable. When you stepped back into the room, Damian was already on the bed, sitting stiffly against the headboard and looking anywhere but at you.

Part 12: Awkward Proximity

You climbed onto the bed and settled on the other side, making sure to leave a respectful amount of space between you. Damian turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight streaming through the curtains.

For a while, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching out like a fragile thread.

“Do you do this a lot?” Damian asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the quiet.

“Do what?” you whispered back.

“Stay up late talking to people,” he said.

You smiled faintly. “Not really. Most people aren’t that interesting.”

“Interesting,” he repeated, the word laced with a hint of skepticism. “I don’t think anyone’s ever called me that before.”

“Well, you are,” you said honestly. “You just don’t let people see it.”

Damian didn’t respond, but the soft sound of his breath told you he was still awake. Slowly, the silence returned, and as the minutes passed, you both drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Part 13: Tangled in the Morning

When you woke the next morning, it took you a moment to realize where you were. The sunlight streaming through the windows painted the room in soft gold, and the faint sound of birds chirping outside added to the surreal feeling.

It wasn’t until you tried to move that you realized something was different.

Damian’s arm was draped across your waist, his face resting just inches from yours. Your legs were tangled together, and his warm breath brushed against your skin with every exhale.

Your heart skipped a beat, your body frozen in place. For all his sharp edges and stubborn pride, Damian looked impossibly peaceful in his sleep.

As if sensing your movement, his eyes fluttered open. He blinked once, then twice, before realizing the situation.

His face turned crimson, and he scrambled back, nearly falling off the bed. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, sitting up and smoothing your hair. “It was just… I guess we moved around in our sleep.”

Damian avoided your gaze, his usual composure shattered. “It won’t happen again,” he said stiffly.

You couldn’t help but smile at his awkwardness. “Relax, Damian. It’s not a big deal.”

He glanced at you then, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re… weirdly calm about this.”

“That’s because I don’t take things too seriously, remember?” you said, echoing your words from the night before.

A small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips. For a moment, the awkwardness melted away, leaving only the quiet understanding that something between the two of you had shifted.

And neither of you could deny that it felt… right.

Part 14: The Morning After

The silence in the room stretched on as Damian sat stiffly at the edge of the bed, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair. You stayed where you were, unsure whether to laugh at his obvious discomfort or try to make things less awkward.

Titus, who had been curled up by the door all night, took the opportunity to lumber over and rest his giant head on the bed, wagging his tail. You reached out to scratch behind his ears, grateful for the distraction.

“So,” you said lightly, “do mornings here usually start with awkward near-panic, or is this a special occasion?”

Damian turned his head sharply to glare at you, but there was no real heat in his expression. “You think this is funny?”

“A little,” you admitted with a grin. “I mean, it’s not like anything happened. You don’t have to act like I’m going to tell the whole school or something.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Damian muttered, though the way he averted his gaze suggested otherwise.

“Good,” you said, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Because honestly, it’s kind of nice to see you not be perfect for once. Makes you a little more relatable.”

“Relatable,” Damian repeated flatly. “Because that’s what I strive for.”

You laughed, and for a moment, his lips quirked upward in a reluctant smile.

Before the moment could stretch too far, there was a knock at the door, and Dick’s voice called out from the hallway.

“Good morning, lovebirds! Breakfast is ready, if you’re done with your… slumber party.”

Damian groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m going to kill him,” he muttered.

You couldn’t hold back your laughter this time, and you got up to head for the bathroom. “I’ll give you a head start. I just need to fix my hair first.”

Part 15: Breakfast Banter

When you and Damian finally made it downstairs, the rest of the Wayne family was already gathered around the breakfast table. Dick was, unsurprisingly, the first to notice your arrival.

“Well, if it isn’t Gotham’s newest dynamic duo,” he said with a grin, gesturing to the empty seats.

“Good morning, Y/N,” Bruce said, giving you a polite nod as he sipped his coffee.

“Morning, Mr. Wayne,” you replied, feeling a little self-conscious under his calm gaze.

Tim raised an eyebrow as you sat down beside Damian. “So, how was sharing a room with the Demon Spawn?”

“Tim,” Bruce said sharply, though there was no real bite to his tone.

“It was fine,” you said, smiling innocently. “Though I don’t think Damian’s used to sharing his personal space.”

“I’m not,” Damian said curtly, grabbing a plate and loading it with food.

Dick smirked. “Aw, come on, little D. I bet you were a perfect gentleman.”

Damian shot him a glare. “Grayson, don’t you have anything better to do than stick your nose where it doesn’t belong?”

“Nope,” Dick said cheerfully.

You couldn’t help but laugh at their banter, feeling surprisingly at ease despite the teasing. It was clear that, for all their quirks, the Waynes were a family in their own chaotic way.

Part 16: A Quiet Goodbye

After breakfast, Bruce offered to have Alfred drive you home, and while you agreed, a part of you felt reluctant to leave.

Damian walked you to the car, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. Neither of you said much at first, the silence stretching between you like it had the night before—only this time, it wasn’t awkward. It was… comfortable.

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” you said as you reached the car.

Damian shrugged. “It wasn’t my idea.”

“Still,” you said, leaning against the car door, “it was nice.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes unreadable. “You’re not… terrible company.”

“Wow,” you said, grinning. “High praise coming from you.”

He rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

As Alfred opened the car door, you hesitated for a moment, then leaned closer to Damian. “I meant what I said last night, you know. You’re more interesting than you give yourself credit for.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, his expression carefully neutral. But as you climbed into the car and the door closed behind you, you caught a glimpse of something softer in his eyes—a quiet acknowledgment that your words had meant something to him.

Part 17: Tangled Thoughts

As Alfred drove you home, you replayed the events of the night in your mind. The teasing at dinner, the quiet moments in the library, waking up tangled together in his bed—it all felt strangely significant, like the beginning of something you couldn’t quite define.

And as you glanced back at Wayne Manor disappearing in the distance, you couldn’t help but wonder if Damian was thinking the same thing.

Part 18: Cornered After Class

The next day at school had been uneventful—for the most part. Classes had gone by in the usual blur, but you couldn’t help but notice that Damian seemed quieter than usual. Sure, he was never the most talkative, but today, he seemed… distracted.

As the final bell rang and you packed up your things, you decided to head toward the school courtyard to meet Damian. You didn’t have to go far, though, because as you turned the corner, you saw him near the lockers.

And he wasn’t alone.

A group of older students had cornered him, their mocking laughter echoing through the hallway.

“Hey, Wayne,” one of them sneered, shoving Damian’s shoulder. “What’s it like being a rich kid who thinks he’s better than everyone else?”

Damian didn’t flinch or react. He just stood there, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed somewhere over the bully’s shoulder. His composure was absolute, but you could tell he was annoyed.

“What? Too good to talk to us?” another guy jeered, stepping closer.

“Maybe he’s just scared,” one of the others said, laughing.

You felt your blood boil. Damian wasn’t scared—he was deliberately ignoring them, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. But you weren’t about to let this slide.

Without thinking, you stormed forward, your voice cutting through the laughter.

“Hey! Leave him alone.”

The group turned to look at you, sizing you up with matching sneers.

“Oh, look, the little guy’s got backup,” one of them said mockingly. “What are you gonna do, princess?”

“I’m gonna give you a reason to leave,” you snapped, stepping closer.

“Y/N, don’t—” Damian started, his voice calm but warning.

But it was too late.

Part 19: A Lesson in Pain

The first punch landed square on the biggest guy’s jaw, the crack echoing in the hallway. He staggered back, clutching his face, while the others stared at you in shock.

“You just made a big mistake,” another one growled, lunging toward you.

But you were ready. You ducked his swing and delivered a sharp uppercut to his stomach, making him double over. Your foot shot out next, sweeping his legs out from under him.

“Y/N, stop,” Damian said again, stepping toward you, but his voice was still measured.

One of the other bullies tried to grab your arm, but you twisted free and delivered a hard elbow to his face. Blood spattered as he stumbled back, swearing under his breath.

“Enough!” one of them shouted, backing away. “You’re crazy!”

“You’re lucky I’m stopping now,” you snapped, glaring at them. “If I ever see you messing with Damian again, you’ll get worse. Got it?”

The group exchanged panicked glances before turning and running, their shouts of anger fading as they disappeared down the hallway.

Part 20: Aftermath

You turned to Damian, breathing hard, your knuckles aching from the impact. He stood there, his expression unreadable, but there was a strange glint in his eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he said finally, his tone calm.

“Yeah, well, someone had to,” you shot back, flexing your sore fingers. “They were jerks, Damian. You shouldn’t just let them treat you like that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I had it under control.”

“By standing there and doing nothing?” you asked incredulously.

“I was assessing the situation,” he replied, his voice as level as ever. “Reacting emotionally isn’t always the best approach.”

“Well, maybe not, but it worked, didn’t it?” you countered. “They’re gone, and they’re not coming back anytime soon.”

Damian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You didn’t have to get involved.”

“Of course I did,” you said firmly. “That’s what friends do.”

At the word “friends,” Damian hesitated. His gaze softened slightly, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, he said, “You’re… different.”

“Thanks?” you said, unsure whether that was a compliment.

“I mean it,” he continued. “Most people either avoid me or try too hard to impress me. You just… do what you want.”

“Well, someone has to keep you on your toes,” you said with a small smile.

Damian allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corner of his mouth. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re welcome,” you said, bumping his shoulder lightly as you started walking toward the exit.

Part 21: A Quiet Moment

The two of you walked in silence for a while, the tension from the fight slowly ebbing away. As you reached the gates of the school, Damian finally spoke again.

“You know,” he said, his voice quieter now, “not many people would have done what you did.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, shrugging, “you’re not exactly like most people, either.”

He looked at you, his green eyes searching yours for something you couldn’t quite name. Then, after a moment, he said, “Thank you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. “Anytime,” you said, smiling. “But next time, maybe don’t let them corner you in the first place.”

“I didn’t let them,” he said defensively. “I was waiting for the right moment to—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupted, laughing. “Sure you were.”

Damian rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. As the two of you walked side by side, the unspoken bond between you felt stronger than ever.

Part 22: The Question

Later that evening, after the chaos of the day had settled, you were sprawled across your bed, scrolling through your phone. You had half a mind to text Damian, maybe tease him about his stoic response to the fight earlier. But before you could decide, your phone buzzed with a message.

Damian: Why do you try so hard with me?

You blinked at the screen, momentarily stunned by the sudden bluntness of the question. Leave it to Damian to dive straight into the deep end without so much as a warning.

For a moment, you considered giving a serious, heartfelt response. But then you thought better of it. That wasn’t how you and Damian worked—not entirely, anyway.

You: Wow, straight to the point, huh? What happened to small talk?

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian: I don’t believe in wasting time. Answer the question.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. Typical Damian. You hesitated, then typed out your response.

You: Because someone has to. You’ve got this whole broody, loner thing going on, and it’s exhausting just watching you.

You didn’t expect him to reply right away, but your phone buzzed almost immediately.

Damian: So I’m a project to you.

You: No, you’re not a project. You’re just… you. And you’re interesting, even if you don’t want to admit it.

This time, there was a longer pause before his next message.

Damian: Most people would’ve given up by now.

You: Good thing I’m not most people. ;)

You could almost imagine him rolling his eyes at the text, and the thought made you smile.

Part 23: The Night Unfolds

From there, the conversation shifted. You sent him a meme you thought he’d hate, and to your surprise, he responded with a scathing critique that was almost as funny as the meme itself.

Damian: This is the lowest form of humor. You should be ashamed of yourself.

You: Admit it, you laughed.

Damian: I did not.

You: Liar.

Despite his protests, he started sending you memes of his own—ones that were somehow simultaneously overly intellectual and completely ridiculous. You found yourself laughing so hard that your sides hurt.

As the night stretched on, the two of you traded jokes, shared random observations about life, and even debated the merits of pineapple on pizza (he was vehemently against it; you were firmly in favor).

You: You’re wrong. Pineapple on pizza is amazing.

Damian: It’s an abomination.

You: You’re an abomination.

Damian: Creative. Truly cutting-edge wit.

You: Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all night.

Part 24: Something More

At some point, the tone of the conversation shifted.

Damian: Why do you laugh so much?

The question caught you off guard, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected. Damian always had a way of cutting through the surface and going straight to the heart of things.

You: Because life’s too short not to.

Damian: Even when it’s hard?

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard.

You: Especially when it’s hard. Laughing doesn’t mean ignoring the bad stuff. It just means not letting it win.

There was a long pause before his next message.

Damian: I think I understand that.

You: Good. Because you could stand to laugh more. It’s good for you.

Damian: I laugh.

You: Sure, in a brooding, vaguely menacing way.

Damian: Is there any other way?

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

Part 25: The Unspoken Connection

By the time the clock struck midnight, the two of you were still texting. The topics ranged from your favorite movies to Damian’s hilariously specific pet peeves, like people who misuse commas.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so at ease with someone, and judging by the fact that Damian hadn’t abruptly ended the conversation, you guessed he felt the same.

As your eyes grew heavy, you sent him one last message.

You: Goodnight, Damian. Thanks for making me laugh tonight.

His reply came almost instantly.

Damian: Goodnight, Y/N. Thanks for… everything.

You smiled at the screen, your chest feeling inexplicably warm. For someone who claimed to be so closed off, Damian had a way of making you feel like you mattered.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, you’d found something rare in him. Something worth holding onto.

Part 26: The Argument

It had started out as a normal afternoon. You and Damian were hanging out in your usual spot after school, exchanging dry remarks and teasing each other like always. But somewhere along the line, the conversation took a turn.

“I don’t get why you’re always so reckless,” Damian said, arms crossed as he leaned against a wall. “You don’t think things through. Like with those guys yesterday. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wasn’t about to let them treat you like that, Damian. What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and watch?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone sharp. “I didn’t need your help. I had it under control.”

“Right, because standing there like a statue was totally working,” you shot back. “Face it, Damian, you can’t handle the idea of someone else helping you. It’s like your ego can’t take it.”

Damian’s expression darkened, his green eyes flashing. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You think you’re helping, but all you’re doing is making things worse.”

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you didn’t back down. “I was trying to protect you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” he snapped. “You’re not some hero, Y/N. You’re just a kid who doesn’t know when to stay out of things.”

The words hit you like a slap. For a moment, you just stared at him, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “I didn’t realize I was such a burden. Guess I’ll just stop caring, then.”

Before he could respond, you swung your fist, hitting him square in the chest. He barely flinched, but the impact was enough to make you step back, breathing hard.

Damian didn’t move. He just stood there, his jaw tight, his hands at his sides. “If that makes you feel better, fine,” he said quietly.

It didn’t. Not really. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you turned on your heel and walked away, ignoring the way your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Part 27: The Apology

That night, your phone buzzed with a message. You ignored it at first, still too upset to deal with whatever Damian had to say. But when it buzzed again, curiosity got the better of you.

Damian: I’m sorry.

You stared at the screen, your anger flickering like a dying flame.

Damian: I shouldn’t have said that. You’re not a burden. You’re the opposite of that.

Another message followed a moment later.

Damian: I’ll make it up to you. Anywhere you want to go, I’ll take you. My treat.

You hesitated, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, you typed out a response.

You: Anywhere?

Damian: Anywhere.

Part 28: The Comic Shop

The next day, Damian was waiting outside your house, dressed in his usual dark hoodie and jeans.

“A comic book shop?” he asked skeptically as you led the way down the street.

“You said anywhere,” you replied with a grin. “And this is where I want to go.”

The moment you stepped inside, the familiar smell of old paper and ink washed over you. Rows of colorful covers lined the walls, and you couldn’t help the excitement that bubbled up inside you.

“Oh my gosh, they have the new issue of Nightwing: Legends!” you said, practically bouncing on your toes.

Damian raised an eyebrow. “You’re seriously geeking out over this?”

“Yes,” you said, grabbing the comic and hugging it to your chest. “Don’t judge me.”

He smirked. “Too late.”

You wandered through the aisles, pointing out your favorite series and rattling off obscure trivia about the characters. Damian trailed behind you, his usual stoicism replaced by a faint look of amusement.

Part 29: The Confession

As you reached the checkout counter, you glanced at Damian, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Sorry if I was being weird back there,” you said, setting your stack of comics on the counter.

“You weren’t being weird,” he said, tilting his head.

You sighed. “Yes, I was. It’s just… this stuff makes me happy, you know? And I guess I wanted to share that with you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he asked, “Why?”

You hesitated, your cheeks warming. “Because I like you, okay? And not just as a friend. I like you in the… more-than-friends way.”

Damian’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “You like me?”

“Yes, Damian,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I like you. Even when you’re being a jerk. Especially when you’re being a jerk, apparently.”

To your surprise, a small smile tugged at his lips. “You have terrible taste.”

You laughed, relief flooding through you. “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now.”

“Good,” he said softly.

And as the two of you left the shop, your bag full of comics and your heart lighter than it had been in days, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something amazing.

Part 30: Damian’s Birthday Party

The weekend had finally arrived, and for the first time in a long while, Damian actually seemed excited about something—his birthday. It wasn’t exactly a birthday party in the traditional sense. Damian didn’t want a huge spectacle, but when Bruce insisted that the entire family celebrate, Damian reluctantly agreed.

It was a massive event at the Wayne Manor, with people from all walks of life—family friends, business associates, a few close classmates, and some of Damian’s more eccentric acquaintances. The grand hall was decorated with dark tones, but you could tell Bruce had made an effort to add a bit of brightness. There were trays of food and drink set up along the walls, and a live band played soft jazz in the background, trying to keep things casual.

Damian stood near the edge of the room, his usual stony demeanor intact, but you could see the small smile tugging at his lips every time someone wished him a happy birthday. You’d never seen him like this before—unusually relaxed and almost… happy.

You had already given him his gift—something you thought he’d appreciate: a rare comic book from his favorite series—and the look of genuine surprise on his face made you grin.

It wasn’t long before you noticed someone from Damian’s school walk in—one of the guys who always hung around with the “popular” crowd. You’d seen him around before, but he wasn’t someone you cared for. His name was Marcus, and he had this smug, cocky attitude that rubbed you the wrong way.

You didn’t pay much attention to him at first, but then, as you were talking with some of the other guests, you saw him approach.

“Hey, Y/N,” Marcus greeted you, his tone overly friendly. “You look amazing tonight.”

You raised an eyebrow, already feeling a hint of discomfort. “Uh, thanks, Marcus,” you said, trying to keep your voice polite.

“You know, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought,” he continued, his smile bordering on flirtatious. “I mean, I thought you were just some… quiet girl, but you’re not so bad.”

You exchanged a glance with Damian, who was standing just across the room, talking to Tim. The moment his eyes met yours, you saw his expression shift—his eyes darkening, his jaw tightening.

“Thanks,” you said, giving a tight smile and trying to step back. “I’m not really looking to talk right now.”

Marcus, however, seemed undeterred. He stepped closer, clearly not picking up on your discomfort. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I know you’ve got better taste than the people you hang out with.”

At that, you felt a flash of irritation. “Excuse me?”

Before Marcus could say anything else, you noticed Damian walking toward you. He didn’t even acknowledge Marcus at first, his eyes locked on you, but his posture was stiff, tense. There was an almost palpable sense of possessiveness radiating from him as he approached.

“Is everything alright?” Damian asked, his voice colder than usual.

Marcus blinked, clearly taken aback. “I was just talking to Y/N,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No harm done, right?”

But Damian didn’t look like he was in the mood for games. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Marcus,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but there was a sharp edge to it.

Marcus shrugged and gave a half-laugh. “Whatever, dude. I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Then keep your distance,” Damian replied, his eyes narrowing as he gave Marcus one last hard look before turning back to you.

You were too shocked by the interaction to speak for a moment. Damian had never acted like this before, especially not over someone like Marcus.

Part 31: The Jealousy

As the evening went on, you couldn’t help but notice how Damian’s mood shifted. He was still polite with the guests, but there was an undeniable tension in his movements, a guardedness you hadn’t seen before. Every time you were talking to someone else, his gaze would flick to you, and if anyone got too close, you could see him visibly stiffen.

At one point, you found yourself talking to Tim, and as you laughed at one of his jokes, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned, and there stood Damian, his expression unreadable.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his tone quieter now.

“Sure,” you said, feeling a bit confused, but following him to a quieter part of the room.

Once you were away from the crowd, he crossed his arms, his eyes flashing in a way you hadn’t seen in a while. “You shouldn’t let people like Marcus get so close.”

Your brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t trust him.” His voice was tight, as though he was holding something back.

“You don’t trust him?” you repeated, surprised by the intensity in his words. “Damian, he’s just being—”

“No,” he interrupted, stepping closer, his gaze now intense. “He was flirting with you. I don’t want him near you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you couldn’t help but stare at him, speechless for a moment. “Damian, I can handle myself. I didn’t need you to step in—”

“I don’t care.” His voice was sharper now, his jaw clenched. “I don’t want anyone else getting any ideas.”

You took a step back, feeling an unexpected rush of heat on your face. There was no denying it now—Damian was jealous.

“Damian, I didn’t—”

He stepped forward, his eyes meeting yours. “You don’t get it, do you?” he asked, voice low. “I don’t like seeing you with anyone else. Not when they don’t treat you like you deserve.”

You blinked, the sudden rush of emotions leaving you stunned. “What are you saying?”

Damian hesitated, his gaze softening slightly. “I’m saying… I care about you, Y/N. I care about you more than I thought I did.”

The words hung in the air between you, and for a moment, everything felt suspended. His usual guarded nature seemed to crack open, just enough for you to glimpse something raw and real beneath it all.

Part 32: The Moment of Truth

Before you could respond, the sound of the party rumbled back in, and you felt a strange tension still simmering between you and Damian. He shifted, not quite meeting your gaze now.

“You… don’t have to feel the same way,” Damian said quietly, though you could hear the vulnerability beneath the sharp edge of his voice.

You smiled softly, feeling a flutter in your chest. “Damian, I think you’re the one who doesn’t get it.”

His head snapped up, his eyes locking with yours, and you could see the flicker of uncertainty there.

“I like you, too,” you confessed, your voice steady now. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Damian’s expression softened, the tension in his body slowly releasing. For a moment, he just stood there, looking at you as if trying to process your words. Finally, he nodded, a small, genuine smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

And with that, the two of you stood there, in the quiet of the mansion, feeling the weight of everything unsaid finally beginning to shift.

Part 33: A New Beginning

The night stretched on as the party continued. But for you and Damian, time seemed to slow. After that conversation, things felt different—better, somehow. The awkward tension that had loomed over the two of you for so long had finally broken, and in its place was a sense of comfort.

You found yourself standing at the edge of the room with Damian by your side, the two of you watching the festivities from a distance. He had loosened up, no longer the guarded, distant person he used to be. Now, there was an unspoken understanding between you, something that felt natural, like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

“I didn’t think I’d actually enjoy this kind of party,” Damian muttered, his eyes scanning the room. “It’s all a bit… loud.”

You chuckled softly. “Yeah, I get that. It’s not exactly your vibe.”

He glanced at you, his lips curving into a small, amused smile. “You don’t mind though, do you?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m with you, so it’s fine.”

Damian raised an eyebrow at that, as if measuring the sincerity of your words. “Good,” he replied, his tone softening slightly.

Just then, Bruce walked by, flashing a quick, knowing smile at the two of you. “Enjoying yourselves?” he asked, his voice light and friendly.

Damian’s eyes flicked toward him, a faint scowl on his face. “I’m fine,” he replied, his tone a little sharper than usual. Bruce just chuckled, clearly amused.

“We’re all proud of you, Damian,” Bruce said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve grown a lot. You deserve this.”

Damian didn’t respond immediately, but there was a small shift in his posture, almost as if he appreciated the sentiment. Bruce gave both of you a final glance before walking off to mingle with the guests.

You and Damian stood in silence for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence, the kind that felt easy rather than awkward.

“Thanks for being here,” Damian said after a while, his voice unusually soft.

You turned to look at him, surprised. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded, looking down at the floor for a moment before his gaze met yours again, this time with more intensity. “Good,” he repeated, his voice low.

Part 34: Getting Closer

As the night wore on, more and more guests started leaving, the sounds of chatter and laughter dying down. The grand hall had become quieter, more intimate. You and Damian found yourselves lingering by the doors, both of you reluctant to let the night end.

“You don’t mind staying a little longer, do you?” he asked, his voice almost hesitant now, as though he was worried you might want to leave.

You shook your head, smiling softly. “Not at all. I’m in no rush.”

The two of you made your way to the balcony, where the cool night air wrapped around you, offering a welcome break from the warmth of the party. The view from the balcony overlooked the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor, the lights from the distant city twinkling in the background.

“Thanks for making tonight… different,” you said, leaning against the stone railing. “It was nice, being here with you.”

Damian stood next to you, his arms crossed as he gazed out into the distance. “I didn’t think I’d want to do this,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly vulnerable. “But… I guess it wasn’t so bad after all.”

You chuckled. “You just needed the right company.”

He turned to face you then, his gaze intense. “I’m glad it’s you,” he said quietly, a softness in his tone that you hadn’t heard before.

You met his gaze, your heart racing in your chest. The connection between you had deepened so much in such a short time, and in that moment, it felt like everything was falling into place.

Damian leaned in slightly, as though he was about to say something more, but just then, Tim appeared behind you, his voice loud and cheerful.

“Hey, you two! Bruce is about to cut the cake. You better get in there before Alfred scolds us all for being late.”

Damian sighed dramatically, rolling his eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not sure I want to deal with Alfred’s nagging right now.”

You laughed, nudging him gently. “You know you’ll go anyway. You wouldn’t miss cake for the world.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s true.”

With a final glance at you, he started heading back inside, and you followed, the warmth of the party welcoming you again.

Part 35: The Tension Builds

As the night came to a close, you found yourself standing near the grand staircase, saying your goodbyes to the last of the guests. Damian was standing next to you, his posture relaxed but still carrying an air of quiet intensity.

“Are you planning to stick around tomorrow?” you asked, glancing at him.

“I don’t have much going on,” he said, a small smirk forming on his lips. “Why? You need a guide for whatever adventure you’re planning next?”

You laughed. “Maybe.”

There was something different about the way he looked at you now, an unspoken understanding between the two of you that hadn’t been there before.

“Good,” he said softly, his eyes holding yours for a long moment. “Because I’ll be there.”

Part 36: The Kiss

It wasn’t until the party was winding down that you and Damian finally had a chance to breathe. The room had grown empty, save for a few lingering guests and the staff cleaning up. You stood off to the side, chatting quietly, when Damian took a small step toward you, his expression unreadable.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what he was about to say.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice almost hesitant. “I meant what I said earlier.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, then realized what he was referring to. “You… you like me?”

He nodded slowly, his usual confidence warring with something else. “Yeah. I’ve never said it before, but it’s the truth.”

You didn’t know what to say at first, your heart pounding in your chest. But then, before you could speak, he took another step closer, his hand lightly brushing against yours.

And then it happened—Damian, the boy who’d always kept everyone at arm’s length, leaned forward and kissed you, softly at first, but with an undeniable intensity that made your heart race.

For a moment, everything else fell away—the party, the guests, even the noise of the mansion itself. It was just the two of you, in that moment, finally realizing how much you meant to each other.

When he pulled back, his eyes were searching yours, as if asking for confirmation.

“I meant it,” he repeated, his voice low but steady. “You’re everything to me, Y/N.”

And you smiled, feeling the warmth of his words in your chest.

“I feel the same, Damian,” you whispered, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face. “I think I always have.”

[aleisters]

i am making the sappy post about darby, finally.

the shoot love in wrestling is something that really gets to me. and it really gets to me with darby because he's a quintessential underdog. like, shoot he used to be a loner and honestly kind of a loser and a guy with an ugly personality. he can be awkward and stuttering and lisping and he has a really fucking mixed bag of tattoos.

if you go back and watch old interviews with him, he's borderline extremely unpleasant, he's rude and obnoxious, it's often demonstrably clear that he's not happy for some reason or another. he's never really mean to the interviewer, but "shows up to the facetime interview from his bed" is like. okay.

but after he joined aew, he started getting better. for the past year and a half especially he's become someone you can trust with things. he's smiley, he doesn't talk deep and slow to account for his lisp anymore. he's trusted to do things, to do media interviews, to carry around belts, to say he wants to be world champ, to represent aew in the climbing of mount everest. tony khan is paying for some (if not all?) of his mountain climbing training. that's insane.

and i don't think you get who darby is today - outwardly generous (he has random people staying with him all the time, to learn to wrestle, to lose weight with his help, whatever they want), smiley and friendly and personable - without the shoot love. you don't have who darby is today without the fact that tony khan believes in him so much. without his idolisation of jon moxley, and that moxley believes in him for real too. you don't get it without darby being trusted to work with sting - sting! the iconic wrestler sting! and then sting trusting darby's opinion that sting can return to in-ring wrestling (instead of just cinematic amtches). in the present, darby is training sting's son to wrestle. all of that is love.

there's love with the bucks too, who wanted to hire him, who love that he skateboards and stuck up for him incorporating that into his gimmick. who have wanted to wrestle with him before and then got to do that multiple times this year. darby who appears in the background of bte doing stuff like building skateboards for matt. who nick does all the primary checking-on during stunts in their matches. darby can't manage to kayfabe say a bad word about them, he's like "yeah the bucks hired me and i'm so grateful for everything they've done and they're amazing. btw they suck yeah boo hiss evps" it's fucking... cute...

and darby and brody have such a long and deep friendship that they can't wrestle without brody making some proclamation about how they're going to do it forever. brody has a tattoo about darby. eddie kingston had darby for about 1 match before becoming a Ruffling His Hair guy. adam copeland went one step further and said i'd had this boy for one match and i'm going to cuddle him and kiss him on tv. ridiculous sweet stuff.

i'm not putting darby on a pedestal, because he's fallible and imperfect and he's done weird and bad stuff, but i'm not using this post to talk about something that requires a genuine nuanced conversation, i'm using it to talk pathetic and wax romantic about my number one favourite wrestler.

i think he is one of those people who you can really shoot see the development of from an unfriendly gremlin into like, a gremlin that everyone loves for some reason. everyone around him loves him and wants to give him good opportunities and he pays that back so much, as often as possible. he does it by being the pinch hitter when nobody else is right for it, even at the expense of his own body. he does it by raising money for the skateparks that saved him as a kid. he does it by looking after the people around him - making sure his parents never have to work again. he does it by wrestling well, at the top of his game and still improving.

and i'm soft and i believe that love did all that. i think without the people who love him he'd still be a weird off-putting little mess.

and i hope 2025 is his year. i wanna see him at the top of every mountain he wants to climb.

[heich0e]

OMG osamu and the best friends to lovers series!!!! i love them soooo much <333

ask game: a christmas drabble from an established AU AU: bff!osamu series

"looks like santa's workshop had some serious budget cuts this year."

you snort as you stretch up on your tiptoes to hang an ornament on the tree, glancing over your shoulder towards the door of onigiri miya—whose bell had just chimed to signify a new arrival to the cozy little shop. atsumu stands in the doorway, hands on his hips as he looks around at what you've spent the better part of your afternoon on: festive decorations hanging from one wall to the other.

osamu's never decorated the shop for the holidays before—at least not more than maybe a little string of lights or a snowman doodle on the menu board, but you'd begged and pleaded with him to let you get your hands on his precious shop to work your holiday magic. osamu's never denied you anything, and he wasn't about to start now.

atsumu whistles lowly as he takes in the fruits of your labour. it's not much, but you'd had a lot of fun making the space a bit more festive, and you're pleased with the results. atsumu looks over at you.

"y'know he's not gonna pay ya fer yer labour, right?"

you drop back down to your normal height, laughing lightly as you cross the room towards your childhood friend. "i'm surprised he didn't make me pay him to let me do this."

atsumu ruffles your hair once you get within reach, pulling you under his arm to tuck you into his side.

you've always loved christmas, ever since you were little. it's not a holiday that gets too much attention in japan, not like in the west, but you've always been enamoured with the twinkling lights, the decorations, the atmosphere of it all.

you've spent every christmas for as long as you can remember with the twins.

it was largely at your behest—insisting that the boys indulge your whims and thirst for holiday cheer. as kids, you'd gather at one of your houses and watch silly holiday movies. as you got older gifts were exchanged. now as adults you still honour this tradition, ordering takeout, getting drunk, and exchanging gifts while the same movies you've seen a hundred times play on in the background.

it's your favourite time of year.

"hey, samu! i'm borrowin' yer elf for a bit!" atsumu calls out into the empty restaurant—closed now for the day, but not quite yet ready to lock up for the night. a moment later, his twin brother's head pokes out from behind the curtain leading back to the kitchen.

"where do ya think yer goin'?" he asks his brother, still holding you tucked against him.

"i'm taking her for a legally mandated dinner break," atsumu replies.

"ha? elves don't get breaks." osamu shakes his head, crossing his arms over his t-shirt-clad chest.

"that's illegal," atsumu counters.

"labour laws don't apply to elves," you chirp, peeking up towards his face from underneath his arm.

"you two are always conspirin' against me," atsumu whines loudly, holding you a little bit tighter. "yer lettin' him monopolize ya."

"big word," you point out, notably impressed by his choice of vocabulary.

atsumu wraps you in a loose headlock, "don't patronize me, ya scrub."

"another good one!" you manage to get out through your laughter, wiggling yourself loose from his hold.

"oi, stop manhandlin' my interior decorator," osamu calls over to you both, leaning on his elbow over the counter as he watches you and his brother roughhouse on the other side of the room.

"thought she was an elf?" atsumu snarks back, grabbing you by the waist and hoisting you over his shoulder like how samu carries those big bags of rice that kita-san drops off every couple of weeks. you squeal as your feet leave the ground, beating weakly against his back as he totes you across the room. your complaints fall largely on deaf ears, and before you know it you're being plunked down on the counter where your boyfriend is watching on in amusement.

you huff once you're finally upright again. "you two are brutes."

"i didn't even do anythin'," osamu laughs, lifting his hands in innocence.

"you're guilty by association," you say, reaching out and flicking the brim of his onigiri miya cap. osamu smiles at you lopsidedly, catching your hand and clasping his fingers around yours, and you can't even feign being mad at him when he looks at you like that.

"ugh, gross."

you look over at atsumu, slumping down into a stool at the counter with a disgusted look on his face as he watches the two of you interact. he pouts a little once he's got your attention.

atsumu's slowly come to terms with you and samu's relationship—not that he had much of a choice—but there are still moments where you see flickers of genuine feelings of exclusion slipping though his facade. you watch him a little more closely to see if this is one of those moments.

as though sensing your scrutiny, atsumu schools his expression into something a little more neutral, looking away to peer around the restaurant once more.

"ya really went all out," he remarks.

"i thought it would be cute," you say, and you feel samu's arms wrap around your waist from behind where you're still seated up on the counter.

atsumu's eyes—honey warm and familiar—linger on the christmas tree for a moment.

"so, what are you two doin' fer christmas?"

you pause, blinking as you process his question.

"what the hell are ya talkin' about?" osamu beats you to the punch, and both you and atsumu look at him with similarly shocked expressions. osamu's brow is furrowed in annoyance. "you bailin' on us this year 'er somethin'?"

osamu's grip around your waist tightens momentarily, and you lean back into his hold.

"yeah, tsumu," you echo osamu's petulance. "you got better plans than hanging out with us?"

atsumu's eyes widen a little bit, his cheeks flushing pink in that way you know they always do before he starts to cry.

"you two aren't...?" his cheeks puff out a little as he cuts himself off, looking away almost guiltily. "i just thought maybe..."

osamu hooks his chin over your shoulder, tilting his face so his temple rests against your own.

"thinkin'?" he muses. "y'oughta give that up, never does ya any good."

atsumu's gaze snaps back to his brother, his jaw dropping in indignation. "yer one to talk, block head!"

"we got the same head, dumbass."

and as the twins continue to bicker amongst themselves, with you nestled in between them on the counter, you look up at the decorations hanging overhead and laugh.

because this really is your favourite time of year, and that's one thing that will never change.

[funky-lizard-imp]

SINSMAS MAJOR SPOILERS!

I haven't seen too much of it on here but I've seen a lot of it on Tik Tok so I wanna fucking say something about it.

People are saying that Millie cheated on Moxxie and that's why she was panicking and didn't tell him right away when she found out and I am willing to bet everything I have that is not what happened.

People's arguments are that she called Sallie May first and was freaking out like she's realising she can't hide it anymore, but that's not what I got from her reaction at all. It is very normal for people to freak out and panic during first time pregnancies, especially if it was unplanned which I'm willing to bet that this is. And I also think it's pretty normal to first tell someone that you're close with, but isn't very directly involved, like a friend, or in this case, her sister.

Millie might not know how Moxxie is going to react, because even though I think he'd be very supportive and happy and be a great dad, having your own kid can be different, and telling someone literal life changing news like this for the first time can be scary even if you think they would be happy so I think its reasonable that Millie talked to Sallie first.

There are also other reasons why Millie could have been panicking about having a baby, and the one I'm seeing the most is their job. Raising a baby or being pregnant while being a literal assassin can be very dangerous, and Millie might not want to give up her job for the baby and I swear to god if I see anyone calling her selfish for that you're getting blocked instantly because shut the actual fuck up that's also pretty normal. I don't think anyone would say that but just making sure.

Millie also might not be ready to be a mother. Again, a pretty common thing and a pretty normal reaction in that situation.

So my money is on Millie is just scared and nervous because it was unplanned, its new, and she might possibly be scared of raising a kid in a very dangerous business. She's scared herself and still coming to terms with it so she might not be in the right head space to tell Moxxie immediately, but I bet when she does, he is going to be very supportive and happy, and reassure her that everything will be fine. He might even freak out a bit himself, but like I said, that's pretty normal. And I bet they would be great parents and Blitz and Stolas would be great babysitters.

Also, I feel like if she did cheat, there would be a bit more proof and foreshadowing. I know you don't usually recognise foreshadowing until after watching something and going back, but hear me out. When that demon lady was talking about her husband cheating, Stolas was really guilty. I feel like if Millie cheated, they would put more signs, and I feel like they would have her in the background looking very slightly guilty at the moment as well. It's kinda nonsense but at the same time it also makes sense because most plot twists have subtle hints of it before hand so it doesn't completely come out of the blue and people can spot all the signs on a rewatch. I think if Millie cheated, some good foreshadowing would be that and that wasn't there. Again, it's nonsense, but it's part of my defense.

So, in conclusion, I don't think Millie cheated, and stop finding reasons to hate her because I'm convinced that's what some of these people are doing. Her reaction and calling Sallie May is very reasonable and normal when you put more than one ounce of thought into it, and I can't believe I even had to say all this in the first place.

Good day.

[kezdispenser]

Cuddling Isn’t in the Goddamn Manual

A Soldier Boy Christmas one shot

The snowstorm outside coated the city in a perfect winter wonderland. Streetlights cast a soft glow over the white-blanketed streets, and your apartment felt like a cozy little bubble insulated from the cold chaos beyond. The Christmas tree in the corner glimmered with fairy lights, and the smell of cinnamon cookies mixed with the faint aroma of the hot chocolate you’d just poured for yourself.

Ben—better known to the world as Soldier Boy—was slouched on your couch in full “tough guy” mode. His leather jacket was still zipped halfway up, his boots propped carelessly on the coffee table, and his beer dangling loosely in one hand. The perfect picture of a man who thought he was too cool for comfort.

“You know,” you said as you walked in and set your mug down on the side table, “you could at least take off your jacket and pretend to enjoy yourself. It’s Christmas Eve.”

He didn’t even glance at you, eyes fixed on the TV where some black-and-white holiday classic was playing. “Jacket stays on. Gotta stay ready for action.”

You snorted, flopping down onto the couch beside him. “What action? The reindeer uprising?”

That earned you a side-eye and a faint smirk, but he didn’t dignify it with a response.

“Anyway,” you continued, nudging his knee with your foot, “I was thinking we could cuddle for a bit. You know, really lean into the festive spirit.”

Ben’s laugh was loud and derisive, the kind of laugh that made it clear he thought you’d lost your damn mind. “Cuddling? You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I be kidding? It’s Christmas! It’s cold! I’m cute!”

“Yeah, well, cuddling’s not exactly my thing,” he said, taking a swig of his beer. “Not manly. Never has been.”

“Oh, please,” you said, crossing your arms. “You’re telling me the guy who once hugged a flamethrower like it was his long-lost lover can’t handle a little cuddle?”

“That was different,” he said defensively.

“Uh-huh. Sure it was.” You leaned back dramatically, letting out a loud, theatrical sigh. “Fine. Guess I’ll just have to cuddle myself. Or, I don’t know, maybe the throw pillows. They’re softer than you, anyway.”

He scowled, his jaw tightening in that familiar way that meant you were getting under his skin. You knew him too well; you could see the flicker of hesitation in his eyes, the way his hand stilled on his beer bottle.

“You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, scooting a little closer to him. “Look, it’s Christmas Eve. Just one night, Ben. One tiny cuddle. No one’s gonna know, and I promise not to tell anyone you’re secretly a big teddy bear under all that macho posturing.”

He gave you a flat look. “I am not a teddy bear.”

“Sure you’re not,” you teased, poking his arm.

For a moment, you thought he was going to dig in his heels and keep up the act. But then he groaned, setting his beer down on the coffee table with a thud. “Fine. One night. But if you so much as think about telling anyone, I’m gone.”

Your grin was instantaneous and shameless. “Deal.”

Before he could change his mind, you crawled into his lap, making yourself comfortable as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He stiffened at first, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, but you weren’t worried.

“Relax,” you murmured, resting your head against his chest. “It’s not gonna kill you.”

“You don’t know that,” he muttered, though his hands slowly settled on your back.

You couldn’t help but smile as you felt him relax, his body softening against yours despite his grumbling. He was warm, solid, and oddly comforting in a way that didn’t match the image he projected to the world.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” he said after a while, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

“Of course not,” you said, biting back a laugh. “Just a totally meaningless Christmas cuddle.”

“Damn right.”

The movie played on in the background, the faint sound of holiday music filtering in from the street below. You closed your eyes, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. His hand started tracing slow circles on your back, and you smiled to yourself.

“Hey,” he said after a while, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “Merry Christmas, doll.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your smile widening. “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

And for that one night, Soldier Boy let himself be a little less soldier and a little more boy.

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

A/N: A little christmas miracle from soldier boy and from me to you guys.

[ink-stainedkiss]

Love is So Cruel - Yuji Itadori

Synopsis: Your breakup with Yuji was probably one of the worst memories you can think of, even if you dated when you were both so young. Now, both of you have grow and see each other once again at a Christmas party. Outside, Yuji wants to know why he can’t be happy and have you at the same time…

Sigh, you guys have got to hate me. It’s quite literally Christmas Eve and I’m only gifting you sadness. 🙁 the bad thing is I can't stop because angst hurts so bad, but it makes my frontal lobe develope in the right way. Aways, only one more day till Christmas and I promise I will give you all a real gift. Please feel free to comment and request! I love seeing your ideas❤️

Warnings:None, unless you count sadness as a trigger.

Word count: 1.6k

The wind rushed by. Its coldness makes good bumps rise on your skin at the smallest touch. You could be warm, inside with all of your loved ones and friends. A comforting yellow glow illuminated from the house and the light was so enchanting, but you needed to settle something. At first, the party was great. The food was homemade and delicious. A Christmas movie played in the background, something old and familiar that anyone could sit down and watch. Small games were happening in the dining room, gifts were being passed back and forth, and no one was sure what they would get.

It was a beautiful sight, but you weren’t inside to see it. You stood, in the cold, a light jacket providing no warmth, but how could you care about the weather when he was standing right next to you? Even past the small flurries of snow, his light pink hair showed through, looking as bright as it did all those years ago. There was a cup in his hand that he occasionally sipped at. You didn’t have to guess what was in it. You watched him carefully. He looked so grown. He was taller, his shoulder broader, and his teenage features were nothing but a memory. It seemed just yesterday he was bouncing around the school, excited and so naive to exercise curses.

The job kills. Mentally and physically. You were just some of the ‘lucky’ people who had kept all of their limbs. But you weren’t out here to talk about being successful sorcerers. No. Yuji cleared his throat, not daring to look you in the eyes as he said,” So, you and Megumi look happy.”

You can’t stop the soft smile that melts onto your face. You and Megumi had gotten married a little over five months ago and things were going a lot better than expected,” We are.” You were happy, so so happy, but tonight, as Megumi held onto your hips, you had gotten a glimpse of the boy you loved so long ago. His face was showing an emotion you couldn’t pinpoint.

You understood why he wasn’t exactly thrilled that you were dating one of his closest friends, even if your relationship had ended. You understood if you were in his shoes, you would be just as numb. There was no pact. No promise. No soul-binding contract that vowed you would find each other again, so you hadn’t done anything wrong. You had simply…moved on. And you were so sure Yuji had done the same. Before Megumi and you even started dating, you checked Yuji’s posts, finding a gorgeous girl who held tightly too. Sure, at the time you felt how Yuji is feeling now, but you saw no point in grieving over a love that was bound to fall apart.

“Do you remember what you said to me that day?” His voice cut through your thoughts like a heated blade. It stunned you at first, but you slowly made the connection,” I do.” His eyes never left the trees encasing the humble home,” You told me that you will love me forever.” There was no amusement nor sadness in his tone,” And I believed you. I really did.”

You sighed, your breath forming a small cloud of fog,” That doesn’t mean I stopp-“

“Don’t.” He cut you off sharply,” Don’t lie to me. I saw how you looked at him and you never once looked at me like that.” His voice was bitter. Frankly, you scoffed,” We were kids Yuji. I committed to something I didn’t even understand completely. I just didn’t want you to hurt.”

“So you go and marry my best friend?” He spit, his jaw tightening. You inhaled slowly, trying to keep calm,”Did you expect me to just sit around and wish you would come back? I couldn’t do that to myself or Megumi. I had to continue to live.”

There was a reason for these venom-laced words being uttered. You and Yuji’s relationship didn’t end in a pretty way. Yuji had gotten too caught up in the missions and ultimately had forgotten about you and your well-being. So when you would scold him for being reckless, he only found it annoying, and after weeks of petty fights and disagreements, you decided it was time to go on a break. You suggested this in the middle of your guys' worst argument yet. You had already been crying, but when you muttered those words, tears started to flow from Yuji’s eyes.

You hated how he begged you to change your mind. He told you he could change and how much he loved you, but he had said those words before and nothing happened. So as he clung to your body, his tear-stained face in the crook of your neck, you told him the truth.

“I will love you forever. Nothing will stop that.”

A hiccup escaped the poor boy and he held you tighter,” Please, don’t leave me. I'm so sorry for everything I’ve done, just don’t go.”

Your heart panged harshly. Oh, how you wished he could turn his desperation into hate. His broken voice and deep sobs were some of the worst sounds you had ever heard. They made your skin crawl, your hands clamping into tight first, and worst of all, they made this so much harder. How easy it would be if Yuji were to despise your living being. Maybe then you could get through this.

Unbeknownst to you, amid your silence replaying the scene, a single tear streamed down your face and you quickly wiped it off. Love was so cruel. It felt nice to float above the clouds, soak in those mesmerizing sunsets and rises, but suddenly, the screen of ultraviolet was torn from your vision and as you looked down, you realized you were free-falling toward the cold and dark earth. Alas, you had already been crushed.

Slowly you turned your head, gazing longingly at the people inside, and you told yourself it was time to go. For the first time that night, you looked at Yuji willingly,” I’m sorry, again.” He made no comment, but you weren’t looking for one,” Maybe in another universe we could have worked out.”

You turned, body screaming to be free from the freezing temperatures, but in the blink of an eye, you were being forced back towards Yuji, who had grabbed your hand all too quickly. He held you close, your bodies touching. The warmth he was producing was almost soothing, but you didn’t move an inch. You stared up into his eyes and it was as if he had been rejuvenated and you were looking at the same Yuji you held onto that night. Even in the darkly lit area, you could see the sadness welling in his eyes.

“Why not this one?” His voice cracked and you felt a wave of Deja Vu. His eyes searched so desperately for an answer, but you couldn't find one. At least one that could give him peace. It was a soul-shattering display. To see someone so determined to be strong for the people he cared about, being torn apart by losing the only one he loved. If you couldn't see how much you meant to him then, then you surely saw it now.

Guilt was eating away at you and it only got worse as he tried to pull back the tear falling from his eye. Instinctively, you cupped his cheek, your thumb wiping away the droplet and caressing his tired face. You loathed how he leaned into your palm, needing some sort of affection, even as the sparks of hope flickered out.

“I know you’ll find someone Yuji.” You stated under your breath,” Someone who laughs with you. Someone who loves video games and movies,” You let out a bittersweet chuckle,” And I know you will find happiness.” Your tiny smile faded,” Just promise me something.”

“Anything.” He said instantly.

“Promise me that you will go out and find her, instead of only searching in the past.”

Your words hit Yuji right in the heart, but deep down, past the yearning and grief, he knew you were right. So as much as his heart denied it, he nodded slowly. You gave him a smile, one that unfortunately made his heartbeat pick up. Slowly you let go of the boy, trying to ignore how his hold on you lingered until you were taking a step back.

“Hey!”

You both whipped your heads around, finding your loving husband standing in the doorway,” You guys are going to miss dirty Santa if you keep chatting out here.” You watched as Megumi held himself, never one to enjoy the cold, and giggled,” Sorry love, we’ll be inside in a second.”

He nodded, already moving back into the warm room,” Good. I don’t want either of you freezing your ass off.” And with that, he shut the sliding door.

It was quiet after he left. You watched the snow-covered floor, and then you made your way back to look at the man,” I’ll see you around, Itadori.” He didn’t have time to respond as you walked away, heading inside to your husband and the party. Megumi opened the door for you, planting a sweet kiss on you the moment you stepped foot into the room and Yuji could see it all.

The only thing that mattered was that you were happy and if that meant it wasn’t with Yuji, then he was going to have to accept your wishes.

Sadly for both you and him, the only person you described matched only one person. But he had already let them slip through his fingers.

[emsprovisions]

❄️ Day 23 - Yearly Traditions ❄️

🎁 Today's fic is dedicated to @ladytessa74

Summary: A teenaged TK enjoys his Hanukkah tradition of making latkes and sufganiyot with his mom.

Word count: 1121

24 Days of Tarlos Masterpost

Seventeen year-old TK is curled up into the corner of the couch in the living room of his mom’s Manhattan high rise. He has his iPhone 4 in hand, playing FarmVille on Facebook while the tv drones on at a low volume in the background. He’s content for the time being, trying to ignore his growing crush on Lewis Doty in theatre and the anxiety that has been worsening the closer he gets to graduation. 

He’s still only a junior, but college applications are starting to come in, and pressure to take the SAT is weighing down on him, and TK’s a little worried his mom won’t like that he doesn’t want to follow her footsteps into law school. 

For the time being, he doesn’t think about any of that as Gwyn comes in through the door with a couple bags of groceries and her warmest smile. She sets the bags on the entry table to remove her coat and looks at her son. “Ready to get to work?”

TK smiles up at his mom and shuts off his phone with a nod. “Ready.”

Tonight is the first night of Hanukkah, and TK and Gwyn are keeping up with their tradition of making latkes and sufganiyot to enjoy.

TK washes his hands and pushes up the sleeves of his hoodie, as his mom puts him to work peeling and shredding potatoes. 

TK loves this tradition with his mom. Making latkes and sufganiyot every Hanukkah has been something he’s looked forward to every year since he was a kid. They work side by side, music playing through the speaker in the kitchen, laughing together. 

TK ends up telling his mom about Lewis Doty and how he’s in the spring production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Gwyn listens, asking what Lewis is like and commenting that he sounds nicer than TK’s ex-boyfriend who broke his heart over the summer.

“He’s so sweet, mom,” TK just grins. “But I don’t think he’s even noticed me.”

“As popular as you are?” Gwyn laughs, quirking a brow at her son. 

“Being in a lot of sports and theatre doesn’t immediately make me popular, mom. A lot of people do both,” TK rolls his eyes.

“I know, I know,” Gwyn chuckles lightly. “Don’t forget to rinse and drain those potatoes, honey.”

“Come on, mom, I could make these with my eyes closed,” TK laughs.

They continue working together, TK on latke prep, Gwyn on sufganiyot prep and then stand side by side at the stove, two pots with oil heating up. 

TK leans impatiently against the counter. “The waiting is always the worst part of this.”

Gwyn just laughs softly. “My impatient boy.”

“It’s just the ADHD,” TK grins. 

“So, have you thought anymore about where you might like to start applying?” Gwyn asks, bringing up the subject of college gently as she knows it's a touchy subject with her teenage son.

TK stares down at the oil in his pan, checking the temperature on it before scooping some latke batter and dropping it in, worrying at his lip.

“I don’t think I want to go to college, mom,” he admits softly.

Gwyn tilts her head. “You don’t?”

TK shakes his head.

“Why not?”

TK chances a glance up at his mom, searching her face for any hint at how she’s taking this. With a deep breath, he finds the courage to tell her, “I want to be a firefighter.”

“Like your father,” Gwyn sighs, her shoulders dropping a bit.

“You’re disappointed.”

“No, honey,” Gwyn shakes her head with a sad smile. “I just don’t want you to end up like him.”

“I’m not going to,” TK insists. “I don’t want to be a firefighter because of dad, and honestly I kinda hated that I want to go into that same career, but Enzo convinced me–”

“You talked to Enzo about this before me?” Gwyn frowns.

“I just wanted some fatherly advice, mom,” TK shakes his head. “Obviously if I asked dad, he’d be all over the idea. You’re biased. I needed someone who could tell me like it is.”

“And what exactly did Enzo tell you?”

“He told me that everyone will think I’m following in my dad’s footsteps if I become a firefighter, regardless of my actual intentions,” TK explains, poking at one of the latkes with a slotted spoon to test if it was ready to flip over. In a smaller voice, TK says, “Then he convinced me dad’s not so bad of a man to follow.”

“No? Abandoning his family doesn’t make him bad?” Gwyn asks, skepticism in her voice.

“I know what he did sucks, okay!” TK huffs. “It’s just, he’s a hero too. And that’s all I wanna be, mom. I want to help people and I don’t think I’m cut out for more school. And unlike dad, I don’t need the recognition that I did something good. I just want to do good.”

“Hey,” Gwyn pauses after flipping her sufganiyot so they can cook on the other side, and reaches for TK. “If you want to be a firefighter, I’ll support you. There is nothing you could do that won’t make me proud, TK.”

TK just scoffs as his mom pulls him into her arms like he’s seven and not seventeen and taller than her. He’s also quite certain she’s wrong about that, he knows his mother would be disappointed if she ever found out he’s been getting high with some of his friends.

However, despite his teenage angst, TK can admit the hug from his mom feels nice. That he needed it. He sighs as he relaxes, resting his head against her shoulder.

“Sure you’re not mad I don’t want to be a lawyer?”

“I’m sure,” Gwyn laughs softly. “You are going to be incredible no matter what you do with your life.”

Later, TK curls up next to his mom on the couch, Mr. and Mrs. Smith popped into the dvd player, his plate piled high with latkes and some rotisserie chicken that Gwyn got at the store. He likes his latkes with ketchup, and it’s become their playful argument every year, Gwyn scolding him and shaking her head as she tops hers with the traditional applesauce. There’s fresh sufganiyot, warm and dusted in powdered sugar on the counter for dessert and they’ve already lit the first candle on their menorah. 

TK is happy as he tucks his head against his mom’s shoulder while they watch their movie, dipping a latke in ketchup, his eyes practically glued to Brad Pitt every time he’s onscreen.

“Chag sameach, mom,” TK looks up at his mom with a smile.

Gwyn kisses the top of his head. “Chag sameach, my sweet boy.”

[curliiwurlii]

Let’s Start the Day! (Alt tape)

After solving another tedious puzzle, Riley finally got another tape. Instead of a brand-new tape, however, it’s one they’ve watched before- “Let’s Start the Day”.

Confused by the reappearance of a previous tape, they put it in the VCR.

The video is already much different from the last, starting off with the perspective of what seems to be someone on a hospital bed, with 2 surgeons above them, everything having a hazy look to it. After some time, the patient’s eyes close.

Suddenly, the tape quickly switches to the episode with a title card saying “Let’s Start the Day!” with music in the background glitching in and out. The title card fades away, with Amanda rising from her bed, yawning and then looking out the window.

“Good- morning… b-birdies…” Amanda trails off, her smile transitioning into pure horror. The music quickly fades away as the camera changes to the view of the outside-but instead of birds chirping at the window, they’re dead. Rotting. Bugs picking at their flesh.

Amanda turns away from the window, her eyes quickly darting to the camera.

“I-I’m Amanda! Let’s start the day!” She says, worry still seeping through her words.

“First, I need to make my bed. Will you help me? We need to fluff the pillows and smooth out the blanket. Which should we do first?”

Riley chooses to tap on the pillows.

Amanda is about to hop on the bed, but suddenly stops.

“Actually, you know what? It doesn’t matter- I’m too tired to do this, anyway.” Amanda says, running her eyes. “I don’t even want to do anything today, not after that horrible dream… what kind of dreams do you have?”

“What if I tell her something SHE’s afraid of? It might be a way to get more info out of her…” Riley thinks. After pondering for a moment, they say their answer to the screen.

“The butcher.”

“STOP REMINDING ME-“ The static cuts Amanda off, resuming the episode as how it was supposed to be.

“I should probably head downstairs for breakfast. It’s my favorite meal of the day! But first, I’ll have to get dressed.” Amanda opens her closet, only to find dirty shirts and shorts with mud all over them.

“Oh COME ON! Now I have nothing to wear today!” Amanda whines, stomping her foot on the ground. “Sigh… I’ll just have to wear these pajamas for the rest of the day.” she says, walking out of her room.

The static cuts to Wooly in the kitchen, sleeping with his head on the kitchen counter. Stomping can be heard from the stairs, waking Wooly up.

“Wh-whuh?” He mumbles, as Amanda angrily enters the room. “Oh, morning Amanda. What’s up?” He asks, still drowsy as he rubs his eyes.

“Ugh, this morning has been the WORST! The birds are dead outside, all my clothes are dirty, and worst of all… I had the SCARIEST. NIGHTMARE. EVR!” She responds, clearly exhausted of just about everything now.

“Oh god, you too?” Wooly asks, surprised by her response. “Geez, looks like we both didn’t have much sleep. Haha…”

“Oh forget it. I’m heading to the couch.”

“Oh, okay then…”

A few seconds pass before Wooly breaks the silence. “I guess I’ll be making breakfast today… oh boy.”

Wooly hops off of his chair and walks towards the camera, but stops for a moment. “Wait a minute… YOU can help me make breakfast today!” He points to the camera as Riley turns around to find one of those toy kitchen sets with plastic food. Already familiar with random things appearing out of nowhere by now, they turn back to the TV.

“I think it’s best to make toast or bacon. I won’t be eating a lot, so it’ll mostly be for Amanda. With that said, would you like to help me make bacon or toast?” Wooly pulls out a plate of raw bacon and a loaf of bread from behind him.

“Bacon sounds good.” Riley says, as Wooly places the toast back in the fridge.

“Aw man, I can’t find anything to cook the bacon with. Do you have anything over there?”

Riley turns around to find different items all over the Kid’s Corner. “Just like before” they thought. After walking around the area, they suddenly get an idea. “What if I get the wrong items for him?” They wonder, since they haven’t seen much of Wooly getting irritated.

“Are you done yet? I’m starving here!” Wooly scolds from the TV.

Riley quickly grabs a torch from in front of the TV and places it on top of the TV to give it to him.

“I can’t cook bacon with THAT. Can you cooperate with me for just 5 minutes?” Wooly says, already losing his patience.

“Alright, alright.” Riley responds, irritated by his nagging. However, still interested in getting him angry, they pick up a lighter and place it on top of the TV again.

“Are you KIDDING ME?? What will it take for you to not mess with us?! Do you LIKE seeing us mad or something?!” Wooly yells, fed up with Riley’s shit.

The screen fills up with red static, the noise louder than ever. Riley can hear thumping from the vents above them, already regretting their decision.

The static cuts in and out, as Wooly holds his head, his fingers deep in his wool, breathing heavily. “No…no…” he whimpers, as the static finally stops and he raises his head to the camera.

“Please, just get the pan already.” Wooly demands, his voice tired and irritated. Fearing their life, Riley quickly grabs the pan that’s already in front of them in a split second and gives it to the TV.

“Finally.” Wooly mumbles. “Now, what should I use to cook the bacon- the refrigerator, the sink, or the stove?”

Riley taps on the stove.

“Good job! Time to FINALLY make some bacon. First, put the stove to high and put some oil on it once it’s hot enough.” Wooly grabs the oil bottle next to him. “Don’t do this at home, kids!” He whispers as he drizzles oil onto the pan.

Riley turns around to find a toy pan and plastic bacon on the kitchen set. They walk over to it and place the bacon on the pan and turn the knob on the toy stove to a high heat. A sizzling noise can be heard from a speaker.

Riley walks back to the TV as it glitches to the bacon now being on the stove near Wooly.

“Oooohh, it smells so good! I love the smell of bacon in the-“ Wooly stops as he jumps at the sight of the opossum on top of the fridge, observing the bacon. “Why are YOU here?! What on earth do you want?!” He quickly turns to the camera with an angry look on his face. “Get this guy out of here!”

Riley taps on the TV to make an attempt at making the opossum leave. The TV then glitches, with the opossum giving them a dirty face, hopping off of the fridge and out of the kitchen.

“My god… I’m WAY too tired for all this…” Wooly complains, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. He then turns around to check on the bacon, only to find that it’s now burnt with tons of smoke rising from it.

“DANG IT!!”

He quickly turns off the stove as Amanda enters the kitchen again.

Riley turns around to find the plastic bacon now melted on the pan. “How the hell..?” Confused by how it melted, they turn back to the TV.

“Hey, what’s that smell?” She asks as she quickly notices the giant smoke coming from the pan. “My god, Wooly, what did you do?!”

“I-I tried to make bacon for breakfast today and it all ended up getting burned!” Wooly whines, taking the pan to the trash bin and throwing the bacon out.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t make us breakfast.” Wooly says, hanging his head low.

“But… I’m so hungry…” Amanda whines.

“Me too.”

About a minute passes before Amanda speaks again.

“I hate this.”

Static fills the screen and the tape falls out of the VCR.

Author’s Note: MY FIRST AMANDA FANFIC LETS GOOOO!!! I’m super proud of this as it’s the first fanfic I’ve EVER written and now I wanna make more!! Let me know what you guys think and what you liked about this. Have a great day/night!!

[smoky-lucine]

Close Call

Little sister!Reader

After a close call during a hunt, The Winchester brothers panic as Castiel heals you.

Injuries, angst

My second fic :) I'm still trying to get the hang of writing but hopefully you all enjoy :)

You and the boys have been working on a case dealing with werewolves. You managed to catch one and kill it, and he confessed there is a whole pack in town and now you need to find the rest of them. You and Sam stayed in the motel and studied up on werewolves while Dean and Cas went out to the recent attacks around the town.

You didn’t get a lot of sleep the last few nights, as the werewolf attacks were happening faster and faster, and the four of you have been out every night on watch for any leads. Sam nudges your shoulder, and your chin slips off your hand and you jolt awake.

“Everything alright?” Sam asks while he shuts the book you fell asleep reading and sits down next to you.

“I’m okay, just tired from being out so late last night.” You say, rubbing your eyes.

Dean calls Sam and he gives you a gentle smile before he answers the phone and puts the call on speaker.

“Hey Dean, did you find anything?”

“Yeah. One of the Officers was a werewolf. He told us where they’re all staying before we took him out. We’re gonna hit it tonight alright?” Dean explains and you hear Castiel in the background ordering food for the three of you.

“Sounds good to me. Did he say how many of them are staying there?” You reply

“Nope. By the looks of how many attacks there's been, I don’t think it would be more than 7 or 8.” Dean says confidently.

Sam keeps talking about the case with Dean and you start getting silver bullets and knives ready for the hunt.

Later that night the four of you are on the way to the werewolves hiding house in the Impala. Sam and Dean are having their own conversation in the front while you and Castiel talk in the back.

“Have you ever hunted werewolves before?” You ask Cas.

“A few times yes. Angels don’t usually deal with them. Have you?”

“Occasionally yeah. I haven’t seen them in a while though, not since we still hunted with dad.” You say looking away. You didn’t like talking about your dad anymore, nobody really did. “I haven’t practiced my shooting in a bit too.”

“I’m sure we got it kid.” Dean says to you looking in the rear view mirror. “It’s gonna be a small pack. It’s gonna be in and out.”

You give him a smile. You turn to yawn and look out the window for the rest of the ride.

The four of you get ready and watch the house waiting for Dean to decide when to go in.

“Alright. Sam and Cas you two go in the side door, Y/N and I will go through the front.”

You look at Dean surprised. He normally chooses Sam when splitting up and it would make sense here too.

“Are you sure Dean?” You ask him nervously. “Yes, I’m sure. Do you not want to go in? What’s wrong?” Sam looks at you knowing you're tired, but he knows you don't want to tell the truth to Dean.

“No, it’s okay.” You say quietly, walking away a bit and focusing back on the house. Everybody does one last look at each other before splitting up and breaking into the house.

Dean kicks the door down and you both run in aiming separate ways. You hear Dean shoot a werewolf down and he turns to check on you in the now empty room. You can hear the other wolves in the house warning the others and running to defend against the four of you. You run up to the doorway, calling it clear and Dean runs into the kitchen with you following.

Making your way through the house, you and Dean each take down a few werewolves, and eventually meet up with Sam and Cas. The upstairs is still loud with werewolves running and escaping. You all say how many you took down and quickly realize there are at least triple the number of werewolves than Dean previously thought.

“But that doesn’t make sense. How can there be so many??” He says reloading his gun and looking around the room.

You responded “The attacks were happening faster and faster. I guess they don’t want to be careful anymore.” You focus on reloading your gun when you hear a growl.

You turn and see a werewolf sprinting at you and tackles you, losing all air in your lungs and dropping your gun. It claws at your stomach, leaving a huge gash. You quickly start seeing stars and your vision starts clouding, black slowly starting to take over. Coughing and screaming out you hear multiple gunshots and the werewolf dying.

Sam and Dean run up to you, eyes shocked at your injury.

“She’s really hurt.” Sam says, tearing up trying to get your eyes to focus.

“Sammy we gotta get her out of here.” Dean says loudly and begins to pick you up, flinching when he hears you cry out in pain. “There’s too many wolves here we need to leave.”

Dean runs as quickly as possible to Baby, putting you in the backseat. He throws the keys to Sam and yells "Drive!!” Castiel gets in the passenger seat and Sam runs to the driver’s seat and quickly starts the car, driving away from the house.

Dean holds you in the backseat trying to keep himself composed as he talks to you. “It’s okay Y/N. It’s gonna be okay alright? I’m so sorry I should’ve paid more attention. Look at me Y/N, open your eyes.” He begins to panic and yells at Sam to drive faster.

“We need to get far enough away; Cas needs to heal her.” Sam says speeding down the road.

You slip in and out of consciousness and wake up to Dean crying over you, and Sam and Cas yelling in worry. The three boys can’t stand hearing you scream in pain. You pass out and when the car is suddenly silent, Sam pulls over quickly as he and Castiel rush out of the car to reach you in the back seat.

“Cas, heal her.” Dean says solely focused on holding you still. Sam holds your hand as Castiel puts his hand on your stomach. His hand emits a bright white glow and Sam and Dean look away.

You wake up in the motel room. You look around at the quiet room and see Castiel in the corner staring at you.

“You're awake.” He says walking up to you. “I healed you. You’ve been asleep for a couple days, Sam finally got Dean to leave and eat.” You lift your shirt and there isn't a single scratch on your abdomen.

Castiel helps you sit up and hands you a bottle of water. “Your physical injuries are healed, but your body is tired. I could tell you haven’t slept in a few days.”

You drink the water and hand it back to Castiel. “Yeah, those night watches have been pretty hard. I appreciate you healing me and staying with me.” You give him a small smile and he gives you one in return and lets you rest longer.

Sam and Dean come home and seeing you sitting up in bed they run up to you. Dean hugs you tightly and when you yelp in surprise he lets go, scared you were somehow still injured. “Kid, I was so scared. I thought we lost you.” he says kneeling beside the bed, looking at you.

Sam gives you a big hug before climbing into the other side of the bed and letting you lean into his side. “It was really scary Y/N. I’m so relieved we got you healed in time.”

“I’m really sorry guys.” You say tearing up. “I haven’t slept in days, and I really wanted to help fight them, but I know I should’ve stayed back.”

Dean grabs your hand, “Y/N this isn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have put that pressure on you, and I should’ve stuck to the plan. Please don’t blame yourself.”

You all sit there quietly talking to each other until you slowly fall asleep and get more rest.

[sadlynotthevoid]

I'm not sure if I told you guys about the time I dreamed that 20ish Jason Todd died yet again and Death was pissed off because "really? Again? Wtf Batman. The universe doesn't keep reviving your son just so you can see how much he lasts!" And "He has a work to do you know?!". Besides, she's fond of the bright young soul.

So, she calls her uncle to help him. And what you know? Her uncle is the God of Death (because yes, my brain is like that sometimes). They sit to talk and come up with a solution.

First, taking advantage of the effects still present of the last time-space crisis and the spirits protecting the soul, they regress the time of this universe to when Jay had just left All Caste, way before he had came back to Gotham.

Then, Death places Red Hood!Jason's memories on the soul of his younger self. Not too harsh to force his soul to crack, but not too light to let them fall. Just deep enough so he finds them when he meditates.

And by last, God of Death tells the spirits where they should guide the boy to. The perfect place for him.

Where is the best place for a soul who craves for home and safety? Of course, that's with someone who has the heart to care and accept a new loved one and the determination to protect them.

That's how Jason Todd, teenage assassin in an existential crisis, ends up waking up in the softest bed he has ever been in some foreign country. At his side there's a redhead teen sitting in a sofa, a book in his hands and other boy— this one with black hair and pajamas— lying on his lap.

The redhead— Cale, as he presents himself— is mysterious but kind hearted guy. He also knows things. So much so that if he weren't as he is, Jason would suspect. As things are, he knows he's just used to collect information. A bit like a bat, but not quite. A bat would plan how to use it against the possible enemy. Cale? Well, he doesn't even bother to hide what he realized about him. He's also ridiculously casual about it.

Who offers an assassin if they want their hidden weapons back? This guy, apparently.

Jason only knows he's not totally unconscious because at one point an old guy entered with tea and pastries for the three and Cale, the little shit, choose that moment to reassure Jason.

"Don't worry. My butler is an assassin too and we don't treat him different for it."

The old geezer almost let got the porcelain teapot to the floor. Though, points for him for recovering so fast.

"Young master? May this Ron know who you would be talking about?"

"Hm? Who do you think? Hans? The only thing he can kill is Rok Soo's humor. It's you, obviously."

"..."

Rok Soo, the sleeping beauty complex guy pretending to be asleep on Cale's lap, was sweating badly. If everyone in the room weren't already aware he was clearly pretending, someone may had thought he was ill.

Later on, he realizes there was a reason Cale had said that at that moment.

He's looking at the butler subtly terrorize the boys to behave, treating the siblings like two particularly mischievous puppies. Then he turns around and uses the same tune to advise him to be careful with his wounds. And that's when he thinks 'Oh. He doesn't see me as a menace'.

Of course he doesn't. His employer just confirmed he's aware of his identity— at least partially— and his own nature. The biggest advantage of an assassin is their secrecy. After their identity is exposed, the only reason they won't attack is if the assassin believes the risk is worthy. Telling the assassin he knows he's an assassin was his way to show Jason's own intentions: none.

Jason didn't intend to end up in that field where these teens find him. He didn't intend to be brought in their vacation house. He definitely didn't plan that the people to found him passed out would be whoever these rich guys were.

But he didn't have anything against all of this either.

Well, maybe the wound. He could make it without the blood loose and the soon-to-be scar to add to his collection.

Either way, at least he had a safe place to stay and think. Just think. Because, the memories he saw— what is he supposed to do now that he has his answer?

His da— Bruce. Bruce didn't care for him as much as Jason does for Bruce. Bruce obviously didn't love him as he thought. And certainly, Bruce was way more willingly to harm him than he believed.

And Jason— well, Jason couldn't waste a second life on a man who didn't put hin even at the same level than the Joker of all people. But maybe his expectatives were too high? He hadn't planned what to do if his life was meaningless to him.

So, Jason needed time. Time to ponder and heal. Those things are better done in a safe place.

That's what Jason has in mind when Cale offers him to stay with them.

[runayachi]

okay so you know when takeda manages to get ukai to come watch karasuno play for the first time and kagehina show off their freak quick and ukai is like "sensei how long have those two been paired together" and takeda is like "oh kageyama and hinata? they just met this year i've heard it was rocky at first but they're getting along well now" and ukai is like "what a shame". do you think he goes home and looks into them and finds out that kageyama's the lonely king and that his teammates abandoned him. do you think he looks and looks for hinata but can't find him until finally he stumbles across a no-name school that barely had a volleyball team and their only match lasted 31 minutes. do you think he wonders about how lonely they were. a coach can't replace teammates but do you think he decides to try and make sure that no one on his team feels lonely again.

[todayisafridaynight]

reasons number A Million why not every rgg character needs to be +6ft he looks so fuckin stretched out. actually got put in the willy wonka taffy puller

[pilonciillo]

lol didn’t think someone giving money would give me anxiety