#but the others sometimes eat their words too

[nezuscribe]

life as a hit man was dirty but simple, and gojo preferred keeping it that way. he didn’t know his clients names, they didn’t know his. he’d send over proof of his work, they’d wire in the money. dirty, yet simple.

so when he gets a message to kill the daughter of some oil tycoon, he doesn’t think much about it. sure he thinks it’s cheap to go for the kid, but what does he know. this is the most he’s ever been offered for a one shot job, so he’s not an idiot to turn this offer down.

and unfortunately, that meant his next confirmed target was you.

he gets your information, where you go to school, what apartment building you live in, where you like to eat. usually he prefers a straight shot to the head, but sometimes sneaking in something to your food lets him off easier.

gojo gets to know your routine. what you do at what time. what shows you watch, what your favorite sweater is. he watches from the high rises that faces yours, crouching down so none of your bodyguards could see the reflection of the magnifier of his rifle.

and gojo is used to taking out a wide range of people. men, women, grandpas, aunts. it’s just business to him. but there’s something about you that makes him hesitate to pull the trigger.

maybe it’s the fact that the weeks he’s spent trailing after you he’s noticed you’re pretty much a loner. you keep to yourself, never bothering anyone. you don’t seem to have my friends in your classes, or even out of them. gojo never questions to morals of his clients or who they ask him to kill, but judging you so far you seem to have done…nothing wrong.

you treat the old lady who works in the convenience story with such kindness that gojo wonders if you were born into this level of wealth, because most people of your status treat those beneath them like ants. you always hold the door open for your body guards despite them insisting they do it for you. you always buy some food for the stray cats in the alley you pass, and you never yell when you’re on the phone with your dad, even though gojo tracks those calls and feels the need to yell for you.

it all comes to a moment when you’re at your favorite coffee shop (he knows this because you come here so often), and you’ve managed to weasel away from your bodyguards. he knows they must be freaking out by now, but you just want some alone time.

he’s right there, right behind you, the little pouch of his condition of drugs that instantly kill in his pocket ready, and you turn around with your coffee cup and bump into him.

your eyes seen, letting out a shocked gasp as the iced drink stains his shirt and pants, the cup not empty on the floor.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you stutter out, scrambling to find some napkins, “i’m so so sorry! i didn’t even see you there - gosh,” you shove some napkins into his hands, trying to dapple the coffee away but it does nothing to help, “i can’t believe…!” you trail off, the two of you moving out of line so you don’t hold the others up and your shaking your head in dismay, mad at your clumsiness.

“it’s alright,” he assures you, waving it off as his eyes take in your appearance. “don’t even worry about it, accidents happen.” it’s the first time he’s seen you this close, and he feels that pouch growing heavier in his pocket.

because you’re pretty. really pretty. and he likes the plush of your cheeks, the scrunch of your brows, the way you’re nearly gnawing your lip raw. you seem even prettier in person, and there’s a lump forming in his chest, something he’s never felt before.

“no, no,” you murmur, trying to find the tide pen in your bag, only to realize you left it at home, “and it’s stained too, fuck. i am so sorry about this, you probably have somewhere to be and…” your words trail off as you scramble for your wallet, pulling out some cash as you push it into his hands.

it’s more than he needs to replace the shirt and pants, probably enough to buy him a couple pairs from ralph lauren, but you still seem to think it’s not enough as you look for more.

“it’s no worries at all, i keep an extra of shirts in my car for emergencies like this,” gojo lies smoothly and you look up from your purse, eyes wide in shame. fuck he really likes your eyes too.

“no, please take it, it’ll be on my mind all day if you don’t,” you insist, but he’s shaking his head defiantly, a reassuring smile on his face as he hands the money back to you.

“and it’ll be on my conscience all day if i take it,” he promises you, and after you realize he’s not going to retract his hands you take the cash, shoving it back into your wallet as heat settles all over your body.

of course with your luck you spill coffee all over the most attractive man you’ve ever met.

you still look worried, finding another napkin as you take out a pen from your purse, messily writing something down.

“this is my contact information if you ever need me to replace your clothes,” you hand it over to the man with an apologetic smile, “please don’t hesitate to call me, i know stains and that’s gonna be really hard to get out,” you go to say something else but your eyes dart to the large windows behaubd him, catching sight of your body guards who seem to have seen you, and your face falls.

“i’m really sorry, again, but i have to go,” you mutter as you speed off, waving goodbyes to the stranger as you duck your head down and leave the coffee shop, not wanting to cause another scene as three buff men race in to find you.

gojo stands there almost in a haze, looking at his stained white shirt to the napkin with your number and name on it.

almost as if he didn’t already know it, almost as if you weren’t the girl he’s supposed to kill.

and in that moment he realizes how screwed he is, because he’d rather down that packet right there than shoot you down, and he’s never felt this dread before.

[miyamiwu]

The examples in the notes are all very valid. But as someone who speaks two languages that are closely related, the scenario above is actually not that unrealistic. In fact, it can even happen a lot.

My mother tongue is Cebuano (aka Bisaya), but I’m living in the capital where everybody speaks Filipino/Tagalog, the national language of the Philippines. (To any Filos reading this: I know there’s a difference between Filipino and Tagalog, but to avoid confusion, I’m gonna refer to the language as Tagalog from now on)

Cebuano and Tagalog are distinct from each other, but since they are both Philippine languages they have an overlap in their vocabularies. Sometimes, the two have the exact same words for certain things. Other times the word is just spelled or pronounced slightly differently.

So when I suddenly use a Cebuano word while speaking in Tagalog, its because I have thought that that word also exists in Tagalog.

Example:

While at a fruit stall: “Magkano ‘tong lemoncito?” (How much is this lemoncito?)

Lemoncito is the Cebuano word for this citrus fruit:

The word has Spanish origins (the country was colonized by Spain for over 300 years), and it literally means “little lemon.”

I thought the Tagalogs also have lemoncito in their vocabulary because it’s not like the word is inherently Cebuano. It was only when the fruit seller looked at me in confusion and asked me to clarify what I said that I realized that they, in fact, do not have that word. Their word for lemoncito is only calamansi.

Example 2:

While sharing an anecdote about our rooms in the house: “Sa pikas na kwarto” (“In the other room”)

sa, na, and kwarto are words that exist in both Cebuano and Tagalog.

However, pikas (“other”) is a Cebuano-only word. The Tagalog word for it is kabila.

This time, I knew pikas does not exist in Tagalog. But I was speaking too fast and the words were just flowing out. I didn’t even realize I had codeswitched until people asked me to stop and explain.

Now, the most extreme example:

In a Discord DM: Explaining something long and complicated in Cebuano to a friend who only knows Tagalog 🥲

Yes, it has happened before. It just felt so natural while I was doing it that it was only when I finished typing everything and looked back at what I wrote that I fucking remembered that my friend doesn’t understand Cebuano 😭

I had to delete everything before she could read it because holy fuck that was embarrassing

Codeswitching one or two words? Still acceptable. Writing a long-ass rant in entirely Cebuano despite knowing I won’t be understood? I had no idea what came over me...

Some more words which I suddenly codeswitch to unintentionally: (Cebuano words are violet, while Tagalog words are orange)

To eat: kaon instead of kain

To write: suwat instead of sulat

Dipper: kabo instead of tabo

the color black: itom instead of itim

The words above only vary in spelling a little, so it’s easy to forget that they’re actually from two different languages, and hence, the codeswitching.

Now, this one is not really codeswitching, but it’s still related…

Conjugating Verbs

[Context: Cebuano and Tagalog both conjugate verbs by aspect (fabric of time), which is in contrast to English that conjugates by tense (location in time).

But I’m not gonna go too deeply in that, so for now I’ll just use the term “tense” to avoid confusion.]

In Cebuano, the present tense form of a verb is made by adding the prefix “nag-” to the root word. However, this way of conjugation coincides with the Tagalog rule of conjugation for past tense.

And so, we get this mess:

Cebuano: “I am writing” -> “nagsuwat ko”

Tagalog: “I wrote” -> “nagsulat ako”

The present form of a Tagalog verb requires that you also repeat the first syllable.

Tagalog (present): “I am writing” -> “nagsusulat ako”

Many times, I mean to say something in the present tense (“I am writing/nagsusulat ako”) but I end up talking in past tense (“I wrote/nagsulat ako”) without even realizing it. It’s like I would subconsciously apply the Cebuano rules (nagsuwat -> nagsulat) instead of the Tagalog ones when conjugating verbs...

So yeah, switching to a different language is actually not that weird when the two languages are closely related to each other.

[madlori]

Facebook Official

whoops my hand slipped and I banged out 1800 words of fix-it fic in like an hour. btw i think the Abby connection is dumb but I'm making it work.

Three years after reconciling with Buck, newly engaged to him, Tommy gets a phone call from a certain former dispatcher...who's just seen some interesting news via a Facebook Relationship Status post.

*****

(also on AO3)

To say that the phone call blindsided him would have been the understatement of the century.

He was just sitting at home watching the game, having a beer, minding his own business. Evan was on shift — must be a busy one, he’d only gotten two text messages all evening, one bitching about not having had time to eat dinner and the other about idiots who texted while driving.

His phone rang. Unknown number. Normally he wouldn’t have picked up, but with all the wedding preparations, a lot of vendors were calling. It was a little late to be making business calls, just after 8 pm, but he’d quickly learned that business norms meant little in the wedding planning business. “Hello?”

“Tommy?”

“Yes?” A woman’s voice. Familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Pause “You’re marrying Buck??” A slightly hysterical note of disbelief entered the woman’s voice as she said the name.

And all at once, he knew who it was. Shit fuck motherfucker why didn’t we get ahead of this one.

“Abby. Um…”

“Evan Buckley? My ex-fiancé and my ex-boyfriend are marrying each other?”

“Small world, huh?” he said, going for levity.

“Buck’s not even gay!”

“No, he’s not. He’s bisexual.”

“I’m…okay. I’m sorry, it’s just…this is a lot of information to get all at once.”

“How did you even find out? Don’t you live in Phoenix?”

“Buck posted one of those relationship status things on Facebook.”

“Oh. I barely use Facebook.”

“Me either, but Buck does, and I hadn’t been on there in awhile, but I logged on and that was like the third post I saw!”

Tommy remembered the day Buck had made the post. They hadn’t really put their relationship on social media much - Buck posted photos of them on Instagram sometimes - and he hadn’t done one of those stupid relationship status things for them until they got engaged. They’d trawled their phones for the right pic, eventually settling on one taken at a 118 barbecue of them together, smiling, arms slung around waists. He hadn’t said so, but he’d gotten a little emotional over what Evan wrote on the post:

Evan Buckley is engaged to Tommy Kinard.

“It’s been a long road, but we made it. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with this man. He’s the best person I’ve ever known. I love you!”

“Well…I’m sorry that was an unpleasant surprise for you,” Tommy said, carefully.

She sighed. “I don’t know that it was…unpleasant. But a surprise, for sure. How do you even know Buck? How did you meet?”

“We’re both firefighters, it’s not that surprising that we could have met, is it?”

“No, I guess not.”

“And he was at my old firehouse. The one you refused to ever come to. But I guess you went when you were with him, didn’t you?”

“You never wanted me to meet your friends. I guess I found out why when you broke off our engagement.”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I know I said it then, but I’ll say it again now. I lied to myself, I lied to a lot of people. It took me almost trapping you in my lie, when you did not deserve that, to break me out of it.”

“I forgave you ages ago. We don’t have to go over all that again.”

“I met Evan…I guess it’s four years ago? We started dating not long after. I, um…was the first man he dated. I guess I made him realize some things about himself.”

“Just transforming lives everywhere you go, huh?” she said, a teasing note entering her voice. Tommy was happy to hear it.

“Yeah, well, I almost screwed it up. I broke up with him six months later. He was diving in headfirst, too fast, just all in and wanting to move in with me.”

“That sounds just like Buck.”

“I panicked and ended it before I could get in any deeper with him.”

“It was too late, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I was already in love with him.”

“He’s easy to love. Too easy,” she said, quietly. “But you got back together, obviously.”

“Took a little while. Almost a year. I dated a few guys, he dated a few people, but nothing stuck for either of us - I know now it’s because we were still hung up on each other. We have a friend in common and we’d hear about each other through him…but I didn’t really see him until we ended up on a major incident call together. I sustained a minor injury - just a scrape, really - and Hen from his house patched me up. I was sitting there on the ambulance deck, more or less left to myself, and he came waltzing up with that eyebrow raised like he knew all my secrets.” Abby chuckled, like she knew the exact expression he was describing. “He just said, are you done being fucking stupid yet?”

“And you were.”

“Yep. I was. He took me home that night and we’ve barely been apart since. Got engaged a year later.”

“You sound happy.”

“I am. I’m ecstatic. I can’t believe I got a second chance with him. I kicked myself for ending it like that, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do. You thought you weren’t enough for him to want to keep you.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s dumb.”

“That’s what he says.”

They sat there not speaking for what felt like a long time.

“Well…” Abby said. “I feel like I just unloaded on you out of the blue.”

“You kinda did,” he said, smiling.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m glad you did. You know…Evan and I didn’t realize we had you in common until our six month anniversary dinner. In fact, it was that revelation that sort of started us on the way to breaking up for awhile. But that’s been so long now and it hasn’t come up in a few years. I almost forgot about it.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, her grin audible. “I’m glad you’re both happy. I have a lot of regret over Buck, how I left things with him. I assume he’s told you.”

“He has. If it helps, he doesn’t have any bad feelings towards you.”

“It does help. Thank you for that.” She sighed. “I’ll let you go. I just saw that Facebook post and spiralled a little bit.”

“Understandable.”

“Please tell Buck I say hello. And I wish you both so much happiness, Tommy.”

“Thank you. And I will.”

She hung up. Tommy stared at the phone for a moment, then opened his text message thread with Evan.

You’re not gonna believe what just happened.

*****

When Evan got home at 7 am, they had their usual two hours to share breakfast and maybe a quick fuck before Tommy had to be on shift himself. They tried to sync their schedules so their off days coincided, but it didn’t always work.

“Holy shit, why didn’t we get ahead of that one?” Evan said as he burst in the door, not even bothering with “hello.” His shoes and duffel went flying and he bustled into the kitchen where Tommy was mixing the pancake batter.

“Yeah, I had the same thought,” he said, leaning over to kiss him hello.

Evan went to the coffee pot. “I didn’t even think about it, that she might see.”

“Neither did I.”

“How’d she sound?”

“Really surprised at first. Incredulous, even? Like in the what-are-the-odds way.”

“Kinda like when I found out we’d both dated her.”

“Yeah, but you’re my himbo now,” Tommy said, smirking. “No, she was just shocked. I gave her the quick rundown, and she ended up congratulating us.”

“Did you tell her it’s her fault we broke up for a year?” Evan said, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

“I think the proper person to bear the fault is me.”

“And also me. Who asks someone to move in after six months? Before even saying ‘I love you?’ And when you had a house!”

“I say we blame Josh. He got you all juiced up with that damn Glee speech.” After they’d reconciled, Evan had given him chapter and verse on his mind-boggling thought processes on that last fateful day.

“He got me feeling guilty, is what he did. That I judged you for lying to Abby. Overcorrecting is one of my special gifts.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, while I’m overcorrecting…why don’t we invite her?”

Tommy looked up. “To our wedding?”

“Sure, why not? She can flip a coin whose side she sits on,” Evan said, grinning like the mischievous imp that he was.

“Evan, darling, love of my life, we are not inviting our ex to our wedding.”

He scrunched up his face. “Ew. ‘Our’ ex? Makes it sound like we were in a throuple.”

“Ew, indeed.”

He cocked his head. “I dunno, though. The thought’s kinda sexy.”

“Not to me! No vaginas anywhere near my bedroom. Kinsey 6, remember?”

“Of course, my apologies.”

Tommy looked at his innocent wide-eyed face for a few beats. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Can I help it if the thought of two people I have found intensely attractive doing sexy things is appealing?”

“Can I help it if the thought of Chris Hemsworth going down on you has gotten me through some lonely nights?”

“Okay, I get the point. Shutting up now.” 

Tommy put a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Your shift okay?”

“Fine. Busy. I’m a bit wired. Do we have time for me to bounce on your dick for a bit before you have to head out?”

“For that, I’ll make time.” He sat down at the table at Evan’s side with his own pancakes. Evan slid a hand over and squeezed his thigh.

“Missed you, though,” he said, chewing.

“I always miss you when you’re on shift,” Tommy said.

Evan looked up at that, meeting his eyes. “Tommy, sometimes I miss you when you get up to get a beer.”

The simplicity, the sincerity of it made his chest tighten a little. He leaned forward, put his fingers under Evan’s chin and pulled him into a soft kiss, just like the first time. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too.”

“And we are not inviting my ex-fiancee who is also your ex-girlfriend to our wedding.”

Evan grinned. “Deal.”

[leth-writes]

Some thoughts about Tim and the Batfam

SUMMARY: just thinking about Tim and the batfam

WARNINGS: 18+ as always on my blog, though the work is safe for work. Typical yandere shenanigans. HEAVY discussion of drugging and taking away of autonomy.

MASTERLIST: https://www.tumblr.com/leth-writes/757800060720496640/requests-open?source=share 

Requests are open!

Tim is a really interesting person, in general. I’m just obsessed with the idea of him drugging a darling, just keeping them all pliant and sleepy and curled up in his bed, even if he’s platonic. 

He spends a lot of time just…watching you, whether that be through cameras or in real life.

You never find the cameras, even though you know they’re there. If you asked him, he wouldn’t deny it. Why would he? There’s nothing you could do about it, and he honestly doesn’t trust your opinions on your own safety. Tim views you as quite innocent and naive, and that’s part of why he spends so much time building a little cocoon in the bed for you to curl up in, your soft snuffles just barely moving the light sheet he’s laid around you.

Just. UGH. I think at first he’d drug your food.

But you start noticing, and you start avoiding food. This sets the rest of the batfam off; is TIm not taking care of you properly?!

(They sometimes talk about you like a pet. It’s weird. You’ve learned not to mention it.)

In response, you’re tied down with soft satin straps and drugged out of your mind through an IV. You’re on an all-liquid diet, practically seeing stars. Tim doesn’t need you conscious or coherent, just safe from harm, after all.

I could even see him putting you in a temporary coma, at least until the heat from your kidnapping dies down. 

I can’t get  over the idea of you just. Trusting him so much, so naively, and he’s just. Fucking drugging your hot chocolate to get you to the manor, he knows if he doesn’t then Jason will and Jason won’t be as gentle about it.

UGH just imagine him doing those exercises every day with you to keep your muscles from atrophying AGHHHH

You wake up afterwards, it’s dark and your mouth is dry. You try to sit up- and you can’t. You’re too weak, too tired from the still-present drugs coursing through your veins. It’s then you see a bright flash, illuminating the corner and it’s FUCKING TIM JUST STANDING THERE

He uses his best camera, just dedicates it to pictures of you, creates an album.

He shows it to everyone else, they’re all cooing and aweing and you’re just sitting there like HELLO PLEASE LET ME LEAVE 🙁

Eventually he might even give you a bit of a choice. You can eat the food, or you can get an injection. When you take the injection you lose an entire day of time, and who knows what the FUCK happened? (nothing, Tim just. Spent most of the day working, occasionally taking the time to brush a hand over your face, just gently tracing your features.)

The others start to get annoyed Tim’s hogging you, and he gets you a wheelchair. You’re too weak, too drugged to be able to move yourself around, and he somehow manages to put some sort of thing on the wheels that lock if you try to go out the door. Like the fucking Grocery Carts.

He starts wheeling you around, letting you see the garden and the birds and Batcow. You spend a lot of time in the library with Alfred the cat curled in your lap, purring as you try to follow the plot of a simple book, your eyes too blurry to see the words properly.

Jason’ll read to you, he likes the bonding time. Plus, your eyes can’t really focus on anyone’s face too long, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being scared by the scars ripped into his skin by his death.

Cass’ll roll you into her studio, prop you against the wall, and just do a stunning routine. Unfortunately you can’t see it very well, and you clap really slowly because your hands feel like they’re filled with lead. She appreciates the effort.

Dick eventually takes over your stretches, though he does sometimes have to fight Bruce for the right. Both love helping you gently stretch out your limbs, admiring the shaking that only comes from intense effort. You’re cute, like a newborn lamb.

It’s infuriating watching Dick do all these complicated moves, while you can barely lift your head, but oh well, they’re so happy you’re here!!

Damian treats you like a younger sibling, even though you’re significantly older than him. He adores having this position of power over you, and abuses it to spend most of his time with you just. Showing you his animals. Titus is practically your emotional support dog at this point, and he trains Ace to be your guard dog.

Bruce loves having you curled up in the office, snoring slightly on the couch, as he slowly wades his way through work. He’ll throw a blanket over you, even as you whimper and shy away from the food he’s hand-feeding you. You aren’t allowed to feed yourself anymore, hell you can barely lift your hand to your mouth.

You eventually get used to spending all your time just. Hanging around, sleeping and letting everyone else do everything for you.

[strang3lov3]

Tear You Apart

Roman hatefucks you (2.1k words).

Tags - smut, rough/violent sex, mean!roman, and perhaps dark!roman too if you squint (I’m serious. Don’t underestimate him) lack of proper foreplay (intentional), unprotected piv, spanking, biting, choking, hitting, degradation, bruises, dacryphilia, hatefuck, masturbation, fingering, creampie, come play, fearplay, threats of violence, typical Roman sexism, Roman spits in your mouth, orgasm denial, Roman denies you of some basic physiological needs in maslow’s hierarchy, a singular atom of aftercare, one (1) Depeche Mode reference. Probably forgot some things but if you’re here then you know what you want, and I know what you want, and we both know you’re gonna read anyway.

A/N - received a message from god and i did what had to be done. @cum-a-calla said “k but imagine Roman talking about how much he hates you while being violently railed. swoon” so here’s this. Straight fucking, beginning to end. I love you @cum-a-calla I think you’re just the fucking best 😻🥰 and @beefrobeefcal do your eyes ever hurt from how much I abuse them? Thank you for lending them to me again and again 💜🥩🐛

Roman’s swaying left and right in his swivel chair, nursing a glass of whiskey when you open his bedroom door. “You’re late,” he says, slurring his words ever so slightly. His eyes are bloodshot, hair mussed, tie loosened and his white shirt unbuttoned. Roman takes his silver watch off and sets it down on the end table next to him. 

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. “I know.”

“You texted 10:30,” Roman reminds you. “And it’s midnight.” 

“I know,” you repeat. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” 

“Better fuckin’ not. C’mon, chop chop. You know what you’re here for.” 

You do know; the same thing you’re always here for. Roman downs the rest of his drink, then pours another, and this time offers it to you. You decline politely, a quiet and demure no, thank you with a gentle shake of your head as you take off your shirt. Roman shrugs, drinks that one too. He feels lightheaded. 

You shuck off your pants, and Roman takes care to help you with your bra, fingers tracing over the indents it’s left in your skin. “All of it,” he says, smacking your ass, right over that large, rashy bruise he left last time. It was a week ago, maybe. Is that correct? Is that the last time you did this? Roman can never keep track. It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re just as hungry for Roman’s violence as he is to inflict it upon you. 

You shimmy the cotton underwear down your hips and your legs, now fully bare before Roman. Exposed. Roman sidles up behind you, his veiny hands on your waist. He urges you closer to the mirror and turns you around slowly, admiring the marks he made on you last time. Bite marks, lots of bites, and god, how he loves sinking his teeth into your skin. There’s bruises darkening your skin, though not all are visible. Some you feel instead of see. There’s the odd scratch, maybe the fault of his unclipped nails or perhaps the blunt metal edge of his watch he doesn’t always remember to take off. Roman watches you in the mirror, the eye contact intimidating. He looks like he wants to eat you alive.

Roman presses his fingertips against a bruise on your hip, causing you to wince. It’s an odd shape, odd location too. “I like this one,” Roman says. “Pretty.” It’s a compliment, almost. Almost. 

It begins here. Roman separates your hands that are held together, nervously fidgeting with yourself. He takes your forearm and twists it behind your back, pushes it up, up, even higher yet. You can see in the mirror how he smiles, his eyes darkening when you start to wince in pain. “You’re hurting me,” you whine. “You’re - ah, my arm–”

“I know it hurts you,” Roman taunts. “I could break it just like this. Fuckin’ snap it. I think about it sometimes.”

His words make you sick. Make you breathe funny, make you feel all icky inside. He fucking loves it, how your breath hitches in your throat, and how he can feel it happen under his palm. And when you’re afraid like that, you squeeze around him harder, walls pulsing, clenching…

Roman forces you down onto the bed, your face buried in his pillows. You lie on your stomach and he parts your thighs with his knee, still holding you in place, now with both of your arms bent into place. Roman holds them in one hand and kneels at your side, and with his free hand he rubs over the swell of your ass. He parts your cheeks, admires your tight asshole and your snatch. He traces those pretty folds of yours and rubs your clit, listening to those quiet gasps you swallow. He wonders when you’ll - and yup, there it is. You’re writhing on the bed, grinding your hips into his palm. Roman smiles at this. The rules, you’re breaking the rules. “I’m not gonna make you come,” he reminds you. 

“I know,” you mumble.

“I’m only getting you wet.”

“I know.” 

“Then what do you think you’re doing?”

Silence. Roman removes his fingers from your cunt and spanks you hard - once, twice, three times total. You wail in pain, humming rhythmically in an attempt to soothe yourself of the ache, that awful sting. Roman traces the outline of his puffy handprint on your ass. “You just don’t get it, do you? It doesn’t matter how many times we do this little dance. You never learn who calls the shots. Un-fucking-believable,” he huffs. “I don’t give a shit if it hurts - you can forget about getting wet now. Spread your legs.”

Roman situates himself behind you as you spread your legs, though it’s not enough. Roman holds the backs of your knees in his hands and spreads you wider, the cool air a jarring sensation against your hot, pulsing sex. He unbuckles his belt and tosses it on the floor where it lands with a loud thump. He undoes his pants next, the zzzzip noise slow and loud as the metallic teeth separate one by one. Roman pulls his already-hard cock out and before entering you, brings his palm to your mouth. “Don’t say I don’t do anything for you. Spit.” 

You lift your head and spit into his palm, and he strokes his cock with it before pressing his blunt head against your entrance. You squeeze your eyes shut and suck in a breath, anticipating what’s to come. 

Roman thrusts violently into you, the stretch and the burn causing you to squeal. You scramble for hold on the sheets, the pillows - anything to ground yourself as you take the pain he gives to you. Roman grabs a fistfull of your hair and yanks, “C’mon,” he goads. “You can do better than that.”

Roman pulls out of you all the way and plunges right back into you, harder than before. You bite into a comforter to muffle a sob, the first tears squeezing from your eyes. It hurts, it all really fucking hurts, and each time is worse than the last. 

He wriggles his forearm under your tummy and hikes your hips up, Roman on his knees behind you. “Fuck yourself on it,” he says. “Go on and fuck my cock. Show me that you’re good at one thing, one simple thing.” 

Following his command, you rock yourself forward, then back again. It’s slow, as that’s all you can stomach right now. The pain hasn’t yet dissipated and each movement, each twitch of Roman’s cock feels like a knife against your insides. The pain is fiery, too intense to focus on anything but. 

“Are you even trying?”

“Yes,” you whimper, till rocking, inch by little inch. “I’m trying.”

Too slow. You’re too fucking slow, and too fucking tedious. Roman rolls his eyes, “You’re fucking pathetic,” he spits, words like poison. He takes your hips in his hands and pulls you hard against his cock, his hips slamming against your ass as he sets a brutal pace. “I have to do everything for you. What can you do, huh? Tell me, say ‘nothing, Roman’.”

“Nothing,” you repeat, voice thick with your tears. “Nothing, Roman.”

“That’s right. Don’t you ever forget it, you goddamn useless fucking cunt.” Roman’s nails are digging, cutting into your skin as he fucks you like an animal. “You’re good for nothing but getting fucked. Fucking whore, you’re fucking nothing without me. Nothing.”

You nod, sobbing as he pounds into you. You’re completely powerless, just how he wants you. Roman bares his teeth as he leans over you to wrap his hand around the column of your neck, pulling you up and against his chest as he fucks up into you. Roman squeezes your throat, bruising the soft flesh as he bites into your shoulder hard enough so that he draws blood. The coppery taste, the crimson dotting your skin. He licks it away. 

He’s choking you. He’s choking you and you’re wheezing, coughing and sputtering as you try desperately to wriggle your fingers under his palm. You succeed in this, or perhaps Roman lets you have a small win - either way, you free yourself from him and crawl forward on the bed, reaching for Roman’s glass of water on the nightstand. With shaky hands, you bring the glass to your lips and take little sips, all you can handle and you’re still spilling onto yourself. Roman glares at you as he gets off and rounds the bed, then takes the glass away from you. “Did I say you could have that?”

“I was ch-”

Roman lays a brutal slap against your cheek, less of a smack and more of a beating. His palm is so sharp it makes you cry harder. Fuck, he loves when you do that. 

“Shut the fuck up. You choke if I want you to choke,” he bites. “Don’t pull that shit again. God, I fucking hate you.”

Roman forces you onto your back and spreads your legs again. He enters you just as harshly as he did before, finding that same, punishing, unrelenting pace as he fucks you deep, the head of his cock kissing against your cervix with every one of his thrusts. 

You choke on your sobs, hyperventilating as tears stream down your cheeks. You feel lightheaded, numb everywhere but where pleasure and pain flows between your hips. Breathe, you need to breathe. 

“Stupid fucking slut. I fucking h- oh, fuck. Shit. I fucking hate you. Jesus Christ, I really fucking hate you, you know that?” 

You cry and cry, burying your head into Roman’s pillows to hide your face. Roman pulls the pillows away from you and throws them onto the floor, then grabs your face, digging his fingers into the hollows of your cheeks as he squeezes your jaw. “Hey. You fucking look at me when I use you. Right here. You focus right here.” 

Your face is puffy with tears, eyes red and tear-stained, lashes all wet. Roman wears a crooked smirk as he digs his fingers harder into your cheeks so that your mouth opens in a little O shape, then spits into your mouth. “Cunt. I fucking hate you, oh, I fucking hate you.” 

Roman pounds into you, hovering over your body to cage you in. You’re gonna feel all of him, and nothing else. He pins your wrists together above your head, his face panting into the skin of your neck as he fucks you so brutally. “Oh my god. Oh, fuck. Fuck,” he moans.

If you focus hard, you can feel his pubic bone against your clit. You follow that sensation, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, chasing that sweet friction. You could come. You could. 

“Nuh-uh. Nice fucking try,” Roman half-laughs. “You’re not subtle.” 

Standing before you, Roman grabs you by the ankles and tugs you closer to himself. He puts your legs on his shoulders and ruts into you relentlessly, now chasing his orgasm. He could’ve gone longer than this, but he’s not gonna let you come on his cock. 

Roman feels that fiery pleasure build quickly in his belly, balls tightening, indicating that release is just moments away. “Ohhhh, fuck,” Roman moans gutturally, hanging his head back as he milks himself entirely, spurting rope after rope of his hot come.

You feel cheated. You feel used. You’re a crying mess when Roman pulls out of you, his spend spilling onto his bed. “R-Roman,” you whimper, violent sobs wracking through your body. Roman gathers his spend with his fingers and paints it over your cunt, lips all swollen and sore with the ferocity of his fucking. “I need you, Roman.”

Roman leans over you, “Go fuck yourself,” he whispers in your ear. “I mean it. Fuck yourself on your fingers.”

You’re completely exhausted. Fucked out. But still, you reach for your center and gather Roman’s come on your fingertips and circle your clit, willing your release along. Writhing on the bed, chasing a pleasure only Roman can give to you. And your poor pussy is so sore, beaten and bruised by Roman. He watches you intently and with dark, loveless eyes, that vein bulging in the center of his forehead. He covers your mouth with his hand and brings the other to your cunt, pushing two fingers inside, gentler than before. He curls those fingers repeatedly as you rub circles around your clit and oh, there it is. You’re pulsing around his fingers, muffled moans signaling your orgasm. Roman works you through it and far past its end, only stopping when you’re a twitching shuddering wreck, a bug flailing on its back. Pathetic.

Roman pulls his fingers from you and shoves them past your lips, “Suck,” he murmurs, then presses his forehead against yours. You lick his fingers, tasting your own release mixed with Roman’s. “God, you’re so fucked up,” he murmurs in a saccharine tone, and the sympathy in his voice sounds almost genuine. “So fucked up. Why do you let me do this to you, huh?”

-

Roman tags ❤️

@goldenispunk @littlevenicebitch69 @gaeela-6 @bean-is-reading @slutsoutgutsout

@galarian-weezing-on-prep @cum-a-calla @pastelpinkflowerlife @kolsmikaelson

@moth-maam56 @kothku @cult-of-escapism @swiftiegirliepop @bluecookies-and-ink

@romanarose @kappasbbgirl @magpiepills

@highinmiamiii @verstappensrealwife

@thesummerpetrichor @lilipads @luiscarrutherss @pastelpinkflowerlife @baronessvonglitter

@myromeow @ovaryacted @doll-0f-flesh @/always-andromeda

[cosmerelists]

Mansplain, Manipulate, Manslaughter / Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss: Cosmere Style

I suppose it's a tumblr meme, really--dividing people up by whether they are the "mansplain/manipulate/manslaughter" type or the "gaslight/gatekeep/girlboss" type. Here are my takes!

[SPOILERS FOR STORMLIGHT & for MISTBORN ERA 1 / SECRET HISTORY!]

1. The "Unification" Bros

Mansplain: Gavilar

Remember when he mansplained Eshonai's own gods to her

Manipulate: Sadeas

This is a man who knows how to politically maneuver.

Manslaughter: Dalinar

Blackthorn era. 'Nough said.

2. The Kholin Ladies

Gaslight: Shallan

Sometimes she gaslights others. Sometimes she gaslights herself.

Gatekeep: Jasnah

You can be her apprentice...if you prove yourself first.

Girlboss: Navani

What else do you call snagging TWO warlord tyrants and toxic yuri-ing yourself into almost single-handedly ending an occupation?

3. The Shard Trio

Mansplain: Honor

He who sends visions to explain stuff to you.

Manipulate: Cultivation

She who gives you a cursing/blessing pair to make sure you end up exactly where she wants you to be...more or less.

Manslaughter: Odium

He who is preparing for a cosmere-wide war.

4. The Other Shard Trio

Gaslight: Ruin

"Yes! It's me! Your brother speaking in your head!"

Gatekeep: Preservation

"Look, I'm trying to keep you away from the Well of Ascension for your own good!"

Girlboss: Sazed

"Yes. It's me. Holding two shards at once. What, like it's hard?"

5. Vin & Her Boys

Manipulate: Kelsier

Yes, yes. He likes killing too. But ever since dying, he's really been going hard at the manipulate business.

Mansplain: Elend

This man is sure that explaining philosophy to someone will have an effect somewhere.

Manslaughter: Vin

Vin is mowing down entire armies. And she'll kill your dad too!

6. And Finally...Types of Investiture

Manipulate: AonDor

As far as I understand it, AonDor can do pretty much anything...as long as you manipulate those aons correctly...

Mansplain: Awakening

You do magic by giving commands to objects. Better hope you get the wording right...

Manslaughter: Hemalurgy

I mean...you get your power literally by killing people, so...

Gaslight: Forgery

You rewrite an object or person's history. It was always like that! Ha ha shhhh...

Gatekeep: Stormlight

Need more power? Sorry, those are locked behind oaths! Hope you find the right words soon!

Girlboss: Allomancy

Is there anything more girlboss than swigging some metal shards and suddenly being able to fly? No oaths, no checks, no equations...just eat some metal and become a boss!

[gothcsz]

part six of the neighbors series. thank you to the anon who sent this angsty prompt for getting the gears turning in my head, hehe. these two are something else, i tell ya. the miscommunication is just so... i am pushing them together forcing them to kiss at this point lol hope you guys like it 🖤 and feel free to send me more things for this little au!

javier peña x f!reader. ~2k word count. nothing too extreme to tag, it's straight up just angst and yearning.

Being with Mateo is nice, sweet even. He calls when he says he will, makes you laugh, and remembers how you take your coffee. And you really do try with him. You take interest in his hobbies, hold his hand when you’re walking down the street, and even let him take you to bed.

The sex is fine, nothing spectacular and just barely above average. Being with him is normal and safe.

But every now and then, your mind drifts to what it would be like if it was Javier in his place. You shake those thoughts off as fast as they come. If you’re going to move on, it has to be for real, not half-heartedly.

It’s a little easier to bury those feelings now that Javier is caught up in something—or someone—of his own. 

She’s over at his place constantly, her laugh sometimes drifting through the walls late at night. It feels like they’re always whispering to each other, talking until all hours, and you hate how that little spark of jealousy sits in your chest.

You catch yourself wondering what her name is, how they met, if she gets that look from him—the one that he used to give you when he’d make you laugh. 

You pass Javier in the hallway sometimes, and when he offers a half-smile and rushed, “Hey,” you return it with something tight and brief, barely meeting his gaze.

But he’s always in his own world these days, buried in work, and if he notices you distancing yourself, he doesn’t show it. Or maybe he’s too distracted to care. Either way, it reinforces the choice you’ve made to keep things this way. 

Every time you pass his closed door, you tell yourself you’re doing the right thing. Him being absent is the push you need to keep stepping back, to keep looking at apartments a few neighborhoods over, just in case.

One day, Mateo notices you’re distracted during dinner, poking at your food more than eating it. 

“Querida,” he says, nudging your hand, “you alright?”

“Yeah.” You force a smile. “Just thinking about work.” You try to shake off the odd feelings you can’t seem to put to rest—the unease of Javier wrapped up in someone else and it working for him but not for you, leaving you more restless than before.

He’s become a background hum of missed chances and bad timing.

Mateo catches the shift in your expression and rests his hand on yours. “If it’s about your place, I don’t mind helping you look around. Maybe even do a little apartment tour spree together this weekend?”

His warmth stirs something in you, a pang of guilt for not giving him the part of you that’s still tucked away. “Yeah, that sounds nice. I’d like that.” 

Javier’s schedule continues to keep him out of the complex and you can’t remember the last time you saw him at the embassy.

Granted, you work in different departments but still, there was enough overlap for you to at least catch glimpses of him throughout the day. 

There’s a wall between you two—one he doesn’t even realize is there.

One evening, as you’re walking up to your door, you hear his low voice in the hallway, murmuring something to that beautiful brunette that you feel so strongly against because of your own insecurities. 

It strikes a nerve, seeing her leaned up against his door like that with Javier crowding her, his fingers tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her ear.

They don’t even notice you and that fucking stings, then you remind yourself that you’re being ridiculous and unlock your door quickly, barely giving him a second glance when he finally turns his head to acknowledge you. You just shut your door.

Later, as you sit by your window with a glass of wine, a part of you wishes you could confront him about it—how you miss having a friend even if these feelings you’ve grown for him have tainted your friendship.

But instead, you brush it off. It’s better this way, the distance and silence. Cutting him off quietly.

You have Mateo now, and maybe in time, those feelings you’re trying to force yourself to feel for him will start to feel more real.

In the meantime, you keep Mateo close and Javier at arm’s length, praying the ache in your chest will fade into something easier to ignore.

When things with Helena spiral, Javier’s entire world dips into a darkness he struggles to fight off.

He’d been steeling himself for months, pretending that what he felt for her was just a part of the job, just another way to gather intel, to stay sharp. But things had shifted, unraveled into something he wasn’t prepared for.

She had become more than an informant; something tangible and real, someone he genuinely cared about. He should have known better than to let it get personal—mixing affection with the job, letting his heart get tangled up in a life as brutal as theirs.

It’s in the wake of this disaster that you pop into his mind again. The truth is, he’d forced you out of it completely, buried you beneath his work, his duties, his time with her.

After all, what place did someone like him, wound up in the cartel’s mess, have with someone like you? You were safe, building a life with an uppity banker, someone who could give you things Javier’s world would never allow. 

Security, stability, and something close to a normal life—things he could barely imagine anymore.

And he’d see it, too, in the way you were with Mateo. He could hear it sometimes through the walls, that light laugh of yours, the one that’d once been his to hear on a quiet afternoon or over a shared meal. Now it belonged to someone else.

Javier would watch the asshole come by, flowers in hand, gifts in his arms, looking like the kind of guy he could never be, the kind of guy you deserved.

Maybe that’s why he fell for Helena so quickly, so intensely. She was tough, resilient, unafraid of the shadows he’d cast around him. With her, he didn’t have to pretend.

They shared the same night-bound existence and he didn’t care that she was a prostitute. She understood, even when he didn’t, the danger of crossing those lines in his work, the way it weighed on him, without flinching at the blood on his hands.

But now… he’s haunted by what he should have seen coming. She’d been hurt, and every part of him feels complicit.

He couldn’t protect her, couldn’t protect himself from feeling it all in his bones, and the guilt wraps around his heart, squeezing so tight it might burst. 

The weight of it pulls him under, and he finds himself wondering how he’s going to claw his way out. His work is far from over.

He's at the bottom of a bottle of bourbon one night when he realizes just how long it's been since he’s really seen you.

The ache that realization brings feels like another knife twisting in his chest. Your bright eyes, that quirky laugh you give when he actually manages to crack you up, and the way you can turn his chaos to calm without even trying—they’ve been missing from his life for months now, and he’s feeling the loss more deeply than he wants to admit.

With sluggish, heavy steps, he staggers across his apartment until he ends up at your door. He knocks, too loudly, too long, until you swing it open, looking bleary-eyed and definitely frustrated. He’s clearly woken you up.

“Hola, cariño—”

“It’s two in the goddamn morning, Javier. ¿Qué necesitas?” 

You’ve got your arms crossed, and he blinks a few times, almost impressed with the improvement of your accent. He opens his mouth, trying to form the words, but you beat him to it, eyeing him up and down.

“Are you drunk? You reek of liquor, Peña.” Your tone is flat. “You need to go back home.”

“Te extraño,” he slurs, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I can’t be in there another second without feelin’ like I’m losing my damn mind.”

You’re sizing him up, at a war with yourself, and he lets his gaze wander even in his bleary state. You’re wearing that familiar robe with a slip dress underneath, and he has no idea if it helps or makes things worse. 

“Then you should probably call your girl,” you say, voice cool. “Or go upstairs and bother Murphy. I have to be up early.”

You go to close the door, but his large palm spreads against it, steadying himself. “Javier—”

“Please,” he says, voice softer. “Don’t do this. Not tonight.”

For a moment, you search his eyes, your own gaze conflicted, and then, almost begrudgingly, you sigh. “Fine,” you mutter, “but you’re out by the time I’m up for work in the morning.”

You let him in, and he feels that distance in your voice like a physical wall between you. It’s his own fault—he knows it, hates it, but here you are, standing back to let him in anyway.

He stumbles, almost falling flat on his face, and your smaller hands catch him with a muttered curse. Like he’s a child.

You steer him to the couch with an exasperated huff, and even as you help him settle, he’s not sure if it’s the liquor making his chest tighten or the fact that you’re handling him with more care than he deserves. 

You wrestle him out of his jacket, tugging it from his broad shoulders, then go for his boots.

The grunts you make in effort, the feeling of your hands on him—even if it’s just to deal with his drunk ass—makes him ache in a way that alcohol only magnifies.

His thoughts drift to places they have no business going. He’d tried to move past the want he felt for you, burying it under other bodies, other names, other distractions. But here you are in a thin slip dress under your robe and all he can think about is how it’d feel to have you moving against him, to finally let his hands roam your curves, bring you pleasure and fuck you like he’s sure no man has. Not even your goody-two-shoes of a boyfriend.

Once he’s settled on your couch, you leave, only to return a moment later with a glass of water, setting it on the coffee table with a quiet sigh. “If you need to puke, please use my bathroom,” you say flatly, “not the new couch.”

“New couch?” he mumbles, sitting up on his elbows and frowning at it. “What was wrong with the old one?”

You just shake your head, the patience gone from your expression. “Goodnight, Javi,” you say flatly, but he stops you before you leave.

“Thank you for this and I’m sorry—”

“Just stop,” you cut him off with a deep sigh. “You’re always apologizing and I don’t want to hear it. Get some rest.” And then you’re gone, the door to your room closing softly but definitively behind you.

After that night, he tries to make things go back to normal but the distance that happened during that time seems impossible to close now.

Every attempt he makes to lessen it only meets the cool edge of your guarded smile or your quick, polite excuses to cut conversations short. The silence between you has settled too deeply now, like it’s found a home where friendship used to be.

He doesn’t know what to do and you’re still stuck in your forced delusion that Mateo is what you want.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️: @persephone-girl . @almostempty . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @samanthajonees . @dontlookatme121 . @thundermartini . @dinanabuu . @cherrysugarx . @dontlookatme121 . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[vinylfoxbooks]

November 11 - Adore | @into-the-jeggyverse | wc: 1,055

“How did you know that you loved Remus?” Regulus hums, poking at his food. A part of him hates this, hates that they were ever put through a situation where they’re awkward just sitting on a couch together eating. He hates that they have to put in effort to bridge the gap and have a peaceful relationship. But hating it doesn’t mean he won’t try. 

Sirius hums, looking up at him from where he was intently watching his own food, “What do you mean?” 

“I mean you- you risked everything for Remus. You risked our parents for him, how did you know that was something you… how did you know that the sacrifice was worth it?”

It’s a while before Sirius pulls together a response, long enough that Regulus almost regrets asking, before he sharply inhales and puts his plate down on the coffee table. He moves so he’s sitting cross-legged facing Regulus, “As long as I’ve known him, even before we were dating, I knew there was something special about him. I didn’t… I didn’t know what it was at that point, and it took me a long time to learn that I could like boys, which he and James were the ones to teach me that, but there was something that was… pulling me to him. I always wanted to sit next to him, I always wanted to know his opinions on something that I liked, and I always wanted his approval.” 

He takes a couple seconds to take a sip of water, giving Regulus the time to put his own dishes on the coffee table, before he clears his throat again, “Then we started dating and… I don’t know, I don’t think I loved him when we first got together but then… I just spent time with him, we were going on dates, we were more open with each other and-” Sirius smiles softly, looking down at his lap, “I can’t explain how it feels, loving him. It’s… warm, and comforting, and a little scary because I don’t know how to let people love me… It starts in my chest and just… warms my body. Also it… it wasn’t like a dawning realisation, but more one of those things where he said something and I thought, ‘Merlin, I love him’ and that was that.” They’re both silent for a moment, and Regulus takes the time to watch over his brother’s expression and body language, he acts like he’s comfortable, and he has a sweet smile on his face that Regulus only saw for the first time when he saw his brother with Remus. 

And then he takes a second to look over at the previous night. James had come over to the flat to spend some time with Remus and Sirius, and they had managed to coerce him out of his room, which Sirius was greatly confused at. Then, at the end of the night, Remus and Sirius ‘tucked in’ for the night early, leaving James and Regulus alone. While not common, this did happen sometimes, and James was quick to splay themself out over the couch that they now had to themself and grab the remote from the coffee table to put on a random show that they’ve both watched before. 

And James had asked him a question, something stupid, like they usually do to get him more comfortable around them, get him talking. And then they’d laugh at something that they said and warmth would bloom in Regulus’ chest. And the two would talk and they’d joke and James would sometimes make comments on the show after lapsing into silence, usually a stupid comment that would get Regulus to insult them. And it was comfortable, and it was warm. 

Regulus shakes his head to distract himself from his thoughts, “And how did you know that leaving mum and dad for him would be… worth it?” This is dangerous territory, Regulus knows this. While they’re both getting better with conversations like this, a lot of the time they end up screaming at each other when they get on the topic of Sirius leaving.

Sirius seems to know this too, because he takes a second to think of his words before speaking, “It wasn’t just Remus. You and I both know that I could’ve run to his, but I went to the Potter’s. Because Effie and Monty and James, their house, made me feel that same comfortable, but scary, warmth. That was love, watching Effie and Monty dance in the kitchen was love. And I figured that… if I felt the same thing with Remus as I did watching Effie and Monty then, that meant Remus and I could be Effie and Monty, right?”

He shakes his head, “I was scared, I was so scared, but I just held that warmth close to my chest. I didn’t really know if it would be worth it, if Remus and I would stay together, but I believed that it could be.” 

Regulus nods after a couple seconds, “I think I know what you’re talking about.” 

“Do you?” Sirius looks shocked for a moment, “For someone in particular or?” 

“Maybe,” the younger says after a second or two, “It’s… it’s for James, maybe?” He furrows his brows, “But that could also be because I know what you’re talking about at the Potters’ house.” 

“James?” Sirius says after a beat of silence, “How long?”

“I don’t know…” he shakes his head, “James and I hang out when you and Remus leave and they…”

“They adore you.” Sirius smiles softly, reaching out and offering a hand, but not touching Regulus. He takes his brother’s hand. The older shakes his head, “I don’t know how they’d feel about me telling you that and I don’t know if it’s more than just James being really affectionate towards everyone but… I know that you’re special to them.” And his words make Regulus’ chest fill with a comforting warmth… he smiles softly and Sirius seems to know what that means, “Take your time with it.” And Regulus just nods, thinking back on all the nights that the two of them were left alone. On the way that Regulus had a weird obsession with James since they properly met. 

“Thank you, Siri.” 

At that, Sirius pulls Regulus into a hug, “Anytime, Reg.”

[temporarywelcome]

Please? - Peter Maximoff

Word Count: 3.5k

REQUESTED!

The Ask: I humbly ask for a Peter Maximoff smut, I'm thinking y/n either a: distracts him while he is playing his arcade games, b: using whipped cream to give him a lil sweet treat while fucking, or c: literally any smut of this man, I need him. Preferably him being a little cocky/silly, but when you actually do anything he is a whimpering mess praising you. - @envy-of-greed

I give you... Option A.

WARNINGS: SMUT! oral (m recieve), handjob, mommy kink, praise, reader is a tease, reader is MEAN, sub!peter, dom!reader, Peter becomes a MESS, reader calls him "pup" and "puppy" like once, aftercare, alluding to punishment

A/N: gonna work on a Spencer Reid fluff/comedic fic next

_____

Peter was annoying as hell.

She loved him to bits, she would do absolutely anything for him, but she was allowed to admit her boyfriend was a complete terror?

Y/N was peacefully sitting in her room when her telephone had rang. Placing down her magazine, she reached for it, bringing it to her ear, “Hello?”

“Babeeee,”

What a surprise this was. Peter Maximoff, who usually would just show up unannounced with his super speed, decided to give her a phone call?

“Peter? What’s the occasion?” she asked with a smile, leaning back against her pillows, twirling the telephone’s wire in her newly manicured fingers. 

“Eh, I just remember you saying you like phone calls, the bonding or whatever. So i wanted to give you one.”

That made her heart melt. This little terror was sometimes a complete angel as well. “Yeah…” Y/N replied, “I love phone calls. Your voice sounds so nice on the phone, by the way,”

She could already picture him blushing. “I-It does? I mean, of course, yeah it does! I’m Peter freaking Maximoff, babe. Everything about me is top-tier,”

“You could work on your baking skills,” she mused, remembering literally every single time she would attempt to bake something with him. Flour everywhere. Remnants of cake or brownie batter on his face because he just had to eat some (a lot). Firealarm going off. Burnt baked goods. Every. Single. Time.

“Bitch! Every baking failure is your fault for always distracting me!” he whined in protest.

“How the hell do I distract you? I’m baking too!” 

“ ‘Cause you’re pretty,” Peter replied cheekily, and she knew he would have wiggled his eyebrows if she could see him, “How am I supposed to focus?”

“Stop making excuses for your terrible baking skills. Even if I wasn’t there, you would be a mess,”

“For different reasons,” Peter scoffed, “I can’t bake by myself, I need your guidance,”

“But you can’t bake with me either because you allegedly get distracted. Sounds like you just can’t bake,”

“Fuck off,” he grumbled, making her laugh, “Let’s get to more important business: when can I pick you up?”

“I wasn’t aware of being picked up at all,”

“Yeah well I’m picking you up. I wanna spend some time with you!” she could hear his excited tone that was so uniquely Peter. Everything about him was unique. Everything about him was different and weird and strange and she loved every part of him. 

“Well…” Y/N sighed, “I was going to start on some homework…”

“Boooo! College student booooo!”

“Shit, excuse me for wanting an education. Better than planning on living in my mom’s basement for the rest of my life,” she teased.

“Ouch. Fine. Can’t you do your homework later?”

“I’ve been procrastinating on it,” Y/N set down her magazine, getting off of the bed and walking to her desk, stretching her body as far as she could with the limits of the phone cord. Fingertips brushing against her notebook, she was able to grab it, nestling back into her bed and opening it, “Shit, it’s a lot.”

“Who cares? Finish it tomorrow!”

“It’s due in the morning.”

She could already tell he was pouting, she knew him so well. “Can’t you do it at my place?”

“You mean your mom’s place?” Y/N decided to keep teasing him. Peter was pretty much a loser, not really having any plans in life other than to lounge in his mom’s basement playing video games and eating twinkies for eternity. He thought he was a loser, Y/N’s parents thought he was a loser (which is why they don’t like him much), even Y/N thought he was a loser when they had first met. 

Yet here she was, smiling like an idiot while babbling on the telephone with said loser. Said loser who always gives her (stolen) gifts. Said loser who comes over at random points in the day just to say he loves her (superspeed is pretty handy). Said loser who named his Dungeons and Dragons character after her (however, he was such a loser, he didn’t have many people to play it with). Said loser who would scoff and pout whenever she would tease him about being her future house husband (well, what else would he be, if he just plays video games and dotes on her all day?) Her favorite loser. 

“Yes,” Peter deadpanned, “My mom’s place. Now may I come over so I can escort you to my mom’s place?”

She pretended to think about it, hearing his soft breathing on the other line as he waited for her to answer, “Fine. No distractions though!” 

“Yes, ma’am,”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something else, jumping when she heard a harsh knock on her window. Whipping her head towards the source of the noise, she rolled her eyes with a laugh. Peter, waving at her with his usual happy dorky expression. Placing the phone back down onto its receiver, Y/N rushed towards the window, opening it. “Babe!”

“Missed me?” he asked with a smirk, zipping into her room and right past her, making her roll her eyes again. He picked up her notebook, examining the pages, “Ew ew ew. What the hell are you studying again?”

“Psychology,” Y/N sat on the bed, slipping her sneakers on and tying them. 

“Boring,” he sped off in a blur to her desk, grabbing a pencil, and rushing back to her notebook. 

She didn’t even notice, focused on her sneakers, but when she raised her head and saw him drawing on her notebook, her facial expression soured, “Pietro Maximoff!” she snatched the notebook back, flicking his forehead. 

“Hey!” he gasped dramatically, “Ain’t no way you used my real name.”

“You misbehave to the point I have to like a mom,” Y/n replied dryly, going off to her closet to grab her bag. Brows furrowing, she dug around a bit, “Shit… Dunno where my bag went-”

“Ahem,”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn to know what that meant. But she did, and, not to her surprise, Peter was holding her bag with a smirk on his face. 

“Asshole,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest. She knew him well. If she attempted to grab the bag, he would just zoom off somewhere else to tease her. 

“Aren’t you going to get it?” he asked with faux innocence, holding it out to her. 

“Fuck that, I know what you’re planning,” Y/N shook her head, raising her brow at him expectantly, “Drop the bag,”

“Um, am I a dog?” He placed a hand to his chest, jaw dropping like the drama king he was. He should have been in theatre when he was in school. 

“Do I have to treat you like one?” Y/N threatened boldly, “Come on, pup, drop the bag,”

Peter’s eyes widened and he dropped the bag, “You did not just say that,” 

“Well, it worked,” Y/N smirked, grabbing her bag and planting a kiss on his cheek, “Good boy,” She began throwing her supplies for her homework into her bag, unaware of the growing dent in his pants. 

“Bitch,” he mumbled to himself, too quiet for her to hear. 

“Alright, I’m ready to go,” she announced, slinging her bag over her shoulder. He just stood there, eyes glazed over. “Earth to Peter?” she snapped her fingers in his face twice before he blinked, coming back down to society. 

“Okayletsgetoutofhere,” he word vomited, grabbing her waist (with one hand on her neck, of course! Gotta prevent that whiplash!), and within seconds, they were in his room (the basement). 

“Shit, am I ever gonna get used to that?” Y/N laughed, flopping onto his unmade bed in dizziness. Before she could react, Peter dived in on top of her, making her let out a pained, “Oof!” and a “Peter!”

A childish giggle left him, arms going around her waist as he nuzzled into her neck, “Hm?”

“Can’t breathe,”

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I apologize, my dainty little princess,” she deadpanned, arms going around him too. Yes, he was crushing her, but she honestly didn’t care, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. She then felt something on her thigh. Felt like something was poking-

Oh.

Oh.

She smirked, but didn’t say anything about what she just realized, casually stroking his hair, “My pretty puppy,”

He gasped, immediately dashing off. Poor thing was flustered, playing one of his (stolen) arcade games, back turned to her. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N immediately got to teasing him, “I thought we were cuddling?”

“Wanna game,” he replied simply, and his ears went red. Cutie pie. 

“You wanna game? But I thought you wanted to spend time with me?” she laughed.

“You said you wanted to do your homework,” 

“True true…” she opened up her notebook, glancing at his squirming figure, “You dancin’, love?”

“No, I’m not dancing,” was all he said. There were plenty of times he didn’t catch onto her teasing, which was always adorable. This seemed to be one of them.

“Then why are you moving like that?” 

“Like what?” Now he was playing dumb. He groaned as he died in the game, restarting it.

She slid off of the bed, walking to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she said, “You’re acting funny, darling,” she pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, feeling him tense under her touch.

“N-No, I’m not,”

“Oh, really?” One hand reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before planting a kiss there, “You’ve been acting funny ever since I called you a good boy,” His breath hitched, making her smirk, “I didn’t know calling you that would have such an effect on you, baby. Maybe it’s because you’re so bratty, you don’t hear that often, huh?”

“Stoooop,” he whined, losing in his game again, “You made me lose,” Peter pouted. 

“Hm,” she let her hands drop lower, fiddling with the button of his pants absentmindedly, “You must be slacking, Peter! You should be able to game under any condition, right?”

“But-”

“Nuhuh,” she pressed a finger to his plush lips, “No ‘but’s from you. We gotta practice your concentration skills, my love. They’re lacking,” she unbuttoned his jeans, making him gasp. His hands were gripping the game’s controls tightly, however they were unmoving as she palmed him through his boxers. “Hey,” she roughly squeezed his length, making him squeak cutely. “Did I say you could stop? C’mon, time to practice.” 

“S-Sorry, Y/N,” he stuttered out, hitting restart again. She squeezed his cock through his boxers again, earning a whine from him. 

“Now what do you call me when I play with you?” Y/N asked tauntingly, running a single finger over his clothed length. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“Mommy,” he bit his bottom lip to keep himself from moaning. 

“That’s right, darling, I’m Mommy,” She stepped away, confusing him, until she got down on the floor, crawling right between him and the game. “Mommy’s going to take care of your pretty cock now, okay?” Her hands trailed towards the belt loops of his jeans as she spoke, “You are not allowed to stop playing your game. Each in-game death is two spanks. You’re not allowed to cum till you clear three levels, understood?”

Peter’s cheeks flared up and he nodded excitedly, “Yes, Mommy,” 

“Good boy,” she purred, pulling down his pants and letting them pool at his ankles. Fingers dipping into the waistband of his boxers, she cooed, already noticing a small wet patch, “So excited, huh?” she pulled down his boxers, letting them join his pants on the floor. Y/N stuck out her index finger, letting it run along his cock like before. Up and down. Up and down. Up and-

“-Mommy,” Peter whined, “Stop teasing me, please,”

“Oh? The bratty boy is using his manners?” she cooed, wrapping her fingers around his thick length and slooooowly stroking him, “Remember the rules and everything will feel amazing, yeah?”

He nodded, sucking in a breath, “Y-Yeah,” Peter tried to focus on his game, he really did, trying his best to get his character past the villainous NPCs. But as soon as Y/N began to stroke faster, he whimpered, his character being slain. 

“Oh?” Y/N smirked, pausing her movements and making him whine more, “Already lost? That’s two spanks, darling,”

“Sorry, Mommy…” He mumbled in embarrassment, restarting the game, “I won't do it again- fuck,” She started stroking him again, the delicious feeling going straight to his pretty little head. Any sort of sexual intimacy would immediately make his brain short-circuit, causing him to be complete putty in her hands.

“I know you won’t do it again, Peter, because you’re a good boy, right?” Y/N’s lips curled into a little smile, leaning forward to press a kiss to his tip, continuing to stroke him. “You’re my good boy?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, bottom lip between his teeth as he attempted his game again, his avatar jumping through obstacles and avoiding approaching enemies, “I’m y-your good boy- ughhh,” she wrapped her pretty lips around his tip, teasingly sucking on it. He bit his bottom lip again, hard enough to draw blood. 

Peter couldn’t help it, he took a glance down at Y/N, mouth going dry seeing her sucking on his tip, stroking him in a steady rhythm with her own eyes looking dead at his. His eyes widened seeing her take him deeper into her mouth, eyes not leaving his for even a second.

Game over.

He looked up at the screen of his game, realizing his character died again. Fuck. 

Y/N pulled her mouth off of his dick with a pop, making him whimper, “Two more spanks, darling. That’s four now.”

This was going to suck. This was going to suck in the best way possible. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to be a good boy?” Y/N asked, pouting exageratively, “I remember you saying you were going to be a good boy,”

“I am your good boy!” Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Y/N laughed, pressing a kiss to his thigh, “You’re so cute, baby. Now, c’mon, start the game again. You’ll never get to cum at this rate.”

Poor thing panics, starting the game up again. He began spamming the buttons desperately, wanting to clear those three levels so Y/N would allow him to cum. Overstimulation was hot as hell, but edging was terrible (which is why that was her usual punishment for him).  

Her lips were on him again, sucking hard, and poor guy was seeing fucking stars trying to focus on this damn fucking game. He was a good gamer, these levels should be easy to clear, but when Mommy is sucking his cock how is he able to focus on such a thing? He would rather abandon the game and fuck her like a bitch in heat, which is certainly what he felt like at that moment. 

It was torture. Spamming buttons desperately, not beating the level, the threat of edging and spanking in the air. He was going crazy.

“Thats ten spanks now, baby,” Y/N said after another failed level, “I thought you were good at games,”

“I-I am!” He exclaimed, “It's hard to fucking focus when you're sucking the soul out of me!” A pout formed on his pretty lips, brows furrowed as he attempted to play the level again. 

“Watch your tone, Peter,” Y/N glared at him, making him feel emotional. Whenever he was in a vulnerable place like this, it's embarrassingly easy for him to burst into tears. Especially because during any form of intimacy he was baby or darling or something cute, never Peter. Why would she call him by his name? Was he being bad?

“Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled.

Y/N couldn't help but smile softly, being reminded once again how much she adored him. Her pretty boy. Her favorite loser. Being called her titles by him always made her weak at the knees. “I know, baby,” she was a soft domme at heart, she can't be mad at him. Ever. He was her baby and he deserved the whole world. “Let's try this again, okay?”

She waited for him to nod before taking him into her mouth again. His pretty tip was red and hot in her mouth, dribbling pre-cum on her tongue as she swirled the muscle along. 

He finally beat the first level, moving on to the next excitedly. He was getting somewhere now! Soon he'll be allowed to cum and maybe Y/N will let him inside…

Yes, he really wanted to be inside her. 

Y/N began taking him deeper into her mouth, and fuck he felt his tip nudge the back of her throat so perfectly he wanted to cum. So bad. But he won't because he's a good boy and he's not going to cum until he's allowed to. 

That was the plan, at least.

But his name was Quicksilver for a reason and he could feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge. His left hand was gripping the joystick painfully hard, knuckles white as he moved it around in an attempt to get his character across the map to the next level. 

He finally made it to the third level, sighing in relief. He was getting somewhere. Almost to the end. She was bobbing her head up and down, one hand gently rubbing his tender balls, bringing him closer and closer to release. 

“AhI’msoclosethatfeelssogoodthankyouthankyouI’msoclose” he babbled out, speaking practically a mile a minute. A wide grin appeared on his face once he cleared the third level, “IdiditcanIcomenowpleasecanIcumnow-”

She pulled off of his dick again, making him groan in both desperation and annoyance, “You cleared the level? Good job, sweetie. I guess I can let you cum now…” They both stared at each other, Peter panting and his chest rising with each labored breath, Y/N batting her eyelashes at him meanly, continuing to tease him. He was ready to just start fucking her face and go wild, but he told himself he was going to behave.

So he’s going to behave. 

Ugh, but why does she have to make it so hard? 

“Can you keep going?” he finally asked.

“Should I, though?”

“You… You promised!” he gasped, eyes widening in panic.

“Hmmm, I don’t remember promising anything,” she replied, trailing her finger along his shaft like she always did when she wanted to fucking tease him. Up and down up and down up and down-

“Please?” Was she really going to make him beg? She knew he hated begging, which is probably why she enjoyed making him do that so much. 

All she did was hum, continuing with that aggravating motion of her finger, fucking asshole. 

“Please, Mommy?” he grumbled, hands balling into fists at his sides to keep him from going crazy. Think with your head and not your dick, Peter.

Y/N gave him another mean smirk, “That’s my boy…” she went straight back to sucking him off, and he was back to being a fucking mess. 

“ThatfeelssogoodyoualwaysdosogoodfuckI’mgoingtocumcanIcumpleasepleaseplease-”

She nodded, not stopping her sucking motion for even a second. However, his eyes were screwed shut so he didn’t even notice, continuing to beg to cum till she released his dick from her mouth and said, “You can cum, baby,” with a little laugh before going right back to work. 

And within two seconds of being back inside her mouth, he was cumming hard, hands going to her hair for something to keep him grounded. When she pulled away from his cock once again, she swallowed without a second thought, rubbing his thigh soothingly, “You still there, baby?”

“Mhm,” Peter was a known chatterbox, everybody knew this. But every time after cumming, his desire to speak would vanish, the need to just be held and taken care of overpowering all else. 

So Y/N stood up, taking his hand, “Let’s lay down, yeah?” She knew Peter could not last long, however, he could bounce back extremely fast. Just some cuddles will do, and he’ll be back to either a) yapping her ear off, or b) being hard as a rock. Or both. Who knows? 

She laid down on his (unmade) bed, pulling him down beside her, “You need anything, baby?” He simply shrugged, arms going around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder, “Water?” He shook his head. “Snack?” Fast nod. Of course. “Alright,” she went to sit up, but he immediately tightened his grip on her. “Didn’t you want a snack?” she laughed.

He thought for a moment before hesitantly releasing her from his hold, allowing her to get up and go to his practical tower of Hostess treats, grabbing a box of Twinkies. His favorite. Sitting back down, she opened up the box, unwrapping a cakey treat while he leaned against her again. 

“Here you go,” she said softly, letting Peter pluck the dessert from her hand and eat it. It was silent as he ate, her hand going to his hair to gently stroke the silver strands. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled after he finished, looking up at her with a cute smile, “You always know just what I need,” he nuzzled his nose into her neck, inhaling her scent. “Love you,”

“Love you too, baby,” she kissed his head, sighing peacefully, “So… about that punishment…”

[soysaurus]

There's a trait that runs through every hero, regardless of if they've spent the last couple months in prison, rehab, or wrangling pyjamas onto a stubborn five-year-old: they're a workaholic.

Thank god Jason is not a hero. Roy, on the other hand, definitely is. He might be ‘inactive’ or ‘I’m just focusing on Lian right now, thanks’, but Jason has dropped by Roy's shitty apartment in Star often enough that he can confidently say Roy, no matter what, is a hero.

So he kicks him.

“Ow! What the fuck, Jaybird?” Roy glares as he brings his fingers to his lips, slurping up the bright orange liquid that’s currently coating half his sleeve.

More keeps dripping onto the floor in radioactive bursts, and the bowl is steaming. It has a chip in the side from when Jason was teaching Lian how to shoot, and Jason knows what the ceramic feels like when steam is escaping from every orifice. He had to use his Red Hood gloves to hold the damn thing last time. He had to do a lot of things, but Roy's fingers don't shake as he holds the bowl in one hand.

He kicks Jason lightly back. “You're a fucking asshole, Todd, ya know that?”

Jason's head is a slow buzz. It's a sound that he can feel spit behind his eyes, sing with sharp vowels and harsh chords. It's something that's attacking him from the inside-out, digging deep until he can feel the green of the pit flare in his throat.

“Fuck ‘ff,” he murmurs, turning his head to look anywhere but Roy. “Don't need your shit-ass soup. Don't need anythin’.”

He moves to stand, to sit, to do anything but be useless on the sofa.

Roy only needs one hand to hold Jason down, and Jason tells himself it's just this once. It's because Roy is a hero and Jason is anything but.

“Dude, you're, like, what? Two seconds from passing out my couch? Eat the damn soup.”

Jason doesn't look as the bowl is shoved in front of him. More sloshes over the sides, lapping at Roy's thumb. He needs to get his mind out of the gutter. He needs to remember why he came here in the first place.

Roy groans, deep and guttural with his head thrown back and all the muscles in his neck straining. Sometimes Jason wants to curl his fingers around the thick flesh, cord his soul into the pieces of Roy he can never get back, and take him. For real this time.

He looks at the damned fucking soup.

It's tomato or carrot, or maybe even something that has never been orange in the first place. Jason can feel the steam hitting his nose hairs but he can't smell anything. “Needs more seasoning,” he spits.

Roy sighs. The soup nips his fingers again as he plops down onto the sofa. Their thighs touch, brush, hold on tight enough to blur the lines.

“You're sick,” Roy says. He holds up a spoon. It's caked in red. “Here comes the aeroplane…”

Jason wants to punch him, and it's fine because even though Jason rescued Roy first, Jason was also the first who left. He was the first who walked away and didn't return. He was the first one who died, and then died again.

It's stupid. Roy likes to say he died too, but Jason doesn't like thinking about explosions. He can't think about anything right now anyway. His brain hurts. The words in his head buzz. A hot tip touches his lips but it's not the right kind.

“Open wide.” Roy's using his Dad voice, and it's horrifying. Jason can feel his heart in his lungs and sometimes he forgets Roy has green eyes too.

They're earthier. Grounded. They're nothing like the look Jason stares at Roy with when Lian's gone to bed and the bowl's still chipped and the dishes haven't been scrubbed but everyone is too tired to touch it.

Roy sighs. The spoon clatters into the bowl, and he sucks the soup from his thumb again. “Jay, you gotta work with me here. You're sick. Being a stubborn asshole isn't gonna change that. What're you even doing here, man? Thought you were tired.”

Jason has never said he's tired before. At least not to Roy. The voice in his head that glows green and grins acid is different. He thinks he loves the voice and also hates it. He doesn't know if it's himself or someone else.

“Shut up, Harper.” He sniffs without meaning to and promptly closes his mouth.

Roy's lips break into that sly grin that means he's going home with at least a couple numbers and a body or two hanging from his elbows. “Only if you eat the damn soup. Otherwise I'll keep going, baby. I can keep this up all night long.” He winks as if Jason doesn't know him. “You know I've got the stamina to prove it.”

Jason rolls his eyes. Kind of. It hurts and the world spins, and then Roy's whispering meaningless words into his ear. He thinks his eyes are open but then he blinks and sees the ceiling. He does a double take but his body doesn't move. The air swirls. Something pinches his hips, then his legs, and then Jason is in Roy's room and the sheets smell like his body wash.

There's another smell, something heady and unmistakably Roy. Jason's not in love because he's never been in love. He doesn't know what it looks like.

He smells soup.

A ceramic bowl clatters gently, and a duvet is tugged up to Jason's chin. The bed dips next to Jason's waist and Roy's hair is long. It isn't tied back, but it was before. With the lamp light, his eyelashes look brighter. Almost like they're glowing.

Jason's not in love because Roy could never love him. He's just not the type. He's someone who dedicates his life to one person and one person only, and Jason is nowhere near a hero.

The tip of the spoon touches his bottom lip. It's cooler.

“Open wide.”

Maybe it's because it's half-one in the morning or Jason's running a fever higher than he ever has before, or because he's only twenty-one and yet he has over half of Gotham's underground under his control. His chest clenches. Tim said Jason's going to end up with heart attacks if he keeps this going, and then Jason yelled about all the empty Red Bull cans littering Tim's floor.

Jason's only twenty-one but he's never been in love. He was, maybe, once when he was fifteen. But that was before the voice in his head was impossibly loud. He doesn't remember who it was, and they're probably gone.

He opens his mouth. Roy grins, sly and dirty. His Dad voice slips out: “Good boy.”

Jason's going to kill him. He doesn't remember why he came to Star City tonight. He doesn't remember a lot of things.

His chest tightens even more as he swallows, and maybe Tim is right. Maybe heart attacks are going to be what finally takes Jason out.

[dira333]

Old Man and the Sea - Tsukishima Kei x Reader

Best Friend's Brother and confession - for @fuzztacular - for the Milestone Event Week 1 - Words: 4,4k

- Age 4 -

You meet Akiteru first, of course. 

He’s tall for his age, towering over the other kids even at four years old.

“You can play with me,” he declares with a smile when he notices your excellent aim and non existent fear of getting dirty.

“Do you wanna walk home with me?” He asks that first fateful day at kindergarten, your mothers chatting at the gate.

“Sure,” you say and clutch your bag a little tighter, excited to have found a friend on your very first day too.

“Do you have a pet?” Akiteru asks as you walk.

“Yes. We have a turtle. His name is Old Man.”

“That’s so cool!” He grins wide, astonished. “I wish we could have a pet. Or if I could have a sibling. Do you have a sibling?”

“Yes,” you nod. “My sister is older.”

“Oh, that’s cool. Is she nice?”

You think of her, towering above you. How she always does her homework when you want to play, how she doesn’t like when Old Man tries walking into her room.

“Sometimes,” you offer, because last week she helped you bake a cake for Mom and Dad, didn’t snap once even when you accidentally added too much flour.

“If I was a big brother,” Akiteru declares with gusto, “I’d be the best big brother in the world.”

-

“I have to tell you something!” Akiteru declares just a few months later during break time, pulling you with him toward the swings where there’s enough privacy to share secrets. “I’m getting a sibling.”

“Really?” Your heart beats hard in your chest and you smile. It’s hard not to, when Akiteru smiles so brightly himself.

“Really. Oh, I hope it’s a brother. I wanna teach him all my favorite games.”

“You could teach those to a sister too.”

“Sure,” he hesitates for a second. “If it’s a little sister, you need to teach her.”

“What?”

“Like how you do your hair so nice.”

You touch your braid, hesitating. “But my mother did it.”

“Well, you can teach my little sister then.”

And you think, surely you’ll be able to teach her. Surely it won’t be that hard.

-

- Age 5 -

Kei is born at the end of September. You remember it well, because the day had been unexpectedly rainy, drenching you on the way home where your mother sat, phone in her hand.

“Do you need me to get Akiteru? No, no, bring him over. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have each other until everything is done.”

“Akiteru is coming over?” You ask, dripping all over the floor.

“Yes, in a minute. His brother is coming.”

“Where?”

“Here, silly.” Your mother smiles. “He’s about to be born.”

And you wonder what that means all while feeding Old Man with Akiteru, while eating Ramen and watching TV, the rain hammering against the windows as if it’s just as eager as the grown-ups to meet the newest Tsukishima.

You, well… you’re a little more hesitant than eager.

Kei’s red faced and small, his skin wrinkly and weirdly fuzzy.

“He’s ugly,” you point out with surprise, flinching at your mothers disapproving glare.

“He’s just squished,” Akiteru defends his little brother. “I’m sure you looked ugly on your first day too.”

You consider that for a second. You don’t remember what you looked like that day.

Kei raises his voice in the silence, loud and determined and you think that at least he’s got something to say if he’s not good-looking before you’re being ushered out again.

-

To your surprise Akiteru is right.

Kei’s wrinkly skin smoothes out, the red turning into a soft, pale shade. His eyes are a warm brown and he likes to squeeze your pointer finger as if he’s shaking your hand. He grows quickly too, both in seize and weight, turning heavy in your arms whenever Akiteru allows you to carry him.

Kei likes Old Man and the space underneath your bed, crawling in there when you’re all playing in your room. 

He likes your dinosaur plushy and strawberries and sometimes, when everything is quiet and calm and Akiteru and you lay down next to him on his blanket, you wonder if your sister ever looked at you the way Akiteru looks at him or felt the way you do.

That quiet sense of wonder, that prickly feeling of astonishment, that warm love you can’t seem to stop.

-

Akiteru likes Volleyball. You don’t mind it. 

Ever since Dad got you your first Science kit you’ve grown obsessed with digging up rocks and examining the minerals, or picking bugs from trees to identify them under your little microscope. 

Little Kei has no choice but to share those interests.

Even at three years old he does his best to receive his brother’s spikes, not once crying when it hits him in the face.

“Look what I found,” he tells you on the daily, delivering a shiny beetle to your waiting hands or putting away the rocks you find in the park when your mothers eyes are averted, knowing she’ll never check his bags as thoroughly as she checks yours.

When you have to do a report on your best friend in school you hesitate for a moment. Is it Akiteru or is it Kei? 

-

- Age 10 -

You’re ten years old when your parents separate and although you don’t understand the full extent of it, you know you’ll always prefer your father over your mother. 

So when they ask you who you want to live with, it’s not a hard choice. 

It should have been, though, because no one told you your father was going to move you, away from Miyagi with it’s wide, open landscape and away from Akiteru and Kei.

“You’re going to visit, right?” Akiteru asks, so much taller than you already, both arms on your shoulders as he tries to instill something inside of you, maybe a sense of peace or belonging or something else.

Kei’s tall for his age and you often forget how young he still is, looking eight at barely five years old.

But he acts his age now, snotty nosed and crying, dirty hands curled around yours.

You’re dear to him like he’s dear to you, you know, and you don’t want to miss him growing even taller.

“You can keep my dino plush,” you promise him. “So you don’t miss me while I’m away.”

“What about Old Man?” He asks. “Are you going to feed him without me?”

“I’ll have to,” you admit glumly. “But I’ll take pictures whenever I can. He’ll not forget you, I’m sure.”

-

It’s hard, seeing them only once a month when you’re with your mom, even more so when she tries very hard to capitalize the little time you have in Miyagi.

“I’m trying to build a family here,” she tells you more than once when you’re on your way out and over to the Tsukishima’s. “You can’t just leave for the neighbours every time you’re here.”

But Kei grows so fast you feel like you’re missing everything and Akiteru’s got a new best friend at school you don’t know and can’t she understand that’s more important right now?

- - -

- Age 15 -

Something has changed this year. 

The House of the Tsukishima’s is quiet as you turn up, no Kei running down the stairs to greet you, no Akiteru training in the garden out front.

“Hello?” You yell into the quiet. “Anyone home?”

“Oh, sweetpea.” Their mother steps out from the kitchen. She looks older, much older than you remember. Has it really been just a month that you haven’t seen her?

“You’re growing so much,” she points out as if it means anything in comparison to her sons. “How’s school?”

“Good. Where are Akiteru and Kei?”

“Oh,” her brows furrow. “Probably in their rooms.”

“But it’s so nice out.”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I know.”

You trample up the stairs with impatient steps, knock on Kei’s door first because it’s closer to the stairs. 

“What?!”

“It’s me,” you tell him, supply your name after an alarmingly long pause. “Can I come in?”

“Fine.”

You swing the door open to find him on his bed, reading. He’s grown yet again and the thick-rimmed glasses make his eyes look big, their brown still warm and reassuring even though all of him is cold and angry.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“What about?”

“Stuff.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No,” he huffs before hesitating. “Maybe. Did you know Akiteru-” He hesitates again. “Did you know Akiteru stopped playing Volleyball?”

“What?!”

“Yes,” he seems braver now in the face of your surprise. “He kept telling us he’s the ace at his Volleyball Club but he’s not even a starting player.”

“Oh no.” 

“Yes,” Kei’s voice is wet now. “It’s so lame.”

You sit with him for a while, pretending not to notice the tears rolling down his cheeks as you try to understand the world. Akiteru, lying? That’s unheard of. 

-

“Whatever!” Akiteru snaps when you ask him about it. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is,” you insist. “That’s a lie! You never lie!”

“I had to,” he bites back. “Like anyone would have still liked me if they knew I wasn’t even good enough to play!”

“I would have liked you.”

“Sure,” he scoffs. “But you’re never here anyway.”

“That’s not my fault.”

He falters at that, softens around the edges to the point he just drops where he’s standing, just a heavy weight on his bedroom floor.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got science. I only had Volleyball. Turns out I’m not even good at it.”

“Just because someone’s better doesn’t mean you’re no longer good.”

Akiteru scoffs again. “It’s not the same. You’re not the same.”

And maybe he’s right. 

You’ve finally found friends in your new hometown, some girls from your english class that like to dress up with you and go shopping and there’s the Science Club that you attend that has a lot of funny guys in it that invite you to Game Nights. 

You feel like you’ve finally found a foundation to build onto only to find your old friendships crumbling.

“I’m sorry.”

Akiteru looks conflicted. “You don’t have to be sorry about that. It’s okay… I think.”

- - -

- Age 20 -

“Hey, I’m driving back to Miyagi this weekend,” Akiteru declares as he picks you up from Lab. “Do you wanna come?”

“Uh,” you check your calendar. “Sure, why not. Anything new?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, wide and excited. “Kei’s playing Volleyball for real now.”

You snort. “He’s been playing for a while now, what’s the difference?”

“You don’t get the difference, because you never took it serious. But I can tell it means something to him. He’s started caring again.”

“Oh,” you think of Kei, the one you knew as a little boy and the cold, difficult preteen he turned into five years ago. “I’m curious.”

-

You can see it too, now. It’s in the way he holds himself up, shoulders wide and proud. It’s in the way he talks to his mother, his best friend - adorable Yamaguchi who always blushes like crazy in your vicinity - and his brother. It’s in the way he talks to you. Like he means what he’s saying. Like he almost dares to be vulnerable again.

“How’s Old Man?” He sidles up to you after Dinner, Yamaguchi already on his way back home. Your Futon waits to be unfolded but you’re not that tired yet and he doesn’t seem to be either.

“Good.” His shoulder presses into yours, warm and steady, like a promise.

It’s still there, that feeling you first felt when sleeping next to him as a child, that quiet sense of wonder, that prickly feeling of astonishment, that warm love you can’t seem to stop. Friends, you remind yourself. You’re friends. More like siblings, really.

“How’s school?”

Kei tells you all about it. How annoying Hinata and Kageyama are, too loud and too talented and too dumb at the same time. How their managers are so vastly different in their characters and yet both so trustworthy at the same time. And although he does not say it out loud, you can read the worry between his sentences. What will happen once the Third Years Graduate? 

“You’re doing amazing,” you smile and he reciprocates, a tiny, quiet, warm moment just for the two of you.

-

And Kei is just a friend, you keep reminding yourself.

When you go watch his Matches with Akiteru, laugh when Saeko Tanaka not so subtly asks if you’re interested in Akiteru before she advances on him herself. 

When you watch him grow even taller, prouder, more sure of himself.

When you attend his graduation and wonder just how it could happen, how tiny, ugly Kei could turn into this.

-

- Age 25 -

You’re dating a coworker by the time Kei starts College. 

Masayuki is not the most romantic, but neither are you. He plays volleyball after work so he and Akiteru are well acquainted, though not as close friends as you’d like them to be.

Old Man lives with you now, just the quiet companion you need for your after work studies, for lounging on the floor with a good book, or wondering about how the world works at the quiet hours of the night.

It’s a quiet life, filled with too much work for too little pay, but you get payed to look at rocks for a living, so you don’t want to complain too much.

-

“I’m leaving in half an hour,” you tell Masayuki over the phone as you’re getting ready. “Do you want to come?”

“To what?”

“Kei has a game,” you pull a sweater over your head and decide against it immediately. That color really washes you out.

“Okay.”

“Okay you’re coming or okay you have other plans?”

Silence.

“Masayuki?”

“I’m just wondering why you attend all his games.”

“Well it’s Kei.”

“Sure,” he doesn’t sound sure. “But-”

“What?” You stand there, topless, staring at the bright display of your phone, the background not one of the few pictures you have with Masayuki but one taken after a big win, Kei’s arms slung around you and Akiteru, face pressed together. 

Something drops low in your stomach and you know, even before he speaks up again, that something just changed.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?”

“Weird?” You repeat, your voice empty.

“Yeah, how you… how much you care about Kei. I thought maybe it’s because he’s a Division 2 player and I get that, our games are not as big or flashy or important, but it’s in other things too.”

“Other things,” you echo and he talks on, seemingly encouraged by your answers.

“Yeah, like… you’re not one to go out much and I get that, I’m the same, but when Kei calls you’re always up to go to whatever College Party he’s inviting you. Remember how you had that trip with your mother that you wouldn’t cancel for me?”

You remember it well. You cancelled your family trip because Kei had tickets for the Jurassic World Premiere. In your defense, Jurassic World Premiere’s only happen once, your mother will keep bugging you forever.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” His Question seems to grow in the Silence, multiply into a hundred voices all screaming at you. Is it? Is it? Is it?

“If it would be Akiteru, I could understand, you know? You grew up together, you’re the same age, I’d think you’re into him.”

He doesn’t add any more words, doesn’t have to.

You’re five years older than Kei.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Masayuki asks now and your stomach clenches so violently you fear throwing up.

“I’ve never thought about it,” you tell him. It’s not a complete lie but not the whole truth either.

“Well, you should. And I- maybe we should take a break… while you figure it out.”

His voice is too casual. He’s thought about this in great detail, it seems.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” You can hear him sigh. “Take care, okay?”

“You too.”

The connection ends with a click and it’s ironic, it really is, that that’s all that’s left of your almost one year relationship. Just the Silence after, and the stale test of old secrets.

You: Hey, I’m afraid I can’t come to your game tonight. Period came early and it’s wreaking havoc on me. So sorry! But you’ll rock it without me, I’m sure!

Kei: What a shame. Shark week truly has the worst timing. Take care, okay? I’ll check in on you later. Koganegawa says Hi.

You stare at his message for far too long, curl up under your blanket and watch Old Man walk tireless circles around your bedroom.

Masayuki’s words dance like demons through your brain until you fall asleep.

You wake in the middle of the night to soft knocking on your door and a familiar voice.

“It’s me, Kei. Are you up?”

You don’t dare move, don’t dare to come face to face with him so soon. 

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” His question is heavy on your heart. Does Kei think that too? Maybe you are. Maybe you’ve been his weird big sister for a while, sitting too close at family gatherings, always there at every game because you can’t seem to stay away.

Maybe he’s never had the courage to tell you to take a step back.

Maybe, and that hurts the most, you’re the reason he still doesn’t have a girlfriend yet. Because you’re holding on to tight. Because you’re acting weird about it. Because-

“I’ll check on you in the morning, okay?” Kei’s voice cuts through the turmoil in your head like a hot knife through butter. “Sleep tight. Take care of her, Old Man, okay?”

In the morning you’ll find chocolate and painkillers in a bag tied to your doorhandle and a good morning text on your phone. 

You do your best ignoring both.

-

“What’s up with you?”

You turn, surprised to find Akiteru at your desk.

“Hi to you too. Do you need a report on any minerals?”

“No, I’m here to check if you’ve turned into a fossil yourself.”

“Geology,” you point at yourself. “You need to ask Kei about Fossils.”

Akiteru rolls his eyes. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“No.”

He snorts. “You’re ghosting us. Me and Kei and probably your other friends too, but I don’t have their numbers to check.”

“I’m not doing anything like that.”

“Please,” he scoffs now. “You’ve missed two of Kei’s games. That’s unheard of. If Masayuki said anything-”

“Can we just not talk about it?” You interrupt him, grabbing your bag and ushering him out. You don’t really want to be the lab gossip for the next month.

“I think we should.”

“Oh no,” you shake your head, pushing him along. “I was the middle man of your stupid fight for years, you owe me.”

Akiteru’s face falls. “Damn, it’s serious if you pull that card. Really, what did he say?”

“What makes you think he said something?”

“He mentioned something at training. He let me know that you’re no longer together, but that it was a mutual decision and that the reason should stay private for your sake.”

You huff out an unamused laugh. “That Shithead.”

“So?” Akiteru’s eyes are warm and honest, but you swallow the need to tell him.

“You’re biased, I can’t tell you.”

“Please, when have you ever not told me something? I know everything about you.”

“Ah,” you turn your face away. “Sure.”

“Well, if you don’t want to tell me, can you at least call Kei? He’s been in a mood all week. He deserves to know you’re not mad at him.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Oh,” Akiteru whistles a tune. “That’s new. You’ve never been mad at him once.”

You falter. “Surely that’s wrong.”

“Nope. Can’t remember a single time.”

“Well,” your stomach churns as you speak, as you try to make your lie sound more believable. “That’s how it is with little siblings, right? They can never do anything wrong.”

And you wish you didn’t look Akiteru in the face as you said it, because you can see it so clearly in his eyes. He knows you’re lying. 

So you turn on your heel and walk back inside, relieved and disappointed at the same time that he’s not following you.

Kei: I’ve bought too much Lettuce, I’m bringing some over after training.

Kei: Left the Lettuce outside. Did you remove your spare key from under the rug?

-

Kei: Hey, didn’t see you at the Match tonight, are you still not feeling well?

-

One missed call from: Kei

-

Kei: You’re really starting to worry me, what’s going on?

-

Kei: I’m giving you one last chance to call me back.

-

The sound of a key turning has you look up from your book, frozen in your spot on your bed. Old Man’s munching on his lettuce, too focused to care.

“Hello?” You ask into the quiet of your apartment, heart hammering against your ribcage. 

The door opens soundlessly. Kei’s head almost knocks against the top of the doorframe as he steps through, hair disheveled, glasses speckled with raindrops. He stops in his tracks when he sees you and you wish he wouldn’t, wish he’d give you a moment to regain your composure, rain in your heart that tries to crash out of your chest at the sight of him.

He’s too tall and too broad, his hair too pale-golden like the moonlight and the worry in his eyes too thick to swallow.

“What’s going on?” Kei asks, breaking the spell. You shift your gaze to the page in front of you, unseeing. Can he read your eyes as well as you think you can read his.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” 

He sighs, clearly exhausted. At this time, he must have come here right after training, maybe even skipped the shower.

“Look if Akiteru said something-”

Your head lifts, surprise gurgling through your veins.

Kei’s wringing his hands now, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen on him before. He’s looking at Old Man instead of you, lips moving without making a sound.

“Just because Masayuki broke up with you doesn’t mean he has to rush things, I mean-” He hesitates and your confusion grows.

“I’m not following you, I-”

He gestures for you to stop, pulls a chair out from your kitchen table and sits down across from you, shoulders hunched under an invisible weight, cheeks burning red.

“I’m going to make this quick, okay, because I’d rather not make myself suffer anymore than necessary but- I like you. I’ve liked you since I knew what that meant. And I know I’m much younger, but I’m not a child and I’m mature for my age and if you’d give me a chance I’d make sure you’d never regret it-”

“What?”

Kei takes your hand and you can feel the tremor going through his limbs as he does.

He licks his lips.

“Would you date me? Yes or no. You can say no, I’ll get over it, I promise.”

“Y-yes, I mean wait, what?”

Kei’s eyes are open and vulnerable. You’re reminded of that one night five years ago, when he started caring again, when he sidled up to you after dinner, one shoulder pressed into yours. Your fingers twitch and curl around his as if they already know what your brain hasn’t processed yet.

“You like me?” You turn your eyes to the floor, too overwhelmed with the truth swimming in his. “You like me? It’s not weird?”

You can feel him shrug but his hand doesn’t let go.

“I mean, maybe it’s weird, but who cares? I’m pretty sure Akiteru is dating Saeko and that’s weird too.”

You laugh, the sound breaking free from you.

“You like me,” you repeat, reaching out with your other hand to find his already moving toward you. “You like me.”

“Should I repeat it too or is it enough if you do it for me?” Kei’s sarcasm is softer now, just a little teasing. You smile and he smiles back and you can’t help yourself, have to lean in and touch the red blooming on his cheeks.

“You like me,” you confirm once more, for good measures. “For real.”

Kei snorts. “You sound like a teen.”

“Shush. Did no one teach you how to respect your elders?”

- - -

- Age 26 -

Kei snores. It’s such a tiny tiny detail in the sea of things to know about him, yet you’re so unreasonably fond of it.

He’s doing it right now, one head on your shoulder, his glasses folded in your lap.

“Can you shut sleeping beauty up?” Akiteru asks from the front, clearly annoyed.

“I could, but I don’t want to,” you reply.

Kei’s nose curls as if he’s heard that but he lets out a sigh right after, exhaling softly as he sinks further into you.

“Such a sap,” Akiteru teases you once more and you let it happen.

It’s true after all.

-

“Oh, you’ve grown again,” Tsukishima-san calls out with exasperation at the sight of Kei, pinching his cheeks. “Are you eating enough?”

“Mom!” He cries out, embarrassed. 

“Help me!” He asks you. You just laugh.

“I put your Futon into Kei’s room,” she tells you as the boy carry up the luggage. “I know how he is. He’d just climb through your window if I didn’t and I know your mother. She’d throw a fit.”

“How is she anyway?” You ask. “Did she say anything, about… you know what?”

“Ah,” Tsukishima-san weighs her head left to right. “She was surprised, for sure. I think she always had her mind set on Akiteru. Got me a pretty Yen, you know.”

You gape at her as she snickers, proud of herself. “Oh yes, I knew it right away. That bet’s been going on for almost as long as Kei’s been around.”

“You’re a trickster,” you tell her, not quite sure what you’re supposed to think about it.

“Where do you think Kei gets it from?”

“Gets what from who?” Kei asks, stepping into the kitchen. He’s never far away for long, always eager to close that space again. His hand slides into the back pocket of your jeans now, squeezing your butt. 

You throw him a pointed glare and he grins, the picture of innocence when he’s anything but.

“I can’t tell you without insulting at least one of you,” you huff and he preens while his Mom snickers.

It’s weird, you can’t help but think as they chat, how this house, this family, already feels like home.

Maybe because it always has been. You’d just been a little too shy to grasp it fully.

[crimsonwolf715]

Adjusting

(Part 4 of Adventures of the Batfamily)

Jason’s making toast after patrol, so around midnight. He grabs a butterknife and starts poking at the butter while waiting for his toast to finish. Once his toast is done, he pulls it out and starts putting butter on it. Someone grabs his shoulder, startling Jason. He has the knife at their throat in an instant on reflex. Dick looks surprised and concerned, his hand still on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason lowers the knife and sighs. “Don’t sneak up on me.” 

He grabs the toast and heads upstairs without another word. He eats the toast while gathering clothes so he can shower. After showering, Jason starts reading. He looks up at the clock after reading for a while. Three in the morning and he’s nowhere near tired. 

Sometimes I wish that I was willing to get medicated for my terrible insomnia.  

“Jason!” Jason hears Bruce cry out, like he’s in pain. 

He reacts before he even has time to think about it. He drops his book and rushes to Bruce’s room, pushing the door fully open. Bruce is still in bed, shaking like a leaf. Jason walks over and Bruce opens his eyes. 

“Jason?” Bruce asks. 

“Hey,” Jason says hesitantly. 

“My baby.” Bruce pulls him into a rib crushing hug. 

What the actual hell is happening right now?  

“You okay, Bruce?” Jason asks. 

“Yes. You’re back, I’m fine,” Bruce says slowly, then lets Jason go. 

Jason notices Tim in the doorway. “You handled that better than Dick did the first time he saw it.” 

“I feel like my brain shut off,” Jason says. 

“That may be why you reacted better, but you still did,” Tim replies with a shrug. “You need anything, Bruce?” 

“No, I’m okay. You two should go back to sleep,” Bruce answers. 

“Come on. We can talk in the hallway.” 

Jason walks outside with Tim. 

“Is he okay?” Jason asks. 

Tim shrugs. “He has nightmares. Some are about your death, others are about other traumatic things that have happened. He’s got PTSD, so it’s not surprising. He’ll be okay if you don’t go running. I try to get there within a reasonable time, but it’s not necessary to run. Unless he’s yelling, he won’t wake up before you get there.” 

Jason nods. “You sure are calm about this.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been dealing with this since I started as Robin. He used to wake up and think that I was you. Usually, that didn’t end well. Since Dick came back into his life and Damian showed up, it hasn’t been so bad. It doesn’t happen as frequently. Alfred will take care of it sometimes.” 

“Speaking of the murder baby, where is he?”

“He’s at Jon’s house,” Tim answers. “Bruce lets him go over for sleepovers as long as Superman isn’t there that night.” 

“Beef with Superman?” 

“Kinda. Supes isn’t really great to the kids in his life. Kon and Jon. Bruce just doesn’t want to give Damian an opportunity to kill Superman.” 

“Huh, probably not a bad call.” 

“I think I’m gonna go back to bed though,” Tim says. “I’ve got therapy and if I seem too tired, I’ll get grilled about my sleeping habits again.” 

“ ‘Night, Tim,” Jason says. 

“Goodnight, Jason. Try not to think about that too much. He’s fine.” 

Jason watches Tim walk back to his room, then walks back to his own room. He picks his phone up to check the time and notices that Dick texted him, but chooses to ignore it for the moment. 

I’ll respond to him later, once I’ve gotten some sleep.  

He climbs into bed and stays awake thinking about the events of the last hour for another hour before he falls asleep. 

Later that day around 4:30 pm

Dick walks into the cafe and looks around. His eyes fall on Barbara and he smiles. He walks over and pulls the chair around so he can sit directly next to her. 

“Hey,” she says. 

He leans his head against her and she pats his shoulder. 

“What happened?” she asks. 

“I… I triggered Jason’s trauma and he’s been avoiding me since,” Dick answers. 

“How long has it been?” 

“I visited last night for dinner and it happened then.” 

“Maybe try going to talk to him once we’re done here.” 

“But can’t I just stay with you?” 

“No. I’m doing girl’s night with Stephanie and some others.” 

“Damn it.” 

Barbara starts running her hand through Dick’s hair. He allows himself to stay like that for a couple minutes, then sits up. 

“I don’t want to ruin the mood of our date anymore.” 

“Well, I’m always willing to listen and give wonderful advice.” 

Dick sighs. “What would I do without you?” 

“Melt. Like the Wicked Witch.” 

The two laugh, then get to talking about their lives and Dick’s job in Blüdhaven. Dick looks at his watch after a while. 

“Ah, I gotta go. I’m expected at dinner in like an hour and I have to talk to Jason. Do you want me to get you another drink before I leave?” 

“Yes, please. I want one for the road.” 

After getting Barbara another drink, the two kiss then head their separate ways. 

Tim walks out of the therapy office and Stephanie’s waiting. 

“Hey,” Stephanie says. 

“Hey,” Tim echoes, then yawns. 

“Long night?” 

“Long morning. I’ll be glad for coffee.” 

The two start walking towards their usual coffee shop. 

“Which person?” Stephanie asks. 

“Bruce,” Tim answers. “I talked to Jason for a bit, but Bruce woke me up.” 

They walk in silence for a bit, focusing more on the road than conversation. Once they get to the coffee shop and order, they take a seat. 

“So how was therapy?” 

“It was therapy. I can tell with one hundred percent certainty, Bruce and the others could benefit from it.” 

Stephanie nods. The barista calls out Tim’s name, so the two go and get their coffees. They chat for a while about school, work, and all the other little things. Tim’s grateful to have Stephanie to talk to about all the craziness in his life. 

“So, how’s everyone been dealing with Jason being back? He’s been back for like a month and a half, right?” 

Tim nods. 

“Everyone’s taking it as well as they can. Damian acts like he may have met him before with how casual he is with Jason. I’m not really sure what’s going on there. Dick’s been doing surprisingly well considering he decked Jason the first time he saw him after he found out. Bruce seems hesitantly thrilled. Like he’s worried if he acts too excited, that Jason will disappear again. Alfred’s pretty normal considering everything. Seems a little happier when Jason shows up to meals, but is otherwise normal. I’m dealing with it fine. I dealt with all the ‘he tried to kill me’ stuff pretty quickly considering everyone’s attempted it. It’d be weirder if I got a new brother, and he didn’t try to kill me.” 

“Well, at least everyone’s adjusting. Barbara was worried you guys wouldn’t be able to adjust properly.” 

“Probably something Dick said then. He’s… He’s got a lot of guilt when it comes to Jason, so it isn’t helping. Speaking of which, are you gonna be able to come over for dinner?” 

“No, I’ve got girl’s night,” Stephanie answers. 

“Oh, that’s right. I forgot that was today,” Tim replies. 

Stephanie laughs. “I’ll come help mediate family dinner tomorrow.” 

Tim sighs. “No need to mediate. It’ll just be us kids outside of Dick tomorrow.” 

Stephanie raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe you will need to mediate. That may turn into a thing.” 

Stephanie nods. “I need to go though. I have to get home, get ready, and then get to the place. So much traveling.” 

“I can drive you if you want,” Tim says. 

“Nah, it’s okay,” Stephanie replies, “but you behave yourself.” 

“No promises.” 

The two hug, then head in opposite directions back home. 

Dick knocks on Jason’s bedroom door. “Hey, Jason?” 

Jason looks up. “Yeah?” 

“Can I talk to you?” 

“Why couldn’t you?” 

“I thought you were angry with me.” 

“About last night?” 

Dick nods. 

“No. I’m not mad about that, Dickhead. I trigger my own trauma and I know what triggers me. Come here.” 

Dick walks into the room and sits down next to Jason. 

“You’re stupid, I hope you know that,” Jason says. 

“Only sometimes,” Dick replies. “I brought you cookies.” 

“Wow, you felt really guilty. You never used to do this kind of shit unless you felt horrible.” 

Dick sighs and looks at his hands, which are placed in his lap. “I wanted to apologize.” 

“For? I just said that I even trigger my trauma sometimes.” 

��I know it looks like I just like our other siblings better because I treat them differently than I treated you, but that isn’t the case.” 

Jason leans back, putting his weight on his hands. “Yeah, it does feel like that. I begged you to spend time with me and you refused. Damian barely has to ask for you to come driving thirty minutes to take him anywhere. You’ve shown up for Tim whenever he’s asked. I watched you guys for so long and you never once denied them unless you absolutely had to.” 

“I know, but what happened with you is why I spend so much time with them. You left this gaping hole in my life and I hated the way that everything happened. Yeah, I originally spent so much time with them out of guilt, but I love them. I lost so much and while Bruce fixed some of that, it didn’t fix the rest of it. I’m sorry that things happened the way they did.” 

Jason moves his arms so he drops onto his bed. “We’re screwed up, aren’t we?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dick puts the box of cookies on the nightstand. 

“Eh. I forgive you, I guess,” Jason says. 

“Thanks,” Dick replies. “I promise that I’ll do better now.” 

“You’d better. I’m not begging you to do shit with me.” 

Dick nods. The two sit in comfortable silence for a while. Jason keeps poking Dick, which he ignores entirely. Dick’s phone dings, so he picks it up. 

“Alfred wants to know what we want for dinner,” Dick says. 

“Umm… I don’t care as long as I don’t have to cook it,” Jason says. 

“I’m gonna tell him that you’re indecisive.” 

“Well, he’ll take that at face value so I don’t care. Can you do something for me?” 

Dick turns back to look at Jason. “That depends on what it is.” 

“Can you hold me accountable? I know I don’t completely agree with you guys, but just make sure that I don’t go overboard.” 

“So you’re asking me for help on hero work?” 

Jason nods. 

“I’ll do it. You just have to promise me that if I say you’re going overboard, that you take a good look at what you’re doing. If you can’t, then my judgment overrules however you feel about it.” 

“You got it, boss.” 

Dick’s phone dings again, so he looks at it. 

Tim: We’re having pizza. Tell Jason thank you.  

“Not really sure why, but Tim told me to tell you that he’s thankful,” Dick says. 

“We’re having pizza then,” Jason replies. 

Tim: Also, come down. We’re setting the table for dinner and Bruce got back.  

“Come on. We’re setting the table and annoying our father by saying hello all at the same time.” 

Dick and Jason head downstairs where Tim and Damian are setting the table. 

“Hey, Dami. When did you get back?” Dick asks, ruffling his hair. 

“This afternoon,” Damian answers. 

“How did I miss you?” 

“How did you miss me?” Damian asks, not looking at Dick as he keeps setting out napkins.

Dick shrugs. 

“I was in my room with my animals and you went straight into Todd’s room when you came in.” 

“That tracks.” 

Once the pizza gets there, everyone settles down at the table to eat. The first ten minutes are mostly in silence. Finally, Bruce breaks the silence. 

“How was everyone’s day?” Bruce asks.

“Mine was fine,” Jason answers. “I just stayed at home all day.” 

“Fine,” Tim answers with a shrug. “Stephanie’s doing well too.” 

“I just had a date, so not a lot to report,” Dick answers. 

“You know what? I do have something,” Jason says. “Dick’s so dramatic. I forgot to respond to his text and he thought I was angry with him.” 

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it,” Dick replies, pointing his fork at Jason. 

“Don’t threaten your brother with your fork,” Bruce says. 

Dick puts his fork down, but still glares at Jason. Jason’s smiling. 

“This argument is stupid,” Damian says. “You already knew that Grayson was sensitive, it’s not new for him.” 

“I don’t know whether to be offended or not.” 

“Damian’s just being honest,” Tim replies with a shrug. 

“You guys are so mean,” Dick says, not serious at all. 

He smiles as he watches Jason and Tim bicker about something while Damian’s conversing with Bruce. They’ll get through this, all of them.

[kaliforniahigh]

Can you please write something about Noahs girlfriend trying the ‘dafuq’ trend that I’ve seen all over TikTok on Noah 😭 If you haven’t seen the trend you can probably check anywhere for it! xx

I went down a rabbit hole watching these videos. Couples trend are so funny when they're harmless!

You know what other trend would be funny as hell? Recording with a filter and seeing how long it takes for Noah to notice his eyes are too far apart LOL

From time to time, Noah agreed to do a video with you. You weren't super active on social media, but sometimes you posted food-related videos. This time, you invited him to taste the Crumbl flavors of the week.

You both left the store, and Noah was holding the large pink box full of cookies in his hands, and you reached in his pocket for the key to unlock the car. You both got in and he set the box on the center console, in between you two.

"Why do we have to eat in the car?", he asked you, a bit puzzled by the idea.

"Because it's the aesthetic, Noah", you explained, grabbing your phone and setting it on the holder stuck to the dashboard.

"Eating in the car is an aesthetic now?", he mumbled to himself and you just chuckled in response.

Noah thought you were just tasting the cookies in the video, but you had something else planned. You've seen this trend going around on TikTok, where girlfriends praked their boyfriends saying "dafuq" at the end of every sentence.

You decided that it would be a fun prank to pull on him, since it was harmless and there was finally a couples trend that didn't dimish the woman.

Since you didn't use many slangs while speaking, you had a feeling he would catch on pretty soon. But it was worth a try anyways.

"Ok, I'm gonna start recording", you told him and you saw him adjusting his hair out of the corner of your eye. You hit the record button and started speaking.

"Hey everyone, so we just left the Crumbl store, and we're sitting here with a big box full of cookies for us to try, dafuq", you said the last word a little lower, so it wasn't as obvious.

Noah rubbed his hands together, actually excited to try the sweet treats.

"So I was thinking we could split them in half, dafuq", you said, while opening the box and looking over the different flavors.

"What, did you find something strange in there?", he asked you, pering into the box, and you realized he was acknowledging the "dafuq" you added. Playing it cool, you replied.

"No, everything's fine", he only nodded in response. "Do you want to try the Confetti Milshake or the Snickerdoodle first, dafuq?"

You looked at him, trying to keep your composure. He was looking at you weird now, but didn't comment on it yet.

"We can try the Snickerdoodle first", he said and you went to grab the cookie and split it in half, handing one piece to Noah. You both clicnked your cookies together in a toast before eating, and you really hoped he wouldn't say cheers, because you couldn't imagine you saying "cheers dafuq".

You both took a bite out of the cookie, feeling the sweet flavor enter your mouth.

"This one is really nice. Simple and nice flavor", he gave his review.

"It is really nice. Not to sweet either, dafuq", you said, grabbing a napkin to clean your mouth.

"Ok, what is going on?", he finally asked you, now turning his body to fully face you.

"What do you mean, dafuq?", you said, looking at the box as if trying to decide the nest flavor.

"Nope, you're dodging the question. Why are you dafuq to the end of every sentence?", he grabbed your hand and you turned your head to look at him.

You couldn't help but break into laughter. His expression was actually serious, because he was actually concerned about you.

"Why are you laughing?", he asked, with a little indigination in your voice.

"Oh, this is so funny", you grabbed your stomach and tried to take some deep breaths. "It's just a prank I've seen on TikTok", you finally explained to him.

"Oh my God", he breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought your brain was malfunctioning for a moment", he put a hand on his chest.

"I'm fine, I promise", you put a comforting hand on his arm, and after finally calming down, he said.

"Can we try the Confetti Milkshake now?"

You stopped recording and grabbed the cookie from the box, splitting it in half and giving a piece to Noah.

[frogandbird]

oo ok i have a lot hold on.

raph: has absolutely massive lungs so she can hold her breath for a long ass time. she can slow her heart/body down in order ro like sneak around and not have pesky things like heart beats giving her away. can/has retractable spikes/claws on tail/fingers/toes. post kraang she develops gills and a scream similar to Primes (temp lock down of mistics/nimpo. not affective on other ‘hive’ members). very strong since of smell/taste, but very willing to eat anything. has scars teeth so if she breaks a tooth eating sm she’s not supposed to (caugh caugh her phone in that one ep) she can just pull it out and have a new one in a few days. also a living garbage can and can eat literally anything. poisons that attack through digestion are very weak to her. not completely immune but the amount needed for her makes it kind of pointless. downside is the same goes for meds :( needs like 3x the food her siblings do, so like 6x more then a human too. contradictory, she can go weeks wo food and water but she gets very sluggish after a week or so. once her scales are cut, it takes a long time clot over and is at the biggest risk of bleeding out should she get a major injury. She is also very easy to topple should you trip her tail. (should you head canon her w a tail lol) her scales are also so though it’s hard to feel things/pain. bc of that she tends to keep a invisible cover of nimpo to be able to feel things properly (personally think her nimpo is very sensitive to feel so she doesn’t kill someone on accident) but that means she is very easy to mistic attacks (mystics/nimpo leach onto more mystics/nimpo in my brain (also part of the reason the kraang could take over, but also the reason she could break free)). needs to soak often in order to make she she doesn’t over work her body, being so big makes it hard w to fight gravity sometimes.

Donnie: can breathe through their shell, better in clean water but still. bones are very fragile/rubbery(idk if that’s the right word lol), making them even more flexible then the avrage human. can also slow their heartbeat but not to the same extent Raph can. post kraang ship they gain the ability to communicate w other ‘hive’ members and technology (this gives them a headache after a bit but is very useful). strongest sense of sight/6th/feel out of all the siblings, can not taste a lot of things but texture can and will make them abandon most foods. also very very sensitive to anything tuching them, preferring silks and very soft cotton (or hugs from fam, scales and well cared for fur is fine most days). so sensitive to air currents and temperatures it’s kind of insane. eats the least out of their sibs, can go mouths wo food and weeks wo water. only eats once a day and that to much sometimes. like the others meds/poisons have litte\le affect. like raph, they have claws that can retract (but unlike her they are out by default). clots the fastest out of all the siblings, at almost no risk of bleeding out, but of internal blood clots do has to be careful about that. the least sensitive of mistics, but 2ed best user of nimpo. can dehighdrate very quickly. needs only 4 hours of sleep, has a physically bigger brain then the others too. overthinking is a common and big problem. scales are also very thin, hence the feel thing.

Leo: needs hearing aids, but has very strong eyes. scatterbrained was intended to be able to keep track of hundreds of people and thousands of pounds ok supplies but that did not turn out being useful in the good timeline (unless you count overthinking much like his twin). 2ed biggest brain but he don’t like using it lol. weak joints but very, very fast. has longest arms too, letting him run on four limbs should he feel so inclined (he hates doing it). gets sick the easiest but also takes meds the best. had the slowest healing factor as his body wants speed/strangth over health. only needs 3 hours of sleep at most, a few 10min cat naps over the day is often more then needed. post kraang his joints are even worse, and can not duck into shell unless he wants to risk a lot of pain and shifting his shell. (idk i don’t have a lot of thoughts on leo unlike most of the fandom)

Mikey: ironically the worst since of taste and feel out of the sibs, but very good hearing and eyes. also very flexible with rubbery (still the wrong word but idk what other word to use) bones/shell. thick scales letting him be almost completely fire proff and it takes nearly as much to cut/bruise him as it dose raph. has a mental affect that tells others to let down their guard and listen to the kid, for good or for bad. is the best at storing and using mistics/nimpo but it can/will eat them out from the inside out should he not use it properly (this following the pattern of his vains). gets very, very sleepy over the winter as his body shuts down. unlike raph and donnie this is not controlable and can be mildly dangrous if not fed/hydrayed enough. needs to eat the most often out of his siblings and is the one who needs to eat 3 times a day, unlike raph its not amount but time. can not prosses meat, at all. had the hardest time keeping to the rules of the univers due to his mistics/nimpo.

can you tell raph and donnie are the ones who i am fixated the most on rn? anyway, take thr pile of headcanons

Does anyone have headcanons for the Rise Turtles on like, 'Modified Biology' kind of headcanons.

Not just accelerated healing, and high resistance to poisoning/medicine. Though they are still applicable.

I've seen the whole Leo was engineered to need less sleep headcanon, which was not realized and just thought to be insomnia.

Maybe Raph, Donnie, and Leo have a kind of internal filter system that helps with swimming in contaminated water.

Okay, Mikey is a bit hard to figure what to add that would work, but maybe the Psychologist thing was kinda implanted to make it easier to get others to listen to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Like I have an out there one for my AU Turtles, where when they ingest a poison, it secretes out into their saliva, so their bite is way more dangerous. Though it also acts as a roundabout way of injecting 'medicine' into the other turtles.

Though it does have the weirdness of them needing to essentially take medicine twice before their body realizes that it needs the medicine for itself. Aka they have to swallow their medicine filled saliva so that it will take effect. They're still basically immune to poison.

Yes, I made a pretty gross trait, but I wanted to find a way to nerf a character in a way that fits.

[brainrotcharacters]

yapping about the movie isn't enough. i need to write two novelizations one for each of their povs.

[puppetmaster13u]

You know what I need? I need a scene, either alone or in a group, of like, a hero or someone talkin to someone. For example Superman and Batman talkin, everything normal right?

And then I need it to switch to the pov of an outsider and they just have the thickest accents in the world. Somehow speaking the same language and understanding each other while the civilian is just ????