#does he listen to metal? yes

[sinsydia]

I headcanon that Sebastian listens to some chill tracks when he rides

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

wen kexing listens to metal. don't ask me i just know.

[pathfinderlittleduck]

Two souls have been bound by time In a sequential form of love Reaching multiple lives Connected by the stars above

Wayhaven PD Detective Lukas Vanir He/Him | Gay

༺☆༻ Don’t repost or edit ༺☆༻

[hurtspideyparker]

If Civil War didn't end in divorce and everyone lived together Part 2

Read Part 1 and Part 3

Tony: Why is Underoos mopping the ceiling?

Sam: Told him since he's sticky that's his chore

Bucky: It's only fair he helps out around the house

Tony: Hm. Makes sense

-

Vision cooked dinner:

Peter: *pushing around food to make it look eaten*

Natasha: *surreptitiously spitting into napkin*

Steve: *taking small bites with tons of water*

Bucky: *just stares at full plate*

Tony: Well this is disgusting, I'm ordering pizza

-

Sam: C'mon man stop moping around, you gotta get yourself a girl

Bucky: Ok.

Sam: Ok? Okayyyyy! I know-

Bucky: Give me your phone

Sam: Oh you got a number in mind already hotshot? *hands phone over*

Bucky: *ring* Hi Sarah ;)

Sam: BOY-

-

Peter: Ned thought you would seperate your colours from your lights but he also thought you'd be homophobic so I don't pay him much mind cuz clearly I'm more of a superhero expert than him but he does have a 2% better average than me in history so like maybe you do hand wash your clothes and that's why I asked what underwear you wear because-

Steve: *listening intently with apprehension and alarm*

Natasha: I can't believe you found the one person on Earth who talks more nonsense than you

Tony: I know right, it's incredibly unnerving. I'm planning on adopting him

-

Peter: Mr. Stark I have to tell you something. I think Vision is a... *whispers* pervert

Tony: Um, why?

Peter: He keeps floating through my room without knocking! He saw me changing, he saw my nipples !

Tony: Well if anyone's a predator here it would be you. I mean showing your nipples to a 2 year old? Deplorable.

Peter:

Peter: Oh god, I'm the pervert...

-

Bucky: Y'know animosity isn't good between teammates. I think we should spend more time together

Sam: Am I being punked right now? Where's the camera

Bucky: I'm serious. I think it would be healthy for us to bond

Sam: Okay fine I'll bite... what did you have in mind

Bucky: Wanna go for a run?

Sam: *slams door in Bucky's face*

-

*staring at Bucky's sparkly clean metal arm*

Bucky: Dishwasher?

Peter: Dishwasher :)

(later that day)

Bucky: I've decided to let the child live

Peter: YoU wHaT?!

-

Thwip

Tony: Who took my coffee cup, It was right here

Thwip

Bruce: Um, has someone seen my book? I just had it

Thwip

Steve: I could've sworn I was holding a pen a moment ago

*giggling from the ceiling*

Tony: Young man I will take those webshooters away if you use them for shenanigans and rascality

Peter, muffled: Mr. Hawkeye told me to!

Clint: Oh so you're just gonna rat me out like that?

Peter: Sor- OOF

*falls out of ceiling vent*

-

Sam: You're in my spot

Bucky: There are no spots, it's a common area

Sam: Well that's my spot

Bucky: Did you buy the chair??

Sam: No, but everyone knows that's where I sit. Right Steve?

Steve: Oops I forgot something in my car, be right back *leaves*

Sam: Still my spot

Bucky: Still not

Sam: *sits on him*

Bucky: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU ALL THE COUCHES ARE FREE-

Sam: IT'S MY SPOT YOU CAN'T TAKE A MAN'S FAVOURITE CHAIR-

BUCKY: YOU HAVE ISSUES GET OFF ME-

(one hour later)

Steve: Hey so turns out I don't have a car! Isn't that funn...

Sam & Bucky: *Squeezed awkwardly on the chair together*

Steve: I think I left something in my car

-

Steve: Leave the bedroom door open when you have Vision in there

Wanda: UGH you're so protective

Tony: Teenagers, am I right? Caught Pete reassembling my particle accelerator at midnight because he needed to neutralize a miniature nuclear bomb he nabbed off some guy he neglected to tell me was trying to kill him

Steve:

Steve: Wanda y'know what do whatever you want

Wanda: Really?

Steve: Yes just keep being normal. At least I can read about our issues in a parenting book

-

Thor: Ah, new warriors I see! Good to make all your acquaintance. But why are you so grumpy my friend?

Bucky: *glaring*

Peter: He's always like that. It's um, P- P- PMS? Wait -

Natasha: Yes it's PMS

Wanda: He's got it bad

Steve: *genuinely concerned* Bucky you didn't tell me something was wrong. What can I do to help?

Bucky:

Bucky: I like chocolate

-

Wanda: Welcome to the first annual girls night! This place reeks of men, so I thought we needed some women time

Pepper: Why is Vision here?

Wanda: I get sad when he's gone

Natasha: Why is Pietro here?

Pietro: Slay queens

Wanda: Moral support I think

Maria: Why is Peter here?

Wanda: He looked really upset when I said he wasn't included and I felt bad

Wanda: Anyways... yay girls! Who wants me to paint their nails?

Peter: ME ME ME

-

Steve: Pancakes or waffles?

Natasha: Pancakes

Steve: Good because I don't have a waffle maker

Natasha: Then why would you ask-

Steve: It's important for your voice to be heard, as team leader I value your opinion

*2 minutes later*

Steve: Good morning Clint, pancakes or waffles?

Clint: Waffles

Steve: Oh no.

-

Some of these were based on requests (ex. more Sam & Bucky, dad Steve w/ Wanda) so if you have certain dynamics you enjoy let me know !

[fionnaskyborn]

I'm just thinking about something that has been poisoning my thoughts when writing. This thing is the concept of characters only doing something for another character for their own personal benefit, out of their own, selfish desires. As in, say, they aren't being kind for the sake of being kind to that particular character and having a positive relationship with them, but rather because of their personal need to compensate for something. Ultimately viewing the other as nothing but an object to help them along their healing journey, instead of a person. And... It's horrible. I do not know where this stemmed from. Too much exposure to the fanbase of [REDACTED] is likely to blame. They all believe in such things. Is the idea of kindness lost on these people? Do they not know that you can be kinder to people in the present than you were to other people in the past not because you're trying to get a good grade in having a redemption arc and nothing more, but because you're genuinely just trying to treat people better? To be kinder to them? Have they forgotten about the concept of learning from one's mistakes? How has the idea of growth beyond who you used to be become so foreign?

[eternalsunrise]

shower talk.

deadpool (wade wilson) x f!reader

wc: 750 (drabble)

tags! established relationship, sexual & murder references (duh)

notes! wade brainrot is so bad idk, logan fic coming soon pls forgive me

wade often barges into the bathroom while you’re in the shower just to sit on the toilet seat and rant about the mission he just went on, or even to ask what takeout you want for dinner. couldn’t it wait until you had clothes on? sure, but he wants to talk to you now.

unexpectedly, you decide to take a page out of his playbook.

you’ve just walked in the door after your 9-5, throwing your keys and bag haphazardly across the room in frustration. you spy the familiar rumpled up red and black suit on the floor, wade was home. you had complained last week about deadpool tracking blood into the apartment after his “work.” it seemed your boyfriend had listened and obliged. if it weren’t for your bad day, the image of him cupping his crotch as he scrambled naked into the bathroom would’ve made you smile.

you hear the water still running, but you finally understand how wade feels, this can’t wait. you open the bathroom door and throw the toilet lid down, unsure if wade even heard you enter over the sound of his own voice belting hall and oates’ greatest hits.

you sit down and let out an overdramatic sigh. your boyfriend’s voice quiets down halfway through “out of touch”

“honey bear? you’re home! these stab wounds will heal in about two minutes then you can join me. i know how you feel about seeing intestines, and i don’t want to make you gag…well scratch that i do sometimes—“

“i fucking hate men.”

you hear the sound of the shower curtain opening slightly, and wade’s head peaks out, looking at you with wide eyes, “woah language, babydoll! you know degradation turns me on.” his head tilts to the side, noticing the distress written on your face “but i have a feeling this isn’t about me…”

you spare him a narrowed glance, then watch as his head disappears. the curtain closes and you hear the water hit skin again as he resumes his shower. he’s giving you time to speak. remarkable.

“you remember that guy i told you about? the one that gave me major creep vibes? and was just an all around dick?”

you get a hum in response, and you can’t see it, but you know wade is physically biting his tongue so he doesn’t say anything. it’s endearing in a way.

you rub your face with your hands, the memory of what you’re about to say lights the fire of anger again, “well. guess who got that promotion i was being eyed for? i’ll give you a hint, it’s not someone with a vagina! and on top of that, i saw him try to look under my skirt as i was leaving! that fuck.”

you almost regretted telling him that last part, knowing where this was going. but your mind was clouded by frustration, and the water was already turned off. the rings screech against the metal shower rod as wade throws the curtain open, reaching over your head for a towel. “okay sweet thing. where does this cock suck and fuck live?”

your eyes catch a glimpse of red turning pink as it swirled into the tub drain. you shake your head, suddenly realizing the severity of what your mercenary boyfriend was implying. “no no babe please it’s not that serious! and you just got home. not to mention if people found out, you’d get in so much trouble all because of something silly that happened to me and—“

a long finger is placed over your lips. you’re eye level with wade’s v line, partially covered by the towel now wrapped around his waist. you trail your eyes upward, locking them with the one who interrupted your rambling.

“shhh. nonsense kitten. now. you’re going to tell me this guy’s address, and i’m going to go out for…” wade uses his free arm to look at a make believe watch, “hmm, about an hour. while i’m gone, you’re going to change out of this sexy pantsuit. then have a glass of wine, and touch yourself while you think of me fondly. i’ll grab dinner on the way home. yes?”

when you nod with wide eyes in agreement, he removes his finger, bending down to meet your face, “atta girl.” he praises as his lips graze your own, kiss light as a feather. he clears his throat then, patting your cheek a few times as he stands up to walk out of the bathroom. whistling as if murder was all in a day’s work (you suppose for him it is)

you sit there stunned, wondering if you just got your coworker murdered….and why you were so turned on.

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Prompt #4

When they all convene at the cave, Alfred is silently wrapping Dick's knuckles. Damian hovers beside him. Tim and Barbara are hunched over the batcomputer, not even sparing Bruce a glance as he strides over.

"Report," Batman grunts. No one reacts.

"Report!"

"Hood pushed his panic button at 2:34 AM," Barbara says shortly, straightening.

The button had been a joke, mostly because Jason would never use it and everyone knew it.

"I patched into his comm at 2:35. This is what I heard initially." At her nod, Tim presses play. What occurs next is a garble. There is the sound of high winds, as if Hood is rushing through the air, even though the comms are designed to filter out any ambiance otherwise the Bats would never hear each other. Interspersed is a mixture of static punctuated by high, inhuman screeches of metal and something else unknown.

"This goes on," Barbara says after thirty long seconds, switching it off. "Red Hood failed to respond to any attempts at contact. I dispatched Nightwing to Hood's location at 2:36 AM. He was approximately two miles away." She pulls up a GPS map of their respective locations, their beacons blinking.

"At 2:41 AM, Red Hood's comm goes off, as does his GPS," Barbara says, swallowing softly as the red beacon indicating Jason disappears. "Nightwing arrives at 2:42 AM."

Dick doesn't say anything, head hanging low as he grips the metal table he sits on. Damian glances between the two of them, expression flat but fists clenched.

"Nightwing, report."

"..."

"Scene was empty, B," Tim speaks up. "No trace of Hood, no sign of a struggle. No cameras in the alley. We've been checking the ones nearby but so far there's no sign of anyone but Hood heading in that direction...and no one, Hood included, caught in the cams heading out, not within that time frame."

"So he's still in the area," Batman concludes. "The local buildings?"

"All the entrances have cameras, which showed no evidence of Hood nor any evidence of being tampered with," Barbara says. "Nightwing, Red Robin and Robin canvased within a half mile radius to check for any signs of disturbances in any of the windows or rooftops but found no evidence to support Hood being taken. A scan confirmed several serial offenders, but when interviewed and searched there was no sign of Hood. Several in the area reported an unusual quiet for Crime Alley."

Batman forces the next question out. "Did you check the dumpsters?"

"Yes," Nightwing grits out. "Empty."

Barbara clears her throat. "I have attempted to reconnect to Jason's GPS and comm as well as restart both remotely but there's no signal at all. The thing is, when there's a disruption like that it usually leaves some sort of sign" she pulls up the audio waves, pointing at the end where the spikes conform into a straight line that makes everyone deeply uncomfortable. Upon playing, the noise from before plays before going abruptly silent. "But there is no large spike, this is clean. It just ends. His GPS is much the same. It's not off, it's just gone."

"I know you don't like to hypothesize this early on, B, but we think this involves a meta," Tim says, rewinding the audio. "We've been running the audio from Jason's comm through different filters, playing with the levels and isolating what we can and, well, take a listen--"

The screeching drops to a sort of muffle and in the background, distantly, they can hear bits of Jason's voice.

"No, I'm not---"

"--don't need--"

"get AWAY from--"

a particularly desperate yell that makes Tim flinch, "I am NOT--!"

and almost a whimper that makes Batman's blood run cold, "please..."

And then, unfairly clear even through the faint garble, Jason says "I don't have a choice, do I."

And a minute later, quietly: "Ok."

The audio cuts off.

The defeat in Jason's last words is palpable, and fundamentally wrong. Jason has never sounded defeated a day in his life, and no one knows how to process Red Hood all but giving his hands over for the cuffs. Nightwing pushes himself off the table.

"I'm going back out there," he growls. No one tries to stop him as he stalks out the cave, not even Alfred.

"I will accompany Nightwing, make sure he does not punch any more walls." Damian says, nodding tightly.

"B?" Barbara asks.

"Keep working on it. See if you can identify what could be making those noises if Hood was standing still in an alley," Batman says, walking towards the zeta tube. "I'm going to make a few calls."

[corkinavoid]

No Eyed Girl by Lemon Demon

Star Crossed Lovers

Space aesthetic

:3

(Can you tell I'm in love with aliens and space?)

DPxDC In Love With Space

"Someone's excited," Cassie teases, but Tim doesn't pay her any attention. The Bioship carries them through the clouds and up, closer and closer to the stars, and Tim's heart flutters a little in his chest.

"I don't think I've ever seen you so eager to get away from Earth before," Kon muses, leaning forward to get a better look at Tim's expression, and that causes him to blink and finally look away from the endless void of space that awaits them.

"I'm not really eager to get away," he corrects, and, in a moment of brilliant mischief - because one never just misses an opportunity to mess with their teammates - grins, feeling his cheeks heat up slightly. "It's just that when you spend a long time in love with space, it eventually falls in love with you, too."

Kon's face looks rightfully confused, which is exactly what Tim was aiming for. But not for long.

Not after a sound of fleeting, flattered distant laughter rings through the ship, and Kon's face shifts from confusion into alarm. But Tim's heart skips a bit for an entirely different reason, and he runs a hand over his cheek, trying to cool it down because it feels like his face is actually on fire now.

Shit, he definitely heard that.

Not that Tim minds, he'd say it again to his face, but... Let's say he was simply caught off-guard. Yeah, that's definitely why he is now a color of a tomato, and not because his boyfriend is a stalking little shit that decided on the most dramatic coming out possible.

He hears the worried voices of his friends behind him, something about the Bioship detecting a mass of something unidentifiable right in front of them, but he doesn't listen. Sure, he could tell them it's okay. He could explain that he knows exactly what said 'mass' is.

But he is decidedly not about to ruin Danny's performance because where's the fun in that?

The space in front of them shifts. Not inside the ship, no, the whole starry sky out the window moves, like it's merely a picture and not actual galaxies and nebulae out there. And then, there's another sound, like an ice crack in the distance, and a big, roughly the size of Tim's whole body, arm comes through the front shield of the Bioship. It's made of the empty darkness and bright stars, a piece of vast universe given form, and the claws clink against the metal floors as more and more of this impossible being comes through the reinforced glass and onto the deck.

It has no eyes of mouth, and its hair is merely a messy outline on top of their head. It's just... stars, planets, and comets and galaxies shaped in a vaguely humanoid form.

The form that stops trying to get inside the ship when it gets themselves in just halfway, and then lies its chin down on its elbows, their face right in front of Tim's. Or, well, not face, since it lacks all kinds of facial features, but Tim still feels that fond gaze of theirs on himself.

"Talking about me with your friends behind my back, Starlight, I see how it is," the being chuckles, tilting it's head to the side, the whisps of their hair floating gently in the air. Their voice sounds like a whisper of a shooting star, a roar of an avalanche, a gentle hum of electricity, all at once.

"Rob, what-" he hears Cassie start, but he is already taking a step closer, carefully pressing a kiss to where the being's cheek should be. It's a little weird when he is in this form, what with his head being twice as big as Tim's own, but, sue him, he likes the drama of it no less than Danny does.

Right on cue, his teammates all gasp and choke on air behind him.

"Hi, dear," he teases his boyfriend slightly, and Danny reaches one of his clawed hands forward, very carefully wrapping his fingers around Tim's body.

"When you spend a long time in love with space, it does eventually fall in love with you, too, yes," he gently repeats and confirms Tim's words from before, and Tim can't see it, but he knows Danny is smiling.

He also knows he is smiling as well.

~•~•~•~

Just for fun, as a finishing touch, here's the aesthetic I put together for this:

I really, really loved the song, by the way, I think I'm going to play that on repeat now.

Hope you like the piece!

[wheneverfeasible]

You ever think about Eddie Munson in his early 30s watching Rob Halford coming out on MTV? You ever think about Eddie, knowing he was queer but unable to come out for fear of repercussions? He’d been hunted by one mob before and he didn’t want to go through that again.

Maybe Corroded Coffin made it big. Maybe Eddie started or joined a new band. Maybe he does a solo act. Maybe he’s not famous at all and he’s living a regular life.

And then Halford comes out, and Eddie sees how the metal community accepts him, how the community embraces him, and Eddie realizes that yes it’s scary but also he wants that happiness that Halford has, that wonderful moment of coming out of the closet.

Maybe Eddie understood “Raw Deal” for what it was all along, maybe he’s always gotten the hints sprinkled here and there throughout some of the songs. Maybe he always suspected, always wondered. Sure, he lives in a podunk town in Indiana, but he’s sought out whatever information he could when he first realized he was different. He read zines and articles and listened to hushed talk in bars when he escaped Hawkins for a little while when he was younger.

You ever think about Eddie, coming out in his 30s, because even though he knows it can be dangerous, even though he knows it can go all wrong, he doesn’t want to be in the closet anymore and later he writes a letter to Halford, not really expecting him to ever read it, expressing gratitude for the courage and the strength to finally be true to himself, come what may.

Imagine Steve Harrington, adding his own little postscript, thanking him for helping him find the man of his dreams.

Years later, when it’s finally legalized and they’re both graying and a little soft around the middle, do you ever think about Eddie and Steve inviting Halford to their wedding not really expecting him to ever read it or show up if he even did?

Do you ever think about Rob Halford showing up with his own partner Tom Green and telling Eddie and Steve that they’ve been rooting for them all these years?

You ever think about Eddie, alive, happy, and loved?

Link to Halford’s interview

[staryuee]

are you able to make some head canons of scaramouche, kazuha, xiao, (BASICALLY ANEMO BOYS), neuvi, kinich on how they react to reader being nonchalant like lwk i think itd be funny

NONCHALANT S/O

꒰warnings꒱ N/A

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . xiao, kazuha, scaramouche, neuvillette, kinich

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . happy new year ♡ still on hiatus but i didn’t want to leave you guys completely high and dry d(^_^o) + also kinich is most definitely out of character just bc i refuse to play the new update so i know nothing about him

XIAO

ʚ it doesn’t bother him, if anything he likes the fact you’re able to brush things off easily (makes it easier for him to stop crouching on nearby trees to assure you’re safe, but lord do you sometimes hurt his ego)

ʚ xiao isn’t confident in romantic gestures, even something as small as a compliment or pinky holding has him wanting to disappear and recover…so when you so easily act indifferent to it while he’s practically drunk on flush straight up makes him die a little

ʚ aside from the slight jabs to his pride, you aren’t uncaring and dumb enough to let his love go unnoticed (thankfully) so he can fully appreciate that you protect your peace

ʚ haunted by memories of war, death and the stench of metal, it’s nice to find some solace in the cool air you exude

ʚ from the outer perspective, two people who have nonchalant energy wouldn’t seem to work too well (but lord do people drool when you two are duoed for a fight), but you and xiao just click!

ʚ he’s quiet, protective but sweet and ready to take the first step to love you, while you’re chilled, confident and allow him to take comfort in someone who’s stable (and sometimes snarky lol)

KAZUHA

ʚ he takes your nonchalant energy as you being ditzy or levelheaded if anything - in other words - it’s really endearing!

ʚ you sort of match his personality to the T, except he’s just the slightest bit more reciprocal with other people’s energy meanwhile you just stand back with your hands either tucked in your pockets or fiddling with the edge of his scarf

ʚ he actually kinda just enjoys teasing you if anything to see if anything can make you crack, most attempts end in failure but it is a rather cute bonding exercise to whoosh you with anemo energy out of the blue to then help you reorganise your hair and straighten your clothes

ʚ he does worry for you on the occasion when you seem to show a lack of interest in him, he’s a pure romantic at heart! he thrives off the attention from his beloved partner! but once in a while you do show him just how much you love him

ʚ did he immediately brighten when you once placed your head on his lap really quietly when he was humming a melody to you? yes, and he has no shame about that

SCARAMOUCHE

ʚ oh you PISS him off

ʚ if ignorance and arrogance were ever personified it would be you and him respectfully

ʚ obviously you both love each other on deeper levels than just: “even though i’m above you i’ll still let you hold my hand, — “okay.” - but your relationship is just…humorous at best from an outsider’s view

ʚ the akademiya’s student body is currently conflicted between the idea that your relationship is either ideal or highly toxic

ʚ on one hand, it’s really adorable to see the mysterious, snarky student of vahumana that rarely ever comes to class be so oddly…chatty in your presence, as you so lovingly listened to every word (if the people close enough to actually hear can be bothered to ignore the fact he’s badmouthing the entire school while you shrugged at every word)

ʚ aside from the yapper x listener duo, he’d also…a little more physically affectionate? he rests his head on your lap quite frequently because you say nothing and therefore don’t bother teasing him

ʚ that’s also the main thing he hates: how nonchalant you are about everything makes his indifference seem futile and oddly more vulnerable. you don’t care about anything, and it’s incredibly infuriating! the first time he said “i love you” you replied with “huh?” and that was the first time he’s ever felt so scornful

ʚ he loves you most days, so he will deal with your frustrating silence - it’s nice to see him become the person he wanted to be with someone who rarely intervenes

NEUVILLETTE

ʚ he’s worried, intrigued and a little jealous all at once.

ʚ worried because he fears that your indifference is a direct consequence of his own inadequacy. are you perhaps not satisfied?? do you not like it when he cups the side of your face when he kisses you? or do you hate the purring noises he makes when you curl your hands in his hair? …it’s raining in fontaine again

ʚ he’s intrigued mostly because you don’t seem to care or even be fazed by the fact you’re not only dating a dragon - but a primordial, godly being that precedes the creation of the modern teyvat. he didn’t think the information would be useful to you in the first place, but when you asked so nicely about the two blue steaks in his hair, he felt obliged to tell you - and yet you replied with “oh, cool.”

ʚ a little jealous just because this attitude is rather perfect in court. you can’t show bias and any emotion whether for defence or prosecution can skew your perspective on a trial - it’s difficult. he’s grown to love the little beings that run around fontaine carelessly, passing judgement has become something so much more colourful than black and white. but with you? it’s like you either have no opinion, or just to not engage - slightly admirable, if a little scary

ʚ at the end of the day, it doesn’t worry him too badly. nonchalance doesn’t necessarily mean emotionally unavailable - and believe me he spends enough time next to you to love the little quirks and habits you do when no one is looking at that façade of yours

KINICH

ʚ you 🤝 kinich - two peas in a pod

ʚ you don’t give a shit about anything? neither does he! do you wanna kiss?

ʚ ajaw lowkey hates you both (said with affection) and does NOT hesitate to let his opinion be known, though kinich is of course quick to shut him down

ʚ he kind of enjoys peering his head at you during conversations to see what you’re like - if your face scrunches when people say something weird, if your brows pitifully furrow at the mention of loss, or even if you smile at laughter — and he sees quite literally nothing, which was honestly like looking in a mirror

ʚ no one actually knows how two people with nearly the exact same level of charisma (none) got together, but you two are happy with each other, so really - who else needs to comprehend your relationship?

ʚ you have a really similar approach to life: do what you must to get what you want. but to him that means dangerous commissions that no one would probably want, and to you that means lounge around graffitiing a wall with some symbols you thought of on the spot

ʚ it’s genuinely infuriating to have a conversation with either of you though when the person speaking isn’t looking for particular help (or is speaking too slowly for either of your likings), you either brush the person off and walk away, or kinich talks back rather abruptly

ʚ mualani made it a non negotiable rule to have someone, hopefully the traveler, around either one of you like some sort of support dog to ensure you guys actually socialise and don’t sit there like owls waiting to bite

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[jasmines-library]

Hey! i just wanted to say that your work is phenomenal! You got me sobbing in bed at 3 in the morning. I was wondering if I could request a Batfam x child!Wayne!Reader (maybe 4/5 years old) and what they’re all like (individually) when picking her up from school? In her class, they were learning about the great Batman, and all the hard work he does for the city, keeping everybody safe and whatnot. And obviously, she’s too small to know Bruce is Batman.. how would they all react to little baby Wayne rambling about cool Batman who has his own car and sidekick? I’d imagine she’s a very talkative kid, very sweet and friendly, and a very big-Daddy’s girl, but it’s completely up to you.

Thanks for listening to my rambling.. and keep up your awesome work!

Baby Wayne

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: This is one of the most adorable requests ever anon! Thank you for requesting and thank you for your kind words. I hope I’ve done your request justice.

⛧ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛧ PT2

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BRUCE:

He could see the smile on your face from the doorway. Bright and beaming as you sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning forward to listen to your teacher. The second you saw him lingering in the doorframe however, the smile grew and you were up on your feet in seconds and tottering over to him.

Wrapping your arms around his legs you hugged him tightly and looked up at him with big eyes. Picking you up and resting you on his hip, Bruce pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Hey sweetheart. Good day?”

You nodded excitedly, clinging to your dad. “We learnt about Batman today!” You exclaimed.

Bruce couldn’t help the small smirk that crept onto his face. You were still too young to know about his identity and he did well to keep it from you. You were always exploring and wondering off in the manor. He was sure you would make a fine vigilante one day, but for now he was keep to keep you sheltered.

“Oh really?” He raised a brow.

“Yep!” You said, popping the ‘p’. “He’s awesome! He has a cool car and side kicks! And he keeps the city safe! He’s super cool.”

Bruce bounced you up in his arms, savouring the joy in your voice. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh.” You nodded. “When I grow up I wanna be just like him Daddy!”

“I’m sure you will be kiddo.” Bruce smiled. “I’m sure you will.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

DICK:

He was waiting by the school gates, leaning up against the metal framing when your class came piling out of the doors. Bruce was out on a meeting, so he was tasked with collecting you from school, which of course he had no problem doing.

When you saw him, he made his way over slowly, watching as your face lit up at the sight of him and you came running over him with your bag hanging halfway off one shoulder.

“Dick look!” You beamed crashing into him as you ran a little too fast. Moving away you pointed to the yellow and black sticker you had plastered to the hem of the coat.

Dick crouched down to your height. “What you got there, squirt?”

“It’s the bat signal.” You announced proudly. “We learnt about it in class today.”

“You learnt about Batman?” Dick asked. He had wondered how long it would be until you began to learn about what they did.

“Yes we learnt about all of the heroes. But Batman is my favourite because he saves the city and he has a sidekick!” You grinned “Robin! I like him too.”

Dick hid his little grin by tussling your hair. He couldn’t wait for you to learn more.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

JASON:

Seeing Jason picking you up was a nice surprise for you when you finished class. You were ecstatic to see him and ran up to him squealing.

“Jay!” You giggled and he picked up and spun you around in the air. “I missed you.”

He had been away on business. You had constantly been asking Bruce about when you would see him again. You had began to miss his face at home.

“Guess what we’ve been learning about!?”

“Hmm.” Jason bit his lip pretending to think “pirate ballerinas”

You placed a playful hit to his chest with a laugh. “No silly. Batman!”

A-ha. Jason thought. this would be interesting. He wondered how much you had been told, though he doubted no matter how much you had learnt, that you had managed to piece things together.

“Was it good?” He asked you.

“It was great! He saves all of the people and is a real hero!” You said waving your arms animatedly. “He’s so brave!”

“He is.” Jason agreed. “Just like you little Wayne”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

TIM:

Tim found you doodling at one of the tables in the library. You had an array of colours sprawled out in front of you as you scribbled on the pieces of paper infront of you.

He peered over your shoulder trying to catch a glimpse of your drawing. You had draw stick figures, which made it hard to go by but even with your messy doodles he could make out the distinctive domino masks of the Robin and the black of Batman’s suit and cowl. He knew them like the back of his hand, so it was no surprise.

“What you drawing, kiddo?” He asked you.

You gripped the drawing with your hands and held it up proudly to him. “Batman and Robin. We learnt about them in class so I wanted to draw them.”

“It’s very good kid.” Tim told you, handing you back the drawing of the lopsided people only for you to hand it back to him.

“Can we put it on the fridge?” You asked curiously “I want to show it to Dad. I bet he thinks Batman is awesome too!” You blabbed “do you think he will like it, Timmy?”

“I’m sure he will.”

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

DAMIAN:

Dami was reading in the library when you plonked yourself beside him. Well…kind of. You struggled up onto the couch first.

“What are you doing?” You frowned, trying to read see over his shoulder.

He was reading up on one of Gotham’s villains that was causing havoc in the city. His first instinct was to shut it so you couldn’t read any of it…but then he remembered that you were still only learning to read.

“I’m reading a book on Batman.” He half-lied, setting the book to one side so you could clamber into his lap.

“Ooh I like Batman too.” You nodded.

Damian frowned. You weren’t supposed to know about that yet. “Where did you learn about him?”

“At school.”

Damian relaxed a little.

“He has a super cool cape! And a big car that he drives really fast around the city to stop the bad guys!”

“Sounds dangerous.” Damian smirked.

“Yes…” you trailed off. “But he is allowed to do it because he is Batman.” You decided.

“Is that right? He teased.

“Yes.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

I hope that was okay! I hope you don’t mind that I changed it a little at the end: I didn’t want it to get too repetitive.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

BATFAM TAGS

@aestheticdaisies @hearts4robs @xxrougefangxx @mamapucket @hell-o-kittys @harleycao

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovie a lil request: the first time Steve May be raises his voice or gets upset with reader? And just like angst with fluff

Thank you for your request (and for your patience)!

cw: near-miss car accident, it's lightly implied that reader has trauma (or maybe she's just jumpy and easily upset! who's to say)

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 748 words

“You can’t tell me you don’t know who this is.” 

“I don’t!” Steve swears. “I’ve heard the song, I just don’t know who sings it.” 

You shake your head, grinning. You’ve got one leg hiked up on the driver’s seat and Steve’s hand trapped beneath the other, his fingers spread on the fleshy underside of your thigh. 

“This is Hall and Oates!”

When Steve doesn’t react however you think he should, you glance over. He raises his eyebrows. “Should I know who that is?” 

You laugh. “Yes!” you insist. “How can you not know who they are?”

“Sounds more like a cereal than a band,” he says. “I don’t know what to tell you. I listen to songs on the radio, but I just don’t keep track of the names. I like this song, though.”

You smile at him sideways. “I feel like you could be a secret Hall and Oates fan.” 

Steve gives your leg a squeeze. “It’d have to be a secret from me, too,” he says, “but I guess—hey, hey!” His voice rises sharply as he looks out his window. “Y/N!” 

You jolt, swerving out of the lane you’d been changing into as the car in your blind spot honks. You set your other leg down, hands tightening on the steering wheel. 

“Shit.” Steve lets out a breath. He realizes his grip on your leg has turned cruel in his panic, and he lets go. “Sorry. That was…shit, that was close.” 

You make a small sound of agreement. 

Steve breathes out again. He combs a hand through his hair, heart still going a mile a minute but starting to come down. “Y’okay?” 

You don’t say anything. Steve looks over, hand finding your thigh again automatically. Your body is stiff in your seat, and your eyes are bright. 

“Hey,” he says, surprised. Dread starts to take form in his gut. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s…it’s fine, why don’t we pull over? Pull over, baby.” 

You do, biting your lip to keep your tears from spilling. It makes Steve’s chest ache. He’s seen you like this before, when there’s fighting or sharp voices or once when Robin opened a cabinet and three metal pots clattered out onto the floor, but never with him, never because of him. 

“It’s okay,” he says again, once the car is in park. He tries to sound believable, making his voice soft and gentle. “Can I…do you want a hug?” 

You nod. Steve reaches for you, then stops, his hands hovering by your waist. “You sure?” he checks.

“Yeah,��� you rasp, and he goes all the way. 

He knows you’ve cut yourself loose when you press your face to his shoulder and he feels a tiny wet spot seep into his shirt. Steve hugs you tight, leaning over the center console until it digs into his side painfully. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“No.” You draw in a wet breath. “It was my fault. I wasn’t paying enough attention.” 

“I know, but I shouldn’t have yelled. I was just—I just got scared.” 

“I know,” you say back. You hold onto him. “I’m glad you yelled. It got my attention.” 

Steve frowns, retreating enough to see your face. He brushes away a couple of tears, and your eyes go to the side like you’re embarrassed. 

“I don’t ever want to scare you,” he says, earnestly. 

You shake your head. “You don’t.” 

He lowers his voice again. It’s nearly a whisper. “I’m sorry I yelled.” 

“Don’t,” you insist. “I’m fine.” 

Steve watches you carefully. “Yeah? You’re okay?” he asks. You nod, and he relaxes. “Okay. C’mere.” 

You meet him across the console without reservation, returning his gentle kisses with your own. He does his best to soothe the bullied flesh of your bitten lip. 

“Y’okay?” he asks again, just to be sure. You make a soft sound of confirmation. “You want me to drive the rest of the way?”

You pull back to look at him. A little bit of humor is back in your eyes. “Would that make you feel better?” 

Steve grins, sheepish. “A little bit. Only because you’re upset.” 

“Yeah,” you sigh heavily, and it’s a jokey thing, but the rest of the tension goes out of you with it. “That’s fine, we can switch.” 

“Thanks.” Steve gives you another kiss, lingering for a moment before unbuckling his seatbelt. “It’ll be easier this way. You can tell me more about honey bunches of oats.” 

“You know that’s not what they’re called.”

[antebunny]

go away

After Bruce Wayne dies, it only takes Tim about three weeks to show up on Dick Grayson’s doorstep with a 3-ring binder full of evidence. He runs a finger along the top metal ring of the binder over and over as he waits for a response to the doorbell. All at once he feels thirteen years old again, clutching months of painstakingly collected notes written up neatly and sorted into sections. Dick never read any of it, yet Tim did it all again. Had his photos developed for ease of viewing access, included sources for all of his claims, stuck to his main points for clarity’s sake but has pages and pages of extra information in the back of the binder for when–if–Dick decides to give his idea a thorough look. 

But Tim is seventeen years old now, old enough to know where he went wrong the first time. Yesterday he spent hours coming up with argument after argument, approach after approach, to get through to Dick. Mr. Grayson, I’m so sorry for your loss. He’s probably tired of hearing that. Mr. Grayson, I have something I think you’ll want to see. Too quick to the point. If he doesn’t recognize Tim, maybe he’ll try Mr. Grayson, I know about your night life and I want to help. If he does, then maybe Mr. Grayson, I want to say I’m sorry about last time, but this isn’t like last time, I swear–

The door opens. Tim knows that it’s Dick by the smell. Sweat, unwashed clothes, and misery. How like last time. Dick looks like the epitome of grief, which is to say, not like himself. Dick Grayson is a creature of happiness by nature, of high-flying freedom, of beloved family and friends, a picture-perfect cover boy, always adored, always with a beautiful redhead, Batgirl or Starfire or Arsenal, yes Tim knows his type, always kind, always charming, always happy to be there. But Tim only ever seems to know him in these liminal states of horrible tragedy. 

Worst of all, Tim can’t quite tell if Dick recognizes him. 

“Mr. Grayson,” he begins, heart pounding so loudly he cannot hear himself speak, “I don’t think Mr. Wayne is dead.”

For a moment longer than Tim’s entire lifespan, Dick just stares at him. Blue eyes hazy and unfocused. One hand on the doorframe, one hand dragging through the stubble growing on his half-shaved jaw. He’s wearing an AC/DC shirt. Given Dick’s fashion tastes (bright colors) and Bruce Wayne’s music tastes, neither of which Tim should know, he is 98% certain that the AC/DC shirt used to belong to Bruce Wayne. 

When Dick finally speaks, his voice sounds like the death of all joy. 

“How many family members do I have to lose before you let me grieve in peace?”

Tim’s pounding heartbeat becomes a deafening white noise as Dick’s question pangs around his chest. His eyes sting so fiercly that Tim knows it is as visible as Dick’s misery. Nevertheless, he persists, if only for Bruce Wayne. No one else will save him if not for Tim. So even though his hero thinks Tim is a creepy little stalker with the unbelievable audacity to swagger into Dick’s life and tell him how to fix it, well. He’s not wrong, is he? What does it matter if Tim once upon a time dreamed of more? Saving Bruce Wayne is far more important than Tim’s nonexistent chances of becoming friends with Nightwing. 

“Jason came back.” Tim’s chin, lifted stubbornly, trembles. 

Dick’s face clouds over with a rage so terrible that Tim sincerely believes he’s about to get punched by Nightwing. Which wouldn’t be so bad. Tim deserves it, doesn’t he? Intruding on a stranger’s grief like this is probably a punchable offense. He’ll bear it all if only Dick listens, but it looks like he managed to blow it in the span of two sentences. 

In the end, though Dick’s hands curl into fists and his shoulders shake like traintracks, he turns his head at the last second and rests his forehead on the doorframe. Tears streak down his perfect jawline. Watching Dick Grayson cry is like watching Atlantis sink. It’s like watching the Mona Lisa go up in flames. Tim knows stuff like this is why Dick treats him like a celebrity-obsessed stalker living in a weird fantasy world where he’s a part of the Wayne family. He knows it’s why Dick hates him. Tim still can’t help that it’s captivating to watch.

“Go away,” Dick begs.

Tim has never felt more like the scum of the earth, yet still he’d persist if he thought there was a chance of getting Nightwing to listen to him. But there isn’t. So Tim, as lonely, rejected, unworthy and fucking correct as he is, sees himself out of the apartment building.

Two weeks later, he catches a flight to Lahore.

[meiieiri]

pretty woman.

he lives in the world of leather, grease and speed. he knows he's absolute trash, but what's a guy gotta do to have you, a pretty woman wrapped in silks, pearls and smiles, to spare him just. one. glance?!

pairings. biker sukuna x rich!reader

genre. opposites attract, fluff with slight angst-ish (you know me by now, pls skskdskfjskd), references to smut.

notes. yes, i'm still alive, please i haven't been here for months bc i've been so held up at work TT anyway, i thought of this while i was going home when i heard this busker singing "oh, pretty woman" by roy orbison~

He isn't sure how this happened. Maybe he smoked the wrong mushroom or some shit. It was supposed to a regular evening terrorizing the population of Tokyo with the sounds of their bikes revving to the goddamn afterlife or just until someone calls the police. But this is all his goddamn fault, parking in a gas station smack dab in Minami-Aoyama of all places where artists, celebrities, and pompous heiresses camp out at the jazz clubs here which Sukuna absolutely does not understand.

What's so good about a guy choking on some piece of metal that makes a sound similar to a dying seal? But oh well, pompous art for equally pompous people, I guess.

You walked out of that jazz club like you were straight out of a Hollywood movie, the kinds he used to steal from the local DVD rentals in Shinjuku. You were listening to something your friend has to say and your demure chortles invade the very air like the very melody could make the stars tumble to the ground out of pure jealousy because nothing could be quite as radiant - no, what the hell is he saying? He's a biker, not a poet. Even if he were, he's a shit one for using that stomach-churning cliché piece of word vomit.

Fucking gross. Sukuna stomps on his half-finished cigarette.

You were just hot - no, not quite the word - Sukuna scowls frustratedly - ah, there it is, pretty. Too pretty for you to even run around the same circles as him. The Dior mini bag you were carrying makes Sukuna postulate that you were probably born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you must have gone to an exclusive all-girls high school, afterwards, you must have been sent by your snobbyass parents to finish your studies overseas.

Even if he were to approach you right now, Sukuna grimaces at the thought, you'd probably run for Beverly fucking Hills.

Sukuna watches as you help your friend inside a taxi, waving them goodbye. "Please drop her off safely," he heard you say to the driver just as you shut the car door. Sukuna quirks an eyebrow when he spots you looking left, then right, and then left again before taking off your high heels, unafraid to look improper despite your pretty get-up. But your feet must be aching like hell after dancing all night to Roy Orbinson and Frank Sinatra.

You hurriedly head to your car that, as fate would have it, is parked in the same gas station he's hanging around. He doesn't say a word when you look at him a little fearfully when you approach your car that was parked just behind his Ninja H2, your eyes glaze over his leather jacket, his scandalously tight riding jeans, his pierced lip and tattooed face.

He tilts his head in a polite gesture that begs to convey: "Hey, I'm not gonna bite, kid."

Momentarily frozen, you had to shake yourself awake and you apologetically bow your head for staring too long. Slipping into the driver's seat, you fumble with your keys, struggling to turn on the engine. "H-huh?" you gasp. "Ah, no...no...come on..." You try to turn the key again and again hoping to get a reaction from your Benz but nothing happens.

Sukuna snickers slightly when he sees you mouth the word "shit" from his view of the windshield. For a pretty little thing, you seemed more like a spitfire than a delicate flower. You step out immediately going to pop the hood, struggling slightly but you somehow manage.

He watches on as you struggle to even look at what needs to be fixing. Finally, when he sees you tinkering around the parts, he speaks up, "It's probably the battery, miss."

"I...I don't need help, I'm fine," you insist despite him not offering. To be honest, Tokyo's a safe city so, even if you had to stay the night at this gas station waiting for help or the tow-truck - whichever comes first - it's not exactly an issue. The issue is havng someone...like him...hanging precariously around.

Now, you understand. You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, but if that book has everything your parents warned you about - tattoos, piercings, an unfriendly scowl - you'd settle for slowly putting it back on the shelf.

"The gas station has a power pack, you might wanna borrow it," Sukuna offers you some advice. "You got any jumper cables on you?"

"I'm sorry?" You blink obliviously. "I-I don't-?"

"Those bright orange things - ah, whatever - you probably have it in the trunk," Sukuna pushes himself off his bike. He's full of shit, playing knight in shining armor right now, but you look like you're about to cry. He slaps your hands away when you try to pull out the radiator.

"Ow! What are you doing?!"

"You want your car to explode or some shit?" Sukuna hisses. "Don't fuck around with anything else. I'll go see if I can borrow their power pack."

You look at him in disgust. Everything about this mystery man is just so infuriatingly vulgar, and he doesn't even wait for your permission, he's just stomping off towards a random gas station attendant, muttering under his breath about clueless rich kids and their cars. You scowl at his retreating figure, rubbing your hand where he slapped it away, lips parting in indignation at what you hear.

"Can't tell a spark plug from a bottle of champagne..."

"Excuse me?"

"Ah, you're excused, don't worry," Sukuna says as he returns, the power pack in one hand and a bundle of thick jumper cables in the other, the gas station's dim lights casting sharp shadows across his face, your nerves seem to fray even further.

Though, truth is, you're stuck between being grateful and horrified. If you don't make it back home, you weren't gonna hear the end of it from your parents about how Tokyo is dangerous and how you shouldn't be wandering around the city alone when you have bodyguards. But, it's all thanks to this stranger, a questionable-looking one at that, that you might just make it home tonight before your parents even notice you snuck out.

"Pop the hood," he orders, his tone flat but not unkind.

Your first instinct is to snap back. Just who the hell does he think he is? Assuming that you needed help when you had everything under control. That's obviously a lie, seeing as you were about to yank out your Benz's radiator. It'd be a nightmare explaining that to your parents and your insurance company. Surrendering, you uncross your arms, and pop the hood again.

It's infuriating how people always liked to assume that you needed help with everything. But that's just how it goes when you're an only child, and your parents had to undergo six rounds of IVF to have you because they spent most of their young adult life building their fortune that they forgot to have kids in the middle of all that. A spoiled brat - it wouldn't be a stretch to call you that. Still, it stings a bit because you never wanted to become one.

Nothing hurts you more than the thought of you growing up not knowing how to do anything for yourself.

"This happen to you often, princess?" Sukuna asks, his calloused and strong hands working their magic on your car, clearly, he's ressurected a lot of engines with the way he doesn't seem to flinch at the bitter scent of gasoline and burnt rubber.

"Don't call me that," you mutter. "And no, I don't make a habit of getting stranded since not all of us have experience with--" You gesture vaguely at the cables, his leather jacket, the bike, the car, and this entire situation. "-this."

Sukuna snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah, I figured. People like you don't get their hands dirty."

There it is again - people like you. The words grate on your nerves like nails on a chalkboard, but what stings more is the way he says it, like he's already decided everything about you just from your shoes, your car, your voice, where you like to hang out. It's honestly disgusting, but the truth always has an element of hurt hidden in it, right?

"Right, because you know everything about me," you mutter, a flash of hurt appearing on your features.

You don't know why, but the way he says it - so casual, so certain - makes your heart ache. He's not even insulting you, why would he have to? He doesn't know you, and you haven't done anything to offend him. He just...sees right through you and he's decided that you were just another shallow rich kid that doesn't belong in the real world.

And maybe you don't.

You're pulled from your thoughts by the sudden roar of your car's engine. Sukuna straightens, wiping his hands against his jeans before shutting the hood with a heavy almost contrite clunk. "There, good as new."

You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. Looks like this chance encounter is about to end. It's silly, feeling a little anxious at finally being able to go home which also spells that you'll probably never see this stranger again, but this demeaning and embarrassing situation happens to be your first encounter with the real world, the world outside the bubble your parents have confined you in.

And it hurts pulling away from it now and so soon too.

"Thank you," you say, quieter this time and you hate how small you sound and feel.

He shrugs, already walking back to his bike. "Don't mention it."

You watch him for a moment as he haphazardly lights a cigarette in the middle of a gas station, his face partially obscured by shadows but you manage to make out his frustrated frown when the lighter doesn't work. He's so focused on lighting the damn stick that he doesn't notice you bringing your own lit lighter to the end of his cigarette.

"Didn't think pretty girls like you were into bad habits like smoking," he exhales, a crooked grin tugging at his lips.

"You'd be surprised."

For too much of your life, you've had to put up with reminders from your folks like don't sit like that, don't do this, don't speak like this, don't go there, it's unbecoming of someone like you. And you're getting fucking sick of it, if only your parents could discover the many cigarettes and scratchers you've collected over the years, then, maybe they'd piece together that you only went to a jazz club tonight with every intention to end up in a nightclub later on.

You're self-destructive, he's dangerous.

And this entire exchange could cause your high-strung parents to suffer simultaneous strokes.

"Yeah?"

"Really," you rub your eyelid. "So...why'd you help me?"

Sukuna pauses mid-inhale, his crimson gaze flicking toward you through the haze. For a moment, you think he might say something serious, something straight out of those Audrey Hepburn movies where the girl falls for the greaser. But, that's kinda gross anyway, so you're a little thankful when he quips.

"Hell if I know. Maybe I'm just a sucker for pretty faces."

You blush, your heartbeat stuttering. Before you can respond, he waves you off dismissively, as if the moment never happened and should never be spoken of again like most moonlight rendezvous's.

"Now get outta here before I start charging you for my time."

"Ah right, sorry," you are suddenly reminded of paying your dues, so you take out your wallet, handing him a wad of yen bills. "Tell me if it's not enough. I can run to an ATM."

Sukuna stares at the bill, a little insulted. But tonight seems to be about judgmental assumptions anyway. He laughs - a low dark sound that makes the hair on your arms stand on end.

"What the hell do I look like, huh? A roadside service?" His voice isn't harsh, but the edge of amusement makes your cheeks burn. "Keep it, you might need it later on when your tires give way. Don't tell me you don't check the air pressure on them too."

"It's not like that!" you argue. "I just don't want to owe you anything. Just take it, and go buy yourself a beer or something, and then, we can move on with our lives, okay?"

"Owe me, huh?" He tilts his head, the faintest of smirks tugging at his lips. His gaze locks with yours and you take a step back until your back hits the driver's seat door, and there's something sharp and deliberate in the way he says: "Fine. You wanna pay me back?"

You nod.

"Tell me your name. Since you nearly threw a damn fit when I called you princess."

"What?"

"Your name," he shrugs as if it's the most casual thing in the world. "Otherwise, I can help you continue pulling out that radiator of yours."

"Are you threatening me?! Just when I was about to change my opinion on you!"

"Really? You'd do that for me?" Sukuna feigns gratitude, placing his hand over his heart. "I didn't think you were that stingy with your name. Unless you don't have one, now that's just pathetic. Even trashy sons of bitches like me have one of those."

"Fine, it's Y/N. And go clean up that mouth of yours, it's like you can't go a full sentence without profanity."

"Pretty name," Sukuna says, ignoring your last remark. You blush at the way he says it - low and rough, like it's a secret just between you two.

Your breath hitches and you roll your eyes, slipping into the driver's seat again, shutting the door with a final clunk. "You're insufferable," you mutter, your cheeks still warm, as you begin to drive away.

"No, my name's Sukuna! Drive safe, rich girl. Can't have your fancy car breaking down again," he whistles, leaning against his H2, waving cheekily, a cigarette dangling between his slotted lips.

He smirks when you roll down your car window only to flash him your middle finger.

"She's pretty, but she's a damn bitch," he mutters, though this time, there's a faint hint of a smile in his voice as he slips on his helmet.

A week has passed and the memory of Sukuna is still clinging to you like the scent of a too-sweet perfume, the ones that girls like you pre-order months in advance before it's even launched. You feel like an idiot, craving to see him again, when absolutely nothing happened between you. But when your mind wanders over to that random biker with too many tattoos, too much attitude but too little manners, you just wanna ruin your mom's expensive Picasso collection in the living room before you could even admit it out loud.

You're now standing in the back of your mansion now in Denenchofu, phone pressed to your ear, talking to one of your drivers - sipping your favorite vanilla bourbon tea - your heart pulsing with mischief.

"I need you to do something for me. Go mess with the car's AC, as in, break the damn thing if you can."

The driver hesitates. It's the middle of winter. "Miss, you - are you sure? That seems a bit-"

"Just do it," you plead. "Please, I promise I'll be safe. And I already sent your Christmas bonus to you!"

You hang up before he can say another word, a grin curling onto your lips. This must be the dumbest thing you've ever done, but it's too late to back out now, but what the hell? Nowadays, it's do or die.

That night, when you're sitting in your car, researching on this biker's meet in Shibuya, you coincidentally drive by, stopping in front of am awfully familiar Ninja H2, its chrome glinting under the streetlights. Its driver, seemingly having just arrived, whipping his head around when one of his buddies taps his shoulder, pointing in your direction.

You step out of your car, perfectly-rehearsed. You instantly pop the hood, pretending not to see him. "Oh no, not again," you smirk inwardly.

Sukuna bites back a laugh at how ridiculously obvious this entire farce is, but he decides to play along anyway. "Already broke down again? You should just drive that shit into the bay!" he calls, voice laced with mockery and something else, something close to affection.

You glance over at him, carefully hiding your amusement. "Think you can help me? You were quite the hero last time."

Sukuna raises an eyebrow at you, biting his lip at how you subtly play with your hair, the dark baritone of his voice making your heart skip. "You're pushing it, pretty girl. You think I'm just gonna swoop in and fix everything again when I've got a meet?"

You give him a dry look. "Not playing the hero today? Here I thought you wanted something more than my name this time around."

His eyes narrow, a flicker of something darker passing through them at the insinuation. "You do realize that if your AC's busted, you're just gonna have to freeze your little ass off since I don't know how to fix that." He brazenly pulls off the extra helmet on his buddy's bike, paying no heed to how his backpack glares at you and Sukuna, tossing it over to you. "Where you headed anyway? I'll just drop you off."

You shrug and he shakes his head, chuckling darkly. "Can't remember, huh? Then, let's just ride around for a bit until you do."

In the end, neither of you walk away unscathed. Your dainty Chanel tweed dress lays pooled on the floor of a random motel in Yokohama, right next to his leather jacket. In the end, you do remember where you're going after all, and that's straight into the inferno of Sukuna's embrace, even if you have to break your car a thousand times to get there.

[satoruhour]

a/n: not sure if other countries have rubbish chutes but my country does! i have to get out of my house to go to the common floor chute to throw my rubbish so this is just a little drabble based on that + spider-man!gojo :) / tagging @osaemu @jabamin @shotorus @hyomagiri @mysugu ✶

“yes, yes! i’ll take out the trash—” you’re shouting to your mom when you’re called upon again, the third time within ten minutes to take the trash out. through your one-sided airpods (your left one always dies first), you can hear your mom tying the plastic bag and cleaning up at the sink.

it’s always been her bringing it to the chute outside your house; occasionally, you’d help but routine has never really let you do it, so later when you’re awkwardly tucking your phone into your pocket and listening to charlie burg’s voice through the right airpod, you can’t help the grimace that takes over your features at the wetness all over the trash bag.

“oh, it’s just water; stop being dramatic!” your mom chastises whilst on her nightly cup of water, gulping down the beverage before nodding towards the master bedroom, “i’m gonna go to sleep first.”

you hum in a half-hearted response, a little annoyed that you were interrupted from your lazing around but you still manage a soft goodnight when she disappears into the room and the house falls quiet. apart from the background classical music that plays from the stereo in the room and the laughter of the older kids downstairs outside, you’re living in a world of both music and silence, feeling a little disoriented by the one-sided song.

the walk to the outdoor chute is short in your oversized puffer jacket, flip-flops seemingly slapping against the floor in attempts of waking up all your neighbours beside you but thankfully they don’t seem to mind when you walk past their homes. it’s cold, feeling the snow that beats into the open corridors that lead to the rubbish chute. beside it, there’s a ledge that overlooks the other buildings, too.

with one swift step to the foot lever, the chute opens and you’re dumping the trash bag into the dirty, stained metal device and with a listening ear, you grin when you hear the bag travel through the tunnel and reach the bottom with a big plunk!, not really realising the ledge now held something.

or someone.

“h—”

if your slippers didn’t wake the neighbours up, your scream definitely did when spiderman himself hops off the ledge and leaps forward to place his palm over your mouth. it only fuels your desire to scream even more before you remember that your damn boyfriend is the vigilante that the police are looking for and citizens are rooting for more and more and that calms your racing heart just a bit.

but you still give him his due treatment . .

“what!” smack. “the!” smack. “fuck!” smack. “were!” smack. “you!” smack. “thinking?!” smack.

. . even if the widening of his spider-man mask eyes were adorable.

“sorry! sorry, sorry—” spider-man!gojo only continues to apologise but you can tell he’s enjoying it at least a little, hands gripping your biceps to help you to centre yourself. and as you predicted, once your boyfriend pulls off his mask, there’s a shit-eating grin and a cheeky glint in his eyes.

you muster the most unimpressed face you can — “really? i’m starting to think you’re not really sorry,” your mouth twists when you roll your eyes, getting ready to make a show of heading back into your house before he brings you into his arms. even with a hint of faux protest from you, you’re melting into his embrace, grumbling into his chest.

there’s a hint of wetness along his suit that you feel against your body, probably from the snow outside, but mostly you can feel the cold air against your hair and laboured breaths in your ear.

“i am! i missed you . .” he mumbles, suited fingers gripping your body tight against him like you were an apparition, “i just wanted to, uhm—”

it’s rare that you see your boyfriend having such a hard time with words, but it’s a cute sight when he pulls away and stumbles in his sentences and quickly removes the backpack that he’s webbed to the wall outside. there’s a noise of surprise from you as you watch him crawl outside on all fours and rip the backpack, scrambling to remove something from it.

and you’re so caught off-guard — in his hands are a ruined bouquet of flowers and a mixtape he’s put together for you — that you giggle at the state of it and coo at his downcast expression. he’s looking in the bag, outside, anywhere for what might’ve been the culprit to make the flowers turn out that way until he realises he had bought them a tad bit early and had been swinging around with it the whole day.

“aw . . satoru, they’re still pretty!” you take the gift with grateful hands, something you cherish despite his busy schedule of school and fighting villains. “but maybe don’t go on missions when you’ve got fresh flowers in your bag?”

satoru whines at that as he instinctively webs his backpack again, sulking until you’re leaping forward to give him another tight hug. alas, you would’ve preferred the comfort of his familiar hoodie but you can settle for the spandex of his suit as you squeeze him tight, ignoring the cold air that seeps into your bones.

“thank you, thank you ’toru . .” you smile, pulling away slightly before you take in the state of him. you didn’t have much time before, but now you can fully appreciate his white stark hair that matches the snow outside and the blue of his eyes that mirror his suit.

“it’s the thought that counts right?” he asks awkwardly, scratching his head with the hand that clutches his mask.

you burst out laughing, “yes. yes it indeed is,” you smoothen out his hair, but not before you’re forming an idea, “i’ll— i’ll go put these in water and see if i can salvage them. you, stay here.”

with one peck to his cheek, you’re off back to your house but the bouquet of flowers is only left on your bedside table. in your hands are something else, a scarf and beanie that you take back to the area of the rubbish chute.

it’s not a place you deem romantic, but you’d never pass up a surprise visit from your superhero boyfriend. when you get back he’s removing the fallen petals from his bag, interrupting his activity when you place the scarf around his neck.

“here,” you smile, wrapping it around once and tucking in the ends, “it’s cold.”

satoru looks at you like everything good in the world, a bright grin breaking through when your eyes meet his in the midst of your adjusting.

“just so you know, you might not see this scarf ever again, sweetness.”

you laugh, “why? cause it’s got my scent all over it?”

gojo shrugs and gestures, “partially, but also it might fall off while i’m doing big boy things and swingin’ around in the neighbourhood.”

you push his shoulder lightly and joke, “if my scarf touches the city ground, you’re never hearing from me again.”

and all he does is cross his heart and hold out his hand, “i humbly hold your promise to my heart, your royal highness.”

gently you pull him towards you with the scarf ends, careful not to choke him. there, your lips collide with his glossed ones that manage to stay like that despite the cold weather, while your chapped ones only surprise him. but he swallows the shock soon enough, humming into the kiss softly as he wraps his suited arms around you. you’re so warm, puffer jacket and all and his neck is already heating up from the scarf and his flustered state, enough heat to fuel him through the night.

when oxygen becomes scarce you find that you need to pull away, met again with his pretty eyes that soften just by looking at you, but you both know that he needs to go when the notifications on his phone don’t stop. it’s probably his trackers notifying him about the villain, so you help him put on his mask, making sure the eye holes fit exactly where it needs to go and the sewing lines up with the rest of his suit. the beanie goes on last.

“baby— i . . i just needed to come see you before i fight green goblin,” he mumbles, brushing hair from your face and even with the barrier between the both of you, you know he’s smiling under, “some good luck would suffice, don’t ya think?”

“it would. now, go.” you pat his cheek, pulling away reluctantly as he slings his backpack and you suddenly feel cold again. “stay safe, spider-man.”

satoru cannot wait until he’s in your arms again, so he lunges forward and pulls his mask up just to his nose to give you one last kiss and you indulge him; when your eyes open, he’s already on the ledge.

“merry christmas, baby.” you can see the familiar stunning smile and a soft confession before he’s hopping off and you’re running to it to watch him swing away with a loud, lovesick laugh that sounds a little too much like the star student, gojo satoru, but it doesn’t matter when you know you’re the only one who knows his secret.

part two

[marcskywalker]

alright alright

Merlin has made a habit of laying protective charms and spells on Arthur's armor. The man is a big liability (king or not, Merlin will say it as it is). Running into danger head first, without thought or concern, is his top favorite activity.

It's what makes Arthur Arthur; his courage in the face of death.

So yes, it's become a necessity for Merlin to charm his armor for strength and endurance.

He decides to charm the King's new set of armors in his royal chamber in the middle of the day, while Arthur is away presumably listening to another one of mind numbingly boring reports from his knights.

What is a safer place for Merlin other than this room? Where else can he walk in as he pleases? Move about as he pleases? Leave a mess, jest around, lock the door and loiter as he pleases?

Within these walls, no one would dare to question him.

The King's trust is loud enough.

So, Merlin lays out all the metal on the floor and begins. He holds the cold, sharp chestpiece in his hand. Imagines Arthur under it; Arthur's beating heart and his warm, soft, breakable skin.

His magic flows out of him without command or permission, desperate to erase all the images of his mortal king bleeding and weak.

Oh, protectors of Earth and Magic! Cradle him as you would cradle your son.

His eyes are ember, words still on his lips, the shimmer of magic over the metal, when door swings open.

"Leon is one of my oldest and closest friends, but by Gods he makes me miserable," Arthur lets out a long breath, as if to blow out all the air in his body, looking right at Merlin as he does so.

The gold finally fades from his eyes but Merlin is frozen in place, his bones and breath refusing to move, watching Arthur's face scrunch in confusion, a myriad of feelings flashing through his face before settling on stern eyes and pursed lips.

"Mingling with the druids a lot now, are we?"

"Arthur, I-"

"I know, I know!" he sighs, commanding his face to neutrality, stepping over Merlin and metal towards his desk, "They are my people, too. You're allowed to trade and learn from each other."

Despite his resigned tone, Merlin knows how hard Arthur has worked to ensure a place for Druids in Camelot. Writing in stone, clear as day, that he is more than his father's son; he has claimed them as citizens of Camelot, opening the doors to courts and trade and provisions equally for all in the Kingdom.

Watching Arthur grow into the prophesied will be Merlin's greatest pride. Even if magic is still prohibited to practice under the law, magic users aren't hunted like animals for existing. And Merlin has all the faith in his King that when the time is right, he will bring magic back into the land. Until then, he's happy to live in half shadows.

"I'm allowed to learn magic?" he can't help the skepticism and shock bleed into his tone.

"Well, no! I'm not allowing you for anything, Merlin. But I'm not stupid enough to believe that that's about to stop you."

"So," he draws out the word, unsure of how to step out of the conversation. Unsure if he should even be stepping out of the conversation. "I can learn more magic?"

"You know how I feel about this. The price I have- we have had to pay for it. If you still find yourself curious, do what-" gestures to the laid out armor on the ground, "-ever this is. I only ask that you be careful."

"I'm enchanting it. To keep you safe."

"In exchange for what, Merlin?"

"Nothing-", Merlin loses his grip on the conversation faced with the frightened heartbreak on Arthur's face; the courageous bones bending in unfamiliar ways. "I swear. Nothing. It's not any big magic. The druids do it all the time, we won't have to pay a price for this, Arthur."

"We'll see."