#goodnight fic

[ayyy-pee]

waking up freezing and shivering, teeth chattering every night because your husband is a blanket hog. you know it's not on purpose. he just can't help it. doesn't even know he does it most times. you'd think after years together you'd be used to it, but waking up curled into the fetal position as you try to retain even a smidge of warmth is something you don't think you'll ever adjust to.

so you reach behind you, feeling your spouses large form wrapped snug as a bug in your shared blanket and you grip onto the fabric. you pull as hard as you can but you don't manage to move him even an inch. you try once more...same result.

"ken..." you whisper, wrapping your arms around yourself. no response. "kento..."

he doesn't budge. you're tempted to just get up and go grab another blanket, but your husband, despite his seriousness, can get quite pouty when you do that. so you tap him hard instead sure to jab him in the spot you know is his most sensitive. this seems to do the trick as he grunts in response.

"I'm cold," you tell nanami and he sits up quickly, realizing what he's done. his pajama top hangs off one shoulder. his blonde hair is pointing every which way and sleep is heavy on his eyelids, threatening to weigh him down again any minute.

"I'm sorry, love," nanami speaks, voice rough and deep with exhaustion, but the sincerity in his apology clear.

then he's throwing the blanket back over you both. only he adds in a little extra warmth as he wraps his arm around your waist and throws a large leg over your body.

nanami buries his face in your neck, adjusting himself so that he can be as close to you as possible. only a few seconds pass before you hear his light snoring behind you. and you know the warmth you feel is from more than just his touch.

[silvertherogue715]

@naffeclipse Literally my favorite scene.

you cannot convince me Eclipse wasn't dry-heaving with laughter in that moment LMAO edit: Previous art

[kennahjune]

Thinking of Steddie Soulmates where you feel every pain your soulmate feels.

Thinking of little Steve feeling every backhand and punch from Eddie’s dad.

Thinking of little Eddie feeling Steve break his arm and the pain being so much worse because his parents refuse to take him to the hospital until the school gets involved.

Thinking of Eddie finally moving in with Wayne and sure, the paternal beating are done, but now he’s just a small town Freak that’s constantly targeted.

Thinking of Eddie and Steve in their Sophomore/Freshman years respectively, not knowing who the other is outside of rumors and (unknowingly) their shared pain.

Thinking of Eddie finally escaping pain, the bullying turning to mainly verbal shit.

Only to be thrust right back into pain because his soulmates a walking hazard.

Thinking of Eddie having no idea what’s going on when he suddenly feels like one giant bruise after Steve’s beat up by Jonathan. Eddie watching Steve fall from grace in his Junior year and not connecting the dots.

Billy coming along and smashing a fucking plate over Steve’s head while Eddie’s peacefully sleeping. Eddie jolting awake with a shout because /holy fucking shit ow—/

Neither of them connecting the dots.

Then Steve graduates, and Eddie’s held back. And the pain subsides for a bit.

And then fuck all happens in Starcourt and Eddie literally feels like he’s dying and Jesus H. Christ is his soulmate /ok/??? Like they are getting seriously fucked up.

And then that recedes and it ok for a while— Eddie will still get killer pains that seem to circulate in his chest and head, but that’s to be expected with whatever tf his poor soulmate is going through year after year.

And then the fuckery of March 1986 happens and Chrissy Cunningham is dead in his trailer— his home— and he’s wanted for fucking murder and hiding in Rick’s dingy ass boat house—

And then he’s shoving none other than Steve Harrington up against a wall with a broken bottle helps to his throat. Eddie’s so piped on adrenaline he barely feels the sting in his back, but he does feel the zing of pressure on his throat and ok /ow—/

And he’s staring at Steve Harrington, who looks kinda terrified and so pretty and Eddie’s holding a bottle to his throat and is that Dustin?—

And—

And holy shit.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the same time as Steve’s and the realization hits them both at once.

[bbb-bbbbbbb]

shoutout to gordons who are like cicada shells

realized that this is more accurate, but i like the red of the solo cup

[zumicho]

oikawa is back in japan for the first time since renouncing his citizenship. the very moment the plane wheels graze the concrete runway, he feels the difference.

he feels the difference over a warm bowl of chinese noodles, when iwaizumi catches him up on athletic trainer life, complaining about salary and overtime, cracking jokes about how tooru would never relate, “he's got it good.”

his volleyball career skyrocketed, after all.

he feels it bumping into hanamaki at the convenience store, when buying melatonin gummies to help with the timezone adjustment. his former teammate feigns starstruck, theatrically gushing and pleading for his autograph. makki shows him a picture of his girlfriend; teases him about a bet made in high school. oikawa remembers the fight he had with you, about not having enough time. about choosing volleyball. about priorities.

he feels the change when he kicks off his shoes haphazardly in his parents' house, dreading the absence of a nagging mother, who would tell him to set them aside where they actually belong. he reaches for the light switch, the muscle memory of home still ever present - it doesn't take him long to find.

in that dimly lit sanctuary of his childhood, he learned something new.

at twenty seven, oikawa tooru learned that maybe change isn't bad. not always. not if it meant strawberry cheesecake. not if it meant happy birthday, idiot! piped neatly in vanilla frosting across the top. not if it meant watching you fight sleep (losing), as you wield a kitchen lighter in your left hand, candles in your right. you waited.

not if it meant he could see that look on your face, when you wake up on the bed, with your back to his chest, his chin hooked over your shoulder, absolutely livid over the fact that he surprised you, when it was supposed to be the other way around.

not if it meant that though everyone will change eventually, he can sign a truce with difference for now, because being able to recognise difference is the evidence that something is worth missing. and until the day he has to miss you instead of have you, he'll cherish every moment. even if it one day becomes a memory.

tooru knows now,

that to be loved is not (just) to be known.

TO BE LOVED IS TO BE REMEMBERED.

masterlist panorama

a/n : happy belated birthday loverboy! late night quickwrite that might get deleted in the morning. I’m not sure if I hate this or if I can tolerate it, we’ll see what happens to it lol. NOT PROOFREAD

[dimplewonie]

gorgeous — 이희승.

pairing: roommate! heeseung x gn! reader

syn: roomates or not, lee heeseung thinks you're gorgeous. and he doesn't hesitate to let you know.

warnings: slightly suggestive (i think), mentions kissing. not proofread oops

wc: 466.

ri's note🎧: im a jungwon stan i swear 🙏 based off of one of novelbear's prompts! wasn't planning on writing on this acct but...

“how do I look?” you asked the moment you stepped into the room, voice casual as you used the living room mirror to check your appearance. you glanced towards your roommate lying on the couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. without looking up from the device, he hummed at your presence, mumbling a disinterested “hm?” in response. 

you rolled your eyes at his vague reply, taking a few steps further into the room. the sound of your heel-clad footsteps caught his attention, causing him to finally look your way. 

lee heeseung swore under his breath.

the sight of you immediately rendered him speechless, your figure clouding his thoughts with desire.

“do you think i overdressed?” you asked again, hands adjusting the hem of your bottoms, uncertainty visible in your tone. were you kidding?

you looked fucking gorgeous. 

and if he could come up with another word to describe you other than gorgeous, he would. but at the moment, all heeseung's mind was filled up with was nothing other than you and your cute little outfit, your cute shoes, your cute hair, and your beautiful smile.

you radiate confidence and poise, there was no way you wouldn’t command the attention of anyone in your presence. every aspect of you was perfect. you are perfect. and you were causing the man to churn in emotional turmoil, making him go haywire.

heck, he’d be damned if he let you go out to see another man while looking this stunning. so he did what he should’ve done earlier. he couldn’t think of anything else. 

he placed his hands on your hips, abruptly catching you off guard. he rubbed the pads of his thumbs against the exposed skin, feeling the warmth of your curves against his cold fingertips. as you stood face-to-face with him, he gazed back at you with an unreadable emotion, one you couldn’t quite place. but it seemed to hold a familiar glint that past lovers had looked at you with.

on instinct, you could hear the blaring alarms ring in your head and you were about to step back and push him off. but your body seemed to have a mind of its own and almost like putty, you leaned into him, allowing yourself to meld with his hot touch. lowering your body onto his, your hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders to stabilize your weak body. wrapping his arms around your waist, a smirk played on his lips as he leaned closer, whispering.

“you look perfect.” and he smashed his lips feverishly against yours, pulling you towards him like a magnet. the kiss was filled with pent up frustration and longing as you gasped against the mouth of your roommate. you were making out with lee heeseung. and you didn’t mind one single bit.

© dimplewonie on tumblr. please do not copy, repost, or plagiarize any of my works. reblogs and comments are appreciated :3

[tartagliove]

EASY ON THE EYES, EASIER TO HATE. tartaglia x reader ✧ 2.7k words

when the fae raid your village to take humans into their realm, you think you’ll be safe in the woods. but you run into a fae who introduces himself as tartaglia and realize it might have been safer for you to stay at home.

tags and warnings ✧  fae!tartaglia, gender neutral reader (no pronouns used), reader sews and tailors clothes for a living, the fae are pretty brutal, mentions of violence, (ajax licks) blood and tears, chasing (predator prey dynamic), manhandling, all enemies and no lovers (only tension oops). note ✧ this is a darker fic compared to most of my writing; please let me know if I need to tag anything else! title inspired by the song "psycho" by taylor acorn. a gift for @cruel-hiraeth for teahouse's secret santa! happy new year, kae! i hope this fic helps you start off the year right by loving hating tartaglia >u< this was lots of fun to write hehe and got a little long because the au ran away from me... i hope you enjoy! love you lots <3

The snow falls thick and fast, yet the village continues to burn. Screams and shouts of villagers, mixed with the clashing of metal, rise above the roar of devouring flames of blue.

The fae are here.

They pull people out of their beds, pushing them into the streets. Turn their faces toward the light of a burning house—looking for the beautiful humans, still young and nimble. Or searching for evidence of skill in the arts; a pretty face matters little if one can produce beautiful things in ways that the fae cannot. Those who fail to meet the fae’s standards are left alone, shivering and watching in the cold. 

The humans the fae deem acceptable meet a much worse fate. They are picked up and thrown in the back of carts, drawn by horses with ears too long and manes too wild, their coats unusually glossy and vibrant. The chosen who try to escape are bound with rope that cruelly digs into skin. Those who try to fight are taken down brutally, then laughed at as they writhe on the ground—though the fae make sure no permanent damage is done, for that would defeat the purpose of the raid.

A fae bearing a torch of blue flames brings it up to the walls of each house of those who have been chosen. The blue catches on the wood unnaturally quickly, spreading with a voracious hunger despite the wind and snow. Within the hour, nothing will remain besides a pile of ash. 

But by then, the fae and the chosen villagers will be long gone.

You are lucky that sleep is so elusive tonight.

Earlier, after tossing and turning in bed for ages, you give up on trying to fall asleep. It is hard to leave your dog who has curled up beside you in a ball of white fluff, but you press a kiss between her ears before changing into some warmer layers. You sweep a thick winter cloak over your shoulders. It is the most luxurious piece of clothing you own; a beautiful dark green cloth lined with fur, decorated by unfinished hand-embroidered leaves and flowers and bunnies—a project you’ve been chipping away at this winter. Putting on boots that have long since been molded to the shape of your feet, you leave your house to catch some fresh air and possibly tire yourself out along the way.

The blanket of pure white is beautiful. The full moon makes everything glitter as snow stretches from the outskirts of the village into the forests beyond. Snowflakes continue to fall, decorating your hair and eyelashes with diamonds, while the shoulders of your cloak become dusted in sugar. 

It is so quiet out here. The whistling of the wind and the thoughts in your head are the only sounds you hear. You are used to this, though. Every day you sew and tailor clothes in the back of the village’s clothing store, often alone for hours on end with nothing but your thoughts for company.

A strong gust of wind rocks you on your feet. Clutching your cloak tighter and tossing the fur-lined hood up over your head, you turn your back on the forest to face the trail of footsteps you’ve made through the snow. You should head home.

Still, you take your time approaching the village. The snow dances around you and you can’t help but indulge in a spin, cloak sweeping out around you in a swirl of deep green. Your huff of laughter is stolen by the wind, but the delight within you remains.

Then the first scream rips through the night.

You freeze. Scanning the houses on the outskirts of the village reveals no dangers.

Another cry follows the first and you know something must be terribly wrong. 

You start running toward the village, kicking up snow as your mind races. Perhaps someone is getting robbed—but no one in town would dare. Or based on the growing amount of cries and shouts, maybe something happened that has injured a lot of people. A fire?

As you make it to the buildings, you see that you are right. Fire engulfs one of the homes on the far side of town, the flames reaching for the sky. A shudder runs through you at the sight, for the flames are unnaturally blue, and though this is the first time you’ve seen such a thing, you have heard of the stories and warnings about the cyan fire and those that accompany it.

You will not let the fae take you.

Whirling around, you sprint for the woods. The screams of the other villagers ring in your ears, but you know it is impossible for you to take on a single fae, let alone an army of them. They are here to steal humans away. For what, you’re not sure, but it can’t be for anything good. Though you doubt they would choose to take you, the best way to make sure you can see the sunrise tomorrow is to hide in the woods and avoid them all.

Reaching the treeline seems to take ages. You keep looking over your shoulder as you run, half expecting to have been spotted, but you only see more and more flames of blue burning houses to the ground.

Your heart skips a beat at the thought of your home being set ablaze—your dog!—but then you remember the fae only burn the houses of the humans they take and relief washes over you.

With your thoughts consumed by the safety of your dog, you don’t notice that you have slowed, trying to catch your breath in the midst of the trees. Nor do you notice that you aren’t alone anymore, until the newcomer starts speaking.

“My, my. Where are you off to in such a hurry?”

Dread sinks like a stone in your stomach. You spin, eyes wide as they land on the source of those playful and teasing words, leaning against a nearby tree with his arms crossed.

You know he is fae right away by his unnatural beauty. His hair glimmers a coppery orange under the light of the full moon, all windswept and dusted in snow. His eyes seem to glow as they scan you from head to toe, a blue just a shade darker than that of the flames destroying the village. Ears taper into a fine point and from his left one dangles a deep red crystal that only makes you think of blood. He smiles, then, as you observe him. His canines are sharp and long, like that of a fox, and you are frozen with wide, shining eyes of a bunny.

He hums and tilts his head. It is then that you remember he asked a question, and your throat works to find your voice to answer him. “I was out for a stroll,” you manage to say, words somehow steady despite your fluttering pulse.

It’s a half-truth, but half-truths are half-lies, and there’s the slightest hint of bitterness in the back of Ajax’s throat that always accompanies humans’ lies. “Oh, really? And was that before or after we made our presence known?”

“Before, actually,” you tell him honestly. “I couldn’t sleep so I decided to take a walk. The snow is beautiful and the moon is bright—it’s pretty, is it not?” If you talk enough, maybe he’ll lose interest so you can make a run for it. You don’t know much about fae, but with the way he’s dressed in nicer clothing than what most men in your village wear, surely he won’t care for running through the snowy forest.

He smiles. “It is pretty.” His eyes refuse to leave your frame, and a shiver runs through you. You don’t think he’s talking solely about the snow. 

Pushing off the tree, he takes a few steps forward, nearly silent despite the boots he wears. He stops when you stiffen, clutching your cloak tighter in your hands. “Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Tartaglia,” he says, picking one of his many names to give you. “And you are?”

You press your lips together and force a smile. Even you know not to give the fae your name, no matter how much of a gentleman he is pretending to be. Your stomach rolls, unease making your heart rate pick up again. “I’m-” You see the way he perks up in interest, expecting a name. “I’m leaving,” you spit out, turn on your heels, and run.

Ajax watches you leave, the green of your cloak billowing out behind you like a rabbit’s tail inviting him to chase. He laughs, throwing his head back as the sound erupts from his throat. “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his breath beading in the winter air.

He had not intended to take you back to the fae realm, but then you had to go and run. And he wouldn’t dare to let all your hard work go to waste—so he’ll participate in the delightful hunt you’ve set up for him.

The ground is uneven beneath your feet. It is hard to tell where the tree roots are under the thick layer of snow and each breath of air feels like tiny needles stabbing your lungs. But you push on, feet pounding as quickly as you can force yourself to go.

You want to be as far away from that fae as you can get. He had not looked like he was going to chase you when you last saw him, laughing as you ran away, but there was a look in his eyes that pushed you to keep running.

When you toss a quick glance over your shoulder, your breath hitches and terror rushes through you.

He’s there. In the distance, but you can see him, weaving through the trees at an inhuman pace, his long legs carrying him far. He is gaining on you and you fear what he will do when he catches you.

You push yourself to run even harder, but your legs burn and your throat feels tight. In your haste, you fail to see the lower hanging branches of a nearby tree. A cry tears from your lips as a thin branch slices through the skin of your cheek, but you barely feel the pain with your face nearly frozen from the cold.

“Ouch,” the fae calls after you. His voice is loud and clear, and you know he’s only getting closer. “Don’t hurt yourself too much trying to escape, okay?”

Through your huffs for air, you manage to shout back at him. “Piss off! Leave me alone!”

Ajax grins, closing the distance. “I don’t think I will,” he says.

He lunges forward and grabs a fistful of your cloak. You stumble from the pull, tripping over your feet. He uses the momentum to spin you around, pushing you backward until you hit a tree, forcing the air from your lungs. His body presses against yours right after, caging you in with one leg wedged between your own.

“Let go of me!” you shout, slamming your fists into his chest. You try shoving all of your weight into him but he simply presses back harder until his chest is flush against yours. 

He laughs—laughs!—as you struggle against him, kicking and yelling and throwing your weight from side to side. He does not budge at all under the onslaught. You do everything you can, but only wear yourself out, leaning back against the tree to catch your breath.

“Are you done?” he asks, amusement coloring his tone. “If not, I can do this all night.”

His reaction makes your blood boil, most of your fear buried beneath anger. You glare down past his arm that still grips your cloak and catch sight of a sliver of pale skin peeking through the folds of his clothes. Moving your gaze back up to his face, you spit out, “I hope you die.”

And then you dig your nails into the exposed skin of his stomach, sink your teeth into the arm holding onto your cloak, and shove with all your might.

Ajax stumbles backward. 

You rip yourself out of his hold, twist your body to the side, taking one step forward, free-

Arms wrap around your waist and throw you back toward the tree. Your feet catch on his boot, making you lose your balance, perfect for Ajax to maneuver your body as he wills. This time, he pins your hands above your head, one large hand grasping your wrists, while his other arm presses as an immovable bar across your collarbones. One leg forces its way between your own, and you realize you are at this fae’s mercy, pinned like a prized butterfly in a collection; all pretty and helpless, on display for him to study.

You look down. You don’t want to see the anger on his face before he retaliates for your actions.

The arm across your chest shifts and you flinch as gloved fingers grab your chin, firm but not painful as he tilts your head, forcing you to look at him. You’re taken aback by the grin on his face, canines bared and bloodthirsty, but his eyes are amused.

“Try that again, I dare you.” His voice is rough and yet it doesn’t sound like a threat.

Your eyes grow wide. This kind of a creature is not one you will be able to escape, at least not now—unarmed except for your teeth and nails.

Ajax lets go of your chin, pulling back slightly. He’s delighted by the fire within you. When he first saw you, running toward the woods, he simply thought you a pretty coward. But oh you dared to fight back, using what little defenses humans naturally have, and you even broke skin. Though his fae blood allows him to rapidly heal, the sensation of your nails digging into his abdomen is not one he’ll forget anytime soon.

As he looks away from your face to take you all in, now that you’re not struggling to escape, his gaze catches on your cloak. His eyes light up, tracing over the exquisitely stitched leaves and plants of various green threads, mixed occasionally with lively bunnies of soft browns. There’s a rabbit still unfinished, just a cute head and perked ears, awaiting its body to bring it to life. 

“Did you make this?” Ajax asks, thumb brushing over the embroidery.

“No,” you gasp, heart sinking.

He tastes the lie and grins. “That’s not true now, is it?”

It’s over. Now that he knows you are skilled at sewing, he has all the reasons he needs to bring you into his realm. Despair is a heavy weight, mixed with frustration and anger. Tears well in your eyes and slide down the curves of your face. A few droplets spread into the cut on your left cheek, mixing with the beading blood that stains your skin.

Ajax is enchanted. Has he ever seen a human so beautiful?

He can’t stop himself from leaning in even closer until his nose nearly presses against your ear. There’s a moment where you hear him inhale. Then his tongue swipes up your cheek, lapping up tears and blood. His groan of delight is overlapped by your whimper, the cut on your cheek stinging as fear flows through your veins.

His fingers grip your chin again and he turns your head to the other side. Warmth travels up your cheek as he licks your tears, before pulling away with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

As you gasp for breath, he takes in the sight of more tears streaming down your face, shed in mourning for the loss of your life in the human world. Shudders run through you until your tears slow, giving time for your heart to harden. Slowly, you open your eyes to meet his gaze, yours now blazing with fury and hatred.

Ajax grins, taking in the vision before him. “You’re perfect.”

note ✧ ajax makes you point out your home and he gets to dig through your stuff as you collect a few things to take with you. don't worry, doggo gets to come with and is treated very well (fae like animals more than humans, usually).

this is not quite the type of thing i usually write, but i hope it was still an enjoyable read! i'd love to hear what you think c:

[hailsatanacab]

“To whom,” Alfred rasps, pausing to clear his throat and establish his sense of decorum, “May I ask, to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The creature stops, blinks its owlish eyes at him, and lets out a bark of laughter.

“Forgive me,” it says, still chuckling lightly, raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck. Alfred is suddenly struck by the feeling that this creature is not as timeless, nor as old or as wizened, as it wished to present itself. “I am making a terrible first impression. My name is Phantom, current High King of the Infinite Realms.”

Contractual Obligations by me!!!

I couldn't get the image of Ghost King Danny out of my head, so here he is!! Acrylic on canvas, and I'm so happy with it - he came out a lot better than I thought he would 😅

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

it’s suguru and his love for sleepy drunks against the whole entire world

[ggyurae]

perfect night.

— sleeping with your boyfriend mingyu means you can have your own big teddy bear to hug. his strong arms wrapped around your smaller figure as your legs tangled with his. it helps to take you to dreamland rather quickly, the comfortable warmth radiates from his body effectively knocks you out. mingyu would chuckle fondly as he hears your soft snores— in the middle of the conversation. you usually can’t keep up, which is fine. he’s the yapper, you’re more of his listener. he would press a kiss on your forehead like usual and softly whisper ‘i love you. good night, my angel’ before he sleeps. he likes to know you’re safe in his embrace, void of any kind of worries and doubts before the day ends. he loves you so much that he cannot let any negativity surrounds you and your pretty little head.

[aeturnum-mendacacium]

its always kinda stuck to me how in every cryptid Batman au many of them personify him as the "shadows of Gotham" or the "darkness of Gotham" or something as such when it's not an resurrected fic or some others

But I've always wanted him to not be personified as the shadows but as the night yk, and with all the "I am the night" it goes with it! I need people to understanding how he's not the dark part of Gotham come for vengeance!!! That's only a part of him!! Like how the night can be silent and always there, watching, the night can be forgiving as it hangs above and also be a source of dread, hiding many in its cloak, safe away, or maybe keeping the ones on the outside safe from whatever he hides in it

And the most of it it doesn't only describe batman but also Bruce wayne!! He may be dark and out for punishment but he also has light from the stars littered across him! Batman is the silent of the night, hes its forgiveness and it's dread, like how he cares about the well-being of his city and always puts his rouges in rehab because he still has hope in them! And he's it's terrifying exicutive, carrying out punishments and the bloodies hands of justice, and Bruce wayne is the lively part of the night, as he dances across with his stars and lives , like when in his parties he somewhat loses himself to the music and champagne and toasts to the sky, he's the party part of the night, the thrill you feel jumping at overly loud concerts and the rush of adrenaline as you dance to the fast beat

Bruce wayne is the night, not shadows

[whytheylosttheirminds]

eulogy

Rafe dug his grave. The rest were all too emotional to do it. John B offered and tried, but Sarah was so beside herself she was making herself sick and he couldn’t focus on the task at hand.

He looked around the group and realized not one of them had the strength to bury their friend. For a fraction of a second, he was jealous. Wondering if there was anyone left who would be devastated so deeply if he died. So he grabbed the shovel, allowing John B to step away from his best friend’s limp body and hold his wife, Rafe’s sister, who was on the cusp of seeing him as human again.

And he felt human as he dug, a symphony of sniffles filling the desert air as he sweat through each stab of the spade in the sand. With each pile pulled from the dune, he saw a flash of Maybank - the pest, the rascal, the kid from the cut who gave him nothing but hell. He remembered, with a smirk, how he pulled a gun on Topper that night a couple of summers ago. At the time, he was so outraged, urging Topper to fight back, to stand up for the Kooks. But now it dawned on him, JJ was twice the man Topper or any of those Kook assholes ever would be. An idiot, a pain in the ass, but a man nonetheless.

“The measure of a man is the love in the eyes of the people who look at him most often.”

His dad had said it once. He rolled his eyes then and he rolled them now, wondering if his father, the great treasure hunter, the gold hoarder, ever really meant that shit. But if it was true, then the guy whose grave he was now ankle deep in was more of a man than Rafe ever would be. The love in their eyes as their friend bled out before them, it was something he’d seen only once. From her. Under the trees.

And so, for the second time today, he cried. Hot tears washing away the grime in his pores from this nightmare of a journey.

It wasn’t for JJ, not exactly. There was no part of him that was happy that he was dead, but he wasn’t really a friend to mourn or an ally to regret the loss of. It was for the generations of history this deepening grave represented, it was for the length and emotion of this hellish day, it was for the thought of her separating their belongings, leaving his mother’s diamond on the bedside table.

The pain in his calloused hands felt good, he let the splintering handle of the shovel dig into his palms until they bled. His blood dripped into JJ Maybank’s grave as he lifted the body into the hole. He stood back and let them cover him back up, passing the shovel to his sister first. A solemn nod and he stepped far enough away to give them privacy, weeping streams into this desert as they buried their friend.

————————————————————————

tysm to my angel @rafeyscurtainbangs for finding me this pic I was gonna cry she’s my hero 💕✨

[djarinova]

╰─▸ ❝ levi ackerman ❞ ˋ*ੈ*⁀➷ 18+

god im just imagining a really hot and heavy make out session with levi—maybe you've both had a few drinks on a night out, or maybe you havent seen each other for a couple of weeks—and you're trying to direct levi into the bedroom. but everytime you try to lead him away he grips onto your waist and holds you in place, planting open mouth kisses all along your neck and sucking on your tender spot until he feels you wrapping your arms around him. you try over and over again, wanting more than anything to move into the bedroom. desperate to feel him inside of you. and as you try once more, pulling away from levi's mouth ever so slightly, he taps your thigh and you move without thinking and place your leg around his waist.

"and now the other one."

you oblige almost immediately, only a second of doubt crossing your mind as you tilt your head questioningly, but one nod of levis head has you jumping up and securing your legs around his waist.

"good girl."

and as you moan into his lips you suddenly feel something pressing up against your clit, and your body jolts. you don't even remember him undressing your lower half and so you sneak a glance at the sight beneath you. and you watch as he presses himself into you, a low growl escaping from his throat. it sends a shiver up your spine. his arms are tight around you, keeping you pressed against the wall, and as he begins to thrust into you his muscles flex, almost glistening in the dim light.

[yasmindifference]

8 (my birthday is the 8!)

The night is unseasonably warm, barely even cool enough for long sleeves. As such, the suit jacket Jason drapes around Tim's shoulders five minutes into their walk nearly makes him roll his eyes.

He channels his reaction into a girlish giggle instead, then has to swallow a more sincere laugh when he sees how the high-pitched sound nearly cracks Jason's mask.

"You're soooo chivalrous," Tim says, unable to resist pushing that little bit further. His Valley girl impersonation puts a twitch in Jason's eye every time. "Like, swoon."

Jason wraps an arm around Tim's waist--probably solely to disguise the sharp pinch he delivers to Tim's side--and smiles down at him.

"You deserve it, baby," he says, in the same smarmy tone he's been using all night.

It makes Tim want to punch him, a reaction he's sure Jason's eliciting on purpose--after all, he's been doing the same thing with his own Valley girl impersonation.

...It's possible he and Jason aren't taking this mission as seriously as they should be.

Oh well.

In retaliation for the pinch, Tim fakes a stumble over a crack in the sidewalk and drives his elbow into Jason's gut, earning a faint oof he wants to smile over.

Instead, he puts his hands to his face in exaggerated dismay.

"Oh, I'm so clumsy," he says mournfully. "It's so embarrassing..."

Jason brushes his hair (or rather, his wig) out of his face and twists his ear painfully in the process; Tim applies his stiletto heel to the toe of Jason's left shoe.

"You're not clumsy, baby, it's just those shoes," Jason says, voice a little tight--with pain or annoyance? Tim can't tell. "You want me to go get the car?"

"No, no," Tim says, "it's such a nice night--just look at those stars!"

He tips his head back and gazes dreamily at the sky which, being in Gotham, shows not a single star.

"They're so beautiful," he says happily.

"Not as beautiful as you," Jason says, with such smarmy passion that Tim barely remembers to hide the laugh he can't help behind a cough.

"Oh, pookie bear," he says--

--and finally, Jason breaks.

He lets go of Tim's waist to brace his hands against his knees as he cackles, choking out "fucking hell" and "pookie" as he struggles to catch his breath.

Tim just smiles and enjoys the victory.

"Okay," Jason says once he catches his breath, "holy shit, you win. How the fuck did you say that with a straight face?"

"Practice," Tim says dryly. "You play the tough guy too often. You should branch out more, broaden your range. Then you won't be so easy to shake."

Jason gives him a flat look and, straightening to his full height, spreads his arms in a silent invitation to look at him. Admittedly, Jason's height and bulk do make him less than ideal for the kinds of covers Tim prefers.

Tim was bullshitting anyway--Jason might default to tough guy, but he's entirely capable of more versatile covers. And he really wasn't that easy to shake; Tim was kind of expecting to break him when he showed up in a dress, stilettos, and wig without warning. Instead, he lasted all through dinner and a ways into their walk.

"Okay, you lasted a lot longer than I expected," he admits.

Jason smirks. "Admit it, I almost got you at dinner."

It's true that Tim came extremely close to breaking when Jason spoke over and ordered for him at the restaurant. Tim actually didn't get to say a single word to their waitress--not even thank you.

"You almost got a plate dumped in your lap," he corrects. Now that they've given up the covers, he shrugs out of Jason's jacket and hands it back. "I could see Ashley thinking about it every time you cut me off."

"Yeah, that was a close one," Jason agrees. "I doubled my usual tip in thanks for her restraint."

Tim nods in approval. "But yeah, admittedly I was not expecting you to go the--"

"Hello?" Dick's voice breaks in, thick with annoyance and a little too loud over the comms. "Did you guys forget that you have a job to do? This does not sound like an undercover conversation!"

Tim and Jason trade eyerolls.

"Good catch, Dickiebird," Jason says. "We are not in fact undercover."

"Excuse me?"

"Dick," Tim says with extreme patience, "Damian is a trained vigilante. He absolutely does not need us as backup on his first date."

Dick gasps in offense. "We agreed--"

"No, we agreed," Jason corrects.

"Yeah, we agreed your mother-henning was out of control," Tim says. "We tipped off Damian last night so he could change his reservation."

"And got Babs to find something to distract you with so you couldn't come follow him yourself," Jason adds.

Dick splutters.

"Take a deep breath," Tim suggests.

"Chill the fuck out," is Jason's less gentle contribution. "Anyway, we're done for the night. You should call it, too--maybe work on remembering the kid is sixteen and not six."

"Harsh but fair," Tim agrees thoughtfully. "Night, Dick!"

Dick is still spluttering when Tim pulls out his comm.

"How much do I owe you for dinner?" he asks Jason.

Jason shrugs and slings his jacket over one shoulder. "Buy me ice cream, we'll call it even."

"Deal," Tim says.

Because he, unlike Damian, is no longer a teenager, he doesn't ask if going for ice cream constitutes a real date.

He can't stop himself from wondering, though.

Happy early birthday, anon!!! In celebration, this got very long lmao. Prompt #8 was two characters on a nighttime stroll! I hope you enjoyed! ♡♡

[justaz]

BIG fan of two sides of the same coin running incredibly hot and the other running incredibly cold.

people who brush hands with merlin wincing bc holy fuck that was like touching ice and merlin just smiles and wanders off. he’s like a cat, he likes to lounge in the sun and soak up the heat. he’s always been a huge fan of summer bc it was the time when the sun was out the most and there were rarely storms or clouds to block out the heat. he like farming with him mom bc of this bc he got to spend time with her while being in the sun. he never tanned tho. for some reason. he always remained as pale as the snow.

the knights are training during a hot summer day and merlin is cleaning a blade so he’s taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves so they don’t get dirty. gwaine wanders over to grab and drink and makes conversation with merlin and nudges his arm and pauses before placing his hands on his arm. he looks up at merlin who is staring at him in confusion. gwaine asks if he’s feeling alright and merlin’s like ?? yeah?? and gwaine just keeps touching him bc fuck its hot out today and merlin is freezing cold to the touch despite sitting in the sun and it’s offering him a bit of relief. arthur ofc barks at gwaine to get back to training and he forces himself to leave. he does make a note to cuddle up to merlin when it gets too hot bc merlin can definitely make him feel better.

no one really touches arthur as he’s the crown prince and all his servants did their best to not touch him directly and if they did it was really quick and professional. gaius always had a hard time figuring when arthur would get a fever bc he always ran hot so it always felt like he had a fever. arthur loved winter bc the snow and cool temperature. his nursemaids and servants would insist on bundling him up but often times arthur would just tear it off when he was outside, he never froze or got sick from it either.

when arthur takes the knights out on an expedition during winter and they’re all bundled up and shivering while arthur is just enjoying the cool air. merlin is shivering the most tho despite being wrapped in about fifty layers of fabric so arthur sheds his cape and hands it to merlin who wraps it around himself with a slight gasp and comment about how its so warm. the knights start a bidding war about who gets to sleep next to arthur when they stop to rest. it doesn’t matter who won. they all just piled on/around arthur and steal his warmth. merlin resides in the middle though bc he’s the coldest so arthur was willing to offer all his warmth to him while the rest stole it.

after they get married, merthur cuddle all night. merlin is freezing and arthur is burning so merlin cools arthur down while arthur warms merlin up. it’s an equal exchange. they’re also touching all the time no matter the temperature. if its summer and most people think its too hot to so much as be looked at? arthur has an arm up merlin’s tunic and wrapped around his waist cooling down while merlin is stealing him warmth. in winter, merlin is the koala and is stealing arthur’s warmth which he doesn’t mind bc merlin’s touch just reminds him of his favorite season.

[thornsnvultures]

Minors DNI

---

Gasping for breath between frantic kisses. His hands tangled in your dress, grasping at your generouships and thighs.

"It doesn't have to mean anything." You don't believe the words even as they tumble out of your mouth.

Eddie kisses your jaw, down your neck, before the words register through the haze.

"Doesn't..," he hesitates. "Do you not want it to mean anything?"

"I dont know."

Eddie's head hangs, rests on your shoulder as he catches his breath. His hair tickles your nose. You hope he can't hear how hard your heart is beating.

"I dont want to lose you."

"You have me," he says it before you can take another breath. Almost sounding angry at even the thought, exasperated. "I'm not going anywhere," he stresses, fingers tightening in the folds of your skirt. "Whatever you want it to mean, for however long. I'm yours."

He looks at you, eyes pleading with you to know that he means it. No matter what happens in this twin bed tonight, you'll always have Eddie.