#i just know he'd fuck up a casserole

[somnoir]

Bats and Phantoms - Part 5

Part 4 | Masterpost

Jason and Phantom

Danny has noticed a pattern ever since he punched the Joker to death.

He's lost multiple things over the course of the past few weeks. Once, his laptop was smashed to bits during an attack by Bane (he really should have Tucker reinforce all his electronics). The next day, there was a new Wayne tech laptop on his counter.

When he visited his favorite cafe, his usual orders were paid for the next month. The barista refused to tell him who bought his month's supply of Living Dead. She was smiling a little too much in his opinion (he'd have to ask Tucker for a background check on Chelsea now. He liked her, but damn him if she was working with the crime lord.)

Danny knows very well that Gothamites either mug people or get mugged. And yet for the entire time, he hasn't gone through that BS... At all. It's almost nice.

He's done his best not to get caught up with the Bats, except for the fucking Red Hood. He tries to stay low, knowing that the Bats—especially Batman—was very strict on his no-kill-rule. Red Hood in the other hand... Unfortunately, he can't escape the bastard if all he wants to do is follow Danny around and gift him the most random shit. But if he's gonna deal with the Red Hood, then he's going to use it for good.

In other words, he was going to let the man feed him with godly food that he'd never been able to have. Danny's a decent cook but the Red Hood was almost godly when it came to cooking.

"You're never gonna leave me alone?" Danny doesn't even turn away from his laptop once he hears Red Hood slip into his apartment, shamelessly crawling through his window. He's so fucking sure there's a bunch of containers in his arms or maybe a reusable bag, but there's a bunch of containers. Filled with food.

"Someone's gotta keep you fed." Red Hood softly hums, passing Danny from where he was sitting on his floor while his dry eyes were watching instruction videos. By this point, Hood might be playing Tetris in his fridge with the containers. (Danny hopes there's chicken in there)

He doesn't move, doesn't want to.

Red Hood pokes his cheek.

Danny grunts in reply.

His cheek is poked again.

He might just bite the guy's hand off.

"Go away."

"Eat and then sleep."

"Perish."

"C'mon now, darling. You gotta take a break or whatever the hell you're studying for will go away."

"I will stab you."

But apparently, Red Hood isn't intimidated by his threats, already picking out one of the containers, heating it up, and then proceeding to make Danny suffer from the scent of something chicken. He's so hungry, he's sleepy, but he has exams! He has deadlines! A part of him wanted this handsome and sexy crime lord to pamper him but he'd drown in that contaminated ecto (Lazarus) than admit it.

And then his laptop is confiscated by a crime lord. Danny suddenly finds himself sitting on the Red Hood's lap and being forced to eat. At least the man isn't feeding Danny himself.

He was just enjoying the chicken casserole, sleepily trying not to stab a fork into his mouth while Red Hood has his hands on Danny's waist, caressing and cooing at him to keep eating.

The next day, he wakes up in his bed, tucked in, and the scent of freshly made coffee from his kitchen.

(God, his siblings are going to make fun of him for this)

Jason likes Danny. He'd actually tell himself that he legitimately adores the tired and unhinged college student. He wants that crazy little shit like he's gonna blow up the world if he doesn't. Because he wasn't just Joker's killer. Danny Fenton unknowingly became Jason Todd's avenger, the one person to actually avenge the second Robin. And he's just...

The infatuation would have been almost selfish, if not for the fact that Jason grew to actually fall for Danny after making sure the young man was okay. He's done his best to keep Danny away from the Bats. He didn't need Batman fucking this up for him.

Danny was so... strange. In a good and endearing way. He was dedicated to his studies, and tried to live his life but helped when he could. He's seen Danny stop by crime alley a couple of times just to help feed the kids, just to hand over blankets and what seemed to be his old clothes that nobody would be wearing. He was kind, and brutal if he wanted to be. Aside from the Joker, Jason had witnessed Danny almost drown a man for trying to kidnap a meta child in the same alley. The bastard was left for dead but survived when someone dragged him out.

Oh, Jason was in love. Horrifically so.

Honestly, he was kinda screwed at this point.

He's pretty happy that he doesn't share a class with Danny. If he did, he might not be able to focus on the lecture knowing that the very thing that calms the pits inside him was so close. The possibility of getting lulled into sleep was pretty high. But their schedules didn't even align and he barely saw Danny on campus. But he'd be lying if he wasn't trying to catch a small glimpse of him.

It's one of those days that he doesn't try looking for Danny when he's got some papers for Lit. But this was different.

Riddler is a maniac, even when he tries to be harmless. Anyone who failed to solve his riddles sometimes got blown up. Gotham U ends up becoming one of his targets. Jason just so happens to be there, waiting, watching, unable to operate out of his suit. The Waynes were not the Bats. They tried not to be to keep their identities face.

He needed to keep everyone away. He needed to keep them safe, even as Jason Todd. Fuck.

Riddles. Riddler liked his riddles, plagued the city with them. Barbara's voice is in his ears immediately, reciting Riddlers gods damned questions.

"I hold dreams cast by the desperate and bold,

My heart is silver, my whispers cold.

I’ve seen generations, yet I do not age,

A quiet witness to joy, love, and rage.

Though rooted in stone, I endlessly flow,

Reflecting the sky and the world below.

Look beneath where wishes sleep,

There lies a secret, dark and deep.

What am I?" Babs' voice is shaky, just a bit before she's hardened steel in seconds.

Jason cursed under his breath, trying to figure out the riddle. They weren't stupid. They've done this before and Nygma's Riddles were hard just for them, especially Tim and Bruce. But even so, Jason was raised by Batman. He could do this.

The words were complex, the poetic nature was irksome. But Jason took just a couple more minutes before he's identifying the answer.

"A fucking fountain. Gotham U has three of those." Jason responds immediately, sucking in a deep breath as he quickly evacuates his classmates and urges them out the building. "East, north, and south."

"Red Robin and Orphan en route to the south fountain. Robin and Nightwing to the east." Oracle quickly says, "Batman to north. Signal and Spoiler are evacuating everyone from the building. Hood, get out of there—now!"

No can do, Babs, he thinks to himself and goes running to the northern part of the campus. Batman can't do shit alone, even if he insists on it. They've learned not to let him.

He arrives before Batman, already rummaging through the fountain for the fucking bomb. If it was beneath the fountain then he'd have to destroy it, but if it was already attached to the water? Shit.

One second later, he's trying to find anything to destroy the cement, and then another passed. Jason is staring at a strange young man, white hair, green eyes—it reminds him of the descriptions of Wraith and Specter that Damian and Dick repeated. He blinks, meeting eyes with the maybe Ghost Hero. He flinched, looking into glowing Lazarus—a purer hue—eyes. "The bombs under the fountain?"

"Uh... Yes!"

The ghost nodded, phasing his hands through the fountain and a second later, he's dragging out a bomb. Fuck, it only had ten seconds to spare. Both of them stared at it, wide eyed as they panic on what to do. But the stranger doesn't seem to pay too much attention and proceeds to swallow the bomb.

"WHAT THE FUCK—"

An explosion—muffled and small—boomed through the courtyard and Jason stared at the smoke and flames covering the ghosts head. A coughing fit is heard through the smoke and the stranger is waving it away, whining about the horrible taste of burnt food.

Lazarus eyes look back at him, blinking before offering Jason a radiant smile. "Sorry about that! I'm Phantom, by the way. Was just passing by when I heard about the bomb." He offers Jason a hand, still smiling.

"Oh, uhm... Any relations to Specter?" Jason immediately asks, trying not to die from his own stupidity. Way to go Jay, immediately interrogating another guy that makes the pits all mushy and warm.

Fuck, fuck fuck. Was he going to fall for everyone that calms the pits? Fuck, he didn't want to cheat on Danny (Jayyoudelusionalidiotyou'renotevendating.)

Phantom tilts his head, before he's laughing loudly. "You've met my little sister?"

"No, but she saved my brother from a kidnapping."

"Is that so?" Phantom smiled, clearly amused. "Well then, I must bid you adieu. I can see that your city's knight has this all handled."

Just then, Batman drops just behind Jason. DAMNIT, B! GO AWAY!

Phantom just glances at Batman, amused before he takes Jason's hand and pressed a light kiss to it. Cold lips pressed against his hand and he's immediately blue screening. Fucking shit, this was the exact same scene he's read in those books about the heroine getting saved by the mysterious man who'd later on be her sexy enemy/lover. FUCK!

Phantom goes back to speak, but all Jason heard were a couple of trills and chirps, a language he couldn't understand but... It felt familiar.

"Ȋ̵̢̨͍̹̺̼̜͉̳͍̮̠̯͙̤͈̥͔̰̤̐͐͜ͅ ̴̡̤͔̪̠̗̤͉͙͓̥̺̗̎͒͒̔̎̑̀̑͜͝w̷̧̖͍̝̹̤̪̞̭͎̞͓̟̪̗̱͕̑̃̃̓̀̔̀̆̋͒͛̂͜ͅi̴̧̢̧̡̡̩̻̗̬̦͉͎̮̠̤̬̪͇̖̦̘͚̟̪̠̠̪̣̪̖͇̤̣̱̪̺̩̘̼͐̇̂̂͛̿̀͗̃͑̔͋̈́̐̽̿́͊̃̄̿̄̊́̔͘̕͜͠͠͝ͅļ̴̨̢̢̨̡̢̫̘͍͉̞̝̙̹̘̜͎̩̟̰̹̙̟͉̳̯̹̫̼͉̬̯̼̪̖̿̒ḷ̸̨̱̫̣̪͖̤̩̖̮̙̋͛͆̓͜ ̴̨̨͉̩͉̠̖̖̫̠̬̥̮̲̦͙̦̜̱̺̠̫̤̫̐̑͂́̇̆̐̋͂̈́͘ş̷̛̘͎̬͙̖̜̞̗̣͍̲̒̎̈͋̄̄͛̑̈́́̌̐́͋̃͑͑̈͛͋́̂̂̂͂̈́̌̄͊͂́̓̆̎͑̕̚͝ȩ̶̛̝̮̳̭̘̪̰͚̗̖̪̤̟͊̃̐͛͆̄̀͊̄̓̒͝͠e̶̡̢̧̨̢̨̢̛̞̖̤̲̱̯̘͇̖̹͖̻̱̜̼̹̠͙̺̞̽͌̍͗̿̒̃̍̆̽̓͂͗̽̈́̀͝ͅ ̵̢͚͔̦̹͚̱̝̪̗̽̕͜ỷ̵̛̲̘̟̭̬̩͇͖̮̉͋̑̽͂͛̆͆͂̃͋̀̎̆̑͊̃͛̐́̄̊͗̄̾͋̈́̕͝ỏ̶̖̹̦̭̱͇͔̲̝̜̹̹̗̗̮̪̗̬̥̜͍͉̻̍̍̈́̓͊̍͑́̀̈̇̄̐͐̔͛͌̊̀́̈́̍͑͆͑͒̈́̅̌́̄̉́̇͐̒̈̍̀̎̽͝͠͠͝͝u̴͊̾͂̓̓̀͆̂̏̀̅̀̉̉͊̈́̅̎̍̇͋̽̿̒̓͐̄͛͊̄̉̽̏̕͝͝͠��̢̡̛͕̯̱̫̗̠̪͓̻̜̪̣̞̟̩͎̗̜̹̯̮̱͎̳̖̹͙̖̬̖͕̙͔̲̋̓͗̍̎̆̒̄͘̕ͅ ̷̦̰͈͒̀̆̓̈́͑̂́̇͌̑͒̿̐̈́̅͋̎̄̎͒́̒͒̈́͊͛̚̚͠͝͠͠n̷̢̢̦̟͎͚̹̜̜̞͇̝̲̦̻̩͖̦̮̅̌̔̌͛̅̐̈́̋͌̂͋̈̋̎̈́̈̾̊̊͌̽̿̂̐͆͂̌͐̅́̌̚̚ȩ̵̨̧͔͔̩̭̦͈̪̟͉̦͚̘͚̥̰̰͓͓̤͉̫̳̜̲̲̖̘̜̮̠͉̪̤̤̮̣̫̼͓̦̣̤͖̘̹̉͐͗͆͆̉̐̂̀̄͑͑̄̈̒̀̈̀̀̎͘͜ͅx̶̝̘̼̟̜͎̲̪͎̥̖̠̼̀́̎̔͂͂͐̀̓̓̾̏̅̀̌̐̌̀̑̆̃͝͠ţ̵̢̭̫̫͇̟̣͓̲̦̩͉̞̞̳̬̞̘̙͈͓͈̺̱̮̮̘̠̤͔͍̼̼̳̳̳̦̼̣̼̹͍́͐̍͒͆̎͒͊̊̎͛͑̅̿͂̀̍̎͐́̋͛͗͗́̄͒̾͒͆̏̀̀̽͑͌̓͗̚͝͠͠͠ͅͅͅ ̷̨̧̡̮̝̜̟̠̦̳̼̝̭͖̭͚͎̦͕̦̩̺͓̺͚͈̺̤͋͌̔̏̒̾̓̈̅̃̑̏̓̂̚̚͜͝t̸̛̳̯̻͙̼̳̤͎̦̙̟͌̊͋͐̐͊́̑̈̽̎̎̾͂̓̉͆͗̐̇̏͋̕̚͝͝į̵̡̖̠̝̬̠̲̞̩̼͖̦̺͎͖̺͉̘̦̜̜̬͇̠̗̠̬̥͕̭̙̜̳͕̯͈͔̫̤̝̲̫̥͑̃͋̇̊̈́̍̈̉̑͛̈́͌̓̈̈̀̚͜͝͝͠͠ͅm̸̡͓̦͗͗̉͗̒̈́̂̆̿͒́͆ȩ̷̡͍̙͇̫͖̣͙̝̣̣̻͕͈͍͎̣̹̟͓̲̔̀̎̓͘͘͘͠,̶̢̨̨̧̧̢̖͖̠̲̞̮̘̮͉̩͔̭͕̻̝̤͚̻̭̘͈̮̥͉͎͙̜̭̿̿̆̑͗̌̈̈́͛͋̂̑̆̄̈́͋̈͐̑̍̆͂͆̂̌̍̅͊̍̌̓͘̕͝͝ͅͅ ̷̦̦͚̞̖̖̗̎̋̐́̍̆̾̑̾́͌̔́̀̿̀̓̂͒͐̑̋͊̒̈̕Ȑ̴̢̢͉̟̠͍̲̠e̷̢̡̢̡̡̨̨̢̨̛̝̰̪̠̥̠͓͍͔̗̩̯̺͕̬̮̳͎̩͈̼͕͙̯̟̦̺̣̠̺͔̓̉̈́̈̀͋̂̂̈́̆͑̏̅͌̌̂̓́̐͒̈͒̅͊̀̑̂̿̐̂̒̆̓̂̐͗̚͜͝d̶̢̧̛͇̙̰̺͉͔̼̘̩̟͎̖̪̻͖̥̳̠̣̖͎͈͓̳̯̤̲͔̻̱̝̿̈́̆͛́͛̆̄͛͒̿̈̊̉̈́̆̃̒͋́̽̒͐̀̃̑̂̔̋̈́̍̀̀̐̅̄̇͝͠ ̴̡̡̧̡̟̥̟̝̮̟̘̯̺̳̗͚̮̭͍̘̰̭̹͈͈̱̦͎̝͍̺͎͕̼̝̼̝̦͋̾̏́̐̍͌̍̋͒̕͜͠ͅḨ̵̡̧̧̤͓̖̺̭͕͉̖̝̲̖̙̣̳͚͙͚͇̙̼̻͖̺̼͉͖̞̤̞̝̭̂͐̒̑̓͂̈́́̉̽̇̀́̌͂͑͜ͅͅǫ̶̨̢̧̳̠̱̻͉̦̳͚̜͓̭̯̳̘͕͎͍͖̟͖̹̞̤̘̣̖̰͓̙̩͍̻͖̘͚̠͕̗͍̮͙̼͍̪̰̾̂͌̓͗̃̀͗̈́̚ͅõ̸̧̨̡̢̧̡͎̺̭̬̼̱̟̝͔̲̣͖͍̭̜̣͔̠̗͍̯̣̬̮͚̔ͅd̸̡̹̠̹͍̝̜̍̈́̄̇͋̈́́̈́̈̎̎̀̉̍̎̔̋̒͒̔̒̇͐̀̀́͌̊̉̓͌̕.̴̛̛̛̫̹͍̯̟͓̒̀̈́̑̈̏̓͊̽̈́͊͗͒͌͌̏̌̔͌̏́̄͊͒̽̏̏̏͆̅̐͋̐̿̿́̐̈͐͗̊̏̔̚͜͜͝͝"

(Later on, Danny gets one hell of a tongue lashing from his siblings for eating a fucking bomb. At least Red Hood comes to visit with some dessert to make the flavor of bomb go away.)

[talaok]

Old Man

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel needs glasses but won't admit it, and there's only an amount of teasing a man can take before he decides to show you just how much of an old man he is.

warnings: unprotected p in v sex, creampie, hair pulling, (joel gets a lil rough)

Ellie was the one to start it all,

I mean it's not like you hadn't noticed, but she was the one that started with the jokes.

Not very honorable of you to blame it all on the 14 year old, you knew... but still, just to get the record straight, you weren’t the one to tease him first.

“Gimmie Granpa” she had chuckled one time, grabbing the piece of paper where Maria had written down the recipe for her 'world-famous' casserole from his hands.

"Hey-" He'd protested,

"You can't see shit, man" she giggled, "Stop trying to fight it- you're getting old buddy"

And well from then on things had... escalated.

You'd yet to see a day where the poor man wasn't made fun of because of it, but truth be told, he really did need glasses.

You'd even suggested it to him more gently, in the comfort of your own room, away from Ellie's prying eyes.

"y'know baby, there's nothing wrong with getting glasses"

He'd looked at you as if you'd just told him to go fuck himself.

"Don't look at me like that" you'd smiled, rounding the bed to intertwine your hands behind his neck "It's for your own good"

"I don't need glasses"

"no?" you'd bit down a grin "you sure?"

"'m sure alright" he grumbled

"I bet Tommy would know where to get you a pair if you asked"

"darlin'"

"yes, baby?" you'd asked, hopeful

"I don't need 'em"

And you really did want to keep on trying to convince him, but then he'd kissed you and well- it must have slipped your mind.

Unluckily for him, not for a very long time.

He was in the bathroom, trying, or more specifically struggling, to open a bandaid for your injured finger.

It wasn't anything serious, just a little cut, but as you'd disinfected it, he'd insisted on covering it up, only of course you hadn't expected it to take so long.

"Baby, what's wrong, you can't find them?"

But the answer to your question was right before you as you entered the bathroom.

As I said, he was struggling.

A laugh bubbled up your throat as you took in his focused expression, the frown on his forehead, the squint in his eyes...

"Let me do it"

"No I can do it I just-" he tried to get it open again, failing miserably.

"Joel-" you smiled, walking up to him "let me" you said softly

And with a sigh, he surrendered, handing you the poor, tortured bandaid

"I could have done that" he grumbled as he watched you do it in a split second.

"Sure you could, old man" You grinned to yourself, carefully applying the bandage to your finger.

"What did you just say?"

A soft, breathless gasp fled your mouth-

He'd moved right behind you, and his hands were now on your waist.

"Jesus babe" you laughed,

"What did you say?"

His voice was rough, and his eyes... something had shifted behind his eyes.

You watched his reflection in the mirror before you as you answered

"I said I'm sure you could"

"Mhh" he hummed, his head lowering until he could dive into your neck and inhale your scent "The other thing"

"what other thing?" you feigned innocence, enthralled by his demeanor, by the almost predatorial look in his eyes

"You know what"

"no I don'-"

But you didn't have time to finish, he'd already grabbed you by your hair, pulling your head back until his mouth was ghosting yours

"you called me an old man, darlin'?"

He was a different man from a minute ago.

This was the Joel Miller people feared, the one that killed without remorse, the one that fucked you rough- the once that a sick and twisted part of you revered.

"Baby I was jokin-"

"didn't look like it" he growled, his clothed hard-on pressing into your ass making you whimper, "you think I'm an old man, babydoll?" he murmured, his grip tightening around your hair "I'll show you how much of an old man I am"

Next thing you knew, your upper body was flushed against the sink's countertop, and your shorts were at your feet, together with your panties.

You watched from the mirror as he freed his cock with the hand that wasn't holding you down, and then you felt it-

"will you look at that" he chuckled darkly, the tip of his dick sliding between your folds with ease "you're makin' a mess for an old man, babydoll"

"J-Joel" you whimpered

"no no darlin'" he cooed "You've brought this on yourself- now you're gonna be good and take it, alright?"

When you didn't respond, he yanked your head back, forcing you to look at him through the mirror

"alright?" he bent down, growling in your ear

"y-yes"

"try not to be too loud," he whispered "You wouldn't want people to know how much you like getting fucked by an old man"

You had no time to respond, to tell him how much you didn't care, because he'd already pushed himself fully inside of you, and the only thing you could do was scream.

"you can't help yourself can ya?" he muttered, watching your face contort in all sorts of bliss-induced expressions "The old man gives it to ya too good, 's that it?" he groaned, feeling your walls squeeze around him

"look at me" he ordered, pulling your hair again, making you open your eyes and watch him as he ruthlessly slammed inside of you "Look at the old man who's fuking you, darlin', don't be rude" he grinned

The sound of his skin against yours reverberated through the bathroom, and god it was nasty.

"f-fuck" you tried to speak, tears tarnishing your vision

"I know, I know" he pretended to care, getting up from where he was pressing his torso onto your back, using a hand to get you to remain flush against the sink "I'm going too slow, ain't I?"

Oh shit

Oh fucking shi-

If you thought he was going hard before... you hadn't seen anything.

You couldn't fully create one single thought in your mind as he picked up his pace, as he started literally slamming into you fast and hard enough to break you in half.

"I'm jus' an old man after all babydoll, ain't I?" he breathed, one hand still on your back while the other was still forcing your head up to look at him "You'll understand if I can't fuck you as hard as you'd like" it was like he wasn't hearing how loud you were moaning, how breathless your whines and gasps where each time his dick hit your cervix "what's that?" he mocked "you need it harder darlin'?"

"J-Joel-" you whined, begging, pleading for what you weren't even sure

"shh I got you baby" he cooed, bending down to whisper in your ear again, slowing down his pace just to thrust so fucking deep and hard into you you swore you saw stars "I know my old man's pace ain't enough for you doll"

But it was- Oh it was more than enough.

And yet he didn't care- he was going even harder, even faster, even deeper, and you... you didn't even remember your name anymore.

You could feel the thickness of his cock as it slammed into you over and over and over again, the way it would hit the most hidden spots inside of you, the ones only Joel had only ever been able to find, and then-

And then you could hear his grunts and strangled groans as he fucked you within an inch of your life, as his hair fell to his forehead and tears streamed down your face and your eyes struggled to remain open, struggled to keep on watching him as he fucked you from behind with enough force to break the fucking sink you were on.

Until it got to be too much, until you felt your stomach tighten and the fuse lighting, until he hit that secret spot once again, and all you could do was close your eyes as bliss took over your body, as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

"look at you" he groaned "coming all over an old man's cock" he breathed, your walls squeezing him too good to do anything else but follow suit "letting an old man come deep inside of ya"

It took a long moment for either of you to wake up from the sex-induced haze, but Joel was in much better shape than you, so it was him who came back earlier.

he begrudgingly pulled out, enjoying for a moment too long his own handy work before he helped you up, picking you up bridal style once he realized how useless your legs had become.

"baby" you murmured, before he could place you on the bed "You know I was joking right?" you said, leaning up to kiss him, your mouth catching his in a sweet, gentle kiss that contradicted completely the way he'd just ruined your ability to walk properly

"You're not an old man" you promised

"mh?" he hummed, kissing you again just because he could

"yeah" you smiled, melting into the kiss for what felt like an eternity

He was holding you gently, watching your eyes as they begged to close.

"good" he hummed against your mouth, watching it twist into a devious little smirk as a spark ignited in your eyes

"Although I still think you should at least consider getting glasses-"

"darlin'" he stopped you immediately "I suggest you stop talkin''"

"or what?" you bit down a grin, laughing softly

"Or Tommy's gonna be real mad when you tell him you can't make it to patrol tomorrow 'cause your legs don't work"

[jscrawls]

Grave mistakes

Gotham City is full of a lot of characters, criminals, creepy clowns, man eating plants, eccentric billionaires. But all that rolled into one household?

Warning: contains mentions of poor mental health, death, general spooky stuff, it's an Addams reader they're gonna be freaky,

Part 1: digging dirt

🔹🔹🔹

Jason's having one of those days, his hands ache a little too much, his scars pulling a little too tight, the ringing of metal as someone worked on their car grit in his ears a little too loudly, It's overstimulating. he doesn't even feel Like…..a person right now, he feels more like a body caring for itself. So he did what he usually does when he's not quite all there, he walks. Wanders around until he finds somewhere quiet enough to stuff himself back into his own head, until his body feels like him again. And that's how he found himself here of all places, a graveyard, the graveyard. Someone's still taking care of it, it seems. The grass is neatly manicured and the stone is moss free, he hates that in a way. The stupid gravestone looks like it's been shown more care than he has. He hates that he can still clearly read it.

“What a dreadful graveyard, you must be very proud of it.” A mystery voice chimes from behind him, who the fuck snuck up on him?

Spinning around with a snarl on his lip, Jason's greeted by the sight of a….Goth witch? That doesn't bode well on Bruce's property.

“Who the ever loving fuck are you?” his hand rests on the grip of his gun, warning enough to not try anything too hasty. Damn what if they're a meta-

“oh excuse my manners, I'm your new neighbor.” The mystery goth steps closer without any hesitation and holds out their hand, their other hand holding a…casserole dish? Oh right, Alfred mentioned something about a neighbor…They introduce themselves as an Addams like they're not standing in a graveyard and he's armed, alright then…

“Okay…I'm Jason Todd...? I'm not your neighbor though, i don't live here.” He glances back down at the gravestone, his gravestone-

“Oh? Then i suppose you'll just be my new friend then instead of my new neighbor.” They glance down at the stone as well, noticing the obvious. “Oh is that yours? You have one already picked out and placed? How macabre!” They smile, Jason's gut twists at the sight.

“No it's not-that's just uhh…don't worry about it alright? I used it and then.. Got better?” Jason wants to bury himself Alive right now, what kind of an answer is that? They just had to catch him on one of his bad days.

“you know, my dear grandmama has done that quite a few times. The lady just can't seem to stay buried for more than a few weeks at a time. One of these days…” The goth sighs wistfully at that, seeming unbothered. Are they mocking him?

“I'm not on the mood for jokes.” He grunts out, shoving his hands in his pockets and going to step around them. He'd prefer to wallow in his fucked up mental state without an audience.

“Grandmama’s perchance for breaking the barriers between the living and the dead is no laughing matter my new-not-neighbor-friend, say do you know the man living here? I'd like to return this to it's rightful owner before the poltergeists smash it.”

Jason stares at them for a long, silent moment. They said all that with a straight face. Must be committed to their aesthetic to the nth. The thought of seeing Bruce right now sounds about as enjoyable as crawling on broken glass on his hands and knees, but they seem to expect something from him. God he hates social obligations…

“I'm not even gonna ask, give me the dishes and I'll get em back to Bruce.”

“Who is ‘Bruce’? I was under the impression the resident here was named Alfred.”

“No that's the butler- wait, you don't know who your neighbor is? How can you move in beside one of the wealthiest man in the country without knowing?”

“oh is Gomez here? That sneaky devil already bought property in this wonderful city without telling me? Oh I could die of jealousy!"

The goth seems…happy? Jason doesn't want to snap them out of it just yet. They're obviously crazy and he's not ready to deal with the fallout. He's ready to just say fuck it and leave, but he doesn't want to leave Alfred to deal with them…

“Gomez? No this is Bruce Wayne's house. You know, billionaire philanthropist?” he turns towards the back of the mansion and starts walking, ready to go drink until he can't see his reflection straight on. Who cares that it's only four in the afternoon.

“Wayne? Was he the one in Jersey shore?” They say with curiosity, stepping after him with casserole dish in hand.

that actually gets a startled laugh out of Jason, picturing Bruce on Jersey shore with Nikki and big Mike. “No, God no. That'd be a sight to see though…. You don't seem the type to watch that show, i bet supernatural is more your thing, what with the whole….goth thing.” Is he making conversation? Wow, go Jason i guess.

“i enjoy the chaos and violence.” Is all they say, following him to the manor.

“…alright fair enough.” He falls silent again, the only sound being the crunching of leaves underfoot. God he's not good at this, this feels awkward very quickly. At least to him, they seem intrigued with the sights of the graveyard.

“so how did you die, I'm assuming you used the gravestone in death. Yes? Not unless you enjoy a little being buried alive action, i dabble in it time to time myself so don't feel awkward. Do tell.”

Do they have to press on about that? What kind of freaky shit are they into- “you're fucking demented.” he hisses out before he can catch himself, wow way to make a nice impression on Bruce's new, probably rich if they're buying up land in this neighborhood, neighbor.

“Oh? Aren't you a romantic one, My new-not-my-neighbor-friend.”

“…that wasn't-can we drop this? You're driving me nuts.”

“You're very sweet, perhaps we can explore this another time then. Please tell Alfred the casserole was positively horrible! Toodles!”

And just like that they turn on their heel and leave, disappearing into the- wait why is it suddenly foggy? Jason shakes his head and briefly ponders whether any of that was even real, or if he's gone off the deep end this time. The weight of the casserole dish on his arm the only thing assuring him he's not full blown hallucinating like certain people he knows.

He gets a few steps closer to the manor when he pauses again, he feels…. Okay. Not great but…he feels like a human instead of a ghost occupying a body. Huh. Guess meeting someone crazier than you'll fix you.

🔹🔹🔹

M.list | prev | next

A/n: ngl I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out, Jason's fun to write! Any feedback is appreciated as I figure out how to write other ppls POV TYYYYY 🖤💜🖤💜

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry's in the kitchen, makin' dinner again since Soda is banned from the stove for the foreseeable future. What compelled the kid to dump half a shaker of pepper into spaghetti, Darry will never know. But he doesn't mind, really. He's got one of their ma's old cookbooks on the counter and is piece mailin' together a casserole both Steve and Two-Bit had raved over last month.

Dallas sits at the table, arms folded and scowlin' hard. Darry had to chase him into the kitchen five separate times before he managed to set the table without driftin' back to the TV to watch a western. Darry's sure they've all seen it three times.

If I go back into that kitchen and those places still aren't set you're gonna be sittin' in there until I'm well 'n done cookin'. Dallas had immediately jumped back up and vanished through the door but Darry was followin' though. Maybe he was a tough hood everywhere else, but inside the Curtis home, he was just another one of Darry's rowdy kid brothers.

To his credit, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss so when he started leanin' to see the movie through the door Darry pretended he didn't notice. He only cleared his throat warningly when he started reachin' fallin' out of his chair levels of tilitin'. Every time Dallas would straighten back up and shoot Darry his meanest glare, proppin' his elbows on the table 'n pickin' at the peelin' paint.

At some point, Pony detangled himself from Soda on the couch and disappeared down the hall, returnin' with a notebook to sit across from Dallas. He glanced up at Darry before he plopped down 'n Darry nodded his approval. Sometimes he'd make them sit alone when they were in trouble, specifically Soda and Two since they were Darry's most rambunctious. Pony would distract Soda but him 'n Dallas enjoyed just sittin' in the quiet. It reminded Darry of how Johnny 'n Pony had been. His heart gives a sharp little ache and he shakes the thought from his head.

Greif had an odd way of sneakin' up on him.

Pony picks up his pencil and Dallas nearly falls out of his chair for how hard he's leanin'. Darry doesn't bother clearin' his throat, just knocks him up the back of his head gently and Dallas scowls hard and leans back.

He's not sure how much time passes, not very long. He finishes the casserole and slides it into the oven to cook. He sighs, listens to Two and Steve as they wrestle in the living room, waitin' to see if they'll knock it off themselves before they break somethin' or not. Apparently, the sigh he lets out it enough for Soda to kick them both in the ribs and they reluctantly separate.

Since Dallas has put up the minimal amount of huffin' 'n moanin' he opts to release him until dinner. Before he can open his mouth he catches a glimpse of a sketch Pony has his nose an inch away from. He's got his brow all furrowed and he's bitin' his lip hard enough to leave marks like he always does when he's focused.

"Holy shit, kiddo." He hadn't meant to comment but even just the edge of the portrait he's workin' on is an utter work of art. Pony jerks up and slams the notebook closed. He always was oddly shy about his work. Darry doesn't push it, he doesn't want Pony to feel like he's pryin'.

Dallas, however, doesn't share Darry's values of privacy. He watches as Steve disappears into his room without askin' 'n thinks maybe none of them do. He rolls his eyes again. Dallas, suddenly payin' attention again, reaches over 'n snatches the notebook out of Pony's hands, openin' it to the page Pony had been workin' in. Whatever smart shit he'd been about to say dies in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Pony." The sketch is nearly finished, clearly set from Pony's view of the kitchen, Dallas framed neatly in the middle, scowlin'. It's so accurate it could have been a photo, one of a spread of Dallas. In all of them, his eyes are bright and angry or dull and aggitated. He's either scowlin' or frownin'. In one particular sketch he's barin' his teeth so his silver one shines lime he does when hes truly hacked off. Darry looks between Dallas 'n the drawin' Pony's just added, notin' how he had lovingly managed to capture the singular fair freckle on Dallas' throat, the way his hair curled against the back of his neck, the set of his eyes as he peered through the door.

When Darry looks back at his kid brother Pony is bright red. Darry snaps out of it first and realizes both he 'n Dallas are just starin' at him.

"Pony, that's amazin'. Really, honey." Pony looks down at the table, still clearly embarrassed.

"It's just a sketch." He scuffs his toe on the tile and runs his hand up his neck in a way Darry knows he picked up from him. "It's not done, yet." Pony wasn't particularly good with praise. He looks up at Dallas who's still just starin' at the page. Dallas runs a finger along the high bones of his face recreated in lead.

"Is... is that how you-"

"Sorry! It's really not that good. I just like to... I dunno... I like to sketch you when you're angry. You just look tuff when you're scowlin' 'n all. That's all. It's not done." He finishes lamely, the flush creepin' down his neck when Dallas doesn't say anythin' else. The silence hangs for a long moment.

"I didn't know I looked like that. When I was mad 'n all." Dallas finally says. He runs a finger over his drawn brow as if he could smooth out the furrow. He shakes his head hard. "Sorry kid, that's tuff as hell. It's a real good drawin'."

Pony ducks his head again 'n Dallas runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "Do you... mind if I keep it?" Pony's eyes go all wide like he wasn't expectin' the question.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. It's you after all." Dallas rips the drawin' carefully out of the book and folds it gently in half, gettin' up and vanishin' down the hall to the room he shares with Pony 'n Soda. He ruffles Pony's hair as he passes, gently squeezin' his shoulder.

The second Dallas is gone Pony drops his forehead to the table. "D'you think I upset him?" Darry presses a kiss to his hair and pats him on the back softly.

"Nah, kiddo. I don't think he's upset." But Darry isn't sure exactly how to read that boy. Not nearly as well as he can read the rest of them. "He just needs a minute."

Dinner is a subdued affair despite Soda and Two's best efforts. As Darry expected, both Two and Steve nearly go to blows over the final servin' 'n only back down once Darry promises to make it again next week. Dallas says next to nothin' which makes Pony squirm around every thirty seconds.

When Two's finished lickin' the bowl, Darry shoos them all out, unsurprised to find Dallas silently startin' to collect up the plates and dump them into the sink. He wasn't like his brother's in that regard. When the other's wanted Darry's attention they would simply ask for it. Dallas refused to bruise his ego. He'd find an excuse to catch Darry as he ran to the grocery store or mowed the lawn or did the dishes. Darry didn't mind waitin' for him to decide to say whatever was on his mind.

"I didn't know the kid saw me as such an... angry person." He dumped another armful of dishes and silently picked up the dish towel as Darry started washin'.

Darry hmm-ed vaguely and handed Dallas a plate. He knew the kid wouldn't listen to him if he denied it, despite knowin' better.

"Pony just likes to capture people's emotions. You remember that time he drew Soda after he'd fallen and broken his wrist? Soda had nearly lost his damn mind at how pathetic he looked in that. He might've jumped Pony if it hadn't been such a good drawin'." Darry chuckles lightly but Dallas just gives a weak smile 'n returns the plate to the cabinet.

"Maybe... yeah." Between the two of them, the sink is empty in fifteen minutes and Dallas disappears down the hall to take a shower. He had a late night chore to run at Buck's, somethin' to do with an upcomin' pony race they had comin' up.

Darry see's Dallas out, extractin' a promise to go straight there 'n back, checkin' to make sure he had his blade though he almost certainly didn't need to. He shoos Two out of his armchair and collapses down, only half payin' attention to whatever's on.

"Darry?" Pony was still bein' more uncharacteristically quiet than usual.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I go to bed early?" Darry turns his head to get a good look at the kid. He doesn't think Pony has ever asked to bed early a day in his life. Usually, he was the one fit to be tied every night when Darry tried to get them all to bed.

"Sure honey, all ok?" Pony nods his head and Darry crooks a finger. When he's close enough Darry presses a kiss to his forehead. Pony doesn't fight it and leans into Darry's shoulder for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. G'night Darry."

"Night, kiddo."

It doesn't take long for the rest of the gang to decide they're tired. Soda crashes on the sofa against Steve's shoulder and Steve hauls him up and dumps him in bed. Two promised his ma he'd go home and Steve swears he'll be fine at his. Darry reluctantly doesn't put up a fight. He drops kisses to both their heads and reminds them the door is always unlocked.

Once the house is nearly empty he straightens up the few things out of place and drags himself to his room for the night. He's a heavy sleeper and he's exhausted enough to fall asleep right there in the hall but his body won't let him even dream of passin' out before all his brothers are home where they're supposed to be.

He counts on Dallas bein' back in an hour give or take and flips on the bedside light. He cracks the book on the nightstand Ponyboy recommended to him months ago. Pony had read it in one afternoon but Darry was draggin' through it five minutes here 'n there when he had the time.

Half an hour later he hears the door to Pony, Dallas, 'n Soda's room creak open but doesn't think much of it. He hears light steps pad down the hall 'n correctly assumes it to be Pony. Seconds later the door opens 'n closes again.

By the alarm clock beside the bed, it's another forty-five minutes before Dallas comes in. The walls are paper thin, so he can distinctly hear Dally kick his shoes off at the door and continue into the kitchen. He pauses there oddly long but Darry doesn't get up to interrupt.

It takes another ten minutes for Darry to hear the kid in the hall. He sniffs hard and Darry recognizes the sound of him rubbin' the back of his sleeve across his face. It breaks his heart but he leaves him be. Of all of them Dallas was the most fiercely protective over his ego and privacy. If it were anyone else, Darry wouldn't let that stop him from comfortin' him. But he knew the kid would get him if he needed it. He figured Dallas could see the light under the door 'n would know Darry was awake if he decided to come in.

Darry waits another fifteen minutes before he gets up to check on them. When he eases open the door Soda is sprawled out in one bed and Dallas is wrapped tightly around Pony in the other. Darry smiles fondly and goes to shut the door before he catches the paper clutched in Dallas' hand.

Darry slinks quietly across the floor to get a better look. He recognizes Pony's careful, controlled pencil markin'. The drawin' is one of his favorite Polaroids of Dallas, his smile wide and uncontrolled. Darry remembers the exact moment it was taken, his hair blown back from his forehead as Soda had taken a turn far too fast for Darry's likin'. Dallas had howled and stuck his whole head out the window and grinned.

Darry smiles fondly at the memory and catches the corner where Pony's written a note in his neat, loopy hand writin'.

I don't see you as angry. I see you as Dallas. My brother. (who just happens to look tuff when he scowls)

[strangerstilinski]

hiii my dear <333

would love if you could combine [heal] and [kiss] with steve 🫶

love u n have the bestest day

[HEAL] sender ends up in the receiver's lap trying to tend to their wounds to the best of their abilities. [KISS] the sender lowers themselves into the receiver's lap in order to kiss them properly.

Steve is bleeding. Again.

And why is it that Steve always seems to be fucking bleeding? If it's not a fistfight, it's inter-dimensional monsters. And if it's not monsters, it's foreign governments who hold no qualms against beating and torturing minimum-wage mall employees in the hopes that it might yield answers.

This isn't like any of those times. You know that. And yet, watching the slow trail of blood ooze from the gash at Steve's hairline, crimson dripping slow down his temple and smearing into his brow — It makes your stomach turn. Makes your knees wobble just slightly. The floor suddenly feeling decidedly unsteady beneath your feet.

You'd asked him to find a casserole dish and he'd practically crawled his way inside one of the lower kitchen cabinets in his search. Wide shoulders crowded into the space, his narrow waist on display as he reached even farther and prompted his shirt to ride up. Your eyes had been glued to the dimples at the base of his spine, objectifying gaze too stuck on the way his jeans pulled on his backside and thighs, the way the elastic waistband of his briefs cut into the softness of his hips-

He'd yelled triumphantly as he re-emerged, and you'd been too distracted to warn him to watch his head when he turned a bit too early and bashed against the edge of the opening with a resounding thunk.

You couldn't care less about cooking dinner, now. You're entirely too consumed with worry at the sight of the blood pouring from Steve's head. And, alright, pouring might be a bit dramatic. But your boyfriend is bleeding, and it's slightly your fault.

You push him from the kitchen and he drops dutifully into a chair when you give his shoulder a pointed shove. Both of your hands find their way to his face, warmth bleeding into your palms as you try to angle his head into the light a bit.

He only winces a little when you push his hair up out of the way so you can see where his skin is split. Your fingers tighten around his jaw, biting into his cheek as you turn his head this way and that in an attempt to get a better look. A frown pulls at your lips as you note the swelling that's already building into a sizable lump, and no sooner have your lips quirked downward when Steve's hands find the backs of your thighs.

"Hey, pretty sure I'm the one who's supposed to be pouting, pouty." His hands tighten, dragging you forward until you're standing slotted between his legs.

Warm, honeyed brown eyes peer up at you, his hands rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs in a comforting motion. The way he looks after you, even now, when he's the one who's injured — It sends your heart thrumming wildly.

You snatch some paper towel from the tabletop and dab at his head lightly, frown sinking further when blood immediately wells back up and begins to follow that same path down his forehead and into his eyebrow.

"It seems like it's bleeding a lot," You tell him, blotting at the growing egg on his head again, "I don't think it should be bleeding this much. Should it be bleeding this much?"

"It's a head wound, they bleed a lot." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.

You repeat his words back, mockingly, putting a little more pressure on the towel to his head. And then, "How much is 'a lot'?"

To your frustration, Steve just shrugs again, "I dunno, should stop in the next few minutes, I guess. If it does, we're good. If not, I guess I'm probably a goner-"

The pressure you're applying to the towel increases enough to have Steve wincing again, but you refuse to feel bad.

"That isn't funny." Your eyes drift as Steve's lower lip juts out, soft and plush and not even remotely portraying genuine apology. "Now who's pouting?" You grumble quietly.

"The guy who just came within an inch of braining himself to find your casserole dish, actually." Steve returns your snark all-too easily, "You know what'd really help, though?"

Your eyes narrow just slightly at the sweet edge to his voice, at the way his palms press with a little more intent into the backs of your legs. He's still looking up at you, lips quirked up now into that flirty grin of his, chin jutting out like he's expecting you to just bend down to kiss him already.

"What?" You ask, infuriatingly breathless in the wake of his touch, the gentle rumble of his voice.

"C'mere."

He pulls at your thighs again and you realize he's trying to get you to sit down. You smile softly, stepping back from between his legs and settling into place in his lap. Your thighs frame his hips, towel still pressed firmly to his head all the while.

"Better?" You ask, nosing at the space between his brows before placing a fleeting peck to his forehead.

Steve hums, "No, no, not quite. Think you could spare another kiss?"

"Oh, I suppose," You sigh woefully, like it's a big ask, though you both know it isn't. Your lips find the bridge of his nose, "Like this?"

Steve hums again, "Not quite. Little lower, honey."

You lean back just a bit to look at him, the way his eyes have clouded over with something like adoration. It still makes your head spin, that he looks at you like that-

Your thumb strokes his cheek, lips finding the tip of his nose and just staying there for a moment — waiting.

"Lower." He orders softly, his nose nudging up against you as he tips his chin up toward you.

Your lips brush his cupids bow, faint stubble scratching softly when you press the faintest kiss to his mouth. "Here?" You whisper against his lips, breath mingling warmly with his own, "Does this help?"

He knocks the bloodied paper towel from your hands and ignores your protests as he drags you back down for another kiss, this one deeper.

You're breathless when you pull back again, your eyes glued to the shine of spit on Steve's lips before your gaze flicks up to the drying blood at his hairline, the cut clotted and no longer bleeding.

"Hey, you stopped bleeding." You tell him, relieved.

"Yeah, that's great-" He says blankly, already sliding his hand to the nape of your neck to pull you back in, "Now, c'mere-"

[carlottawllms]

More Than Words Could Say

Mason Mount x Reader Fluff Word Count: 1.8K Author's note: So this is definitely not my best work and it's not proof read either, so apologies for probably hundreds of mistakes. I wrote this within like 30 minutes and I hope it'll make everyone feel a little bit better.

As always, feedback is very much appreciated. And now, enjoy!

The timer on the oven went off just as you heard the key in the front door. Mason. And just a few seconds later it slammed into the lock with a rather loud bang.

Sighing, you turned off the timer and oven and walked over to the hallway. Slowly; knowing he wouldn't be in the best of moods. Understandably so.

He’d been working for weeks and months to reach his best fitness level and prepare his body for the new season. You’d seen first-hand how he’d basically tortured himself to be perfectly prepared for a successful season.

All that only for him to be substituted at half-time with another injury three games into the season.

You couldn't even put into words how you felt. There was this sadness because you knew how much it affected him to not be able to be on the pitch. And you were disappointed too. Because he couldn't prove to the fans how important he was to the team. But most of all you were angry. Angry at whoever was having the time of their life tormenting Mason by sending injury after injury upon him.

Whoever had his voodoo-doll deserved to rot in hell…

Mason was still standing in the corridor when you came round the corner. You'd seen his statement on Instagram and had an inkling of an idea what he'd be like, but when his eyes met yours, there wasn't the emptiness you'd expected.

Instead, his eyes were cold and angry, almost as if he had evil personified right in front of him.

“Hi Ma-”

“Save yourself the energy.”, he hissed. “I don't want to hear anything about it getting better or whatever blah blah blah is going around in your mind. In fact, I don't want to hear anything or see anything.”

“I just-”

“Was it that difficult to understand? I don’t want to see you, okay? Go somewhere, do something, I don’t know. Don’t care either. Just get out of my hair and leave me alone for fuck’s sake!”

You knew Mason didn't mean it. He was just terribly frustrated and hurt and just needed to get it off his chest. Obviously, his words still hurt you, but now was not the time to make things about you. He would apologise eventually; you knew that much and right now you just needed to do your job as his girlfriend: Make sure he was okay.

“That’s okay.”, you nodded and backed off to give him the space he’d asked for. Or rather demanded.

In the kitchen, you made quick work of getting the casserole out of the oven to let it cool down. It was Mason’s favourite meal, one that you’d never attempted so far, but after bribing Debbie into telling you how to make it, you’d figured that today after that kind of news, it could be the pick-me-up he needed.

It wasn't long before you heard him go up the stairs and a little later a door slammed shut.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the first time you had seen him like this as last season hadn’t been much different so you were quite used to his antics and habits.

The two of you had made the decision to move in together when the move to Manchester had come up. Before that, you'd had your own flat near the university for logistical reasons and had just stayed at his place a lot. But with him swapping teams and moving up north, you’d decided it was time to take the next step.

And as last season, there had been a lot of situations like today, you’d grown to understand how his mind worked and what he needed in which moment. Even if you'd rather you hadn't had to learn it.

Sighing, you poured yourself some food and sat down at the table. There was no point in waiting to see if he wasn't hungry after all. He’d retreated to your shared bedroom and would be staying there for the foreseeable future. Probably on his back, staring at the ceiling. Or with his face buried in your pillow, looking for some comfort.

Your heart hurt for him. More than you thought it ever could. Football meant the world to him. Being out on that pitch was where he was the happiest – although Mason would definitely argue and say that it you were that place for him – and you hated seeing him all upset and angry.

Especially as you knew exactly what was going on in his head right now: He’d disappointed everyone again. The online fans were right. He was a bad buy, unnecessarily wasted money and not worth wearing the legendary number 7 shirt.

You knew none of that was true. And deep down you knew that he knew, too. But situations like this were perfect for overthinking and being caught in that god awful black hole.

It was this balancing act between ‘letting him suffer on his own and giving him a moment in self-pity’ and ‘catching him and making sure he wasn’t spiralling’.

Most of the time you’d leave him alone for the day and after a night had passed – sometimes even in separate beds – he’d come to you the next morning of his own accord to seek your proximity and support.

To your surprise it didn’t take that long this time. You’d just finished cleaning up the kitchen and made a plan for the rest of the afternoon, when you felt him brushing up behind you.

Mason wrapped his arms around your middle and buried his face in your neck, breathing in your familiar scent and when you held his arms and leaned back into his body, he sighed deeply.

“’m sorry.”, he mumbled barely audibly. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

Carefully, you turned in his hold and whilst he kept his grip strong around you in the beginning, he eventually let you turn around fully to look at him. His big brown eyes were filled to the brim with sadness and pain when he stared into yours, but a small smile managed to pull on the corner of his lips when you moved your hand up and scratched the back of his head.

“I know you didn’t, Mase. It’s okay.”, you smiled. “I didn’t take it to heart.”

Neither of you said anything for quite a while. Mason just enjoyed your loving touch and the feeling that everything was perfectly fine for a moment and you focused on running your finger across his freckled cheeks and over the slightly red bridge of his nose and when you reached his lips, Mason left the tiniest of kisses on the tip of your finger.

“I love you, y/n.”, he whispered, not needing to say more to express just how thankful he was to have you by his side. He didn’t think you’d ever truly comprehend just how much moments like this meant to him. How much pressure they took from him.

You didn't make a fuss, prepare speeches or try to cheer him up with distractions. You were simply there. You understood.

“I love you, too, Mase.”

Gently, you cupped his cheek. Your thumb just about brushing the skin right below his eye and when his lids fluttered close, you eventually leaned in. A quiet giggle that had your heart leaping in your chest flew past his lips when you nudged his nose with yours.

Mason leaned in a little more, yearning to feel your lips on his, but you’d made it your mission to make him giggle again, so you pulled away slightly, dodging his lips until he finally started to laugh quietly.

“You’re a tease, you know?”, he whined. His eyes open again, a cheeky glint in them at the sight of the bright smile that had you scrunching your nose adorably, but before you could even think of a reply, Mason had cupped the back of your head and pulled you back in.

He waited for a split second; simply taking in how beautiful you looked with your blushed cheeks and then he placed his lips on yours. Gently and softly, but with enough pressure to make you sigh.

Grabbing you by your waist, Mason pulled you more into his warm body. He kept you pressed up against him as the need to hold you and have you close suddenly overwhelmed him.

You only parted when both of you ran out of breath and even then you stayed close. He kept his hand on the back of your neck; forehead pressed to yours as he gazed into your eyes.

And in that moment, he realised something:

No matter what; no matter how shit everything else seemed to be, as long as he had you by his side, he would always be okay. You were his rock, his safe haven and his favourite person on earth.

“Thank you, y/n. I know you don’t think this is much, but to me it means everything. Every time the world starts crumbling beneath me, you’re always there to hold me and make sure I’m okay. Thank you for being here and for being you. I love you so so much.”

“Stop making me cry.”, you breathed as your eyes started to well up. Mason wasn’t a man of big words. He was someone who showed his gratitude and love with physical touch, so hearing him say these words held a bigger meaning than anyone would ever be able to comprehend. “I love you, Mase. And I’ll always be by your side – no matter what.”

As you stared into his eyes sparkling in the kitchen light, you noticed how the sadness and pain from earlier had faded away. You knew there was still a long way to go and that there would always be situations in which your heart would hurt for him, but as long as you had each other, you’d be okay.

Mason smiled and kissed your forehead before pulling you into his arms. “You know, when I came home and threw my little tantrum…I didn’t miss the way it smelled great in here. Is it still available?”

Your face smushed into his chest, you couldn’t help but chuckle. Only Mason would think about food whilst being in the middle of a bitchy hissy-fit.

“Course it is.”, you laughed before pecking his lips quickly. “C’mon then, I’ll heat it up for you.”

[alchemistc]

Thinking thoughts about Gerrard deciding, day one, that Diaz is his only ally amidst this group of degenerates. Diaz, with his dead wife and his disabled kid, close enough to be white passing if he ignores the Spanish phrases always coming out in between his sentences.

Eddie, who has Too Much going on to really notice the preferential treatment until he's having drinks with Tommy and Buck and Buck is just railing about what a fucking douche Gerrard is being, and what he'd say if his job wasn't on the line, and how Gerrard seems to have an extra squirrelly bug up his ass about Buck in particular because he's really the only member of the group that actually fits Gerrard's typical bill.

("Except, you know, the part where I really enjoy having a dick up my ass, like that's a personal choice I made just to piss him off, specifically."

"Well I sure hope not," Tommy says, cheesing when Eddie makes a face at the both of them.)

In the face of this realization, Eddie decides he's already torpedoed literally his entire life, so what's a little disrespect to his Captain gonna do?

Eddie responding to every order from Gerrard with an obtuse "Si senor, claro." Eddie listening to Gerrard's commands and then immediately turning to Hen or Chimney with a raised brow like "Sound right to you?" and just waiting there until he gets a head nod from one of them.

Eddie gentle-parenting his way through every homophobic, racist, misogynistic remark that comes out of Gerrard's mouth. "Oh, the preferred term is transgender, Cap." "Actually, Cap, that's a term that's been reclaimed by the community but I'm pretty sure you're not in the community so you shouldn't say that." "Well, Cap, I think you'll be very lucky if she doesn't file a complaint -- were you not around for the whole #metoo moment we had half a decade back?" "They/Them is actually really easy, we use it all the time without realizing it, like, remember when [...]" etc etc.

Clipboard!Buck doesn't get him. Out and proud Hen doesn't get him. "I will talk back I don't care how many times you write me up" Chimney doesn't get him. Ravi constantly serving him the biggest, burntest piece of casserole every time they eat doesn't get him.

Eddie "Baby Runs For President" Diaz is what ultimately does Gerrard in.

[sparklingmineraltequila]

American Wasteland

Note: Finally posting this. I know the time frames are slightly off but this my fic so fuck it, I'm already taking enough liberties. Here we go: 2002

Warnings: language, violence, mentions of suicide, drug use, underage drinking, sex work, and overdose, references to misogynistic talk

The fabric of society is slowing falling apart; rotting at the seams, curling inwards trapping all of its inhabitants under that thick, oppressive old order. Rust sees it all around him: a place that eats it young alive. Nothing is sacred in this decaying edge of the world, an unmoving yet precarious balance between false hope and falling into total abyss. Little girls dancing in food-stained polyester dresses, pretty ribbons in their hands, unbrushed hair stuck to the sweat on the back of their necks, as if they were safe. Teenage girls with a taste for blood and bottles of rum getting warm between their legs, tucked beneath the skirt they cut with their momma's kitchen scissors. They graduate from watching their parents pass out, saliva shiny in the corner of their mouths, to their own little pills, sucked and wiped on those tanned, freckled arms. That or the even cheaper shit that turns all smells to burnt plastic and those rancid magnolias, left to rot on the baking sidewalk. They think the rush makes them free. Hell, so did Rust for a while. But you fly high and you crash hard. That effervescence doesn't make 'em free, Rust knows. It makes them prey.

Laurie sometimes makes him forget that shit, the really fucked up parts that he's been accumulating at a steady rate now. It's almost easy: sat at a normal table, 4 chairs, 2 placemats, some casserole whose recipe Laurie's trying out steaming between them. The conversation flows pretty easy, too. How's work? The food any good? New patients, old patients, bad patients, good patients. Rust's gotten used to the veneer, barely notices the thinning veil of acrimony that he's started performing it with. He doesn't get comfortable; he knows exactly what he has and that he's gonna lose it all. Just like Sophia, just like Claire, just like Cassandra. He sees them, sometimes; delicate, quick moments of nostalgia that make bile rise and the cigarette filter crush under his hard pinch. A little girl's giggle, the smell of coffee on cotton, a click of a heeled boot on asphalt. Rust had found himself staring at Lori while she had been getting ready for bed and, when she scraped her hair up, had inadvertently hoped for her to pull out two strands, just like Cassandra used to do. He'd left the bed and the room after that despite Lori's calls; self-hatred threatening to boil over. Another churn of bile, another crushed filter.

Talking to Marty about it is been futile; the guy doesn't give much of a fuck about anything else except maintaining the rapidly dissolving facade of the family man, that he's played with such trepidatious dedication these past few years. Rust can tell: the barely restrained leers at the bartender's tits, the slow protrusion of his gut (product of those empty bottles clinking when the trash gets taken out), a general frustration at Rust, Maggie, his kids, his weight, his house and himself. Rust knows it's all closing in on him. For a brief moment in time, he thought that Dora Lange would be some sort of catharsis; salve on the wide gaping wound that the horror of existence and his obsoletion in the face of it. It didn't. Straight after the block-lettered newspaper titles and Jameson secretly poured into coffee mugs and meaty hands slapping his back in grudging congratulations and grainy pictures that sold heroism and pity all wrapped into one palatable breakfast news story, it was straight back into the meat thresher of depravity of humanity. Endless cases and assists are what takes up his time; forced to stare straight into that wide, gaping mouth of what nurtures the endless piles of crime scene photos and his desk and walls. It's never over, though. Nothing is ever over. Rust knew that; he didn't need that meth-head telling him about the Yellow King, simpering to make a deal in that little voice they always end up putting on. A child's voice, evidence of an adult who was raised by children, himself. Rust doesn't have it in him to find much sympathy for them: no use crying like a child after you pull the trigger like a man.

All that for him to slit his wrists with the edge of a coke can that god knows who gave him. The blood now solidifying onto that squalid floor and the closest thing Rust has had to free himself from the calcification that these past few years has brought him: slumped against a peeling prison wall. The animal in him feels restless, hungry. This goddamn loop he's stuck him is about to hit him like a freight train and all these detectives can talk about is bureaucratic shit and insipid excuses for how the fuck this man, who 's reading level was not much further than a fifth grader, managed to smuggle that fucking can past the wardens. Marty watches the scene with a detachment, almost annoyed at yet another inconvenience in his life,

'Rust-'

Rust turns round to the two detectives: one edging on aggressive defensiveness and the other looking like he might shit himself at the way Rust's looking at them,

'No, you tell me how the fuck this happens. Who was he on the phone to?'

'His lawyer,' the first detective says, with an demeanour far too close to exasperation for Rust's liking.

'Well, then, get the fuckin' lawyer in.'

That gets Marty's attention. Probably dreading the beaurocratic shitstorm and prospect of spending another hour without air-conditioning or proper ventilation, Rust thinks.

'Rust, is really this all that necessary? Who knows the shit goin' through the guy's head.'

Rust ignores him,

'Call the fuckin' lawyer.'

'Yeah, yeah, she's on her way,' one of the detectives placates as his college mutters,

'To fuck us in the ass,' which earns him a huff of laughter from Marty.

5 cigarettes, three biting remarks towards Marty and about half an hour later, Rust feels his blood congeal to sludge under his wrists. A gelid nausea runs through him, one he hasn't felt since he heard the breaks scream and the bones crunch. He was sure he'd be dead before ever seeing her, again; another ghost in that catalogue of the women who haunted him. A memory, a goddamn trauma that he can't exorcise out of himself.

Cassandra falters, momentarily; Rust would've missed it if it hadn't seen that fear in her eyes, so many times before. That fear and how she'd always had the ability to stare at it before reaching over, looking for the next bigger, badder toy. Rust sees her eyes take him in: how he's slightly broader, the tan that she'd once complimented now deepening the lines of his face, his hair shorter, scruffier.

'Nice button-up,' Cassandra huffs, looking at Rust.

He stares back. She's changed, too. Though, at one time she seemed this immutable, immovable force; taking up space in his life and head, drinking his beers, leaving her razors in shower. She may have switched out the stripper sets for a pencil skirt but that sensuality that she was forced to adopt remains; Rust wonders if it's still out of necessity or just for fun, nowadays. Her hair is still long, tousled by the humidity but neater, styled in a way consider either vain or impractical by Laurie. Cassandra never denied being vain. Ignoring her looks, from where she comes from, isn't humble, it's stupid. Against his better judgement, he checks her left hand: no wedding band. Cassandra notices his gaze's momentary falter and Rust swears that she almost smirks; triumphant that, after all these years, some of that sordid carnality that she managed to pull from him, in the first place, remains.

'You two know each other,' Marty asks, half curious and half disappointed that Rust has some prior 'claim' on the young lawyer in the padded bra before he can slide in a crass or sleazy joke. Rust doesn't dwell on the thought too long, not if he wants to maintain increasingly fraying peace with Marty. Frustrated, maybe? Rust sure as hell is: both of them sinking into a lethargy of deluded complacency as deep and dark as the bayous that surround them.

'A long time ago, now,' Rust says, holding Cassandra's gaze.

Marty stares at Rust a moment longer before turning back to he two detectives, ready to acquiesce any agitation regarding paperwork.

'You were his lawyer?' Rust asks, nodding his head towards the cell where a mop sits, caked in blood and bleach.

Cassandra nods,

'Elijah Boudreaux,' she survives the cell: the stench of piss and those walls with the paint curling off,

'Probably did himself a favour. Was his third time in here and worst conviction, yet. But after a few possession convictions, armed robbery is usually the indication that shit's about to escalate.'

Almost 10 years later and she still possess that cynicism baked into girls, and now women, like her. Rust can't blame her. Shit, he envies it himself; the complacency it must take to finally be able to surrender to that syrupy darkness. To leave the perverts and the abusers and the fools and the comfortable to continue this carnage that they mask as a circus. Eat their food and dink their liquor, then go fuck or shoot up. Anything to turn that burning needle of pain in their chest into a wide, achey numbness. Rust gets it; hell, he does it. Drugs and liquor less nowadays, he keeps it to Camels, cough syrup and maybe the occasional downer. Laurie helps with that too and he hates that he sometimes sees her as another piece of the veil he needs to stay sane or functioning how Marty and the precinct want him. Rust knows she's a great woman, far better than anything he deserves.

Rust grunts,

'You were the last person who spoke to him.'

Cassandra narrows her eyes, picking up on the accusatory tone,

'Yeah, he was pretty shaken up. Said some pig smacked him around a couple times.'

Rust lets out a gelid huff of laughter, his face twisting into a sardonic smile before a sneer,

'That boy was runnin' his mouth on some very heavy shit. Heavier than you know.'

Cassandra arches her eyebrow; a LSPD badge and state issued gun induce no more docility in her than when it was some Taurus and brass knuckles.

'You were never one for that macho-bullshit, though. But, then again, I don't know you, anymore,' she says, her eyes taking in Rust's pressed button up and clean shaven face . Rust doesn't react to her comment; he knows she wants to hurt his feelings. She still feels wronged by him and ,now the confirmation that he could do the whole 'Americana' role-play of a man with a steady income and licence for his firearm rubs, makes the salt fizz in the wound a little deeper. Rust can see it in Cassandra's eyes: the same abandonment of her daddy spending time in the bar or bedroom with women who weren't her. The only time he deemed necessary to delegate towards Cassandra being a very different form of outlet for his anger. Rust isn't forgiving but he knows why Cassandra has to hurt him.

Marty eventually finishes with the base jokes that bitch about prying wives or complaints about the Ragin' Cajuns' last game, and turns his attention whatever leverage he can get on the situation; eyeing Cassandra up likes she's the first rush of blood that he's had to his dick in weeks.

'So, you know Rust here?' Marty asks, almost salivating at the bit, as Cassandra escorts them out, to the car park.

'Uh, yeah. Long while back, now,' Cassandra replies. Rust can see her adjusting to the facility of these people in using his real name; a privilege she was never afforded.

'Long while back, huh?' Marty huffs, that dopey grin adorning his face at Cassandra's precocious answer, 'You must've been, what, 18?'

Yeah, I bet you'd love to tell the entire bullpen so you can all jack-off to that story, Rust thinks as he replies,

'20.'

'And now you are?' Marty draws out the last syllable.

'28.'

Marty looks at Rust, as they walk towards their car, alone in this side of the lot. Rust can see the wheels turning, for one.

'So, you met when he was Crash?' Marty asks in a simperingly paternal tone of concern, as if this revelation isn't just another juicy detail that he's going to offload after some bottles of Lone Star, his colleagues' whoops and dick palming just spurring him on. The more sordid the better, Rust knows, so they can go home to their cream of wheat wives to think about desperate trailer park girls who, unlike their wives, will let them do whatever they want to her.

'He ain't ever been anything but Crash, to me,' Cassandra deadpans, shutting both of them down. There it is again, Rust knows. He gives Marty a terse jerk of his head and Marty sighs, but goes along with it. Rust almost pities how pliable his is, these days. He turns back to Cassandra, met with those deep, dark eyes with he fell into many a times, during mescaline hallucinations.

'We need to talk about this shit.'

'About us?' she arches a delicately plucked brow.

'Still up to your old tricks of playin' dumb?' Rust asks, lighting up before meeting her eyes,

'No, about him. Elijah.'

'Why? He's dead. We do the paper work and then clean this shit up, and we all get back to pretending to save the other lost causes,' Cassandra says, acerbically. Rust notes that, even after all these years of curated pretences, she's never been truly able to mask that rage. Where she's from, they bake it into their kids; fuck 'em up so good that it sticks with them like the cavities they get from being in diapers, drinking cola out of baby bottles.

'You ever see yourself in them, Cass?' Rust doesn't care if he's being cruel.

'Shut the fuck up, you asshole. You didn't know shit then and you don't know shit, now.'

'I ain't interested into psychoanalysing what I already know,' Rust ignores Cassandra's eye roll, 'I'm interested in that Boudreaux and what you can tell me about him.'

Cassandra stares at Rust a moment longer before nodding,

'Fine. I got time tomorrow night,' she writes her number on her legal pad before ripping it off, 'I don't care where, as long as it's a bar and you're buying.'

She holds Rust's gaze as he takes the folded yellow slip,

'One last question, is that button-up like Nordstrom or-'

Rust tugs the paper away, unsure whether the joke is an olive branch or just more of her biting power-play,

'You clean up good, Cass,' he says, making his way to the passenger's side, sliding in without so much as a glance in her direction. As he throws the butt out of the window. Marty starts the ignition and turns to Rust,

'What's her name, again?' he asks with that shit-eating grin.

'Cassandra.'

'Cassandra?' Marty snorts, 'The fuck type of name is that?'

When Rust gets home, it's dark. The inside of Laurie's house smell coffee and potpourri, there are pictures on the wall and a couch with beaded pillows. Rust stares at the walls, those smooth, cool white walls. That empty space being the only part of Laurie's house that remind him of the delusion that he's allowing himself to play. Rust knows that that is all it is: delusion, coping mechanisms. All so that he could forget what has been happening to these women and girls. And that he'll never be able to save them, just like he couldn't save Sophia and just like he couldn't protect Cassandra. Rust thinks about her now, as Laurie hears the slow click of the lock as he shuts the door; calling from her study. Rust makes his way puts makes his way deeper into the house; still replaying the sound of those heels on that hot asphalt all these years later. Cassandra: legs long and tanned and sprinkled with insect bites and bruises, all denim cutoffs or small sundresses, an ease to her sex appeal, that of a girl who knew how to play a woman.

He used to be scared of her sometimes. That has long since dissipated

[queenofcats17]

I would actually love to see Sammy being an amazing baker as a story, if you're able to and ok to. I love the idea of him quietly mumbling "it's just brownies.." as he watches the workers lose their shit over the last one!

Oh yeah, sure!

==========================================

Sammy could bake.

It was a skill he'd learned from his grandparents when he'd been young and was something he'd kept up ever since in the comfort of his own home.

However, no one at the studio was aware of this skill. At least, not until the fateful potluck.

The potluck had been to celebrate their 100th episode. Joey had wanted it to be catered, but Grant had politely informed him that they didn't have the budget. So, potluck it was. Many people still brought store-bought dishes, but many also tried cooking. Shawn had brought a pot of beef stew, proudly proclaiming that it was his gran's recipe, Bertrum had brought in some British-style biscuits, and Norman had prepared a dish of sweet potato casserole that made everyone's mouth water.

When the potluck kicked off, a veritable treasure trove of food was assembled in the break room. And tucked in between a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of cookies was an unassuming tray of brownies.

No one had noticed it being brought in or being set down and no one paid it much attention, not with so much food present. At least not until someone tried one of the brownies for the first time.

"Holy shit!" Wally yelled, spraying brownie crumbs everywhere.

"What?" Shawn looked over, putting down his plate of food to rush to Wally's side. A few others also approached, drawn by Wally's sudden exclamation.

"These brownies are incredible!" Wally gestured from the brownie in his hand to the tray on the table.

Shawn scoffed. "You say that about everything you eat," he said. It can't be that good."

"They are!" Wally insisted. "You gotta try one!"

Shawn rolled his eyes but took one of the offered brownies and bit into it. As soon the treat hit his tongue, his eyes widened.

"Fucking hell..." He whispered. "You weren't joking. These are amazing!"

Those who had been drawn by Wally's yell also took brownies to try, each, in turn, expressing amazement when they tried the treat. This drew the attention of more and more people until soon, everyone was trying the brownies and expressing their admiration. Even the people who didn't like chocolate had to admit the brownies were really good. They'd never tasted a brownie this amazing.

"Who made these?" Norman asked, scanning the crowd.

"I did." Sammy calmly raised his hand.

The room went dead silent, everyone staring at Sammy with barely contained shock and awe. Then they erupted into whispers and shouts.

"Sammy can bake?"

"Since when?!"

"Husband material right there."

"I wonder if he can cook too."

Sammy seemed unfazed by the reaction, calmly sipping his glass of punch.

"I can make cake too," he said.

This prompted more whispers.

"Now you're just teasing them." Jack playfully nudged Sammy in the ribs.

Sammy just smiled.

In the weeks that followed, he began to make it a habit to bring in some baked goods on Fridays. Often it was just store-bought things. But sometimes... Sometimes he'd make them himself. On those days, everyone clambered to get a piece. Things got heated. People were bitten. And Sammy watched the chaos he'd created with pride.

"You're evil," Jack informed him as they surveyed the mayhem.

"I know." Sammy did indeed look rather proud of himself.

Eventually, Joey had to ban Sammy from bringing in his baking due to the commotion it produced, although that didn't stop people from still asking in secret for Sammy's confections. Sammy didn't fight the ban, quietly distributing his baked goods only to those he deemed worthy, something that led to a great deal of the Music Department doing their absolute best to get on Sammy's good side. Admittedly, Sammy did take advantage of this just a little bit.

Sometimes he just liked to cause chaos. It kept his coworkers on their toes.

[ladyosiriscreates]

hi lady osiris!! thank you for offering to take my soap request 💛

can we get a little something about soap x stressed out reader? where she’s had a super long, difficult week?? how would he help her unwind?

Oh I do love this, as someone who is a permanently exhausted pigeon herself and stressed to the max. Let's explore shall we?

Please forgive me, I've never written an x reader before so I do hope you enjoy lovey!

Soap x Fem!Reader for sweet @soapsgf 4.1k words

Tags: Comfort, Smut, mans is good with his hands and better with his mouth. m on v, unprotected sex, fluff, so much fluff.

It had never been uncommon for John Mactavish to fill the silence with his voice, the lilt of it a familiar sound within your apartment. But he'd noticed little changes through the week, what silence did remain wasn't comforting, the dishes and clutter piling up around you even as your eyes darted anxiously about, making tallies on an ever growing list of things needed to be done. 

He noted the way you counted on your fingers, twisting and pinching at the skin of your knuckles as if looking for something to ground yourself. Your hands always seeking in their restlessness, a mind that couldn’t quiet even in your sleep.

“M’eudail… What's eating at you? You know I can help you better if we talk about this…” He beckoned, nearly pleading as he drew you into his arms. “Ye cannae deny it at this point, I’ve watched you circle the kitchen four times holding a glass and doing nothing with it.”

“The dishes-” you gasped, pressing your palm to your forehead and groaning. “That’s right, I have to do the dishes so I can take back the casserole dish to Diane, and then I can clean the counter, and make-”

His lips cut off your words, silencing them as his hands found your cheeks, thumbs massaging at the supple flesh. “Fuck the dishes and fuck Diane, she’s been a right cunt lately anyways, I remember you complaining about her monday. She can wait a day or two more for a damn casserole dish. Now. Do ye work tomorrow?” He asked, forehead gently pressed to yours. It was the first he’d felt you relax in days as you melted beneath his touch, your only reply a soft nod to his question.

The glass was stolen from your hand and placed onto the counter as he turned and ushered you towards your bedroom. A sacred place often shared between the two of you. Though he hadn’t moved in yet, it didn’t stop either of you from sharing a wardrobe, having drawers in each other's dressers, a toothbrush in each other's holders, and more haircare products than two people could ever possibly use. Your room was a haven, draped in soft pink and gray blankets with candles and trinkets brought back from his deployments. His favorite was a large glass jar full of rocks. On every deployment since you’d met, before you even started dating he’d brought back a rock, writing in sharpie the day he had picked it up for you. You each set your favorite rock in front of the jar to always be well and truly displayed- the pair having been chosen on one of your first dates together. You’d gone camping, and at the lakes rocky beach you proposed a game. Find rocks that looks like the others eye colors, closest to matching won. It had been almost too easy a win for you, finding a rock so bright and blue-gray with speckles of quartz that made it glitter. The smug look on your face when you’d found it, the gentle whoop and cheer as you won had been more than enough for him to fall in love right then and there.

Gone was that smile from your face, something that ached at him as he closed his eyes for a moment to picture its light. “Yer gonna rest here, okay? I’ll go wash Diane’s damned casserole dish. Ye can take it to work with you in the morning. S’alright if I stay here with you tonight? Miss my girl.” He teased, hooking a hand beneath your thigh and lifting you up onto the edge of the bed. It never failed to surprise you just how easily he lifted your weight, tossing you around like his own personal ragdoll from time to time. 

He set you on the bed, slowly peeling away layers of clothes and tossing them into a nearly full hamper before bringing out one of his tee shirts and pulling it over your frame. “There’s my bonnie little thing.” 

“‘M not a thing.” You muttered, biting down on the inside of your cheek indignantly- just to hear his soft laugh. 

“Yer right, not a thing. No… M’eudail, yer everything.” He mused, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before drawing his arms about you and nestling your anxious body back to the sheets. “...I know you’re not ready to talk about it now, that you need to sort through the things in your head yourself first before you can explain it… but I’m here, I will be here until the day you no longer let me stand beside you.” He promised, the words flowing forth like water from a spring. It comforted him just as much as he hoped it comforted you when he felt you nuzzle into his chest, eyes closed and breathing beginning to settle.

But for all your stress, the things you wouldn't talk about- you didn't snap. You didn't take it out on him or silence him. He almost wished you would. Anything to hear your voice and coax you back to him. Johnny knew you tended to isolate when your mind climbed to new and stressed heights, so to be allowed this glimpse into your mind, to be walked hand in hand through the turbulence of your soul- it was a greater gift than he knew how to accept. Only to hope that you would allow him to do it for the rest of your lives.

“Ye don’t know it yet…” he whispered against your settling form, kisses pressed to the top of your head, breathing in the familiar scent of your hair. He was glad you fell asleep quickly, keeping his words soft as not to rouse you. “But you saved me. Took a man with aimless devotion to his work and grounded him. Brought him back from a ledge so many walk off. I used to dread coming home, craved the firefight and relentless rush of fighting for my life. But god damn it all, you’ve given me something real to fight for. Now you’re just the one thing I come home to. I wake up glad for you… I guess, what I’m trying to say- know we haven’t said it yet… but I’m in love with you. The good, the bad, every piece of you that you show to me just gives me more to love. I’m so in love with you, and I can’t wait for you to wake up so I can say it to your face.”

He waited an hour or so more before temporarily untangling your limbs, taking his phone to the living room and sitting down to make a call. A familiar voice made him smile, though it sounded annoyed to be woken so late.

“Tavish, what do y’need?” Price asked, clearing his throat of sleep. “Better be good if yer waking me up for it.”

“Aye, know you need yer beauty sleep, Cap. But I’m hoping to get the next couple of days off.” He exclaimed, knee bouncing as he rested his other arm over his knee. 

“Everything okay? Not in trouble are you?” He followed up, clearly more alert. Because while not as bad as Simon, getting Johnny to take time off from work was like pulling teeth. “No one died?”

This caused a small laugh to escape him, unable to contain his own humored emotion. “No, Sir. No one died… i… ah.” he cleared his throat. “My girl needs me. She’s having a tough time, and always makes herself available f’r me… ‘bout time I returned the favor. ‘M gonna tell her I love her.”

The silence that spread between them was thick, nearly audible surprise in Price’s voice when he spoke again. “How long-”

“Eight months. Last time you sent me on leave for a month, I met her picking up some books for my ma and sis. I didn’t want to say ‘nything till I knew it was… serious. But it’s serious… I think this is it for me Cap. She is it for me.” He exclaimed, eyes warm as he stared at the coffee table before him. “She feels like home just as much if not more than the 141 does. She’s patient with me, accepts that she may never understand what I do but will never stop me from doing it… I want you all to meet her soon.”

Price’s voice was notably softer now, pride swelling within him. It was all he’d ever hoped for his boys, to find something just as important to him as the work. To open themselves up in ways he hadn’t yet been able to. “Is a week enough?”

“Cap- I was only asking for a few days-” Johnny began.

“A week. If she’s having a hard time, give ‘er the world… show her the meaning behind your feelings and your words, Tav. Do Simon and Kyle know?” He asked.

“They’ve had inklings… but you’re the first person I’ve confirmed anything to.” Johnny admitted, turning over a book that rested on the edge of the coffee table, the phone resting comfortably in his other hand. “Thank you, Cap. I… can’t wait for you guys to meet her. She’s absolutely brilliant… and mine. ‘M not sharin…” He exclaimed.

Their conversation ended with pleasantries and the agreed upon reasoning that would be put on his paperwork before he returned to bed, pulling you back into his arms to keep you there till morning came. 

He pretended to remain sleepy and nestled in after you kissed his forehead goodbye, only jumping from the bed when he heard the door lock behind you. So much to do and so little time to do it. Eight hours and counting as he cracked his knuckles, putting on some dance-y pop music to get the day going. There was nothing like hearing a scottish lilted rendition of Dirty Mind by 3OH!3 and Last Friday Night by Katy Perry. And he made sure to record little bouts of it between chores, saving the videos to show you later.

His start was the rest of the dishes, picking them up from all over the apartment, handwashing what needed a bit of extra help before loading the rest into the dishwasher and running it. Next, he took your laundry, sorting it and starting the largest load he could. All of this was about you, for you… his love. To ease the burden resting on your shoulders, the weight that threatened to bend you till you broke. 

While the dishes and laundry ran, he swept and vacuumed, rearranging the furniture to make sure no spot was missed. Your books were stacked on the coffee table, his sketchbook and pencils set beside it. It was your best friend he called next, asking for the recipe for her chicken and gnocchi that you loved so dearly, making a quick run to the grocery store to pick up ingredients. There he also picked up an assortment of desserts, cannolis, ice cream, and cheesecake, a lactose intolerant persons nightmare… or daydream, knowing how willing to ignore their intolerance most were. When you texted to say that work was making you stay a couple hours extra, he only sighed in relief. While it annoyed him that they were keeping you from coming home to him, he was glad for more time to better set up his surprise. 

Some people would think perhaps it was strange to buy three of the same candle, but now that he was back in your apartment, he put one on the coffee table, one on your desk, and the third in the kitchen. Sweet Mint and Grapefruit. Something comforting and uplifting, just like how he hoped to have you. On the chair closest to the door, he laid out soft pajamas, intent to have you out of your work clothes and leaving that world behind you, if even only for the weekend. Clothes were folded and put away from the laundry, your bed made as a pot simmered on the stove. The realization that he loved you had hit him like a freight train, making his heart soar and sing, so to see you so stressed and pained… he felt it at his core.

The door unlocking had him perked like a dog, vaulting the back of your couch to meet you at the door, his hands on your forearms with an earsplitting smile. “Mo ghràdh…” He swallowed, watching as the startled confusion faded to recognition, a tired and strained smile pressing to your lips.

“Johnny, sunshine… lemme get my shoes and stuff off- WHATAREYOUDOING JOHN AIDAN MACTAVISH-” 

But your shriek only spurned him further, soft laughter tearing from his throat as he lifted you easily past the threshold and taking your bag to set it on the ground. “Turn your brain off, Mo ghràdh. Just let me handle… everything.” He cooed, catching your eyes as they wandered about your freshly spotless apartment. 

“Johnny… when did you…” but your words stalled again as he sank to his knees before you, eyes light with hunger and reverence. 

“Called into work. I’m yours for the whole next week… Cap pulled some strings for me.” He explained, watching your eyes widen and water. Any words of dissent fell away as his hands smoothed over your hips, bringing his face to your abdomen as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your clothes. “Ya had a long day, hen… tha’s not lost on me… and the weeks been so hard for ya… just let me take care of it, let me take care of you. Can ye be a good girl and let me do that for you?” Johnny hummed, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

Only when he felt you melt into his touch, your eyes closing a nod consenting to his actions, did he continue. His hands left your hips to remove your shoes and socks, a kiss pressed to your clothed knee as he did. “My pretty bird… so sweet for me… working so hard to make everyone happy, you just forget about yourself do ye? Not a soul in this world deserves your kindness, your smile… hell, let alone me. The fact that I get it at all?” He sighed contently, tugging the waistband of your pants down, and your underwear with it. “Perhaps that’s the closest I’ll ever get to heaven… and I couldn’t be more glad for it. Glad for you to have waltzed your way into my life and made a home in my heart.”

The flush that had grown on your cheeks, the warmth that spread through your body as his touch wandered over beautifully scarred skin, kissing freckles and dimples, anything that could be considered an imperfection by a society that had forgotten what love and devotion truly were. His hands caressed from thigh to waist, bringing your shirt up over your arms, guiding you forward just enough that he could pull it over your head and press his lips to your forehead once more. “Yer perfect f’me… so perfect.” He breathed, pushing up on his knees to wrap his arms around you, chin resting just at the lowest part of your sternum as he flicked his fingers, your bra coming undone and falling slack off your shoulders.

He relished in the sigh that left your lips, enjoying that bras existed only so he could remove them from your beautifully painted body. “My cliodna, my venus, my very own aphrodite. Not a single thing in this world is more precious than my girl…”

“Johnny…” You groaned, turning your head away to hide the ever growing flush at your cheeks. 

“Please look at me…” He bid, eyes wide and almost puppyish as he pressed ticklish kisses to your naval, facial hair gently scratching at the skin to make you jump into him. When he saw your gaze back upon him, a boyish grin crossed his face, wedging your legs apart as he walked you back to the door to lean against it. “Oh, Mo ghràdh, don’t look at me like that, makes it hard to think.” Johnny teased, hiking one of your legs over his shoulder. “Hold on if you need to, but I promise I’ve got you.”

And when he looked at you like that, as if he were a man gazing upon salvation, how could you not believe him?

Any thoughts were quickly interrupted by his kisses as they trailed lower before pressing against the sensitive apex at the top of your heat. Unbeknownst to you, his devotion had already taken affect as he felt wetness against his tongue, savoring the ragged gasp that left your lips like a starved man. 

Fingers dug at the fleshy part of your hips, his chin inclining as his lashes fluttered, eyes rolling back as he began a sweet and unyielding pace. He was yours, so deeply and entirely yours as he doted upon your body, seeking only to hear those familiar and sweet moans that showed just how you were feeling. Because while your mind may betray you, your voice and body never could, not when he was between your legs.

Your hands fell to the longer, thickened and somewhat curly hair of his mohawk, fingers curling into it as you momentarily debated whether to push him back or- no, no, you pulled him closer, hips canting against his lips with a breathy cry as his other hand slipped down between your legs, two fingers finding their way inside to curl and thrust against the spongy heat that craved to be full. As you whispered a soft apology for pulling his hair so roughly, you were silenced by his own moan, your eyes meeting for only a moment as you caught sight of his flushed cheeks and blown pupils. It was a romantics painting in its own right, the visual opposition of The Fallen Angel by Alexandre Cabanel, this angel full of endearing passion and idolization. 

Your eyes rolled back as his tongue delved deeper, circling your clit as he traced letters over it, something only for him as he savored your sweetness upon his tongue.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U. Over and over until he felt your hips begin to tremble, leg buckling as you grew nearer and nearer to release. On different terms, he would have stopped, wanting to draw out and prolong your pleasure as long as he could, torturing you with your release- but not today. Not now, no. That was for a day where his focus was on not only you.

“Sunshine-” you whispered, the breath stuttered along with your hips when his fingers curled against that spot deep inside you, stars bursting in front of your open eyes as your vision went white. Did you scream? Did you moan? You briefly felt a bit of pain on your tongue, a metallic taste spreading across it as you subconsciously bit down, weak whimpers sending your body trembling and tumbling forward into your Johnny.

He was all too happy to sustain you, holding you up and pinning your hips to the door as he lapped up the thick and creamy juices that spilled onto his tongue, face glistening when he finally pulled away with a rough gasp. “All that f’me, princess?” he hummed, rubbing his chin across the inside of your thigh, just to feel your sensitive and overstimulated body jump beneath his touch. 

Johnny stood then, carrying you to the bathroom and turning on the shower. It was easy to ignore- well, not easy, but he was more than willing to ignore the aching strain in his pants as he guided you through a shower, your sweet, starstruck gaze on his as you kissed the taste of yourself off his tongue. He didn’t care as his clothes got wet, making sure to take his time as he ran the loufa over your body, scrubbing away the sweat and grime of the day before cleaning each part of you more gently and tenderly. Your hair was washed, your scalp massaged as he hummed softly to you, crooning sweet words of praise and pride. “My pretty girl… so perfect f’me… look at you… jus’ look at you… so gorgeous.” 

When the shower ended you were wrapped in a still warm towel and whisked back to the living room, your feet barely touching the ground long enough for you to register it. So this was what it meant to be loved? The words hadn’t been shared between you two, not yet, but it was undeniable now. These acts of service were hardly acts at all, only the truest form of love and devotion as he dressed you just as slowly and tenderly as he’d undressed you. 

“Wait…” you slurred, lashes fluttering as you glanced around. “What’s that…”

A cheeky smile crossed his face as he pulled your nightshirt over your body. “Might’ve called your friend for a bit of help…” he exclaimed, taking you to the kitchen and grabbing two bowls. “Think you can eat fer me? I know it’s hard when yer stressed so… thought I might tempt you.” Johnny laughed.

Bowls of food were brought to the table, and when you hesitated to take a bite, he ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth and lifted the spoon to it, feeding you slowly. “There we go… tha’s a good girl… don’t gotta eat it all, just gotta eat enough for me. I’m here, I’m with you… won’t make you talk about it…” He stated, watching as your eyes watered, overwhelmed by the love and devotion shown to you.

“I love you.” You blurted, the words causing your eyes to widen. Stress had melted away as his hands had earlier explored your body, but now it was back, tension coiling in your chest. “I mean-”

“I love you, too.” Johnny exclaimed softly, a slow smile gracing his face- like the sun cresting the horizon after a rainy night. “I love you. Tha gaol agam ort. You and I… this… it’s everything to me. You’re everything to me, and I wanted to show you, really show you just what you mean to me. Not in grand gestures, but… just like this… I want it to always be like this, or better. I want us to keep working towards better, as long as it’s… together.” He stated, setting down the spoon and pressing your foreheads together. 

Tears fell as the floodgates burst, your head bowed and elbows resting on the table. It had been too much before, your work life, family life, even health feeling like it was all working against you- and in a moment of anger, you’d convinced yourself you were alone.

But how could that have been true when you had the literal sun before you? You understood now, Icarus and Apollo, Achilles and Patroclus, Odysseus and Penelope. The all encompassing love that drove people to war and compassion.

“I love you.” You wept, the words more freeing than you had ever known them to be.

Dishes were forgotten on the table as he swept you into his arms, an increasingly common action as of late and led you back to your bedroom, laying you down upon soft and silken sheets. “I love you, M’eudail… every piece of you that you had long since abandoned, the parts you didn’t think were capable or worthy of being loved, I love all of it, and if you’ll give it to me, I’ll show you… I promise, and promises are meant to be kept.” He whispered, caging your body in with his own as he acted like a weighted blanket pinning you to the bed.

Your chest screamed for air, as laughter bubbled out between your tears, one hand threading into the back of his mohawk, the other rubbing small circles into his back. “How did I get so lucky?” you whispered, the words a betrayal of your mind.

“You didn’t do anything, Mo ghràdh, just by existing you are worthy of love. Worthy of living a life lighter of stress. Just by existing you have earned and deserved kindness… I am sorry that I am the first one to show you that, especially now.” He whispered, the words soft upon your skin.

“I’ll call into work next week…” You whispered, hiccuping softly as his hands slipped beneath your shirt. 

“I didn’t plan to leave you for a moment anyways.” He mused in return. “I love you, M’eudail… my perfect, bonnie love…”

“I love you too, Sunshine. If there’s a place for me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.”

“I’m counting on it.”

[altocat]

I had a really weird dream last night which was like. Final fantasy 7 except after sephiroth killed the president of shinra and fucked off an empty nester middle aged mom bumped into him and went "you don't have any parents???? Ok come home with me young man" and just sort of forcibly adopted him.

And by the time cloud and co caught up with him he'd completely chilled out and was like "hey man sorry about the everything, i wasn't at my best you know? I didn't have a proper support net so when I crashed and burned i crashed and burned HARD. Anyway my new mom wants to know if you want to come over for a casserole" and then they went to sephiroth's mom's house for a casserole- cloud said nothing the whole time but Barrett was exceedingly polite and kept complimenting the food and also the fact that this lady had been willing to adopt, he was all like "these days there's too many kids without anyone- people like you are what makes the world go round" and Aerith kept talking about how she'd been adopted too. Cloud kept trying to draw his sword and tifa kept taking his hand off of it.

After a while of polite conversation the game faded to black and a popup said "Sephiroth's mom, Sequentia has joined the party!" And weirdly, out of all of this, that was the bit that woke me up because i went "Hold on, Sequentia isn't a real name"

There's no moral or anything to this, I haven't even played the game in months I just had this dream woke up like ???? and went "hey, i know someone who loves hearing about sephiroth getting up to stuff. I should tell them about it before I forget any of the absurd details, they'd get a kick out of this"

LMAO that's what I call a happy ending for Seph.

I mean he still murdered everyone in Nibelheim and is crimes are most definitely still left unanswered but LOOK AT HIM living his best life, making progress thanks to a helping hand 💗💗💗💗

I wish I could have Seph dreams. I never get to have any fun 😭

[star-quill]

the age-gap stories with him r so good…maybe more plz? :)

me when i make this my entire brand fr fr

peter being so into you when he knows he probably shouldn't is just so!!!!! and you think he's hot as fuck, so you desperately try and flirt your way into his bed whenever you see him. but he shoots you down every time, even though he wants you just as badly.

the first time you kiss him, it wasn't even a proper kiss. you're in college, and you're at a house party, a few blocks away from peter's house. he goes over to your house, returning a pyrex dish he got from you when you brought him some casserole from your parents. but they weren't in and neither were you. he asked around, trying to make sure you were ok. then one of your friends told him where you were and he drove straight there, fighting his way through the crowd of people to find you slumped on a sofa in the back garden. he took you home and put you to bed, but you grabbed his shirt and kissed him, whining when he pulled away.

"i can't do this.. we can't do this.."

he made sure you were asleep before he walked next door back to his place. he couldn't sleep that night, the taste of you still lingering on his lips. he grabbed his dick through his sweatpants and groaned, but he couldn't do it. he couldn't do it while thinking of you. it wasn't right.

but then you're laying on your bed the next thursday, your parents hosting a barbecue out in your backyard. you can see him from your window, standing drinking a beer by the pool, talking to some of the other neighbours. you were sat on your window-seat, staring out at him and you waved when he looked up at you. he hasn't seen you since that kiss and he figures now is a good time to talk about it. although he probably shouldn't have, because when he goes inside and comes up to your room, he sees you walking around your room, wearing a skirt that barely covers your ass and a ringer-style crop top.

"hi.."

"yeah.. uhm.. hi.. we need to talk.."

"mmhm?" you hop up on your bed, sitting back on your heels as he comes to stand at the edge of it, facing you. he thinks you look so cute.

"look.. i'm flattered that you're interested in me.. but, we can't do this.. ok?"

"why not?" you pouted then, watching as his jaw clenched. you knew his words were a lie but you thought, the more you act all cute and sweet to him, the easier that he'll break.

"you're way, way too young for me.."

"not that young.. i'm old enough to drink.."

"i just.. i can't.."

"we don't have to tell anyone.."

he paused, his fist clenching by his side. he hadn't even realised he'd stepped closer to your bed, until he felt his knees hit the mattress. then your hands were on his chest as you leant up to him.

"i know you want to fuck me.. my window's open right now, but.. i promise you i'll be quiet.."

"you promise?"

"mmhm.. i promise.."

in the end, you didn't need to promise you'd be quiet. he had you face down against the mattress, your moans and whimpers muffled by your pillow. his hand gripped at your skirt as he bunched it around your waist, pulling you back and forth against him, his eyes staring down, lost in the way your pussy was hugging his dick. if he wasn't hooked on you before, he definitely was now.

[hikikolol]

*cravity as pervs*

ot9

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

♡ park serim

i see this in a setting where you and serim met at the gym

you were having troubles doing weights alone without your best friend there to spot for you, she decided to cancel her gym subscription because she was moving in another part of town and the gym you both went to became too far

serim walked over and told you that he would help you

going behind you, he stared surprised at the view of your ass

serim's the type to feel guilty to be a bit of a perv but he couldn't help it, the sight was delicious

just so happened, a few days later, he was the assistant instructor for your yoga class at the same gym

oh serim had a field day, he stood at the back of the class. where you were

his perfect view

thank fucking god he had cycling tights under his shorts, it helped him hide his hard on a little better but it felt too painful for him

oh what's that? you need help arching your back? he's on it

if only you guys were alone, he'd make your back arch alright

he slowly leaned his body onto your ass as he helped you arch your back and man did that make you wet

♡ ma allen

allen's your best friend

he has always went to your place to wind down but today was different, he decided to invite you to his place today after a movie

giving you a perfect cup of hot choco, you went to cuddle up on him to watch another senseless series

what is that you feel?

oh he has a boner...from you sitting on his lap

looking behind, you see his eyes shut tightly but oh man was he riled up

i see allen as the type to feel really guilty to think about such erotic thoughts about you but he just can't help it when you look like that

the thought of corrupting you runs through his mind 24/7

it's a secret but he leaves his hoodies w you just to take it back unwashed so he can jerk off to your scent

his hands always lingered whenever you hug. specially way lower than your back

seeing you in leggings or skinny jeans riles him on too much

♡ koo jungmo

it's been at least a few months since you've started learning how to play an electric guitar, you were getting to an expert level on it

you have thought of cancelling your lessons but your teacher, jungmo, insisted that there were still things to learn

jungmo on the other hand just can't bear not seeing you all focused in front of him so even if you wanted to cancel on his lessons, he insisted and offered to come over for free instead

i mean, you did find a friend in him

he was always hyperfocused on how you'd lean down to look at the chords and strings of your instrument, leaning down gives him the perfect view of your chest

thank god he has his own guitar to hide his hard on every time he came

his favorite position is when he's behind you, staring right down at your tits whilst he teaches you where your fingers should be placed

his hands lingers a little too long on your thigh whenever he points out something you did wrong

the way he'd use his eyes to fluster you up is... god

when he gets home, he bolts to his bedroom just to think about you, you, and you. your tits, your ass.. fuck that feels good, so good for me

♡ seo woobin

woobin lives right next door to your apartment

the sweet neighbor who never fails to give you food whenever he cooks too much for himself, rather it isn't always an accident, he just wants an excuse to see your face

paying for such cheap rent in the bustling city warrants your walls to be paper thin

woobin knows this, but you don't

the moans you create at night flows through the walls and heightens woobin's libido almost every night when you pleasure yourself

does he feel bad for eavesdropping? yeah, he feels a sense of guilt

but your oh so good moans keeps him alive at the nights when he feels the loneliest

how he wishes it's his name coming out of your mouth

his hands linger a little longer whenever he gives you the casserole of a dish he made

giving you such a sweet smile every time you would walk past him but oh you were so wrong when this man is full of sweetness

honestly, he just wants to bend you in so many different ways until you could only scream out his name

♡ ham wonjin

working with wonjin at a local cafe was the most fun you've had in a job

he'd be very attentive whenever you would need help with anything

your work uniform though, consists of a loose beige colored shorts, paired with a white buttoned up shirt, all tied up with a slightly darker beige apron. it was a themed cafe, you were working with handheld animals whilst making the drinks

the shorts of your uniform was a great fit on you and wonjin would 100% agree

the amount of times he has thought about fucking you in the backroom...

your sweet smile that flusters him up in an instant

boners behind his apron every time you would lean down to pick something up

the way you would lean on the counter on your breaks, the perfect view for your ass to be out oh how easy would it be to fuck you right then and there, grinding on your ass

your shorts riding up whenever you would sit cross-legged on the backroom's floor eating your lunch

he'd be giving you the most dangerous stares unbeknownst to you

♡ kang minhee

your brother's sweet and kind best friend

or so you thought

minhee has been visiting your house for more than he visited his own

spending time with your brother is minhee's favorite hobby, mostly because he knows he'll get glimpses of you when he's there

you never kept your door fully closed, the noise of the house brings you comfort to know that you aren't alone

minhee knows this and fully takes advantage of it

when everyone is asleep, except for you

he'd sneak out of your brother's room just to take a peek into your room

laying on your stomach, ass perfectly in view for minhee whilst you watch on your laptop

you never liked wearing shorts when you're about to sleep so minhee has always had a field day at this time of night

wearing only underwear and an old tight crop top, this was such a great view for him and he'd thank god for giving this to him on a dailt basis

the amount of times he had to stop himself from going in your room to fuck you was immense

staring at you for straight 15 minutes, he had to get out of there and continue on to the bathroom for a quick session

♡ song hyeongjun

never did you think that your oh so innocent classmate could think of such carnal desire on your body and soul

hyeongjun just wants you

he wants you to ride him

he wants you to take all his pride away, strip him bare and let you use him

he wants everything you have to offer and he'd never shy away on any command you give him, just say. one. word. and he'll be on his knees ready to pleasure you

people were intimidated by you, you have a resting bitch face and no one would dare come close

except for the sweet angel that graces you with his everyday good morning smile and wave

you thought nothing of it, you do it back, but you just go back to your comfort resting face after

but hyeongjun lives for it, one smile and he's done

thinking of ways you'd have him under your hold

his hair bunched up in your hands as he oh so deliciously eat you out

your moans as he does his best to behave under you

oh lord what have you done

♡ kim taeyoung

you have always been on taeyoung's best interests

i mean, you've been his crush for the longest time

but recently, his mind wanders way too far

what would you look like when your body is sprawled all over his bed? breathing hard when he hits that certain spot

how would it feel inside of you? your mouth?

would you let him use you whenever he wants? would you have a high sex drive?

thoughts pondered on taeyoung's mind as he glances at your way, sitting beside him during a lecture

your skirt riding a little higher than you'd like but never noticed through the shaking of your legs

oh how nice would it be to just push that skirt a little higher to put his hand in-

"you good?" taeyoung's eyes shot up, giving you a nod saying that he was dazing off

how long could he still last without touching you intimately, he's losing his mind

maybe he should invite you over to watch some movies, maybe move from there, yeah

♡ ahn seongmin

the sweet sweet junior from your course

he gives you sweets every morning, saying it would energize you from the boring lectures

the sweet junior who chases you after class just to bid you a safe trip home and a good night ahead

the sweet junior who would sneak little notes in your bag without you noticing

the sweet junior who, behind those sweet sweet eyes, lies lustful ones

eyes that dreams of your twisted face of pleasure when he gets the chance to finally have you

the chance when you, completely mark him as your own

he wants that, he's dying for it

he wants you to let him feel all the pleasure in the world and he knows you can. with just one touch, he'll be gone

he wants the feeling to be edged by you, he wants to know how it feels to be led

the feeling where his world is gonna crumble down and all he needs is to scream out your name as he releases all his pent up juices when you finally let him

oh fuck he accidentaly whimpered whilst he gave you the deliciously wrapped candy

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry came home to odd shit in his house all the time. To be fair he was related to two 'n the others, well, he couldn't get rid of them now. But other than its occupants, Darry was used to comin' home to cans twisted up to look like little men, knives stuck in the wall holdin' up keys or notes, 'n the odd beer bottle with a candle stuck down in it. His brothers had an affinity for the type of decor that would be home in a kindergarten class 'n Darry had to pick his battles. Glory knows they gave him his choice.

Hell, last month he'd come home to three traffic signs mounted around his living room. He'd promptly forced Soda, Steve, Two, 'n Dallas to return them to wherever the hell they had taken 'em from. They had bitched 'til kingdom come until Darry had threatened to load them up into the truck with those forsaken signs 'n call the damn cops on them himself. Of course, he hadn't meant it. They'd trudged out with one sign between the four of them swearin' they'd come back for the others too. And, naturally, they got caught.

Soda had used his one phone call to beg Darry to pick them up, Steve to whine about how they'd only gotten caught 'cause Darry had made them put them back, 'n Two to make a long series of jokes that ended with Darry threatenin' to leave him there for the night. Dallas had apparently elected to call Tim to bitch instead. 'N Tim had called him. Glory, he should have just left them there forever.

Since both groups were firmly blamin' the opposite party for the events of that night, Darry had elected to save himself the damn headache 'n just let them leave the two signs they hadn't managed to return on their walls. The odd street sign would still sometimes show up, but as long as they weren't important ones Darry simply pretended they weren't there.

So when he trudged into the house 'n glanced at the peelin' wallpaper, he wasn't necessarily surprised to see the new addition. He toes off his boots 'n hangs his keys on the knife buried so deep in the wall none of them can get it out. Darry makes an absentminded mental note to ask one of the men on his crew about it. Pony knew his son 'n he's sure he'd seen worse.

He turns to take a look at whatever was simmerin' on the stove when he catches his name on the piece of paper haphazardly drawn out into a chart 'n pinned to the wall.

In descendin' order the chart reads angelic, good enough, toein' the line, in the shit, Darry's gonna kick your ass, capital F fucked.

"Hey y'all, what the hell is this?" Pony looks up from the kitchen table where him 'n Soda are scratchin' away at old clothes pins. Pony's holdin' a pen knife clenched in his fist, stabbin' away far too close to his fingers for comfort. Darry reaches over 'n adjusts his grip, whackin' him gently on the head.

Steve ducks into the kitchen, brandishin' his own clothespin. He shoots Darry a grin 'n clips it to the chart at angelic. Darry can see his name carved into the side. "Provin' a point is what it is."

"Knock that shit down to fucked- you're pissin' me off." Pony scowls, goes back to his project, lookin' at Darry pointedly as he moves his fingers away.

"Ok. Well. Anyone wanna explain the point to me or am I gonna have to figure it out myself?" Darry sighs, glances into the living room where Two-Bit has been conspicuously silent. He's standin' on the couch, tongue between his teeth 'n brow furrowed as he frantically screws a yield sign into the wall, not noticin' Darry at all. "Two-Bit Matthews!" Two's head whips up at him with a big grin, droppin' the screwdriver 'n leanin' against the wall to block his handiwork like Darry hadn't just watched him for a full ten seconds.

"Darry! What are you doin' here?" Darry rolls his eyes 'n Soda snickers from somewhere behind him.

"Oh fuck, Soda, casserole." Soda scrambles up from the table so fast his chair falls backward. Darry shakes his head 'n sighs.

"Two I live here."

"So... come here often?" Both Pony 'n Steve snicker 'n then glare at each other like it was a cardinal sin that they both find the same joke funny.

"I'm gonna close my eyes 'n if that damn sign is gone by the time I open them I won't kick your ass." Darry drops his head against the door frame 'n shuts his eyes 'n Two mutters fuck 'n dives for the screwdriver. "Now would be an excellent time to explain that shit on my wall, by the way, Pone." Darry prompts, eyes still shut. Glory, he could fall asleep right there in the doorway.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." Soda opens the oven 'n the distinctive smell of burnin' food pours into the kitchen. Darry raises an eyebrow 'n turns half around.

"Hey, don't open your eyes yet I'm workin' on it!" Two shrieks 'n Darry manages to roll his eyes with them still closed.

"Lordy, fine. Soda, lil' buddy? All good?" There's half a second of silence 'n then Soda snorts a laugh.

"Anyone want Dairy Queen for dinner?" Darry lets out an almighty sigh 'n Soda makes a disappointed sound in the back of his throat.

"Well, worth a shot. PB 'n J guys?" Pony groans 'n Darry can hear the thunk as he drops his head hard onto the table.

"Pone, this shit on my wall?"

"Oh. Steve thinks he's less of an asshole than I am. 'N I think he's a liar. So we're provin' it-"

"Nuh-uh. The kid thinks he's better behaved 'n I think that's horseshit. So we're doin' a chart to prove that he's the one always actin' like a hooligan-"

"Who are you callin' hoologian? Don't you have your own house? Why don't you stop loiterin'-"

"You're just mad Soda actually picked my ass 'n got stuck with you-"

"Glory God almighty. This shit's like, what? A behavior chart? What level is pissin' me off 'cause you're both there right now."

"Darrr-"

"Aw, man c'mon. We didn't mean it." Darry stops noddin' off standin' up to glance over his shoulder at Pony 'n Steve. Their fightin' damn near forgotten they're both starin' at Darry with twin pouts. Darry actually snorts a laugh before he swallows it down, muffles it with a cough.

He fixes them both with a glare 'n jerks a thumb at the chart. "C'mon. Both of you down to, uh," He peeks over his shoulder at the rankin', "in shit. I'm sick of you fightin'." He really doesn't know what he expects but he can tell you what he doesn't. 'N that's for both Steve 'n Pony to glower at each other but shuffle sadly over to the wall to fix their clips 'n then plop back down at the table 'n actually knock it off.

"C'mon, if I have to get knocked down for just ribbin' the kid then Two better get knocked down for that sign shit." Two lets out an indignant gasp 'n clutches a hand to his chest, finally reappearin' in the kitchen with the sign held behind his back.

"What sign?" Darry narrows his eyes at him in contemplation, rockin' his jaw back 'n forth like he always does when he's thinkin'.

"Yeah, alright. You're below Steve 'n Pony." Two's jaw drops open 'n he lets out an indignant wail.

"Woah, woah, woah! C'mon I'll patch the hole I put in the wall." Darry opens his mouth 'n Two barrels on. "In fact I'll even patch the holes from the last one too." Two wheedles, droppin' the sign behind his leg, foldin' his hands together 'n blinkin' up at Darry.

"Fine. You can be on Steve 'n Pony's." Two hoots 'n snatches one of the unmarked pins, scratchin' his name into it 'n slidin' it over Pony's.

"Hey!"

"That's not fair!"

Darry rolls his eyes. "Well, I didn't hear any offers from you two." Two grins smugly at them, Steve flips him off 'n Pony sticks out his tongue.

Soda snatches up his, suddenly very interested in the proceedin's. "Where am I, Dar?" Darry studies him, finger pressed to his lips.

"You can be in toein'. All you did was burn dinner, that's in your nature I should have known better." Darry ruffles his hair when Soda lets out a little scoff. He flounces past Darry, stickin' his tongue out at Steve 'n puttin' his clip the highest of all of them with great flourish.

"Hey Dar, why don't we get somethin' if we don't get bad marks for the week?" Pony sticks his bottom lip out a lil' 'n Darry rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, I'll tell you what you get. Your ass not kicked."

"Aw, c'mon Dar. What if when we stay good we get Dairy Queen?" Darry leans against the door frame. Studies his kid brothers gathered in the kitchen as they all blink back at him 'n suddenly remember somethin' they all have in common.

"How about this, if you all stay in the black you get Dairy Queen at the end of the week." Two 'n Soda let out a whoops 'n Pony 'n Steve grin. Darry puts up a hand to indicate he ain't finished yet. "'N the lowest one has to pay."

A fierce urge to win. Especially against each other.

They all stop, eye each other with sharp-toothed grins 'n mischievous smirks.

Well. For once one of Steve 'n Pony's fights had done Darry a favor. 'N he had a feelin' that stupid chart was about to make his life a whole lot easier.

[spidori]

WAIT! WaitWaitWaitWaitWait!

It's a cult based around protecting children? Like specifically children? And has iconography which can be recognized as Batman or Bruce but only if you're really looking for it, and possibly a genius like Tim? Am I getting that right?

Because if I am, you know who is definitely a card-carrying member of said cult? Red Hood. Because you cannot tell me with a straight face that the vigilante who rolled into crime Alley and managed to make kids off limits wouldn't be the type of person this group would want to at least reach out to.

And sure, Hood would absolutely do his due diligence, dig through any information his contacts can get a hold of, and try to find the catch. But after a couple of months go by and he's only found evidence that these people are actually helping from the shadows, maybe he starts considering actually meeting them.

He probably won't join or anything, but it never hurts to have more contacts. And hey if these guys are even half as legit as they seem, then they're all gonna be on the same side most of the time whether he's part of their club or not.

But then he goes to a meeting as a possible recruit. (Just to be clear, this is all happening years before Batman gets lost in the time stream, I'm imagining early Hood, like before he's even made it onto the Bat's radar as more than another new wannabe local crime boss). Hood expects, ya know, a cult, because that's how it was described to him. Robes. Flickering candles. Arcane rituals and prayers.

He gets the robes, with every single person present dressed seemingly at random in solid black, white, or grey. And kinda the candles, but they were only there to provide light since the abandoned warehouse didn't have power, so he doesn't really feel like it counts. Then, after a short prayer of "may the light be strong enough to reach through the walls abusers hide behind, the shadow deep enough to hide those they would abuse, and may the place they meet be the threshold to escape and safety," the whole meeting seems to become a mix of mutual aid and grief support group.

People break out into packs, some even pulling casserole dishes and baked goods out from under their robes. Jason is only a little disappointed to realize that the food is a lot more prevalent in the couple of groups talking about grieving (with a lot more of the grey robes, he notes) than in the mutual support planning he'd been led over to.

He can't really be mad though. It's not like he'd be able to eat anything with his helmet on anyway.

More importantly, by the end of the cult meeting he was thoroughly impressed by the group. The group passed the tests and checks Jason had drilled into his memory in his training before. They were still a cult in the classic sense of worshipping some secret gods, having a couple of strange rituals, and the secrecy. But Jason can definitely see some ways he could work with them.

So he goes to a few more meetings. He learns a lot from them about setting up a robust mutual aid organization, and applies a lot of it to his growing gang; they both have to deal with the powers that be trying to break them up the same way, so a lot of the same things apply. Eventually he trusts the cult members enough to call them when one of his raids on a rival gang leads to him busting into a room full of child slaves while checking the basement for any remaining members of the gang.

It's that call, more than anything else, which leads to him being offered initiation into the rights of the cult.

And fuck, but he kinda wants to join.

They're good folk! Mostly Crime Alley natives too; Jason can tell, even without his training from before, Crime Alley natives know their own. He can trust these people. So fuck it, why not?

The initiation itself is pretty basic. There's a ceremonial swearing of oaths. To protect the vulnerable, especially children. To never intentionally put them in harms way. To call out or punish those who do. Really it's what Jason aims to do as Red Hood already.

Then comes a blood oath, with each member adding a small amount of blood to a bowl on the altar beneath the print of a tapestry said to depict their Light and Shadow (who reminded Jason ironically of the Bat, given how said Bat went against the cult's teachings with his Robins, but c'est la vis). They even sterilized the knife between each member, Jason was impressed! The glow effect when he added his own blood to the bowl last as the new initiate was a bit cheesy, but he could see how it would leave an impact on the type of person who hadn't seen a Lazarus Pit, aka most even semi normal folk.

After the ceremony, it's business as usual for the rest of the meeting. Or it was until the door slammed open to reveal another cult member, this one in a mostly black robe, but with a white star on the point of their hood.

It only takes him a few seconds to guess that the special robe meant someone important. All the other cult members bowing, curtsying, or kneeling was a good clue. Something in him kept him standing rigid though, and not out of any pride or issue with bowing to someone.

No.

Jason was all too familiar with this tensing and stiffening of his muscles. With the cold sweat and taste of dirt and coffin wood heavy on his tongue. With the way his lungs felt like they couldn't get enough air. Some part of him was terrified, verging on triggering an all out panic attack, at the mere presence of this stranger walking through the door and up to him.

Then, as suddenly as the terror welled up, it just as quickly dissipated as the figure's slender hand moved from his chest to his arm and she(?) began to bodily drag him out of the room.

"Sorry for scaring you" she said, and it was definitely either a she or at least someone partially female presenting judging by the voice, as soon as she'd pulled him into a private room. "I thought you might be trying to steal my group for your own. Although I don't think I could even be that mad if you had been, it looks like you haven't had a proper meal in ages!"

Ok... That last part felt out of place. "What, did you think I was going to try to drink the blood after the ritual?"

"Hah! Good one, but it's obvious you're not that type of dead" She said. "Trust me, I know vampires, and wannabe vampires, and you're clearly not either of those" she continued seemingly uncaring about the gun Jason had pointed at her head.

"Want to unpack what you mean by calling me dead before I take it the obvious way, as a threat to make me dead, and make you dead first?"

"Hey! Chill! Chill! I know you're probably really hangry, but c'mon dude! I'm just saying that you've died."

The FUCK!?!? "Who are you and how did you know that?!"

"My name is Elle." The woman said, pulling down her hood to reveal the face of a young woman with white hair with a black streak, mirroring Jason's own under his helmet. "And dead recognizes dead dude. Plus, you triggered one of the safety measures I set up to warn me about potential threats trying to sneak in when you put your Ecto into the bowl. Didn't you notice it glow?"

"Ecto?"

"The green stuff that runs through your veins? The stuff pretty much every single ghost or undead except vampires- which we've already established you're not- and some extremely rare exceptions called halfas have?"

"Hate to disappoint such a pretty girl, especially after I just joined your cult, but I have normal, red, blood, see?" Jason said, holding up his palm to show the cut scabbing over there.

He wasn't sure what he expected the woman's- Elle's, he supposes- response to be, he sure hadn't been able to predict a single turn of this conversation so far, but even then her suddenly vibrating with excitement was enough to throw him even more off balance. So off balance that he just stared as she pulled out a positively ancient flip phone, dialed a number, and, as soon as the other end picked up, full force yelled into the receiver "New Halfa just dropped, cuz! And he's cute too! Get your ass over here! And bring some Ecto! The guy feels like if he tried to survive on nothing but ambient since his death."

And I'm going to stop here. Mostly because I have an early morning and long day of travel tomorrow. I have more ideas, but anyone is absolutely welcome to run with this if it sparks anything in your brain. I absolutely love bouncing ideas back and forth and continuing to build.

Prompt 171

Danny would like everyone to know it was a complete accident. Look, normally he was really good at not altering the timeline! He was! 

But the dude was definitely not in the right Time, and he had to get his trust which took so long, like damn he thought he had anxiety. Seriously though, kevlar in the 1700s? Yeah that wasn’t right, and Peepaw always complained about the messes that the speedsters caused, so he was trying to prevent a mess by tugging the dude away and helping him out. 

Falling in love maybe a little, was not in the plan. But honestly the man had a worse sense of self preservation than he did as a teen and was also straight up adorable, in a wet cat  who could kill you sort of way. 

So maybe he helped the dude grab a child that was going to be drowned. It wasn’t like anyone else saw them! Even if similar situations might’ve happened a few different times. 

Still, no one saw them! 

So why is there now a small cult who worships the Shadowed one and Radiant one, aka his companion (who would not give his name save for B, which, fair, probably didn’t want to accidentally wreck the timeline either) and well, him?! At least they worship them as guardians of children, but uh. Should he maybe, perhaps, fix this…?