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thehouseofwayne · 7 months ago

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[ 𝙳𝙴𝙲𝚁𝚈𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 ] : 𝙶𝙲𝙿𝙳 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂

𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏 #1 GCPD 22:08 : “ John Doe found cold and unconscious. Announced Death on the Scene. Pick up at Midnight.

𝙄𝙉𝘾𝙄𝘿𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝙍𝙀𝙋𝙊𝙍𝙏 #2 GCPD 23:01 : “ John Doe identified. Bruce Wayne alive and breathing. Alfred Pennyworth insisted to take him to the hospital himself. Commissioner signed off on it.

[ 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶 ] : 𝙼𝙴𝙳𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙻 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂

𝘐𝘕𝘊𝘐𝘋𝘌𝘕𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 #78 THOMAS ELLIOT HOSPITAL 09:56 : Patient came covered in blood and what appeared to be burnt up bits of kevlar suit barely recognizable. No life threatening wounds despite needing stitches needed on two puncture wounds on either side of the shoulder blades around three inched deep. Possibly from rebar and other debris from the Attack. And one long curved cut across his lower back among older scar tissue. Too deliberate. Will advise Primary Care Physician. Minor bruises on the body. No symptoms of concussion but patient might still have hit his head. Too much blood.

𝘔𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 [ From the Clinic of Dr. Leslie Thompkins, M.D.] MRI implied no damage. Almost like a miracle. Trauma induced amnesia? Unlikely. Something happened down there. Alfred needs to talk to Bruce. Reassure him this might just be temporary. Need to talk.

𝘔𝘌𝘋𝘐𝘊𝘈𝘓 𝘙𝘌𝘗𝘖𝘙𝘛 [ From the State Medical Examiner ] : [ NOTES REDACTED ]

[ ERROR - FILE DELETED ] - ADMINISTRATOR RIGHTS RESTRICTED: ᴘᴇɴɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀɪᴢᴇᴅ.

[ 𝚆:/ 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 ] : 𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙽𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳𝚂.

The Lazarus Serum’s effects weren’t absolute. It kept him alive but with it his memory. Something 𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗦 hoped would only be temporary while 𝘼𝙇𝙁𝙍𝙀𝘿 𝙋𝙀𝙉𝙉𝙔𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙏𝙃 had hoped to be absolute. And what was initially thought to be a miracle eventually turned to a curse for Bruce.

While his Brain couldn’t bring out the memories in him, it retained the fault in his structure. The pain that is as old as him in his bones and his nerves. There are scars he can’t recall. A house that is as unfamiliar to him as his face on the mirror. And it takes a whole month of him questioning and struggling to even get up out of bed from the pain for Alfred to show him everything.

His parents. Their grave. His children. Their bed. The promise of more horrors and proofs to the stories that had marked his skin and bones for decades if he pushes even further. But for some reason, he doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask why the clock in his office is always at 10:27pm. He doesn’t ask about the bats around the manor. He doesn’t ask why there’s more shadows in the corner nowadays than he thinks there should be.

He goes to therapy. 𝘿𝙍. 𝘾��𝘼𝙎𝙀 𝙈𝙀𝙍𝙄𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙉. She knows him, she said. Folders upon folder for him to see. A box filled with notes just on him. Proof of something. A life talked about and lived more extensively than his already thorough Wikipedia page. He likes her, he thinks. He trusts her.

𝗗𝗥. 𝗟𝗘𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗠𝗣𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗦 helps with his physical therapy. He learns how to walk again slowly. He learns how to handle the pain until it becomes familiar, tolerable. Even if it takes nearly over six months just to feel like he’s himself again.

When he’s bored, Lucius offers him the 𝘞𝘈𝘠𝘕𝘌 𝘍𝘖𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕 as his to oversee until he’s ready to come back as CEO. It gives him a better view of the aftermath from the ground. He sees the terror left in the wake of the Joker’s attack. He sees the community that knits itself back together in 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙈𝘼𝙉'𝙎 absence. He thinks he remembers why his parents did it ; what they died for. It must be this. Helping the City. Helping the people. Helping the kids.

He busied himself with other children. Working from the new Kindergarten they had rebuilt in Midtown, right in the middle of the city.

[ 𝚆:/ 𝙱𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙺𝙱𝙾𝙾𝙺 ] : 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚁𝙰𝙻 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂.

DIVERGENCES FROM COMICS:

Bruce figures out within the 1st month that Alfred kept the truth from him. He didn’t hide away from his own parents death and tried to process the entirety of his whole life and memory taken away from him and decides instead to step back from it. Naively, convinced, maybe, that this time around he can do better as Bruce Wayne.

He focused his home efforts on getting better physically and mentally. The Serum aggravated his nerve problems, leaving him almost unable to control any of his muscles until he asked for help.

He couldn’t remember his kids for a long time. And even then, with how little he knew and only really seeing what he felt was the aftermath of putting his own children in danger, his efforts to reach out to them wasn’t easy. And it didn’t help that Alfred did his best to protect him so to speak, keep him in a bubble.

So his longing for his kids is turned into projects focused on helping out the children in Gotham.

OPTIONAL PLOT POINTS:

Definitely fine with rolling with some of canon where Bruce absolutely doesn’t remember anyone, even his time as Batman, from his kids to the league.

He’s engaged to Julie Madison.

And he avoids putting on 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐖𝐋 for as long as he could.

#history.#study.

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carsonian · 1 year ago

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I saw from your ‘missing avac’ post that you’re a person of high culture, so - avac steve’s birthday as a prompt? I can’t decide if steve wanting to ask out tony because tony would be the best present OR if tony wants to ask out steve because he knows he’d be the best present OR if they’re already together and tony just wants to treat the birthday boy is the best choice? Or a combo of all three? Whatever you write i will explode with happiness

It's Steve's birthday! Oh shit!! I nearly forgot; your timing is absolutely SUPERB. Thank you for the prompt 😘 Here you go:

Such A Feelin' That My Love (I Can't Hide) on AO3 I 2,765 words | Rated G

Steve steepled his fingers, “May I have your attention, please?”

“No.” Tony said, not even bothering to look up from the reference book he was reading.

Steve had been prepared for this and so he brought out a bag of dried blueberries—the rare, expensive kind Tony liked because Steve paid attention to detail, thank you very much—and plopped it right onto the buttcrack of the reference book.

Tony’s eyes flitted to the blueberries and then warily up to Steve.

Idiotically long eyelashes, Steve thought, not for the first time.

“I’m listening.” Tony prompted, cracking the wrapper upon and shaking out a few blueberries onto his palm.

“My birthday’s coming up.” Steve started.

“So is America’s.” Tony interjected through his mouthful. It was a testament to Steve’s adoration for the boy that the sight of mushed up blueberries didn’t totally put him off.

“Tony,” Steve spread his hands out in a showy manner, “I am America.”

Tony swallowed, put the bag of blueberries into his messenger bag and then pointed at him, “That’s not as much of a flex as you think it is.”

“Have you decided on a gift for me?” Steve asked, returning to the practiced lines of the speech he’d written. Casual but to the point. Tony didn’t like long-winded shit. Et voilà: Steve had mastered the art of the short wind.

“Uh,” Tony said, appearing a tad self-conscious now as he added in a mollifying tone, “I thought the suit I made you was your gift? But, I suppose, if there’s anything else that you want. . .”

Tony’s generosity, used against him. Steve didn’t pump his fist, but it was a close thing.

“I do.” Steve nodded, “Thank you for asking.”

Tony’s eyebrows knit together, “Okay. You’re being even weirder than usual.”

“I’d like a date.” Steve announced.

Tony’s face set fully into a frown, “You can’t just buy ‘em yourself?”

“Wh—” Steve shook his head, “No, not the fruit.”

“Okay. So you want a romantic date. With—” Tony’s face cleared, “Oh. You don’t have to ask me if you want to date Pepper. We’re over-over and we have been for a while. You can just—"

“I don’t want to date Pepper.” Steve said, and then smiled meaningfully.

“What’s with the goofy smile?” Tony asked, and then his eyebrows shot up, “No!”

That was a stronger reaction than he'd expected. Steve straightened his back in anticipation of arguing his case but was interrupted by Tony before he could even say “To—”

“Rhodey?” Tony seemed beside himself, “N-O, no. You don’t have my approval.”

“Why would I need your approval?” Steve shot back instinctively before backing up when he saw Tony’s eyes widen. He threw his hands up in a show of surrender, “Not that I want to date Rhodey. That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what the hell do you mean?” Tony asked, voice fairly high-toned with distress.

Oh hell. This was derailing fast. Best to be get it out.

“You.” Steve said, “I want a date with you.”

Tony looked him over for a long, long minute that Steve had to count through to keep himself from actively freaking out. He maintained a calm, friendly smile throughout the minute even as it started to feel a little Joker-esque at the edges.

“You want to date me?” Tony went with finally.

“Absolutely.” Steve affirmed.

Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Why? Since when?”

“Since, uh—” Steve licked his lips, not in a sexy move or nothing, just ‘cause they were starting to feel dry from all the Joker-y smiling, “That time you measured me for the suit?”

“Two months, fourteen days ago?” Tony checked.

Gosh, he was smart. Steve nodded.

“Is it a Netflix and chill type-a date you’re after?” Tony asked.

And he was a little bit of an ass. A lot of ass actually, Steve amended when Tony raised his eyebrows suggestively. Least it was a cute one.

“No, more of a let’s-hold-hands-if-we’re-feeling-brave type of date.” Steve said.

“I thought you were turning seventeen?” Tony sat back, “That's middle school crap.”

“What can I say?” Steve shrugged, trying not to show that it stung a little, “I’m a late bloomer.”

“Uh-huh. I’m the opposite.” Tony crossed his arms, “Which brings me back to my first question. Why me?”

“Well, I have a list.” Steve dug into his bag and pulled out a pocket notebook, flipping it open with a flourish.

“Oh my—” Tony made a gleeful noise, arms uncrossing to cover his mouth, “You have a notebook.”

“Well, duh.” Steve gave a quick smile before clearing his throat, “Okay, first—though this is not in order of importance, F.Y.I.—but first, even though you hate Vision’s music taste, you still help him mix his music. Second, even though Jan has about fifteen-hundred complaints every time you make her a suit, you never ignore any of them and always try to follow through. Third, when you smile, you have a secret dimple on the corner of your left cheek and it’s very endearing. Fourth, you’re annoyingly precise about numbers, actually, case in point from just now—”

“Oh-kay.” Tony interjected, and oh, wow, that was a soft red on his cheeks. Steve took his pen out of the notebook’s slot and turned over to a new page.

“What are you—” Tony leaned over the table to look down at the notebook, “Are you writing down “pretty blush”?”

“Shh.” Steve said, gesturing to the “keep your voices down” sign, “It’s a library.”

“. . .Of course you would ask someone out on a date in a library.” Tony ran a palm over his face, “Wow, this is freaky on so many levels.”

Steve straightened the notebook spine with a snap, “Fifth, you have—”

“I get it, I get it.” Tony said, “I’m a fucking fantasy come to life.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Steve said.

“Aren’t you meant to be wooing me?” Tony asked, “Insulting someone isn’t the way to go, Mr. Strategy is a Lifestyle.”

Steve looked down at his notebook, “Fifth, you’d take the ugly truth over a pretty lie.” He looked back up at Tony, “I’m the same.”

Tony’s mouth slackened and he gave Steve a onceover, “We are very different.”

“I know.” Steve agreed, “Until we’re not. And 'sides, where we do differ—it keeps things exciting. You excite me.”

“I excite you.” Tony repeated.

“Yeah.” Steve could play cool guy all he wanted but the prickly heat rising in his cheeks would just keep on betraying him.

“That’s a pretty good reason to ask someone out on a date.” Tony said in a low tone, almost to himself.

“I thought so, yeah.” Steve said.

Tony watched him for five more weighty seconds before nodding, “Okay.” He opened his bag and took the blueberries out. He put it back down on Steve’s side. “Here,” Tony gestured, “I don’t want them. Feels like a bribe when this shouldn’t be like that.”

“But it’s a—”

“You got eccentric in there, right?” Tony jutted his chin towards the notebook.

“I got prolific interrupter, that’s for sure.” Steve volleyed.

“Fair.” Tony conceded, “When do you want to do the date?”

“On my. . .birthday?” Steve blinked. Had he not mentioned that?

“Oh.” There were two spots of pink, nestled back on Tony’s cheeks, seeming to get proper cozy on them apples. “You want to go on a first date on your birthday?”

“Uh, yeah.” Steve said, “Is that too weird?”

“Um. No.” Tony said, “It’s fine. Uh, do you want me to get a booking or—”

“Oh, no! I’ll handle all that.” Steve said, and for some reason, having Tony’s agreement felt like a decent throw of the shield. He was feeling the same combination of nervy and ready, that familiar thrumming anticipation of a clean return.

“Okay, then.” Tony set his hands flat on the table, “Text me the details.”

“I will.” Steve said, getting up, “I’ll let you get back to your reading.”

“Don’t tell anyone you saw me in here.” Tony warned, bringing a finger up to his lips before smoothing down a page of the book, “It'll ruin my street cred.”

Steve grinned to himself before leaving, shaking his head a little at his dumb luck.

Or, rather, his genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist luck.

He shook himself a little as he made the trek back to his room. He had a date to plan and a birthday wish to make true.

The sun was setting low in the sky when they got back to campus.

“Happy birthday, Cap!” Doreen greeted as she walked by, tail visibly perking up when she caught notice of their swinging hands. Thankfully, she didn’t make any comment about it, passing on without a reaction.

"Thanks, Doreen!"

Steve got a few more birthday wishes and a lot more students staring at their hands, but they still managed to get back to Tony’s tower without anyone asking them point-blank what the hell they were walking around with their hands intertwined for.

“That was fun.” Tony said, standing at the entrance to his tower. He unwound his hand from Steve's, “Uh, I mean it. Really.”

“Thank you for agreeing to the date.” Steve offered him a friendly smile because he still didn't know how to give him a romantic one. Google had said "smirk" but that couldn't possibly be a thing, right?

“Thank you for inviting me.” Tony volleyed, “I had a good time.”

“I’m glad.” Steve said, wishing he’d prepared a segue for after the date.

He’d been so concerned about getting to the restaurant without some Hydra attack pulling them elsewhere, and once they’d sat down at the restaurant, he’d been occupied with the conversation—at first in keeping it going and then after ten minutes, totally lost to it. It had been all that Steve had hoped for: conversation that was sharp and teasing, food that was hearty and indulgent, and company that was invested and pretty. They hadn’t really stopped talking until they got back to campus, and when Steve had dared to bring his hand down to Tony's, the boy didn't stop his spiel about A.I.M. for even a second to react, just turned Steve's hand over and intertwined their fingers like they'd done it a million times before. It had been a promising bubble to float in, and Steve didn’t know how to bridge the distance now that it had burst.

“Y’have a good date?” Tony asked.

“No complaints.” Steve smiled again, though the edges were beginning to feel brittle. Then, there was that same stilted silence for an agonising half-minute before Tony shook his head, shuffled his feet and stepped closer.

“So does the next one have to be on my birthday or. . .?” Tony trailed off, quicksilver smile and dancing eyes.

“You want another one?” Steve asked hopefully, breath caught in his throat.

“Yeah, I do.” Tony said, tilting his head a little coyly, “What, you need me to give you a notebook, too?”

“No, I don’t—” Steve inhaled, grin simmering inside him, just about held back. “So, really good date then.”

“I think we could work together.” Tony said, before amending, “I mean, we already work together but I think, I think we could work even better. Differently and better.”

“There’s that engineering brain.” Steve pointed out, “That’s also in the notebook.”

“I don’t like notebooks,” Tony said, tone like he was just wondering aloud, “But I could open up a Stark sheet.”

“. . .Yeah?” Steve asked. He felt like kicking his feet against the pavement, like pumping his fist in the air. Again.

“First, you’re ridiculously chivalrous.” Tony said, “And it should annoy me but it really doesn’t.”

Steve rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to dispel his grin.

“Second, you don’t get annoyed by the sheer barrage of people that come to you with their personal problems even though you totally could.” Tony said, “Especially on your birthday.”

“Well, it was an easy climb,” Steve said, “Who knows how long it would have taken to convince Hairball to come down?”

“Third, you have a very symmetrical smile.” Tony said, “It’s very nice to look at.”

“Aw shucks, Tony.” Steve said, “I get it. You don’t have to say all that.”

“What, so you can have a notebook, but I can’t say I find you stupidly handsome?” Tony asked.

“Well, I—”

“Oh my god, just kiss already!”

Steve and Tony startled, glancing up to see Kamala at the head of a gaggle of younger students peering down at them.

“Why are you on my tower?” Tony called up, throwing out his arms dramatically, “Does privacy mean nothing to you?”

Kamala’s head ducked down, and then, like a row of meerkats, so did the other students.

Steve huffed, “Well, that’s something.”

“They’re a little bit onto something.” Tony gave him a curious look, “What are your thoughts on a birthday kiss?”

Steve blinked, flushing inadvertently at the directness of the question, “Positive.”

“First of many, I hope.” Tony said, and it was even more direct, and this—a Tony going after something he wanted—was heady stuff. It settled in Steve with a rushing sense of rightness. He’d caught the shield and its weight was centering.

“I agree.” He said.

“Wonders never cease.” Tony’s eyes near-twinkled as he smiled, “We’re agreeing.”

“Who knows what’ll happen when we kiss?” Steve joked.

“Good segue.” Tony said, snapping his fingers.

He finally got there. It was an awkward sidestep dance before they moved forward, and then Tony got his hands on Steve’s neck, and everything narrowed down to just Tony and him.

Steve inhaled sharply, worried that the sprawl of Tony’s fingers on his neck would catch onto how quickly his heart was beating. This close, he could smell Tony’s cologne. This close, he could watch Tony’s pupils dilate.

“Okay?” Tony murmured, and his breath hit Steve’s lips.

Steve brought his hands to Tony’s waist (!!!), and leaned down. He pressed his lips to Tony’s, dry and brief, overthinking the gesture for a second before Tony tilted his head, just the slightest, and then pressed firm against Steve. The kiss became a proper nice one then, and when Tony’s mouth parted, Steve's followed suit. And that was different. New different. Good different.

They broke apart after about—fifteen-ish seconds. Steve could probably ask Tony for the exact number, but he didn’t think that asking how long a kiss lasted was the best question to ask directly after a first kiss. Not if he wanted the ordinal indicator to mean something in the long-term.

“Hell of a late bloom.” Tony murmured.

“Hm?”

“Hell of a late bloom.” Tony wrinkled his nose self-effacingly, “Uh, from when you asked me out and I was being a bit of a dick about you being wholesome and then you said—”

“I’m a late bloomer, right.” Steve recalled, “I remember.”

“Just—it's a hell of a late bloom. In that case.” Tony exhaled roughly, “Uh, is it just me or were those fourteen seconds kind of brilliant?”

Steve’s grin was stretching his cheeks before he could even think to hide it, “You’re lovely, you know?”

A flash of confusion shaded Tony’s face for a brief moment before the boy smiled back at him, a slight uncertainty to their set, “You too, you know?”

“. . .How’s tomorrow?” Steve asked.

“What?”

“Our second date.” Steve clarified.

“Yes.” Tony agreed swiftly, “Was that too quick of an answer?”

“I don’t care.” Steve said, “I’m just happy you said yes.”

The uncertainty faded from Tony’s face at that reply, leaving behind only unfiltered delight, “Thank you for asking me. Both times.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Good birthday, then?” Tony checked.

“Best one yet.” Steve answered readily.

Tony’s smile was enchanting, lingering warmly like sunlight on skin even when Tony said goodbye and walked back into the tower. Steve stayed there, at the entrance, for a minute or two, luxuriating in the feeling of everything going right.

Then, with all of his exhilaration and joy rising in him like a mentos in a coke bottle, he finally let himself be free.

He pumped his fist in the air.

“Happy birthday, Cap!”

Of course, Kamala chose that moment to send a wish down. He quickly dropped his arm before turning to face her.

“Uh, thanks Kamala!” Steve called up, probably red as a tomato.

“You guys are a cute couple!” Kamala called down, “Looks like your birthday wish came true!”

Steve blinked and then smiled at the correctness of that, hand coming up to rub the nape of his neck where he could still feel Tony's fingers.

"Yeah, I guess it really did."

#my writing #my fics #stevetony #havepatienceandendure #prompt fill #avengers academy #RIP... :(#happy birthday steve!

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xaphrin · 2 years ago

Note

Anymore upcoming Raven × Jason works?👀I absolutely adore how you write them

Here is the beginning of my March Year of OTP piece. I chose "fairy tale" and made a weird amalgamation of Beauty and the Beast, and Eros and Psyche. So... ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

- - -

This should have been expected. It didn't make it any less frustrating, but it should have been expected.

Jason halfheartedly pulled at the rope that bound him to the wrought iron gate, frowning. This was his punishment then? Leaving him here for the demon to consume. He had been hoping to be hanged, but this must have been Bruce’s doing - pulling at strings, trying to control Jason’s fate, and morals. Jason didn’t want to have special treatment though. He knew what he had done was wrong, even if it was for the better good of the city, and he was prepared to take his punishment.

The world was better for not having the Joker in it, and hanging would have been preferable to being a sacrifice for a demon.

“I want one month where I don’t walk outside my home and find someone tied to my gate.”

The voice was soft and low, and Jason turned to see a figure step out into the dying light. It was as if smoke and shadows followed the hooded figure across the overgrown, wandering path. He watched the creature slink forward, their hands encased in thick, long gloves.

It stopped in front of him, and stared at Jason through the bars. The head was covered with a hood, and a dark veil obscured their face. Whatever was behind the cloak was intent on keeping themselves hidden.

“I don’t know why the town thinks that I want sacrifices. Never have I asked for sacrifices in my long existence.” The voice had a pleasing lilt to it, and Jason was almost certain it was a woman. She continued to stare at him from behind the veil, and he had the distinct impression that she was frowning. “Well… tell me your name and how you’re innocent so I can get on with the process of figuring out what to do with you.”

Jason’s eyebrows knitted together. “I’m not innocent.”

The figure straightened as if surprised by his answer. “Oh? And what is your crime?”

“I killed a man.”

“In self defense?”

“In cold blood.”

The figure paused, their head tilting to the side as if they were surprised. “And you have no remorse.” It was more of a statement than anything else.

“If I had allowed them to continue to live, they would have senselessly destroyed half the city and killed recklessly.” He twisted his shoulders, displaying the jagged scar that curled along his throat and down his chest. “He nearly killed me, and left my someone close to me permanently paralyzed.”

Jason got the feeling the figure was staring at him, unsure what their next step would be. “If you’re going to eat me, can you get on with it? I was hoping to die by hanging - you know, a nice short death.”

“I don’t eat people. I don’t even know why the town continues to tie sacrifices to my gates like I want you.” She sighed, and Jason felt the ropes around his wrists melt away. “It started nearly a century ago that Gotham began leaving people tied to my gate every full moon. I never asked for it, I don’t know what idiot got it in their head that I want you, or anything to do with you.”

“What did you do with the sacrifices then?” He rubbed at his wrists and stared at her. “They’ve never returned to Gotham.”

“Depends on their crime. Stealing bread to feed their families? That gets them transported somewhere they can be safe and warm, their family too.” Her veiled face turned to him. “Senseless murder? Defilement of a person's body? Sent somewhere… decidedly different.”

“And me? Is that where I’ll go?”

“Murder for the greater good is a gray area, especially when you have no remorse for your crime. I could send you back to the prison cells in Gotham. Let you meet your fate there.”

Jason considered it, but there wasn’t a reason to go back. For all intents and purposes, his family considered him dead. He gave a low, humorless laugh. “I don’t suppose I could stay here with you?”

The figure jerked back as if surprised. “Here? Why?”

“I’d rather not go back to Gotham. But… I don’t feel as though I deserved to go anywhere else.” He blinked, watching her through the bars of the gate. “I’m in limbo, waiting for something to happen - a choice to be made. And… I don’t want to be the one to make it.”

“Hm.”

#JayRae #tw: a very very brief mention of :rape:#i tried to write around it the best I could so it was easy to get past

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twstinginthewind · 2 years ago

Text

A little gift...

Joker made her way up the stairs to the third floor of her dormitory, a little bag in her hands. Her eyes skimmed over the line of doors, and lit up when she spotted her target. There. She took a deep breath, stepped just in front of the door marked with a little green three-leafed clover and knocked.

"Just a moment!" Trey's voice rang out from behind the door, and Joker held the bag so tightly it crinkled in her grip. She swallowed hard, trying to relax, then ran a hand over her hair, hoping to tame any unruly curls. The door swung open, and Trey stood in the doorway, smiling gently. "Joker! This is unexpected. I would have dressed better if I had been expecting company. I was a little preoccupied with packing."

Joker looked him over; he was in dark brown slippers, plaid pajama pants, and a snug tee shirt advertising his family's bakery. "You look fine, Vice Housewarden. No worries. This should only take a minute." She felt her cheeks warming up, betraying her nerves. "I have something for you."

"Do you, huh?" He moved away from the doorway, and swept his arm towards his room. "Why don't you come in, then? I'm just organizing the last few things here."

She looked quickly up and down the hallway, then stepped inside. She always felt a little overwhelmed by the aura of maturity she felt in his room; it was nothing like the happy clutter of her buddy Cater's personal space, or the sloppy girlishness of the room she shared with her roommate. She stood by his desk as he peeked outside, looked left and right, and then closed the door behind them.

"You can sit at the desk, if you'd like," Trey said, moving aside a small stack of neatly-folded clothing to sit on the edge of the bed. "If there's anything on the chair, hand it off to me. I probably put it there while I was getting everything else together."

Joker pulled the chair out, and handed Trey the stack of papers he had left on there. "Camp Vargas itinerary, it looks like. What time do you leave tomorrow?" she asked as she sat, still holding the bag to her chest.

"Seven in the morning. I've already prepped overnight oats for breakfast tomorrow, by the way." He sighed. "The dorm'll be on its own for the rest of the week, though. Don't let anyone use the good cast iron, though, if you can."

She giggled. "I can hide it under my bed until you get back."

"I'd have to collect it from you when I need it."

"Oh nooooo, anything but thaaaat." Joker grinned at him. "You're still so worried about everyone. You should just relax and enjoy yourself for this trip!"

"I wish I could. But it's still a school event, so I'm still in Vice Housewarden mode for it."

"Trey, one of these days I'll actually see you let loose, and I don't know if I'll be able to handle it."

Trey raised an eyebrow. "I'll be sure to catch you if you faint, Jo."

She fanned herself, half-jokingly. "Promises, promises. Anyway. I don't want to hold you up too long." She held out the slightly crushed paper bag towards him. "I made you something for the trip."

"You did?" He took the bag with a softly fascinated look on his face. "That wasn't necessary... very kind of you, though! May I open it now?"

Joker nodded, clasping her hands together in her lap. "Yeah. I wanna see if you like it."

"I'm sure I will," Trey said as he opened the bag, then removed a small, soft bundle wrapped in tissue paper. "Hm? What's this?"

As he removed the paper, Joker hunched slightly and twiddled with her fingers, breaking at least two house rules. "I know it gets cold up on the mountain, and I wanted to make sure that you kept warm..."

The tissue paper drifted to the floor. In his hands, Trey held a soft, deep charcoal gray, knit cap. There was a little red patch sewn onto the brim, which he ran his thumb across, smiling faintly. "Let's paint the roses red... You really made this for me?"

"You know I started the knitting club on campus, right? I've been making these for years, but..." She shifted a little in the chair, unable to meet his eyes. "... I only ever give stuff I make to folks who are really special to me." She shook her head, and started talking faster. "Anyway it's wool so it'll keep you warm and be water resistant, but don't wash it with your regular laundry or it won't even be fit to be a tea cozy. Cold water and a little soap. Soak it. I... that's all. I won't hold you up anymore." She stood up, and nodded to him. "I'll just—"

Trey stepped over towards her, and caught her by the wrist. "Wait." He stepped in front of her, and made sure that he was in her line of vision. "I have to make sure it fits, don't I?"

Joker, cheeks burning, nodded. Trey smiled at her, and slowly pulled the hat on over his rumpled, deep green hair.

"Does it suit me?"

Joker finally met his eyes, twinkling behind his glasses. "It does. You look good..."

"Then I'll wear it proudly, all through the trip," he said simply, tugging it down a little further. "It's a good fit. You know, there's something special about a hand-knit gift. They say there's love in every stitch." He took another step towards her, close enough to feel the warmth of her blushing.

"Trey..." Joker couldn't catch her breath. She shook her head. Why did he have to say 'love" out loud like that? He was gonna give her a coronary. "... just come back safe, okay?"

"It's only camp," he murmured, taking her hand. "I'll be sure to check in. Thank you for this."

She ran a thumb across his knuckles. "You're welcome. I... I should go before anyone knows I was here."

"I'll check the hallway." Trey squeezed her hand before letting go, and stepped over to the door. He opened it slowly, and then waved her over to him. "All good."

She quickly walked over to the doorway, and paused by his side. "I'll miss you."

"I will, too. Now go and protect my good cast iron pan, would you?"

"My pleasure," she chuckled nervously, then stepped back out into the hallway.

"Oh, and Joker?"

She turned to look over her shoulder. Trey still stood in the doorway, smiling at her. "Hm?"

"... never mind," he said, but his hands said another story. He touched the center of his chest with one hand, crossed both hands across his chest, then pointed to her.

She smiled and signaled back; holding out her thumb and pinky, she waved her hand between them both. "Good night, safe travels."

#i had to do something about his camp hat #joker would absolutely knit for him #and besides trey looks so cute in that knit cap; you know it's filled with love #twisted wonderland #trey clover #twisted wonderland oc #joker carder #story #joker 🧡 trey #just a little gift for myself #consideration

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akirakurusuimagines · 3 years ago

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had the idea of reader getting marin karin'd and it not wearing off after leaving the metaverse so our dear boy helps her out by gently overstimulating her in front of a mirror 👉👈

I'm sorry for how long it's been taking to get this out! Hopefully the others won't take as long. Please enjoy! (minors DNI)

It only takes one mistake for everything to fall apart.

Akira believed they were sufficiently prepared to waltz right into Mementos and explore the depths that opened after the public’s response to their latest and greatest heist. He disregarded Morgana’s incessant warning that he was running low on ailment-curing items and revival items, reminding the cat that he was already planning on putting him and Makoto on the front lines this time so there was nothing to worry about.

So really, this mess was his fault. As leader, he knows he shoulders the responsibility of anything and everything that happens, even if his teammates don’t blame him.

It began to storm back in the real world as they reached the end of the current depths⁠; a painstakingly slow thirteen floors⁠ to comb through in search of treasure and experience. Everyone was nearing their physical and mental limits for the day, but at the sight of a rare challenger on their way back, they let their youthful recklessness seep through. One more, they all thought, one more to end the trip on a high note.

The high note they sought after quickly⁠ and almost comically⁠ became shrill.

The battle turned for the worst: unable to find a weakness, you and Mona were left with minimal SP, Queen had suffered an ill-timed critical attack and was knocked out cold, and Joker himself was running on fumes. Mind scattered in desperation, Joker attempted to regain some footing by attacking the particularly strong enemy with Marin Karin, hoping to charm it.

He didn’t expect that the enemy would end up reflecting it back at him.

Nor that you would take the brunt of the attack by jumping in front of him last-minute.

Joker and Mona finished the battle through sheer dumb luck, and all of the thieves expected things to return to normal. Queen stood up on shaky legs and thanked Panther for medicine, but when they turned to look at you, their hearts dropped.

Your face was flushed and eyes glassy, no different than how you were in battle. The unspoken rules of Mementos was broken⁠—somehow you didn’t come to once the fight finished.

Joker took to your side immediately, helping you up but freezing at the garbled moan that slipped past your lips the moment his hands landed on you. The others looked on with concern and fear, not understanding why this was happening, but it was obvious to everyone that they needed to leave immediately. He apologized to them and announced that he’ll be taking you home to make sure you’re safe and resting while the others research the strange divergence.

His arm wrapped loosely around your waist, keeping you steady as you mindlessly clung to him, and ushered you out of Mementos and towards the trains.

Akira felt like he was suffocating. If this is how he was feeling, he could only start to imagine what you’re suffering through right now.

He kept you hidden from view as best as he could, squished in the corner between the door, the seats, and him. Akira put you in a spare face mask he had and slid his glasses over your nose, hoping to protect your identity in case any snooping individual lingered on you two a little too long.

“Hold on just a little longer for me, okay? We’re almost there.”

He watched your knees buckle and your thighs clench together at his words and felt his mouth run dry. Akira willed himself to stay calm, to steady his heartbeat, but it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do when you were in a state like this. Especially considering he harbored feelings for you.

“Please,” you begged. He almost didn’t hear it with how quietly you murmured it. “Akira, I… I need…”

Fuck, you were going to be the death of him.

“Yeah?” he leaned in closer, hoping to catch the rest of what you’re saying.

Your hand grabbed his thigh, tugging his leg closer to you and causing him to stumble forward, balancing with his forearm next to your head. He stared at you with wide eyes as you shifted his leg with no resistance between your thighs and sat on it, slowly and carefully grinding against it.

Akira’s head whipped around, making sure no one was watching as you shamelessly used his leg to relieve some of the pressure that Marin Karin’s charm had on you. He nearly stopped breathing when you whined right next to his ear, a sound too soft for anyone else to notice as the train screeched to another halt.

Your stop was next, but there was no way he was making it out of this without a boner. He looked back at you and swallowed hard, only able to see the way your eyes were screwed shut and eyebrows knitted with frustration and concentration, pressing yourself a little harder against the meat of his thigh.

“Need more, ‘s too hot,” you blabbered softly, hands gripping the lapel of his blazer. “want you, want you so bad⁠—”

“We⁠—we’re almost home,” Akira choked out, each passing moment more difficult than the last. He wanted to pinch himself, wondering if this was actually some wild porno dream he was having back in Leblanc, but the way you felt rutting against his thigh like this was far too real for him to deny this was reality.

“Akiraaaa...”

He nearly lost himself when he saw your teary-eyed expression, suddenly grateful for the crowded train dissuading him from bending you over the train seats and giving into temptation. Akira wanted to know every part of you: every touch that makes you keen, every kiss that makes your head spin, every position that makes you cream.

Akira almost praised the gods aloud when the announcer comments on your stop, pulling himself off of you despite your whines and taking your hand in his, squeezing it tightly as he nearly runs out of the train the second the doors behind you open.

It was quite the ordeal dragging you back home. Every moment he stopped, your hands would wander, gripping his shirt or his belt loops, sliding your hand underneath to feel the warmth of his skin. You pressed closer and closer against him, your inhibitions far-gone, leaving only your charmed mind.

He grabbed your wrist firmly when you reached for his crotch at the door to your house, sucking in a large breath and hoping you’d be able to contain yourself enough for him to open the door with your keys and lead you inside.

Akira pushed open the door and dragged you inside, kicking it closed and locking it quickly. He couldn’t help the whole-body sigh that passed through him with the relief of privacy.

You, however, took it as your cue to tackle him to the ground and relieve yourself.

“Shit, wait, hold on⁠—” Akira staggered back, gripping your hip and arm and barley catching himself. “Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t want to try to get… uh… get off on your own?”

“No no no no no⁠—!” you shook your head adamantly despite your slurred voice, the sheer panic in your voice and face surprising him. “Want you, only you, please.”

Akira pressed his lips together in a tight line and hoisted you up in his arms, silently thanking the rough training he’s been enduring with Ryuji. The way your eyes lit up as he carried you to your bedroom made his heart palpitate, the rational side of him quickly losing to the promise of passion.

He really was weak to you.

He grunted as his legs hit the bed, falling down with you on his lap. Akira barely had time to speak before your lips were all over him, kissing all over his face and jaw as you roughly grinded against him. He choked down his moans and tangled a hand in your hair, hoping to slow you down with a sharp tug to your scalp.

Akira felt you seize up the moment he did, nails digging into his shoulders despite the layers of clothing, pressing your hips harder against his, and with a loud cry, he felt dampness against his crotch. It took a moment to process that you came untouched, just from him having you in his lap and tugging your hair.

“Did you just…?” his hand wandered towards your pants, slipping inside your underwear and feeling the sticky substance coat his fingers as he reached your thighs. He pulled them out, observing the strands between his fingers and licking them clean with a low groan. “That’s so hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

Akira palmed your crotch and felt you shudder as you rolled your hips against his again. “But… it isn’t enough, right?”

“Nnno…”

He looked around the room briefly and caught his own eyes in the floor-length mirror in your room.

“Stand up for me and strip, sweetheart,” Akira instructed with a gentle slap to your thigh.

He loved the way you scrambled off of him, shedding your clothes and looking at him with the same hazy doe-eyes that made him spend countless private hours fantasizing about. You looked at him with so much lust, being so obedient for him in hopes of getting another orgasm.

He shrugged off his blazer and tossed it aside, shifting closer to the mirror until it stood in front of him. “Turn around and sit back on my lap.”

Akira steadied you with gentle hands on your hips as you sat on his lap and pressed your sticky thighs together to feel some kind of friction against the torturous heat. He pried them open, spreading your legs to straddle him and spreading you open for the mirror.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he gently chided, “keep these pretty thighs open for me, okay?”

Akira refused to touch you until you nodded.

“Perfect,” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder, “you’re absolutely perfect.” Akira guided his hands up from your thighs to your chest, brushing against your nipples and continuing his path up until he reached your face. He cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your face up, forcing you to look at the shameful display you created with him. “I want you to look at yourself as I touch you,” Akira explained, “I want you to see everything.”

You nodded dumbly, anything to get his hands back to pleasuring you. “Please,” you continued to repeat with breathless whines, “I want more, I want you in me.” You pushed your ass harder against his hard cock, hoping he would take the bait. You wanted to be fucked silly and at this point you really didn’t care how you got there.

Akira sucked in a sharp breath and shuddered, squeezing his eyes shut and stilling for a few seconds as you continued to grind yourself on his dick. “Later, okay?” his voice wavered and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep his own word with how enthusiastic you seemed about riding him.

He let go of your face and skimmed your inner thighs, catching the cum from your first orgasm on his fingers and finally touching you properly. You keened, head falling back as he slowly pressed two fingers into your hole. “Yes⁠!” you groaned, spreading your thighs a little further and bucking your hips into his hand, “More, please, oh god it feels so good⁠— hnn!”

Akira’s hand steadied your head, once again pushing you to look at yourself as his fingers thrusted in and out of you. “Come on, baby. Don’t stop watching,” he purred as he scissored his fingers inside of you. “Oh, you liked that?”

You grasped his hair and his wrist, incoherent noises fumbling from your lips as Akira brought you to another orgasm within minutes. Marin Karin had quite the effect on you: keeping your stamina high and your libido higher, giving you more orgasms than you’ve had in your life, emptying your head and leaving nothing but pleasant buzzing.

He stared at you in the mirror, catching your unfocused gaze as your eyes shifted from his face to his hand and back again. “You’re doing so good,” Akira mumbled strings of words he barely paid attention to as you squirmed in his hold. He added another finger, stretching you out further and curling his fingers inside of you. He felt your legs shake and watched your jaw go slack as pleasure only continued to build.

“Again?” he asked, groaning at how you clench around his fingers, barely giving him room to move them. Even still, you continue to thrust your hips into his hands⁠, unsatisfied. “I’ll give you as many orgasms as you need,” Akira promised, kissing your cheek and resting his temple against yours, “I won’t stop until you’re begging.”

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fckinsupreme · 3 years ago

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maybe one story about michael being jealous and obsessed with her?

Some fire & reign daddy for you!!

———————-

Michael was a man of few interests, and the beautiful woman that worked for the two jokers he was consulting with had been one. The moment he saw Y/N, with her short skirt, her white button up top, her thigh highs & heels, her hair done in a way that made her facial features pop, he knew that he was done for. It was instant obsession—not love, for he did not believe himself capable of it, but an infatuation so intense that it nearly brought him to his knees. But there was one big problem, and it was one that Michael should have seen coming, but once which he still could not have anticipated at the same time.

There was another man who worked at Kineros, one that Michael barely associated with, but one that Y/N had liked very much. It wasn’t enough that he was armed with this knowledge through Mutt & Jeff’s interactions with each other, but also the fact that Michael had to watch Y/N and that asshole flirt with each other every single fucking day. The way she touched him, her smile, the seduction in her gaze, the way her chest puffed out, the way he moved closer to her, the way they whispered in each other’s ear, her laughter…all of it. It drove him up the fucking wall, and the jealousy nearly ate him alive. He knew damn well he could easily take care of it by ripping the bastard’s spine right out, but what would that solve? Y/N would hate him, and he would never get to experience what it was like to have her, to hold her, to kiss her, to touch her, to be inside of her…

No, it was too much of a risk. One that he was not willing to take.

Michael would always conveniently turn up everywhere she seemed to be—the copy room, work room, the lobby, the cafeteria. It was all a matter of knowing her schedule, something he had memorized like clockwork every single day. He knew exactly when she had a meeting, or a lunch date, or when Mutt & Jeff needed her for something. He was always there, hoping to get a glimpse of her. Glimpses and “accidental” encounters were well & good for a little while, but then the day came where it was no longer enough. He had to have her, before it drove him absolutely insane. He had to know what it was she felt, or how she tasted, or how her body would feel pressed against his.

It was time for action.

He found her alone in the copy room one afternoon, humming to herself as she made a series of copies at the machine. She was startled by his sudden appearance, having not heard him enter the room, and placed a hand to her chest as she giggled in relief. He was delighted to see that she was cornered now; he stood between her & the exit, and there was no way she could get out without getting past him. This was the moment he had been waiting for, and he would not let it be fleeting. Besides that, he knew that there would be no issue in making her stay; he could sense she didn’t want that to happen. The smell of her arousal—thick, sweet, pounding, irresistible—was hanging like a veil between them, and he could sense how badly she wanted him. Whether she would admit it or not, he already knew.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice like velvet as he surveys her hungrily. “How convenient that I would find you here.”

“Just like how it was convenient that you found me everywhere else?” she quips, her head tilted to the side as her eyes narrow. “It’s funny how you turn up everywhere that I go, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” Michael says thoughtfully, closing his eyes as he thinks it over for a moment. “Or perhaps I’m just following your scent.”

“My what?” she asks, looking at him in confusion. “What are you, a dog?”

“No,” he drawls, his fingers brushing down her forearm. She recoils out of surprise, but allows him to touch her again when he makes another attempt. “I can tell how attracted you are to me. You may call it a sixth sense, or perhaps a superpower. Whatever it is you want to believe, I can tell how much you want me. I can /smell/ it, Y/N, so don’t try to lie to me. It will end very badly for you if you try it.”

She laughs wildly, her brows knitting. “Is that what you think this is? You think I want to hop on your dick, and what, exactly?”

“Whatever it is you fantasize about doing with me, I suppose,” he says. “That isn’t my business to know; I just know that you lust for me.”

“I do n—“ she begins.

“I own you,” Michael says, backing her against the wall as her eyes widen. “Whether you know it or not, you are /mine/.”

“Excuse me?” she says, her brow raised as an expression of fury crosses over her features. “What did you just say?”

“I think you heard me quite well,” Michael says, pressing her further against the wall. “I said that you are mine.”

“You’re delusional,” she spits, and Michael is taken aback by her bold remark. “If you truly think—“

“I /know/ that you are,” he hisses, his hand coming up to close around her throat. He brings his face mere inches from hers, and he can feel her pulse quickening under his touch. Fear, possibly, but Michael knew better; she was aroused, the desire for him coursing through her veins as she tried to remain as cool, calm, and collected as possible. “Don’t deny what I already know. It won’t end well for you, and it’s just more work for me. I don’t think either of us want any of that, do you?”

She is silent, save for a few shuddering breaths that fall from her lips. Finally, she speaks. “You’re wrong.”

“You are bold to question me,” he says, his grip tightening on her throat as she gasps slightly. “Especially knowing who I am and what I am capable of.”

She opens her mouth to reply, no doubt some off-the-wall, snarky remark. But instead, she just says: “You don’t know shit about me.”

“I know enough,” Michael says, bringing his lips to hers and barely ghosting them. He hears her whine, a sound that is barely audible, but there all the same. “I know that you want me.”

She is quiet for so long—so much, in fact, that Michael wonders if he could have accidentally killed her. But then she moves, and her eyes are fixated upon his. “Let’s just say you’re right.”

“I know I am,” Michael says smugly.

“Fine, you’re right,” she says impatiently. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“I think you already know the answer to that question,” Michael says with a smirk, running a finger between the cleavage exposed by her button-up top. “All you have to do is give in.”

She is no longer hesitant, nor is she in denial or putting up a fight. Her fingers lace through his curls, drawing him closer in a hot, passionate kiss. Michael groans against her lips, and the taste of her is so much better than the fantasy. Of course, he already knew that she was going to be an excellent kisser, and taste sweeter than cream; it was a sixth sense he seemed to have. He grabs her by the hips, pulling her tight against his own as she moans against his mouth.

“That worthless sack of shit you call a boyfriend is not worthy of you,” he breathes as he kisses her neck, making sure to leave behind a series of purple marks in his wake. “You know it, and I know it.”

“Is that what all of this is about?” she asks, her eyes closing as he bites just below her pulse point. “Mmm…You’re jealous of him, aren’t you?”

“So what if I am?” Michael asks, ripping her blouse open as buttons fly & scatter through the room.

“It’s kinda hot, that’s all,” she says with a shrug, but says no more as he leaves bruising kisses all over her breasts. “Fuck…”

Michael comes back to her lips, and kisses her heavily. They make out for awhile, hands wandering, gasps and small moans filling the air, fingers tugging at her hair and clothing. Michael eventually pushes her onto one of the tables, and sinks between her legs in a slow, almost catlike manner. He hikes up her skirt, kissing over her inner thighs as he grins up at her.

“How badly do you want me?” Michael asks her, his tone almost taunting as he bites her inner thigh. She gasps, and he smirks against her smooth skin. “You have to tell me.”

“So fucking badly,” comes her reply, so breathless and desperate that Michael has to bite back a wide grin. “I’ve never wanted anyone as badly as I want you.”

“Good,” Michael says, tugging her thong off and tucking it into his back pocket before pointing toward some of the cameras in the corners of the room.

“What?” she asks, pushing herself onto her elbows to look at what he is pointing to.

“Smile for your bosses, sweetheart,” he says, beginning to devour her cunt as she moans filthily. “They’re watching us right now, so let’s make it worth their time.”

——-

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @with-dandelions-in-her-hands @codyfernmorelikedaddyfern @wroteclassicaly @dark-mei-rose @melodylangdon @xavierplymptons @bloodcoatedeclipse @bitchchatter @welcometothelioncage @angelicmichael @lovelylangdonx

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #michael langdon blurb

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headspacedad · 2 years ago

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I leaped head-first into the rabbit hole that is all things Jason Todd and found myself woefully unprepared for the horror that is the more cruel portrayals of his and Bruce's relationship

Safe to say I'm glueing myself in the corner where everything is sunshine and roses and Bruce is a actual good parent, can I have that? T^T

First off - welcome to the rabbit hole! Its always nice to find friends in one of these. And second -

dang.

yeah.

just -

dang.

I too was pretty unprepared for the absolutely horrid mess that is the Batman and Jason relationship. I'm not quite sure in what world slitting your own son's throat is considered okay. I'm guessing a LOT of comic book writers have shitty relationships with their fathers and don't realize that's Not Standard Practice, nor does it make Bruce look like a 'badass'. It just makes him look bad.

I mean, I'm used to a bit of comic book whiplash. I used to get all four Spider-man comics every month back in the Way Back Times and I remember there were absolutely times you could tell the writers weren't on the same page about how things were supposed to go. In fact, before my time, the story was that MJ and Peter only got married because Stan Lee wrote it happening in the Sunday newspaper comic and surprised more than a few writers who were working on comic books for the character. So I thought I was used to things varying from point to point but - DANG! I was not prepared for the amount of 'Bruce is a supportive dad who still shares burgers with Jason' to 'Bruce beats the shit out of his son to a level he won't even use on the Joker'. Some people who are claiming to be professional writers need to figure out how to make a character bad ass and put conflict in a relationship WITHOUT just resorting to senseless physical violence every single time.

Now fandom - fandom's always been about exploring the side angles and reconstructing things. And I do think a lot of people are either 1. working through their own family trauma in a cathartic safe way through fiction 2. are absolutely disgusted with the way Jason and Bruce's relationship has been treated in canon and just went 'fuck it' and figured if that was what canon was going to give them then fine, that's how canon would get treated and 3. hates either Bruce or Jason and needs to punch downward on the one in order to make the other look better (that last one is a sign of poor writing and a personal pet peeve of mine that's way too common in fanfiction). From what I've seen at least in the corners I lurk in, its usually the first two though and I can respect both of those. I can even enjoy reading both of those if they deal with what that kind of relationship means and does to the characters (usually Jason).

But God bless the writers who look at canon, reach down and pick up Bruce and Jason and carefully wash the yuck off them like they're little fairy penguins caught in an oil spill. Who get them scrubbed clean of canon yuck and then put them in little cute knit sleeveless sweaters somewhere safe where they can recover and feed them tasty things so they thrive together. Bless the Wayne Family Adventures comic creators for it, bless every single one of the fanfic writers for it, bless the fan artists for it and bless the meta writers too. Bless every single person that looks at the mess canon is and goes 'not on my watch'. And bless them for sharing so the rest of us can read something that's healing for our souls and gives us some respite from the world outside our doors. Sometimes all we want to read is the dream of a good father and its wonderful that fandom gives us so many great fics and art of that. Canon may not give it to us but

yeah.

We can have that.

#jason todd

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scorpionyx9621 · 3 years ago

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Do you think Jason Todd fandom is kinda toxic? Because it seems like NO MATTER what DC do, there'll always be complains. Forget the bad adaptation like Titans. Even Judd Winick cannot escape the criticism with how he potrayed Robin!Jason. They just never satisfied.

SORRY, IT TOOK ME SO LONG TO RESPOND TO THIS. I just moved from Washington D.C. to Seattle, which, for my non-American friends, that's 4442km away. And I DROVE THERE ALL BY MYSELF. And now I'm trying to find new work in a new city and trying to stay mentally healthy and positive. Life is exciting but hard and scary.

*sighs*

As someone who was a fandom elder with V*ltr*n. I've seen some of the worst when it comes to fandom behavior. I'm talking people baking food with shaving razors and trying to give them to the showrunners. I'm talking leaking major plot details and refusing to take it down unless they make their ship canon (I am looking at you, Kl*nce stans) For the most part, DC Comics has had a decades-long reputation of treating their fans like trash and not caring what they think so from what I've seen, we all just grumble and complain in our corners of the internet about how we don't like how X comic portrays Jason Todd.

The challenge with Jason Todd is that he's your clinical anti-hero, the batfamily's Draco in Leather Pants, he's a jerkass woobie, and on top of all of that, he's a Tumblr sexyman. It's a perfect storm for a very fun but frustrating character to be a fan of. It doesn't help that every writer decides to re-invent the wheel every time Jason comes up so his canon lore is confusing at best and inconsistent as a standard.

I guess starting with a general brief on who Jason is and what is uniform about him with every instance he's appeared in comics/media.

Grew up in a poor family in Gotham with a dad who was a petty-mid-level criminal, and a mother who dies of a drug overdose.

Survives on the street on his own by committing petty crimes and potentially even engaging in sexual acts to keep himself alive.

Is cornered by Batman and taken in after Dick Grayson quits/is fired

Becomes the second Robin, but is known for being the harsher, more brutal Robin.

Is killed by Joker after being tortured, but somehow comes back to life and regains senses through the Lazarus Pit

Resolves himself to be better than Batman by basically being Batman but kills people.

Where there has been a lot of conflict in the fandom is the fact that Jason Todd is not a character that is written consistently. DC Comics loves to go with the narrative that Jason was "bad from the start" and was the "bad robin" when, yes, he has trouble controlling his anger, but he also still is just as invested in seeing the best of Gotham City and trying to be a positive change for the world as any other DC Comics hero.

Where I get frustrated with the fandom is its ability to knit-pick every detail of a comic they don't like while completely disregarding everything that makes the comics great and worth it to read. My example being Urban Legends. To which most people had pretty mixed reactions to. I was critical of the comic at first but as it went along I ended up really liking it. I have a feeling DC Comics went to Chip Zdarsky and told him he had 6 issues to bring Jason back into the Bat Family, and honestly he didn't do a bad job. Did it feel rushed? Absolutely. I wish there was more development of Jason and Bruce's characters and their dynamic as a whole. However, where I see a lot of people being angry and upset with Urban Legends is that they feel Zdarsky needlessly wrote Jason as an incompetent fool who needs Bruce to save him.

Whether or not that was the intention of Zdarsky is up to debate. However, and this may be controversial, but I don't think he wrote Jason Todd out of character at all. For as fearsome, intimidating, and awesome as Red Hood is. Jason is a character who is absolutely driven by his emotions. Why do you think he donned the role of Red Hood? As a response to his anger towards The Joker for killing him, and towards Bruce for not taking action against The Joker and for seemingly replacing him so quickly after he died. Jason didn't care about being the murderous Robin Hood or for being the bloody hammer of justice against N*zi's and P*d*ph*les. He only cared originally about making The Joker and Bruce pay. It wasn't until he trained under the best assassins in the world and realized most of them were horrific criminals who trafficked children and were p*dos that Talia began to realize that the teachers that she sent Jason to train under started dying horrific and painful deaths.

The entire story of the Cheer story in Batman Urban Legends was started because it finally forced some consequences upon Jason. Tyler, aka Blue Hood's father was a drug dealer who gave his supply to his wife and kids. And when Tyler's father admitted he gave the drugs to Tyler, it immediately made him fall within the self-imposed philosophical kill-list of Jason Todd. And Jason, well, he proceeds to kill Tyler's father. When this happens, Jason is in shock. Tyler's dad fit the bill to easily and justifiably be killed by Jason. We've never seen Jason having to deal with the consequences of being a murderous vigilante on a micro-level. When Jason realizes what he's done in that he's murdered Tyler's dad, he's shocked. He tells Babs the truth. He does a rational thing because he's in shock. He doesn't know what to do, he never has had to face the consequences of his actions as Red Hood and now the gravity of befriending a child as a vigilante hero who kills people just set in when he killed the father of the same child he was just introduced to.

(Oh here's a little aside because it had to be said, Jason would not have been a good father or a good mentor to Tyler and absolutely should not have been his new Robin. Jason is a man who is in his early 20's (not saying men in their early 20's can't be good fathers at all) who is a brutal serial killer using the guise of a vigilante anti-hero to let him escape most of the law. the complications of having the man who murdered your father adopt you and make you his sidekick are way too numerous for me to explain in a long-winded already heavy Tumblr essay post. There's a reason why we don't advocate for a story where Joe Chill adopted Bruce Wayne or one where Tony Zucco took in Dick Grayson.)

The next biggest argument is that they feel that Jason is giving up his guns as a means to just be invited back into the Bat-Family. To which I will tell anyone who has that argument to go actually read Urban Legends. Already have and still have that argument? Please re-read it. Don't want to? That's okay, I will paste the images from the comic where Jason specifically says that he doesn't want to give up his weapons for Bruce and his real reasoning down below since the comic isn't exactly readily accessible.

Jason gave up the guns because he felt the gravity of what he had done and knows how it'll effect Tyler. Thankfully his mom is alive and in recovery. But Tyler doesn't have a father anymore. And Jason killed Tyler's father. It may have been in accordance to Jason's philosophy, but it was a case where it blurred the lines. Jason Todd isn't a black and white character, just very dark gray. He doesn't kill aimlessly like the Joker. If you are on Jason's list you probably have done something pretty horrific, and also just in general, being in his way or being a threat to him. Mind you, in early days of Red Hood and the Outlaws (Image below) Jason almost killed 10 innocent civilians in a town in Colorado all because they saw him kill a monster. That being said, Jason isn't aimless in his kills.

(Also can we just take a moment to appreciate Kenneth Rocafort's art? DC Comics said we need to rehabilitate Jason Todd's image and Kenneth Rocafort said hold my beer: It's so SO GOOD)

That being said, the key emphasis in the story of Cheer asides from trying to introduce Jason Todd back into the Bat Family and give an actual purpose for him being there, other than him just kind of being there ala Bowser every time he shows up for Go Kart racing, Tennis, Golf, Soccer, and the Olympic games when Mario invites him, is that Jason and Bruce ultimately both want the same thing. Jason wants to be welcomed back into the family and to be loved and appreciated. Bruce want's Jason back as his son and wants to love and protect Jason. Both of these visions are shown in the last chapter of Cheer while under the effect of the Cheer Gas. It's ultimately this love and appreciation they both have for each other that helps them overcome their challenge and win.

Jason Todd is a character who, just like Bruce, has been through so much pain and so much hate in his life. The two are meant to parallel each other. While Bruce chose to see the best in everyone, giving every rogue in his gallery the option to be helped and give them a second chance, hence why he never kills, Jason has a similar view on wanting to protect the public, but he understands that some crimes are so heinous they cannot be forgiven, or that some habitual criminals are due to stay habitual criminals, and need to be put down. But at the end of the day, the two of them both try to protect people in their own ways.

I am aware that through the writings of various DC Comics authors such as Scott Lobdell and Judd Winick, the two have had a very tumultuous relationship. And rightfully so, I am by no means saying that Scott Lobdell writing an arc where Bruce literally beats Jason to within an inch of his life in Red Hood and the Outlaws, nor Judd Winick's interpretation of Under the Red Hood where Bruce throws the Batarang at Jason's neck, slicing his throat and leaving him ambiguously for dead at the end of the comic is appropriate considering DC Comics seems to be trying everything they can to integrate Jason back into the family. That being said, a lot of these writings have shaped the narrative of Jason and Bruce's relationship and have an integral effect on the way the fandom views the two. It doesn't help that Zdarsky acknowledged Lobdell's life-beating of Jason by Bruce at the very end of Cheer by having Bruce give Jason his old outfit back as a means of mending the fence between the two of them. That does complicate a lot of things in terms of how they are viewed by the fandom and helps to cause an even greater divide between the two.

Regardless, I want to emphasize the fact that Jason Todd is a part of the family of his own accord. Yes, he's quite snarky and deadpan in almost every encounter. However, Jason is absolutely a part of the family and has been for a while of his own will. There's a great moment in Detective Comics that emphasizes this. Jason cares about his family because it is his found family. Yes, they may be warry about him and use him as a punching back and/or heckle him. At the end of the day, we're debating the family dynamics of a fictional playboy billionaire vigilante whose kleptomania took the form of adopting troubled children and turning them into vigilante heroes. Jason Todd wants a family that will love and support him. This is a key definition of his character at its most basic. This was proven during the events of Cheer and is being reenforced by DC Comics every time they get the opportunity to do so.

Now, none of this is to say that I hate Judd Winick. I do not, I don't like the fact that in all of his writings of Jason, he just writes him as a dangerous psychopath, and Winick himself admits to seeing Jason as nothing much more than a psychopath. Yet Winick is the one who the majority of the fandom clings to as the one true good writer of Jason Todd because 'Jason was competent, dangerous, smart' Listen, friends, Jason is all of that and I will never deny it. However, what I love about Jason isn't that he's dangerously smart of that writers either write him as angsty angry Tumblr sexyman bait or that they write him as an infantile man child with a gun. There's a large contention of this fandom that has an obsession with Jason Todd being this vigilante gunman who is hot and sexy and while I definitely get the appeal. It is very creepy and downright disturbing that all of you hyperfixate on his use of guns and ability to be a murderer. It is creepy and I'm not necessarily here for it.

What I love about Jason Todd is that despite all of the pain, all of the heartache, all of the betrayal, and bullying, and death, and anguish. Jason Todd is one of the most loving and supportive characters in all of DC Comics. Jason has been through so much in his life, but he still chooses to love. He still chooses to see the bright side in people. Yes, he takes a utilitarian approach and chooses to kill certain villains, but at the end of the day he wants to see a better world, and he wants to be loved. It takes so much courage and so much heart to learn to love again after one has been abused or traumatized. I would not blame Jason at all if he said fuck it and just went full solo and vigilante evil. He has every right to, but he still chooses to be with the Bat Family of his own accord. That's something that I see a lot of in myself. I have been through a lot of trauma and yet I try to be a better person myself in any way that I can. It is extremely admirable of Jason to allow love back into his heart when he really doesn't need to. He kills and he protects because he has this love of society. It may have been shaped by anger and hatred, but Jason has found his place amongst people who love him and value him. I think Ducra, from Red Hood and the Outlaws put it best in the image given below.

To end this tangent, I love Jason Todd and all of his sexy dangerousness, but it's far more than that. As much as Jason may be dangerous and snarky, he loves his family without a shadow of a doubt. I look up to Jason Todd because despite all of his pain and all of his trauma, he still choses to love. Jason Todd is a character who is someone I love because despite all of his flaws and having a very toxic fandom, he still serves as a character filled with so much heart and so much passion. I wish more writers would understand that. But for now I will live with what I have. Even though the fandom may be vocal about it's hatred for his characterization, I choose to love Jason regardless because he is a character who chooses love and acceptance regardless of his pain. Jason Todd is by no means a good person in any sense of the word. He has easily killed upwards of 100 people by now. He is a character who is flawed and complex but ultimately is one who powers forwards and finds love and heart in a place from so much pain and anguish. That is what I love about Jason Todd. After all, to quote a famous undead robot superhero, "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Jason Todd chooses to love despite all of the trauma and pain and grief. Yes, he is hardened in his exterior, but inside there is a man with a lot of love to give and someone who deserves the world in my eyes.

#Long post GOD #Jason Todd #Red Hood #Bat Family #Batman #red hood and the outlaws #RHATO #RH:O #Batman Urban Legends #Red Hood Lost Days #TW Voltron #TW Death #tw murder #TW Klance #Gotta love how i am pouring my heart out onto jason AND calling out the Voltron fandom #Regardless love Jason Todd people

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nebulaleaf · 2 years ago

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apologising in advance for the insanely long submission

tbh as someone who's completed royal like twice now, your take on kasumi is absolutely true like. she just feels so.... forced? i remember the first time i played and met her, her talk sprites for certain things were WAY more detailed and more "cute" than i remember a lot of other characters' (ESPECIALLY the boys') sprites were for the same emotions. every time i came across a scene exclusive to royal, i quickly started to dread it because either she would show up and Be Cute :) or i would just spend the whole cutscene worrying she's gonna show up. you mentioned being only a few palaces deep so i'll only talk about those parts. it's insane how she's so ridiculously PRESENT, constantly throughout these first few months, and yet she has remarkably little impact on the story at all during those palaces, and barely any appearances outside of her little cutscenes (which she gets allllllll to herself!!!). i remember thinking it was heavyhanded when the original persona 5 tried to make makoto the obvious romance choice, but i'd take that back over this literally any day!!! the spoiled cherry on top was the redone casino intro sequence. the fact that she just shows up and bails you out from a handful of shadows sucks ass, especially considering the (admittedly common) jrpg thing of "no i could definitely solo all these enemies, why is this being treated as impossible odds". joker can't even have his own cool and badass solo mission to himself, kasumi HAS to steal the spotlight and drop some meaningless foreshadowing when literally no one even has a reason to care about her yet. tl;dr grrrrr kasumi 😡😡😡😡😡

NO YEAH I

SORRY TO GLOSS OVER 80% OF THIS I JUST AGREE WITH MOST OF IT AND HAVE NOTHING MUCH TO ADD, BUT THE CASINO SCENE IS WHAT REALLY PISSES ME OFF. THAT'S LIKE /THE/ BIGGEST SCENE FOR JOKER'S CHARACTERIZATION / ONE OF THE BIGGEST MOST TIGHTLY KNIT SCENES IN GENERAL. THE FLOW OF IT IS AMAZING AND IT'S ONE OF MY FAVOURITE OPENINGS FOR A GAME OF ALL TIME

SO TO GET TO ROYAL AND HAVE... THAT. SOBS. CRIES. IT'S NOT SUPER DIFFERENT FROM VANILLA BUT IT STILL FEELS WRONG YK? I hate when things retcon characters to be more incompetent to make another character look better. Maruki gives me cognitive psience vibes and i s2g if they make wakaba seem incompetent to boost him i'll lose it. OH AND, Same with her confidant opening and how she says she'll teach Joker gymnastics. Yes that's the perfect way to slot her in as a confidant and makes total sense in the sae scene and just in general, but it again feels weird going from vanilla to royal because.......... akira could already do that. easily. actually wait fuck that point lmao. even IN royal he can still all do the crazy jumps and flips WITHOUT kasumi's pointers. YOU SEE HIM FLIPPING OFF THE GRAPPLING HOOK? ig the pointers would be handy but . yeesh yeesh yeesh.

#long post #nebroyale #anon you're based #come back when i get further in royal i wanna talk to you #p5ram

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preraphaelitebimbo · 4 years ago

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the crows as high schoolers in 2021:

kaz: saw joker (2019) once and it became his entire personality. mall goth vibe sort of but in all ap classes. the kind of kid who wears three-piece suits to history class. very very into the smiths. like alarmingly into the smiths

inej: captain of like 3 varsity sports teams. absolutely a social justice warrior queen but in a i'll-punch-your-lights-out-if-you-catcall-women way and a bake sales and posters way at the same time. probably knits her own sweaters (black of course)

nina: student council mock trial prom queen theater kid who brings in chocolate chip cookies to homeroom for no reason at all. gets into an ivy league and everyone is surprised (even though they shouldn't be)

matthias: rotc kid. need i say more. carries around a gallon of water and drives the ugliest ford f-150 you've ever seen. always eating some odd food like a whole raw potato. once he offered you some because you forgot your lunch and you politely declined.

jesper: probably got suspended once for putting a cow in the principal's office and always asks to copy your homework but when you want to skip and go to panera or whatever he's the one to call and you always have the best time

wylan: lowkey brilliant stem kid but not in the jerky way. probably has an embarrassing nickname from freshman year that stuck around. whenever he comes up in conversation everyone's like "wylan right? nicest person ever. would marry him right now if he asked me."

#six of crows #soc #crooked kingdom #the grisha trilogy #grishaverse #shadow and sonic #kaz brekker

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dindooku · 4 years ago

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As a young student studying Criminology, Gotham was the perfect place to study the thoery of crime. But, that didnt come without it’s own risks. Without your intention, your life becomes intertwined with another’s; a life you had so vehemently tried to repress - and now it was within your grasp; the opportunity held upon a golden pedestal, just waiting for you to take it. In your own desperation to fend off the demons tormenting your soul, can you overcome the very thing your swore against? Or will you succumb to the darkness? When had being bad ever felt so good?

Rating: M/E (swearing, triggers, panic attack (not explicitly said) - alcohol abuse (OC isn’t an addict but doesn’t display healthy relationships with alcohol) - please read the tags. this fic is going to be very dark and twisted so please be warned in regards to further chapters

word count: ~5k

You needed this.

By fucking god you needed this.

You could blame it on your studies, your recent move to Gotham city to study your Masters in Criminology; the perfect setting really. And you could blame it on your stressful move; the house that you're renting not being anything like the photos you viewed online - the water-damaged walls and the odd-looking array of bullet holes in the front room, and maybe even the questionable red stain spotting along the cream-turned-brown carpet towards the bathroom.

But most of all it was this.

Moving to Gotham was the worst-best thing you have ever done. It'd do leaps and bounds for your research and personal evolution, but it was also becoming more and more apparent by the day as to why the little flat you lived in was so cheap; having an address with anything to do with Hell on it was probably a good indication.

Flat 221B, 36th, Hell's Kitchen, Gotham.

Yeah. That's why you fucking needed this.

It was an absolute shithole. You'd only been here for a week and you had experienced more crime than you had been privy to when studying at home. It was a catch 22, move to the most dangerous city you can think of and get 1-1 experience in crime, collecting data for your dissertation; or stay at home, go to a safe city and become some pansy police officer who refused to get their hands dirty.

You were always one for taking risks.

So, as you downed your last home-made margarita and stuffed your bits and pieces into your shoulder bag, you were off out the door.

Tonight was a field day; an excuse to go out and get absolutely trollied all in the name of science. It was just getting late, the sun had set a few hours ago and the Gotham nightlife brought the streets to life; ironically, considering the insanely high murder rates. Some would call you mad, a single, young, attractive woman walking unfamiliar streets at this time of night, in Gotham. And you supposed you were. See, the only reason you were studying crime was out of pure fascination. Fascination, yes. The theory of it, really - how the human mind comprehended such decisions and why you lived in such a society - who branded these rules? Desperation was a word you liked to play with. Its meaning subjective depending on your own reality, really. You had always seen the world differently... criminals weren't inherently bad people to you, they were just often misunderstood, brandished, acting out of desperation at someone else's greed. Obviously, you had the complete and utter fucking mentalists, but even then you could find an argument in their favour - like the Joker; he was misunderstood, torn and thrown around like a rag doll until he made a stand, a particularly violent one, but a stand nonetheless; a stand out of desperation to be heard, to be understood. And deep down you resonated with his actions, being driven to the extremes to be listened to.

You knew exactly how he felt. You had the scars to prove it.

Enough on that, though; you're here for a good time, right? Right. You're going out to forget about the stingy shithole you'll be returning to once the night bleeds into morning, to forget about the mountain of case studies you've yet to work through. It was all a bit overwhelming; thus solidifying your burning need to procrastinate and forget about it all, and what better way to do it than get black-out drunk in a bar you've never been to before?

You weren't an alcoholic by any means, you didn't rely on the sweet burn to see you through the days, but that didn't mean you couldn't revel in the double-ended spear of its toxicity - drinking so much to forget, but its effects only temporary. You were a student, after all, you had to live up to the stereotype?

You scoffed at the thought, murmuring out loud, "Fucking hell." Ok maybe you needed to slow down a little bit... you put the hipflask back in its pouch whilst you continued to walk to your third bar of the night.

You were on a pub crawl of sorts, embarking on your own little quest to scout out the best club in town for further investigation. You were just balancing on that fuzzy tightrope between bliss and blindness, the perfect haze to blur out the dangers of the night and warm your skin despite the bitter cold. You were in your own little world it seemed, and as a bright neon sign for a secluded back alley club came into view, you knew you had to investigate.

"Card." Came the burly voice in front of you. You had to crane your neck up to meet their eyeline, trying your best to pull a serious face and not laugh at the imaginary comedy sketch playing out in your mind.

"Card, you mean ID?" You ask, one eyebrow furrowing in question. You had all the relevant stuff, and deep down you'd be offended if they didn't ask, you'd only just turned 21, a few months ago in fact.

"No, Entry Card, VIP." He reiterates, crossing his hands in front of his chest. You scoff at the idea that a place like this required VIP cards to get in. 'Really? They'd have to pay me to not go in, ha' you humour to yourself, finding the joke a little too funny in your drunken state.

"What's so funny?" The man asks again, a bit more aggressively this time, like he knew you were mocking him in your head. And you were. You knew you shouldn't push your luck, his size easily outmatching yours. But fuck it.

"Nothin sweetheart, just surprised 'tis all," You tease, rolling your eyes as you put your ID away and prepare to leave the queue.

The bouncer can't help himself, "Surprised?"

"Mmm, yes, surprised, or disappointed? You choose." You smirk as you turn away, hips swaying in a drunken swagger that you would never normally possess. Something about you tonight just screamed fucking goddess - and 'don't fuck with me else it will be the last thing you do' - you didn't know why; you were in no state to start a bar fight and win. Maybe it was the tight, black faux leather flares and wrap around corset that filled you with a placebo pill of confidence; but by god did you have a stunning poker face, one that seemed to have caught the eyes of someone other than the bouncer you were antagonising.

A whistle stopped you in your tracks.

You stood on the edge of the pavement, back to the club, your hair flowing slightly in the wind. You tilted your head slightly towards the sound, your minimal movement the only sign of your acknowledgement. You really hated catcallers. It was one of the few things that would really wind you up, your short and temperate anger fizzing and popping under the surface.

"Let her in." Came a new voice. You turned around, eyes landing on an unfamiliar face. He was a tall guy, with an ice-white buzzcut and a sculpted face sporting scars; new and old - his brows knit into a harsh line and his piercing gaze instructing you with just his silent intention. You decide to play along, smirking back at him as you turn and saunter your way back to the entryway. As you walk past the bouncer you position yourself against him, slighting a faint touch of your body to his, sure to leave a whisper of your perfume lingering in the air as a sort of poisonous parting gift - a nicely packaged fuck you.

Your pupils instantly dilated to the sight laid before you. Ok, you take it back. This was no dingey club. Your skin was coated in an inciting shade of red; the coloured theme of the club. It was stimulating, the atmosphere - reigniting that previous cockiness you had been secretly harbouring through the night and twisting it into something still unfamiliar to you, the inner thrumming residing behind your naval indistinguishable from the music reverberating around the club.

The man who had whistled at you had disappeared, so you took this as your opportunity to grab a couple more drinks, to scout the club, of course...

You sauntered over to the bar and after a moment of getting yourself comfortable on the stool, locked eyes with the bartender. They didn't hold the same ferocity as the man before, and you felt your outer guard falling slightly at the soft tones lacing their eyes, their general aura giving off nothing inherently dangerous. They walk over, one hand wiping away at a newly washed pint glass with a rag.

"What can I get you?" They ask politely. They seemed young, too young in fact to be working behind the bar, but now wasn't the time for serious investigating - you highly doubted he was underage, just in fact sporting an inherent babyface. You smile sweetly back at the bartender as you purr your reply, "Whiskey on the rocks, please."

"Oh? Honey that's strong?" He questions, an eyebrow furrowing at your request. You giggle at his innocence.

"Mhm, make it a double." You smirk, and he only reciprocated, pouring a double and a little extra.

"You're new 'round here, aren't you?" He states as he passes over your drink, and you nod as you take a sip, soon following up with a further reply, "That obvious?"

"No, I just would've remembered a pretty face like yours if you'd been here before." He flirts, leaning down onto the bar, elbows sitting comfortably on the dark mahogany surface - it was a tactical move, you knew it, he was getting closer to you by the minute and you noticed his blatant interest the moment he locked eyes with you. You'd play along for a little while, it was good practice anyway, investigating.

You smile before replying, a brief pause between sips to sell your contemplation, "I can tell you're not one for wasting time..." You pause, implying silently for his name.

"Alex." He smirks, holding his hand out to you. You shake it, surprised by the dexterity. But as you thought things were going well, he pulls away sharply, his gaze dropping from you as he scurries back to the other side of the bar nervously. Your face scrunches in confusion, wondering exactly what you'd done wrong.

A firm hand around your waist answers your question.

The presence of another behind you makes you tense momentarily, their forward nature catching you off guard. A hand swirls around the small of your back, stopping at the natural curve of your waist, their palm sitting comfortably in the dip as their fingers latched into your exposed skin. The grip is tight, possessive - possessive for someone you didn't even know the face of. Your nervousness quickly turns into a tizzy, frustrated at the being behind you and their audacity to hold you so. You twist, turning your head to meet the side of their face, eyes rough with your bubbling anger.

The sharp-edged, stubbly profile of a man greets you, a little too close for comfort.

"Alex, two of whatever she's ordered on me, 'kay?" The man says. You roll your eyes at his cockiness, picking up your whiskey glass and downing the rest of the hot honey, burning your throat in the process - but you invited the pain, it's scorch momentarily masking the uninvited heat that was building elsewhere.

"I can order my own drinks, thank you." You scoff, sliding off of the barstool and away from his grasp, picking up your bag so that you can leave.

The man scoffs, using one hand to bring the red-tinted shades sitting on his nose sliding down, tilting his head to give you a better look. You turn and face him at the wrong time it seems, interrupting his very blatant scan of your form. You scoff at his actions, turning harshly to go, muttering to him as you walk past him and towards the exit, "In your fucking dreams."

Yeah - you tell him, girl. Too fucking right, that's what he gets for...that. Maybe you were overreacting, but the way your skin heated like wildfire at his unexpected touch, the way the previously dormant thrumming deep within your stomach tinged with a spark of something you hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling that was unfortunately not one of pleasure to you - you panicked. You'd never reacted like this, but something about his presence was just dominating your senses and you had to get away, to clear your head; maybe it was the alcohol, you didn't know - you didn't care, you just wanted fresh air and five minutes to get whatever the fuck has come over you out of your system.

"I see manners are not your chosen language," The man jokes, but he doesn't bother hiding the icy bitter frustration at your rejection. But you carry on, moving away from his ensuing footsteps.

"Neither are they yours," You retort, turning the corner towards the back exit. But you don't make it to the back exit. The scarred man from before moves from the shadows and grips your upper arm, swivelling you in one motion to face your incessant assailant. You don't give him the privilege of your attention, instead choosing to stare wide-eyed at the ground. Your bubbling anger evolves into something more pertinent, more feral, "What the fuck is it with you guys?" You spit, trying your best to yank your arm free. It was no good, every time you moved his grip on you tightened.

"That's no way to speak to a kind gentleman, is it darling?" The stubble-haired man chides, waving a hand in a dramatic swish as he talks.

"You and gentlemen is a bit of a reach, don't you think? And kind too, don't flatter yourself sweetheart -- hey! Let me go!" You scorn, yanking away harder. Your heart was starting to race now, the phantom ghost of familiar brutish hands that had hurt you before were blurring with your present reality. You couldn't go through that again, no. You'd moved away for a reason, even if it were disguised by your University Degree, the real reason was to get away from him.

Your change in body language seemed to shock both men, and soon the bearded man orders the other to let you go.

"Zsasz, let her go." He says sternly. As soon as his grip is off of you, you practically run to the bathroom, locking yourself in the stall. You close your eyes. You were trying so, so hard to help yourself, but it was just not to be. The last 12 months come crashing down on you, and you were helpless against the murderous gravity of it all. Your panic quickly turned into terror, and no matter how hard you tried to suppress the overbearing feelings blistering your heart, their clutch was now embedded into your conscious and they were working their way out, ripping and tearing, leaving nothing but devastation in its wake. It was brutish, the power of it all; how after all this time those short few moments held such a crippling power over you, a power no matter how hard you tried to overrule, decimated you each and every time. You're so caught up in your emotions that you don't hear the lock on the bathroom click, nor do you hear the faint rustling of a velvet suit making its way towards your stall.

However, you do hear the tap-tap of leather-coated knuckles against the door.

"Fuck off," You spit, not even attempting to mask the raspy panic between each word. The other person didn't say anything, and silence engulfed the room momentarily, only the occasional piercing sounds of your choked panic ripping the hazy-yellow neon light animating the bathroom. The clink of glass to wood brought your head up, your attention distracted and now upon the glass of whiskey being slid underneath the door.

"A peace offering," A familiar voice clarifies. You snatch up the drink and down it in one, desperate for a distraction; a controllable discomfort. You cough roughly at the strength, the new soreness from your rasped panic mixing distastefully with the burn from the alcohol - note taken; don't ever do that again.

You take a second to let the burn cool before speaking, "Thanks...for the drink."

He doesn't bother with a reply.

Another few moments pass and you feel you have yourself under control. You take in a deep breath and straighten your clothes out as you stand, brushing the stray hairs from your face and trying your best to look presentable despite the absence of a mirror. You unlock the door and move to step out, hand holding the empty glass out aimlessly for the other man to take.

He doesn't take it.

You furrow your brows and pause in your movements, and it is only now you chance a look into his eyes for the first time. The moment your eyes meet his, you regret it. Not because you're scared or frightened, no; you regret it because you know those are eyes you will forever see in your dreams. This man's eyes told you similar tales of the navy shores from home that you had often resided to in search of peace, the lighter hues telling tales of the midwinter sky you would doze under; and the occasional slash of cobalt reflected the darker depths of his soul, mirroring the light of unnamed stars. His eyes painted your soul in a colour you'd yet to see, a colour only he could grace you with, and it made you weak.

You were transfixed, held stationary by his unspoken authority. He raised an eyebrow at you, his understanding all too clear. You broke from your haze and scuffed, a hot blush creeping over your tear-stained cheeks.

Embarrassed couldn't even cover it.

"Fuck," you whispered, wiping away once again at the drying streaks of once warm tears on your cheeks. "FUCK!" You shout louder this time, chastising yourself as you come back to reality. What the fuck are you doing? You're stronger than this?

"How about we fix you another drink, hmm?" He says. You chuckle as you pinch the bridge of your nose, the heavy daze from the whiskey starting to mount its assault on your senses. Fuck it, you came here to get blackout drunk, so you're going to get fucking blackout drunk - for free by the looks of it.

You roll your shoulders and pick your head up, holding it high. "Sure, ugh--?" You say, holding out your hand to shake his as you hint for his name.

He replies with a smirk before turning you towards the door, catching himself before he places a hand at the small of your back, "Roman, Roman Sionis."

"Well, Roman, how about a pitcher or two?" You challenge, "Ever drunk with a student before?"

He didn't reply instantly, but you didn't let him, storming confidently out of the bathrooms and to the bar. You honed in on Alex, and at first he looked excited to see you, but as you approached he saw the darkness in your eyes and instantly knew you were'nt to be messed with. He poured a double shot of Vodka and Coke as quick as he could; it didn't even reach the counter before its contents were emptied by yours truly and slammed back onto the mahogany.

"Another." You growl, and Alex doesn't hesitate, the next drink landing in your hands within moments. You sink this one like the last, face maintaining the deadly glare it had held since you entered the room. Roman was soon at your side, marvelling at your drinking abilities; it was scary actually, how you managed to down your alcohol with such ease, expressionless. His grin faltered on your fourth shot and he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, breaking your anamatronic trance and stealing your attention to him; that's better - Roman always got what he wanted, and he wanted you. He raised an eyebrow at your anger, wondering how he could capitalise on this and turn the situation in his favour. But for some reason, he hesitates; the thought of being cruel to you made his skin shiver in an unpleasent way - oddly. See, Mr Sionis was a criminal, a violent, feral monster who, if he did not get his own way, or was undermined or disrespected, made sure that those were the last things said person would inflict - for disrespecting the King of Gotham's underground was a penalty punishable by death. A slow, torturous death, courtesy of his own cynical ministrations. He was the Black Mask, and the Black Mask felt no mercy. Why should he sympathise when he could not receive such pleasures? Others can't have what he cannot, that simply is not fair, its preposterous. And like the narcissistic bastard he was, he reasoned with this part of himself, convincing the little golden figure sat perched on his right shoulder that he was doing the nice thing by not kidnapping you right now and keeping you for himself. Something about you was different, he could sense it - he recognised the brutal blaze swirling in the depths of your eyes. They reflected his own - murderous. And that's when the little red devil on his left shoulder made their attendance known, reinforcing Romans suspicions. This girl had the devil in her, the same devil within him.

"What?" You asked, incredulously. Roman had been staring at you for longer than was comfortable, and you knew he was deep in thought over something. His eyes flicked like an old VHS tape, his physical thoughts and their direction reflecting in the depths of his scrutiny over you.

Roman grinned at his plan. He had to have you, but he knew now that forcing himself was not an option - he had to wait for you to come to him. And what better way than to get someones attention by no longer wanting it? It was the ultimate power play he thought, his excitement at the idea of you being his under your own intention ignited a blistering fire of self admiration within him - Roman Sionis was a fucking genius he thought, no, he knew.

"Nothing Darling, ciao." He replied smugly, his lips stressing a shit-eating grin at his own devious plan. He waltzed away from you to find Zsazs, desperate to let him in on his incredible plan.

You scoff at your dismissal. The fuck was all that about?

Rolling your eyes, your turn to Alex. You take a second to allow the room to catch up with you, "Did you see that?" You ask Alex, moving your head slightly to the side in a nod towards the now retreated Roman. Alex scoffs, placing a pint of water on the bar in front of you. You cut him a look of displeasure but knew you should probably slow down if you wanted to get back safe tonight.

"That guy, my dear, is Mr Sionis." Alex said, lifting his brows as at your confused look.

"Mr Sionis...right, and he is...?" You say, waving your hands in a confused manner.

Alex looked stunted, but continued to serve a few orders before continuing his conversation with you, "Well, Mr Sionis is the owner of this club."

Your eyes widen at the realisation, "The owner?" You mutter.

"Mhm." Alex hummed, amused.

But the conversation took a new direction, a direction Alex was not expecting.

"Tell me about this Mr Sionis, Alex." You murmur, gliding into your soft, convincing voice you used to get information about men.

"Well, he's the owner of this club, and my boss. He pays well." Alex starts, trying his best to close of the conversation.

"Hmm, yes; but what about him? What type of person is he?"

"I don't think--,"

"Alex," you growl, darkly. Your face dropped the sweet smile it had held before and Alex visibly winced. He knew he couldn't say too much, and he didn't know much either, but he also didn't know you, and if living in Gotham had any perks; he knew those eyes - they were the eyes of someone you did not fuck with if you wanted to keep breathing. So, Alex moved across the bar, leaning in on his elbows so he could whisper to you over the loud music; where only the two of you could be heard.

"He, he has a particular personality - colourful, bold,-" Alex starts, his eyes shifting past your figure a few times to make sure he wasnt being watched, "-Possessive. He gets what he wants - always. And he will do anything to do so, there's no limits with the guy. You fuck up, you're done."

"Done?" You whisper back, leaning in closer to Alex, only a hairs breath away.

Alex stalls, trying to find a way to answer your question without sinking himself to that fate. But he doesn't get the chance to, as you're pulling away and turning towards an unknown figure behind you.

The next few moments were a blur.

The next thing Alex knew, there was a face being buried into the hard mahogany of the bar, and the loud crack of the mans nose being broken shook Alex from his trance.

You moved so effortlessly, your movements only so perfect through hours of repetition. You didn't even stumble, and with the effectiveness of your ruminations, practically no attention was drawn to the now escalating scene at the bar.

"On what fucking planet is it ok to grab anyone like the way you just groped me, huh?" You whispered into your assailants ear. They whined and coughed, shifting under the mounting pressure you were placing at their shoulder. You had grabbed them by the arm the moment you felt their hand sliding across your ass, and the quick pinch had you seeing red - moving through muscle memory and destabilising the man by using his own weight against him. He was now bent over the bar, head buried in broken glass, his shoulder ready to pop at any moment. He was at your mercy and your blood turned primitive. You'd had enough of creepy perverts tonight.

"The fuck is wrong with you lady? It wasn't anythin' bad," The man groans, blood pouring from his nose and staining the white shirt he was wearing.

You pressed harder, muffling the pop of his shoulder joint and his cry of pain with a loud laugh, "Say, Frank - how bout you walk out this club now under your own premise before I have you wheeled out in a bodybag?" You sigh.

"The fuck, how'd you know my name was Frank?" he growled, grunting at the pain.

"Not only are you incredibly rude, but you're also rather obnoxious too, you fucking loser." You sneer, shifting his dislocated shoulder further round. He screamed, but only briefly, as you soon shut him up with a face full of glass.

"Fuck off, Frank, and don't come back."

You release him and he instantly turns and scampers away like the injured hyena he was. Rolling your eyes you turn back to Alex, who's eyes are wide with shock.

"Alex..." You mumble, and he gulps, his eyes searching yours out of panic over what you'll do next, "Just fix me a drink and I’ll be off. Sorry for the mess." You say calmly as if nothing happened. And that's the way it seemed, as no one even batted an eyelid to the violent display from moments ago. Alex says nothing but does as he's told, making you up an extra strong rum and coke. You down the drink and place the glass down.

"Where's the emergency exit?" You ask Alex, and he points to the door behind the bar. You smile, sliding him a small tip - hush money - and exit the building.

You made it about five minutes down the road before things began to get weird - real weird. This wasnt the same type of blurry you got from alcohol, this was colourful, dazy.

"Fuck - that fucker drugged me!" You sneer, words merging together as you propped yourself up against a brick wall. You tried to run over the events in your head, wondering where you tripped up. And then it hit you, the pint glass - when you leaned in to talk to Alex, he’d slipped something in the drink.

"Fu-cckk" You mumble, eyes incredibly droopy now.

You needed to get back to your flat, safety - yes.

But you didn't, as when you tried to move your legs they gave out from under you. This was an incredibly dangerous situation for anyone to be in, especially a young woman on the streets of Gotham. But the drugs worked quickly against your system, and before you had any time to prepare yourself for your inevitable demise, you blacked out

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samwrights · 5 years ago

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Pining After You pt. 2 [hc]

Anon requested a part 2 to Pining After You featuring Tendou, Iwa, and Bokuto 😍😍😍 this one has slightly mature themes so please read with caution!

Tendou;

Tendou must have some ridiculous masochistic side to be so ridiculously head over heels for you.

Which he totally does but we ain’t here for kinks.

Being Tendou’s best friend was really easy for you, even if no one else really wanted to be, he was funny and kind and you really didn’t mind his quirks and oddities.

For the last three years, he was practically glued to your hip. He’d walk you to class, platonically holding your hand before telling you that he would see you at lunch or be back to walk you home from school.

Literally everyone in the third year, and probably second as well, knew that Tendou loved you. Like hardcore in love with you.

He knew the basics like what your favorite color was, your favorite foods, movies you loved. He also knew your fears, and declared to try to protect you from them, even if they weren’t fears in which he could do that.

Tendou even knew more intimate details, like how you preferred to hold hands with your right one or that you always needed a blanket over your feet when the two of you cuddled up and watched a movie together.

Homework and study dates were surprisingly your guys’ thing. Whenever you felt the need to get out of the house, a trip to a local coffee shop was a must—Tendou knows your order by heart. No matter how complicated it may be.

Dinner dates were also a big favorite for the both of you. Being in high school, it was hard to afford the finer things in life, but when you could splurge on a nice meal, you and Tendou were all for it. Complete with purposely ordering different meals so you could share with the other.

Literally, all of Shiratorizawa was confused as to how you two weren’t already dating???

“It’s platonic, and it’s rather cute.” Was always Tendou’s response.

“No, you idiot, it’s one sided.” Probably Semi Semi said this, but everyone has said some variation of it.

When it came to asking you about this relationship, you were so goddamn oblivious you swore that even Ushiwaka wanted to ram his head into a wall for Tendou’s sake.

“What do you mean we’re dating?? He doesn’t like me like that?? He’s always held my hand and walked me to class since the first time we ever talked??”

💀💀💀 RIP TENDOU.

Poor boy laid it on so thick that you literally couldn’t even tell.

Y’all were a lost cause.

N e ways, the two of you are walking home from one of your dinner dates on a Saturday night, holding hands and shit.

Tendou, in a very Tendou Satori fashion, stops everything he’s doing, letting go of you when he knows that you aren’t walking forward without him.

“We graduate next week.” His voice is kinda off, no bubbly chirp or teasing drawl.

“I know, Satori, we’re in the same year ya dork.”

“And we’re going to be going away to Uni.” Okay, Tendou playing captain obvious? Weird.

“Tendou, we’re going to the same university, we decided this two years ago.” The collective pronoun sends a pang through his heart and, whether it was out of love or pain, he was unsure.

He had never been so unsure of anything in his life. Not loving you, no. He would never regret that.

“What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

ASDFHGKSLWNTI.

Despite all of your intimate moments, Tendou never put his lips anywhere near you, a vow you never knew he made to himself. He couldn’t—not without agreeing to throw himself off the deep end.

“Wait, what?” Instead of asking the question again, Tendou takes a step closer to you, closing the gap by wrapping his arms around your waist. You respond by reaching up on your tiptoes and holding his cheeks in the palm of your hands.

“I’ve always loved you.”

Iwaizumi;

My baby Iwa!! I’m gonna destroy him :-)

He questions himself every single day, how and why the fuck he fell in love with someone on the “meme team”.

The meme team being you, Makki, and Mattsun.

By second year, the three of you were so tight knit, it was natural that you would always be at their practices and matches.

Everybody thought you were dating one or both of them because of how protective they were of you.

You were an absolute joker. Sarcastic, dirty, walking troller—he has no idea how his crush even started.

Yes he does. It started with jokes during second year, when he overheard you saying that if Makki got a service ace during practice you’d suck his dick.

You were joking, your friends knew you were joking, but Iwaizumi went home that evening, wondering if you had followed through with it and couldn’t help but be jealous.

This went on for nearly everyday for a year, slowly killing him on the inside. The laughter that bubbled past your lips when you were with them, the way you would smile in pride when they scored a point. His favorite was when your friends would pick you up and carry you chest to chest when they won a match, parading you around with your ass juttng out just a little bit as your legs wrapped around their torso.

Why couldn’t he be the one carrying you? The reason you were smiling and laughing? He hated that he wanted to be the reason.

One particular practice, Iwaizumi had enough of it. His game was off entirely—every spike he made was either out of bounds or blocked by his teammates.

One of his spikes accidentally hit you in the face.

ASKLRNGKFOHMYGODHEHITYOUINTHEFACE.

Immediately, he rushed over to your side, his face redder than a cherry as he stuttered out an apology. “I am so sorry, are you—“

But you were laughing. That angelic, chime of a harp that was your laughter slowly transitioned into a bellowing guffaws. Why were you laughing?! Your nose was bleeding! “If you wanted to talk to me so bad, you could have done literally anything but that.”

Makki and Mattsun are in the background howling like hyenas.

Ever the gentleman he was, Iwaizumi walks you towards the athletic trainers office, trying to ignore what you had said to him moments ago. But you weren’t gonna let it go, hell no.

“An unforgettable first date.” You tried again, knowing full well your fellow third year was always staring and gawking at you. He wasn’t exactly subtle.

“This isn’t a time for jokes, your nose could be broken.” But Iwaizumi was loving the attention right now. Although, he couldn’t help but feel that you were treating him the same way you treated your friends, causing his envy to rise again.

“It’s only fair. I broke your heart, you break my nose.”

“What???” 💀💀💀

“Bro, you’re so obvious. Good to know our plan to make you jealous worked.” It. Was. PlaNED?! Iwaizumi was a murky, muddled mess of emotions—angry, jealous, embarrassed were only a few he could name off hand.

“So you knew.”

“You’re not exactly subtle, baby.” The pet name succeeds in flustering Iwaizumi even more, even as the two of you sat in the trainer’s office with an ice pack over your nose.

“So why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I wanted to tease you.” The salacious grin on your lips doesn’t go past him this time.

“I’ll show you teasing.”

Bokuto;

Bokuto weakness #38: you.

This particular weakness, Akaashi noticed, sent Bokuto through a wave of emotions, rather than immediately switching into his emo mode. Perhaps he would never understand it, but he was still able to discern which part of the wave Bokuto was in.

If his sole focus on you, Bokuto would be overwhelmingly touchy no matter who he was in contact with. Unfortunately for the setter, that usually meant him but he was used to it by now.

From what Akaashi could gather, it was because all he wanted was to physically touch you in some way, shape, or form and he had no way of doing so, so he settled on touching everybody else.

He would start getting loud—louder than normal, louder than thunder. Perhaps Bokuto thought that his volume would somehow transcend other noises in the vicinity and make you hear him, wherever you were. Didn’t matter if he was in the classroom or at the gym, he wanted to be heard.

When he decided that you didn’t, Bokuto’s emo side would come out. His mind would begin to spiral, thinking of how he would never have a chance with you and he was forever cursed to never have you by his side. Unfortunately, Akaashi could only fix this during matches, as you were present as a member of the cheerleading squad.

“Bokuto, she’s watching you.” Whether you actually were or not didn’t matter, because Bokuto would immediately bring his A game. He could never look to see if you were, because he was afraid that would make his feelings obvious for you.

It was when Akaashi wasn’t there that served to be the problem, as nobody could stop his spiraling.

It came as no surprise to him that he developed a crush on you. You were happy, upbeat, and didn’t have a mean bone in your body. Everyone else thought it was just because you were a cheerleader, but Bokuto wasn’t shallow.

It was your kindness that drew him in like the warmth and glow of a candle, or like having a hot chocolate on a cold, winter evening. Bokuto wanted that warmth in his life. But he also knew it was an unattainable dream since he didn’t even know how to strike up a conversation with you.

It wasn’t until the Fukurodani sports awards ceremony that was held at the end of the year to commemorate and celebrate all of the school teams that he had even been closer than 10 feet to you.

The event was held every year as a send off to the third year captains, with the cheerleaders walking, arms linked at the elbow, with each captain to present them to the school in addition to the celebration of their achievements. In every cheerleaders free arm was a bouquet of flowers that they were to give to their respective partners.

You just so happened to be paired up with Bokuto.

He swears up and down that his heart stopped multiple times that night, or he thought the entire event was a figment of his imagination.

“Being presented by second year cheer squad member, [lastname] [name], is captain of the Fukurodani Volleyball Club, Bokuto Koutarou!” He deadass didn’t know you were only a second year

The smile you gave when everybody began clapping for him made Bokuto melt. Like a proud girlfriend.

“Congratulations, Bokuto.” You handed him the bouquet while the two of you were still on the stage, the principal listing off the volleyball team’s accomplishments.

He couldn’t stop the word vomit from coming you.

“Will you go on a date with me?” He didn’t know how to start a normal conversation, so he just skipped straight to the point. By now, the principal’s announcements had stopped, the venue had gone quiet, and everybody in the room had heard Bokuto’s question.

...

The silence was deafening and all he wanted to do was bury his head in the nearest trash can. Why why WHY DID HE JUST SAY THAT—

“Pick me up at 8 on Saturday?” The volleyball team, his team, began slow clapping until every sports team had joined in with various screams of support coming from voices he wasn’t familiar with.

Unsure of what to do with himself, he started poking your cheek. “Is this real life or am I dreaming?”

You could only laugh before dragging him off the stage so the principal could continue with the ceremony. “It’s very real, Bokuto.” The warmth that he was desperate to feel suddenly filled his chest like hot wax.

“I didn’t think you even knew I existed.” He blurts out.

“What, you think it’s a coincidence that I was your partner for tonight?”

Wanna see a specific character? Or a different head cannon? Want to see a whole story?

Send in requests!

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kyber-crystal · 4 years ago

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A-Z List of Fluff

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: An alphabetic list of yours and Steve’s dynamic relationship.

Warnings: none, mainly just fluff and very very slight mentions of violence but that’s it :)

A/N: I combined these prompts from multiple people, so credits to all of them <3 @goldenhour-goldenboy . this is a friends to lovers trope :) Some letters are repeated. bcI wanted to add in an extra concept. This is prolly gonna flop bc its not a traditional oneshot, but I wanted to publish something for y’all while I’m editing my WIPs

A= Attractive (What do they find attractive about the other?)

Steve loves everything about you, but the two things that really drew him to you was your smile and compassion. Your smile and laugh were extremely infectious - nobody could stay mad for long when you were cracking a grin. Despite having been through hell in the past: overcoming many hardships and enduring countless difficult wars, you managed to find it in your heart to keep faith in humanity and always held your head up high no matter what. You were always respectful and kind to everyone around you, and he greatly admired that.

B= Best memory (What is the best memory they have with you?)

One weekend after a particularly rough mission in Eastern Europe, Fury forced the Avengers on a team vacation to Bora Bora for two weeks. During that time, you and Steve had grown extremely close - taking daily sunset walks, surfing together, and swimming with dolphins. It was a jam-packed fourteen days to remember. He loved seeing you genuinely happy as you got to relax.

C= Cuddle (How do they cuddle?)

You’d moved in to DC together after the Battle of New York, and often times you spent evenings on the couch eating takeout while wrapped up in each others’ arms, so cuddling is almost second nature for him. He’ll come up behind you on nights you’re in charge of cooking for the team, wrapping his arms around you and nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as you prepared dinner. He loves to cuddle and he’s built perfectly for them. His muscular figure and warm arms make the best cuddles. Sometimes, he’ll randomly come into your room in the middle of the night and snuggle up against you. You’ll wake up in the morning to see him holding you tightly like a koala, an arm draped protectively around your torso and his legs entangled with yours. The team likes to tease you about your close-knit relationship and as in love with him as you were with each other, you kept trying to deny it in fears of those feelings not being returned.

D= Dreams (What do they want to do in life?)

Steve is a very determined and headstrong man, with the desire to fight for his country and its citizens having been ingrained in the back of his head since he was a mere teenager. He doesn’t know when he’ll retire and give up the title of Captain America, but for the time being, he wants to keep doing what he’s doing. He loves his job and his teammates - he wouldn’t trade them for the world. But he knows he’d like to marry you and start a family with you someday.

E= Everything (You are my ___ (e.g my life, my world…))

“You are my infinity.”

F= Feelings (When did they know they were falling in love?)

You were on a quad mission with him, Sam, Bucky, and Wanda to take down a Hydra base stationed in northern Serbia. Steve was stuck in a fistfight with one of the agents and you could see another approaching from behind to ambush him, and you knew if you didn’t step up and do something, that he would die. So without a moment’s hesitation you ran into the crossfire, taking the bullet that was meant for him, straight to your stomach.

As upset as he was with you for getting injured, he couldn’t help the feeling of pride and awe in his chest at your unwavering willingness to lay your life on the line for those you loved; your selflessness.

And he knew in that moment, he’d fallen for you, and fallen hard.

G= Gentle (Are they gentle? If so, how?)

Steve’s naturally a gentle person (though he’s an absolute beast on the battlefield, with those skills of his) and everyone on the team can clearly see he has a big soft spot for you. He’s always extremely gentle and very polite: holding the door open for you, putting his hand out in front of the elevator doors so you can step in, and makes sure not to squish you too tightly because his bear hugs can be quite strong. Essentially, the man is a giant puppy.

H= Hand/Hold (How do they like to hold? How do they like to hold hands?)

He absolutely loves holding hands. It’s been a frequent habit of his - both platonic and non-platonic. He’ll take your hand in his and intertwine your fingers together, and when he senses that you’re anxious about a situation, he’ll begin rubbing circles across your palm to calm you down. Like always, the team goes nuts whenever you two do so much as make eye contact, because you’re acting like a couple but aren’t doing anything about it.

I= Impression (First Impression)

From the moment you first met, you and Steve were attached at the hip. Having been 27 when he came out of the ice, and you being just a couple years behind him at 24, you were assigned to help him adjust. He remembers seeing you walk in with your radiant smile and your head held high, greeting him politely. He particularly liked how patient you were with him, taking him around the city and updating him on all there was to know, answering all his questions. By the time you both joined the Avengers Initiative, and the Battle of New York came and went, you were practically inseparable.

I= I love you (Who says it first?)

Steve does. You’re already very comfortable around one another that he doesn’t think before saying it. It was so out of the blue when it happened - you were in charge of dinner for the team one night when he came and kissed your cheek as a thank-you, saying a quick “I love you, darling,” before sitting down between Natasha and Sam, who looked just as shocked as you did.

“So are you guys dating or what?” Bucky questioned.

“No,” you and Steve replied in unison, though your cheeks were both bright red.

J= Joker (Are they into pranks?)

He’s not a huge prankster like Loki and Sam, but occasionally he’ll walk up behind you and whisper ‘Boo!” into your ear, making you jump and scream lightly, whacking him in the shoulder from shock. But you realize it’s just him, not someone else - and quickly burst into laughter. It’s impossible for you to get mad at America’s golden boy.

K= Kisses (How do they kiss?)

Contrary to your initial belief, he doesn’t mind PDA at all. You would often joke around about people mistaking you two as a couple because of how close you were. You’d greet each other in the morning with a kiss on the cheek (earning snickers from Bucky and Sam), and he’d say goodnight by kissing you lightly on the forehead.

His kisses are very gentle and wholehearted, yet filled with passion at the same time. You can almost never get enough.

Your first kiss wasn’t how you thought it’d be at all. It was on a Costco grocery run one Sunday afternoon when you were trying to reach up to one of the higher racks to grab something, struggling on your tiptoes. He offered to help you and as he pulled the item down, you’d grown rather close, literally - with your lips being just a few centimeters apart. Oh, screw it, he thought to himself, placing a hand on the small of your back and pulling you to him, pressing his lips to yours.

L= Little Things (What little things do they love/notice.)

Steve notices that whenever you’re extremely focused on something, you bite your bottom lip and an adorable little crease between your brows appears. He always likes to tease you about it.

M= Moment (Their favorite moment.)

Getting caught under the mistletoe at Tony’s party. As cheesy as it sounded, it was your guys’ favorite moment together. When his eyes landed on you in your shimmery gown, his heart began to race. You were the literal definition of a dream, perfection. And when he finally kissed you it felt like fireworks were going off in his chest, electricity shooting through his body as your lips met. It was only your second official kiss but everything about it felt so real, so true, so right - that he couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

N= Nickel (Do they spoil? Do they buy the person they love everything?)

Steve doesn’t normally go way over-the-top when it comes to gifts, but whenever it’s a major holiday or your birthday, he goes all-out. He’s a very good listener, so he’ll take note of the things you like that come up in conversation and take notes later, and will buy you those exact things. He loves seeing your face light up as you receieve his gifts - that’s when he knew he loved giving more than getting.

O= Orange (What color reminds them of their other half?)

Red. You’re bright-spirited and confident and kindhearted all at the same time, and not to mention powerful - just like the color itself. He can’t help but notice how good you look whenever you wear red - especially in your stealth suit with its’ burgundy highlights. He has to be paired up with Bucky all the time on missions so he wouldn’t get hurt while he was distracted with watching you fight.

P= Pet names (What pet names do they use?)

Sweetheart, love, darling, doll, honey, etc. <3 (and once again, the team is frustrated because you’re acting like a couple but haven’t even started dating)

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Steve naturally has a better-than-average memory, but he remembers much more about you than the rest of the team does. He knows your birthday, your favorite color, your likes and dislikes, and every little detail. He remembers all the little things. He can’t help but remember everything when he’s so in love with you. And when he brings this up into conversation, it makes you fall even harder for him.

R= Rainy Days (How does he/she comfort them on dark days?)

You don’t have to tell Steve directly for him to be able to tell when something’s wrong. He knows you like the back of his hand, a skill nobody else on the team had. When you’re rather quiet after a rough mission or just feeling down in the dumps, he doesn’t talk, doesn’t ask any intrusive questions (he knows you hate it when people do that), and just pulls you into a warm embrace and holds you until you feel better. And usually, that’s all that’s needed to lift your spirits.

S= Soft (Something one of them did that turned the other into absolute mush.)

When he called you by a pet name for the first time. It was in the middle of an intense sparring match together in the boxing ring, the team eagerly watching from the sidelines as you circled each other. “You’re tough, but you’re gonna have to try harder than that, sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear. You froze, taken aback, and in that moment of hesitation he whipped around and put you into a firm headlock.

“The tension is through the roof here, I swear to Odin’s beard,” Sam groaned. “Just date already.”

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Steve is extremely protective of you. He’ll make sure to walk on the outside when you’re walking down the sidewalk together because as he insisted to you, “your safety is my number one priority”, often pairs up with you on missions to look out after you and if not, constantly checks in via comms to make sure you’re alright. With the way he’s constantly hovering over you, the team likes to tease him for acting like a worried boyfriend or husband.

T= Talking (What do they love to talk about?)

Anything and everything that comes to mind, whether that be old memories together, favorite memories with the team, your childhoods, or what was on the news that day. You could go on talking for hours at a time - in fact, there were many occasions in which you stayed up all night together, sitting around on the sofas in the lounge with mugs of hot chocolate in hand and the fireplace on, warming your bodies as you spoke.

U= Universe (Use a metaphor, what are they to each other? (e.g he was the universe, ever-changing and mysterious.))

Before you became an Avenger, you were one of twenty-eight dancer-trained enhanced assassins of the Red Room Academy alongside Natasha. A doubtful fighter, you, along with Natasha, were taken under Tony’s wing to further your training with SHIELD. Before becoming an Avenger, your life was a mess. You lost your family at a young age, torn away from the life you’d known as a little girl, forced to grow up too fast. So meeting Steve was like taking a breath of fresh air. He was your safe haven. He was a life raft and you were lost at sea, his presence serving as a reminder that you were in fact, still sane and not just drifting mindlessly through space.

V = Vaunt. (What do they like to show off? What are they proud of?)

Obviously, his strength and speed. He purposely lifts heavier weights in front of you while you’re training in the gym with him. “It’s arm day today,” he’d whisper, sending you a flirty wink as he flexed his biceps. You blushed. Bucky snorted and rolled his eyes.

W= Why (Reasons why they love you.)

There are so many reasons for him to love you. One, you give him a sense of peace and happiness, of home. You were his home. He felt like he could trust you with anything, as you were very easy to talk to. Steve loves how he could just be himself around you, as well as your competitive nature - that’s why he always asks you to go on his morning runs with him. And he loves your kind heart. You’ve seen and experienced far more war, more bloodshed and violence than anyone should have to experience in ten lifetimes, and still, forced yourself to be kind and gentle, to soften your heart. He loves you with his whole heart and soul and wouldn’t trade you for the world.

X= Xylophone (What’s their song?)

Electric Love by Børns. After a nice dinner at Olive Garden together one Friday night, you decided to go on a little late night drive throughout the city. With the windows of the Audi rolled down, the wind in your hair as your face lit up and you grinned from ear to ear, you both sang at the top of your lungs as you made your way through busy New York. He fell in love with you even more, if that was even possible.

Y= Youtube (What are they like online? Do they post about their relationship constantly?)

After several days of you pushing him to get Instagram, he finally made an account (quickly catching up to your 30-point-something million followers). He loves to post about you and your adventures outside of missions together and whenever he does, his followers go absolutely crazy.

Z= Zebra (If they wanted a pet, what pet would they get?)

An adorable mixed breed. You’re both left with cleared schedules on one Monday morning after breakfast, so you decide to head out to the shelter. There’s one dog that stands out to him above the rest, and as soon as he sees them come running up to you and jumping around you, he knows that’s the one. You settle on the name Dodger and take it home. The entire team spoils him to death.

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