#no i didn't make the mug or anything

[jesseisstuckinside]

right so. a friend of mine loves The Magnus Archives but HAAAATES the Web. absolutely HATES it. cuz in every statement it's never about control or manipulation it's just "heehoo spibers following The Plan" and whenever there's spiders it's immediately a Web episode cuz spiders are never the Corruption and there's no Mother of Puppets with just the puppets and no spiders. so she's CONSTANTLY flaming The Web for its bullshittery.

so she got this mug for Christmas.

her favourite <3

[mechazushi]

If The Core Division Three Members Had Gaming Channels...

Kafka Hibino {A.K.A ComfyManGaming}: Mainly Shop Management Sims or just Sims in general. His most popular series and the one that let him go full time as a content creator was his Power Wash sim Story Time where he got to talk about the craziest things that happened to him in his, like, six different cleaning jobs. ( In order; Landscaper, personal maid service, High rise window washer [tied for origin for most of his craziest stories], Nuclear Power Plant Office janitor, Failed attempt at running his own power wash service, and School Janitor with a car detail side job. {Most recent/longest held job/and also tied for craziest story origin generator with Car Detail Horror stories being second). Can be convinced to play atmospheric games like Journey/Abzu/Fire Watch/Anything thought provoking or emotional.

Reno Ihchikawa{A.K.A IchyChill Breakdowns}: Whatever Windette does, but with less insults. Basically Build Breakdowns and Speedrun Tutorials. Carried with the energy of a tired Indian Math teacher trying to teach calculus to 8th graders. Is also [technically] a PNG tuber, but because he's low energy, the PNG doesn't move much.

Iharu Haruichi {A.K.A SharkBAIT}: Two Channels. One is a horror game channel, Both Indi and Triple A. The other is anything casual, but mainly sticks to Stardew Valley, Animal Crossing, Coral Island, that sort of thing. Fans like to call the Horror one Anxiety and the non-horror one Anti-Anxiety(Each have their own mascots and like to fight each other like Jacksepticeye and Antisepticeye). He has absolutely accidentally cross posted horror vids onto the non horror channel and vice-versa. The community like to pretend that they don't interact with the other channels and when that sort of thing happens, they pretend they've been exposed to horrors beyond comprehension. (yes, even when the horror channel gets a cutesy vid)

Mina Ashiro{ A.K.A Can(n)onGodess/Pr3ttyW1ttl3K1tty}: Also Two channels, but actively makes sure that no one knows she runs both. One is a live stream of FPS set up as no-commentary/with camera (Mainly colorful ones like Valorant). The other is also no commentary with NO camera and its Sim 3 or 4 tips-and-tricks and Minecraft Aesthetic House Build (Mod and No Mod.)

Kikrou Shinomya:{A.K.A Can_It_Doom?} A STEM major that couldn't find a use for her degree as fast as she liked, so she started a Can it Run Doom? channel as a joke, and now it's evolved into a channel where people recommend different setups like Drumset Controler on a Texas TI-84 Graphing Calculator. (Is also currently in the middle of working on a live action Tank Setup for World of Tanks as a subscriber goal.)

Hoshina Soshiro{A.K.A SwordSingerSUPREME} Any game that involves sword fighting and critiques it either Accurately or HARSHLY. Also streams his HEMA training/tournaments. It's very popular (because everyone find him hot) and has since become a bit of an eclectic channel that is split between his Gaming vids, his HEMA vids, and P.O Box unboxing vids where people send him A LOT of gifts. There's also an over an hour video of him playing Let's Hit Each Other With Fake Swords the Card Game with his older brother (who is also in HEMA.) that he made when the channel hit 5 million subscribers.

✨Bonus✨

Gen Narumi{A.K.A xXGenNarumi420Xx}: Plays anything that's currently trending, but his bread and butter is FPS or Run and Guns. (Has confessed to saying "Would" to the Ultrakill Robot.)

Okonogi Konomi{A.K.A BlossomBear}: Indi VTuber that plays exclusively Indi Puzzle games or Puzzle Platformers. Isn't a singing VTuber so much as one that can and will go in-depth on programming and what goes into a VTube model (She made hers and it has two forms : a chibi, curly white haired, anthro bear girl and a white plushi version with orange blossom motifs.) Can and has demonstrated to be an absolute GOD at Minesweeper

Minase{A.K.A MinAction}: A anime/movie/Western Animation reaction channel. Has an uncanny habit of predicting things before they should be obvious.

Hakua{A.K.A HakuaKooksXP} A cooking channel whose shtick is 1000 Ways To Prepare [Insert Food Here.]. She's still currently working her way through rice.

Haruichi Izumo {Goes by his name} Various product review channel.

Aoi Kaguragi {Also goes by his name} A very well made workout channel.

[edwardshundredyearoldspunk]

…

[inkskinned]

you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push the heel of my palm into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Good evening beloved (though hopefully you are already sleeping bc it is v late), I started reading that comic you had mentioned and omg. I am very in love with this for totally hinged reasons. The dynamics here are god-tier. In a very non-horny way this is easily one of the best explorations of the batfam dynamics I've read (though obv the smut part doesn't hurt any lmao). Thank you for reccing it!

Anyway may you have a good night and sleep well!!

Yoo!!! I'm glad you like it it really did Something to me years ago lol. Not enough to get me into the DC universe but y'know. I'm so so glad past me stumbled upon it at random like this and the stars aligned in such a way that I could blindly rec you something you like haha. Enjoy the experience! (and there's probably more fun stuff on the website for these characters, though I don't know about dynamics)

[cozmic-ash]

so I played through Origins again and there's this middle-aged man 🫣

Amrynn the Hero of Ferelden will smooch him, so help me God

why did they do him so fucking dirty in Trespasser anyway lol 😭 I'm half convinced he was originally meant to be an entirely different character and then last minute they were like, 'hey let's make him Teagan instead' but didn't change anything about his design. But it IS really funny when your Inquisitor rides up to the exalted council and looks up at him and he's just mean mugging the FUCK out of you

[buckyalpine]

18+ Minors dni. Seriously, it gets feral in a way I didn't anticipate and I'm the pervert who wrote this.

Bucky sleeping naked. We're back to this again cause I'm a pervert and he's a cutie, I can’t help it. Why do I find it adorable. Sexy. So pretty. And the different of versions of this?

Imagine being Bucky’s roommate and having to deal with different types of Buckys. A shy, soft Bucky is always in the softest pj’s, cotton t-shirts and warm sweaters. He is truly the sweetest, more precious thing on the planet, always making you a steaming cup of coffee in the morning and hot chocolate at night.

You don’t think much of it when you slip into his room to return the hoodie you stole and you all but faint when you see him practically starfish on the bed, soft snores slipping past his lips, the bedside lamp still on along with the book his was reading half open on his chest but that wasn't what you were looking at cause-

You shouldn’t even be here, you should look away, you really should but it’s not your fault that he has the prettiest cock on full display with perfect, heavy balls in between plush thighs. You're not sure how someone so sweet and pure can look this sinful, nearly tearing the hoodie you're clutching onto the longer you wait by the door.

Idk why my mind went here but imagine he's soft but gets hard when he smells you. You're close enough in his room that your shampoo and something so distinctly you fills his senses. It's not his fault his senses are heightened. I mean imagine you see it happen. A cute little groan as all the blood rushes down between his legs, his cock now standing at full attention, stiff and begging. Leaking.

You're frozen on the spot, begging for your feet to move, just drop the hoodie and run, anything but no. He's still asleep, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his pulse starts to work a little faster, his hand coming down to soothe the ache, his book slipping off his chest.

You should definitely leave now, it's too intimate, you can't be here when he-

"mph" His sleepy movements are barely coordinated as he gives his cock a squeeze, his cheeks getting pinker by the second. He rolls over with his face now buried into the pillow, pressing his hips against the mattress for some relief.

I can't deal.

Innocent Bucky having a wet dream over you.

Innocent Bucky making a mess because of you.

Innocent Bucky acting normal around you the next morning, placing a steaming mug of tea in front of you while you stutter a thank you and he says you're welcome doll, like he always does.

Innocent Bucky still too shy to tell you that he jerks his cock off to you more times than you can count. That he adores you too much, he'd never be so crass to make a move on his roommate. He's still working up the courage to ask you on a date. Till then he's gonna fuck his fist and hump his bed and think of all the ways he wishes you were naked with him, your legs around his waist while he pounds you, filling you up while you scream his name-

-

Fuck boy Bucky shows himself off without a care in the world. You start to wonder if the man owns anything else aside from a few slutty pairs of boxer brief's. He's always manspreading and it's hard to act like it's an inconvenience when he's built like that. That being said, it's not like you've seen all of him. He leaves little to the imagination but it's not like he walked around naked.

You'd never openly admit you were a little curious.

You find out he's put your mug on the highest shelf again and you swear he does it on purpose just to mess with you. You grumble, ready to tell him off, walking right into his bedroom, his full legal name right at the tip of your tongue-

"Fuck-"

His chest rises and falls along with his soft snores, one arm propped under his head while the other is half one his chest. His thighs were spread apart without a care in the world and not a single piece of clothing covered his body, bed sheets also tossed aside.

Apparently the serum made him run hot.

Every single bit of him is on display, the only thing he's wearing are his pretty silver dog tags. You freeze, blinking, your tongue now tied, you were so annoyed with him and now-

"Y'like what you see angel?" His raspy voice makes you yelp as he keeps his eyes closed but the smirk that makes its way to his lips lets you know he's more than awake now. You have no idea when he woke up or realized you were there but you can't get your feet to move, voice caught in your throat.

He doesn't even bother trying to cover up, unbothered at the state you're seeing him in.

Imagine this cocky fuck going as far as giving his cock a lazy tug and he can definitely smell how wet you are. He knows you're getting wetter.

"Need something baby, cause I gotta take care of this or I won't fall asleep" He cocks an eyebrow, nodding down to his hard cock before looking back at you. He's not going to tell you yet that he'd been pining after you with the most desperate crush. That he keeps those mugs up high on purpose so you have to call him to get it for you.

"I-I

"Don't get all shy on me now princess, better lock the door on your way out unless you're gonna stand there and watch?" He gives himself another lazy tug, this one followed by a groan.

Fuckboy Bucky who loves the way you look like a deer caught in headlights.

Fuckboy Bucky who strokes his cock while you watch.

Fuckboy Bucky who lets out a deep, raspy, "Fuck baby, just c'mere" when he hears a desperate whimper slip past your lips.

Fuckboy Bucky who gets you naked with him, not wasting a second to get inside your pussy.

Fuckboy Bucky who runs his mouth too much and mumbles an unconscious "Fuck, i love you" when he starts to cum.

and cum.

and fucking cum.

Fuckboy Bucky who confesses his feelings.

Anyway.

Naked Bucky in bed.

That's all I want.

[pseudowho]

Yuuji's hand hovered over the receiver, paralysed. His universe zeroed in on the little plastic bubble around him, and the payphone, with the chatter, ringing, beeping and bustling of the Police Station behind him. The cuffs chafed on his wrist. He thought and thought, reaching for the receiver again, before freezing.

The police officer behind Yuuji tapped his foot. "Get on with it, kid." Yuuji shrunk in on himself, smaller than ever.

"Uhh...I'm really sorry. I don't think I'm ready for my first call yet. Can I have a bit longer?"

A huff from the officer. Yuuji's wrists clanked as he was grabbed by the upper arm, a heavy clang as he was pressed back into the cell, locked in. There was a drunk on the perpendicular bench. Some big guy with a kill you stare, the other side.

Yuuji tried not to cry as he hunched down towards his knees.

He had never felt so orphaned, as he did in this moment.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento hummed to himself, outwardly upbeat, and happy to be so in the absence of observers. He grabbed his travel mug from the desk; his paperwork was completed. He was advised he wouldn't be needed for the rest of the day, so why don't you just head off early? We'll just call you if we need you.

Words like syrup. Kento's metaphorical sweet shop. He lapped it up. He dropped you a text; home soon. I'll make dinner.

Making himself a fresh coffee, Kento felt his pocket buzzing. His humming stopped at the Unknown Number on screen, eyebrows pinching together. He answered, stirring his coffee.

"Nanami Kento speaking."

Initial silence. An awkward rustle. Kento waited.

"...Nanamin. I'm sorry, I...I didn't know who else to call. I'm in trouble." Kento turned his back on his coffee, pacing in front of his desk, a prickle of fear up his spine.

"Itadori-kun. Where are you?"

"I'm...I'm downtown. I was arrested. I was only trying to help--"

"I'll be right there. Don't say anything. You're safe. I'll be straight there."

Kento put the phone down, concern clipping his movements. He looked down at his phone, thinking. He tapped out two more text messages, grabbed his travel mug, and headed out to his car in long, purposeful strides.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

By the time Kento arrived, guided into the station by a receptionist, he scowled to see Yuuji being interrogated at a desk by an officer.

"I swear, I was just checkin' the place out, just--just bein' stupid, I didn't mean--"

"--didn't think the "No Entry" signs were for you, huh? What was the plan, go in and wreck the place? Damn kids--"

"Excuse me for interrupting. I don't believe you're supposed to be interviewing minors without a chaperone."

The police officer stopped, bristling as he looked up at Kento, looming down over him. Kento silenced Yuuji with a heavy hand on the shoulder. A travel mug of hot coffee was gently pressed into Yuuji's hands.

"Don't answer him, Yuuji. We're waiting for your lawyer."

Yuuji looked so small and tired, folded over on himself, that Kento felt a prickle of cold rage frost through him at Yuuji's treatment.

Kento's eyes flicked across the desk. He noted paperwork, with Yuuji's name. He noticed the 'Next of Kin' section...empty. Kento's stomach clenched, and his grip on Yuuji's shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. The police officer shivered under a chilly gaze.

"Nanamin...I'm sorry--"

"I'm sure you have nothing to be sorry for. This man, however--" the officer's blood ran cold when Kento's eyes swung to him again, "--should know better than to bully a child."

A rustle and a clatter sounded behind Kento and Yuuji. Yuuji heard a deep voice, apologising for knocking something off a desk, before another hand landed on his other shoulder. Yuuji gaped up.

"...Higuruma?" Hiromi glanced down, coal-soft eyes belying a little smile. The police officer sputtered into his coffee, looking frantically between the two men, now.

"Higuruma? Shit. I don't get paid enough for this."

"I assume you're charging my client with something." Hiromi sat, crossing his legs, hands clasped on his lap.

"He broke into an abandoned hospital--"

"Was it locked?"

"...ahhh..."

"Did he cause any damage?" Total silence. Hiromi cleared his throat.

"Did my client come with you willingly?" The police officer's face twisted, bitter and snide.

Hiromi blinked once, slowly. "I see. So, simple trespass really? With a minor, first offence? A caution at most, really, isn't it."

Yuuji looked over to Kento, who was busy scribbling something on Yuuji's paperwork, while Hiromi ground the police officer into the dirt on the other side of him.

"I assume you felt something inside the hospital. You weren't investigating just for fun?" A stern gaze through tinted lens.

"No, I...I think there's a Curse in there. Didn't get to it before I ran into the cops."

A hum. "Ah. I'll get Ijichi onto it." Yuuji nodded, his eyes prickling with tears. Kento's hand tightened on his shoulder, grounding him, a flood of warmth down through his body.

"How long were you here for? Before you decided to call me."

"Uh...four or five hours." A pregnant pause from Kento. A sigh, Kento's voice softening.

"You can always call me, Yuuji." Kento stood, straightening his cuffs. "You'll come home with me for dinner. You're hungry." Yuuji's belly rumbled in response. Kento's lips almost quirked at Yuuji's sunny grin, reminded of another boy he once knew.

In due time, Yuuji was released with a caution. Hiromi clapped him on the shoulder with a lopsided smile, giving Yuuji's jaw a pat, before leaving for home. Yuuji stood, glancing at his paperwork on the desk.

In the previously empty "Next of Kin" section, in neat block capitals, with a phone number and address, was listed: NANAMI KENTO.

[xan-izme]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐬

Part 1: Dinner Time

Prologue

TW: Past neglect, death, violence, mention of blood, drinking

Tag list: @pix-stuff, @sweetconnoissurgarden, @craftymoonchaos, @jsprien213, @hebaoffside, @bunbunboysworld, @melonylla, @numbu5, @tatsuri-zomushiki, @formulas-bitch, @fantasyhopperhea, @otterluver05, @caged-birdies-blog, @minkyungseokie, @una1002289, @vanessa-boo, @welpthisisboring, @sirenetheblogger, @salfishers, @meeeeeeee-stuff, @eylsiankub, @lilithskywalker

---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---___---

"Eight years in hell. . ."

You were seated on top of a desk playing with a snow globe in your hands.

"Can really make you go crazy." Your head hits the wall behind you, slowly turning to the bleeding man on the ground, once again receiving a blow to the face from a man dressed in dark red.

"P- please. . . I don't know anything. I swear." The man whimpers as he begged.

You sighed. "You're lying. I really, really hate liars' doctor." You through the snow globe onto the ground, shattering the glass. The man in red took your small fit of rage as a signal and pulled out a gun, pressing it against the doctor's head.

The bleeding doctor felt another type of fear the moment he felt the cool metal against his temple.

"W-wait! Wait! Please! I have a family; I'm begging you please!" The doctor cried and begged. The man in red glanced to you, you sighed and waved you're hand off. The man in red put his finger on the trigger, about to shoot.

"WAIT- Gotham hospital! She was at Gotham hospital!"

The man in red paused and glanced over to you.

You walked closer to the doctor, crouching down to the man's current level, as the man in red slowly pulled the gum away, the doctor felt a large wave of relief wash over him.

"Are you sure?"

The doctor nods "She s-saw Doctor Hill, that's all I know, I promise that's all I know."

You stay silent for a moment before standing up. "Thank you for your cooperation."

The Doctor felt relived. Wanting to go back to his wife and kids, hug them as tight as he could-

BAM!

The Doctor fell with a thud. Blood slowly seeping out of his body as you tossed the gun you used to shoot the doctor to the man in red.

"That's for lying" You mumbled as you stare at the doctor's body with indiffrence.

You've been out of Arkham for almost a month now. You should be relaxing, try to fit back into society. But no, your mother was missing, the Falcone's didn't know where her whereabouts were, some made comments of her abandoning you the moment you got out, which coursed them to have a slow death for their crude comments.

Your mother loves you, and you know she would never abandon you. So now you're searching. But you aren't getting to her fast enough. And your growing impatient. You wanted to come back out into the world and run into the arms of your mother, but your just met with Gotham's ugly mug. It angered you beyond words.

The man in red, Rex, works for the Falcones, but has come to be loyal to you. Rex followed behind you as you walked out of the room and down the halls.

"Give doctor hill a visit for me, will ya?" You spoke coldly as your heels clicked loudly walking down the empty hall of an abandoned building. Rex nods before speaking up.

"What about you Miss Falcone. Are you going back to the Falcon manor?"

Ah, yes. You took your mother's last name. All done in paper. No more, Y/n Wayne. That little girl is dead.

". . . No, I need to grab a few things."

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Alfred knows you have been out for a month, so why have you not come back to the manor?

Alfred tried to keep in touch as much as possible during your time in Arkham. Every phone call, he could hear that sweet innocent girl he knew fade. He has tried to phone you multiple times but no use. Even tracking you down with was difficult, Alfred has tried to tell Bruce about his worry for you not coming home, But Bruce seemed to almost immediately shut down at the mention of your name.

He's worried for you, he just wants to see you, and make sure you're okay.

There was a met Gala being held today. Preparing for it was exhausting, but it was like that every time a gala had to be held. Everyone scattered all over the manor.

With a heavy sigh, Alfred entered the kitchen, the gala's close to an end, the rich of Gotham turning in for the night. But Alfred comes to a stop when he noticed a woman in the kitchen, dressed in a dark red dress, her back faced to him as she picked up a glass of wine.

"Excuse me ma'am, you're not supposed to be in the back here." Alfred spoke firmly with his usual stoic expression. The woman in red slowly turns around with the wine glass in hand. Then she spoke, the face, Alfred surely does not recognize, but the voice. He knows your voice.

"I rather be away from the crowed, if you don't mind." You gave the older man a small smirk as you see the realization hit him.

"Miss Y/n?"

Your small smirk cracked even wider. Alfred walks closer, shocked to see you here, in the kitchen munching on some sweets, just like you used to when you were younger.

You shrugged with a small giggle slipping from your red lips

"The one and only"

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"Miss Y/n, come, Master Bruce must know your home!" Alfred might not show it a lot, but he is overjoyed to see you in the manor again. You've grown so much.

"Ah, well I was hoping to just grab some things from my old room and head out." You try to walk off to the back staires

"Nonsense, come, come." Alfred needed you to meet the family. For the family to see you. He touched your back as to lead you out of the kitchen and into the dining room.

You immediately flinched away.

Your negative reaction causes the butler to coil back.

"Miss. . .?"

You let out a weak cuckle.

"Sorry, I'm not fond of being touched." You began to meekly rub your hands together. Alfred comes to realize your time in Arkham has damaged you in some way's he might not be able to know yet.

"No need to apologize miss Y/n." Despite the small awkward moment Alfred still managed to have you walked out to see the others.

You felt an immense amount of DeJa'Vu. The walls, the detailed engraved in these walls. These walls haunted your dreams. Only half of your childhood was spent in this manor. You remember running down those stairs once Bruce came home from work. Skipping through these halls after getting a solo part in choir, something Bruce never really paid mind too.

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Almost everyone was here tonight. Jason, Dick, Cassandra, Tim, Damian and Duke. Steph couldn't make it. Barbra was spending time with her father. And. . .

Bruce watched as his children chat, argue, laugh. He smiles to himself as he takes a sip of his glass of white wine.

"Where's Alfred?" Damian spoke up as he turned his head in search for the butler that is always usually hovering around. Bruce shrugs

"Most likely in the kitchen."

Suddenly, the doors open, in comes Alfred with a smile on his face.

"Alfred." Bruce can tell Alfred seems to be in a more chipper mood than he was in half an hour ago.

"We have a visitor." Alfred's words confused the others. Then you stepped up. You scanned the room. Some faces new, some old. Others were still confused, either not recognizing you due to the years that have passed, or the fact they simply didn't know who you were.

But Bruce didn't take long to recognize you. And the way he paled at the sight of you, it just made you smirk at his reaction. Dick was quick to follow the realization.

"Y/n . . ." Bruce mumbled.

Jason's head whipped to Bruce once he heard the name. Looking back at you then to Bruce.

"Y/n, we thought you were still . . ." Dick tried to speak, but he seemed to get more uncomfortable with just thinking of his words.

You wait for Dick to say the words, but clearly, he was still in shock to say it.

"Arkham? I've been, rehabilitated." You say this with a soft smile.

Jason, trying to process what the actual fuck is going on right now stayed silent. Damian also confused spoke up.

"Father who is this woman?"

Your eyes snapped to the young boy, your head tilt for a moment. Walking closer to the table. Your heels click as you kept your eyes on the young boy, and Bruce kept his eyes on you. Still not believing you were out.

"I'm his daughter. Blood, daughter." You spoke as you kept a playful manner to yourself. The Damian frowns. "Imposible. I'm fathers only blood child."

You paused for a moment. You seem to be analyzing the situation.

"Is that what dear old daddy said." Your chuckle, almost darkly, as you sipped on your glass of red wine. Alfred pulled up a seat at the end of the table, across from Bruce. You took a seat.

The room that was once filled with chatter and warm air was now silent and tension filled the air. You leaned back into the chair; Alfred re-fills your glass.

"Thank you, Alfred." You kept a small playful smile on your red lips. You let out a small sigh before speaking

"So, what did I miss?"

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"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚢?"

[nochepsicodelica]

NSFW

"Don't forget how badly you said you wanted this when it gets to be too much, 'kay, mama?"

A warning that you paid no mind to and instead giggled at, because Toji kissed your knuckles and your forehead when he finished binding your wrists together. You thought he wouldn't be too hard on you, and even if he was, you have a trick up your sleeve. You know that if you beg hard enough with shimmering eyes, he becomes a little more lenient. He eases up on you and gentleness starts to seep into his actions.

Well, that didn't work. Not this time. This time, he wanted to give you everything you asked for and more.

"Fuck..." Toji groans. "Look at that, ma." He displays his cum soaked, glistening fingers and shows you an update on the juices that have made their way down his wrist. "Come on, open your eyes and look," he says, patting your thigh.

Your bottom lip quivers and your eyes flutter open, your dim, weary gaze darting to the face of the man inflicting all these varying sensations your body is feeling.

"Not at my mug. Look at my hand and my forearm," Toji instructs, trying hard not to smirk at how utterly debauched you look. You look like you're going to cry, again. "Messy girl, you did that."

You mumble something quiet and unintelligible, and like a shark, Toji devours your pathetic attempt to speak. "Louder. I know you can be louder, or do you need some encouragement?" He asks, ghosting the knuckle of his index finger along your slit, resulting in your body full on jolting.

"Sorry!" You cry out, loud enough to have Toji laughing at your frantic repetition. "I said-- said i'm sorry," you stutter out, your voice unsteady.

You're ruined, yet somehow, this is a sight that has Toji's heart racing, like he's falling in love with you for the millionth time. It puts him through a conflict. It makes him want to be nice to you, it also makes him want to add on to your ruin, but more than anything, it sadistically makes him want to see you cry, again.

"Don't be sorry. This is what you wanted, right?" Toji groans, quietly, as he lies back down on his stomach, eyes focusing on your glistening cunt, again. "Wanted me to make you cry from the intensity of it all? Said you could handle being overstimulated, didn't you, ma?" His thumb drags up your slit, slow enough to have your inner thighs trembling as he makes his way up towards your overly sensitive clit. "Stay there," he commands, when you squirm the slightest bit away from him. He goes again, this time, dragging the pads of his index and middle fingers through your slicked folds.

"T-Toji," you whimper, your abdomen clenching and quivering with every one of his touches. "Toji, I--" you gasp, feeling the warmth of his tongue dragging through your folds and when you feel his fingers grazing your entrance, you can't help but whimper in anticipation for what's to come.

"Why are you shaking?" Toji asks, looking up at you, condescendingly. You can't scramble quickly enough to respond, before he's feeding his fingers into your drooling cunt. "Wanna cum?" He asks, taking in the sight of your returning tears with a menacing smirk. You don't know what to say, because on one hand, you get another orgasm, but on the other hand, you know you are going to be pushed past pleasure. "Yeahhh, you do. Look at that pretty face. Gonna make you cum so hard," he purrs, curling his fingers inside of you.

You don't know if you'll make it out of this one. You feel like you're being launched into heaven every time he makes you cum with his fingers and his mouth, but it's an immediate, full speed plummet to hell when he keeps going—keeps rubbing your clit while you spasm and practically choke on your breaths.

"Right there?" Toji asks, noticing a shift in the sounds of your moans. They're higher in pitch, quicker, and constantly interrupted by your sharp gasps. "Oh fuck," he growls. "That's it, huh?"

"I-I'm--" you whimper, "--fuck, fuck." Your chest heaves, your back slightly arching off the bed. "Toji," you call, frenzied by the overwhelming sensations. "I'm gonna die..." you blurt. "G-Gonna die," you cry out, tears spilling down the corners of your eyes and treading down your cheeks.

Toji watches, amusedly, as you struggle to figure out what to do while he keeps building you up. The mobility of your hands is limited due to your wrists being bound together, but your palms are dented by your nails to all hell. You barely have control of your legs, because even though they aren't restrained, Toji handles them however he needs to in order to give you what you asked for without you trying to stop him.

"You're fine. You can take it," he says, over the lewd, squelching sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you. "Last one, and you're giving me ten seconds."

"N-No!"

"Yes," he insists. "It's the last one, gotta make it a-"

It's unexpected, the wet mess you make all over Toji's hand, your thighs, and the sheets. You feel like your whole body is buzzing and your toes are curled so tightly that your feet are starting to hurt from the strain.

The countdown starts the second you start squirming and pressing your hips into the mattress. Toji's arms are hooked around your thighs, holding them open and still so he can use his mouth on you for all ten of those seconds and make a mess out of your overstimulated cunt. His lips are latched around your clit, one of his fingers pumping in and out of you, while you shake and pathetically sob from the borderline painful amount of stimulation. The skin of your palms must be broken by now from how hard you've been digging into them.

"Toj--" you barely manage, before your chest is heaving and racking out another sob.

The ten seconds are up, and Toji immediately eases off of you, releasing your visibly trembling legs so that you can move as you please. He crawls up the bed and sits beside you, quickly undoing the binding of your wrists and tossing the strip away.

"I know... I know, doll," Toji coos, wiping at your tear streaked cheeks. He doesn't instantly scoop you up into his arms, because you not wanting to be touched is definitely a possibility. He just sits there, by your side, and attempts to verbally soothe you while you work to compose yourself. "Just breathe, mama. It's all done. You're gonna be okay."

Once your breathing is more calm and you're not so rattled, he works his way up to touching you, starting with your shaky hands and the crescent shapes that litter your palms. He carefully runs his thumbs over the little marks, monitoring your reaction to make sure he isn't hurting you. He brings your hands up to his lips and kisses your knuckles, moving along each of your fingers and ending where his focus is needed most—your palms.

"You good, ma?" Toji asks, lying down on his side, facing you. He's still not pulling you into his arms, but one of his legs is pressed against yours, just to have some sort of physical contact with you.

"Yeah, I'm fine," you say, offering a soft smile. "It was just..." you hum, thinking.

"Intense?" Toji cuts in, to which you nod. "But I didn't hurt you too bad? You're alright?"

"Yes, baby," you assure. "I would've used my safe word if it was too much for me to handle. We touched on that before we started this, remember?" Your hand goes to cup his cheek, but he intercepts it by grabbing your wrist and bringing your hand up to his lips, again.

"Don't be scared to use that word, ma. Don't ever push your boundaries for me, alright? I don't give a fuck if i'm about to bust. If you're not feeling it, we're gonna stop, okay? The last thing I wanna do is to traumatize you."

"Jesus fuck, you're so sexy," you murmur, curling up into him. Your hand splays over his abdomen and rubs slowly, a simple gesture that makes his cock start throbbing and twitching in his sweats, the longer you do it. "Yes, Toji. I won't ever hesitate," you assure, your words promised, physically, through a kiss. The feeling of your lips against his, only further fuels his arousal. You can feel the way he impatiently kisses you back, like he's trying to inhale you. The way he grips your hip and pulls you so that your body is pressed against him, further communicates his need for more of you.

"I'll be so gentle with you, doll," he mumbles, into your neck, pressing kisses to it, afterwards. "Please? Let me treat you right, this time."

You giggle as he continues murmuring quiet little pleas into your neck, through kisses.

"I wanted you to do it, baby, but alright, treat me your way. The right way."

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

(Don't You) Steal My Thunder

my tyler owens playlist 🤝 inspiring fic titles

Tyler Owens x fem!reader  7k words

summary: Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's set on getting you on his good side. And the more you get to know him, the less you can resist.

a/n: i had to research sm car stuff for this it's not funny. i now know exactly how to describe a truck bed though, so. that's fun.

again, my inbox is wide open <33 i don't guarantee anything, but you can always come talk to me or request smth

masterlist | twisters masterlist

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met.

He prints his face on t-shirts, writes his autograph on mugs, comes up with ridiculous sayings ("Not My First Tornadeo" and "If you feel it, chase it" are really just the tip of the ice berg) and most importantly, he costs you the best shots of tornadoes every goddamn time.

Tyler Owens is a problem.

And Tyler Owens seems to have actively decided to make himself a problem too.

Which would be fine, if he flipped you the bird or told you to fuck off or threw his paper towels at you. Unluckily, those are rather examples of what you have done to him. Because it's not fine, not at all - no, Tyler Owens has decided that it's not enough to be in your way all the time, he has to seek you out and rub your nose in it.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's arrogant and he's entirely too full of himself. He brags too much and calls you "weather girl" too often. He gets under your skin more than you would ever admit.

And, as if all of that isn't enough - Tyler Owens is the very epitome of handsomeness.

It's like god didn't just have a good day when he created Tyler Owens, no, god must have still been in the post-haze of the best head he'd gotten in his whole immortal life when he'd created Tyler Owens.

Because Tyler Owens has the body of a greek god and the face of a Hollywood actor. He's not a pornstar, he's who pornstars worship. He's the Prince Charming little girls dream of and the Christian Grey grown women lust for.

Tyler Owens looks like everything you've ever wanted.

But he's just such a fucking asshole.

You wish you could say you didn't care. You'd love to be the kind of woman who didn't even acknowledge him. But you're not. You're not. You watch his videos when you can't sleep, you chuckle when you happen to overhear his jokes, you ogle his back when he's turned away from you. Sometimes, you get so lost in staring at him that you realise too late when he turns back around, and then you have to act unbothered when he grins his fucking grin at you. That's mostly when you flip him off, desperately fighting to ignore the heat in your cheeks.

Not like it stops him. You honestly feel like it only spurs him on.

Something has to seriously be wrong with him. It's not his face. But something is seriously wrong with him, you're sure of that.

Something has to be wrong with him. No sane person would ever go tornado wrangling. No hate to the rest of his crew - they're nice, you've managed to hold a few pretty normal conversations with them here and there - but none of them are sane either.

Storm chasing is different. You keep your distance. All you need are a few well-placed photographs - and those you can get from a rather safe number of miles away. The weather channel doesn't care about close-ups (not really, anyway). They want something to show the people on their comfortable couches, up in New Hampshire or Maine, so that all of them can say to each other "What poor folks, wouldn't wanna live there" and nod in pity as they switch the channel to watch another blockbuster.

You're just doing your job.

The only problem is that it's hard to do your job properly when there's always that fucking red truck in the way, driving down empty roads right into the heart of the tornado. And because no one on the news wants people to see that and go "Well, can't be too bad if there's still cars on the streets!", in the last few months - ever since you'd volunteered to move back to Oklahoma 'So that we've got someone right in Tornado Alley and don't have to fly people out there every time' - the weather channel has only shown the first few minutes of tornadoes forming. The rest of your pictures and videos lie abandoned in the trash file on your laptop. Except for a few - a very, very few, very, very good pictures of Tyler Owens and his Tornado Wranglers. But those won't ever see the light of day either.

You'd be damned if you let anyone know that while Tyler Owens is busy disturbing your actual work, you're busy taking pictures of him shooting fireworks into tornadoes. Pictures that would make for some damn good headers (if you hadn't buried them far, far down your gallery).

This time is no different. You get a few amazing shots of the tornado forming – surely an EF2, maybe even an EF3 - before you settle in the driver's seat again, your window rolled down and your camera hung around your neck as you push down on the gas. Then, a few miles further, you get even better shots of the full tornado, of the first few minutes of destruction, right there, in the middle of an empty field.

And as always, of course, just as the tornado takes on full form, you spot that familiar red truck through the lens of your camera. It speeds down the pavement right in front of where you’ve swerved onto the side of the road and you snap a few pictures, just because you’ve got the trigger right underneath your finger. Honestly, something about that dirty red paint against the grey skies just looks too good not to capture. But then the truck comes closer and closer and starts to slow down and you let your camera sink.

Tyler has his window rolled down already when he stops the car. There’s that annoyingly handsome grin on his lips, the one that makes you want to slap him across the face.

“You’re too far away, weather girl”, he calls out above the rumble of distant wind and thunder. “The good pictures are down that way.”

“The good pictures are right here.” You lift your camera at him. “Maybe you just need to update your equipment.”

Tyler’s grin widens, but before he can throw another of those obnoxious retorts your way, Lilly’s voice rings out through the car.

“Hey, T, looks like it’s changing course. You should hurry.”

His eyes are still glued to yours, still glued so firmly to yours that it makes your skin crawl. You can’t look away, couldn’t possibly look away. Tyler Owens might just be a cocky asshole, but you’re only human. And the weight of his gaze on yours is enough to keep you stuck in place, clutching at your camera.

“We’re on our way, Lilly”, he drawls without looking away from you. “See you around, weather girl.”

The rest of the pictures you take land in your trash file with all the other pictures of the last few weeks. You’re laying in bed, your laptop propped up against a pillow, the empty plate from dinner on the mattress next to you as you sort through today’s work. That’s the good thing about the time difference – you’ve got until seven to send the channel the day's results.

By nine, you’ve showered, put on a dress you feel confident in and settled on one of the chairs at the local bar. You’ve been telling yourself you need to get out a little bit more – you’ve been living here three months now and you haven’t really made any friends so far. To be fair, your job has kept you out and about most of the time. You’ve spent more hours at gas stations to fill up your tank than you have in your own home. But now you’ve decided to put an end to that. You're a young woman in a new town, you can meet more people than just the cashier at the local supermarket.

So for the past twenty minutes, you’ve been nursing a mojito at the counter and talking to the bartender. She’s nice, she’s your age, she’s extroverted enough to keep sidling up to you after every time she has to excuse herself to do her job. That, and she tells you she’s grown up here, so she knows most of the people around. She’s just serving another customer – a long-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing country guy who’s already shared a smile or two with you – when someone rests their arm on the countertop next to you.

“Didn’t expect to see you here”, he drawls, all low, deep Southern accent and you recognise his voice before you’ve even tilted your head up and looked at him. His grin drips down onto his words and wraps itself around your mind.

Tyler Owens isn’t just annoying – he’s unbelievable. He's unbelievable and he’s here.

“So you’re stalking me now”, you say, as drily as you can possibly manage. You've been doing that a lot around him. Dead-panning everything. Schooling your expression into fake neutrality.

"I'm here all the time, weather girl", he grins. "If anything, you're stalking me."

You snort, but it's rather unfunny when you think of all the videos you've watched, hours after they'd been livestreamed, cuddled up in your bed until midnight just to stare at his face. He's not that far from the truth.

"In your dreams, Owens", you say anyway, dragging your eyes back towards your almost empty cocktail glass. You wrap your lips around your straw and drain your drink entirely. What you say and what you do, none of that matters in the end. All of this is just show. Every conversation you've had with Tyler Owens in the last three months has been nothing but a performance. Other than your name, you don't think a single sentence out of your mouth has been honest. Not when it comes to him.

"Let me buy you a beer" is the only answer you get.

His grin widens when you look back up again - so cocky, so unbelievably cocky.

"I don't drink."

You push your glass an inch further down the bar top. Tyler raises his eyebrows. Fuck, someone really needs to kick him in the face. You can't keep having all these little heart attacks whenever he's close enough that you could touch him if you wanted.

Not that you want to.

"You're drinking right now", he says. You rest your palms against the bar top and blink at him.

"I don't drink with you."

He lets out a chuckle, one of those deep ones that settle right in your chest and make it hard to swallow.

"Just this once?", he asks and in all honesty, for just a second there, you actually consider giving in. He's too handsome for his own good. You really need to get it together. He's an ass (what an ass, goddamn). And he's insane. He's an insane ass. Sometimes you have to remind yourself of that - those times like now, when his piercing eyes and his kissable lips and his rugged stubble and his broad, broad shoulders and his drawled voice overshadow everything else.

"Don't you have some livestreaming to do?", you ask, hoping it still comes across just as sarcastic when you're the slightest bit distracted by how gloriously tight the sleeves of his flannel are. "Go chasing tornadoes, not me."

His grin widens inexplicably further. You're sure that if you were in a comic, there'd be a lightbulb flashing above his head right about now.

"Well", he drawls, "if you feel it..."

"Don't you do that shit to me, Owens."

He's raising his eyebrows again, raising his eyebrows as you clasp your hand around your empty glass so hard your knuckles turn white. But you're serious. Just as you'd lost yourself in the view of him, that angelic, sinful view of him, he'd gone and reminded you why you were so adamant to keep your distance. If you feel it, chase it. Ridiculous. Obnoxious. He's an arrogant, know-it-all, suicidal job-wrecker. He's the guy with cameras pointed at him everywhere he goes. He signs mugs and selfies and hats and shirts and bras. He's the reason you haven't gotten a single un-edited shot of a fully formed tornado in the last three months.

"You're not a fan of my catchphrase, weather girl?"

He can't even pretend to look wounded (even though he tries) with how big the grin on his lips still is. You stare right at him, dead-eyed and unflinching.

"I'm not a fan of you."

Lies slip off your tongue so easily by now that you wonder when you'd become morally compromised enough to not even care anymore. It must've happened somewhere along the way, sometime between the first conversation you'd had with him and the one you're having with him right now.

"You wound me", he grins, his palm pressed to his chest.

For the first time tonight, you allow yourself to grin back at him.

"I try."

With that, you slip off your chair and wave the bartender goodbye. You're already two steps away when Tyler calls after you.

"I'd still buy you a beer."

"I'm still not drinking with you", you call back. You don't turn around again. You just make your way back to your car and mark the evening as a half-successful night of socialising on your to-do list.

...

You see him again first thing the next day. Of course. Because there's no tornadoes without the Tornado Wranglers on their tail. By now, you're used to it. You wave at Dani as they come back out of the store at the gas station you're waiting at. They've got both arms full of coffees and for a second, you consider offering your help, but then you hear Tyler shout something out of his car and you suddenly don't feel any desire whatsoever to get up. You've sat yourself down in your truck bed, your camera slung around your neck and the radar on your lap. If all goes right, you're hoping for a tornado to form a little to the east from here. And as much as you dislike Tyler Owens, the fact that he's here soothes your nerves. Where he goes, there's sure to be tornadoes close by.

The few times you hadn't seen him had never ended well for you. You'd missed an EF3 your second week here just because you'd followed the wrong hunch. Meanwhile Tyler, of course, had been in the middle of it.

This might just be the one singular situation that you welcome seeing his red truck around. As long as you can manage to overtake him on the road after.

It's not that you need to be faster. You don't need to reach the tornado first. You don't even take the same way as him most of the time. He wants in there, you just want a sensible picture. Still, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment every time you hit the brakes and jump out of your car, miles away from the actual cell as Tyler speeds down towards it. You've been telling yourself that it's because he ruins your pictures. It kind of is.

"Hey, weather girl!"

You let out a resigned breath as you tilt your head up and squint against the sun. He's still in his truck, his window rolled down, his elbow propped up against the car door.

"What do you want, Owens?"

Your fingers itch to reach for your camera. It's a visual, him in that fucking car, leaning out of his window with the sun peaking out behind him. But you can't, you can't take a picture of him this openly. Even if you were to argue that it's just the light you'd wanted to capture.

"To give you some advice", he calls out, his lips pulling into a grin. You raise your eyebrows at him. "East isn't gonna work out. Wind's changing. Go south."

He throws you a mock salute and hits the gas before you can say anything else.

Not that you'd been about to.

Instead you just curse to yourself, jump off the truck bed and throw your treacherous technology into the passenger seat with a little too much vigor. Fuck this. You sit at the steering wheel and stare out at the sky for exactly two seconds before you make your decision. Then you start your car and drive south.

You may not be a fan of Tyler Owens, but you've long since admitted to yourself that this man has got a gift. He has an unbeatable instinct when it comes to storms. And sure, you have your fair share of knowledge, but in the end, you're a photographer, not a meteorologist. You won't miss a day's work just because you're too proud to listen to Tyler.

You're a little further behind, but you can spot his truck and guess that he's driving straight on into the cell today, so you take a right and decide to try your luck with the side of the tornado. Not being right in its path doesn't sound too bad anyway.

You actually manage to snap a few well-placed pictures. You don't know what Tyler's doing, but it seems like he's not shooting random shit up the cell today. You'll watch the stream later - you're just the slightest bit curious now what's happening with them. Maybe they're doing some old-school chasing? Or maybe they're doing a challenge. Maybe Tyler is driving blindfolded. At this point, who knows.

It's good for you though. It's a considerable tornado today, an EF2 at least, and you only spot Tyler's red truck again when the cell moves further down the fields, away from him. It doesn't look like it's gonna disappear anytime soon. Maybe today's your lucky day.

Half an hour later, you're sure you've got at least a dozen pictures of the fully formed tornado, long touched down and without the red truck in the way.

You're just packing up your things, already sifting through the photos on your camera, squinting against the sunlight, trying to both tug the zipper of your bag closed and hit the right buttons at the same time when Tyler pulls up next to you.

"You look busy, weather girl", he says, already grinning that damn grin again.

"I am", you say - truthfully, for once. You let go of your bag and lower your camera. You're hesitant, but... "Thanks for the tip."

"Anytime", he grins. "Just do me one favour."

You already know this can't be good. Not with that cheeky look on his face. But he'd just saved you from chasing hot air (quite literally), so he deserves a little treat. And you don't want unsettled scores with Tyler Owens.

"I want to know what favour that's supposed to be before I agree", you say anyway, because with him, you can never be too careful. And in the end, you're only willing to do so much. (Though for him, you'd already do a lot more than you'd admit. A lot more than you hope he's aware of.)

"Let me buy you a beer", he says, and for once, he sounds serious.

The memory of yesterday night flashes before your eyes, of those same words at the bar. With him so close, way too close - with that grin and that stubble and that voice and those shoulders. You cross your arms and stare at him.

"If you're livestreaming this, I'm gonna sue your ass so hard."

He just lets out a chuckle and raises his hands in surrender.

"Cameras are off, I swear."

You stare at him for another silent ten or so seconds. At him in that fucking truck that looks just a little too good in your pictures. At him and his fucking face. That fucking face that you certainly wouldn't mind sitting on, if just to shut him up.

God, he's asking you to drink something with him. He's asking to buy you something to drink with him. You're stupid.

You're so, so stupid.

"Alright, cowboy", you say, uncrossing your arms and reaching for the handle of your car door. "I'll humour you."

...

You're in the bar again by nine that night, the same way you had been the day before. You're wearing a different dress and there's a different bartender, but you've ordered the same mojito and chosen the same place to sit.

Only this time, you're actively watching the door. And when Tyler strolls in, you've got to shift around in your seat and cross your legs. You don't even pretend you're not staring. You just ogle him openly. Not for the first time ever - you'd checked him out very obviously when he'd strutted towards you to introduce himself three months ago - but definitely for the first time in a while. And god yeah, he's a hunk of a man, alright. If you had your camera here right now...

But you don't. So instead, you drop your eyes to his feet (brown leather boots), drag them up his legs (blue jeans), over his chest (red checkered flannel), over his face (god, what you wouldn't give-) and finally rest them on the cowboy hat on top of his head.

When he's close enough to hear you, already grinning, of course, probably at how you're actually sitting there in the same spot as yesterday and hadn't just lied to his face about coming here, you raise your eyebrows at him.

"A cowboy hat?", you ask, your voice as unbothered as you can possibly manage (even though you're very, very, very much bothered right now). His grin only widens.

"Ladies love country boys", he drawls with a shrug.

"Now that's straight out of a song", you say. "You're getting lazy, Owens."

"A song?", he asks. "No, that's an Owens Original."

You pull your eyebrows even further up.

"Ladies love country boys? Trace Adkins?"

"Nope. Not familiar."

But his grin tells you that he's lying. He's a liar. He knows very well where he got that line from. And he knows just how easily he got under your skin with his simple trick. As if his face isn't enough already.

You just shake your head and turn away from him.

"Put your money where your mouth is, Owens. Buy me a beer."

...

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also a great conversationalist.

The hours fly by as you're talking. One beer turns into two, then into an uncountable number of soft drinks. You both agree that you need to drive home, neither of you is willing to risk a run-in with the police. You need your drivers license for your jobs.

Tyler talks to you about the pictures you've taken today, then about the pictures from last week. He laughs when you blame him for ruining half of them and almost spits out his coke when you slap his arm for laughing at you. He tells you about his crew, about the people they've helped with the money from their dumb t-shirt sales. You think you hate him less by the minute. You're not sure if you're okay with that. But he gets you talking about your childhood and your parents, about school and college and about how you've wound back up here in Oklahoma. That effectively distracts you.

That, and how his cocky grin morphs into a genuine smile the more you open up.

Not that you didn't love the cocky grin. You did, just a bit. As obnoxious as it was. But the way he smiles at you all sweet has you melting right in your spot.

It's not the first time you realise that beneath all that rough exterior, there beats a heart of gold. You've known what those t-shirt sales are for, that he offers food and water after a tornado hits a town, that he carries the injured out of the ruins of their houses and helps find lost dogs. The more you've been around him in the past weeks, the more you've seen of his soft side. Of the way he cares and supports. But in the end, it always is easier to go back to the status quo - to fall back onto mindless snark and fleeting first impressions.

You'd clung so desperately to the image of him as this arrogant, smug, holier-than-thou influencer god for the sole purpose of keeping your own sanity. Because you'd known that without despising him, you would fall head over heels for Tyler Owens, and you just couldn't have that.

But now, with his arm brushing against yours and his hat discarded on the bar top and his smile, that beautiful, beautiful smile on his lips...

"Five bucks", he drawls, already reaching for his wallet.

"What?"

"Five bucks says there won't be a tornado tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows at him, your glass hovering in mid-air between the two of you. You'd meant to take a sip, but now you're setting it right back down on the bar top.

"You're shitting me."

Tyler just shakes his head. He's grinning again, but it's much softer this time around.

"The winds are looking great. The forecast says it's gonna be the best conditions for tornadoes we've seen in the last six weeks. I've heard Dexter talk about how we're probably gonna see an EF4 tomorrow", you tell him, even though you're sure he's well aware of all of it. This is Tyler Owens, for god's sake. He knows about the winds and the forecasts. He knows that his crew is making preparations already.

His grin only grows. And it's smug now. It's cocky now. It's everything you thought you'd left behind during this conversation. He looks like the Tornado Wrangler again, like the guy who fucks up your pictures and makes your job harder than it already is.

It takes you a second too long to realise why.

"Dexter said that on our live", he grins, as if he can't quite believe what he's hearing. You physically recoil from him. "Do you watch our streams, weather girl?"

"No", you breathe, rigid and frozen, shocked to your very core. No, no, no, no, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening. You'd... You hadn't made that mistake. He hadn't got you to make that mistake.

"Dexter talked about tomorrow on our live", Tyler says again, straightening his back and grinning down at you like he's just uncovered the lost grave of Cleopatra. "Only on the live. You watched our stream."

"No", you mutter, your eyes wide and your mouth dry, so dry. You need to drink. You need to drink so badly. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You watched our stream, honey."

The petname runs down your spine and clogs your senses. Honey. Oh, he's an ass, he's an asshole! But you're on the spot, you're on the spot and he's calling you honey, honey, honey. You can't do anything but watch as he leans closer to you, grinning down at you like it's his one true purpose on this earth, like he wants to eat you alive.

"I'd say you watch our streams pretty regularly, weather girl."

You swallow hard and clasp your hand around your glass.

"Yeah?", you breathe, hoping against all hope that your voice sounds somewhat innocent. You're sure it doesn't. You know it doesn't. You probably sound as guilty as you are, but... Hope dies last. Hope always dies last. "Why would you say that?"

"Just a hunch." He shows off those pearly fucking whites for you. "Call it an instinct. I'm usually right."

He is.

He's right now. He's right usually.

Him and his fucking instinct. His goddamn gut feeling about tornadoes, always right all the fucking time. He's like an Oklahoma Jesus. The first coming of Tornado Christ.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

"I'll take your bet." You drain your glass at once. "Give me your five bucks, Owens."

You don't think it'll work. You don't think he'll let you distract him. You don't think it'll be this easy to stop his vile teasing. He's not the type of guy to let something go. He's not the type of guy to let anything go ever. But he looks at you and he grins at you and he trails his eyes over your face and then he opens up his wallet and pulls out five dollars without another word.

He puts the bill flat on the bar top.

But when you go to reach for it, he pushes his fingers down.

"The price just went up", he says.

You raise your eyebrows and let your hand sink again. Tyler is absolutely unpredictable. You should've known.

"The price just went up?", you repeat. He nods. "What more do you want to bet?"

He's closer now, closer all of a sudden. He's too close, close enough to make your breath hitch. He's looking down at you with that cocky, cheeky grin, with his weirdly green eyes, with his three day stubble and his generally much too symmetrical face. You can't do anything but look back up at him.

"A kiss", he says. Simple as that.

A kiss.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He is. Truly. He's annoying and way too full of himself and much too presumptuous. Tyler Owens is the only man who would ever do something like this. The only man who'd bet a kiss on whether or not there will be tornadoes tomorrow.

Especially with that forecast.

The one that says a tornado is basically inevitable.

"Alright", you say. He may be Tyler Owens, the guy with an infallible instinct - but he is also Tyler Owens, the guy who's been doing his hardest to get under your skin. This time might not be any different. For all you know, he's bluffing to rile you up. "I'm in."

...

At eleven the next day, you're standing next to Dexter in resigned silence.

"I really thought today was gonna pan out", you mutter.

"It should have", Dexter frowns, tapping against the screen in his hands. "It should have worked out. The conditions should have been perfect. Everything's been building the last few days."

"But it collapsed this morning."

You turn your head and watch as Tyler comes to a stand next to you, arms crossed, eyes locked on the clear sky up above. He tilts his head to you and grins. Fuck, he's wearing his goddamn hat again. It's like he doesn't even try to be normal.

"Hey, weather girl", he greets. "Ready to cash out your bet?"

You shake your head at him. No, you're not giving up this easily. You never give up this easily.

"The day's not over yet, Owens. You haven't won 'til midnight."

...

You spend most of the next hours sitting in your truck bed, reading a book you'd thrown into your backseat weeks ago and had so far neglected. Lilly hands you lunch around two, Dani offers you a coffee around five and Boone pipes up here and there to joke about the wasted day. Around six, Dexter comes by to let you know they're calling it.

You still have another hour to go. By seven, it'll be too late to send your pictures anyway. But you want the hour. You need the hour.

You still haven't decided what to do about Tyler. About Tyler and his fucking bet.

He's been loitering the whole day, walking by, joking around with his crew, livestreaming a spontaneous q&a just because.

And the more minutes tick by, the harder it is to keep ignoring that you've most definitely lost the bet. Even though you do your best. You read, you check your phone. You stare at your radar. You stare at the weather forecast. You talk to Dexter and Dani and Lilly and Boone. You take a few pictures of the sky. Then you take a few pictures of Tyler, standing some feet away from his truck and looking out at the clouds.

It's only when two of three Tornado Wranglers cars are disappearing down the road, when Tyler Owens suddenly stands in front of your truck bed, that you put down your book and face reality.

"No tornadoes in sight", he says, instead of 'Hello' or 'How are you' like any other person would.

"There's still six hours left", you reason. Even if only one of those is relevant for your job today.

"You really want to wait out six hours to prove I'm right?"

"You're not right", you argue. It's fruitless, it's stupid, it's unreasonable. But... "Not yet, anyway."

Tyler raises his eyebrows at you, lets out an amused chuckle and leans against the side of your truck bed.

"Alright, so we wait."

You eye him from the side. He's fucking leaning against your truck, staring out at the sky, talking about six hours. Goddamn. He can't be serious, can he? His crew is already gone. They've disappeared into the descending sun and he's talking about waiting another six hours. Leaned against your car.

"Fuck's sake, Owens", you sigh, scooching over to the right. "At least sit down then."

You don't talk much at first. You just open your book back up again and try your hardest to ignore that he's even here at all, barely two feet away from you on the other side of your truck bed. If you stretched your leg, you'd hit him right in the hip.

It makes reading close to impossible.

Even though he's not doing anything at all. He's just sitting there, one arm propped up on the side board, that goddamn cowboy hat on his head and his feet hanging off the opened tailgate. It's almost worse that he's not doing anything.

That he's just sitting there and watching the sky change.

You give up on reading entirely when you realise that you've finished exactly five pages in half an hour. Instead, you put your book back in the car, pull out your bluetooth speaker and two water bottles and offer Tyler one of them.

You don't even ask him what music he wants to listen to. You just put on your country playlist and roll with it. By the twitch of his lips, you know he certainly doesn't mind.

Another half hour later, it's starting to get chilly and you're beginning to grow bored of the music. Tyler sitting next to you makes you fidgety, somehow, and you can't really enjoy the songs you usually love so much. So you switch to a podcast. You don't ask Tyler if he minds. He's free to go anytime.

Around eight, the sun starts to set, and the chill turns into an unpleasant cool. You hadn't really expected to be sitting out here so long. You're not prepared for the temperature to drop. You're wearing shorts, for god's sake, shorts and a top. It's summer in Oklahoma - you don't know how Tyler even manages to survive in his long jeans. You certainly wouldn't.

But now you're a little jealous, to be honest. He doesn't look cold in the slightest while you're fighting off shivers. You can feel your hands trembling already.

You really should've brought a jacket. But who brings jackets in 30 degree summer weather?

So instead, you just resign yourself to your fate and rub your hands along your arms. Anything to get some warmth into your body.

For the first time since you've sat back down, Tyler turns his head and looks at you.

"You're cold", he says, eyes raking over your arms and the goosebumps you'd gotten.

"Great observational skills, Sherlock Holmes", you deadpan, even though he doesn't really deserve that. He had so far left you pretty much alone. "A+ on that assignment."

Well, it's hard to break bad habits.

Tyler just chuckles, shakes his head and pushes off of the truck bed. You watch, eyes narrowed, as he walks back to his own car, opens up the trunk and- pulls out a blanket?

Your hands have sunken down to your lap all by themselves by the time he's standing in front of you again, holding out the blanket.

"For you, Watson", he grins as you slowly, carefully take the blanket from him. You mutter something along the lines of a soft 'Thank you' before you wrap the blanket around your arms.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. But he's also the very definition of "Tough on the outside, soft on the inside". Sometimes, you think the word 'angelic' works for more than just his divine looks.

Your eyes are glued to him as he sits back down next to you and looks out at the darkening sky with that signature grin on his lips, like he knows that you're watching him and enjoys it more than he should. That doesn't deter you though. For the very first time. You don't even stop staring when he turns his head back to you. You don't even stop staring then.

You just look at him until his grin crumbles. Until he's smiling that smile from yesterday night, the one that has your heart squeezing together and then exploding in your chest. You think you could stare at that smile for the rest of eternity and never feel sated.

"What?", he asks, his voice so soft it makes you swallow. Your lips part, but there's no words on your tongue, none in your throat. They're stuck in your chest somewhere, wrapped around your heart so tightly that you can't let them go even now. So you just press your lips together, wrap your blanket tighter around yourself and say:

"So I'm Watson, yeah?"

Your podcast is long forgotten by the time the sky turns dark. So dark that you make Tyler climb into your car and turn on the lights. You're comfortable in your blanket, you don't feel the need to move.

It's around ten when the blanket isn't enough anymore.

You tuck your hands underneath your top, but that only helps for so long. A few minutes later, you're trembling again, trembling even though you're pulling the blanket as tightly around you as you possibly can. Tyler raises his eyebrows when a particularly heavy shiver runs down your spine, one of those that come and go within three seconds.

"Come here", he says, shuffling in his spot and motioning for you to move over to him. You don't really think about it. It's more of a reflex as you fumble the blanket off of your body, scooch over to him, settle yourself against his side and sneak your feet under his thigh. He tugs the blanket back up to your chin, tucks it in behind your back and wraps his arms around you.

Tyler Owens wraps his arms around you.

And he's so fucking warm you literally almost moan. God, you hadn't actually realised just how cold you'd been.

"Damn, you're freezing", he notes as well, just as you nestle further into him and hum in agreement. He's like a living heater right now. You'd like to just crawl inside of him and suck up all his warmth. "You should've told me sooner."

"I didn't tell you at all", you mutter, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. He smells good. He smells so good. Earthy, musky somehow. You're tempted to turn your head and bury your nose in his shoulder.

Instead, you just satisfy yourself with what you can get. Fuck, he smells so good. He smells just like you'd thought he would, like country and rodeo and thunderstorms. He smells like falling into bed at the end of a successful chase. He smells like more. You want more.

You want more of Tyler Owens.

"Are you sniffing me?", he asks suddenly, but he sounds so amused you can't even bring yourself to feel embarrassed. You just open your eyes and grin at him, tilting your head so you can look up at him.

"What if I am?", you ask, if only to hear that breathless chuckle fall from his lips. Oh, those lips. You're in trouble. "Are you gonna call the cops on me?"

"I could never."

"Yeah, you better not, cowboy", you mutter, eyes dropping to his lips when he grins. He's so close. He's way too close. "There's like thirty things I could call the cops about on your channel."

His grin grows until he's showing off his teeth, glinting against the low light of the leds in your car. He's closer now.

"So you do watch our streams, weather girl."

His voice is so low and he's so close, so close. Your lips part all on their own. You haven't looked back up at his eyes in too long. Far too long. But he's so close, and he's so warm, and he smells so good.

"Alright", you whisper. His mouth is barely an inch from yours. You can feel every breath he takes. "I watch your streams."

And then your lips are on his.

Tyler Owens is the most annoying man you've ever met. He's cocky and he's smug. He makes your job harder than it has to be. He does everything and anything to get under your skin. But Tyler Ownes is the best goddamn kisser this side of the globe.

He trails his hands, his big, big hands, down your sides, pushes the blanket out of the way and grabs at your waist with just enough firmness. He pulls you onto his lap and rests his thumbs over the hem of your top. He breathes into your mouth and takes it slow. He doesn't care that you almost knock his hat out of the way when you try to wrap your arms around his neck. He just holds you tightly to him and lets you tug on his lip.

You honestly don't know how much time has passed when he pulls back, grinning an entirely new grin at you, hazy and euphoric.

"It's not midnight yet", he mutters, the slightest bit out of breath.

"I don't care", you mumble, drawing him right back in for another kiss. You think you might be addicted. You simply can't get enough of him. You can't get enough of Tyler Owens.

But then a thought strikes you, and you pull away with a grin that makes him raise his eyebrows.

You chuckle against his lips.

"If you feel it, chase it, right?"

[haveihitanerve]

Four Times the Batkids Forget They're Adopted, and The One Time Damian Forgets He Isn't

It had started off as a joke, as most things do, and Dick meant nothing behind it, really. It was amusing to him, actually, to tell his coworkers things about Batman and pass it off as his father. “Oh my dad? Yeah hes not big on talking. He loves showing me he cares though.” (this was, of course, in reference to Batman doing three back flips and a kick split when Nightwing had patrolled with him the other day, a classic Nightwing move) But it soon…went deeper. Dick stopped making jokes out of it, and actually began listing things about Bruce. About his Dad. It didn't help that his police friends were actually interested. “So did you and the old man do anything fun over the weekend?” Dick thought back to how he had wanted to surprise Bruce by stopping by for dinner and instead had ended up in the sewer eating granola bars on a stakeout for killer croc, who had escaped. Again. “Oh yeah we had a picnic.” Dick nodded, smiling at Randy. “Yeah. He’s, he’s kinda bad at remembering when to eat a meal on time and all that.” Dick laughed. “Its something I share too. Must be genetics.” He rolled his eyes. Randy laughed, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I hear you. My old man smoked all the live long day. I try to keep it down, but that addiction gene is just strong eh?” Dick chuckled. “Yeah I guess.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he waved to Randy, turning to tug it out. It was one, simple message from Babs. “Ur adopted genius. What genes.” 

Jason didn't even know how they had gotten on the topic. But here they were. “Yes. I got my mothers hair, of course, but I get my temper from my father.” Artemis was saying. “I have parents.” Bizarro grunted. Roy laughed, smacking him on the shoulder. “Well you certainly didn't get Kal’s looks buddy. But you do have his killer hair.” Starfire laughed. “That is true. I, for one, share my parents hair and have my fathers powers. But truly the best gene I was given were my mothers eyes.” They all turned to Jason. “What about you?” Roy asked. Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, I used to have my dads eyes but um after the pit y'know,” He waved to his now green eyes. “And actually I have my dads dark black hair, and he’s graying early too, which might be why my white streak is so prominent.” They nodded in agreement. “But yeah, hes actually a little taller than me so maybe I’ll still grow a few inches but uh yeah. I don't… remember my mother enough to talk about her.” “Dang man. I wish we could meet your dad.” Roy murmured, laying a comforting hand on Jason’s shoulder. “Then we could really compare. I mean-” He laughed. “You sound like his carbon copy.” Jason frowned at his friend. “What do you mean? You’ve met Bruce?” They stared at him. “Jason,” Artemis began slowly. “Aren't you adopted?” 

Tim hunched over the information form, eyes straining to read the small print. His hand reached up to stifle a yawn and he settled for a sigh instead. It was late, but Tim needed to get the form done before he went to bed, otherwise everything would be far too stressful in the morning. He reached over and grabbed his coffee mug, a dark black cup that had a red R painted on it poorly. Bruce had made it for him a few years ago when he had first become Red Robin. He sipped it, staring down at the medical form. “Gods I hate having to do this.” He muttered, but reluctantly grabbed the thick medical binder Alfred had obligingly gotten for him when he had asked for medical records of the family. Tim did not under any circumstances, want to have to sit at the doctors office the next day and somehow lie his way through all the medical questions relating to his family history. He didn't have the time nor patience for it, and it was crucial he was given proper medical advice what with his missing spleen. “Any history of heart issues Bruce?” Tim muttered, flipping back past Martha and Thomas to Bruce’s great great great grandfather. “Nope, guess not.” Tim was halfway through the form when he realized the blood coursing through his veins wasn't Bruce’s. 

Steph rubbed a hand across her belly, staring at the monitor. “Your baby looks good Ms. Brown. They’re at the proper stage. Due in about two months. We’ll see you back here for your next check up.” “thank you doctor.” Steph murmured, sliding off the bed and dressing quickly before hurrying out to her car. The car door slammed shut behind her and she breathed, pressing her forehead to the steering wheel. Her phone buzzed. She lifted it and pressed it to her ear, hitting accept. “Hello?” “hey Steph.” Bruce’s voice vibrated through the phone. “How was your doctors appointment?” Steph gave a bitter laugh. “Everything looks good. The baby will come in about two months.” “Thats good. Thats real good.” Steph nodded, eyes closed. “You doing okay Stephanie?” Bruce asked, voice soft. “I don't know.” her voice broke and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting tears. “I just- I’m so scared Bruce. So scared.” Bruce hummed comfortingly through the phone. “I know Steph. Its scary. And parenting, its hard.” Steph coughed out a watery chuckle. “Was that a hit?” She muttered, rubbing a hand over her face. Bruce chuckled. “No. Baby it wasn't. And just think, you’ll get to see all the firsts I didn't get with you. Their first steps. Their first wave. You might even get to hear them say mama before i kidnap- i mean adopt him or her.” Steph laughed again, and it sounded less watery. “Yeah. Well, when do kids start walking?” She asked in interest, sniffing and sitting up straight again. Bruce hummed. “Well i started walking almost immediately, but Im special.” Steph laughed. “Of course.” “alfred said i first started talking when I was around thirteen months old, and Talia said Damian was walking by ten, but she could have been lying.” Steph nodded. “Tell me more.” She whispered. Bruce obliged, happy to distract her. “Oh and whats probably going to be your favorite, babies, or at least I did, start laughing at around four months.” “laughing?” Steph gasped. “Oh Brucie!!! Thats too funny! Little chubby baby you, the future batman, laughing!” She cooed. She could almost feel his eye roll through the phone and stifled her laugh. “So yeah..” Bruce finished. “You should expect your kiddo to start walking around then. And laughing probably sooner. I would have if you'd be in my life at that time.” Steph was quiet. “Thank you B.” He hummed. “Anytime Steph. I’ll always be here to help you.” “Wait wait wait-” a new voice joined in the background of Bruce. “Are you guys serious right now?” Steph identified it as Jason. “What?” Bruce asked puzzled. “B, Stephs adopted. Her kid is as likely to walk at the same time you did as when she did!” 

“Damian?” “Go away Drake.” Damian called back, riffling through the papers. “Dami?” Tim poked his head into his younger brothers room. “Oh hey kiddo. Whatcha doing?” “I am busy Timothy.” Damian countered in annoyance, shoving the box back under his bed and moving to his desk. “What are you looking for?” Tim asked puzzled. Damian ignored him. “Dami.” “Go away Timothy.” Tim crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Come on Baby Bird. Tell me.” Damian shook his head, covering the blush on his cheeks by poking behind the desk. “Damian.” Tim’s hand was suddenly on his back. Damian jumped. Tim held up his hands in surrender. “Just tell me. I’m sure I can help you find it.” Damian sighed in acceptance, cheeks pink. “I have.. Lost my adoption papers.” He muttered, staring at the floor. But Tim didn't laugh or ridicule him. In fact, when he looked up, his brother seemed thoughtful. “Well i know me and dick and jason have them hung over our beds…” His gaze drifted to the very clearly empty space above Damians bed. “I know.” Damian jerked his head in a nod. “That is why I wished to find it.” Tim nodded in understanding. “Well, lets go look in the den. Thats where Alfred keeps all the legal stuff.” Damian trailed after his brother to the living room and watched as he opened the cabinet and pulled out three boxes. “You look through this one, I’ll search these two.” Tim ordered. Damian nodded, accepting the box. It was where Alfred found them, two hours later, broom in hand. “My dear sirs, what are you doing?” The butler asked in bafflement. “Looking for Damians adoption record.” Tim answered, nose still in some papers. Alfred looked at them. “Master Tim. Master Damian.” The two boys looked up. “Yes Alfred?” Tim asked. Alfred's face was fond and utterly confused. “Master Damian is not adopted. He is Master Bruce’s blood son.” 

@nonepizzawithleftglitter @zombiewithaflowercrown

you asked and you shall recieve!

[cat-got-your-tongue]

ׂ╰┈➤ 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐠𝐚𝐧 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞.

Logan howlett x fem!reader

CW: smut | unprotected sex | fluff | praising | Soft logan | dominant logan | oral (male and female receiving) | light spanking | light choking | spitting |

Word Count: 2.6k

Authors note: Hi, please be kind and show support. I got a little carried away with the smut part. Oops. Not proofread again. I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. My requests are open.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

My work will always be 18+ Minors do not interact.

Logan and casual dominance just came natural. You had to get used to it at first. You never really had someone take care of you the way he did. It was always the little things that showed you that he really did love you.

Pours your coffee for you while you hold out your mug.

Enjoys cooking and even feeding it to you. Especially breakfast because he knows you're very tired to do anything at all early in the morning.

Cooking together, and it's really him giving you the easiest tasks. "Wash the vegetables for me, will ya?"

"Be a good girl for me and hand me the butcher knife."

"Let me do that for ya" is what you'll hear a thousand times a day

When you're out in public, logan loves putting his hand on the small of your back and guides you around.

While you're getting ready for a date night together, logan absolutely loves getting kneeling to help put your heels on and then brushing his fingers up your leg to tease you. Maybe he'll give the inside of your thigh a little kiss, too. You constantly tell him you can do that yourself, but if it was up to him, you'd never have to lift a finger to do anything.

If you're at a restaurant, he'll order for you because he knows sometimes you get a little flustered and nervous. "It's okay. I'll tell'em what ya want, don't worry." He'll reassure with a smirk as he winks at you.

He likes to keep an extra cardigan of yours in his truck just in case it gets cold later on if you're still out together. He'll wrap you up in it and hug you to his body for extra warmth even if you tell him you're fine.

Hand on your thigh while he's driving at all times.

Logan always opens doors for you. When you're getting out of the car, he's running over to help you out. He'll even put his hand between your legs to prevent you from accidentally flashing anyone your underwear if you decided to wear a dress that day. Once you're out, he'll look you over and help fix your clothes and the bottom of your dress down just in case anything you didn't want showing was.

"That a new dress? Looks pretty on you."

He loves holding you close to him by your waist. He's always touching you and looking behind him to make sure you're right there.

If you're trying to reach something from the kitchen cabinet, he'll come up behind you and get it. His body pressed to your back. He loves the way you look up at him while you wait for him to hand you whatever it was you were struggling to get down.

Logan will give the top of your head a little kiss and pat your ass softly. "Here you go, baby, next time, jus' call for me."

You always got butterflies in your stomach when he did that.

"Come sit in my lap." he'll gently command you after he planned a movie for you and him to watch.

He'll rub soft circles on your hip. Your head resting on his shoulder as you both relax in eachothers embrace. Everything felt serene and calm. That was a feeling logan was never used to, but he never stopped chasing after it.

When you're not sitting in his lap and instead lounging on the couch with him as you're reading a book. Logan will have one of your ankles in his hand and softly stroke your skin absentmindedly.

Backs you up against a wall just to kiss your cheek.

Washing your hair in the shower and wants to rub your lotion on after he gets you dried off. It's not even in sexual but it always feels so intimate.

Loves to help you get dressed for bed. He'll grab on one of his t-shirts and a makeup wipe to get you ready for sleep. He'll pull back the blanket and tuck you in right next to him, with you being the little spoon.

Will lay naked with you in bed and kiss you from head to toe. Once again, it is always sexual but more tender and intimate. Sometimes, it doesn't even lead to sex. He'll hold you until you fall asleep on his chest.

Whispers how much he loves you while you're sleeping.

Logan isn't controlling even though sometimes you may feel like he is. You only felt that way if he on the rare occasion tells you no.

The only times he ever tells you no if is you want to go out alone somewhere at night. He'll drive you there and wait outside while you go have some fun with your friends. He's definitely not letting you go out alone, and he has no way of protecting you in case something were to happen. Logan has lost way too many people in his life. He's got lots of enemies. Any one of them could pop up at any moment.

— NSFW —

When he's fucking you it's a little more intense.

He loves having you ride him even though he knows you struggle to take him that way.

"You need some help, huh? My sweet girl can't do it by herself? " His large hands hold your waist to help bounce you on his cock.

"Grab onto the headboard, and I'll do the rest."

"So good, my good girl." He breathed as you whimpered. He'll thrust his hips up to meet yours. His swollen tip almost hitting at your cervix.

You felt one of his hands leaving your waist to travel up between the valley of your breasts before wrapping around your throat. Logan never squeezed down enough too roughly.

You never understood how he could be so rough and gentle with you at the same time. He's choking you but whispering in your ear, calling you his "good girl." And how perfect you are." He's peppering kisses all along your face. Spitting in your mouth while driving his cock hard and deep in your pussy.

Or when he's got you on your knees sucking him off.

"Slowly," his voice would get serious, but his hand would come down to caress your check.

Logan will always give you that lovingly look before pushing your head down all the way your nose was buried in the soft curls above his cock. Your eyes are watery with tears as you gag when he hits the back of your throat. Your makeup is all smeared, and all logan thinks as he's looking down at you, and you're looking up at him is how lucky he is to have you.

"Your throat feels so amazing. You always look so beautiful like this. Mouth full with your pretty eyes lookin' up at me."

After he cums he'll gentle pull his cock from your mouth. He bends down to give your lips a sweet kiss before squeezing your cheeks to open your mouth back up. He wants to see if you swallowed every drop he gave you. He knew you did. You always swallowed every bit of cum he released your on tongue.

Logan is obsessed with having you on all fours at the edge of the bed. Your ass up high, and your face smashed into a pillow. His face buried in your cunt from behind. His nose tickling and prodding at your entrance while his tongue flicks over your clit. His soft lips wrapped around to gently suckle on your aching bud. His hands on both of your hips, keeping you firmly in place. Every once in a while, he'll spank you to keep you focused. Not too hard. But hard enough to make you yelp.

"Aw, does this position embarrass you?" He cooed at you.

You'll nod because it does.

"Tch tch, that's just too bad."

You always felt so exposed like that, but you knew it was logans favorite position to have you in. He could do literally whatever he wanted. You tried to hide your face from him, and he'd spank you even harder for that. He wants to peak over and see your face twisting in pleasure. He wants to see your mouth open and drool all over your chin.

"Does my tongue feel good?" He mumbled against your cunt. His tongue now circling the edge of your opening.

"Good because I'm gonna fuck ya with it before I give you my dick" He growled from behind.

As he continued to tease at your entrance, he'll spit on it and use the pads of his fingers to rub it all over your dripping pussy — showing a little more attention to your clit. While he tongue slowly pushes inside you. He knows he's got you right where he wants you when he hears that little gasp you make followed by a moan. And how you seem to back up against him for more.

Your eyes close, and you grip at the bedding. All that embarrassment you were feeling was slowly fading away as logan sunk his tongue deep inside your pussy. His warm tongue moved and lapped up the mess you were creating on his mouth. He hears you whine and can feel your walls contracting around his wet muscle. He knew you were holding back your release until he said it was okay to let go. You were so perfect, too good to be true. He couldn't deny you.

"be a good girl and cum for me. I want you to."

After you cum hard to the point you're body is trembling. He'll come up and lean over your back, soothing his hand down your spine. " "shh shh, It's okay. I got ya. You did so well for me."

He won't stop talking you through your orgasm until he knows you're alright.

"Breath for me." Logan nuzzled the side of your face.

"There she is, there's my girl." He running his hand up and down your back, trying his best to relax you.

His voice was low and husky in your ear. He helped bring you back down to earth; sensing you were getting a little lost there for a second.

Once you're completely calmed down, he'll gently move you to lay on your back. Your legs dangling over the edge of the bed with him standing between them. His cock fisted in his hand as he slaps his leaking tip on your over stimulated clit. He loves to rub his precum all over that aching bundle of nerves he had been bullying all night. Your pussy glistening from your orgasm mixed with his spit. The messier he made you, the harder it seemed he got.

Logan loves watching your body twitch and hear those soft moans escape your lips. He takes forever to bury himself in you. He wants to see you lose control until you're a blabbering mess of empty promises. Promises you'll blurt out just to feel the head of his cock brush against your opening. Your juices dripping down to the curve of your ass and he licks his lips, wanting another taste. Logan would get you so worked up to the point that it was as if you believed he wasn't going to give you what you wanted.

"You gotta calm down." He coaxed you.

"You're making promises you can't keep right now, honey. I need you to relax. You really think I'm doing all of this to not fuck you?

He reassured you and ran his cock between your wet folds, spreading them apart. his tip nudging at your clit once more, making you bit down on your lip. Your hands stopped tugging at the bedding to reach out for him. You hissed at the sensation as your eyes filled with more tears.

"Move your legs up and hold the back of your thighs for me. Can ya do that?" Logan now commanded you.

All you could do was rapidly nod and do as you're told with your hands firmly gripping the back of your thighs — to keep your legs spread and pussy on display for him.

"Logan, I need you." You tried desperately to plead with him. You both had beads of sweat dripping down your body. Your head felt dizzy, and your chest was rising and falling faster.

Logan arched a brow at you. His way of asking if it was okay to finally split you open around himself.

"I-im okay." You stammered as you looked up at him. "I promise....m'ready."

His gaze softened as he slowly pushed his thick cock inside you. Both of you sigh in relief. Your walls hugged him so tight while he continued to push until he was completely buried all the way in you. He stilled for a few seconds to help you adjust.

"Fuck you're wet." He noted with his cock gliding in your pussy with ease.

Once he was fully inside and you were well adjusted, he didn't hold back. He began pumping in and out of you hard and fast. Your tits bounced as he picked up the pace. Your body was making the most vulgar wet sounds that seemed to only spur him on. Your moans grew needier and louder. You struggled to keep hold of your legs. Logan took notice of that and placed his hands on top of yours to help you.

"There we go, that better?" He bent forward a little more to whisper.

"Gettin close Lo," you whined, biting down hard on your lip.

"I know I can feel it." Logan loved when you warned him about your orgasm as if he couldn't feel your walls squeezing his cock tighter the closer you got.

Every thrust he gave, he hit your g-spot, making you lose your train of thought. A few more strokes, and you're cuming again more intensly than the last time. You're mewling and calling out his name. Your back arching off the bed but logan doesn't slow down. If anything, he seems to be going faster. Until he's spilling his cum all over your sensitive walls, as he milks himself inside you.

"You alright? Let me clean you up. Come on." He finally spoke up, out of breath as you laid there completely fucked out. But you managed to weakly nod your head yes.

"Can you walk?" He asked, you felt him gently pulling out and his eyes glanced from your face to where his cum was now dripping from your pussy.

You tried not to get embarrassed as his gaze seemed to focus on the mess he created between your legs.

Logan fought the urge to lick it clean from you. Or shove his fingers in your cunt to prevent anymore of his cum from spilling out.

When you didn't answer him again, he gave you that knowing look and arched his brow. Normally, he'd tell you to use your words, but he knew sometimes it was too hard for you to do.

You quickly shook your head. Obviously, you can't walk. You can't even feel your legs. He lets out a breathy laugh. "You'll do anything to get me to carry, huh?"

You gave him a small smile and tried to sit up.

He pretends like he's seriously complaining, but truth be told, all he wants to do is carry you. All day, every day, if you'd let him. He picks you up bridal style, carrying you into the bathroom where he sets you down at the end of the tub.

"We're gonna get cleaned up. I'll make you some food and then we can watch TV." He doesn't ask for anything in return, just that you be near him.

[raeinyourdreams]

currently thinking about dry humping with logan. 😵‍💫

_____

it's late at night and you couldn't sleep, so you went out to the kitchen for a cup of tea, only to find logan doing the same.

he's no stranger to your insomnia, seeing you in the kitchen at late hours of the night looking for tea, milk, melatonin, anything to put you to sleep eventually. and they usually worked, but this night was especially hard.

logan hands you a cup of a sleeping blend. "heard you coming, figured you might want this." the small act of kindness warms both your heart and your face, smiling softly as you take the mug in your hands, your fingers brushing for a moment.

"thanks, lo." you say, taking a sip of the tea, he'd prepared it just how you took it. he'd memorized it from watching you around the kitchen many times. "can't sleep either?" you ask him, leaning on the counter, he just shrugs as an answer.

"when it happens so often you just grow fond of the night. the stillness, the calmness. no kids runnin' around." that last part made you chuckle, he always boasted about hating kids, yet he was oddly really fatherly to them. he smiles weakly to himself at the sight of your beautiful smile, the melodic sound of your laughter.

logan and you were.. something. something very strange that none of you seemed to label. too meddled in the heat to think about a word. you two were whatever you wanted to be in the moment. friends, situationship, his and hers and everyone else's, truly whatever.

so it didn't surprise you when he offered to take you to his room to "help you sleep" in the span of five minutes since you'd stepped foot into the kitchen under some scientific pretext of orgasms helping with relaxation, hence sleep. and who were you to deny?

the tea was long forgotten, a distant memory sitting on his nightstand as he took off your top, you straddling his lap as his hands roamed all over you, skin touching skin that was only covered by a thin fabric.

not tearing away from his kiss, your hands went down to fish his cock out eagerly, when a firm grip on your wrist stopped you, along with a stern hum, finalizing laced in the sound, leaving no room for argument. logan broke off the kiss to look at you, slowly pulling your hand back up and to his exposed chest.

"no, baby, we're doin' somethin' else today.." he says, as he presses your clothed cunt against his throbbing erection, moaning as he feels your hips moving for friction, eager just like him. he holds you down, steadying you by the hips. "woah, slow down, sport. i'm not runnin' away from you.. we have all night so take your time with it."

he coaxes you slowly, guiding your hips at a slow, steady pace as he rubs your cunt against his bulge, throbbing softly under you as you press harder onto him, whining for more. you slowly get the hang of it, your hips moving juuust right as your clit brushes over his shaft, the growing wetness in your panties soaking his own boxers and it makes him growl, hiding his face in your neck to take in your scent.

"can fuckin' smell you, feel you throbbin' around nothin'.. you close, baby?" he asks you, his voice gruff and strained, as if he was also holding on to the edge when he notices you move faster, chasing your release. "yeah.. come for me, bub.. if you do i'll fill you up right after, i promise.." his filthy promise makes you moan, your release creeping up on you like a tidal wave as you move your hips faster, pressing down on him, his twitching cock coated in your arousal and damn near release.

"yeah? you want that, huh? want me to put you to sleep good?" the filth spoken by him makes you react, moaning as an answer, which was enough for him, as it followed your climax. he held onto your hips, helping you guide the pace as he ground under you, your cunt throbbing and slicking up as he moved you over him. "that's it, baby, make a mess for me." his relentless praise whispered over the exposed, sweaty skin of your neck in between wet, open mouthed kisses on the skin.

after you both come down from the hazy cloud of pleasure and release, you search for his eyes, pupils blown out, the hazel now a deep black void as he pants and throbs under you. "fuck.. take these off." he paws at your panties, hooking his fingers under them as you look up at him, still trying to regain composure.

"what? but we just-" "-i'm a man of my word, princess."

you slept.. well that night. disregarding the smeared cum on your body and tangled bedsheets.

a/n: WOAHH!! first post imsonervous but i just HAD to get this off my chest while i finish a fic lolol, likes and reblogs are heavily appreciated (i interact back!!) 🫶🏻 taglist form

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt3

Dick knew that Tim was sending him looks every few seconds.

How could he not? This places food names were honestly the best, if this was some kinda murder cult Dick would be so disappointed.

Glancing up over the menu at Danny, Dick smiled at the teen who had been whipping down the same cup for five minutes like some wild west bartender while trying very hard not to stare at the two vigilantes.

"Okay, I think I have made up my mind, Red you got what you wanted?" Finally meeting Tim's eyes, Dick mentally winced, Tim's eyes were doing that twitchy thing that happened sometimes...

"Yes. I am." Dick understand slightly but like...the puns weren't that bad

Out of the corner of his eye Dick saw Danny pop up, nearly slamming the mug he had been holding as he fumbled with a note pad, coming closer to the two, he did a pretty decent customer service smile as he waited.

Since Tim was having a problem with words, Dick went first.

"So, I'll have some Boo-berry Poltergeist pancakes, with two sunny side up eggs and a side of bacon?" Dick watched as Danny paused for a moment, let out a little laugh and then started to write before looking to Tim.

"I will have...Ugh, the Wraith waffles with the hunting hashbrowns on the side...please." Dick had seen Tim look less pained over being stabbed than say the wonderful puns.

"Alrighty, anything to drink before I head back and get started on your order?" Holding up a coffee jug in one hand and an orange juice jug in the other, Danny gave a slight smirk.

Perhaps it was the coffee but Tim looked a bit less pained after that.

---

As he slapped down a few pieces of bacon, Danny totally didn't use his ghost powers to bring the bowl of pancake batter over closer as he scooped a ladle full on a freshly buttered side of the flat top, making sure it set first, Danny heard a beep from the frier, heading over he paused to see French fries in there as well.

Shaking his head, he dunked them all into the oil, and moved to set the timer only to see it already clicking down, "Oh um...thank you very much." Patting the deep frier, Danny moved back to the flat top as it let out a gurgling purr.

---

Tim took all of five seconds after Danny rounded the corner into the back of the house to start whispering

"Wing, this place is mocking me. Apple apparition pie? Haunting Hashbrowns? Ethereal fucking eggs benedict." Hissing Tim shifted in his seat, "like I would get it if this place was ghost themed but it very clearly isnt! It is mocking me because I know this place doesn't exist!" Slamming a fist down on the counter, it very much thudded.

Sharing a look with Tim, Dick placed a hand on Tim's shoulder, "Buddy...I agree there is something up with this place but...I very much think it exists? Since we are kinda sitting here."

Dragging his hand down his face with a groan Tim leaned back in his seat, "I know and it is infuriating me..." Grabbing the coffee mug Tim looked at it with a not insignificant amount of distrust before taking a swig, pausing, than taking another, much slower sip, holding the mug with both hands as he lowered it down, staring at the dark liquid with a small glare.

"Red? You okay? Is that the bad coffee look ot oh shittake mushrooms that was poisoned look?" Dick said worryingly, looking to the cup of orange juice that was in front of him with suspicion.

"N-no...I" Tim's words cut off as he took a breath, "Just...tastes just like the kind Mom used to drink, came from this little town in Chile they passed through..." staring at the cup a little longer Tim shook his head, "They closed a few years back, the farmer that made it got killed by a drug cartel that wanted him to plant coca rather than coffee, it's just that this place should very much not have this."

There was a tension between the two vigilantes, Dick moving to speak before being cut off by Danny quickly coming out from the back.

"Order up! Got two pancakes for Mr. Nightwing, side of bacon and eggs and two waffles for Mr. Red Robin with some hasbrowns!" Setting each plate down in front of said vigilante, Danny gave them both a grin.

"And a side of Phantom fries for both of you on the house!"

After refilling the little bit missing out of Tim's cup, Danny seemed to be to there one second and back in the kitchen a moment later.

---

"Phantom fries?" Danny whispered to himself as he started to clean off the griddle, a grin on his face as he did, he might of left the hero business, but oh God was it funny, he wondered if other people got the same fun out of it.

Checking out on he customers through the small window to the front, Danny felt his core thrum at the sight of the two eating, it was a different kind of thrum that he got while protecting people, this one...this one gave him a full body shudder and cleared a fog in his mind he didn't even he had.

Shaking his head, Danny tried not to let the purr building in his chest out.

---

Screw the worries that Tim had, Dick was having the time of his life.

"We can't tell the others about this place Red...Little wing would try and place it in the Alley and B might try and buy it cus holy guacamole this shit is good..." Dick had dug in after Tim's wrist mounted computer had tested the food for any known poisons which said that there weren't any, but still went and saved a few samples for further analysis at the Cave.

Dick didn't know why but the pancakes tasted like those that Alfred made the first week he had been at the manor, he had gotten upset at Brcue and hid in the attic all day, but Alfred managed to lure him down with the promise of blueberries in his pancakes.

They were perfectly fluffy, butter soaked with that little edge around it that was crunchy, the berries were tart enough to battle the maple syrup and...it was just like how Dick remembered.

Shaking his head as he finished up his food, Dick threw a look over at Tim, who was hunched over his empty plate, holding his mug of coffee closer, at Dicks questioning look the teen spoke.

"We have to leave Wing something is just...off about this place, its...they taste like when my dad used to make breakfast after coming home from a dig...has to be brain waves or mind reading or..." Tim continued to ramble on, ideas flowing out of him like a water fall.

By the time that Danny went back to check on the two, they were gone.