#oreo fic

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Oreo

Synopsis:  As a joke, Roman's forced to ask Virgil out after losing an oreo. Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed and humiliated by the connotation that dating him would be such a bad thing, he says yes out of impulse, and must now deal with what being Roman's "boyfriend" entails. Taglist: @renys @falsemood

Part Five: Oversleeping Masterlist

Does he even have a reason to despise Roman? A real reason? 

He knows he hates Remus, but he can’t drag Roman into his brother’s bullying. Well, technically he could, but it’d be immature. 

Huffing, Virgil tries to think of a reason - perhaps an annoying interaction they’ve had or teasing that was taken too far - but he ultimately comes up short. He just seemingly decided one day after seeing him around Remus that he didn’t like the man. Overlooking the fact they’re brothers in order to justify his bitterness. 

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut. 

Okay, he’ll admit that was a bit unfair of him. Deciding that he didn’t like Roman just because of who he’s related to was silly. 

But, at the same time, Remus harassed him and his friends constantly. How could someone as wonderful and caring as Roman be related to someone who’s so pathetic that he picks on other people to feel some semblance of self worth? 

Virgil’s fists roughly hit against his pillows, letting out a frustrated groan as he struggles to sift through the thoughts flooding within his mind like unruly waves crashing against a beach. He can’t focus on anything for more than a few seconds; a thought would come, he’d feel guilt or justification, and then a new thought would take its place. 

He sits back up, adjusting his position on the couch, before he turns and presses his face into a new cushion. Closing his eyes once again, the “date” he’d just gone on plays in his mind like a movie. 

Roman’s smile… The ease by which he talked... 

And his laughter. 

Virgil pulls his knees up to his chest, sighing as he urges himself to relax. The sweet taste of a milkshake on his tongue seems to linger. A wave of exhaustion overtakes him as the exertion of today finally catches up. He’s not an extrovert by any means, and spending the entire day out with Roman was taking a toll. 

He leans back on the couch, yawning dramatically, before pushing his face hard into one of the cushions. He lets his eyes close. The date seems to play in his mind like a movie, and he lets the memory of Roman’s soft chuckle lull him to sleep. 

***

He wakes up the next morning with a headache. 

His phone is beeping repeatedly, and when Virgil looks at him, he’s quick to push himself onto his feet. 

Groaning as a wave of vertigo overtakes him, he watches a call from Janus suddenly end, adding to a culmination of missed calls currently capped at “16,” but still threatening to increase. He doesn’t bother answering, instead quickly unlocking his phone as he stumbles towards his room, being met with a barrage of texts including ‘where are you?’ and ‘class started fifteen minutes ago!’

Fifteen minutes. And to make matters worse, Virgil can tell he’d overslept, meaning he feels exhausted as ever. Next time he gets home early from a date, he’ll try to keep himself up until ten. 

Quickly, Virgil sends an ‘i overslept’ text to the group chat, met with the singular reaction of a thumbs-down emoji from Logan. Truly helpful. 

He quickly gets ready, shrugging off his dirty clothes in favor of a different hoodie and another pair of black jeans, before patting his pocket to make sure he has his house key. He throws his backpack over his shoulders, and nearly trips down the stairs. 

Under his breath he curses himself for putting off getting his driver’s license. It’s not a long walk by any means, but with him already being late, having a quicker mode of transportation would definitely help. 

Essentially sprinting, he can feel himself getting sweaty, and he shakes his head and groans as he realizes he forgot deodorant or toothpaste. Gross. 

When he finally hauls his ass into school, he desperately explains his situation to the main office, and is given a late pass which he shamefully carries as he makes his way to his first class. He looks a mess, and he knows it, and so tries to keep his head down as he walks inside. 

Every head raises to stare at him, including Janus’s, and the teachers. He shifts uncomfortably where he stands. 

"Mr. Addams," she addresses him, sounding rather annoyed. "Glad to see you're finally joining us. Do you have a pass?” 

Virgil raises her arm to hand her the slip, and she reads over it before nodding and setting it on her desk. 

“The office will adjust your attendance,” she says, dismissively, and Virgil walks to his desk in the back of the room. His chest aches as he feels everyone’s eyes following him. How stupid does he look? Did he remember to lock the front door?

He collapses into his seat, feeling his legs throb as he keeps a hand on his chest, trying to steady his breathing. Running here took so much effort, and keeping his eyes open wasn’t proving to be any easier. He feels as though he’s going to fall to the ground unconscious at any moment. 

He resists the urge to lay his head down on his desk, and tries his best to pay attention, not wanting to upset his teacher any further. She already wasn’t pleased with him; he’d hate to do something that would result in a stern talking-to, or even worse, a referral. 

In the corner of his eye, Virgil watches Janus type on his phone under the desk, though his head stays straight. His eyes look between Virgil and the teacher. Though he’s curious, Virgil doesn’t bother to check the vibrating phone in his pocket, not wanting to risk fumbling and dropping it. He’d already drawn enough attention toward himself today. 

Thankfully, the bell rings after just a short while for Virgil, and he trudges out of the room, Janus at his side.

“Geez, you look like shit,” he comments, making Virgil roll his eyes. He rubs at his face, focusing around his eyes, as he tries to wake himself up more. “How are you feeling?” 

“Like I might pass out,” Virgil groggily responds, before forcing himself to stretch. As he reaches his arms over his head, he lets out a slight groan, and then relaxes again. It didn’t help much, but his body feels less strained. 

Janus sets a hand on his back. It’s a light touch, but it’s clear he’s helping guide Virgil, if only a bit. 

That doesn’t keep Janus from grinning, though. “Don’t worry. All you have to do is stay alive until lunch, and then you can fall asleep on that hunk of a boyfriend you have.” Janus wiggles his eyebrows, attempting to entice some bitter or embarrassed refute from Virgil, but all he gets is a slight hum in response. 

Janus whistles. “You must really be tired, hm? Not a glare? No shoulder punch?” He stops their walking to set the back of his hand against Virgil’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re just feeling tired? You’re not running a fever or anything, are you?” 

Virgil finally scoffs, and pushes Janus’s hand away. Janus was right in a sense though. He just had to make it to lunch. Then, he could take a quick nap! Hopefully, he’d feel better after that.

Thank god tomorrow was Friday.

Virgil sleepwalks through his next few classes, but it doesn’t seem like any of his teachers notice. Janus and Logan accompany him through a few of them, but he hardly notices. With his head down, he struggles to keep awake, and resorts to kicking his leg in order to stay awake.

Finally, after what seems like centuries to Virgil, lunch comes around. 

His eyes burn, and he feels like he’s shaking with every step he takes. He just needs to make it to the cafeteria. Then, he’ll be okay. 

As he’s walking - rather slowly - towards the loud chatter and open double-doors, an arm wraps around his shoulders. Virgil jumps, and stiffens as he cranes his neck upwards, only to see Roman. 

“Lacking the pep in your step, I see,” Roman jokes, and Virgil can’t help the small smile that graces his lips. 

“I’m tired,” Virgil clarifies, as he lets Roman guide him forward.

Roman chuckles. "You shouldn't be; you told the teacher you overslept.”

Virgil rolls his eyes, but Roman suggests “you can nap at lunch. I don’t think all the screaming would make the greatest white noise, but to each their own.” 

Virgil laughs softly. “Janus told me a similar thing.” He leaves out the bit where Janus joked about Virgil falling asleep against Roman. Being reminded of that, he’s quick to pull himself away from Roman, who eases his grip and allows Virgil to do so. 

People whisper as they pass. It was still big news that Roman decided to date some social outcast! Virgil still needed to ask how people found out about that, though, with Roman’s love for affection and his brother’s big mouth, he definitely had a few guesses. 

Once they sit down at their table, Virgil immediately slumps over it, and tucks his head into his arms. Roman, who’s apparently decided this was his new table as well, pats Virgil’s back comfortingly. 

“I take it you’re no longer completely against dating Roman?” Janus teases, alluding to the fact they walked in together. 

Virgil just shrugs, too lethargic to care at the moment. 

Janus laughs. “Better watch out, Roman! Virgil might actually be falling in love with you.” He winks, and Roman smiles, but Virgil lets out a string of muffled words at Janus’s teasing. 

They’re mostly incoherent, but Janus can just assume the obvious; Virgil was obviously saying something along the lines of “I could never fall in love with someone like him.” 

Roman has no qualms laughing at Janus’s words, though, cheeks a nice pink at the idea. Virgil actually falling in love with him? Never. And Roman becoming equally smitten? He doesn’t see it happening. 

There were no real romantic feelings between them, and Roman knew that. But he’s not a quitter, and if Virgil insists on being in this “relationship,” then Roman will make sure it’s the best relationship Virgil’s ever partaken in. 

Sneaking a glance downwards, Roman’s met with Virgil’s (supposedly) sleeping figure. He was breathing rhythmically, so Roman assumes he’s finally managed to drift off. 

Out of courtesy, Roman lowers his voice, and when Logan finally comes over to join them, he does the same. Logan has a book out as he eats, but he has no problem talking while reading, as if that wasn’t an impressive task. And as lunch carries on, Logan and Janus become more invested in each other, leaving Roman to eat his lunch quietly, side-by-side with Virgil. 

When the bell rings, Janus and Logan get up and walk off together, leaving Roman with a sleeping Virgil. 

With a sigh, Roman gently shakes Virgil awake. Virgil groans, before weakly swatting at Roman’s hands. His accuracy is horrid, but Roman’s arms retreat anyway, giving Virgil space to stretch. 

“Don’t touch me… you heathen….” Virgil yawns, blinking his eyes open. 

Roman grins. “Heathen? That’s an awfully mean thing to call somebody who’s looking out for you. Here I am, selflessly making sure you get to your next class on time, and you insult me.” Roman sets a hand on his chest, feigning being struck, as if Virgil’s insult had punched him square in the torso. 

Virgil stands, yawning again, before cracking his back. Then, he begins walking. Roman walks with him. They don’t share the same class this period, but it’s in the same general direction.

“Believe me, Roman, I could call you worse,” Virgil threatens, voice gravelly. He still sounds exhausted, but he looks a bit better. Hopefully, with a quick cat-nap, he’d be better suited to finish the rest of the day. 

Roman laughs, but doesn’t respond. Silently, they head to Virgil’s class, before Roman waves and turns away to walk to his own, leaving Virgil to settle himself at his desk. 

Their afternoon classes are uneventful, and the two are both fairly happy when the dismissal bell rings. Roman runs to his locker, which is already swarmed with fellow football players, other boys trying to associate with the “cool” jocks, and girls desperate to talk to them. 

He manages to worm his way to his locker, but in attempting to grab his stuff and leave, he’s stopped by Remus. 

“Hey, loser,” Remus greets him, with a wide smile. He’s leaning against the locker next to Roman’s. “Have you convinced that outcast to break up with you yet?” Remus picks at his teeth with his pinky as he waits for an answer, seemingly intrigued. 

“No,” Roman replies, as he shuts his locker a bit louder than necessary. “I haven’t been trying.” 

Remus looks a little surprised. “Why not? Don’t tell me you actually caught feelings for that accident?” 

Roman narrows his eyes, turning to Remus with comically red cheeks. He was frustrated, but such a look could easily be mistaken for fluster. A strange compulsion to defend Virgil wells up in his chest. Maybe it was because Virgil wasn’t here to stick up for himself. 

“So what if I have?” is his immediate jest, threatening Remus to raise any sort of objection. “Is that such a problem?” There’s a glare not normally present in his soft green eyes, and it makes Remus jut his chin out in a mixture of curiosity, and amusement. 

Roman doesn’t actually have feelings for Virgil, but he has respect and basic decency. Unlike Remus, apparently.

“You barely know him,” Roman continues, as the increasing volume of his voice draws the attention of the people around them, “and from what I’ve seen, he’s a better person than you are.” 

“That’s not a hard bar to surpass.” 

Roman groans, before stomping his foot dramatically. “Whatever, Remus! Get out of my way; I’m going to see my boyfriend.” 

He pushes past Remus, purposely bumping his shoulder against his brother’s, before stomping off, leaving Remus there, intrigued. 

Roman takes deep breaths as he makes his way to Virgil’s locker, where he hopes the latter is. And he’s pleased when he sees Virgil there, though Virgil looks exhausted. 

His forehead is pressed against his locker, eyes closed. He was holding his bag by his strap, though it hangs down, being drawn to the floor. 

Roman sets a hand on Virgil’s shoulder, and apologizes immediately when Virgil jumps. His eyes are wide as he stares at Roman, before sighing out a short “what do you want?” Ever so polite, Virgil wastes no time getting straight to the point.

Roman smiles. “I came to ask if you wanted to come over!” 

“Why?” Virgil responds, voice sounding tired. It’s enough to make Roman shift his weight from one leg to the other, debating whether or not he should just drop the topic. 

“You mentioned earlier that you didn’t like being alone,” Roman replies, smile faltering slightly. “I came to provide you an alternate option!”

“Who said I’d want to spend time with you instead?” 

Roman lets out a sigh, adjusting the bag on his back. “I guess you have a point. I’ll take that as a no, then.” He turns to leave. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow-” 

His hand is immediately grabbed, and Roman turns to see Virgil looking a little anxious. He quickly masks it when they make eye contact, and releases Roman’s hand just as quickly.

“I never said no,” Virgil replies, wiping his hand on his pants as though Roman had infected it with germs. “I’ll come over. Are your parents okay with this?” 

Roman just shrugs in response, but he smiles wide. “I’m sure they won’t mind.” 

He takes hold of Virgil’s hand, pulling him through the school and out the front door. He pulls a pair of car keys out of his pocket, and leads Virgil to a slick, white car. Not a single splatter of mud or pile of bird shit over it. Roman unlocks it, and even opens the passenger side door for him.

The seats are comfy, and Virgil settles into his with a pleased groan, as Roman gets into the driver’s side and starts the car. 

“I could fall asleep right now,” Virgil comments, making Roman laugh. 

“It’s a short drive,” he assures Virgil. “I have a comfy bed you can fall asleep on at home instead.” 

Virgil lets his head fall to the side, staring at the window as Roman drives them out of the school parking lot, and down the street. They go straight for a while, before Roman turns down a certain street. The houses lining the sidewalk were giant, and looked incredibly old. 

Virgil’s eyes go wide. 

“The historical district?” Virgil exclaims, pressing his forehead against the window. “But… but the houses here are super expensive! Do you really live here?” 

Roman nods, and slows his car as he turns and drives up a nice paved driveway, leaving Virgil to stare at the large house they’re pulling up to. It’s white with many, many windows, and a faded blue roof. Large pillars act as support, and a giant yard is freshly trimmed, with marble decorations. Flowers grow along the driveway and the path to the front door. 

Roman parks the car on the driveway, behind two black cars parked side by side. He pulls a key out of his pocket and walks Virgil to the front door, before unlocking it. He shuts the door behind them, and then interlocks his arm with Virgil’s. 

“Dad, Papa, I’m home!” Roman then calls, giving Virgil’s arm an assuring squeeze. “And I brought somebody you might want to meet!”

[fishfingersandscarves]

little cover for Beautiful, Strange, and New by @moorishflower bc it just ended and was wonderful

[moorishflower]

Dirty Talk (Dreamling, Explicit)

This is because of @landwriter making me realize I don't have much practice writing dirty talk. This is still pretty tame in that regard.

"I don't think you're even capable of talking dirty," is what Hob says, one fine winter evening, comfortable and a bit comfortably tipsy, sat at his regular table in the New Inn with Dream of the Endless sat across from him, and he knows by the way Dream rears back like a cat whose nose has been flicked that he's made a mistake in saying it. It's only been a few months since Dream has come back into his life, since he's gifted Hob with information and explanations and finally, in the trenches of autumn as the leaves had crumpled from the trees in red and gold splendor, the rare sight of his smile and a trembling lower lip, and a soft, My friend, but in those few months Hob's come to the realization that he would do anything, literally anything and everything, to hold Dream's friendship. To make him feel safe. To keep him here.

And maybe mocking his friend's mode of speaking isn't the right way to go about it but, again, he's just pissed enough for it to not seem like a big deal, and Dream doesn't seem upset so much as he seems offended. Mates give each other shit all the time, Hob reassures himself, and it's not like they were talking about something life-changing. Dream had only been complaining about his sibling interfering with his realm, which has apparently caused some sort of imbalance in the Dreaming, and from there had followed a great lot of metaphysical and esoteric explanations that boiled down to 'wet dreams are on the rise' (pun intended). It explains why he's had so many in the past week. It doesn't explain why so many of them have featured dark hair and skin like cloaked starlight and eyes bluer than the Aegean Sea, but that's his albatross to bear, not Dream's.

And then Dream had said something along the lines of how sex dreams had used to have poetry to them, there'd been an intimate back and forth, not just of bodies but of words, a build-up and a climax. One thing had led to another, and Hob had said what he said, and he stands by it. Still stands by it, even as Dream's eyes turn flinty and the corner of his mouth turns up into a smirk that would shame the devil.

"I am the Prince of Stories," he murmurs. His voice is a laser that cuts through the raucous din of the New Inn. There's a van's worth of footballers a few tables down, either celebrating or commiserating, it's not clear which, and the entire pub is lousy with the noise. Hob doesn't have to lean forward to hear his friend, so tuned is he to that purring baritone, but he does so anyways. It gets him closer to Dream, who also leans in, like he's about to share a secret. "Do you truly believe me incapable of crafting words titillating enough to bring one to completion?"

"I don't think you've ever said the word 'cunt' in your life," Hob says, doubling down like the idiot he is. He's never claimed to be a wise man, and especially not when he's in his cups. Besides, it's the winter hols, he's got nothing to do tomorrow, and if he ends this night with nightmares that make him piss the bed he'll concede that Dream has won this round.

"You would be incorrect."

Hob can't imagine Dream ever speaking in a way that's less than dignified. There's such power to him, all the time, such staid and solemn surety, and there's no room in that sort of denseness for telling your partner how much you'd like to suck their brains out of their prick. More's the pity, because he thinks if he could imagine it, the shape of his stranger's lips around the word 'cock' would surely be a fine feature to add to his repertoire of fantasies.

It's at this point that Hob makes the stupidest decision he's made all night.

"Prove it," he says, and takes a sip of his drink, secure in the knowledge that six centuries of swiving has rendered him immune to embarrassment, even in such a public setting. There is a long pause during which the only sound is the ambient riot of the Inn around them, the clink of glasses and the cheering -- or bemoaning? -- of the footballers, the nearly-incomprehensible drone of the sound system piping Top 40s Modern Rock into the kitchen behind the bar, Marv the bartender swearing as he uncorks a bottle of champagne for a mixer.

Then Hob feels something brush against his foot beneath the table, and the rest of the pub goes silent.

Or rather, not silent, but…muffled. Like someone's draped a great blanket over the both of them, and now it's just him and Dream, as it's always been, as it always will be, facing each other across a worn, wooden table, as much of the original wood as Hob had been able to salvage. He's worked it into the foundations, into the bartop and the tables and the floor, trying to preserve the stories he'd told for his stranger, the history, like it was ale that had soaked into the floorboards. Dream's eyes are focused on him, impossibly blue, and he feels another soft touch, this time higher up his leg. Like a foot stroking up his calf, except no game of footsie has ever left him feeling this breathless before, this yearning.

"Would you have me prove it to you with words of prose, Hob Gadling?" Dream's voice is a thing with texture. It'd be prosaic to compare it to such human stuff as velvet or fox fur, but Hob's limited in his petty human understanding, and to his ears it's plush and warm and welcoming. It's a voice to bury your face into, a voice that drips down the skin like warm honey or candlewax, with just enough bite to be interesting. "Would you have me woo you with poetry? Shall I compare thee, not to a summer's day, but to the wild bounty of the fields? More comely than all of autumn's fruits and grains, thy hair rich as the loam and the fertile earth?"

Fertile is an unfair word for him to use, Hob thinks. His brain's scattered out his ears in an attempt to try and hear better, but he doesn't have a choice, because if he wants to not hear he's going to have to get up and leave. And not listening to this just…isn't an option. Not with how Dream is looking at him, head cocked like a bird and his mouth red as garnets shaping around words, words, words.

"Shall I opine about the shape of your body? How broad and virile your chest? I have seen you at sport, Hob, and I know what you hide beneath sweaters and cardigans. I have seen the daydreams of those who lust after you. They imagine you coming in from your war games, stripping the shirt from your back and drinking the sweat from your body. They imagine what it would be like to sink to their knees and bury their mouths into your most intimate places. Worshiping you with hand and tongue. Would you have me describe these fantasies, Hob?"

Oh, please, he thinks, and wonders if it must show on his face, how dry his mouth's become, how tight his trousers are now, because Dream's little smirk grows wider. His pupils are blown so large they nearly eclipse his irises, and there's only a thin ring of startling blue outlining a sea of infinite void.

"Or would you prefer it in cruder terms?" The light pressure that's been dragging up and down his leg inches higher; it feels like fingers kneading into the soft insides of his thighs, and Hob's legs fall open to give the phantom hands better access. The Inn looks and sounds like it's moving in slow motion, but maybe that's just because he can't look away from Dream.

"Would you like me to describe how beautiful your cock is?" Dream asks, and he says it with the disaffected expression of someone asking about the weather and the deep and growling voice of a jungle cat, and Hob is fairly certain he makes a noise of his own, something undignified and stifled by how quickly he bites his lip. "How the weight of it would fit perfectly in my hand? You are made for pleasure, Hob. Thick. Heavy. Better still, to hold the shape of you in my mouth."

"Oh, fuck," Hob says. He's barely aware that he says it, but Dream's eyes light up with fiendish inner fire. There's no blue anymore. It's just black, and stars, and Hob drifting in them like a rogue comet, burning up.

"Yes. I could describe how you would fuck me. How you would turn me inside out. I would want to ride you first, to see the shape of you inside me. I would want you to fill me with your spend until I could taste it in my throat, and then, when I had found my pleasure, I would want you to bear me down into the bed. I would want you to break me in half, Hob Gadling, because I will accept no less than the most ardent lover, and if I do not finish the night with your cum leaking down my thighs and my arsehole gaping for you, I will not be satisfied."

The ghost-touch that's been drifting higher and higher along his thighs presses firmly against his groin, and Hob makes a strangled, gasping little noise, swallowed up by the thick syrupy slowness of the Inn, and comes in his pants. It's an orgasm so sharp and sweet and high that it feels like the prolonged note of a flute, and leaves his thighs quivering in the aftermath, and his breath coming in heady little rasps. He hadn't even been aware he was that keyed up, but then, he hadn't been aware of anything but Dream, and Dream's voice, and now how Dream is staring at him across the way, eyes glittering like a thousand diamonds set in velvet. Hob watches as he slowly lifts his hand from beneath the table, spreading his fingers. They're covered in cum, little beads and drips of it sliding down to the second knuckle, and Dream holds his gaze like a fist around Hob's heart as he raises his hand to his mouth and begins licking his fingers clean.

There's another noise, an uncomfortable whimper, that Hob doesn't want to think is him but probably is.

"Have I sufficiently proven myself?" Dream asks, popping his fingers free of his mouth with the most obscene, wet sound that Hob has ever heard. He imagines those fingers spearing into him and making that same sound from all the lube dripping out of his arse, and Dream's nostrils flare.

"Dunno," Hob manages to say, when he finally finds his voice. It's a thready, needy voice, but it is there. "Could use some more convincing. Don't suppose…you fancy coming upstairs to continue this conversation?"

There's a gentle stroke along the inside of his thigh, making his poor, spent cock twitch, and Dream smiles at him. "Yes. I believe there is more I could tell you, Hob Gadling."

And there is. A lot more. That night, and into the morning, and the next, and the next. Hob needs a lot of convincing.

He's grateful Dream seems up to the challenge.

[teejaystumbles]

for Beautiful, Strange and New by @moorishflower

[olteacup]

very important question that i need answered,

what fruit is Renee, or better question is what flavor of pie is she

i feel like she'd be either peach pie or apple pie but i don't even know how pie taste so im winging it

saying that what about Tamarack or Qiu? cause I feel like Baxter would be an oreo pie, no questions asked. he's definitely an oreo pie

[agentianlegend]

A Vigilante, a Different Vigilante’s Sister and a Villain Walk Into a Bar

A Danny Phantom x Batfam (DC) Crossover

AO3  |  FFn

Tags: Anger Management, BAMF Jazz Fenton, Supportive Jazz Fenton, Awkward Flirting, Flirting, First Dates, BatPham, Fluff, but not like super hardcore fluff, more like light and playful fluff preceding badassery

-------

"I enjoy the classics. Especially moody or creepy ones. Eyre, Poe, sometimes Dickens."

Jazz nodded approvingly. "I lean towards nonfiction, mostly, but I enjoy a good ghost story."

A smile teased the corner of Jason's mouth. "Poor little Casper doesn't scare you?"

"Psh, please, growing up my house was basically haunted," Jazz dismissed. "Though you might think I'm crazy if you don't give any stock to the existence of ghosts. Do you believe in life after death?"

Jason was visibly suppressing a smirk. "You'd be surprised."

-------

"Why do you have a gun?!"

"It's fuckin' Gotham. And I saw that silver piece peeking out of your purse," Jason indignantly replied. "Don't act like you're not packin'."

"That's different. It's a peeler; it's not for humans."

The local whirled around to gawk at her. "The fuck is it for, then?!"

-------

Summary: Jason and Jazz surprise each other when their date takes a turn for the dangerous. But, hey, rogues need therapy too, right?

A bit of gratuitously bad flirting that somehow still works, plus a dash of badassery on the side.

-------

Well peeps when @weshney / @weshneyreblogger tagged me in a post by @spacedace about Jazz therapizing rogues around Gotham rather than in Gotham, it combined with my recent love of the Anger Management ship to become a deliciously awful first date idea.

I saw you guys wanted to be tagged in a continuation of the initial post, so here you go! I hope you enjoy it even though I went off-script a bit lol

@thewondersoflebanon / @thedepressedrobin / @akikkobara / @overlycaffeinatedsuperwholockfan / @spectralstardustandphantomnights / @nutcase8691 / @stargirl1331 / @amercurio / @malice-of-the-sunrise / @screamingtofillthevoid / @mnemovoid / @leftmiraclechaos / @sailor-goddess / @phoenixdemonqueen / @rin1sakami​ / @itsloveleo (I’m sorry but your tag isn’t working)

[stabbyfoxandrew]

you know what's fucking insane though???

it's only been 3 days in the mafia front fic. THREE DAYS= ~34k. (so far, we're still on day three rn)

wow i'm truly insane. three days... mein gott

(potential spoilers for this fic in tags???)

[wildlife4life]

Oreo Towers will Tumble

Buddie M 7K

Drew Heyward has been a floater at the 118 for a few shifts and ends up as man behind one afternoon. During this time he finds a surprise visitor, Eddie Diaz, one of the handful of omega first responders and the person Drew has been covering for. Turns out, Eddie is Buck's mate, very pregnant and bored after weeks of bedrest. They talk, panic attacks occur, and oreo tower bets are made, creating a new friendship.

“Well until I was put on stupid bed rest a few months ago, this was my place of work.” The omega answered, annoyance lacing his tone. Immediately Drew caught on who their guest is. “Holy shit your Eddie Diaz.” “Technically Buckley-Diaz, but yep that’s me. And you are?” Drew didn’t answer at first, because he was…well he was somewhat starstruck.  Eddie Diaz is one of a handful of omega first responders in the state of California and he was badass.  Pulled a live grenade from a man’s leg, climbed a tilted hotel and a submerged Ferris wheel, and survived the sniper attack back in May. His saves were legendary, and he broke through all the glass ceilings held above omegas.  “Um…” Diaz squinted a bit, eyes on the beta’s chest, “Firefighter Heyward, you good there?” “Holy shit I didn’t know I was covering for you! Oh my god! And did you say Buckley-Diaz? Buckley? As in Buck? He’s your mate?” Drew finally caught the underlying scent of ocean salt and smokey cedar of his fellow fireman mingled with Diaz’s spiced chocolate. “Holy shit!”

Its here! May not be the a/b/o fic ya'll are expecting, but this one is complete and posted! This fic was literally inspired by a pack of Oreos and the random ass image of Eddie stacking them on his pregnant belly. I hope you all enjoy!

[oreoambitions]

what if I watched Supergirl again but just to the end of S3 and pretended that nothing canon happened after that and wrote fic from there what then

[turbulenthandholding]

Here is what I know: @anxietycroissant is the absolute best. I have not yet returned to myself after digesting everything this week (the trailer! The episode titles!). And in chapter 4, no good deed goes unpunished (especially when it's covering for a late-night ER shift on the night of a full moon). Claire has a meet-cute, a late-night Uber ride that makes her sad, and a surprising phone call (and an overactive imagination), in that order.

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Oreo

Synopsis:  As a joke, Roman's forced to ask Virgil out after losing an oreo. Flustered, and somewhat embarrassed and humiliated by the connotation that dating him would be such a bad thing, he says yes out of impulse, and must now deal with what being Roman's "boyfriend" entails. Taglist: @renys @falsemood 

Part Four: Wonderful Masterlist

Virgil lets out a groan as he hears a motorcycle engine rev outside. Internally, he debates ghosting Roman, or texting him telling him he changed his mind, but inevitably decides against it. 

He grabs his house key, before making his way to the front door. Locking it behind him, he double checks to make sure it’s locked, and then triple checks to be fully confident. 

Hesitantly trudging towards the motorcycle, Virgil sees that Roman has taken his helmet off. His hair was disheveled - no doubt disturbed by the helmet pressing against it - but he was smiling wide. The motorcycle itself was bright white, with gold accents.

Roman was standing beside it, having parked and turned it off once Virgil had come outside. 

“Someone’s excited,” Roman teases, as Virgil’s eyes look over the bike.

Virgil huffs at the statement, scowling as he glances towards Roman’s face. "Don't say that; it sounds sexual." 

Roman laughs, before turning to lift up the seat. Beneath it was a storage compartment. 

He pulls out another helmet, slimmer than his own, and instead of being the same white and gold as Roman’s, this one was just a solid black. He hands it to Virgil with a comforting smile.

"You ready to go?" Roman asks, as he swings himself over the motorcycle seat, pushing up the kickstop with his foot. 

Virgil watches him as he does so. "Yup." 

"You know how to ride a motorcycle, right?" 

"Yes, Roman.” Virgil rolls his eyes. He feels his chest tighten. 

Roman smiles at Virgil’s bitterness, looking at Virgil expectantly, before placing his helmet on his head. Virgil runs his thumbs over his own, before he slides it on too, and climbs onto the motorcycle after. Nervously, he slides his arms around Roman’s torso, heart racing. Once again, the motorcycle revs, before Roman’s wrist rolls forward and it starts up, pulling forward and away from Virgil’s house. 

The wind against his body makes him shiver, his hoodie flapping around him. Without thinking, he pulls himself closer to Roman, chest leaning against his back for warmth. 

Despite the chill, Virgil’s smiling wide beneath the helmet, eyes observing the blur of buildings they pass by. 

But, the ride is over in a matter of minutes, as they pull into the parking lot of a small, local diner. Virgil slips off the motorcycle first, Roman following suit. They take their helmets off and hang them on the bike handles, before Roman’s fingers brush against Virgil’s, subtly slipping them between Virgil’s own.

Virgil is too exhilarated to notice. 

Roman keeps a hold of Virgil's hand as they walk in, leading them to a booth. Slowly, he pulls his hand away, and sits on the bench opposite of Virgil so they could sit across from each other. 

A waitress comes over, and hands them menus with a soft greeting. Roman smiles at her. Virgil looks down. 

His eyes scan over the menu as he attempts to appear busy, while Roman makes small talk. He compliments her nails, and asks where she got them done. His eyes briefly flicker up to look at them, and he notices how genuinely Roman smiles at her. 

She smiles back at him, glancing at her nails herself as if she’s admiring them in a new light, before she shakes her head slightly as if to dismiss the topic, asking instead if they’d like anything to drink. 

“Just water,” Virgil responds, awkwardly, as he flips the menu open. Pancakes, burgers, chicken tenders; the choices were endless. 

“Just water?” Roman asks, one eyebrow raised as he smiles, plotting. “Are you sure you don’t want anything more exciting? They have hot chocolate, tea… milkshakes! Wouldn’t you rather have a milkshake?” Though he was partially teasing, there was a soft air to his voice. He was genuinely asking, though also somewhat encouraging Virgil to agree. 

The waitress looks towards him.

“I mean… I guess. A milkshake then.” 

The waitress’s pen taps against her notepad, prepared to write. “What flavor? We have the classic vanilla, chocolate, strawberry…” 

“What about a cookies and creme variant?” Roman prompts. 

Virgil flushes at the notion, and the reminder of why they were on this date in the first place. He dreads the waitress’s response. 

“Oreo? We do. Is that fine with you?” She directs the question towards Virgil, who wants to groan into his hands. 

“Sure,” comes his response, through gritted teeth. She smiles, scribbles it down, and then turns towards Roman. 

Roman nods to her, before tilting his head towards Virgil. Voice low and playful, he asks "do you wanna be cliche with me? One shake, two straws?"

Virgil snorts, finally meeting Roman’s eyes. "That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard come out of your mouth, which is surprising, considering I've heard you introduce yourself." 

Gasping dramatically, Roman places a hand over his heart."Are you calling me stupid? How dare you!” The waitress laughs at Roman’s theatrics, and even Virgil can’t help the grin that rises to his face.

"You figure it out," he quips, matching Roman’s playfulness. 

Despite not getting a solid answer, Roman turns to the waitress and asks for one large shake with two straws, turning to Virgil afterwards. 

“That way, if you decide to want to share, we can always toss one out,” Roman muses, and Virgil’s cheeks go pink at the idea, huffing as he shoves his menu towards Roman. 

“Shut up,” is his only response, but Roman laughs lightly regardless.

Virgil laughs along with him. Something about Roman’s own happiness seems to be infectious. 

He doesn’t notice that Roman’s smiling at the sound, not used to hearing Virgil actually express his enjoyment. Sure, they don’t hang around each other often, but whenever Roman’s able to observe him, the most he ever sees is a slight upturn to his lips. Never… this. 

Smiling really suited Virgil. 

"Quit staring at me, jock," Virgil suddenly says, after a moment. It startles Roman out of his daydreaming state. Virgil’s eyes are narrowed, but he’s still smiling, cheek resting on his hand as he stares into Roman’s forest-green eyes

Roman smirks in response, puffing his chest out as he exclaims "I couldn't help myself. With a face as pretty as yours, it's almost impossible to look away." 

Though, instead of the typical huffy or flustered response Roman’s used to seeing by now, Virgil laughs again. “That was super cheesy. Does that ever work on anyone?”

"I don't know; did it work on you?"

Virgil snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. "Hell no." 

Roman sighs, sounding mockingly disappointed. Eyes closed remorsefully, Roman laments “well, it was worth a shot nonetheless.” 

Eventually, the waitress comes back with the Oreo milkshake and two straws. She sets them down on the table, and winks at them as she leaves. Virgil rolls his eyes in response while Roman chuckles, reaching forward to hand Virgil a straw of his own. 

Both of them tear the paper covering, with Roman sliding his to the edge of his straw and blowing it at Virgil, before the two of them stick their straws into the milkshake.  

Roman’s the first to take a sip, and he smiles immediately after doing so. "Oreo was a great choice. This tastes amazing." 

"It's just an Oreo shake, you dork," Virgil responds, as he takes a sip. “There’s nothing overly special about it.” 

"Maybe it's just being here with you that makes it taste better." 

Virgil smiles briefly, before his smile drops and he sighs right after. "You… you really need to stop that.”

“Stop what?”

Virgil fidgets with his hands under the table. “All the flirting. You know I don’t like you. And I know you don’t like me.”

Roman’s smile falls as well. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to," Virgil shrugs, casually taking another sip of the shake. His shoulders were tense though. "Your posse says enough." 

Frowning now, Roman leans back. "They don't speak for me. I never said I didn't like you. The things that Remus says shouldn’t be internalized. He’s mean to everyone.” 

Virgil just shakes his head and looks away, almost disappointed. He uses his finger to stir the straw in the thick milkshake.

Roman looks on, confused, as he tries to think of anything he could have done that might have upset Virgil, along with anything he could say to aid the situation.

Unable to come up with something, Roman changes the topic. 

"I didn't see your parents when I picked you up. Were they just inside?" Roman asks, hoping the out-of-the-blue question will lead to a lighter conversation. He wanted to subdue the otherwise thick tension between them. 

Virgil shakes his head. “He’s on vacation.” 

"When will he be back?" 

Shrugging at the question, Virgil turns his attention fully back to Roman. He sees nothing wrong with that answer, but Roman gasps, less dramatically and more serious this time. 

“You don’t know?” 

Face flushing with humiliation, Virgil shrugs again. "He never told me. He just said he’d be back; he didn't say when. It’s not like he’ll be gone forever." 

"So…so you've just been alone?" Roman prods. 

Virgil awkwardly clears his throat. "Not really. He left two days ago. I spent the first night alone, and then I spent the night at Janus’s yesterday, so I haven't been completely alone.” 

Roman nods, not completely convinced, but understanding nonetheless. "Are you spending the night with him again?"

"No," Virgil responds, huffing slightly. “He and Logan are hanging out tonight, and I don’t really feel like intruding.” Virgil’s fingers tap against the table, before he snorts. “Besides, the last time I spent the night over there, I woke up with a boyfriend.”

Grinning proudly, Roman goes “and that’s such a bad thing?”

"Considering you’re the boyfriend I woke up with, yes. That’s a horrible thing.”

It’s Roman’s turn to roll his eyes, as he pulls the Oreo shake closer to him, taking a sip himself, and dramatically sticking his tongue out at Virgil afterwards.

"Do you like being alone?" Roman then asks, after a moment.

Virgil hesitates, before sighing. “Not really, but there’s not much I can really do about it.” 

Roman frowns, but doesn’t ask any follow up questions, instead taking an obnoxiously loud sip of the shake. 

Then the waitress comes back. 

“Have you guys decided on what to eat?” she asks, and both Roman and Virgil exchange a wide-eyed glance. 

Roman laughs awkwardly. “No, sorry! We haven’t even gotten a chance to look at the menu,” he admits, while Virgil hurriedly flips his menu open and scans the items on it. 

“Chicken tenders,” Virgil suddenly blurts, before his face goes red with humiliation as the waitress turns towards him, confused. 

He clears his throat, and clarifies “I’d like the chicken tenders, please.” He sits stiff, rubbing his hands together beneath the table. “Just a normal basket, with fries maybe.” He then looks towards Roman, who gets the hint and quickly opens his own menu. 

“Would you like any dipping sauce?” the waitress prompts, writing down his order.

“Ranch?” It’s more of a question than an answer, but the waitress seems satisfied as she makes a note of that as well. 

She then turns to Roman, who sets his menu down as he proclaims “I’d like a burger. Please. With no tomato.” 

“Fries on the side?”

“Yes please.” Roman gathers the menus together and hands them to the waitress, who accepts them with a thankful nod. 

As she tucks them under her arm, she asks if he’d like any sauce for his fries, to which he politely declines. She then turns and walks away. 

Virgil sighs in relief as soon as she's gone. 

Roman laughs. “That was panic-inducing,” he jokes, musing at Virgil’s uttered reply of “no kidding,” before Roman pushes the shake back towards him. Virgil accepts it with open arms, and takes a sip, absentmindedly picking a straw. 

They finish the shake together in the time it takes for their food to arrive, chatting every now and then, as the sky outside begins to grow dark. 

When the waitress comes back, she has two plastic baskets of food with her, a checkered and flimsy piece of paper inside of it, on which their food sits on. Both of the platters are stained with grease, but both Roman and Virgil offer thanks to the waitress as they look towards their food. 

Roman’s the first to pick his food up, taking a large bite of the burger, leaving Virgil to laugh as juice runs down his chin. 

Quickly, Roman grabs a napkin and wipes at his mouth, but he chews quickly, laughing once he’s choked it all down. “Wow,” he mutters, smiling. “This is really good.” 

Rolling his eyes at the dramatics, Virgil picks up a chicken tender, and dips it in the ranch. He’s a lot more courteous with his bite, but there’s something so appealing about the warm taste of greasy food. Despite the slick residue it leaves behind on Virgil’s fingers. 

“Pass the ranch?” Roman then asks, meekly, leaving Virgil to huff and roll his eyes as he sets the small container of ranch between them. 

Roman immediately reaches forward to slather two fries with it, before popping them into his mouth.

They eat their food in mostly silence, with the occasional comment or short exchange every now and then, but really both of them are content with just eating for now. Surprisingly, there’s nothing weird about enjoying a meal in the other’s company. 

When they’re finished, Roman waves the waitress over and requests the bill. He pays with his card, before pulling out a hefty stack of cash from his wallet and setting it on the table. Virgil meagerly pulls out a few bills and lays them aside Roman’s pile. 

Once he gets his card back (and sees the way the waitress’s face lights up with pure joy), Roman grabs Virgil’s hand, and pulls him outside.

By this time, the dark blue of the sky has gradually faded into a warm gold as the sun sets. The ombre of colours draws Roman’s eyes. Virgil watches the wide-eyed way he stares at the sky, how his pupils trace the merging of the colours, before his head lands facing the sun, a warm smile on his face that contrasts the chilliness of the evening. 

“How much do I owe you?” Virgil asks, drawing Roman out of his enraptured state. 

Roman looks at him, puzzled, a confused smile on his face. “What do you mean? You don’t owe me anything.”

“My half of dinner,” Virgil clarifies, as he’s handed his helmet. He holds it firm as he stares back at Roman, who merely shrugs off Virgil’s statement. 

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Roman replies, as he raises his helmet above his head. “Consider that my thanks for such a nice evening.” 

He then promptly pulls his helmet onto his head, effectively ending the conversation, and any of Virgil’s further protests. 

Climbing back onto the motorcycle, Roman then slowly pulls out of the diner, and drives a bit slower towards Virgil’s neighbourhood. Even after pulling up to his house, Roman’s slow to park the bike. 

Sooner than Virgil would have liked, they’re stopped on the curb. 

Virgil slides off, pulling the helmet off of his head and handing it back to Roman, who pushes the kickstop down before getting off himself. He sets his own helmet on one of the bike handles, before tucking Virgil’s back under the seat.

"I guess this is where we part ways, huh?" Roman says, laughing slightly, as he looks between Virgil and his house. 

Virgil scoffs at his dramatic lamenting. "I'll literally see you tomorrow," he responds, unamused, but with a small smile on his face. “Now shoo. I need alone time to recoup.” 

Roman sighs, smiling. “I guess I’ll meet you by your locker, then.”

Virgil snickers, backing up towards his door. “Don’t count on it,” he teasingly calls out, before unlocking his door and heading inside. He kicks the door shut behind him, locking it after, and then leans back against it, letting himself slowly sink to the ground as he sighs.

Roman had essentially been flirting with him the entire time, had paid for their entire (albeit cheap) meal, and had given him a (very fun) ride both to the diner and back to his house. 

This sucked.

Roman was being a genuinely good person. He’s been polite and respectful. Thinking about it, Virgil realizes he has little reason to hate him.

That “date” was horrible, and Virgil enjoyed every second of it. Wonderful.

[fishfingersandscarves]

A playlist and some art i made for @moorishflower 's new fic Beautiful, Strange, and New is out and the first chapter is up!!! It's a beautiful beautiful longfic that I highly endorse and everyone better read it!!!!!

[moorishflower]

Hey here's a snippet from the retired Dream/Hob/Daniel fic for those interested <3 n for you @fulcrvm!

Hob moves to the bedside, carrying with him a mug and a plate, both of which he sets down upon the table. The mug smells hot and sweet, and the plate contains a single slice of toast, thickly-slathered with butter and fruit preserves.

Morpheus’ stomach makes a curious rumbling noise; he can feel the ripple of muscle there when he puts his hand flat upon it, and Hob smiles. His smile is so brilliant, and he thinks, for the first time, that perhaps a month of this, of this tenderness and this affection, will be enough to sustain him on his journey to whatever awaits him beyond the Sunless Lands.

“Finally hungry,” Hob says. He sits down on the edge of the bed, hands twisted into his lap. “Was starting to get worried. You going to try and eat?”

Eating, eventually, will bring with it a whole new host of problems. He does not want to think about this body converting food into energy, and the complicated process required, and the waste it will generate.

He also cannot deny that the smell of the food is…appealing.

“Friend at work makes homemade jams,” Hob is saying. He has picked the plate back up and is holding it out to Morpheus, encouragement writ large upon his expression. “This is…cherry, I think? Cherry and orange? Looks like there might be marmalade bits in there. She’s a bit of a mad scientist.”

Morpheus wonders at the wisdom of subjecting this new stomach to fruit-based mad science, but, in the end, the ceaseless cramping in his belly wins out. He picks up the slice of toast and must lean far over so that he may take a delicate bite of it, hovering over the plate so that he does not drip jam onto the sheets. He hears Hob sigh in relief. Then, all of his attention is focused upon his tongue, and on the texture of the toast between his teeth, and the sharp-soft crumbs that stick to his lips as he tears off his small bite and chews. The jam is tart, tingling upon his palate, but the sweetness chases after, washes over his tastebuds. Cutting through the jam is the savoury warmth of the butter, half-melted, coating his tongue in a layer of delicious oil and dripping in a fine golden line down the curve of his bottom lip. Hob watches his face, studying him, as Morpheus licks after the single drop.

The bread, he thinks, is merely a mechanism with which to convey butter and jam. Perhaps this is why the toast from before had held no appeal.

[acermp100]

WAWA WEEK PART 3: REVENGE OF THE WAWA

27/3 - Official art/outfit: DEMON SERI (woo) Soooo I wasn't gonna do this day but I had some extra shorts for my Demon Au fic: Hollow. And this one was cute. So have a demon Seri!

If you have not read my fic, let me sum up: Serizawa is an incubus and sucks at it. I mean he can be sexy and all that but he's not into the corrupting of humans and draining them of their souls. Annnnd then he falls in love with Reigen. Here's the link:

DISCLAIMER: While this short is general audience, my AO3 Hollow fic IS NOT. I mean Seri is an incubus so yeah, you've been warned.

OK SO THIS SHORT: There were a few spoilers for the AU as a whole so I edited them out. This is waaaay near the end of the AU. Demon Wawa babysits the esper kids. It's cute.

General Audiences. Video games, junk food, adorable.

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

“What? What the heck was that?!”

A wireless controller floated in the air along with the last bits of nachos. Serizawa fell back onto the couch, glaring at the screen with his fangs bared.

“A creeper.” Mob sipped at his soda. The death message displayed on the screen. “They sneak up next to you and blow up.”

Shou was trying to stifle his laughter.

A forked tail lashed back and forth. “My house…” The demon’s voice trailed off, bowing his head as he gave into the defeat.

“Yeah, hate those things.” Teru was sitting in front of Mob on the floor, letting the others have the couch. “You picked up the game pretty quick though. Took me like 5 days to build anything my first time.”

Mob held up a hand and recovered the idly hovering controller with his own powers. “I just went around picking flowers and making farms.”

“Don’t worry, Seri.” Shou nudged the demon in front of him with his foot. “We can find an easier game for you.”

“Oh?” Serizawa shifted his glowing eyes toward the kid. “Like how you play Animal Crossing?”

Shou was about to throw some searing quips back in defense before Ritsu walked in with a filled bowl in one hand and a stacked plate in another.

“Alright, here’s the next round of snacks.” He started distributing the food. “Found some popcorn in the top of the pantry and even some cookies.”

“Score!” Teru leapt up and took some cookies for himself.

The sound of munching filled the room. Mob and Ritsu’s parents wanted to spend their anniversary at a fancy restaurant and later a nice hotel stay. The date happened to fall on the same time the esper kids all had a sleep over planned. Can’t pass on video games, junk food, and staying up way too late. Normally, Reigen stepped up to be the adult in the room, but he claimed to have prior responsibilities- (removed for Hollow spoilers :P just pretend he’s stocking up on ghost fighting stuff or something). Dimple went along just having to see what that could even be about. That left the only real adult known by the family to be Serizawa. Adult being a very lose term. Being 337 did garner him the title of ‘not an irresponsible child’, but it’s not like someone of his origins was used to babysitting middle schoolers.

Ritsu flopped down onto the couch next to Shou. “You know.” He lightly tapped Serizawa’s back with a foot. The wings jerked in response. “We aren’t really allowed to eat this crap 99% of the time.”

“Yeah.” Mob looked down at the buttery popcorn in the bowl. “Not even Shishou lets me have bad snacks at the office.”

Serizawa gave a snort and chuckled to himself. “Yeah, and? You three were out in the woods for over a day on that last exorcism job. And Shou was training with me. It’s the least you deserve to have a fun night.” He glanced over at the kids with a glint in his red eyes. “Plus, I’m a demon. We don’t exactly follow the rules.”

The kids laughed back, enjoying the junk food.

“Alright, now that I’m back, racing time!” Ritsu held up the game box and started switching out discs. “Serizawa, you watch a few rounds first, since you’ve never played.”

“Wait, is that Mario Cart?” Serizawa leaned forward and grinned from ear to ear. “We got this back at our apartment. Give me a controller, you kids are gonna get destroyed.”

“You’re on!” Teru picked up the last controller and all five started playing.

Light flashed from the screen: the only real source in the dimly lit room. Night had long fallen with the stars and moon lending a bit of a glow from the windows.  Empty glasses, bowls and dishes piled up. They’d regret that entire pack of oreos in the morning, but it didn’t matter with everyone enjoying themselves. Cries of rage and victory shouts could be heard all the way up until midnight from the home.

“Are you kidding me!?” Ritsu fell to his side, leaning against his brother with a face full of frustration. “How are you this good?”

Mob gave him an encouraging pat on the back. “You still beat me and Hanazawa every time.”

Teru’s hair stood on end. “Hey!” He glared behind himself. “It was that only that one time.”

“Yeah, and I’m coming in second every race.” Shou beamed with over exaggerated pride.

“Only second place.” Serizawa was grinning, holding a clawed hand out with the controller slowly spinning above the palm. “Sorry, boys. I was trained by Reigen-san himself.”

“Figures.” Ritsu crossed his arms. “That guy probably knows just when to throw a shell.”

“Heh.” A blush. The demon shook his head. “Well, I can never beat him. So I guess that’s just what we have to work for: getting Reigen in here for a beat down.”

“Pfff.” A scoff, Shou chewing on a hand full of nachos before continuing. “I doubt he’s THAT good.”

“Oh yeah, that reminds me.” Mob leaned over and showed his cell phone to Serizawa. “He texted about an hour ago. Told me we all better be in bed.”

Serizawa checked his own phone. “Ha. I got one too.” A shrug to go with his fang filled smile. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

“Any other multiplayer games we got?” Teru was digging through the basket they kept all the accessories in, looking for another disc or box. “Oh hey! Your parents let you buy the new Doom?”

Ritsu nodded, going for another cookie. “Yeah, they don’t really care about the age limits.” He continued through a full mouth. “Guess with what we go through on a daily basis it doesn’t matter.”

Serizawa took a look at the cover. “Huh.” He raised an eyebrow. “What is this one about?”

“It’s great. Lots of action.” Mob started to playfully kick his feet with Teru setting up the console. “There’s this evil cooperation that is trying to siphon energy from hell and they-“

“Mob.” Ritsu whispered.

But his brother didn’t hear. “They summon these portals and you got to kill a bunch of demons and, oh- Wait.”

Teru and Ritsu were staring at Mob, trying to beam their thoughts directly into his head. Shou once again had to stop himself from laughing.

Mob looked at the floor. “Sorry, Serizawa.”

Seri blinked, not understanding the big deal. “Kill demons? With what?” He pointed at the box. “Guns and stuff?”

“Yeah, there’s like rocket launchers and energy weapons.” Teru answered.

The demon held back a chuckle, eyes glowing brighter. “Yeah no. That won’t work.”

Ritsu handed him the controller for player one. “Alright. Let’s see how good you are on your first try.”

The rest of the night was spent cheering Serizawa on as he made his way through the levels, barely scraping by in the fast paced action. Right around when the sun began to rise, the kids started yawning and losing their ability to speak coherently. The demon set them all up in Mob’s room with futons and some water bottles in case the junk food got a bit too much for their heads. It took a solid hour to tidy up the mess, crumbs, and left over snacks. In the end, he sat alone on the couch with the TV off, wings taking up the remaining spots. No need for him to sleep. Instead he took to watching over the house like a good guardian angel. Well- close enough.

“The little demons are asleep. No need to worry.” He texted Reigen, who he knew was still up.

“Ok. Never call them that again.” There were a few moments as Reigen was no doubt frantically typing on his out of date flip phone, (more Hollow spoilers shhh). “Did you enjoy yourself? You seemed nervous to be alone with them for an entire night.”

“It was nice. They don’t mind at all what I am.”

Serizawa sensed the kid’s peaceful, slumbering auras above and let out a sigh. A hint of whispering met his ears. Telling scary stories. He wondered if he would have gotten to do that if he was born a human. Childhood remained a fickle concept to him: born innocent and learning, growing into a completely new state of being all while ever absorbing the world around you. He guessed he had the last part down, at least on a basic level. Grinning, the demon bit into the small pile of cookies he had saved for himself, tail wagging. There were little bits of chocolate and peanut butter in these. Humans shall forever surprise him.

Reigen texted again. “Has Shou come down yet to take more food from the fridge?”

As if on cue, Serizawa heard footsteps from behind. A white light poured over the floor as the fridge was opened. He scoffed, holding up a clawed hand and shutting the door before anything else happened.

“Hey!” Shou stood in hamster print pajamas with arms crossed, glaring at his demonic babysitter. “Not cool.”

“You’ve had enough to last three sleepovers.” Glancing over his shoulder, Serizawa knew he didn’t even have to get up with Shou’s point of view consisting of his red eyes and low voice. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later when you wake up with a bit less of a stomach ache.”

“Fine.”

Louder footsteps as Shou trudged back up, accented with a few whispers. Serizawa stretched his wings and found himself letting out a yawn. Picking up his phone, he idly texted Reigen back.

 “Now I understand what you meant by how you felt like you were a single parent.”

“THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT.” A few random emoticons followed. Serizawa smiled down at his phone. Another text came through a few minutes later. “They do grow on you though.”

Now lying on the couch, Serizawa wrapped his wings around himself and gazed out the window- the beginning glow of the sun rise left the clouds red amid early morning bird song.  One last check on the kid’s auras. Finally asleep.

“They sure do. See you later today, Taka.” He blushed, leaving a little heart at the end.

The demon allowed his breathing to fall relaxed. All the while his mind thought of future favors he could do for the kids. Trips to the zoo, celebrating graduation, even picking out birthday gifts for them. He’d never done that before. Never had a family before. A real family. His phone buzzed again and he checked the screen.

“Love you too, Tsuya.”

The tip of his tail flicked in happiness.

[firefly-sky]

left brain right brain but it’s kyle and kenny

[appropriatelystupid]

9 and 18 for the choose violence ask game!

9. worst part of canon

writing kara as if she’s superman because that’s who they wanted instead of working to do her justice like she deserved

18. it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on...

(since you also asked @sideguitars i’m just gonna tag you here)

KELLY

choose violence asks