#poor man can’t catch a break

[the-bat-bros]

Canon Nightwing Fun Facts: Part Three

(From someone reading Nightwing from rebirth to current)

-he participates in the greatest-and-deadliest motorcycle race to save his friends from a cyber villain

- his favorite lunch is cucumber sandwiches

(I’m reading through the Ric Grayson Arc so you don’t have to, you’re welcome.)

- He got shot in the head by KGBEAST and suffered 15 years worth of memory loss and jumps of consciousness where he doesn’t know how he ended up where he is. Massive brain trauma. He doesn’t recognize himself. And he goes by Ric? Then he burns down his subway/sewer HQ like WHAT.

- He works for a taxi company for a bit while he is Ric

- Then it turns out it was the fucking COURT OF OWLS who had him on a drug regimen and psychologically manipulated and used hypnosis (some thing called the identity crystal) on him while he was in the hospital and that’s why his memory is so messed up (when I tell you I had to put the comic down because I was SO pissed off. I was foaming at the mouth.) So he didn’t actually have selective amnesia. It was the court’s fault.

- Then the joker used the crystal to make dick believe that he was raised by the joker

-He gets his memories back finally but damn that was rough

Will updated as I continue to read through the series, hopefully a lot more happy fun facts will come now that the Ric Grayson arc is over

Prev. Next

[ekkoh]

how am i going to wait a week to see what happens to din askdkkwkaksk i am NERVOUS for him

[cle00tdd]

IM DRAWING THIS. OMFG @thebearme

THIS IS SO SILLY, POOR GUY

[cosmetichorror]

Pssst, hey, imagine this:

When the hero’s die, instead of moving on their spirits get sucked inside the mastersword, (don’t question how those who don’t use the mastersword get sucked in there) and they’re left to be a guide for the next hero to use them. Fi is there too btw.

Anyways as each person gains the mastersword, they also gain a handful of guides who can either be super helpful or super annoying.

POV Wild:

Legend: well well well! Look who finally decided to pick us up again.

Time: Ledge, don’t be rude, he died. He’s allowed to take a while

Hyrule: im just glad to see him back!

Sky: how are you, Link? Are you well? Are you okay now? That was quite the scare you gave us! How is your face? Do your scars hurt? Can we help?

Wild: Who the fuck are you?????

[seraphimankh]

Right so I'm definitely not an artist but I said in my review of Chapter 7 that I could draw a sunflower! I'll admit that I had way too much fun with this 😆

Omg haha there he is! I love it thank you 😂😂

[mycatisaman]

Dennis and MA BOY POCHITA burned into a piece of pine

[raddestrose]

Dang, even A-Yuan is flaming Wei Wuxian for being broke

[xsalemmustdiex]

Rewatching Hannibal and all I gotta say is poor Abigail…

[ghost-bxrd]

Did you know Dick Grayson has a half-sister? bc I just looked at his wiki and like… when did this happen???

NO I MOST CERTAINLY DID NOT!?!?!?!?

I just looked it up tho and—- SHOOK. Genuinely shook. 😵‍💫

[r0semaryt3a]

Having split custody over an oc with a friend is so wild cause like: I’m sat over here chilling with my pre-death Marco domestic fluff and then Lesley’s sat giving Marya a full on depression arc over Silco’s death.

This is also even funnier to me when, during season 1’s runtime, I was the one writing the instability of their relationship and all its quirks and toxic aspects as May’s entire world crumbled and Les was the one sat kicking their feet over silly little dinner dates and bottles of wine.

[fatedequinox]

I’m sorry but I have seen NO TALK of the avatar the last airbender joke they put in bg3

THEY LITERALLY PUT THE CABBAGE MAN IN THERE AS A RANDOM CITZEN LMAOOO

AND SOMEONE FUCKED W HIS CABBAGES AGAIN

That had to be intentional… IT HAD TO BE

[listenupcupcakes]

im going to do an evil

giant solly, like 50 feet or somethin'

lol

10 asks

make America proud son 🫡

(and terrorise merasmus for me because i don't like him)

[enter the Mario power up sound effect]

IS THIS BETTER IR WORSE THAN BEING ONE FOOT TALL?

[ninjakitty6252]

Poor Zane, but also kin.

the room where i will die is empty except for me.

Zane and trauma.

[theorist-fox]

Simon breaks your fever

Because I can't stop thinking about this

18+

CW: you're sick (fever, high body temp), fluff, established relationship, smut (clit rubbing, unprotected p in v sex, premature ejaculation). you're so hot (literally) that simon busts a nut

Masterlist 🦊

Your fever hasn’t gone down.

Despite you telling Simon that it’s okay, that it’s just seasonal flu and pretty much half of your colleagues have had it, that man can’t stop fussing.

On day two, you heard him grumble over the phone that he had to take some days off for family matters. And while it was cute to listen to him refer to you as family, this whole thing was an overreaction.

You had a cold and a mild fever; you weren’t on your deathbed.

But then he came into the bedroom straight after ending the call, holding a cuppa in one hand and your pills in the other. Left them on the nightstand before pressing his lips to your forehead to check if you were still warm—grumbled something about you heating up the room when he pulled back with a frown.

And then he helped you sit up, fluffed the pillow behind your head, and smoothed away the hair sticking to your forehead. Made sure you took your pills, made sure you were comfortable and cared for and—

—and oh, isn’t your heart melting into a puddle.

You decide that being sick can’t be that bad, when he makes it feels this good—even if you’re cranky and feverish.

And so, you start offering bright smiles when he presses cold, wet towels to your cheeks. Brush kisses on his knuckles when his palm comes to feel your forehead. Whisper thank yous when he insists you eat in bed, your bowl of soup carefully placed on a wooden bed tray.

And when he gets in bed at night, seemingly unafraid of catching your same bug, you press your back to his chest and fit in his arms. Simon’s already a walking furnace on his own, and your fever doesn't help with the uncomfortable stickiness that grows between your bodies through the night.

Simon doesn’t care, especially on day three, when you decide that a reward is on schedule. Poor man’s been at your beck and call ever since your early symptoms have appeared, so why not give him a reward of sorts.

You press your ass against his crotch, rolling slow circles that rouse him from his slumber.

Simon’s first instinct, however, is to stop you. A big hand flattens on your belly, fingers twitching to resist the urge to curve around your waist and grasp until he dimples the fat there.

A hum leaves him. ��What are you doing?”

You nuzzle the pillow and act all innocent, even if he can’t see it in the pitch-dark room.

“Nothing,” you tell him. “Can't sleep. Feel a little restless, with the fever and all.”

“Restless,” he echoes with humour, already catching on. “Need me to wear you down?”

You turn your head until his nose bumps with your cheek. He presses a kiss there.

“Mmh,” you hum with a smile. “Maybe."

His hand rises slowly, and you’re delighted to feel the pads of his fingers reach your chest. He cups your breast through your shirt and thumbs your nipple, already pebbled and stiff. 

Hard like his cock pressing against you.

Your skin is unbearably sensitive due to your fever, and the slightest touch could easily turn into stinging pain. That’s why as soon as he skims over your nipple your body goes haywire and you jolt, grinding the swell of your ass against him. 

Simon presses forward, meeting your inadvertent movement. 

There’s a moan coming from both sides. Yours is more cracked, a wonderful cocktail of relief and soreness—though you’re liking this more than you should, probably. You’re never one to say no to a bit of pain now, are you?

Simon, on the other hand… oh, Simon. His voice is low—gravel against the road. A groan that sounds like it’s coming from a dry throat, strikingly possessive when paired with the gentleness with which he’s holding you.

“Lemme take care of you then, yeah?” He whispers, leaning closer to your ear. 

He tucks his arm under your neck, letting you nestle your cheek in the crook of his elbow. You’re sure he must be running hot too, but you’re sporting a whopping 100.4 body temperature, making his skin feel like an ice pack. 

You sigh beautifully at the slight relief he provides.

Simon takes care of you first, like he's so kindly offered, and you don’t fight against him.

You don’t fight against his hand snaking under the waistband of your sweats. Don’t fight against the pads of his fingers drawing slow eights on your clit. 

What you do instead is bury your face in his forearm, as he presses soft kisses to the exposed skin on your neck.

You get wet embarrassingly easily. He collects it with his middle finger before returning to the tight knot of your clit, circling gently—no rush whatsoever.

He checks in every once in a while, whispering soft questions to your skin as he explores it with his lips.

Are you okay?, and a kiss. You hurtin'?, and another kiss, right under your ear. He waits for you to reply each time, before finally giving in and nuzzling the nape of your neck through your hair. 

He goes on, murmuring sweet nothings when you whine and he can’t pinpoint if it’s from pleasure or your body aches.

“That's it, love,” he whispers, coaxing moans from your lips as his fingers guide you closer and closer to the edge. Steadfast on your clit, he keeps a rhythm he knows will crack through you—break the mould of stiff muscles and sore skin.

Your orgasm catches the breath in your throat. It almost stings, burning through you in waves that stem from your sex and ripple in all directions.

Until your body undulates with it, pressing back into his. Until your voice follows suit too, cracking gently as you bite into the thickness of his forearm to keep quiet.

Simon’s panting against your shoulder like he came as well. It’s impossible not to notice the girth of his cock indenting the fat of your ass, how deliciously hard he is just because he’s touched you so thoroughly.

It gets you drunk on power to know how little it takes for you to do that to him.

His lips are pursed in a kiss ardently left to the crook of your neck. You feel the wetness of it, the heat seeping through your much hotter skin. His fingers slow down, until soft circles turn into mere flicks on your clit that gently drag your consciousness back into your body, back into his arms.

“Alrigh'?” He murmurs to the skin of your neck, as he huffs from his nose to balance his breathing.

“Mhmh,” you reply absentmindedly, still foggy and dipped in a dreamy state.

Gingerly, the hand buried in your knickers travels to your waist, leaving a wet trail that slowly dries up—from the curls on your pelvis all the way to your hip. He pinches you softly.

“Can I fuck you?” He asks.

In response, you press your ass to where he’s waiting for you.

“Yes, please—yes.” You say, not bothering to veil your willingness. 

If your bones weren’t aching, you’d let him fold you like cheap paper. Knees to your ears and all.

Simon’s fingers tug down your pants and knickers at the same time, exposing the burning skin of your ass to the air. Even under the duvet and pressed against him, everything feels so unbelievably fresh—it’s utter relief that has you softening against his chest. 

Relief that ratchets up when you feel the head of his cock glide seamlessly through your slit, causing you to grind your hips backwards each time it catches your swollen clit.

His tongue lavishes the skin of your neck, distracting you from the pleasurable pain of the stretch as he comfortably slides in. You feel your muscles tighten around him, as your nails dig into his arm wrapped around your waist.

But Simon’s the one who seems most out of his element, for once.

“Jesus fucking Christ, love.” He breathes heavily to your shoulders. His voice doesn’t even sound like him.

The hand around your waist grabs a handful of your clothes, fabric bulging within the grooves of his fingers, while the one extended under your neck fists the pillow until his knuckles paint white.

“F-fuck—you’re burnin’ up.” He croaks, burying his face against the back of your head. “Bloody hell—fuckin’ melting me down ‘ere.”

He tries to move but his voice cracks in a moan before he stops completely. More muted curses leave him.

“Fuckin’ hell you feel good.” He pants, voice so breathy you can barely hear him, and you wonder if he’s talking to you at all. “S’ so fuckin’ hot.”

He stays stock still inside of you, hips flush to your ass. 

But you’re as cheeky as they come, and he should know that already.

Which is why you move, canting your hips until you can feel him slide out of you, and then back in.

“Fuck, no—sto—"

Simon grunts. Chokes on it. 

One flick of your ass has him unravel. He cums inside of you with a quick snap of his hips to meet yours, and the slap of flesh against flesh would be loud if it weren’t for how strong his groan is. 

For how much he’s filling you up, buried to the hilt until you swear you can almost feel him throbbing in your stomach.

Simon hides in the crook of your neck, holding on tight with a stiff arm curled around your belly. You can feel his heartbeat thunder against yours, as if merging together—erratic and unsteady.

It takes him a while to recover, to catch his breath. You coax him out of his bubble gently, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp until you feel him deflate behind you with a sigh.

“Bit of a cunt move, that.” He mumbles, but there’s no bite in his voice.

You smile. Somehow the aches in your body soften up, and you feel like floating on a cloud.

“Well, I'd say you didn't mind much,” you say innocently.

He snorts.

A hand lands blindly on your face, and he gives it a good scramble until you’re chuckling in his palm. You easily recognize that as his way to sneakily check for your temperature, while masking it as a playful jab.

“Sorry,” you feel compelled to say, though your voice is muffled by his hand.

And then he nuzzles your shoulder, planting a fat kiss on your neck. 

“S’alrigh’,” he says softly. “Saved us from a third-degree burn, after all. Gotta thank you for tha'."

You burst into a laugh that he catches with his mouth—his fingers already curled around your jaw, turning your head his way before you can utter another word.

Your laughter seeps through your lips onto his, vibrating until his cheeks curl into a smile of his own.

Infectious, like your stupid flu.

Because the next morning, Simon wakes up with a terrible sore throat, though he doesn’t feel as annoyed as he thought he'd be.

In fact, he decides being sick can't be that bad, when you make it feel this good.

Even if now you're both cranky, feverish, and all.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Could you do Dom! Yan teacher and Yan Bully fighting over a himbo reader?

Yan teacher vs Yan bully x male reader imagines~! ໒꒰ྀི˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ꒱ྀི১

Taglist: @yyuinaa @kimisbunny @asher-is-hotxp @silvern1006 @unstab1eperson2 @dewday1 @blond3ang3l @creepy141dollie @m4r13ll @ihavezeropancreas @sooobiinn @just-ignore-them @fuckingmxonlight @nightwinglover101 @chasingknives

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Jus imaginin you bein a star football player- bein all handsome N’ fit but a total dummy— as oblivious to your surroundings as ever and boy if the captain of your team didn’t let you know jus how stupid he thinks you are!…oh he’s plain O’l cruel, makin you stay after practice slapping you for your mistakes grabbing your ass N’ groping you secretly on tha field like he owns you- he loves havin you to himself N’ making jokes bout you infront of everyone else but boy if he isn’t totally smitten by you…he’s full blown infatuated to the point where it’s insane? I mean he beats you bloody jus to see you look at him all pathetic

Jus imaginin bein a total pet for your college professor, I mean all tha extra tutorin has you close with him is all? That’s just it right!..? But oh no he’s dead set you’re his pretty boy- his pretty baby N’ all you can do is sit wide eyed like a pursed puppy before him, gosh he’d eat you alive if he could- he’d squish you N’ grab you like a lil boy toy but he can’t with that big O’l meanie who’s always by your side, but boy if your professor doesn’t like playin your hero, swoop in an Savin that pretty jaw from his blows.

Jus imaginin your bully givin up bein sweet on you, he starts bein all mean again, punching you N’ gripping you tight makin your big eyes swell up jus so he can angrily try N’ make out with you— poor you bein all confused not even protesting when his flushed cock is in your face, his tip all mushroomed and leakin all over the shaft N’ pressing into your inner cheek— he loves the way you pout, all sloppy with your drool on the ground sitting on your knees is a picture perfect sight to him. Of course your professor finds out, he won’t even look you N’ your eyes after that!

Jus imaginin your professor givin you the silent treatment- gaslighting and tearin your pretty boy status down til your needy and apologetic practically beggin for his forgiveness- these two men were ruinin you- a once happy go lucky man bein twisted into a toxic relationship between two big O’l meanies…N’ why was riding your professors cock the only way to get his forgiveness? “Mh, sirr- are you sure there isn’t a’nother wayy~” your voice is whiny gripping onto his desk with lewd plaps fillin up the room havin his hand on your hip with your lips pressing together forming an ‘O’ shape while his hands rest on your hips liftin and droppin you on his cock havin your insides squished to his size.

Jus imaginin your bully findin out about you and your professor— seein your flushed face and your limp when you show up for practice, it doesn’t take a genius to see you jus took the fuckin of a life time an’ he was full of rage that he wasn’t the man that gave it too ya. Oh how your poor body never catches a break- you’re bent over in the locker room grippin for dear life while he jus grunts and huffs angrily in your ear like a upset dog, your rim burns from bein stretched too long N’ your inner walls are all bruised N’ slick still from your professors cock- he can feel it and he knows you can too.

Jus imaginin the two men tryin to be at each others throats when you turn away N’ playing all nice when you’re around, your bully bein all ruthless T’ you jus so your professor can swoop in N’ be your savior, jus thinkin your bully tryin to be nice f’ once when he sees how close you are T’ the professor—maybe if he sweetens up he can have ya. Your bully bein mean to you until he sees you tuck tail and runin to Him..oh boy if that didn’t make his blood boil seeing you all clingy to that dumb old man—

[seumyo]

the price to pay when you’re a passenger princess.

You knew that there had to be a catch when Bakugou said he’d pick you up after your 12-hour shift at the hospital. But the thing was, you were too exhausted to dwell on the thought.

Or so you thought.

“You look dead on your feet,” he commented as he opened the door for you.

“Thanks for the compliment,” you replied dryly, tossing your bag into the backseat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

The sleek, jet-black Porsche 911 Turbo S roared through the empty streets like a predator on the hunt, the low rumble of the engine vibrating through your very soul. Bakugou, of course, looked completely at ease, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift, a calm expression seen on his face.

You���ve come to understand that your husband was relatively calm when not provoked.

“Katsuki,” you started as the car picked up speed, “you do realize this is still a hospital zone, right? Maybe don’t speed like you’re in a Fast and Furious movie.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You literally just did.”

“Relax,” he drawled, shifting gears with precision. “You know I’ve got this.”

You, on the other hand, were internally reciting every safety procedure you could think of in case of an unfortunate circumstance to come.

“Should I call my assistant to make an appointment in advance?”

Bakugou snorts. “What? Don’t trust me?”

“Oh, I trust you. It’s the laws of physics I don’t trust,” you muttered under your breath, earning a low chuckle from him.

The worst part? There was barely any traffic this late at night, which only encouraged Bakugou to push the limits of what his new Porsche could do. You glanced at the speedometer and instantly regretted it.

“Katsuki, I swear to God—”

“What? It’s not like I’m breaking the speed limit,” he said with mock innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

The Prefectural Government’s Public Safety Commissions should really revoke his license one of these days. Or you might not live to see the next one.

“By less than two!”

You leaned your head back against the seat, staring at the darkened city skyline as it blurred past you. You were exhausted from your shift, your feet aching, bone tired, but all of that was being drowned out by the overwhelming sensation of your life flashing before your very eyes.

You double-checked your seatbelt again. It’s never too late to actually be safe.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said without taking his eyes off the road.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to yell at me for being too hot and good at everything.”

“Wow? The audacity of my husband making such a bold claim,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Have I fed your ego too much that you’re about to float away like a hot-air balloon?”

“Didn’t deny my claim.” He got you there.

You couldn’t argue with that.

“Just so you know,” you muttered, clutching the grab handle even tighter as he effortlessly weaved between two cars, “if I die tonight, I’m haunting you. And I’ll make sure to mess with you when you’re trying to sleep.”

“Good,” he said with a grin, finally glancing your way. “At least then you’d be with me all the time, huh?”

You stared at him, momentarily speechless. “Are you seriously flirting with me right now? While you’re driving like a maniac?”

“Who says I can’t multitask?”

Before you could fire back with another retort, the car slowed as you neared your apartment complex. Your death grip on the handle loosened ever so slightly, though your heart was still racing.

When Bakugou finally parked, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You unbuckled your seatbelt, your hands still trembling a little.

“I hate you.”

“Love you too or whatever.”

“I—wait, you actually said it.”

“What? Can’t a man just say he loves his wife?”

“Good point, but you rarely say it!”

“I pick you up after your every shift and make sure you don’t die of starvation or poor health. That’s enough than saying it, no?”

“But you said it! So it’s different.”

“Not.”

“It is!”

“Not.”

“Is!”

Terrifying car rides aside, there was no one else you’d rather be stuck with. Even if your husband drove you absolutely crazy—both on and off the road. This must be the price of being Bakugou Katsuki’s passenger princess.

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