#ranting done now have a good night

[lethality-of-dual-strike]

woah it’s Dale Dimmadome, son of Doug Dimmadome, owner of the Dimmsdale Dimmadome

[adrienschatt]

*screaming on the top of my lungs* that’s not what Jesus would have wanted

(Venting in tags)

[voiceshearingyouloud]

Finally properly sobbing after not being able to cry all day is such a great feeling

[worm-in-a-trenchcoat]

Absolutely hate hate hate talking on the phone. It should be illegal.

Hate hate hate it 😭

[tvrningout-a]

i should've switched to writing original stuff ages ago bc i could've been overcoming writer's block if i did :' )

[spolew]

Sorry if my entire blog is vent posts. Comes with the territory of being a newbie at basically everything to do with adulthood. I was well prepared; the mishandling came from myself. But nonetheless it is still with me. No strings attached, any second I could do something. But I’m still just a kid. i yank it to 8k drawings instead of normative artifice, but the rest doesn’t happen so passively. I hope I can be excused while I deposit my shit here. I want to do something worthwhile, but at the end of the day I just need to get out of my own head and work on myself. My whole existence this past week has been manic far-left doom scrolling, and I literally forgot what reality I’m living in. Not everyone else. MY reality. I am far too fried and unsolved to possibly be of use to anyone. I think I’ve lost my chance.

I might be checking out for a while. Just drawing. Doing school. Working.

For many people, life will not be able to go on. The world is in hell and its people like me who are the heart of the non-movement keeping us in acceleration.

I have no right to do anything but fight to reverse the terrible future we have secured. But at the same time, I am literally completely unprepared.

I grew up detached from events, slowly working up my principles. And then we all drove off a cliff, and I have to do something, but I haven’t done ANYTHING before!

So I am checking out. Back to lurking. Back to drawing gooner bullshit. I am a meaningless artist, the only redeeming factor is that I value and practice creativity. that is not going to forward leftist ideals. Not with how bad things are.

I return to the sea of ghouls as another failed husk of a project. The Pole that does something for progress will not be ready for a while. My life is, despite everything, somehow too busy to do anything for a larger movement.

And I need to stop loathing that and just get out of the way. I am a standard model 18-year-old whether my rambling mind calls it that or something else with more words. And average 18-year-olds famously do not get shit done. If I want to be more than me I will need to save myself. Banality is not always a crime, but I am personally opposed to it, so I will have to work on being important before I can leverage anything.

[its--ali]

oh for FUCKS SAKE

[unpopularly-opinionated]

Vent post, please ignore.

Friends and I were running a Destiny dungeon blind on Monday night but we started it late and then realized reset was the next day, so we decided to postpone it for later. Then came Tuesday and they run it together without me knowing. Wednesday, I ask them when we’re running the dungeon, and get told they ran it without me. Cool cool cool. Sick invite. Thanks guys.

They tell me that one of them didn’t get the exotic drop they wanted, so they were probably going to run it again at some point. Alright cool. Granted, now 2/3 of us know the encounters so it’s no longer entirely blind, but hey I guess now they can tell me what to do so we can finish it quicker. Awesome.

Friday night rolls around, they want to run the dungeon. Alright, cool. Join my friend’s group and…oh, okay so we’re starting just from the last encounter, so I’m missing the rest of the dungeon…sick.

Okay so we start the encounter and I’m waiting for instructions. No one says anything, so I’m thinking aight maybe it’s just some ad clear in the beginning and then come the mechanics. I kill a yellow bar and am immediately scolded for doing so. Okay, sorry, I didn’t know. No one told me. Now I know I guess, I’ll kill all the other ads aside from the yellow bar. Killing ads. Killing more ads. And more ads. They’re running around doing things. I ask why I couldn’t kill the yellow bar, they tell me he’s got to be in the right spot. I ask where the right spot is, they say they don’t know yet. Okay, cool. I’ll let them figure it out and wait for further instructions I guess.

So I sit at the back of the map clearing ads because that’s pretty much all I know to do at this point. Then I get hit with the “look at him up there not doing anything”. Well, I wasn’t told what to do. “Figure it out,” he says. Sure, let me just blindly experiment to try and figure out this encounter that both of you already know and are in the middle of doing, not knowing whether or not the things I do will fuck you up or wipe or whatever.

We finish the encounter, he doesn’t get the exotic so we need to run it again. Okay cool. Maybe this time tell me what to do if you want me to, ya know, actually do something.

Nope, no instructions. Guess I have to fuck around and figure it out myself. I grab a buff from the ground. “I needed that!” OKAY COOL, MAYBE YOU SHOULD SPEAK UP AND SAY THAT. I’M TRYING TO FIGURE OUT THIS ENCOUNTER. I go into a side room and find a Hive Titan and a symbol in the room, okay cool, now we’re onto something. I recall the symbol and kill the Hive Titan and I get a buff. Alright, I bet these coincide with the symbols in the main room. I go back to the main room, and activate my symbol. Alright, I did my symbol, now y’all do yours. “No you didn’t.” Yes I did. “Holy shit, did he? He actually did something! Holy shit!” We do DPS, DPS ends, and I think okay cool, I’ve got the encounter down pat, time to do that part again.

I go back to the side room with the symbol and the Hive Titan and I kill him again, get the buff, and go back to the middle. Huh, I can’t see my symbol. Suddenly the symbol appears. Oh, okay, there it is. Huh, I can’t activate my symbol. Die trying to activate my symbol. “Ugh, can you not die.” It wouldn’t let me activate my symbol. “Yeah, you need the buff.” The buff from killing the guy? “Yes.” So the buff I had? “You had the buff?” Yes, it just wouldn’t let me activate the symbol. “Yeah, you need the other buff to see the symbol.” But I can see the symbol. “Yeah but you can’t activate it.” Sure, okay, whatever. So I let him do the symbol and we DPS again.

Cool so now I have the encounter down pat, right? DPS is over, I go back to the side room again to get my symbol and the buff. Accidentally die to the Hive Titan. “There he goes dying.”I respawn, go back to try it again, and yes because fuck me, I die again to the Hive Titan. “Why do you keep dying over there, we aren’t on that step yet.” What do you mean, this is what we’re supposed to do? “We have to build the triangle first,” he says as if this should be obvious to me. Oh, well this worked the last two times I did it so I reasonably assumed this was how you were supposed to do it. “Yeah no, it isn’t.” Cool cool cool. Thanks for telling me the first time I died. Or telling me at all, any time, ever. Literally anything.

So I Alt + F4, leave the call, and shutdown my PC. I’m done for the night. Fuck them. There’s shit talking and then there’s talking shit, and it was nothing but talking shit all fucking night from them, all about shit that was almost entirely out of my control. But sure, no, it’s obviously my fault that I didn’t learn the encounter before what was supposed to be our blind run of the dungeon.

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol.I

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s girlfriend

4 in 1 blurbs

vol. II

warnings: mildly creepy guys, standard protective bf methods

Jason’s good at shutting people up very quickly. You’d almost call it a talent.

He shuts you up with a kiss when you get stuck in a rant, or with a hug to calm your worried rambles.

And when you’re in an incorrigibly teasing mood, he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you back to your bedroom to really shut you up.

With other people though, he has…different methods.

You sit atop your kitchen counter, trading lazy kisses in between giggles with your boyfriend. He stands in front of you, hands massaging your thighs as he leans in for another. You happily oblige.

You break off the exchange to lay a series of sweet kisses on that spot under his jaw.

His head tilts back, letting out a groan so low you nearly miss it. “Sweetheart…” he warns.

“Sorry…” you resign with a sheepish smile.

A knock at the door bursts you out of your shared reverie. You press a kiss to his knuckles and hop down to start setting the table.

Jason gets the door, greeting the pizza guy with a nod as you shuffle around the kitchen. The delivery guy hands him a receipt, asking for a signature.

Jason uses the door as a surface to sign, giving the delivery guy an apt view into your apartment, where he sees you getting out plates in the kitchen. More noticeably, he sees you in your boyfriend's shirt, which rides up just a little bit when you stand up on your toes to reach the top cabinet. The lift of the shirt exposes the bottom of your underwear, though it falls back into place again just as quickly.

Now, lucky for this guy, Jason’s facing the door and does not see him checking you out in your own home. Unlucky for this guy, he has wildly misread the vibe of your relationship. Or at least your boyfriend.

“Man, how do you get anything done around here?” He jests.

Jason looks up at him, and the pizza man’s eyes tear away from your legs to meet his hard gaze. It does not take him long to realize his mistake.

“Try again.” Jason behests, arms crossed in front of him.

The pizza boy’s eyes go wide and he shakes his head, stuttering. “I—uh, I said have a good night.”

“Mhm.” He grumbles.

The pizza guy hands Jason the box with shaky hands and scuttles back down the hallway.

Thankfully, you didn’t seem to notice the exchange, but even so, your boyfriend still glowers down the hallway after him.

“Jay?”

His attention snaps back to you, demeanor changing instantly. “Yeah, baby?”

You’re sitting in your usual spot at the table, his chair empty and waiting just around the corner from you.

“Come sit.” You say, with eyes that might as well be hearts.

He gives a reassuring nod and kicks the door shut behind him.

You and Jason are sitting on the floor in his old room at the manor, your legs thrown over his. You lean up against his bed, asking him about posters on the walls and trinkets on the shelves.

His knee is propped up and your arm dangles across it, his hand in yours. He plays with your fingers and periodically leans forward to leave a kiss on them.

You’d just woken up less than an hour ago after spending the night post-gala, and it’s a peaceful, if not unusually quiet morning.

Dick shouts your name from another room, audibly booking it towards you. Yeah. That’s more like what Jason remembers.

He grumbles some annoyances, dropping his head against your intertwined hands.

Dick bursts into the room, clearly incredibly excited.

“What’s up, Dick?” You ask, calm as ever. Jason lets an unseen smile creep up, head still down.

Dick’s practically jumping up and down, “You gotta see the shit that Tim just found in the cave!” His face drops as he directs his gaze to Jason, “You’re not invited.”

“Thank God.”

Dick ignores him and grabs your wrist, yanking you up from the floor. This is one place where he differs from Jason—he’s not always quite so aware of his own strength.

His grip doesn’t hurt really, but it’s firm enough that you imagine there’ll be bruise marks there later.

“Hey.” Jason calls out, nodding his head to where Dick is holding your arm. “Ease up.”

Dick follows his gaze and immediately loosens his hold, apologizing to you before pulling you along once again (this time much more gentle).

You grin at Jason as he tugs you out the door, him returning it with an endeared smile as he watches you go.

Fuck he loves you.

Jason had a decent break from his night job for once, and was happy to let you drag him out to a bar for a little date. You’d been linked at the hip for most of the night, his hands maintaining their ever present home on your waist with yours rested on his thighs as you told him about your hectic day.

He’d usually prefer to stay in bed with you for as long as possible when he gets time off, but you’d looked so excited asking him to go out with you—he never stood a chance.

You look up into the mirror as you wash your hands, a strand of hair falling into your face as you do. You push it back behind your ear and smile to yourself, recalling the several times Jason had wordlessly done the same throughout the night as you rambled.

You make your way back to the bar, smile immediate on your face when you see your boyfriend. It gets replaced rather quickly though, when a man slides in front of you, cutting off your view of him.

“Hey there.”

You have to take a step back because of how close he decided to stand to you. He looks sober (enough) but wildly overconfident in whatevers about to happen.

"Let me buy you a drink, pretty thing."

Jason calls you pretty thing sometimes. It makes the blood rush to your cheeks and an inescapable smile creep up on your lips. When this guy says it, it makes you literally frown.

"Oh no, I'm okay, my—"

"You seem like a dirty martini kinda girl." He expertly ignores you, clearly trying and failing to make some kind of innuendo there.

Jason's sitting back against the bar, watching the interaction carefully. You still can’t see him, but he’s close and you can rest comfortable knowing he’s looking out for you.

With that reassurance, you don’t play this out quite as carefully as you would if you were alone.

"Look, I don't want a drink from you, thanks."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say to him because his face contorts quickly to mock-disgust that you figure is really just embarrassment.

“Hey, don’t be a bitch just ‘cause—”

You try to sidestep around him, thoroughly done with this interaction, but he grabs your upper arm harshly, pulling you to an abrupt stop.

Jason stands up real quick, yanking the guy backwards by his collar before you can even process what's happening.

Now, you know that Jason is an objectively intimidating guy. There's not many people that will come face to face with that absolute unit of a man and still decide to keep on trying him. However, you tend to forget that when you're so used to your gentle giant that only ever speaks to you kindly and touches you softly.

But his intimidating status becomes very apparent when the guy spins around, looks up at Jason, and immediately takes four steps back. He actually almost bumps into you in the process, not doing anything to tame Jason’s acute distaste for this man.

"Listen to me��back the fuck off before you get hurt."

“She—”

“I don’t give a fuck. Leave.”

The guy hesitates.

“Now.” Jason adjusts his posture to stand at his staggering full height, clearly with no qualms about putting him back in his place.

That does it for him, the man stumbllng away with half-committed mumbles of “whatever” or “something something lame anyway.”

Jason watches him until he walks out the door, before turning back to you.

He delicately takes your upper arm in his hand, pulling your sleeve up to search for bruising. But as harshly as he had grabbed you, it didn’t have the time to cause a bruise before Jason intervened.

“What’d he say to you?” Jason asks, brow furrowed as he inspects your arm.

“Nothing very interesting.” He looks at you mildly.

You smile and comb his hair back from his forehead, “Don’t worry about him. I’m good.”

He lets your arm go, and exchanges it for holding the back of your head, planting a kiss on your forehead.

You take his other hand and guide him back to your seats.

“Besides,” You look over his shoulder and let out a little shocked gasp. “Guess who just walked in.”

He gives you a questioning look before his face slacks, eyes widening in realization.

“No…” And you smile so brightly it almost makes up for what's coming his way.

You redirect your smile over his shoulder and give a wave to the door. Jason swigs down the rest of his drink, hand finding your waist once again.

“Jaybird!”

Jason’s still exhausted from patrol last night but he’d insisted on going with you to the bar to meet your friends. You’d tried to convince him that it was okay to stay in and rest tonight, you’d be fine. But it was a losing battle.

You suspect it has something to do with him not liking when you go out in Gotham at night, especially when you’re drinking.

So he hangs out in the background of the buzz, with you sat in front of him, in between his legs.

You’re talking it up with Roy, who’s been making jokes about how Jason’s “moody ass” tricked you, “the ray of sunshine” into this relationship somehow.

You laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Right, ‘cause you and Kori were in love at first sight.”

"Oh, fuck off." Roy jeers.

He doesn't say it with the cadence of a joke, but it is.

You know he's joking, he knows he's joking.

Jason, who very well may have been tuned out of the conversation up to that point, does not seem to know he's joking—or he doesn't care.

You don't need to look behind you to know that your boyfriend is in defensive mode, though the look of regret mixed with amusement on Roy's face gives a solid hint.

You hold your hand out to block Jason his path as he moves forward. He lets you stop him, though you're certain he could get past you without so much as blinking, no problem.

"Right. My bad, forgot your guard dog was here. Don't fuck off." Roy backtracks, hands up in front of him.

Jason just rolls his eyes, slouching back down. You reach behind you for his hand, giving it two squeezes. You know he’s tired, so much so that he almost punched his best friend for making a typical joke.

“Five more minutes, okay?” You say softly over your shoulder.

He nods at you blearily, and ducks his head down to rest on your back. You adjust your posture a little bit to make it more comfortable for him and continue on talking, his hand still in yours.

If he hadn’t fallen asleep so quickly, five minutes would’ve been five minutes, but instead it became something more like fifty.

He goes through patches where sleep isn’t always so welcoming, a phase he’s been in for the past couple of weeks. You’d been waking up to find the bed half empty, your boyfriend resigned to doing research on cases in an attempt to at least be productive while he’s awake.

You can’t protect him in the same ways that he protects you—you’re not a fighter or necessarily “intimidating.” But you can protect him like this, in these little ways. Letting him nap on you, making him close the case files and rest with you, holding his hand throughout the night so that when he inevitably has nightmares, he knows immediately that you’re still with him. That he’s safe.

So if he can get some much needed sleep while only costing you a stiff back tomorrow, you’ll happily take that deal as many times as he needs.

vol. II

[baekuras]

of course the one day of the week i have fully off my internet has been super spotty the entire time so i couldn't do anything i wanted to, nor got any household chores done because i was too annoyed at my plans being disrupted

i have been rewatching Shingeki no Bahamut the entire day and i am almost done with it (:

[theorphicangel]

sweet neighbour!Suguru who teaches you how to make yourself cum

for weeks now your new neighbour can’t help but notice your little moans which travel through the thin walls between your apartment. almost every night he can hear you play with your sweet little cunt, moaning loudly as you stuff your hole with your fingers

The problem is…

you can never make yourself finish.

after a few weeks of listening in on your frustration and agitation as you rant to yourself aloud , your neighbour can’t help but wonder if he could help you find a solution.

one late night he comes knocking on your door, soon admitting that he can hear everything through the walls. Your face heats up and you’re about to apologise profusely until Suguru makes an offer to help you. The charming smile on his face makes you think ‘what the hell, sure.’

For a second you think it’s stupid until his eyes are locked between your thighs, guiding your fingers in and out of your pussy

“Jus’ like that, god you’re so wet. making a mess everywhere aren’t you?” He purrs, his hair falling past his eyes.

“do you feel it building up?” He asks.

you’re too wrapped up in your own pleasure to respond, barely able to nod. for some reason his advice seems to be working, your new neighbour having some good experience in this…department.

“As you get closer, you want to rub your clit a little bit faster—more, just like that.”

“good girl.” He praises and you whine, your hips lifting slightly.

“Suguru.” His name sounds so saccharine off your tongue, your chest heaving for air.

“I think…”

“You’re going to cum?”

“Uh-huh” you rub your clit faster, the sloppy sound of your cunt filling the room.

“cum for me then, like a good girl.”

The pressure in your lower abdomen snaps and you let out a deep unrestrained moan, your thighs shaking and your toes curling. It takes a few minutes to come down from your high, I mean, you did just make yourself cum for the first time.

with a soft smile, Suguru watches you, ignoring the throbbing bulge in his pants.

“well done, looks like all you needed was a little help.”

[simp4fictionalmenandjesus]

Imagine platonic yandere batfamily with a 'shallow' reader.

To set the scene, you join the family at 15. You’re old enough to have the capability to take care of yourself, but you’re young enough to want someone to take care of you. (I’m thinking she has a wealthy-ish background, not socialite level, but she’s be the richest kid at Gotham high school (public school).) You’re the result of one of Brucie Wayne’s many love affairs that somehow slipped under the radar.

your mother was a more of a logical person, raising you to follow your brain more instead of your heart. But she still taught you to be empathetic. Unfortunately, she dies in a car accident.

Your picked up by the Wayne’s and there’s immediately hostility between you and your new family. On the background check the bats had done, most evidence was pointing to you being a shallow teenage girl.

It didn’t help that the first thing you did upon arriving to the manor was force everyone into a selfie on Snapchat. Damian had to be held back from stabbing you.

The next thing you did was ask about your allowance, and then proceed to squeal once you were handed a black card by Bruce.

Once you excitedly left to your new room, Dick reminded everyone that people grieve in their own ways.

Family dinner was painfully awkward that night. There was no way that the Wayne’s would talk to you about any bat related activities, and when Bruce tried to ask you about your hobbies, you went on a 30 minute rant about designer products.

It was like having one of Bruce’s suitors constantly around.

Everything about you was shrill, high-pitched, loud and out of touch.

It’s your lack of grief thay really gets them. At your mother’s funeral, you didn’t even shed a tear. Your speech was cantered around how your mother had accomplished a lot, but it came off more as an employee describing a boss than a daughter reminiscing over her mother. When Bruce had softly asked you if you wanted your mother buried or cremated you shrugged your shoulders. “Do whatever, I don’t care.”

Now, your family is convinced that you’re a sociopathic stereotypical mean girl.

You can’t really blame them for thinking that as how would they know about the silent tears you shed every night. Keeping a front up was taking its toll on you, and even your usual coping habit of shopping wasn’t helping you feel better as with every item you add to cart you stop yourself from finding your mother to ask for her opinion on it.

After you fall asleep in tears, you’ll wake up and force yourself to forget.

———————

(Also reader’s speech at her mother’s funeral isn’t that heartfelt because she doesn’t want to share her personal memories with a room of people who she barely knows. Those are her memories. And the idc reply to whether the body is cremated or buried is genuine, to her the body isn’t her mother anymore so whatever happens to it doesn’t matter. She’s more concerned about keeping her mother’s belongings in good shape.)

———————-

A couple of years pass and you’re graduating high school. Your grades are average and you apply for a fashion degree in Metropolis University. You’re not ashamed to admit that the power of nepotism definitely helped you in.

You look in the crowd for any sign of your family, and wave happily at Alfred. Do you care that no one else showed up? Not really. You didn’t need to be love. You loved yourself to make up for any of the love you lacked.

Sure, in your first year at Wayne Manor you were upset at the fact that you were never invited to things unless they were public events. But you couldn’t really complain about it, because when you did throw a tantrum and got your way, Bruce invited you to movie night which was painfully awkward as you sat on a lone arm chair while everyone else snuggled together. And the whole night you for side eyed by everyone.

The next family movie night you were invited to, everyone cancelled.

You suppose that the Wayne's and you were too different to get along.

After attending a week long spree of parties, going on a grad trip with your friend group to Ibiza, you came home to a practically empty mansion. Alfred was the only one there.

You appreciated the butler, he was the closest thing you had to a father. He hugged you tightly, before he dropped you off at the airport to fly to metropolis.

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

A year passes, you show up to the Wayne Manor at Alfred's request. Everyone is there.

And everyone is really nice.

Huh.

---------

Yea im turning this idea into a proper fic but I'll probably make shallow reader way cyuntier.

[gilverrwrites]

You want my groupie love

Ft. Dick, Jason, Roy, and Wally 400-500 words each Request: Anon requested any of the above finding out you have a crush on their hero alter-ego. I did all of em cause I've been looking for an excuse to sink my teeth into some fluffy rambling! Warnings: Swearing | Alcohol | Secrets | Non-graphic mentions of violence  

Dick: Hey Neighbour

Dick could easily see how the new mailman switching up your post so often could get annoying, especially considering his busy schedule. However, he just couldn't bring himself to be upset over anything that gives him an excuse to see you. Admittedly, he's pushing it today, ringing your buzzer so early in the morning but the moment you open the door, revealing the most adorable bedhead and an oversized Nightwing shirt, he can't bring himself to care.

“Nice shirt.” He offers, but he's not certain you understand as you stare at him with squinted eyes and pouty lips.

“You want something?” Your voice is low and slow, thick with sleep but still hot as hell.

He wants you. “Yeah, um, my parcel says delivered but it's not! I just wondered if maybe they left it with you again?”

You continue to stare at him blankly for a moment longer before recognition seems to click in those pretty eyes.

“Oh yeah, sorry,” you murmur as you grab his mail from somewhere behind the door and hand it to him. Together you go through the polite thanks and no problem motions, but when you're done, he can't bring himself to leave. Maybe this is the day he finally asks you out.

“Do you- “

“Are you- “

You talk over each other, and then you dance around it until you finally win out the no you go argument.

“Do…” He’s about to ask when a thought pops into his head. That oversized tee is very oversized. “Is that your boyfriend's top?”

“I don't have a boyfriend.” You confirm, nervously playing with the hem and accidentally revealing a hint of your Nightwing sleep shorts.

“Just a big Nightwing fan, huh?” He's not sure why he's pushing it, something about the notion makes him feel good.

“You could say that.” You reply hesitantly. Your eyes flicker from him, back into your apartment a few times before you open your door. Nothing could have prepared Dick for the sight before him. Your living room was chockful of Nightwing merch; pillowcases, replica wing-dings, figurines, Blüd postcards with his likeness on them to name a few. Some are licensed, but most are not. There's a very real moment in which the blood drains from him, and he's concerned that he should be worried about you and your intention before you explain. “I kind of went on a big dumb rant about how Nightwing was snubbed for The Sexiest Hero Alive award a few years ago, and my friends have never let me forget about it. Now everyone and their dog buys me his merch for my Birthday and whatnot. I just can't bring myself to throw any of it out.”

“Ohhh.” That's a relief. His unease is replaced with twice as much giddiness. Sexiest Hero Alive, huh? He hadn’t cared that much about the award, but he cares that you care. “I’d love to hear more if by any chance you wanna grab breakfast together?

Jason: On the news

Jason is already sat in your usual spot when you arrive at the café, he even went ahead and got your usual order. The $12 was worth it for the look of gratitude and reprieve on your face as you collapse into the chair across from him.

“Thank you for ordering for me! I’ll send you the money.” Once you catch your breath you dive into your drink, moaning aloud at the flavour in a way that has him averting his gaze and shifting in his seat. He prays you don’t notice the heat in his face as he tells you not to worry about it, Bruce can afford it anyway.

“I’m so sorry I’m late.” You continue. “Apparently Red Hood and some of Two-Face’s guys got into some kind of turf war near the bank last night, and police have shut the whole block down.”

“Oh, that sucks.” He grunts, pretending like he doesn’t already know.

“Right! So annoying. Red Hood gets a pass though, 'cause he’s hot.”

Jason actually chokes on his coffee, narrowly missing you with his spray as you lean away from him. Before you can even ask if he’s okay, he’s grilling you.

“He’s hot? How do you know he’s hot? You’ve never met the guy!” It’s an instinctive response, maybe a little paranoid, and though he doesn’t mean to, he’s definitely selling some kind of jealousy angle right now.

“No, but I’ve seen him on the news, and in the papers.” You explain. “He’s got that kind of, cool, mysterious, badass thing going on, you know? With the helmet, and leather, oh and the motorbike! And the voice!”

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked. If he wasn’t flustered before, he definitely is now. Some badass. “B-but you don’t know what he looks like.”

“I know he’s good-looking. ‘An I bet he’s a nice person, under all that tough guy exterior.” You state decidedly. “I feel it in my bones, and my… I’m not gonna finish that sentence.”

You both laugh, yours is more light-hearted. Like music to his heated ears. Jason feels like you reached into his chest and started tweaking at his heartstrings. He might not seem it externally, but he’s thrilled. This is a step in the right direction for your more-than-friends-not-quite-lovers-relationship, he thinks.

“I’m just saying, if the opportunity ever arose; Red Hood could get it.”

He just has to figure out what the next move is.

Roy: Prince Charming

When he’d gotten done saving your life from some back-alley thief a few nights prior, you’d thanked him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek, and Roy had seriously considered never washing that cheek again. But, he’d figured you wouldn’t want to kiss him ever again, hero or no if he stank. So, he’d scrubbed up and trimmed before picking up the pizza and heading to your place for your bi-weekly movie night.

When you open the door there’s a far-off look in your eye and a dreamy smile on your lips that he could certainly get used to.

“You okay?” He asks, making no attempt to hide his amusement as he stands in your kitchen, smothering his fries with ketchup and watching you stare off into space, swaying your hips like a puppy dog who can't control their tail.

“Yeah.” You answer, only half snapping back into the present moment, a sheepish, excited look on your face as you grab your share of the food and head for the couch. “I got mugged.” You call back, like it’s nothing. Playfully baiting a reaction from him that he’ll have to fake because he already knows.

“No- oh shit! Are you okay?” He leans in close as he sits beside you on the couch, pretending to examine you for injuries, but actually using it as an excuse to savour your scent.

“Yeah.” You turn to him so that your noses brush together, and he has to will himself not to blush at the proximity. You’d always had a bit of a flirtationship going, but that didn’t mean you didn’t still get under his skin when you had that tenacious look on your face. “I met the love of my life.”

“The love of your life mugged you?” He teases and you shake your head all cute and determined before leaning away to bite into your dinner.

“C’mon, who’s the lucky guy?” He goads, he has a feeling he knows where this is going, but he's trying not to get his hopes up.

You look at him like you’re thinking it over before confessing around a mouthful of food; “Arsenal.”

That’s fucking hilarious. He bites his lip to keep from laughing in your face.

“Arsenal.” He repeats. Is it hot in here? He feels exceedingly flush. “Huh, crazy.”

“Arsenal.” You say it again, this time like some Disney character swooning over their Prince Charming as you lean into his chest. It makes eating significantly harder, but he doesn’t care, lifting his arm and draping it over your shoulder, urging you closer. He’d starve it meant getting to hold you till he died. “He saved me.”

“No kidding.” You ghost a hand up and down his arm, and he enjoys the sensation too much to notice how your fingertips trace his exposed tattoos. This conversation might be the best thing that’s happened to him in ages. Second best. No, third best. Behind Lian being born and you kissing him. “But, ah, I thought I was the love of your life?”

You chew on his comeback for a minute, and he enjoys immensely how you try not to grin as your eyes dart around while you think up a response. “Guess you’ll have to share me.”

Roy Harper, share you with Arsenal? He could definitely live with that.

Wally: Fuck, marry, kill

“Okayokayokay. Fuck, marry, kill.” His words all string together in an excited jumble. He’s totally buzzing, and not from the booze. It’s never the booze, he metabolises it too fast. No, his excitement is entirely caused by you. You and your proximity, your smiling face, and your hypnotic laugh. “Nightwing, Tempest, and The Flash? Go!”

“Oh, well that entirely depends.” You reply matter-of-factly, and Wally watches admiringly as you take a sip of your drink, licking the rim when a drop spills over. Damn, he wishes you’d put your lips on him like that.

“Depends on what?” He finally asks when he remembers it’s his turn to speak, and you bite your lip for a second as if considering whether you should say what you’re about to say.

Eventually, you commit. “Are we talking Central City Flash, or Keystone?”

You watch him expectantly while he sips his own drink, waiting for his clarification. He’s glad that the difference matters to you but he can’t help challenging you, partly to keep up the clueless civilian shtick, but mostly because he wants to prolong the conversation. He wants to hear you say ‘The Flash’ a million more times. “You’re so sure they’re not the same guy? Could be running back and forth really fast. That’s his whole thing, right?”

“Nah.” You shake your head, a self-assured smile on your face. You don’t even entertain the idea, and he wonders what has you so confident but he doesn’t have to wait long to find out. “Central Flash is cool and all, but I’m in loooooove with Keystone Flash.” You giggle as you declare it.

This is brand new information to Wally, and it takes him a moment to process it. His cheeks must be as red as his suit as he watches you melt into your seat, thinking about him The Flash.

“Have you ever met the guy?” He’s pretty certain he knows the answer already.

“No.” You confess shyly, but it doesn’t stop your next, very bold statement. “He doesn’t know it yet, but we’re gonna get married one day.”

“Really?” He’s grinning from ear to ear, like the cat whose canary landed right in his bowl and started chirping ‘EAT ME! EAT ME!’

The feet of his chair scrape on the floor as he shuffles closer, and even though he’s not ‘your future husband’, you let him close the distance, happily voicing your answer to his original question and his most recent. “Yep. If it’s Keystone, can I say fuck and marry The Flash?”

“Yeah, totally, I’ll accept that answer.” Wally blurts, making no effort to hide his elation as he places his hand atop yours. “You know, I’ve been told that I’m a lot like The Flash.”

Please remember, do things that make you happy!

[catbolt]

— SYLUS HEADCANONS PT 3.

part 1, part 2 - more headcanons for the loml (fluff)

drinks his morning coffee standing out on the porch like a dad

this man will 100% leave messages for you in the condensation on the mirror after he takes a shower. whether it's a "you look beautiful", a cat drawing, or a smiley face with "have a good day", he makes sure to leave a silly little doodle to put a smile on your face in the morning

always back hugs you and rests his chin on top of your head, which is easy to do because he's so much taller (i headcanon he's 6'4/193cm and istg i am right about that)

i think sylus is an EXPERT flower purchaser. the bouquets he pulls together are genuinely works of art. no supermarket flowers from this guy considering he has a florist on retainer to provide regular fresh flowers for his house and for your weekly bouquets that always incorporate your favorite flower.

he's so self-assured. he literally has no doubt about exactly how and when he can get something done and he's right every single time. it's not cockiness or arrogance exactly, except when he's joking around, just a calm and deep-seated confidence that exudes in everything he does. he also just knows himself really, really well, and if he can't do something he admits so easily, never over-exaggerating his capabilities. "i don't know how, but i'll learn" is his attitude— especially when you're the one asking.

sylus has a modest little wood cabin in the forest outside the city for private vacations whenever he needs a break from being the leader of onychinus. he brings mephisto so he can play with the wild crows and birds for enrichment. it's his most private space, so it took a long time for him to bring you there, but now you spend weekends there together regularly.

despite having a refined palate and infinite opportunities to experience fine dining, sylus 100% has a junk food guilty pleasure and will absolutely never say no to a late night drive thru run

always says he's not interested in reality tv but consistently ends up standing behind the couch when you're watching *insert trashy reality show* intensely invested. acts like he doesn't care but then later that night he's lying in bed ranting to you like "i can't believe brad is going to the altar with veronica after he led britney on for the past four episodes"

he honestly just loves staring at you. not in a creepy way, but he does love to watch whatever you do, whether it be working, getting ready for a night out, sleeping, even just sitting around scrolling on your phone. he isn't a chatty guy and truly enjoys the moments where he gets to silently admire you in your natural state.

he always ensures you feel genuinely comfortable with whatever you two are doing. he's good at reading you and is exceptionally aware of when you're placating or people-pleasing: "tell me what you really want," "i can tell when you're lying, sweetheart," "i need you to be honest with me, baby. it doesn't make me happy when you try to tell me what you think i want to hear." whether you like it or not, he always knows when you're lying and pushes you to speak your mind.

[crookedteethed]

18+ loss of virginity, mentions of non-con, brief smut descriptions

⋆ ★ Thinking about how the Rafe's would take your virginity. <3

Season One Rafe would so take your V card at one of the kook parties, or maybe even in the secluded rec room at the Country Club during Midsummer's. Either way, I can see you losing your virginity to him in a public place. Somewhere where his friends are too, so after he fucks you, he can immediately boost about it.

Ugh, I could see it now, his stupid hair slicked back, his suit bluer than ever, and that silly smile on his face whispering into Topper's ear: 

"Guess who I just had face down ass up on the pool table in the rec room." (Bonus points if you're the hottest girl on the island everyone's been trying to touch.) 

He'd nag you about having sex with him, especially if you'd been talking to one another for months (Not dating. Talking.) 

He would make pass after pass at you every time you'd make out with each other: His hand would sometimes snake its way underneath your skirt, and he'd press on your clothed mound with his thick fingers, or he would (very childishly) start popping you in the back with your bra strap to try to get you to take it off. He'd stopped when you went braless.

When telling season one Rafe that you were a virgin, you almost saw an uncontrollable smile creep onto his face--it's just something having ownership over ones very FIRST sexual interaction (This would be a recurring theme for him in each season.). 

But with that being said, this man would not go soft on you. 

Season Two Rafe, he's got a lot of shit on his plate: he wants to get in the good graces with his father, those stupid pouges have his gold, and he suspects that something could be wrong with him, but no one wants to listen to him. The last thing he needs is a girlfriend that won't put out.

In season two, Rafe knew you were a virgin, and he knew you'd been waiting until you had at least been together for a few months--which, surprisingly, he was okay with--as long as you two could do oral on each other--which you did. 

But one day, a violent fight between Rafe and his father broke out on a date night. 

You'd offer to reschedule the reservations you made for dinner--reschedule the whole day, but to your dismay, Rafe still wanted to go for it. 

It wasn't until after dinner when you were both sitting outside of Tanny Hill in Rafe's truck, that Rafe got himself worked up going over the events from earlier with Ward. 

It wasn't until you both were inside his house that he started complaining about other things--more evidently about you and your stupid virginity saving.

Nonetheless, you just let the boy rant because he was mad; it didn't stop you from your heavy make-out session on his bed later that night.

Something was particularly rough about this make-out session; every time he went to kiss your lips, his hand would wrap around your throat, and every time you protested, his other hand would cover your mouth. 

In the moment, it only felt right to Rafe to overpower you completely, hiking up your dress and pulling down your panties to your knees, along with his slacks and his briefs. 

He cooed you when you cried--as if he weren't the one inflicting your pain, he held you tight when you tried to push him away, and he'll whisper in your ear, "How could you hold out on me with such good pussy like this." every time you told him 'no."

You would almost lose your virginity to Season Three Rafe in a heated moment of vulnerability. 

Rafe would open up to you about his troubles, which ultimately led to him telling you about the bad things he's done to the pouges—to his sister—in the past and how bad he felt. 

And there was something so attractive about THEE kook king breaking down his exterior just for you. 

When the moment got heated with a shared passionate kiss, as Rafe lips left a wet trail down your neck, you moaned, "Rafe, I'm a virgin." and then he stopped. 

Rafe knew he wanted to take your virginity, but he didn't want to make any more brash decisions; he wanted your first time to be special. 

A month or so later, he takes you with him on a business trip to  Guadeloupe--he doesn't tell you what type of business he's doing; all you know is that when he's done, you can have him all to yourself. 

And fuck is he so charming. 

He rents a condo for you two, takes you shopping, and takes you to fancy dinners.

After being out all day, you'd come back to the condo with a trail of roses leading to the bedroom (very cheesy, but he's doing his best). 

Now, don't get me wrong. Just because season three Rafe did take the liberty of making your first-time special doesn't mean he will go all soft on you. 

He does let your cunt adjust to his length for a few slow strokes--until he's completely wrecking your shit--I'm talking about his tip kissing your cervix and him making you squirt for the first time.

[seumyo]

If ghosts were real—well, Bakugou didn’t believe in ghosts, but if they did exist—they lived in the spaces people left behind.

And you happened to have left behind too many.

It wasn’t just the obvious things. Not the clothes still folded in your drawers, untouched. Not the way your books still sat on the shelves, the spines cracked from overuse, the pages filled with notes in the margins. Not even the stupid coffee mug you always used, the one you once swore made everything taste better, still sitting exactly where you left it on the kitchen counter (because it had his and your face printed on it).

No, the spaces you left behind were quieter. More insidious.

Like the empty seat across from him at the dining table, where you used to sit, eating straight from the pot that one night because, “Why dirty another dish?”

Like the sound of the bathroom door not opening in the morning when he’s actually using the toilet—dammit, you didn’t even have the care in the world to give your boyfriend some privacy—the absence of your muttered complaints about how the water took too long to heat up.

Like the other side of the bed, cold and untouched, where he still reached out in his sleep, half expecting to find you there. Anticipating to hold you closer to him.

Grief was a strange thing to Bakugou.

It wasn’t like pain. Pain was easy. A broken rib, a busted lip, the sharp sting of impact—those things, he knew how to handle. You grit your teeth, you clench your fists, you keep moving. That was what you did. That was the kind of man he was.

But grief wasn’t like that.

It wasn’t a punch he could take and shake off. It was a weight pressing down on his chest, invisible but suffocating. It was the silence of an empty apartment. It was the echo of your voice in his head, the way his brain still filled in the blanks in conversations you should have been part of.

It was standing in the grocery store, staring at the shelf, reaching for the brand of tea you liked before stopping halfway, fingers hovering in the air, before dropping his hand back to his side.

What was the point?

He hated how much space you had taken up in his life. Hated how even in your absence, you still lingered, threading yourself through his routine, his thoughts, his goddamn muscle memory.

But more than anything, he hated how much he wanted it to stay.

Because if ghosts were real, then maybe—just maybe—you weren’t completely gone.

He hadn’t cried. Not when he first got the news. Not when he stood at the funeral, jaw locked so tight it ached. Not when he walked through your apartment alone for the first time, every corner of it filled with your presence, your things, the remnants of the life you lived.

But tonight, he was exhausted.

Physically. Mentally. It comes down on him like something tangible, something inescapable—all at once.

And for the first time in a long time, he spoke into the silence.

“…This is fucking stupid.”

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse.

Nothing answered.

Of course, nothing answered.

Still, Bakugou exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You’d be so pissed at me right now.”

The quiet stretched.

Bakugou let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Tch. You always said I was too stubborn for my own good. But look at you. Still haunting me, huh?”

His eyes flickered to the couch, where you used to sit cross-legged, laptop balanced on your knees, pretending to listen to whatever bullshit he was ranting about while actually getting work done.

A strange, bittersweet feeling lodged itself in his chest.

“…You remember that time you swore up and down that ghosts were real?” he muttered, voice quieter now. “I told you you were full of shit.”

Silence.

His fingers curled into fists. “Kinda wish you were right.”

No answer. No sign. Just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, the faint buzz of the city outside the window.

But in the quiet, he thought—just for a second—he could hear it.

A breath. A whisper of movement. The sound of something shifting just out of sight.

He knew it was nothing. Just his mind playing tricks on him.

But still, Bakugou closed his eyes, exhaled, and let himself pretend.

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