#slow grenade

[dramioneasks]

Hey !! I am looking for some new fics to read so, Please recommend some fics similar to: Simply Irresistible: [Ron breaks up with hermione a week b4 the wedding and mingles with draco's gf then and then draco comes to the rescue giving her a whole new makeover. I particularly liked the ron bashing, dramione bonding and sweet fluff. It also had dramione Hogwarts bonding.] Slow grenade: Over the years bonding of dramione, with secretive meet ups. Tooth rotting fluff is what I loved with a bit of action. Would be preferable if they are on wattpad. Thanks!! I am sorry if I am not clear with my request. (dramione = draco and hermione for short)

Next time send this in as two different asks please:

SI: dramioneasks (tumblr.com)

SG:

my brother’s best friend - mrsren - E, 5 chapters - Hermione’s plan to lose her virginity starts with a list of potential men to get the job done. At the top of an already very short list rests Draco Malfoy, but he’s her brother’s best friend. The pinch: Draco finds the list, and she is woefully unprepared for the fallout.

The Healer’s Guide To Transfiguration - malpal132 - E, one-shot - It happens like this: Hermione is hunched over her desk like some kind of Tolkien goblin, essentially deep-throating three Sambal fish tacos from Del Seoul in a desperate bid to finish a late lunch before her next appointment (she’d rather choke to death than be late) when a light knock on the open door makes her head snap up. “Dr. Granger?” Holy shit. Holy shit. Her previous nonchalance about choking to death vanishes when she sees who’s standing in her door and a piece of fish hunkers down for a long winter in her esophagus. “Are you–shall I perform the Heimlich?” He asks, face familiar and concerned as he moves a step closer. “I don’t think your face should be that shade of purp–” She cuts him off by vomiting into the trash can. Airway finally clear, she gulps a few greedy breaths. Her lungs expand and her face burns, and Hermione genuinely wonders if she’s hallucinating. She’s not prone to fantastical thinking even though she’s well acquainted with the fantastic, but…why else would Draco Malfoy be standing in front of her? Malfoy, on crutches. Malfoy, handing her a tissue? Malfoy, but…not. It’s complicated.

Project Ghost by youhavemyswordandmybow - M, 19 chapters - Granger is the Head Analyst working at the DMLE wondering what the hell is going on with the spike of dark magic - and why an unknown wizard vigilante is running around like Jason flipping Bourne. Malfoy, may or may not be that vigilante - but he’s certainly not telling Granger, with her exceptionally nice arse and cute freckles. As Head Auror, (Hermione’s former and Draco’s current) best friend Harry has answers - and as strained as their friendship is, Hermione is going to get them. *** Beta’d by loads of different people but mainly Peb, MagicalIndigoSunrise and Ardeleanca - with huge thanks to them! And if there are mistakes - masses of apologies. If you like it, gimme some kudos or pls write a comment :) Thanks for reading!

Other Halves by westxnorthwest - E, 37 chapters, Words: 155,362 - Hermione is returning to Hogwarts, this time as a professor of Muggle Studies. It had been four years since the Battle of Hogwarts and she was more than ready to reclaim her life as her own, rather than living under the pressures of being part of the Golden Trio. Her personal life might be somewhat in shambles, but she’s willing to forge her own future and put herself first, for the first time in her life. Little does she know, Draco Malfoy is beginning his tenure as a professor this year too. Her complicated feelings as they pertain to the Malfoy heir resurface as she tries to navigate them, her failing relationship with Ron, and the infancy of her career. *** COMPLETED WORK | Author’s Note: This is, first and foremost, a love story. Mind the tags, but this is not a dark tale, just a few…less sunny moments. You’ll have some fluff, some angst, some (hopefully) really good smut, and, of course, some plot to carry us along. Tags have been updated to reference important themes, even if they only feature briefly, and chapters will contain relevant content warnings. If I’ve missed one, please let me know! This story developed into its own as I wrote and posted.

Baby, Any Time You’re Ready, I’m Waiting by Zeebee3 - E, 11 chapters - “Alright,” said Pansy. “Then we’re still stuck. How do we divide three rooms between three girls and three boys?” “You share with Ginny. Blaise shares with Ron. And then Draco and I can share,” said Hermione easily, scrolling through the phone at the rest of the property images. Pansy’s attention snapped to Draco so fast, he almost jolted at the impact of it. “Oh?” She said with pointed interest. Draco shook his head minutely at her and her brows shot up. She turned back to Hermione. “Why you and Draco, Hermione?” “Well it’s such a lovely house, it’d be a shame to pass it up just because of sleeping arrangements.” She glanced up, perhaps sensing the underlying emphasis in Pansy’s question, and met his eyes. “You don’t mind, do you Draco? Or I could share with Ron if you’d rather be with Blaise?” “Don’t mind a bit.” He sipped his tea, the picture of nonchalance. —— Or where Hermione thinks she and Draco are “just good friends” but he’s secretly in love.

Big Dick Energy by louiseob - E, 9 chapters - After months of successfully keeping Ginny Weasley away from happy hours with her coworkers, Hermione finally relents and allows her to tag along. Unfortunately, her crassest friend wants nothing more than to embarrass Hermione and (hopefully) get her and Draco sodding Malfoy into bed together one and for all.

Fifty Shades of Granger - winterwells - E, 7 chapters - Draco Malfoy finds himself reentering society after having been on house arrest for the past five years. The Wizengamot has *graciously* given him the opportunity to leave the manor provided he gets a job at the Ministry. What could go wrong? Dramione, post-war AU

-Lisa

(PS: yes we know what dramione means....)

[groovetrill]

[Ellie Goulding:]

Slow grenade it's blowing up my mistakes

So why don't I, why don't I stop it?

Still got time for me to stop it

It's like a part of me must want it

That's why I'm not running from it

Can't escape this blowing up

In my face so why can't I

Why can't I stop it?

Still got time for me to stop it

It's like a part of me must love it

That's why I'm not running from it

[Lauv:]

Crazy, late nights in the city

Drink until you hate me

Then say that I should just let you go

But hold on, why do we still hold on?

Think that we should move on

But we're too scared of being alone

You say my name like you know my dark side, ooh

Can't beat the taste of the tears that I'll cry, ooh

Slow grenade it's blowing up my mistakes

So why don't I, why don't I stop it?

Still got time for me to stop it

It's like a part of me must want it

That's why I'm not running from it

Can't escape this blowing up

In my face so why can't I

Why can't I stop it?

Still got time for me to stop it

It's like a part of me must love it

That's why I'm not running from it

(Ooh)

Why can't I stop it?

Still got time for me to stop it

It's like a part of me must love it

That's why I'm not running from it

[xcziel]

has anybody else thought about how jk could easily manage sofia's parts of slow dance or is it just me?

[tongueonsocket]

HI UM. LOSING MY SHIT TONIGHT WAS INSANE. like i can’t believe i was there oh my god

on another note i really need water

[knucklesex]

me 🤝 applying love songs to friendships

[look-better-in-gold]

showed my friend a song bc it’s so ace and she was expecting something cutesy about fire and got “my execution date is set” as the first line

[explosivedarling]

yet another starter call

[mystic-maniac]

Guys I'm not even gonna make a proper ??? post because too much just happened

[ink-and-dagger]

So I absolutely loved DWM, just all of it was fantastic. I was wondering if Jinx will ever figure out how to make the disarming/goop/grenade work?

Thank you so much sweets! 💜 And yes, she does! Here's a really rough and completely unedited brain splat of how she solves it

[Author possesses little to no scientific knowledge. Don’t look too closely k thnx.]

The solution to Jinx’s Goop Grenade continues to elude her. Astrid suggests a change of scenery might help jumpstart her brain. So Jinx takes her blueprints/notes etc and goes on a little adventure to find a new spot to work in.

The weather is nice, so she heads down to the Gorge and spots a cool looking perch high up overlooking the water. A sort of cavity type opening in the side of a building with a little lip to to sit on and these cool giant coupled contraptions whirring in the background which she finds oddly soothing.

She climbs her way up to the ledge and settles down to work.

To no avail.

No matter how hard she thinks, she cannot come up with any potential solutions that she hasn’t already tried.

Jinx is so engrossed that she doesn’t even notice the new presence who turns up behind her and peers over her shoulder at her notes. Until they speak.

“Interesting.”

Interesting indeed. What an interesting accent.

"Sophisticated mechanics," the man contemplates thoughtfully beneath his breath, "and yet such rudimentary materials."

Jinx clutches her notes possessively to her chest and scowls at the young man. Immediately on guard when she takes note of the academy uniform.

“Who you callin' rudimentary? Anyhow, I think it's pretty rude-imentary to snoop.”

“My sincerest apologies. I did not intend offence. Rather I wished to compliment you on your resourcefulness. I was not expecting to find anyone else here. It is somewhat of a, eh, haven for me.”

Jinx lowers her guard just a touch. Only a born zaunite could consider any part of the Undercity to be a safe haven. And in the man's cane, his leg brace, and the shadows beneath his eyes, she spots a kindred soul. Another who has been dealt a difficult hand by life.

The man introduces himself as Viktor, and begins to ask questions about Jinx's work.

It takes a little while longer, but eventually Jinx begins to relax. And the two end up sitting side-by-side, discussing her troublesome grenade.

"I've tried every alteration I can think of but it's no use. I can't find that gloop-sweet-spot. If the viscosity is too low then the grenade is pointless. Too high and the casing won't budge."

"Have you considered using a substance that does both?"

Jinx peers at Viktor with narrowed eyes. Confused and suspicious. But he offers no further explanation. Simply waits patiently for her to come to the conclusion herself.

It slowly dawns, and her eyes widen again as she mutters her epiphany under her breath.

"Oxidisation. A substance that thickens the second it makes contact with the air outside the casing. That's brilliant!! Has anyone ever told you that you're a genius?!!"

"Eh.” He shrugs, “It's a compliment I'm paid time to time."

Jinx scrambles to her feet and messily gathers her notes and makes to speed off to her lab to get to work. But remembers herself at the last second and slams into Viktor with an enthusiastic hug.

"Thanks Vik! I owe you a big one!"

"There are no debts between colleagues when it comes to scientific progress. Good luck, Jinx. I've no doubt our professional paths will cross again."

[chaos-vulpix]

@weekend-whip @k1ngtok1 I would like to formally blame these 3 songs for the Final Frontier playlist brainrot

These 5 songs for the refined version of the Aftershock playlist

And this song for making me think "y'know what? I'mma do a Jaya playlist too"

Also, just as a little treat & maybe to infect you with my current Kai & Lloyd-related brainrot, I've come to realize that these 3 tracks from Sonic Frontiers fit well with them in terms of beating up the bad guys. Let my boys be badass with loud music blaring in the background.

[dildoteamtaskforce]

In other news, I finally beat Trepang2 and got the extended ending on the first try.

[whimsicalcotton]

okay after listening to Spiracle like 6000 more times it's not just those last few lines. the whole fuckin thing is Saturated in pricefield flavors.

[crowcryptid]

I have given up trying to make a lightweight build. Idk if I just don’t have access to the right parts or something but I don’t see how ur supposed to make it work. I could bring a single gun, a blade, and only 1 weak back weapon or else I’d be overburdened. It wasn’t enough damage.

I now have a 4 legged blow-everything-up machine but using lightweight arms that have the highest firearm specialization rating. Tbh idk how important that stat is but it’s workin so 👍

It’s not very fast. But the damage is so high it doesn’t matter (so far)

I don’t want to go to the tank treads cause that’s even slower.. but if I get anything heavier than I have rn then I gotta switch to the tank. I’m just barely under the weight limit.

[comfortless]

dog hybrid recruit König thots??

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. more loner x loner because it is a treat for me. fem (afab) reader. König is a man just with ears and a tail. vague smut.

He’s the one that was never picked.

So maybe you’re too busy for a puppy hybrid, but maybe you’re a bit too lonely for an empty apartment. You don’t have the space for a big, excitable dog. The cats and bunnies are in high demand, too, there’s no shot of you adopting one of the cute, softer things within your budget. So you settle for a dog. The only dog left at the shelter.

His papers state that he comes from Austria, aged twenty-five and never been put into an actual home before. He’s endured some rigorous military training: scenting, tracking, breaking down thick doors with only a shoulder and an efficient push. A hunter through and through. Then, following his merits: erratic, jumpy, impulsive, and more than a little aggressive.

This dog doesn’t growl, only bites.

The paper sits crumpled in your hands as you eye the dimly lit hallway to your left. Posters of information line the beige walls to either side, some with photos of proud kitties and dogs, hand-in-hand with their companions and cheery phrases printed above in a bright, yellow cursive.

If anything, those are the ones that give you the final push to adopt this unloved, discarded experimental soldier. He’s only been given this one very last chance before… You would rather not think of what comes if you’re to turn away and leave him to rot and wither here. It must have happened a dozen times already: ambitious families looking for a more intriguing addition only to lock eyes with this pitiful thing and shake their heads ‘no’ for him to be put on death row like this.

“He’s scary,” the clerk reminds you once you’re finally led down the hall to the tiny room your new pet— no, friend, must be kept in. It was easy to think of them as something else sometimes. Animal instincts as prevalent as their claws, teeth, and fuzzy little ears. But you didn’t need a pet, there were an abundance of shops for those. You needed a good soul to spill your guts to and maybe pet from time to time.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

The poor thing is locked away to fester in what more closely resembles a cell than anything resembling a home. A steel door with a thin, narrow gap in the middle like a peephole keeps him locked in tight. Peering through that narrow gap, you only then seem to realize just what an impulsive decision you’re making.

König is exactly what the clerk said, continues to say next to you as she searches for the correct key on the ring. He’s bigger than any other hybrid you’ve seen before, built narrow at the waist but broad and deadly where it matters most; arms like narrow trees and thighs larger than your head, all muscle and intimidation, even with the cute, perky ears peeking out of the top of his helmet. He was definitely used for guarding and killing, and how a man his stature could even begin to fail that was unknown to you. Not that it was necessary. At most, he may need to shoo a scuttling pest out of the front door and put away a dish or two.

When the door swings open, the clerk offers a hesitant nod before dismissing herself back down the hall, and you’re left stood with a pair of blue eyes locked directly onto you.

König assesses with a tilt of his head and a slow ascent to his feet. He’s clad in layers of black, an empty vest where magazines or grenades must have been in place prior. Hell if you knew. He should have been given a fresh change of clothes after being discharged and sent to this place. A proper bed, too, considering the only furniture in this barren place seemed to be a cot that could never hope to hold him.

If not for the swaying of his tail, you might even find yourself nervous, but he does well to try and look approachable, even greets you with a thickly accented tongue beneath that hood. A simple, “Hallo.”

“I’ve adopted you,” you explain, and it sounds ridiculous. You can’t just adopt a full-grown man. Maybe a puppy or some hybrid child, never a man better suited for a gladiator pit than a home. “I mean that… if you want to come home with me, you can.”

He gives you a huff, a burst of breath that pushes the hood out from his face and a near imperceptible roll of his eyes as a step is taken toward you. It must sound stupid, even to him, but the wiry tail at his back does not cease its wagging. No matter how stern the glimpses of his face seem to look and how alarming his size may be, he’s nothing but an eager pup it seemed.

“Richtig… Then let’s go.”

Life with your big soldier turns out to be remarkably easy.

The first few weeks are dedicated to stoking up some sort of bond and rationing out chores. Simple tasks to see how he adapts, and small rewards in the form of pets along the velvety fur of his ears and scratches beneath his chin. The walks with you seem to be his favorite and tend to be long, but he remains right at your side the entire way. The only barking to be heard comes from nosy passersby that warn you to keep your beast on a leash, but you let him be reasoning that it wouldn’t do you any good at all. Your strength was that of a tiny rabbit’s by comparison.

König is clean enough from his prior military training and does as you ask without complaint. Even things you don’t request, such as your laundry are taken care of before you ever even return from work. He’s overbearing on those evenings, when you’ve been apart and he sates himself drunk on the scent of your perfume still clinging to the collar of an old sweater. Excitable and sweet, though, when he curls at your side while some movie plays on the television screen.

It amazes you how easily he’s shifted from stiff to adoring in a matter of days, but it’s rare to have a moment to yourself now. The hybrid is insistent on pulling you up into his lap when you’re curled on the couch, or rushing behind to hoist you up and pin you between an expanse of chest and the kitchen counter with drooly licks against the side of your neck and cheek. Biting, too. You try your best to bully that out of him, flicking at his ears or shoving against his face, but there’s always a mark left behind.

When a coworker gives you a mischievous grin and asks if there’s a new man in your life at the sight of a purplish bruise against your throat, that is when you decide that a collar may actually be nice. Weave your fingers between leather and skin and give König a sharp tug when he gets too rowdy, maybe that would teach him. Spray bottles and warnings spoken through giggles just aren’t enough.

You find one that you think might fit at a shop specializing in hybrid needs. It’s thick and well-made, a black leather hold to match that big scary demeanor that he tries his best to uphold. The cutesy silver bell attached to it is just a bonus. At least you would hear him coming the next time he insisted on peppering you in kisses with his tail a blur behind him.

He greets you at the door as always, unlocks it for you and pulls it open before you ever even make it to the top of the landing. It’s cute how giddy he seems each day when you return, how he doesn’t hesitate to walk right up to you with his hands at his sides, his own silent request for a hug or some form of affection whilst staring down at you and mumbling a “hallo” like the most awkward gentleman in the entire world.

“I got you a present,” you excitedly tell him instead of blessing him with your usual embrace, lifting up the little gift bag with a smile.

When the collar is retrieved from the bag by a massive hand, König does not mirror your enthusiasm. Any light in the placid blue of his eyes seems to extinguish, smothered and fizzled out to pave way for a look of the purest disdain. He rolls the leather between both palms, only then regarding you with as a heavy sigh stirs up from his chest to whistle past the open mouth beneath the hood.

Maybe he would have preferred something with spikes. Something heavy and intimidating with a tag that read “FUCK YOU” in red, painted letters.

“I don’t wear collars,” he finally says, flatly.

Or maybe a muzzle would have been best…

“You do now, big guy,” you challenge with an airy laugh, slipping past him to cross into your home. Tidy as ever, he’s been working today it seemed. The bulb in the living room has been replaced, a few pieces of furniture rearranged. It all just looks… cozy. More habitable now that someone else lives here too.

König follows you inside with his head lowered and tail pushed between his thighs. The collar rests in one hand, fingers curled over it so tightly it almost seemed he wished the damned thing to dissipate into dust.

“Nein. I won’t wear it.” The door is locked behind him. It’s the first time he’s refused you anything. Even cleaning up around the kitchen wasn’t met with a rejection. It’s odd, almost uncharacteristic for him.

“I just thought…” You would want to be mine. Properly. With a nice symbol of it right around his neck, with a sturdy leash to lead him by, with…

Any thought in your head puffs into a plume of smoke back there behind your eyes when you feel two hands grasp at your shoulders, push you back towards the wall to hold you there. Hugging, lifting, cuddling up against, even licking… those things were commonplace. This was foreign and surprisingly rough; there’s no give to his hold, no room to even try to move away as his head lowers to stare you straight in the eyes.

“I killed my last handler.”

“Did you…?”

“Ja.”

That confession should have sent icy dread to the pit of your stomach, should have spurred you to claw and kick and bite. Surely the shelter would have known, could have warned you too. That would have spared you from looking like a terrified little rabbit now, yet a part of you knew it wouldn’t have changed a thing. König sort of… belonged here, as if written in some silly reading of the stars.

His ears flatten against his skull, large hands trembling where they hold you in place. The dam begins to crack as his eyes grow glassy, gaze far away in a concoction of pain and contemplation. He stares through you, not at, reliving something you dared not ask for an explanation for. The whys and hows die on your tongue.

And there’s nothing scary about him anymore.

There’s only a wounded soldier here.

A good boy.

Your hands rise to flip up the hood, rest it over the top of his head to cup his jaw in your palms, stroking over his cheeks with both thumbs to soothe and comfort. His unwinding comes immediate, hands slipping down to your lower back to pull you in closer.

You don’t apologize and neither does he. Everything just falls back into a comfortable lull, some fuzzy droning from both sides as you wish one another good night. He walks you to your bedroom door, the very best he can do to prove that he’s not some mutt with froth coming from his jaw. You bite your tongue to prevent yourself from encouraging that he sleep next to you.

“You’re a good boy, you know that?,” you tell him as you lean against the door in preparation to push it closed. “The very best there is.”

He doesn’t respond, but the tail behind him wags at a frantic pace from those words alone.

The following morning is different.

There’s food on the table and coffee already brewing by the time you cross from your room into the kitchen. The air bears the scent of sandalwood and geranium, a forgotten candle sat burning on the countertop. You eat your breakfast of too-sweet pancakes and prep your coffee to go all while the shower runs from somewhere down the hallway.

He usually waits, tells you goodbye before you’re off to work, bites at your neck and asks which will be better: a movie after dinner or some fresh air. Instead, there’s a note attached to the door. Something simple and mischievous, a scribbled, lopsided heart and some phrase in German written with handwriting so sloppy that there was no hope of your still sleep-addled mind translating it.

You chalk it up to him being fully adjusted in this new space, let him go about his business while you go about yours.

It would be a walk tonight.

Arriving home twists what is simply different into the realm of bizarre. No hugging by the door, it sits closed and untouched since you left this morning. You inhale something heavy, trepidation or maybe a bit of yearning there, while you fumble with your key in the lock. A click, a push, and then everything just changes. There’s no crashing and burning, only a very firm and insistent buzzing that rises to your chest, because the sight inside is just…

König.

Your König.

The hood has been discarded and set aside on the polished wood of a nearby table, the little bell collar sits right along his throat. It jingles when his ears perk and his tail begins that gentle sway, swishing with every step that you take into the apartment, rampant and unyielding when the sparkles in your eyes cluster like the tiniest, most insignificant stars.

No apologies, but this was something better.

“Gut?,” he asks you, kneels before you with the cutest stare that you’ve ever seen on a man. Constellations sit there waiting to be mapped, and your giant puppy waits for just a little praise.

You stroke his ears first, then dip your head to press a kiss to his cheek.

“The best boy,” you tell him.

“I have a present for you too.”

No protest comes when he herds you out of the door, still in your stiff uniform with your hair a mess. The sun begins its setting out on the horizon, bathing the world in purple and gold. Trees with spring blossoms and wildflowers all abloom tinge the air in something sweet. It’s not your usual trail, and König doesn’t walk at your side this time, only ahead. You watch him fondly as he grazes his fingertips against the blooms hanging from branches just overhead, how he shies away from the curious nesting birds in bushes as to not startle them.

It isn’t the usual trail, but he walks it with confidence. There are no people out so late in the day, and apart from the occasional quip between the both of you, the setting only bears the sound of the chiming of his bell and a few night birds beginning to call. Peace morphs to something greater when the sun tucks itself away and sets the stage for a bright, waning moon. There’s a small clearing, a meadow cut straight through by the dirt path you walk, and only then are you pulled aside.

“Here,” he huffs against your chest when your back meets soft grass and a hazy, spring sky is painted out above you.

Maybe you’re not the best with men, but there have been signs.

So many in abundance that the pitiful squeak that leaves you when his nose finds its way up your skirt is only an embarrassment. König must have found it charming, reaches for both of your hands as he laps at your sex through the thin lace of your panties until your body grows tense and your nails leave little crescents on the backs of his hands.

The words don’t come, they don’t have to when he speaks them for you, little whispers and coos into your hair when any barrier between you is discarded with the descent of a zipper and the sound of tearing lace. There’s an outpouring of thanks in the form of a tiny, fragile, “I missed you.”

The night birds calling washes out each sound that escapes from either of you then, only outdone by the symphony of impact when König loses himself entirely to you. Limbs curling around narrow hips and a broad back, pools of blue so shimmery and pretty they outdo even the moon hanging above locked onto you. He doesn’t look away even as you try to bury your face into the width of his shoulder, only then guides you back down with a gentle hand and a muffled, needywhine.

“Good boy,” comes as a mere peep when he fully sheaths himself and laps at the corner of your mouth as you speak. The praise only causes him to still, pries the words from his panting mouth and reduces them to a series of pleasured, stuttering groans.

“What did the note say?,” you ask him in the silence that comes comfortable once the act is done, nestled into a pair of strong arms with a cheek pressed against an expanse of chest.

“Oh.” König laughs breathily, coming down from the height of both love and need.

“That you found home?,” you ask when he pets at your hair, twirls strands between his fingertips. “Because I think that I may have, too…”

“Something like that.” He shrugs, loosens his grip around your body for a mere second before pulling you in closer, tighter to him, as if letting go would end the world entirely. “Heaven.”

[visionsofcarnality]

Jason teaching reader how to shoot a handgun?

Omg this is such a sweet idea my fingers are itching…. Just a short little blurb while i work on the longer stuff but i couldn’t resist

One on One. J. Todd.

Or: Jaybird teaches his partner how to use a handgun.

warnings: Guns, female pronouns/feminine nicknames and features. Jay is a grabber. He shouldn’t be a teacher he gets distracted easily. No use of y/n

“Okay now move your hand just a little bit down…” He adjusted your hand so the skin between your thumb and forefinger no longer covered the back end of the gun’s top. “Otherwise it’s going to slide back and cut your hand.”

“Got it.” You answered, furrowing your brows as you tried to visualize what he was saying, creating an invisible line on the back of the gun to serve as a ‘danger zone’.

“Now don’t pull the trigger like a grenade pin.” He spoke slowly into your ear, hot breath tickling the peach fuzz there. “Squeeze it nice and slow, don’t pull too fast.” His hand covered yours just gentle enough to guide but not heavy enough to influence your movements.

“Okay… Now?” You blinked a few times, somewhat nervous still about actually pulling the trigger.

“Now, princess.” He confirmed, resting both hands on your hips with a comforting squeeze. “Nobody around, you could have the worst aim in the world and still won’t hurt anybody.” He leaned in close to your ear again, nibbling lightly on the soft skin. “Nice and easy, no rush.” Your finger trembled a little on the trigger, the metal warm from your finger teasing it.

“Slow squeeze…” You repeated, your finger inching into a tighter curl around the metal until-

“That’s my girl!” Jay whooped as the bang rang out in the abandoned condo building he’d chosen for your impromptu target practice. “You did it, baby.” He cooed proudly into your neck, pressing a kiss before taking the gun from your stiff hands.

“I didn’t hit the bottle.” You pouted with a long sigh, running a hand through your hair frustratedly.

“I knew you weren’t gonna hit it, sweetheart.” He laughed, pulling you in for a scorching kiss. “I just wanted to get you to pull the trigger.”

[yeats-nana]

Jason: Alright baby bro it's time for bed [throws 3 y.o Damian over his shoulder to the bed but in slow motion while making sounds like a plane is crashing]

Damian: [giggling]

Jason: [stops mid-throw] Wait wait, just to be safe [pulls out a toy grenade from his pocket] incase if there's any monsters down there [throws the grenade under the bed]

Tim: AAAAAHH WHAT THE FU- [frantically trying to crawl out]

Damian: [shrieks happly]