#west end pad

[eriksangel666]

New podcast episode is up! This week, we kick off season 6 with our unofficial tradition of covering lady pop stars by traveling to England to listen to the Irresistible Cathy Dennis!

[ozskob]

Lead single from Cathy's underrated Am I The Kinda Girl? album

[gold-onthe-inside]

close to the vest

who? spencer reid (s3) x tough!reader summary: you were aaron's recommendation to join the team, hired a little after emily and david are hired. much like him, you prefer to keep your guard up, but the team is hellbent on trying to pry you open. content warnings: fluff, references to crimes against children, reader is a closet nerd, grew up on the west coast, used to work at the CASMIRC (child abduction and serial murder investigative resources center) word count: 1.6k author's note: was debating on whether to make this another reader type altogether, but figured we could add to the tough!reader universe. based off of this request. part of spring-fest.

They chalk it up to you being new to the team, one of Aaron’s recommendations for the team. By no means are you silent, but when it comes to the profiling work, you’re about as secretive as Rossi used to be when he joined; listening to the others, writing in your legal pad. More often than not, Aaron has to prompt you to share your judgements, which doesn’t sit well with the rest of the team — not when you’re usually so confident.

Because you’re silly enough to keep up with Penelope’s quips and references, athletic enough to be the first one through the door with Derek. You’re too willing to defer to the team at any given moment, stepping aside for someone else to take the lead, like you’re scared of screwing up. And you do it so good-naturedly that no-one really blinks twice.

And yet, there are these moments where Spencer can tell you know more than you let on. Cases that remind you of previous killers, and rather than explaining the connection yourself, you’d just turn to him and phrase it as a question, like you were lining up the shot for him to swing into an information dump.

Or during profile distributions, Aaron and you take the front and tail ends of the profile, leaving the meatier sections for Spencer, Derek, Emily, and Rossi — but you’re more than able to take on questions posed to you individually by officers. You’re happy to take the back seat in interrogations with Derek or Emily, even though you’ve got a decent number of confessions elicited on your belt. Your profile notes were intelligent, you were perceptive and quick on your feet, and it was clear that your input was being taken on board and valued by the team.

“Come on,” Emily said to Derek, her voice hushed in the middle of the jet, the two of them watching you sit with Aaron in the back, helping him with paperwork. “You don’t think something’s up?”

Derek frowned. “She’s new. Just doesn’t want to step on toes, I get it.” He turned to look at you with a frown before he nodded his head. “She’s good though, can tell when she’s asking you questions it’s because she knows the answer she’s looking for. I think she’s just being polite.”

"Still," Emily murmured. "It's been two months."

“Two months still isn’t that long,” Derek pointed out with a shrug. “We’ll work on her, get her into the team. Invite her out for something after work. She’ll warm up, we all did.”

Spencer was sat across from them, his gaze flickering up from his notes every so often to where you were sat, head bent over your paperwork while Aaron spoke softly to you. Something you said made him crack a smile despite himself, looking at his file. He had a feeling that warming you up wasn’t what was needed.

You’re more than happy to come along for a drink after work, eyes sparkling as you listen to Derek and Penelope flirting the entire way to the bar, amused. Emily’s the one who starts the interrogation, sandwiched into the corner of the booth by Penelope, which means you’re sitting beside Spencer, because God forbid anyone other than Derek Morgan takes the last seat beside Penelope.

“So, what was it like, working child abductions so long?” Emily asked, and to your credit, you chuckled, while Spencer internally groaned. He’s no social genius, but even he can tell it’s too deep too quick.

“Depressing,” you replied, your smile easy.

“I think that’s a given,” Emily said. She took a sip of her drink, eyes watching you carefully over the lip of the glass. "Did you ever get desensitised to it? You must've seen some tough cases."

Spencer shifted slightly in his seat, uncomfortable. He was hoping it wouldn't be quite this intense.

"I think you learn to compartmentalise when you work the job long enough. But yeah, we've got a pretty high washout rate," you answered, your tone open, your answers evasive.

"I bet it wasn't easy," Spencer said, chiming into the conversation despite his discomfort. "Getting into the headspace of a child abductor, knowing there's people like that out there."

You glanced at him, your attention making him feel warm inside. "Nothing in the world is worth having or worth doing unless it means effort, pain, difficulty," you said, the words all too familiar to him and he frowned.

"Did you just quote Theodore Roosevelt?" he asked, trying to hide a chuckle.

"I might have," you admitted with a slight smile, Penelope’s eyes instantly narrowing, darting between you and Spencer, then sharing a knowing look with Emily. Derek walked over with a tray of drinks, sliding them onto the table.

“A martini for Prentiss, a daiquiri for the lovely Garcia, a glass of red for my boy, and a classy Manhattan for a classy girl,” Derek announced, handing out each drink, before sitting down with his beer. “What’d I miss?”

“Just that the new girl can quote Roosevelt at the drop of a hat,” Emily replied, grinning as you shrugged.

“Gideon used to do that all the time,” Derek complained. “I mean, thank God for the boy wonder over there. He could identify every one of his quotes.”

“Maybe you should take it as a sign, expand your literary horizons,” you replied with a smile.

“I’m happy with my horizons where they are,” Derek retorted, his arm moving to rest on the back of the booth, behind Penelope as she sipped her cocktail. “I’ve got better things to do than read Schopenhauer or something.”

“Interestingly enough, Schopenhauer’s greatest work was on the concept of free will and will as representation of the world,” Spencer cut in, with all the signs of going on a spiel, eyes bright, hands gesturing as he spoke. “He argued that the world exists solely through our perception of the world, and that the existence of matter is purely dependent on whether it’s observed by others.” The three of them stared at him, while you folded your lips, hiding a smirk. Meanwhile, he blinked at them, his smile fading, sipping his wine instead and looking somewhere else.

And then you piped up — “He’s saying, if a tree falls and no-one sees it, or hears the noise, then Schopenhauer would say that the tree hasn’t fallen.”

His gaze snapped over to you, stunned. “Exactly,” he said, before pausing. "That’s… I mean, I wasn’t expecting you to know that. Or anything like that, actually."

"Schopenhauer’s a bit more dense than most,” you pointed out, shrugging while the others watched the exchange, surprised.

“First, Roosevelt, now some German philosopher— How do you know all this stuff?” Penelope asked, narrowing her gaze.

“What, he’s the only one allowed to know things?” you deflected, trying for an easy smile, but they were onto you.

“I am not above cyberstalking you, lady,” Penelope warned, waving her straw at you. “Spill. The. Beans.”

You raised your shoulders defensively. “I… may have been an Academic Decathlon kid. So, I know a lot of trivia stuff.”

Spencer was watching you intently, his eyes flitting over your face as you spoke, the others immediately jumping on you.

"Academic Decathlete? You?" Emily teased. "I pegged you for a swimmer. Or a gymnast, those shoulders and all."

You raised your glass to sip your drink, smirking behind your glass. "Who says I wasn't all three?"

Derek choked on his drink, while the others stared at you. “I'm sorry, you were an Academic Decathlete, a swimmer, and a gymnast?” Emily asked with eyebrows raised. “Were you trying to hit every cliché on the list?”

"I did swimming in the summer. Gymnastics in the winter," you replied, as if talking about your favourite foods.

“Jesus, you’re unbelievable,” Derek said, shaking his head with a smirk. “You get into running too, for good measure?”

"No, that was the Academy whipping me into shape," you huffed.

The group chuckled, but Spencer was watching you curiously. “You took gymnastics and swimming all the way through school?” he probed.

You hummed, nodding. "I grew up on the West Coast," you explained. "Swimming's kind of in my blood."

“And gymnastics?” he asked again, tilting his head as he studied you. The others were busy bantering amongst themselves, laughing at something Spencer couldn’t quite hear as he was tuned in on you.

"Grew up doing it, turned out I was good at it, figured it might get me a scholarship somewhere," you replied, shrugging.

“And it did,” he said it more as a statement than a question, and you nodded again.

“Yeah, it did,” your voice softened slightly, and he noted that you didn’t elaborate further, the others too deep in their conversation to notice the slight change in atmosphere. You drained the last of your drink. “That’s me for the night,” you announced, setting your glass down and starting to get up. “Thanks for buying, Morgan.”

“Aw, come on, you’re leaving already?” Penelope cried, pouting.

“Yeah, you haven’t even seen Prentiss get properly drunk yet,” Derek chimed in and you laugh easily.

“There’s plenty of time yet for that,” you replied, shrugging your suede jacket on. “See you guys Monday.”

Spencer caught himself, almost opening his mouth to ask you questions, but he shut it as you stood and shrugged on your jacket, waving goodbye to the others. His gaze followed you as you weaved around the tables, heading for the exit.

Meanwhile, the other three turned to look at him, with matching knowing looks on their faces.

"Don't," he protested immediately.

comments and reblogs appreciated xoxo

[hanasnx]

Wally West trying (maybe failing) to combat the 'too fast' allegations. Please? <3

MINORS DNI 18+

NOTES: DC is for December Event!

WALLY WEST hisses between his teeth, his hand at the back of your neck clenching as if to warn you through his body language. You hum, and his hips jump, that grip tightening on you. “Easy, sugar, or this’ll end before we get started.” he coos, artificially instilling lightheartedness knowing he’s thinly veiling how close he really is. He chuckles nervously, and releases your neck to smooth the palm down your back while your head stays stationary. Eyes peer up at him while he’s halfway in your mouth, scanning him while you make your decision. He visibly melts at the sight of you, so pretty with his cock between your lips. “Don’t look at me like that.” he sighs, and another hot twitch goes through his base, bumping the underside against your lower teeth. He inhales sharply, and your tongue curiously traces the vein there, trailing up to the pad located just below his head.

“Baby,” he scolds in a way, and you get all warm and fuzzy. Seizing you, he clutches onto anywhere he can reach while you experimentally continue to bob your head. His eyes squeeze shut, scrunching that freckled nose. “Baby, we just got started!” he reasons, “Just give me a second because—because—“ His voice heightens, and his grasp clamps while you sink down on him, feeling his length fill the back of your throat. He curses, and even the minutest of sensations sends him into a frenzy. Tipping over the edge, he desperately clings onto the height of the pleasure, and his hands take on a mind of their own to chase it. He laces his fingers together, banding them around the back of your head to guide you down, letting you lift your neck yourself to match his beat.

To capture that relief, he fucks your face in the process, chuffing air between his teeth as he curls forward. The warmth radiates off him, sunning your forehead as you’re stuffed into his crotch. Tears prick the corners of your eyes as that twitch in his base evolves to a tremor. “Fuck, babe, I’m right there, I’m right there—!” You try to relax your throat, but his desperation makes for a clumsy entrance, his tip bumping its way through your mouth until you gag, lurching against him. With it, comes a flood of salty warmth, pumping onto your tongue. A burst of a moan erupts from him as he cums only after a few minutes of going down on him.

[rassicas]

The Art of Splatoon 3, pages 300 and 301, translated and typeset. The page features the map of the world of Splatoon 3, which had already been translated officially...mostly. There were a few landmarks present in the JP version that aren't in the english version. I went and added those missing landmarks and included the map as a separate higher res image. You can compare it to the official english version here. The names of the locations are pretty direct translations. Yokosuka peninsula and Chi-Ba (minus the dash) are real places in Japan. Kara Highway comes from how Bankara and Haikara both end in "kara"...if I were to localize it, I'd call it the InkSplat Highway... Atsugi oasis I assume is a play on atsugiri, a thick slice of food, and atsui, hot (???uncertain) I also took the liberty of changing "border zone" to "prefectural border". This implies Inkadia and the Splatlands are part of the same country, and is info present on the JP map, but not on the official english translation.

transcript of text under the cut...

Worldly Investigations We investigated a variety of places, and we discovered many fascinating things, such as traces of humanity, interesting structures, and more on the lives of marine creatures living in the present day. The following is a supplemental report of our investigation, with a map included.

The Splatlands A region located to the west of Inkadia. It consists of the Outer Splatlands Desert and its surrounding area, and has the second largest urban and economic area after Inkadia. The region is famous as a world-class tourist destination, with Scorch Gorge and the Splatlands Desert National Park still existing in their nature-rich prehistoric state. Numerous settlements have been scattered around rivers and the Crater since ancient times, and a unique and diverse culture has developed in the region.

Rocket Launch Pad The rocket was aimed for a new world separate from Earth, but an unfortunate accident occurred in the final stage of development, and the human race perished without the rocket taking off. The launch pad is in near perfect condition, and could be reactivated anytime, so as long as there is enough energy.

Undertow Spillway A huge underground flood bypass that was destroyed during the last great war. It had been abandoned for many years and garnered a negative legacy due to the enormous cost of dismantling it. However, when an area with relatively few collapses underwent maintenance and opened up as a battle stage, its popularity exploded. The longtime fans of the spillway loudly protested against the changes, but this opposition has subsided.

Trizooka A modified version of a special weapon once used in Inkopolis. A huge compressor fills the bottle with a huge amount of ink, and with compressed air, shoots the ink forward in a spiral. It's considered good manners to pick up the fallen bottles after battle.

Red Hammertreads Anakki has caught on to the latest trends, and has presented a collection of "looting"-themed footwear. The message of "Take what you want by force!" resonated with the boom of rough and rugged Splatlandian fashion, creating some die-hard fans. The motif of the collection is a gangster octopus, which has turned blood red with rage. This deep crimson color is symbolic of the collection.

[thebeast-dennis-etcetera]

Interference Part 2

Prompt: You run to your FBI neighbor when you and your boyfriend get into a fight.

Part 1

You shut your laptop with a frustrated sigh and crossed out the last address you had written down on your pad of paper. The last two days you had been searching for a place to rent, only to be turned down due to your bad credit or limited income. You didn’t have the privilege of asking your family for help, most of them had shunned you once you got into your relationship and the few that did still speak with you were in no position to lend you money.

Your phone rang again for the 3rd time in 30 minutes, a blocked number popping up on the screen. You had ignored it the last 2 times for the fear that it was your boyfriend, but he should still be in jail with no chance of making phone calls, right?

Deciding it wouldn’t really hurt to answer it, you slid the call open and instantly regretted it once the familiar devious voice spoke to you.

“Hello bird,” he greeted with fake sincerity, using the pet name he made for you as a jab at your eating habits. The fear shot through you just as hard as the other night, rendering you speechless.

“I’m out baby. I’ll be home soon and we can sit down and talk about everything. Hopefully you were able to get the house cleaned, it was a mess the last time I was there.”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything more before you ended the call. Anxiety and fear began creeping into your body, making you scramble to grab a luggage bag from the closet before shoving some clothes, toiletries, and your laptop in it. Running into the living room, you peeked out of the curtains, hoping to see Aaron’s car in the driveway. No such luck.

So grabbing your keys, you left the house, not even bothering to lock it and threw your luggage into the backseat of your car. You tore out of the driveway and down the street like a bat out hell, unsure exactly how far away your boyfriend was. As reckless as driving 50 in a residential was, you took your chances of being pulled over and put as much distance between you and that house before dialing Aaron’s number at a red light.

“Hotchner,” he answered professionally from the other line.

“Aaron. He got out. I don’t know how, maybe his mom paid his bail. He called me and said he was on his way to me.” Your words were fast and frantic. You would've continued rambling had Aaron not stopped you.

"Y/N. Just take a deep breath for me, alright?"

The light turned green and you did as he instructed, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, it doing very little to calm your frazzled nerves but appreciated it regardless.

"Now do you have anywhere you can go, maybe a friends house or family member? Somewhere you'd be safe?"

"No," you spoke. "I don't have any friends and most of my family disowned me when I got into this stupid relationship. The rest of them live on the West Coast."

There was a pause of silence as you felt him thinking over the phone. Most likely figuring out the easiest way to get rid of you and your problems.

"Alright. I have some down time before my meeting in an hour. Why don't you come by and we can figure out a plan. I'll send you the address, just take the elevator to the 4th floor."

A second later you felt the buzz of your phone from the incoming text message. "Ok. Thank you so much Aaron. And I'm so sorry for taking up your time." Tears threatened to fall but you held them back.

"Don't be sorry, Y/N. I want to help you. Don't worry, we'll get this all sorted out. Just text me when you arrive."

"I will," you replied before you both said goodbye and hung up. You put the address in your navigation and drove mindlessly through traffic, so many thoughts going through your head it made you want to scream.

The address wasn't too far from your own homes, arriving there in less than an hour and heading into the very drab looking building before taking the elevator, texting Aaron that you had arrived on the way up.

You had just made it to the front desk before seeing Aaron headed in your direction, giving the receptionist a small smile. "She's with me Lonnette, thank you."

You waited as Lonnette printed your visitor badge and handed it over with a friendly smile before following Aaron through the floor, passing by glass offices and cubicles. You were quiet, not really in the mood for small talk which you felt he sensed and didn't bother saying anything as he lead you up some stairs to an office that you presumed was his by the gold name plaque on his desk.

"Have a seat, please," he offered politely, closing the door and walking over to his side of the desk. "Would you like something to drink? Water? Coffee?"

You shook your head. "No thank you. I appreciate the offer though."

He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down, moving some files to the side. "So I'm genuinely surprised to hear that he's out of jail. You said you think his mother bailed him out?"

"Yeah. I don't think she knows anything about what happened but whenever he asks her for money, she just sends it to him. I think she feels guilty for never being in his life so giving him money when he needs it helps her feel better about it." You rung your hands together, anxious about the whole situation as well as being there, talking with a man that was pretty much a complete stranger, bugging him for help.

"And he called you afterwards, telling you that he was on his way? Did he seem upset?" His tone was curious as if trying to get every piece of puzzle to fit perfectly in order to build an accurate idea of who your boyfriend was. It made sense considering his profession.

"I don't know. He's really good at hiding his anger until he snaps. He was talking like nothing had happened and we were just going to go back to normal." Your head whipped towards the open window blinds where someone was just walking by, Aaron noticing your jumpy behavior immediately.

"You're safe here. No one knows anything about what happened except you and I," he reassured you, making you relax just a little. "I don't think he'll be out of jail for long though, at least until he sees the judge for arraignment. I will personally see to that."

His words brought you a bit of placidity and hope as you still wondered why he would go through such lengths to help you out.

"I do have a small flat not far from here that I use occasionally for late nights at the office when I don't want to drive all the way home. You can stay there for now, until you find a place of your own if you'd like. Completely up to you, I don't want you to feel pressured."

Your eyes looked up from the floor to meet his, surprised by his offer.

"I- uh. I couldn't impose on you like that-

"You wouldn't be. I barely use it anymore, I prefer to be at my home with my son whenever I can."

Son? He has a son. Of course he does. He probably also has a wife or at least a girlfriend since you didn't see a ring on his finger. The thought of him with a son didn't bother you, in fact it only gave you more of a reason to trust him.

"If you're sure you don't mind," you said, trying not to sound too excited, relieved that you wouldn't have to go back to your boyfriends house. "Please let me pay some sort of rent or something though. It's the least I can do."

He shook his head no, his expression soft and nonchalant. "Don't worry about it. You're gonna need the money for your new place. Just promise me that you won't contact him or go back to that house unless you have some sort of escort, preferably by law enforcement."

You could be my escort.

You nodded in agreement, ignoring your thoughts.

“Alright then. I can send you the address and give you the keys now. I'm not sure if the fridge is stocked but feel free to add or throw anything away. There is a washer and dryer there so you can wash the sheets and anything else you need." He pulled his keys from his desk drawer and removed a ring with a single key on it, holding it out for you.

You took it gratefully and stood with him as he buttoned his suit back up and checked his watch.

"Could I at least make you dinner or something?" you blurted, not sure where such confidence came from. "I mean, I just want to do something for you in return for your incredible generosity." You couldn't stop the blush from burning your cheeks, your words successfully embarrassing yourself.

A small smile played at the corner of his mouth, showing off just the slightest sight of dimples. "I'll be with my son tonight but maybe we could grab a coffee sometime tomorrow."

You smiled back, more than satisfied with his offer and followed him out of his office, feeling a few stares from people but avoided eye contact. Aaron walked you back to the receptionist and even had her add you as a contact so visiting would be an easier feat.

"Thank you again Aaron," you spoke, the anxiety you had been feeling for the last few hours, finally beginning to dissipate. He answered with a friendly nod and you entered the elevators. Once the doors closed and you were completely alone, you took in a deep breath. Maybe everything was going to be ok like he said.

[naffeclipse]

Hopefully this hasn’t been asked quite yet

But what if orca eclipse was more like the canon dca as in-

He was an animatronic instead of a fish man?

*rubs my filthy mitts together*

The setting becomes a Seaworld-esque theme park (not good) called Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea.

Y/N is still a photographer. You have been personally invited by the corporation to take stunning candid photographs of everything within the park so they may use the photos in future marketing endeavors. The pay is more than convincing. You're thrilled to get an inside peak into a notable establishment and discover what you can capture with your camera.

You're allowed almost everywhere. You get to see shows with oceanic-themed animatronics that perform stunning water tricks and can morph from their landform to their sea form in the blink of an eye—legs are replaced with fins, and vice versa. The areas have their themes from the warm and relaxed Caribbean-themed shallow pools on the east end to the excited and tidal-wave high pools on the west side to a swampy and green lily pad-dotted south.

Funny enough, you remember a small blurb on a news website about Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea shutting down a section of the park. No big deal. It probably just needs to be renovated, but you keep passing maps that have one certain section on the north side of the park either covered up with a big sticker, crossed out with a black marker, or outright torn off. Strange. They did say you could go almost everywhere.

You find the north section, but it's all covered up in tape and looks to have an Arctic theme. There are polar bears and narwhals painted on the icy-faux walls. The entrance is locked up tight. You keep photographing everything else, everywhere, but the north area keeps gnawing at the back of your brain. Any efforts to find out more information are met with standard explanations of the work required in the area. It is closed until further notice.

Which you sit with for a few days before you discover a back area. The excuse of needing a better angle to take pictures of the animatronics performing their great stunt show gets you through, but while wandering through a cluttered and stacked high mess of merchandise, you find a poster.

The poster features an animatronic you have never seen before. One painted in black and white, and in his seaform, he possesses a great dorsal fin and flukes on his mechanical tail. The background is frosty and pale blue.

You tuck the poster into your camera bag and go about the rest of the day. It triggers a faint memory of an old commercial from a few years back you watched about the park, where there was, indeed, an orca-themed animatronic who had his very own show. In fact, after a quick internet search, you find he was really, really popular. He had shows twice daily—even more than the main cast. He was powerful and stunning, and he would splash people in the audience. Everyone ate it up.

His name was Eclipse.

But then, a few months back, he seemingly vanished. The area was closed down. Complaints are wondering when it will open back up. No one mentions the animatronic.

You don't get it. Why shut down a money-maker like that? Something's going on. Frankly, you want pictures of such a powerful performer. Wouldn't the corporation want you to get good shots of him?

Then you find a little article. A blurb about an incident at the beloved Freddy Fazbear's Boundless Sea. The animatronic was acting strange. Onlookers repeated that there was an agitation to the show, a tension that permitted the water and air. A staff member was pulled into the pool. Immediately, guests were ushered out while help swarmed the water. Then, the entire park was shut down for the day.

What happened?

You try to find more. Yielding nothing, you return to work tomorrow with a plan. You've been studying the layout, mostly to find better vantage points to snap a shot, but now, you realize there are maintenance tunnels below the entire park. You slip into one while a show is happening, keeping most staff members above ground. You wander for a bit before you find a marker pointing to "Eclipse's Arctic Sea."

A door finally opens into the closed section of the park. Most of it is sheltered under a pale, gray colored roof painted to appear like an Arctic sky. The dimness leads you towards an open section. A few aquariums are dimly lit but empty. The walls are painted with facts about polar bears and seals.

Strangely, you hear a faint scrapping. It pricks your ears as you follow the noise. Through a hallway that opens into a view alongside a great tank of water with the surrounding walls plastered with Eclipse's face all over them, you find another maintenance door and slip inside. The scrapping becomes a sawing, loud and sharp, through the metallic hallway, accompanied by violent splashes of water. The shrill noise becomes almost unbearable. Then you step into a narrow room filled with a single, shallow pool no longer than 10 feet.

The sawing ceases as something darts below the surface. The water sloshes until it calms into a deathly silence.

You ask softly who's there. You grip your camera tighter. Is the flash on? You can't remember. You step forward once, then twice. The opposite end of the pool bears great rakes through the flooring like claws dragging repeatedly over and over, shredding it into pieces. The edge glistens wetly by the toes of your shoes. The blue water looks empty until you peer directly over the ledge—

A sharp tooth smile greets you below the wavering surface before a hand flies out and snatches your ankle. The force of the grip rips you to the wet floor, knocking your head. Your vision swims. All senses within you only think to clutch your camera protectively as something rises from the pool. Dripping wet, the animatronic—one eye red, one yellow—grins down at you with utter detest.

"Hello, bird-eye. Come to get a look at the great killer whale?"

[froggibus]

Hay, I recently found your stuff on here. I really like your writing. I'm not really sure how the request works? I hope i'm doing it right:)

Can you do DC characters/Batboys finding readers self-harm scar's/marks and how they react

(I've struggled with self-harm off and on for a long time, and at least for me, I've kind of like thinking about how my favorite characters would react/try and support)

Also, if you do, can you do some about Mark some on the thighs. it's hard to find stuff about other then on the arms

Im dyslexic, so I'm sorry if this doesn't make sense.

Leaping Into The Light - Batboys + Wally West

Pairing: Dick Grayson x reader, Jason Todd x reader, Tim Drake x reader, Wally West x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1.4k (Dick), 1.3k (Tim), 1.5k (Jason) and 1.2k (Wally)

Summary: their reaction when they see your old self-harm marks/scars

CW: mentions of self-harm (past), self-harm scars (thighs mostly), awkward conversations, embarrassment, mental health, allusions to depression and suicidal thoughts, injury & blood (not from SH), insomnia, nightmares, Wally walks in on you changing, maybe some corny dialogue, mentions of sensory problems, recovery and healing this is at least the second fic ive wrote where Jason brings you chinese food--no clue why.

hi lovely, hope you're doing alright :) so sorry its taken me so long to get to this, january was a bitch for me. i also struggled on and off with self-harm before starting this blog, so writing this was incredibly personal to me <3 thank you for requesting, and i want you to know that my inbox is always open if you ever need to vent i really wanted to go for a more recovery-based fic where you're healing. i wanted to show that there is a light at the end of the tunnel, it does get better, we do recover. you will be okay.

Dick:

It’s a rare, sunny morning in Bludhaven when you wake up and stretch your limbs. The sunlight filtering through the window catches on the bare length of your arms, casting brilliant patterns across your skin.

A newfound warmth filters through your apartment as you pad across the wooden floors and make your way to the kitchen. The sunlight seems to follow you, dancing across walls, door handles and cupboards as if saying hello.

The sight of Dick Grayson hunched over a laptop greets you at the kitchen island, his black hair almost brown in the morning light. 

He offers you a sleepy smile, “I made coffee.”

Your eyes move from his pyjama clad figure to the fresh pot of coffee sitting on the counter, tufts of steam still flowing from its spout. A smile breaks across your face, your eyes falling shut as you inhale the scent of fresh coffee.

Yeah, it’s going to be a good day.

Dick watches you from over the rim of his ‘World’s Best Detective’ coffee mug, blue eyes tracing your figure as you shuffle around the kitchen.

Dick watches as you cut open one of the croissants you’d picked up from the bakery yesterday and slather it in a generous coating of butter. He watches as you open the cupboard above the coffee machine, the one where you guys keep your dishes, and stretch up on your tippy toes to reach your favorite mug. 

This is his favorite part of any day—watching you. The soft domesticity of the morning blankets him, soothes him. It’s his daily reminder that there’s still good in the world around him.

His eyes stay on you as your fingers brush the handle of your mug, tugging it towards you little by little. He watches as it slides to the edge, your fingers just barely grasping it and—shit. He watches as the mug falls from the cupboard, shattering on the edge of the counter into a dozen pieces, the largest of which embeds itself in your leg. 

Everything happens so fast, you barely have any time to react. The ceramic shard slices through the leg of your pyjama pants and you keel over, clenching the skin of your thigh. The pain is searing and carries an unfortunate familiarity that has tears bubbling up in your eyes.

Dick’s at your side within seconds, an arm wrapping beneath your shoulders to keep you steady. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” You suck in a breath and risk glancing down at your leg, noting the splotch of red starting to soak through the fabric of your pants.

A sigh slips from your lips. So much for today being a good day.

Dick’s hand wraps around your own, positioning your fingers on either side of the wound. “Here,” he says calmly, “try and apply as much pressure as you can.”

Dick guides you to the bathroom with a steady confidence that only someone who’d trained under Bruce could have. He helps you onto the bathroom counter, your legs splayed out in front of him.

“Keep applying pressure,” he commands. 

You watch as he ducks beneath you, rummaging through the cupboard to pull out the first aid kit you’ve seen him use countless times. A weak laugh bubbles up inside of you—usually it’s the other way around. 

Dick holds up the kit triumphantly, dark strands of hair bouncing as he stands. He fixes you with a grin that doesn’t quite meet his eyes, the familiar blue filled with concern.

You force a smile despite the aching skin of your thigh. “It’s not as bad as it looks,” you assure him. “It's just a flesh wound.”

It’s not the physical pain that has tears pricking your eyes and thoughts racing around your head. No, it’s the reminder that comes with it. The flashbacks of nights spent entirely alone, of nights where the world was too quiet and your thoughts were too loud. 

Dick exhales in what seems to be a laugh, the tension in his shoulders falling. “Alright then,” he rubs his thumb along the seam of your pants, “let’s get these off before they get stained even more.”

You’re quick to agree, if only to not make him worry even more. You scoot to the edge of the counter and let Dick hook his thumbs into your waistband. The action is so casual but so intimate, and it has heat rushing through you.

The warm air of the apartment meets the bare skin of your thighs and Dick’s hands still. Realization flashes through you and by instinct alone, you grip the fabric of your pants and try to force it back up your legs. Dick catches your hands in his, gripping them just tightly enough to keep you from moving.

The pain of your wound is forgotten, replaced by a sudden surge of embarrassment. Your gaze lingers on your thighs, on the scarred skin that reminds you of the hardest time in your life.

Your mouth is impossibly dry as you force yourself to look at Dick. You expect disappointment, that annoying older brother look you’ve seen him use a thousand times. You’re wholly unprepared for the softness in his gaze, the kindness and warmth that radiates off him.

“Dick,” you say softly, ready to explain yourself. “It’s not…I’m not—”

You’re thankful when he cuts you off.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

You scrunch your nose. “But—”

He brushes a thumb across the faded marks, his touch delicate and firm. “It’s alright. I know what these mean.” A new intensity flickers through his eyes, but as soon as you see it, it’s gone. “Let’s get you patched up.”

Dick kneels down and gets to work soaking up the blood while you stare at his working hands in confusion. You’d told him before about the hard times you went through, the mental state you were in.

That was part of the reason you moved in together—so Dick could help you and keep a better eye on you. But you’d never told him about the self-harm or the scars that speckled your skin.

Yet, his reaction is so normal it has your head spinning.

He finishes wiping up the blood and gets to work disinfecting it. The rubbing alcohol stings but the burn is quickly snuffed out by polysporin.

“It’s been a while.” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Sometimes I still think about it, miss it, even. That probably sounds strange but…it’s hard sometimes.”

Dick glances up at you but says nothing. 

“I-I have bad nights sometimes, and it’s all I can think about. But it helps. Living here with you, I mean. It helps.”

Dick secures a thick piece of gauze over the wound, patting it gently to ensure it stays in place. “You don’t have to hide it, you know.”

“I know, but—” You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut. “You already have so much on your shoulders, with work and your family and…other things. The last thing I want to do is weigh you down even more.”

He rests his hands on your thighs and levels you with a serious look. “That’s ridiculous. The only thing that would hold me down is knowing that you’re hurting alone. You’re so incredibly important to me, how could you ever think you’d be a burden to me?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

“I want to take care of you, I want to help you.” He traces circles across your skin with his thumb, “I don’t want you dying in the dark, y/n.”

Tears prick your eyes once more, a heavy warmth settling into your chest. “Dick…”

“C’mere.”

He pulls you into his chest, settling between your legs at the counter. One of his hands wraps around your neck, petting the back of your head slowly. 

“Just promise me this,” his voice is soft. “If it gets bad and you need help, promise you’ll reach out. Call me, come to me—whatever. We don’t even have to talk about it, just let me help you. Please.”

You nod quickly, burying your face further into his chest. Don’t want you dying in the dark, his words echo inside your head. 

Within the warmth of his arms, you can’t help but feel that this is a step forward, and with Dick by your side, you’ll be leaping into the light in no time.

Jason:

It’s midnight when Jason Todd comes banging on your door, takeout bags in hand. Despite the late hour, he still sports his day clothes—grey cargo pants and a black compression shirt over a pair of combat boots.

Setting your book down on the couch, you stumble to the door as quickly as you can, if only to keep his incessant banging from waking your neighbours. You swing the door open and raise an eyebrow, silently demanding an explanation.

“Hey.” He holds out the takeout bags for you to take, “have you eaten yet?”

“At midnight on a Saturday? Yes.”

In spite of yourself, you reach out and take the bags from his hands. You shuffle back into your home, gesturing to him to follow after you.

Jason shuts your door behind him and locks it in one, smooth motion that has you wondering if he’s been here one too many times. You try not to dwell on it, just like you try not to think about how easily he finds a spot on your shoe rack—the same one he always uses—and seats himself on a stool at your counter.

Jason watches while you unpack the takeout, cardboard contains billowing with steam lining your counters. The scent of fresh Chinese food fills the room, a heavy sort of comfort settling over it.

“So,” you say, propping yourself on your tiptoes to reach the last container in the bag, “what brings you over?”

He shrugs, his broad shoulders falling heavily. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Just thought I’d check in.”

A frown flashes over your face but you quickly mask it with a tight lipped smile and a nod. It has been a while, and any hope that Jason wouldn’t notice is immediately snuffed out. 

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

It’s a half-truth at best but you’re not quite sure what else to say, how else to explain what you’ve gone through lately. 

Jason squints, examining you. If it was anyone else, they might not have noticed something was wrong. They probably wouldn’t notice the shadows beneath your eyes, or the slight shake to your hands as you bring out plates and cutlery. If it was anyone else, they’d probably believe you.

But Jason doesn’t.

You get to work dishing up a plate, sucking in a breath when Jason sidles up next to you to dish himself up. The sudden proximity has the breath leaving your body and heat climbing the back of your neck. God—how long has it been since you touched another person? Since you’ve seen another person?

You force the feelings down and finish grabbing your food, making your way to the couch you’ve been rotting on for days. A small stack of books and a few empty glasses scatter the side table—clear evidence of your struggle.

Jason sits at the opposite end of the couch, balancing his plate on his lap. You don’t miss the way his eyes skim over the room, taking everything in. He takes a bite of his fried rice but his blue eyes remain on you.

He clears his throat. “That’s a good one,” he points with his fork at a romance book near the bottom of your pile. “A little racy for my tastes, but the worldbuilding was insane.”

“Something’s a little too racy for you?”

“Hey,” he rolls his eyes, “believe it or not, I do have standards.”

Joy swells in your chest and threatens to bring tears to your eyes. You’ve shut yourself away for so long, you’d almost forgotten what normalcy feels like. But this? You and Jason, eating takeout and talking about books on your couch? That’s the most normal thing in the world to you. 

You snort. “Sure you do.”

“I do!” He protests. “I loved the first four books, but that one? My god. Half the book was just them going at it.”

You laugh, your chest aching with longing. You missed this, god, you missed this, One minute you’re laughing over Jason’s review and the next you’re sobbing, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. Your voice cracks, a horribly cry ripping free of your throat.

“Woah, woah.”

Jason’s voice is soft, a beacon of light in the sudden storm of emotions that’s gripped you. He sets his plate on the coffee table, scooching down the length of the couch to your side.

“I don’t, I can’t—” 

“Hey,” he says calmly, taking your half eaten plate from your hands and setting it on your side table. “It’s alright. Shh, it’s alright.”

You let yourself slump into the couch, your feelings eating away at your physical strength. Jason throws an arm around you, pulling you into his side. The warmth of his body floods you.

You sob and Jason speaks, though you don’t quite catch what he’s saying. The world around you fades to a mosaic of tears and sorrow and guilt. Your heart is so heavy in your chest you worry it might fall out and drag you down with it.

“Talk to me,” Jason says softly. “Please.”

A calloused hand lifts to your cheek, wiping away wet tears. You want to give in to his touch so bad, give into what he’s saying. But how can you take his comfort when you’ve avoided him for weeks? When you’ve pushed yourself so far away that it feels like there’s no hope of coming back?

You tear yourself away from his grip, forcing yourself to your feet. Your hands shake as you turn to face him. When your eyes meet, his are filled with something entirely new to you—concern.

“I-I can’t.”

He sets his jaw. “Why not? You’ve been away from me for so long, you’ve been avoiding me,” he forces himself to keep his voice level. “I just want to know why. I just want to help you.”

His sudden pleading tone has you freezing in your tracks. You look at him seriously, “swear?”

“Swear.”

You sigh and slip your fingers into the waistband of your sweatpants. For a second, you clench your fists, trying to ground yourself. The world around you seems to still as you tug your pants down, shimmying out of them until they lay in a pool around your ankles.

Jason watches silently, his head cocked to the side in visible confusion. It’s only when you self-consciously rub a hand over the skin of your left thigh does he notice.

The breath leaves his body, his lungs squeezing so tight he’s afraid they might burst. He’s no stranger to scars—he has at least a few dozen himself—but these are entirely different. 

The scars scatter the surface of both thighs, long and thin. Most are completely healed, some just barely finishing the process. The size, the shape, the distance…intentional is the only word that comes to mind.

Jason feels his heart break in his chest but he can’t bring himself to look away. You’re hurt—you’re hurting, and he can’t do a damn thing to help. “Y/n,” he says softly.

You shrink beneath his gaze. You can’t think of a single time he’s looked at you like this—scared and worried and broken. It has the guilt rising in your throat once more, threatening to suffocate you.

“I’m better,” you try to assure him, your voice hoarse from crying. “I’m getting better. It was bad but—I’m getting better now. I-I’m okay. I swear.”

You wait for him to say something, anything. You wait for the anger, for a lecture about how stupid and dangerous this can be. You wait for him to scoff at your problems. 

You’re utterly shocked when Jason falls to his knees in front of you, head tilting up to look at you with an expression you’ve never seen before.

“Jason…”

“This is why you’ve been avoiding me?”

You nod slowly, as if moving slower will keep the ice from breaking.

“Fuck, y/n, why didn’t you—god, you should know that I of all people would understand.” He traces a finger across a particularly fresh scar, “this isn’t something you needed to hide from me. This isn’t something you ever have to hide from me.”

“I—”

“I’m not finished.”

You’re taken aback, the words ripped straight from your mouth. 

“Let me help you. Come to me and let me help you. Don’t shut yourself away in the dark and suffer all by yourself.” He runs his fingers through his hair, cracking the ghost of a smile, “god, who are you, me?”

A half-laugh, half-sob leaves you. “I just don’t like bothering people.”

“You think you could annoy me? You overestimate yourself, y/n. The only people who annoy me are Waynes and Wayne-adjacent.”

He rises to his feet in front of you and tugs you into his chest before you can react. His grip on you is tighter than usual, the warmth of his arms threatening to consume you. 

“You’ll come to me next time you feel this way, yeah?” He says, and he feels you nod against his chest. “Swear?”

“Swear.”

Tim:

Your chest burns as you sit up in bed, lungs heaving as they try to force some air into your body. Your ribs ache from the way your heart hammers against them.

Rubbing your aching eyes, you force yourself to swing your legs over the side of your bed and reach for your lamp. The light comes on with a click, illuminating the walls of your room. Finally, you manage to take a deep breath, the cold air soothing your burning chest.

It was just a dream. You’re safe here. But the words taste bitter and empty, the images you’d seen while you were asleep still spinning around your head. You rub at the exposed skin of your thighs where the seam of your shorts come to an end. The friction barely manages to warm you among the cold night air.

Before you can even think, your feet are meeting the ground and you’re padding across the room. You hesitate for just a second when your hand meets the door handle, but the hesitation melts into need and you continue on your way.

Your steps are quiet through the hallway, unimposing. When you find yourself facing the closed door, identical to yours, you knock softly. Once, twice, and then the door is swinging open.

Tim stands on the other side, bleary eyed and messy haired from sleep. He yawns, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey,” his voice is raspy, “everything alright?”

“I can’t sleep.”

It’s all you have to say before he’s opening the door as wide as it goes, gesturing you to the disheveled navy covers of his bed spread. The sleepiness fades from his body as he watches you closely, examining your every movement.

Your eyes are red-rimmed and sweat beads along your temples. Despite wearing pyjamas—patterned shorts and a t-shirt that looks suspiciously like one of his—they don’t look wrinkled with sleep like they should be. 

Tim frowns. Something’s wrong, and it’s more than not being able to sleep.

He shuffles in after you, closing the door and clicking the lock behind him. His examination continues as he reaches the bed and crawls in next to you. You fit together so easily, so perfectly, it’s hard to believe this is the first time you’ve ever sought him out.

In all the time you’ve known each other, never once have you ever gone to Tim when you can’t sleep. He’s known about your sleep problems for a while, from even before you’d told him. Yet, never once have you asked for his help.

Until tonight.

Tim’s arms fall easily around you, one gently across your waist, the other falling on the side of your thigh. You’re so tired, so shaken from your dream, your head falls easily into his pillows and your eyes flutter shut. 

It’s not so much sleep that hits you as much as it is contentment. Tim’s hand trails up and down the side of your thigh, fingers exploring the soft skin while he tries to soothe you to sleep.

His hand shuffles sideways, just a tiny bit more, and then pauses. His fingertips graze something rough, something raised slightly, and the breath leaves his body. His hand trails further and he’s met with another, almost perfectly parallel to the first.

No, it can’t be.

Trying not to startle you, he moves the arm around your waist as slowly as he can. His fingertips make their way up his own body, finding their way to the scar on his abdomen from when he lost his spleen. He swipes his thumb over the area, feeling the rough patch of raised skin.

His other hand trails over your thigh again, feeling the rows of similar skin. For a moment, he swears the world stops turning.

The feeling is unmistakable, and even though it’s dark and he hasn’t laid eyes on them, he knows exactly what they are.

He wraps his arm around your waist once more and pulls you closer. “Y/n,” he whispers.

You whimper, the exhaustion weighing heavily on you. Tim’s hand rubs over the scars on your thigh once more, and suddenly your weariness is replaced with an icy feeling in your veins.

You sit up abruptly, forcing your body away from his. 

“Y/n.”

You gasp, looking up at him through teary lashes. You draw your knees into your chest, the pressure helping soothe the sudden cold in your chest. You bury your face between your knees.

The longer Tim stays silent, the worse your anxiety gets. You wait for the familiar cold logic, for the warmth to fall away and the sarcastic, callous detective to show up. You expect it any second.

But Tim does something that surprises you even more.

He wraps an arm around you, letting your head lean on your shoulder, and murmurs, “how long has it been?”

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings and realize what he’s asking. You blink a few times, slowly unfurling your body. Though you know it’s too dark for him to see the scars, you see his eyes fall on your bare thighs anyway.

“A while,” you admit. “It comes and goes.”

He rubs his hand up and down your arm. “Is that why you came to me?”

You swallow, remembering the horrid dream you’d had earlier. “Partially.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

The pet name takes you by surprise, washing away the cold shame that threatened to drown you. You relax further into Tim’s side, relishing in the heat of his body.

“It’s not as bad as it seems,” you say quietly. “I know it’s bad, that I shouldn’t do it. And I try not to. I’ve been really good about that lately. It’s just…”

Tim stays silent as you trail off, trying to find the right words to explain yourself. He keeps rubbing the skin of your arm, as if reminding you that he’s still there.

“Things get hard sometimes. I don’t like asking for help, because I don’t want anyone to think less of me, or think I have problems and—”

“Why would anyone ever think less of you?”

His words stun you out of your speech, every thought you had falling away. You take a few deep breaths, letting them echo around your head.

“God, this is so hypocritical of me but,” he sighs, “there’s nothing wrong with needing support or asking for help. You’re not any worse off because you needed a little comfort on a bad day, you’re not a burden just because you’re hurting.”

“I just—”

“You came to me tonight because you needed comfort, right?” He gestures around the room, “did anything bad happen because of that?”

You shake your head.

“Did I question you at all, or make you feel like it was a problem?”

Realization dawns on you. “No.”

“That’s because it’s not a problem, you’re not a problem. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling, but the first step to feeling better is helping yourself.” He offers you a sleepy smile, “and that’s what you did tonight. You helped yourself by asking for help.”

“Tim…”

“I’m really proud of you for coming to me tonight, y/n. Whether it was consciously or not.”

A stray tear rolls down your cheek, his kind words washing over you in waves. 

“Keep coming to me when you need it. Let me shoulder your problems with you. Please.”

The sudden plea catches you off guard and suddenly more tears are falling down your face. You wrap your arms around Tim and let your head fall into his shoulder, burying your face into the side of his neck.

He holds you tighter, letting you cry it all out.

Wally:

The sound of rain on your window seems to taunt you as you struggle out of your soaking wet jeans. The fabric sticks to your skin, chafing as you try to force it away from the chilled skin of your legs. 

As if the sudden torrential downpour that had ruined any hopes of a morning breakfast run wasn’t bad enough, now you seemed to be forever trapped in your sensory nightmare—wet denim. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you abandon your jeans and instead tug away the sopping fabric of your t-shirt.

Goosebumps rise across your damp skin the minute the air touches it. You shiver slightly and wrap your arms around yourself, stumbling across the room to find a sweatshirt.

You settle on one you’d stolen from Wally months ago that you’re partially convinced he’d stolen from Dick. Still, the worn cotton warms your skin as you make the trek across your room and to the full-body mirror resting against a wall. 

You use the guidance of your reflection to peel away your jeans, shimmying awkwardly until finally the heavy fabric gives way. They land in a wet plop on the floor, splattering water that you can’t be bothered to clean up.

Just as you turn away from the mirror, one of the shiny scars on your thigh catches the light and draws your attention back to it. You frown, pulling the marked skin of your leg tight, examining the scars in the mirror. 

Most are small and thin, luckily not bad enough to leave more than a faded, dark mark on the skin. You cringe at the ones that are worse—raised and puffy and shiny in the centre. They’re still healing, you remind yourself.

“Hey, no way you’re still changing in here—” the door clicks open and Wally’s voice trails off.

You whip your head to him, watching as he stumbles into the room. A flush falls across his face. His eyes trail over you, tracing your figure, falling onto your underwear and the uncovered skin around it.

Wally freezes, green eyes glued to the scars you’d just been examining. His brows scrunch together, his lips twisting into a frown.

Oh, goddamn. 

Any other time, Wally would feel mortified—and somewhat blessed—to walk in on you changing. He’d cover his eyes and stumble around awkwardly, mumbling out some goofy apology laced in innuendos. 

It’s clear now from the frown on his face and the hard set solemnity in his eyes that that Wally is gone. 

He’s at your side before you can react, falling to his knees in front of you. “Are you alright? Are you hurt? Did someone—”

His words trail off, his face falling as realization dawns across his features. He traces a thumb across the biggest of the scars and you swear you see tears prick at his eyes.

“Wally, it’s not—”

“It’s not what?” He looks up at you seriously. 

And you pause, reconsidering your words. Wally’s always been the kind one, the goofy one, the comedic relief. It’s rare that you see him serious, rare that he wavers like this.

You lower yourself to the ground beside him, cringing at the unpleasant cold meeting the bare backs of your legs. Wally keeps his focus on your thighs, fingers tracing over every scar, every mark, like he could somehow erase them.

You stay entirely still next to him, letting him calm himself with your touch. “It’s not really something I do anymore,” you say quietly.

His hand stills, the warmth of his clammy palm resting on your upper thigh. In any other situation, it would feel intimate. But right now, all it feels like is a slap to the face. 

“I still have bad days, but I manage. This,” you gesture to your skin,“was a last resort. I know it looks bad, really bad, and that it probably seems so—so stupid compared to what you face and—”

His voice is barely a whisper. “It’s not stupid.”

You scrunch your nose. The normal, goofy Wally you’d just gotten caught in a rainstorm with is gone, and you’d give anything to bring him back right now. 

“You don’t have to be a superhero to be hurt, y/n.” He clasps your hand tightly. “I know I joke a lot but I am capable of being serious. Especially when the people I love are concerned.”

He looks at you so intensely when he says the word love that it sends shivers down your spine. You can’t bear to meet his gaze. His hands find your waist, tugging you to sit between his legs. It scares you how easily you settle into him, how well you fit together.

You sit in silence for a moment, letting the beat of his racing heart thump against your back.

“I can’t stand to see you hurt, or know that you were hurt. Emotionally, physically, whatever.”

“I’m doing okay now,” you offer him a weak smile. “It’s rough sometimes, but I’m okay now.”

His shoulders slump slightly, but his jaw remains clenched in an un-Wally way. You can’t help but wish in this moment that you could have his powers, if only so you could run to the past and stop this from happening.

“You could’ve told me. I might have made a few stupid jokes but you could’ve told me. God, I want you to tell me. I want you to want to tell me.”

“Wally.”

“I want to help you, y/n. Always. Please,” he sighs, “please, want my help. Let me make you want my help.”

And for a moment, you see a glimpse of an awkward teenager. You see a yellow costume and a scared kid just trying his best to help people. To save people. You see sleepless nights and the burden of a power that makes him both the fastest man alive, but never fast enough to save the people who matter most to him. To save you.

“I just don’t know where to start,” you admit quietly.

He wraps his arms tighter around you, crushing your body against his. “You start here. You start today. You start with me.”

You cross your arms over his in what you hope is a gesture of affection. 

“Say the word,” he leans in so his mouth is only inches from your ear, his voice dropping an octave, “and I’ll be there for you as soon as you need me. Ask for my help and I’ll be there in, well, a flash.”

You can’t help but laugh at his pun. It’s dumb and silly and so unserious for such an uncomfortable, serious moment. But it’s Wally and it’s you and his joke has you thinking that maybe, maybe things really can be okay.

“I care about you so much. All I want is for you to be happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” you echo.

He plants a soft kiss on the top of your head before loosening his grip on you, rising to his feet. He offers you a hand, helping you stand up.

“Now,” he grins, “let’s say we forget the pants, and order in some breakfast, hm?”

thanks so much for reading! ^^

masterlist | dc masterlist

[aangelinakii]

BLOOD ORANGE.

— challengers.

summary : after winning a tennis tournament, you meet two guys at your after-party. they invite you back to their hotel room for some beers. who knows what could happen?

note : not smut at all but like verrrrryy suggestive and a little crazy like wow reader i didn't know you were like that ALSO heavily inspired by a bot i have on cai because i knew the idea of wally and dick being patrick and art would eat tf up so i basically reconstructed a convo i had with them 🙈🙈

knock, knock.

ear pressed against the door, you could hear a rummaging around from inside the motel room, located right down the end of the hall. it was dingier than what you were used to, coming with your parents who paid for nice hotels and nice rooms, but for two college-age guys? better than one would expect.

feet padded closer, and you pulled away from the door just in time for it to open and you not fall in, which revealed the two boys you'd met at your party earlier.

wally west, red hair like fire, and a personality to match it. his smile seemed plastered to the corner of his mouth, and his eyes were wandering like he wanted you to see it; not in a way that made you feel like a piece of meat, but definitely enough for you to realise he was into you.

dick grayson — ice. more cooled with his words, as well as better under the pressure of the play you'd watched, where they won the duos tournament going on. he seemed to let wally do more of the talking at the party, but was the one to invite you here; whilst wally was rambling on about how well you'd played, also trying to compliment your appearance at the same time, dick cut him off with a, "he's trying to ask you to come over tonight."

and, well, here you are.

"hey," you said lightly, looking between the two boys. their hair was both a mess, sticking out at the edges, and wally's t-shirt was on backwards. a distinct haze seemed to hang through the room, the smell of cigarette smoke now drifting out through the door.

"hey yourself," dick smiled, stepping back slightly to allow you some space to walk through. "make yourself at home. you drink, right? we have beer."

stepping into their little motel room was like walking into a time capsule; yellow wallpaper, peeling at the edges, a sqeaky-looking double bed with a ghastly grandma-floral duvet. the source of the cigarette smell seemed to be gone, but you spotted a plastic shower cap stuck with an elastic band over the smoke detector. smart kids, or bad kids?

you left your sports sliders by the door, where two pairs of tennis shoes had been strewn.

"nice place you've got here," you said with a soft laugh, drifting your hand along the tv stand, narrowly avoiding a stray polo shirt you recognised from the tournament earlier that day.

when you spotted the little paper waste bin nudged beneath the desk, it made sense how they'd managed to make the place a little cleaner — and the sound of rushing around from before. crumpled beer cans and empty cigarette packets lay at the bottom, some tissues balled up and placed over them.

wally was the one to chuckle, finding home on the bed, assumably same as before. "hey, we know it's not the four seasons," he laughed in response, causing you to look up and meet his glinting green eyes. "but i'd say it's pretty nice. you should see what some of the other tourny people are staying in."

unsure if he meant better or worse conditions, you simply offered back a smile to show you'd appreciated his input, as well as the four seasons joke. not that you'd stayed there, but you could imagine it'd be ten times more lavish than your hotel.

although they were trying to make you comfortable, there still seemed to be some tension in the air. "so, you said you have beer?" you prompted with a soft laugh.

"right," dick said, springing up from his place still at the door, which he'd closed behind you. he travelled a short way across the room, passing you in the process, to a small handheld cooler beside one of their duffle bags. he lifted the lid and dug around for three bottles. "hope you don't mind, they're not exactly good. trying to save some money, so we've only got these shitty brands."

"it's alright," you grinned in return as dick passed you a cold, dripping bottle. "the shitty ones are always the best."

this seemed to ease dick a little out of his fear of judgement, and so he reciprocated the smile as he walked round to rest on what seemed to be his side of the bed.

dick was just passing a bottle to wally when you spoke the latter's name, causing his grip on the bottle to falter slightly. "think you could crack this open for me?" you asked, and wally's smile immediately brightened.

he grabbed a lighter from the bedstand beside him and notched it at an angle beneath the lid. adding a little strength, the lid came flying off with a fizz, and you and dick gave a cheer.

"all in a day's work," wally grinned as he carefully passed you back your beer.

judging by the small ghost of a smirk on those lips of his, the brush of his fingers against yours was purposeful. "so where you from, anyway?" he asked, unable to tear his eyes away from your first cheap sip, and the way your tongue slipped out from behind your lips to dab at a stray droplet.

"oh, i'm local; malibu area," you responded with a small nod. "and you guys? you not from california?"

they seemed to share a laugh at this, although somewhat sheepish and not the type that guys share to make someone feel stupid. dick leaned back against the headboard, bringing an arm to rest behind his neck. "no, this is actually our first time in cali."

"oh? then where's home for you?"

"well, i'm from gotham," dick began, gesturing to himself with his bottle, and then redirected it towards wally. "and this guy's from blue valley but lives in central."

your eyebrows rose as you brought your beer back up to your lips for another sip, the rim pausing just for a moment. "holy— so you're eastern boys. long way to come for a tournament, isn't it?"

"i mean, we won something," wally piped up, nodding to the trophy sitting on the desk. "so i'd say it's worth it."

wally was mimicking dick, stretching his legs out along the length of the bed, still not having noticed the tag sticking out at the front of his neck, and you'd set yourself down at the foot of the bed, positioned around their ankles; just enough space for a first meeting, but just close enough to get them curious.

"so, if you're from gotham, and you're from central, how do you know each other?"

once again the two boys share a knowing look, eyes blazing as they glanced at one another — there's something going on here, but you not quite sure what it is, you're not even sure if they know it's there.

after a few moments, dick turned back to you with a smile. he lets out an uncertain laugh. "well, we've been rooming together since we were eleven. we went to a tennis academy boarding school, and... well, let's just say we've been through everything together."

before you could stop yourself, you quickly pushed down the swig of beer you took, burning your throat, and asked, "like what? you both shared your first fuck?"

truly you'd been expecting to get a rise out of them, red faces and uneasy laughs. but, instead, they just shared another knowing look, the corners of their mouths perking up.

wally was the first to look away, chuckling to himself. "i wouldn't say that exactly, no."

"then what?"

you took this gap in the conversation to crawl forward so you were laying on your stomach, a little bit higher now up the bed. there wasn't a huge amount of space, and you were just barely grazing what was exposed of their toned thighs peeking out from beneath their tennis shorts they'd worn at the tournament.

with thicker thighs, dick's shorts were riding up, and you noticed he tensed slightly from beside you, but your eyes weren't on him.

a few beats passed before wally could respond, his lips parted slightly as he watched you, a glazed-over look in his eye like he hadn't been really in the moment. "uh..." he glanced up at dick, who didn't meet his eyes this time. "there may have been a few times we... uh... did stuff in the same room."

"that's only natural," you shrugged. then you glanced between them. "but i could tell there was something going on with you guys. you can always tell when two guys have shared intimacy like that. and you have it written all over your faces."

this time dick was the first one to look at wally, his teeth showing slightly from behind his smile, a rosy tint to his cheeks you're sure isn't the product of california summer nights; they have the window half-open, after all. he didn't speak, but you could tell you'd hit the nail on the head.

deciding the pull back a bit, you took another gulp of beer and asked a different question. "any stories to share? nothing weird, just fun."

dick let out a laugh now, a proper one. "oh, god, this guy when we were younger? such a fuckin' brat." his chest bubbled with laughter, and his blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he turned again to look at wally.

eyes always on the other.

at this, wally just huffed in a fake annoyance. "me? i could be bad, okay, everyone knew that, but dick acts like he's not, but he could be so much worse than me."

a laugh followed you now, enjoying their back-and-forth banter. "if you can't decide who's the bigger brat it's got to be both of you, then, just at the same amount."

dick gave another laugh, bottle stopping halfway to his lips just to let it out. "i like the sentiment, but it's definitely wally. everyone knows i'm an angel."

"angel with a big head," wally teased, leaning over to poke his friend in the ear with what might've been a wet finger, but was swatted eagerly away before it landed anywhere dire.

"oh, come on," you joked, nudging wally's knee lightly with your bottle. "you don't seem like such the angel yourself."

once the bottle was back up to your lips, wally poked his knee into your shoulder. "damn straight," he grinned, swigging from his own beer now.

"hey now," dick butted in, seemingly eager to have your attention back on him again. "don't let those freckles distract you. he's a cocky little bullshitter who thinks he's invincible."

turning your gaze back on him, you noted the twitch of his lips as you met eyes. "invincible? you don't think you're invincible, too? i caught a glimpse of your doubles game this morning and i'd say you're just about as much a risk-taker as he is."

dick's eyes narrowed slightly, zeroing in on you like a predator with its prey, but that small smile was still evident on his lips. "i'm calculated. i make sure of it. i don't do anything without weighing out the risks."

"what would you say the risks are now?" you asked coyly, bringing the rim of your beer bottle to your lips, where the residue of your drink glistened along your flesh. his eyes glanced down just where you wanted them to look, like he was calculating this risk.

the air was left heavy without a reply, but the intention and risk is definitely hanging down on your shoulders. the corner of your mouth twitched, and you tore your eyes away from him, finally letting the beer run down your throat as you tipped up the bottle.

from your other side, wally let out a laugh, a new red sheen to his freckled cheeks. when you moved your eyes to meet his, his efforts to avoid them became obvious, especially by the way he turned his head to the wall as he sipped at his beer.

don't say you were making him nervous.

"come on, don't say you guys can't dish it out," you laughed, watching hungrily as both boys seemed to twitch sheepishly in response. "what? have you never shared someone before?"

slowly the smiles on their faces seemed to face, but not in a way that ruined the mood — more so that something in their eyes changed, morphing into a vibrant butterfly of fire deep in the blacks of their pupils.

there it was.

the animal in their eyes boys like them get from behind a low net on a tennis court, rackets in their hands clawing at the neon green bird soaring back and forth between them and the other predators on the other side, unable to escape, for the entire forest is watching, waiting to see who reigns.

they think this is a game.

in a way, it is.

maybe here you're the tennis ball, trying to bounce off of them, waiting for someone to take your bait. or else you could trot off again back to your hotel and get your head in the game for your match tomorrow.

it all depends on them.

[jealousmartini]

twin you haven't posted in twelve hours are you good

Hey girl! So I shifted.

Accidentally. But fully this time. Well, Fully-ish because I pussied out of fear. No, fully, actually. Wait wait let me explain.

So get this. I woke up.

But not with my eyes. Just mind, body, and soul slowly becoming aware of her surroundings through the heaviness of sleep if you get what i mean. And it was just too warm and familiar and soft. The bed I mean. Way too comfortable for me to want to open my eyes yet, so they stayed shut, blissfully unaware of the fact this bed is not mine. My senses were slowly yet surely locking in. But my brain was not even fully awake. So I was feeling and being without fully realising what was happening

And then I heard the faint click of what i figured was the front door unlocking. Then opening. Then shutting. Then, locking with a key. I assumed that must've been my brother because he usually escapes into the dead of night to go whatever 23 year old guys do at night. And I heard some thick chunky ass boots stumble to the floor and i wondered when he ever wore boots never mind this dense, his heavy padded footsteps gradually got closer slightly muted by the door being closed.. which was then opened (?). It was a small thing, but it didn't make sense why my brother would need to be in my room at all, nvm at this time of night. But anyway, some shuffling was done. I cocked my brow in suspension, eyes still shut btw, cus what did he just go through my stuff for. And as quickly as he was in, he was out of the room. I made a mental note to confront him in the morning about it.

And then I heard the shower start. From the wrong side of my house... Now I know the anatomy of my house pretty well, so I was confused why I could hear the shower from the west instead of the northeast of my room.

After the shower stopped, i heard the bathroom door open, close, and the same as mine. He took like 3 steps in, and this was when i heard him call my name. He whispered it like a question, i dont think he was sure if i was asleep or not. But it was weird because that's not my name. Well it is, but it's not my name from here. And it's definitely not a name my brother from here knew. And then I realised I knew that voice too, but it was different from what i was expecting. Pretty deeper and rougher than what im used to remembering, and it was definitely NOT my brother's.

And so now I'm frustrated. And kinda nervous. Im laid on my side, the same one as i was on when i first began to wake, but now im slightly tense with frowed brows and all. I'm dealing with so many questions at once like why is the house formatted weirdly? and who the fuck is in my room?? and why the fuck did the bed just dip from behind me???

I literally had a question mark in my head when the voice spoke again. But this time, he was closer. Much closer. I FELT his arm, his muscular arm at that, wrap around my waist and pull my back flush against his BARE NAKED CHEST, and I gasped. I fucking gasped. I swear my heart was about to beat out of my chest. My body jolted forward almost involuntarily at the sudden contact of skin, the feeling on his freshly shower-hot muscular bare chest was making me SWEAT and I heard him mumbled against the back of my neck "Shh don't wake up," and I was thinking "Oh i definitely know who this is" And girl I wasn't fucking planning on it anyway. But I ended up shifting back with my eyes squeezed SHUT like the pussy I am

Because I didn't even expect myself to shift that night. The night after my first day back at college from the Easter break. And now I'm supposed to come in like I wasn't just in another man's bed.

Now i dont have the guts to actually say who this was. Im practically shaking right now for fucks sake. But im sure everyone and their mother on this app who sees my blogs can make an educated guess and get it right first time. And after 8 years of knowing about mha and 6 years of trying to shift there, ladies and gentlemen I think I can officially say I have shifted to mha. It definitely wasn't my main mha dr, some would probably argue it was even better lmfao. I guess the secret to shifting really is just letting go.

[devilscreekballad]

It's here, it's here. The long awaited Chapter 7 is here.

After the MC got knocked out at the end of ch6 they awake back at the hotel, with Charlie telling them of the rescue mission to get them back. And that an old friend of Lynwood's has joined them, albeit just temporarily. Or maybe he's meant to stay? Also there's a cat.

Play it HERE

-

Updates & Changes (Version 7.0; 10/12/2024)

Added Chapter 7

Added Interlude Chapters from Charlie, Mrs. Meadow's and Lynwood's perspective (Lynwood's is atm incomplete and will be added with the ch8 update)

Updated skintone options

Added option for whether MC swears

Added options to not reveal if you're trans/under the umbrella

Added options to say if you bind/pad your chest or if you are flat-chested

Various bug and prose fixes.

Total Wordcount of this update (with code) 46725 words, bringing the overall wordcount (according to twine) to ~219000 (not counting unused/notes passages).

Can't give an average, sorry, but might very well be around 100k per playthrough now.

Note:

With this update the Choicescript version is on ice, though if there's ever a change to how CoG handles publishing (and if CS gets expanded array usage), who knows what the future holds for a more mobile and screenreader friendly version of Ballad.

For those new to the game:

The West is Wild and the West is Weird. A new century is around the corner, and you are an outlaw traversing the towns and terrains of the Frontier, only to one evening get wrapped up in chasing down the means to stop a doomsday cult from bringing forth the end of days. You’ll face hustlers, grifters, gunslingers and vengeful brides as you make your way to the ghost town of Devil’s Creek to find answers, and hopefully get out of there alive.

What can you play as?

Ballad allows you to set your a broad variety of factor besides gender and age, all which will have a variety of impacts on the story.

Who can you romance?

Right now there are six possible ROs, with more going to be added later:

Charlie, your best friend and partner in crime

Seán and Tommy, and odd couple of outlaws happenstance put into your little posse (they can only be romanced together)

Lynwood, a Pinkerton Agent on Seán's trail

Mrs. Meadows, widow, sharp-shooter and doctor there to make sure you'll uphold your end of the deal

Isaac, former colleague of Lynwood's picking up the trail of a cold case

As this is a Weird West game, some Warnings do apply:

Death

Blood

Violence

Swearing

Alcohol

Smoking

Mindsets and Vocabulary of the late 19th century North America/Europe

Mentions/Discussions of

Sexual Violence/Abuse

Spousal/Parental Abuse

Racism, Sexism, other forms of bigotry

Miscarriage

Infertility

Murder

Animal Death/Animal abuse

Guns

Spiritism

Mediumship

Ghosts

Supernatural events

Capitalism

Pinkertons

Like what you're seeing?

You can support the author on Pat or Ko.

~+~

But now, have fun with the game.

Stay safe, stay hydrated, stay weird. <3

[puck-luck]

the art of loving you | john marino

warnings: none really, just some sweet anniversary sex between jm and his girl <3 (italics = flashback) pairing: john marino x fem!reader summary: “maybe he gets back from an away game and him and reader have been together for a while so when he gets home its practically desperate the way they want each other and it's like super needy but also intimate because they just know each other like the back of their hands after so long together" wc: 2201

“Hey,” comes John’s soft voice from the darkness of the night. He kneels by your side of the bed and shakes you awake. The sunlight is starting to peek through the curtains. His thumb caresses your cheek, causing you to scrunch your nose from restlessness. “I’m headed to the rink. We’re leaving from there. I’ll be back on Monday, take you to dinner and all.”

“Mmm, okay, baby. Love you,” You slur, voice thick with sleep. You didn’t have to be up for another few hours and normally, you’d pout when John woke you up so early, but things were different. He was headed out on a week-long roadie and he had a game on the west coast on your second anniversary– meaning you two wouldn’t get to spend that together. Despite being sleepy, you pucker your lips to give John a goodbye kiss.

“Love you too,” John whispers, delicately cupping your jaw and pecking your lips twice. “Be back before you know it.”

He stands from his position next to the bed and gathers his things, heading towards the bedroom door.

“Play good,” You call out after him.

“First star every night, just for my girl,” John promises with a smile, closing the door with a soft click behind him.

A week later, John was headed back to Jersey and you had put on your favorite little black dress for your anniversary date. He hadn’t been named first star of the game during any of their games, but he had gotten one of his rare goals on your anniversary, and his celly ended in a kiss blown towards the camera that touched your heart. 

You were waiting by the door when John came home and you jump him before he even gets the chance to cross the threshold.

“Hi,” John greets. “Missed you.”

“Missed you,” You reply, arms looped around his neck. You pull him into a hug, feeling his hands wrap around your waist and press your bodies flush against each other.

You two stay in the hug for a few minutes, waiting for your breath to sync and for John to start rocking you from side to side the way he always does when your touch goes on for too long. As much as he loves to touch you, he’s never been one for hugs, unlike you. To you, John’s hugs are like crack and you take your fix anytime you can get it.

“Dinner?” John asks, pulling away and rubbing your arms like he’s warming you up.

“Rezzi at the normal place,” You confirm. You give his chest a firm pat. “Go change. This is our anniversary dinner, after all. Want you to wear something nice.”

“Gonna propose to me or something?” John teases, finally letting the apartment door fall shut behind him.

You drag his suitcase to the bedroom, parking it next to the chair before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Isn’t that your job?”

“All in good time,” John replies, following you down the hall with his hockey bag over his shoulder. He opens the door to the balcony and sets his personal pads out on the chair to air out. He also sets his dirty clothes on the chair– something you’ve chided him for in the past, since he could just throw them in the wash and kill the smell that way. 

You watch John change into a suit, smiling widely when he sneaks little peeks at you every few minutes. 

“Really did miss you, you know,” John says, focusing on tying his tie in the mirror on the back of the closet door. “Mercer tried to sprinkle rose petals in my locker on our anniversary to make me miss you less.”

“He’s so supportive.” You laugh, eyes crinkling at the sides. 

“Tried to take me to dinner too,” John continues. “Said he might as well take me out if we were going back to the hotel together anyway. What kind of girl does he take me for?”

“Maybe he was trying to recreate our love story,” You say. “It wasn’t exactly the most conventional of meetings for us. You took me for one of those girls.”

“Yeah, but you asked me what I was doing later, I was just being honest.”

“You’re lucky it worked out for you.”

John makes a kissy face at you, then walks over and reaches out to take your hand and help you up. “Dinner?” He asks.

“Let’s go,” You answer, leading him out of the bedroom and back down the hall, out of the apartment and down to the garage.

John drives, naturally. You’d appointed yourself his passenger princess long ago and he’d never asked you to drive. He orders your wine and meal for you at the restaurant, knowing that you’ll get the same thing you always get. He takes the menu away from you, too, so you can’t even pretend to peruse the offerings. He did so with a knowing look and you replied with an embarrassed smile, rolling your eyes because your boyfriend knows you so well.

When your food comes, John cuts his meat into precise cubes and you steal a piece or two off of his plate, despite the fact that you have your own food to pick at. John allows you to do so with only a few noises of protest, only a few teasing and threatening inflections of his fork at your wandering utensil.

You two make small talk– about John’s games, about your week at work, about the upcoming inspections your landlord is doing for the plumbing in your apartment after John tried (and failed) to adjust the water pressure to your liking. You’ve been in this relationship so long that you don’t need to have the deep conversations all the time, or plan out the future in a lengthy conversation over some red wine.

John is your future, and you’re his.

When you arrive home, John takes you to the bedroom and kneels at your feet, unstrapping your high heels and prying them away from you. He rubs your feet a little bit to soothe the ache of wearing heels all night, a small smile on his face the whole time. You brush his hair out of his face and take in his small details– the moles on his cheek near his mouth, the button of his nose, the scar from the stray puck that marred his skin and left behind the mark that you love to kiss.

“You look pretty down there,” You say, breaking the silence. 

John shoots you a look and tries to hide his smile, hide the blush that always spreads across his cheeks when you call him pretty. He kisses your knee and rises to sit next to you on the bed. “Happy anniversary,” He says softly, like it’s a secret between the two of you. 

“Happy anniversary, Johnny,” You reply. You press your lips to his, the kisses smooth and slow even as John makes his way down your neck to your shoulder. 

Your movements are a language of their own. John’s fingers light fires on your arms as he feels your goosebumps. Your knee presses into his thigh, the connection of your skin on his stronger than a dam. His tongue moves against yours insistently when he makes his way back up to your mouth.

“You gonna let me fuck you like I wanted to the other night?”

You moan into John’s mouth. “Hard?”

“Mm-mm,” John hums, shaking his head. He reaches down, pulls your panties to the side, and starts to slide a finger into you. “Slow,” He breathes out, not even a hair’s distance from your lips. “I’m going to touch you everywhere, angel. You’re gonna feel every bit of me.”

“Even better,” You say. “Want you to fill me up.”

John thrusts his finger inside you and works a second in, scissoring and curling his fingers until you’re a moaning mess beside him.

Your hand is gripping his shoulder so hard that your fingernails might as well tear his shirt. You’re panting, mouth perpetually open. The pressure between your legs is insurmountable, aching and throbbing as John pulls you closer to the edge.

“Johnny, Johnny,” You plead, pushing at his arm. “Fuck me, want to come when you fuck me.”

“Finger yourself,” John commands, pulling away from you to shrug his suit jacket off. He unbuttons his top as you shove three fingers inside your cunt, hungry for more. Really, you’re keeping yourself full while he acts as eye candy. You’re not trying to chase an orgasm, like you normally are when you and Johnny fuck. No, today you’re just here, just waiting to feel his cock enter you and satisfy you in a way that your fingers never could. 

He strips hurriedly, standing just mere inches from the bed. He throws the clothes around the room, not caring where they land. You track each movement, having seen his naked chest plenty of times to have it memorized by now. His underwear make their way to the arm of the chair in the corner, and it’s when you realize that he’s naked that your eyes return to his figure.

His cock is just as wonderful as ever– you’ve been in love with John for a long time, but his beautiful cock and the way he fucks you always makes you love him just a little bit more. He knows it, too, from the way he smirks at you– he knows that you love him, but if he was a shit fuck, you would tell him that you have the capacity to love him more. Maybe that’s crazy.

You pull your fingers out of your entrance and use them to spread your lips, showing John the expanse of the part of you that’s just for him. 

John smiles, takes his cock in his hand, and pumps himself a few times. 

You bite your lip and return his smile, watching the precum bubble and drip from his slit.

“Fuck me, J,” You beg. “Please.”

John joins you again on the bed, pushing you down onto your back and opting to forego your little black dress altogether and slide your panties down your legs instead. “You look so pretty,” John compliments. 

“Thank you,” You reply, feeling shy all of a sudden.

“Wanna see how your tits bounce in this dress while I fuck you,” John continues, leaning over you on the bed and lining himself up with your core. One of his legs pins your knee to the bed, while the other stays straight and braces against the floor. 

His words seem to steal all the thoughts from your mind, leaving nothing but the feeling between the two of you as he pushes the bulbous head of his cock into you. 

John moves slowly, like he promised. He fills you, warms you from the inside-out. He punctuates each drag with a sharp push into your core, causing your body to shift up on the bed. He raises a hand and grasps your breast, both keeping you in place and filling his palm with one of his favorite body parts of yours. 

You don’t exchange words, minus a reassuring, hushed “I know,” that drips from John’s lips and into your ear when you become close. He fishes your boob out of your dress and dips down to attach his mouth to your nipple, reaching his other hand down to soothe circles onto your clit. The added stimulation sends you into a whirlwind and John can practically feel the pitter-patter of your heart from where he’s sucking at your chest. 

“Johnny,” You cry, clutching his shoulder and arching your back beneath him.

“Yeah, honey. I know, my angel,” He mumbles against your skin. He leaves burning kisses along your body up to your lips. 

“Please,” You say, high strung and wanting so much that you’re almost shaking with it.

John moans, wrenching himself away from your lips to press a kiss to your cheek, then returning to your lips. His thrusts grow stuttered and desperate, no longer slow. They’re just as passionate, just as fulfilling, and John coaxes the orgasm out of you just as he unravels himself.

He holds you like you’re a precious liquid that is slipping through his fingers. 

You almost want to cry from the feeling, the knowledge that you and John share so much love between the two of you and there will be nights like this for the rest of your life.

John leads you over the edge and guides you through it, holding you and murmuring sweet nothings into your ear until your breath returns to normal. He traces your cheek, then draws his fingers down your neck.

“You’re everything,” John says. “I meant it. I’m going to marry you… all in due time.”

Instead of a response, you take his hand in yours and press a kiss to the back of it. You lace your fingers together and bring your interlocked hands to your chest, resting them over your heart. All you can do, really, is smile and cuddle closer to John, feeling his heat fill the bed and making you doze off.

note: just finished watching "you've got mail" for the first time. sigh. what a movie. devastating. sooo invisible string. corporations need to stop winning.

[ghettogirly]

𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑪𝑨𝑵𝑵𝑶𝑵 - 𝑱𝑨𝑫𝑨 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑴𝑺 𝑨𝑺 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑳𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑼𝑨𝑮𝑬𝑺:

-> summary: how i think Jada would portray all 5 love languages!

-> authors note: i hardly see any fics of my bae Jada so im going to make my own :(

━━━━━━━━━━

𝑷𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑪𝑯:

- she strikes me as a touchy person

- i think it would depend on the environment and atmosphere.

- at parties she’s 100% all over you, hands exploring your whole body as you dance back up on her, slight kisses on your neck to encourage you

- it’s like you two are the only one in the room.

- even when you’re not on the dance floor, she’ll naturally pull you onto her lap if she’s talking to someone, or fiddles with your fingertips just to let you know that she’s paying attention to you also.

- within interviews, she would hold your hand, not overdoing it to remain professional.

- you definitely would show up to class one day with a hickey on your neck without knowing.

━━━━━━━━━━

𝑸𝑼𝑨𝑳𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬:

- INSTAGRAM LIVES, LIVES AND MORE LIVESSS

- you know this girl lives for the instagram lives, pulling you into the camera so you can say hi or answer some couple questions

- would end up turning into a little couples vlog, doing different questions such as ‘who is more likely to..’ or just general questions about each other and your lifestyle together.

- would definitely be showing the live around your shared apartment.

- 100% would watch these fighting shows with you, aka: Baddies.

- Baddies West would be the best season you guys watched though.

- she would be instigating the scenes and you guys would be doing debriefs every episode, eating some snacks while sitting back with face masks on.

━━━━━━━━━━

𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑭𝑭𝑰𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵:

- you can’t tell me she wouldn’t call you some goofy ass shit such as “pookie”.

- when being interviewed after a good game, she would always give credits to you as part of her motivation, praising you in the media while bringing you back down from the high after she calls you that silly nickname.

- nevertheless, you still have a soft spot for it.

- she is definitely another person who calls you princess, or even twin.

- you guys would definitely be best-friends to lovers or love at first sight tropes so that name would definitely fit.

- she would more so compliment you about how you drive her and motivate her in being a good player, stressing the fact to perfect her techniques and finishes while also raising the importance of self care too.

━━━━━━━━━━

𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑺𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑪𝑬:

- small things such as ordering your favourite takeout without you knowing or taking both your and hers dogs on a walk would automatically make your day.

- she does strike me as someone who does help out around the house, maybe not doing the most housework out of the two but she would definitely make the task more manageable

- definitely helpful when you’re on your period and she’s not, getting practically every selection of pads there is so you don’t even have to bother to go to the store.

- even medication, don’t worry, she’s already got that handled too.

━━━━━━━━━━

𝑮𝑰𝑭𝑻 𝑮𝑰𝑽𝑰𝑵𝑮:

- this girl and her cars would go crazyyy

- more or less every instagram picture she’s posed up next to a car, so you already know she had to get you one too !!

- would 100% get you either a range rover or a porsche and matching mini figurines to put on top of your A/C in the car, showcasing how you guys are matching.

- again, jada is definitely a clothes conoisseur so she will always treat you to a shopping haul at least every fortnight.

- you want to get matching streetwear fits? oh it’s a yes from her!

- grills game would also go crazy, she would definitely buy matching pairs of grills for the both of you, with her wearing your initials as well as you wearing hers.

[starkwlkr]

Can I request Ruby getting her period for the first time and her mom's not at home so Charles has to take care of her? If you're comfortable writing it ofc

we’re all girls here | charles leclerc

I know not everyone woman has the same period story (this is a safe blog and if someone starts judging about PERIODS I WILL COME AFTER YOU)

also i changed it up a little because surprisingly i had another story like this in my drafts before it was requested 😭

Y/n decided that a trip to her home country would do her some good. She hadn’t been back home in a while so she missed everything about it from her family to the delicious food. She missed home. Charles knew how much she wanted to have a vacation so he bought plane tickets just for her so she could have a stress and kid free vacation back home. She loves her kids to death, but it seemed like everything she sat on the sofa to take a break, one kid always yelled for her and with Charles gone, she just had to get up.

There was a month break from the season so Charles was home with his son and daughter. Arthur and Lorenzo were coming over soon. Ruby mostly spent her time in her room reading or watching some movie. But not this time. She was on a FaceTime call with her friend, Cassie, who was talking about the latest rumor in school.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you this but Elliot West has a crush on you. I heard Elizabeth from Art class say that. But don’t tell anyone!”

“Elliot? I thought he had a crush on you?” Ruby asked, letting out a low groan as her stomach began to hurt. All day she had been feeling sick, but she didn’t tell Charles.

“No, he likes you. His friend likes me. I think.” Cassie said.

Suddenly Ruby got a sharp pain. She never experienced it before so instantly her mind started thinking of the worst possible ideas.

“Are you okay?” Cassie asked over the phone.

“I don’t know. Bye, I have to call my mom.” Ruby ended the call before Cassie could even say bye. She quickly called her mom, but right when she needed Y/n the most, she wasn’t home. Immediately the call went to voicemail no matter how many times Ruby called. Ruby threw her phone to the ground in frustration and got up from her bed.

She paced around the room, holding her stomach in pain. She didn’t have a fever or felt like throwing up so she was extremely confused on why she had stomach pains.

Since Ruby’s door was opened, Mathéo peeked inside just to ask why she was pacing.

“Get out! You’re so annoying! Dad!” Ruby yelled, pushing her brother out the door and slamming it shut.

“Hey! Don’t slam the door! Be nice to each other!” Charles yelled back from his spot on the sofa. His brothers had arrived and now they were watching a movie on the tv.

“You’re such a dad.” Arthur laughed.

“Just wait until you have kids.” Charles teased.

Mathéo strolled into the living room with his toy car in his hand. He look unfazed by his sister’s actions. “Ruby is being weird.” He told his papa and uncles. He walked to his uncle Arthur and hopped onto his lap.

“Why’s that, Théo?” Charles asked.

“She looks like she’s in pain and I asked why she was going in circles and she kicked me out then she slammed the door.” Mathéo explained.

“Is she sick?” Lorenzo asked Charles.

“No, she didn’t mention anything. I’ll be back.” Charles said as he got up and walked to Ruby’s room. He knocked on the door several times, but got no answer so he opened the door and saw clothes scattered all over her bedroom door.

“Papa?” Charles heard Ruby call out from her bathroom.

“Baby, what did you do to your room?” Charles walked to the bathroom door. “Théo said you were in pain. What’s hurting, Ruby Jules?”

“My stomach. But . . . Papa? There’s blood on my pants.” Charles instantly knew what she meant by that. Sure, he didn’t have any sisters, but he did have girl cousins and a wife that went through it each month. (Unless she was pregnant, which she was glad she didn’t have to buy pads during that time)

“Okay, um . . I- shit. Okay, don’t panic. You’re okay, baby, everything’s fine. I’ll be right back.” Charles didn’t think his baby girl would get her first period when Y/n wasn’t present. He wasn’t exactly prepared for the moment. He left Ruby’s room in a hurry. He needed to call the only person who knew about periods that was still in Monaco.

“Is she okay? Is she dying?” Mathéo asked, still on Arthur’s lap.

“No one is dying! No!” Charles frantically looked for his phone all over the sofa. “Where is my phone?!” Mathéo pointed at the cracked phone on the coffee table. “Thank you, Théo.”

The three Leclercs watched as Charles looked like he was about to pass out. Was Ruby actually sick? They needed to know.

“Maman! You need to come over right now. Please, Ruby needs you. No, she’s okay, but Y/n isn’t here and I don’t know how to explain to her that she’s going to bleed every month without freaking her out.”

Lorenzo and Arthur both understood now. Ruby Leclerc had gotten her first period.

“Ruby is bleeding? Is she dying?!” Théo asked his uncle.

“No! Your sister isn’t dying!”

After what seemed like forever, Pascale had arrived to her son’s house. Charles led her to the bathroom Ruby was in. Unknown to them both, the other three Leclerc boys followed them.

Pascale lightly knocked on the door. “Ruby, amour, it’s grand-mère.”

“Hi.” She heard Ruby say in a whisper like tone.

“Your maman isn’t here to teach you about what’s going on, but I’m here. Can you let me in?” Pascale asked.

“But . . .”

“Amour, we’re all girls here. I promise you this isn’t something to be embarrassed about.” Pascale assured the girl.

Suddenly Mathéo laughed. He looked up at his two uncles and pointed at them. “Grand-mère called you girls!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “She said all of us so that means you too.”

Mathéo stopped laughing. “This isn’t funny.”

Pascale sighed. “Ruby darling, unlock the door. You and I have to talk.”

“Can they leave first?” Ruby asked. She referred to all the men in her room.

Charles understood that his daughter felt more comfortable with his mother at the moment so he took Mathéo in his arms and left along with Lorenzo and Arthur.

While Pascale was busy teaching Ruby about periods, Charles was able to talk with Y/n. He caught her up on everything.

“You do know where the pads are, right?” Y/n asked.

“Can’t she use yours?”

“I forgot to stock up before I left. I didn’t think she would start early.” Replied the worried mother.

“Okay, no problem. I know which ones you get so I just need to go to the store. Should I get chocolate? Where do you keep your heating pad?”

It was safe to say that whenever Ruby would start her period and her mother wasn’t around, she was in safe hands with Charles. He was always a sweetheart whenever Y/n was on hers, bringing her all her snacks and letting her stay in bed. Ruby had nothing to worry about.

[gabrielsbubblegumbitch]

✨Staticmoth wedding headcanons✨

Because I have a lot of thoughts but can't come up with the plot to turn it into fic

✨ Vox absolutely loses his shit. You would think that Valentino would be a groomzilla material but oh no no, Val just wants sexy dress and enough coke to last three days of partying. Vox needs everything perfect. He has his grand vision and is ready to tear with bare hands everyone who does not deliver. During the preparation time, he murders as many people as Val usually does. Velvette bails on being the wedding planner after just two weeks because it was seriously straining their friendship. But after a month, she's back in the game. Why? Because Vox strangled three other wedding planners in frustration, and things weren't moving forward, so Val was starting to freak out.

✨ The event is held at the Vees' Tower. I reckon they've got a venue suitable for hosting conferences and porn award shows.

✨ It's a grand event. I'm talking Grand™, like the Kim K and Kanye West of Hell kind of grand. But it's also elite, so the guest list isn't that long, around 200 invited people plus 50 ticketed spots for anyone willing to drop 100k hellish bucks to attend. Everything is dripping with gold and diamonds because "quiet luxury" isn't in the Vees' vocabulary. The whole affair reflects Val's aesthetic more, as it's Vox's love letter to him. Vox already had his wedding, and now it's time to fulfill his husband's dreams. So Val makes about 90% of the decisions without shouldering any real responsibilities. Which is fine by everyone because he's annoying as hell when it comes to picking roses, flamingo feathers, and starters. Nobody wants to put him in high-stress situations. Expect lots of red, pink, and gold, with heavy, decadent fabrics and neon lights; it's like an exclusive brothel meets the Las Vegas strip.

✨ When it comes to flowers, they settled on roses because they're Vox's favorites, which naturally made them Val's favorite too, given the sheer number of bouquets he's received. Vox, being the freak he is, counts every single bouquet he's ever given to Val. So, for their wedding, he ensures there are twice as many roses. Yes, he's a pathological overachiever.

✨ As for attractions, there’s a plethora of erotic dancers in cages and mesmerizing drone light shows. Karaoke, slot machines, live cooking stations, and all the drugs you can imagine. And let's not forget a fountain flowing with tequila. It's a true adult wonderland.

✨ Valentino skips the whole white dress thing and rocks a fierce red latex gown that's very Mugler but with a fetishcore twist. Vox keeps it sleek in a sharp black three-piece suit. His shirt's a bold blue, and his tie matches Val's dress. His shoulder pads are pointy, his waist is slutty, his ass looks divine. Oh yeah, about slutty waist - underneath the shirt he is hiding a leather corset, as a treat for the wedding night.

✨ Also none of them really have friends other than Velvette, just associates so there are no groomsmen/maids.

✨ Since there aren't any traditional churches or government officials in Hell (if there's even a government at all), Velvette takes on the role of officiating the wedding. Vox isn't entirely thrilled with this choice because there's always the risk she might crack a joke or publicly rib him, but hey, there's really no one else who could pull it off. I imagine that a wedding in Hell is also some form of magical contract but more about partnership than ownership. They do not exchange rings but blood sksksk also I don’t think that Vox can really wear rings with his claws? And they couldn't quite agree on a design that satisfied both of them. In the end, Val ends up wearing his illegally imported engagement ring from Earth, featuring four pink diamonds shaped like a moth's wings.

✨ Val's vow is, well, atrocious. It's the kind of thing that would definitely land him in one of those TikTok compilations of terrible grooms ruining their weddings. He mentions cream pieing Vox at least once. Vox at first freaks out but seconds later realizes Wow that's the man I'm marrying. I wouldn't want him any other way On the flip side, Vox's vow is immaculate. Crafted with the assistance of Voxtek's CMO and practiced to perfection, it leaves everyone in awe. He has out-of-body experience playing this role of prince charming.

✨ For their first dance, they opt for a steamy tango. Picture this: swirling red smoke on the floor, making it seem like they're dancing on the sky of the pride ring when the sun is setting down. Little do the guests know, the smoke is laced with drugs, sending most of them on a wild trip. The party quickly goes off the rails, but in the best way possible (according to the Vees’ standards).

✨ The cake is a five-tier monstrosity with five different flavors: tres leches and chocolate-cherry chosen by Val, confetti cake and strawberry cheesecake chosen by Vox and Red Velvet for Velvette because she couldn't shut up about it To top it all off, there's a big chocolate figure of Vox and Valentino dancing. Val is later caught drunk, eating it with his bare hands like the filthy animal he is.

✨ Velvette’s wedding gift is a pair of customized matching guns with small engravings that read "Partners in Crime."

✨ Valentino pulls off a surprise special pole dance performance as a wedding gift for his husband. Let's just say it's scorching hot and leaves at least 50 guests with, uh, visible excitement. Later on, things almost escalate to a full-on table bang, but...

✨ Velvette spends the entire evening reminding them that they can't just vanish to consummate their marriage because this whole party took months of preparations, and they need to be present. After all, people paid good money to be around them. The threat of cock cages hangs over their heads, but they promise to behave. However, Val being the horny beast he is, ends up taking Vox to the bathroom for a quickie anyway. Velvette decides to let it slide this time.

✨ At least 20 casualties mark the night. Vox ends up zapping one of the guests who gets a bit too clingy with Val during the dance. Meanwhile, Val gets into a brawl and, well, let's just say it doesn't end well for the other guy. Surprisingly, everyone seems to be having a great time, but hey, these are the Vees' colleagues we're talking about—they thrive on violence and sex.

✨ Yeah, there's no shortage of sex at this party. With a guest list mainly consisting of businesspeople, adult performers, and mobsters, tensions escalate rapidly. By around 3 A.M., half of the party is busy getting down and dirty in every corner imaginable.

✨ When Vox reaches the perfect level of drunkenness, he seizes control of the DJ station. Surprisingly, he's a natural, dropping beats like a pro and having an absolute blast. Val, meanwhile, goes absolutely wild watching him, thrilled to see Vox letting loose and embracing his creative side.

✨ Derek, Vox's assistant, is the odd one out, the only low-status person to snag an invite because Vox felt kinda generous. But truth be told, Derek hates the idea and wasn't keen on attending. However, when Melissa caught wind of his invitation, she practically dragged him there to be his plus one, desperate to get closer to Velvette. Derek's terrified of most of the guests, but Melissa's over the moon. She later fucks him as a reward for being a very brave boy. Angel is not invited because he would ruin mood of both grooms.

✨ Valentino had prepared the filthiest, kinkiest, most elaborate wedding night, but it doesn't go as planned. Surprisingly, things turn out very vanilla for their standards, with a lot of missionary, eye contact, and hand-holding. After 16 hours of non-stop action, they're both too exhausted to even think about getting creative.

Thank you @purrpleowl @watcherofeternalflame @canadianlucifer @aroromantic @malu897 @staticmothed @chaggieslovechild @gumm1defloor @mayflowersfly for your thoughts!

[angelicsjn]

Yan’s with a darling who uses them as a weighted blanket or uses their hands as a heating pad for cramps pls

YOUR SIX YANDERES.

— ROMAN CORNELIUS JAMES BEAUREGARD.

He's confused at first.

He doesn't really understand why you want to be so close to him and since he's busy a lot, he rarely knows the feeling of heavy intimate moments.

But, he honestly grows to love those moments.

A bad day for the two of you ends up big cuddles and his hands rubbing against your stomach.

He automatically understands once you're on your period because he's very perceptive and picks up on EVERYTHING.

So after awhile, he will initiate the cramp cuddle session and will smother you with warm hands and light kisses until you're alright.

He doesn't seem like the type to be extremely touchy, but once he understands how nice it is to feel close to you, he can't get enough of it. Just don't expect any sort of PDA (unless he's won a race)

— LATEN REED.

Oh Lord. He loves it.

He's a big bear and just loves to scoop you up snd give you all the loves that he's physically able to give.

He initiates it, and you're the person to realise it helps with bad days and cramps.

He buys you snacks, watches your favourite movies, rubs your tummy, makes you hot drinks. Everything.

You want something? It's yours.

The only thing he asks for is for you to play with his curls, he loves his hair being played with.

— JAE 'NIKO' LEE.

He takes advantage of these moments.

He loves to feel your skin against his and often wants to squish himself so close until his melts against yours.

After a day of scheming and being a famous idol, he loves to cuddle you and press warm kisses against your stomach.

It's times like this that make you forget all of the bad that he's done, he's an angel when you're in his arms and he's in yours.

— KAIDAN ALEXANDER WOLFE.

Much like Jae, he takes advantage of those moments.

So do you..

He's less... Annoying.

He loves to cuddle and always wants to, but you seem to only want that on your terms - which saddens him.

But he jumps at any opportunity to drape his lean form against yours and envelope you into a warm lock.

He loves to play with your hair and whisper cute things in your ear until he falls asleep.

— HAYDEN WEST.

Hayden was awkward at first.

He loves cuddles, but he needed a moment to realise why you wanted him to rub your stomach.

Of course, he is the best (stalker) boyfriend and will literally focus on you and your pains until they slowly go.

He will rub your stomach and back, pressing kisses against your forehead and cheeks as he watches a movie with you.

But he loves it when you crawl onto his lap as he plays games on his PC. <3

— JOSHUA WHITE.

Joshua is a professional doter and a healer.

His hands are so warm and gentle, Each movement, each kiss against jaw and face feels like a heaven as he soothes you.

He is both caring and attentive as he focuses his attention on you for the rest of the day.

Cooking you your favourite meals, making sure your warm and even as he reads, his arm is ready to pull you into a soothing embrace.