#꒰ 🖋️ ꒱ writing

[ofbatsandballads]

remy’s first smut, woo! saw this post and wrote this in a mad dash so, uhhhh, have some whiny, needy jason getting the blowjob he so dearly deserves. 18+ mdni or I will haunt you through your walls.

Jason Todd is a powerful man. He’s big; all 6’5” of him towers over damn near anyone in any room. He’s strong; 235 pounds of pure muscle and all the force that that weight can inflict. He’s skilled; body ready to be wielded with deadly precision. Jason Todd is a powerful man.

How powerful you must be to have made him weak.

He’s whimpering. The big, bad Red Hood is whimpering in your bed as you kiss bruises into his thick thighs. You lick the soft flesh after you bite it and feel the tremors that wrack his corded muscles. He’s panting wildly, chest heaving up and down with the effort it’s taking him to force air in and out of his lungs. You smile to yourself at how worked up he’s gotten from a few kisses to his inner thighs. You’d learned how sensitive he was there after patrol one night; he’d gotten a shallow cut after barreling through a window, the superficial wound paining him far worse than it should have. You felt bad at the time for thinking about all the wicked little ways you could use this new information against him—what a terrible partner, thinking about how to get your boyfriend off when he’s hurting.

But he’s not hurting now. Well, not in any way he doesn’t enjoy.

“Please, baby, please,” he begs, voice gravelly and desperate, “Need you so bad.”

You giggle, the sound muffled as you continue to leave hickeys along his thighs. You part yourself from his legs—and, oh, it truly is a struggle—and nuzzle your cheek against him through his boxers. He whines high and reedy, hips bucking up to grind against your face. You yank your head back, raise a questioning eyebrow at his boldness. He flushes red all the way down to his chest.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry, sweetheart,” he babbles as he forces his hips back down on the bed, “Want you so bad it hurts.”

And you can’t very well leave your sweet, strong boyfriend in pain, can you? No, after all the good he does, he deserves something nice. He lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob when you tell him as much before pulling his boxers down and closing your fist around his cock. You admire how your thumb and middle finger don’t even touch around the thickness of him. He whines at the stillness of your hand, thrusts his hips up to give himself the friction he so desperately needs.

You indulge him the pleasure of doing as he wishes. You indulge yourself the pleasure of watching his pretty green eyes roll back when you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. You revel in your own sick little joy as your jaw locks up, as your eyes burn and your gag reflex kicks when you take him down to his base. You think you may need mental help when you feel your slick drip down your thighs as tears track their way down his face, his whiny punched out ah ah ah’s echoing in the room. You don’t really care how deranged you may be when he cums down your throat, warm thick ropes that you swallow the second they hit your tongue.

Jason Todd is a powerful man. But the second he comes back down from heaven, you’re the one that has him on his knees.

[confusionmeisss]

can you watch my boyfriend, please? - m. sturniolo

🫧 matt sturniolo x fem!reader

🫧 the “can you babysit my boyfriend” tiktok couples trend with matt!!

🫧 just fluff.

🫧 549 words.

🫧 hi lovelies!! thank u so very much for wanting to read! this trend is so cutie to me, and i initially did a chris version of this & it made me want to do one for the others (nick version) as well, so i did!! i hope you enjoy reading bc they were very fun to write!! <3 masterlist

“Hi guys.” Matt looks up from his phone at the sound of your voice. “Can you watch my boyfriend, please? I just need to run into the store real quick, I’ll be back soon, I promise!” You say propping your phone up on the dashboard.

He watches as you open the car door and step out, shutting it softly after. His confused eyes follow your figure as it walks into the convenience store.

“Uhh,” he mutters out, looking into the camera. “I don’t- I’m-”

He looks down at his phone, his fingers doing a little dance across the screen. He lets out a small breath before he looks back up.

“Did you guys know that bees don’t have bones? I mean I’m pretty sure it’s well known at this point, but I just wanted to share in case you didn’t, well, y’know, know.”

A silence fills up the car for what feels like an eternity to Matt, but is only a few seconds. He looks down at his cup holder.

“Oh,” he lets out softly. “Chris left one of his Skittles Littles in here. You guys want some?” He asks, popping the top open, and pouring some into his palm. He then holds the candy container to the camera.

“Oh, did you also know that dogs can have pineapple, but only in moderation! Of course Trevor’s fatass doesn’t like pineapple,” he adds with a laugh.

Silence fills up the car once more as Matt munches on Chris’ forgotten Skittles. “He’s gonna be pissed at me when he finds out I ate his candy, but I don’t really give a fuck. I think I bought these for him actually.”

“Okay, wait, but I’m seriously running out of things to write for my Instagram captions. I think I’m just gonna abandon them or resort to using random ass emojis.”

Matt looks over at the sound of the passenger door opening, and you getting in setting a plastic bag down at your feet.

“What’d you buy?” He asks.

“Candy and cherry Arizona ice tea,” you reply with a grin, reaching for your phone. “Anyway, thanks for watching him for me, guys! I hope he was good for you.”

“‘Course I was good,” Matt mumbles out.

You chuckle. “‘Course you were, my love,” you reassure, placing a kiss on his nose, laughing at the way it scrunches up at the action. That’s the last thing the camera captures before the recording ends.

—

comments

he was a lil nervy at first, but once he warmed up he told us some fun facts. did eat his brothers candy, but told us he payed for it. 10/10 would babysit again 😊

trevor mention lesgooo 🔥🔥🔥❤️❤️❤️

i feel like chris forgetting his candy has the same effects as him forgetting his pepsi, but slightly less severe

thank u for the skittles matthew! <3

oh he was so cutie for offering us some candy 🥺

nose scrunch ahhh 🥹💓

brief mattitude there at the end i see 🤭

ur so real for the insta caption thing. it’s so tiring having to think of them

hey god it’s me again..

the anxiety/nervous keyboard finger dance, REAL

i want what they have so bad but i won’t get it, so i’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight 😁

[nvirskies]

it's getting hot in here - c. la rue

warnings: reader is like half-naked? just no shirt on is all but reader is wearing a sports bra, nothing sexual just like a tad suggestive?, clarisse is a gay mess, kinda ooc clarisse, i know next to nothing about blacksmithing please hang in there with me, fem reader, no use of y/n, self-conscious reader, not beta read

summary: clarisse goes to pick up a custom order dagger from the forge when she's met with an unexpected sight.

hephaestus!daughter!reader x clarisse la rue

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @lvrue @azrielsdiary @b0ok-lover @star-girl69 @petitegavotte

from this post !

a/n: tbh might make this a multi part thing, at least a second part. also, so sorry this took so long to finish- i got sidetracked with a couple other things irl. hope you enjoy! men, nsfw, non-sapphics, 16- / 19+ dni

It was no secret the kids of Cabin 9 ran a side business to make some extra cash. It was pretty lucrative, given that there would always be a line of demigods waiting to have their weapon(s) of choice customized. Custom engravings, patterns cast into handles, ergonomic handpiece add-ons, and so much more. Name it, and it would be done for the right price, forged with impeccable quality.

And that was how Clarisse La Rue found herself heading to the forge just east of the strawberry fields with a thin paper in one hand and a small bag of golden drachmas in the other. The edges of the slip were just barely singed, and the writing on it looked nearly incomprehensible to many eyes, scribbled notes of her order confirmation and gods only knew what else. It didn’t matter to her, she just needed it to get her dagger and go.

Crowds parted for her like the Red Sea, once-lively conversations coming to a grinding halt as she walked straight through crowds and groups with nothing more than a glare and a sharp look in any general direction. 

In no time at all, the familiar sounds of machinery clanking, fire hissing and crackling, and hammers striking metal filled the air. It was the forge, the singular place where one could guarantee there would be at least one child of Hephaestus in there at all hours of the day. 

She pushed open the heavy metal door, swinging it wide open soundlessly despite its obvious weight. And what a sight she was greeted with. You were there alone, hunched over a piece of blisteringly hot metal, pounding away at it with a hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other.

Something about you entranced her. 

She didn’t know if it was the way your hair was pulled into a low ponytail, some loose strands clinging to the sides of your face, the way you subconsciously bit your lip as you focused completely on the red-hot metal in front of you. Or perhaps, it was the way your muscles rippled in the dim firelight as you struck the metal again and again, a thin sheen of sweat covering the exposed portions of your skin from both the heat and the exertion. 

Maybe it was a combination or something else entirely. 

As she gazed at you, a light blush dusted her cheeks as she came to the realization that you weren’t wearing much while working. The heat of the forge had led you to forgo wearing a shirt entirely, said shirt reduced to a tiny, crumpled gray bundle of fabric in the corner of the room. You were left wearing a sports bra, dusted with ash and soot and a pair of baggy sweatpants resting just above your hips.

It wasn’t as if Clarisse had never seen people dressed in less before. Hell, she’d seen her own fair amount of skin for various reasons. But this time, it seemed different. The slip of paper and bag of coins in her hands were forgotten momentarily as she simply stared at you from the doorway.

The way the dim light of the roaring furnace illuminated you from behind gave you an almost ethereal glow, the edges of the flames flickering around your moving silhouette. 

She could see the muscles in your arm and shoulder tensing and relaxing with every ever-so-precise swing of the hammer, and she found herself silently watching you work from the doorway. 

Ultimately, it was the soft clinking coming from the bag of drachmas Clarisse held in her hand that drew your attention away from the project in front of you. Your head snapped up, tense and a tad startled from the sudden sound, having been so zoned into your work that you hadn’t noticed her presence. 

The hammer in your hand dropped to the metal workbench with a loud clang, the sound reverberating throughout the forge, ripping Clarisse from the glossed-over, hazy look in her eyes as she watched you move just moments ago, having been completely and utterly under your spell.

“Shit-!” you exclaimed, jumping slightly and wincing at the harsh sound, eyes widening further as you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed far too casual compared to how she normally treated campers, especially given her outward distaste towards children of Hephaestus. 

And all of a sudden, you’re all too aware of your lack of a shirt and your cheeks flare with an embarrassed bright red flush.

Flushed the same color as the heated metal in front of you, Clarisse noted absentmindedly. It wasn’t a look she didn’t like. But of course, she would never admit that. The big, bad Clarisse La Rue flustered over something as insignificant as muscles on a girl? Impossible.

Her attention is drawn back to you, observing as you scurry to the other side of the room to grab your stashed-away shirt, slipping the loose grey fabric over your body, any and all views of the muscles she had seen just moments prior completely disappearing in a matter of seconds.

After having taken a few calming breaths, you steeled yourself for a barrage of snarky remarks that you were sure would come spewing out of the Ares cabin counselor’s mouth like acid out of the myrmeke’s mouths, but they never came.

Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of a Clarisse who seemed to be a bit flustered? Her eyes didn’t meet yours for a moment before she straightened herself out. Before your very eyes, you watched her cool and collected facade slip over her like a mask, and that trademark smirk of hers tugged at the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to pick up an order, under my name,” she remarks, holding up the bag of drachmas and thin slip of paper in an outstretched hand. Her gaze seemed like it was scrutinizing everything about your appearance from the baggy grey shirt that hung loosely over your frame to the soot just barely smudged on your forehead. Whether it was a good or bad look you had no idea, subconsciously shrinking into the shadows of the dimly lit forge.

“Right, right, La Rue…” you trail off nervously, scanning the room for the rack that held completed orders and leafing through the tags attached to each object. “La Rue, La Rue, La Rue, where is it-?” you muse to yourself, repeating her last name in a hushed tone until the sight of it comes into view. The dagger she had ordered was at the edge of the table, with the request for a heavyweight handle and an etching of her initials into the butt of it.

Normally, Clarisse would have found your behavior annoying if it were coming from anyone else, but oddly enough, she quite liked the way her last name rolled off your tongue. It felt almost natural, too natural. Quickly, she brushed away the lingering thoughts about how you had looked almost god-like with the flame from the roaring furnace glowing behind you, the thoughts of what your skin would feel like under her hands. 

After a beat of silence, you grabbed said dagger, placed a little ball of clay over its razor-sharp tip, and slipped it into a small drawstring bag, pulling it closed. 

“That’ll be five golden drachmas, La Rue, or fifteen silver ones. Whatever works for you” you say as you hand her the bag, other hand outstretched for the paper she held and to take the coins. She dropped the five golden coins in your palm and grabbed the bag to turn on her heel and walk out without another word.

Or so you thought.

“Thanks for the weapon. I’ll see you around, pretty girl.”

[zvdvdlvr]

— late night therapy?

🩻 synopsis. late night conversation, greg wants to know why you’re with him of all people.

🩻 warnings. suggestive content, foul language.

“Why do you like me?” 

Y/n looked up from her book. “What?” 

“I’m old. I’m a cripple. I… literally have two friends and no people skills. I know my amazing fashion sense and long, hard wood is enticing, but by golly, if those are your only standards-“ 

Y/n closed her book. She noticed the television was off, Greg had been clearly been thinking about this for awhile. Not only that, but his jaw was clenched, and his left eye was just slightly narrowed- all indicators of (over)thinking. “Besides the fact your ruggedly handsome and extremely masculine voice makes me purr like a motorcycle?”

At least y/n’s comment made Greg crack a smile. “Yes, besides the obvious,” he murmured, tilting his head to the side.

“Because… you’re one of the only people who calls me out when I’m wrong. One of the only people who can put up with me. One of the only people who makes me laugh, with your morbid, dry, perverted humor,” y/n listed. 

House turned these over in his mind. Why, though? Why would such an amazing, smart, sexy wonderful woman settle for an old cripple? “Wilson thinks you could do better,” he drawls, not actually knowing if Wilson thinks this. 

“Do you care what they think?” Y/n asks, quick to notice the change in Greg’s voice. The way his eyebrows furrow, his Adam’s apple bobs, his eyes narrow even more.

No. “Do you?” 

“I wouldn’t change a damn thing about you,” y/n shrugs. “You’ve always got me, if that’s what you’re thinking about. I can’t imagine my future without you in it, I guess.” Y/n tried her best to play of the sentiment, but Greg was already smiling widely at her statements. 

“Is this, like, a hint? Am I supposed to propose now?” Greg asks, tapping his finger to his chin. 

“Oh so you’ve got a ring?”

Scoffing, House looks away from y/n’s piercing eyes. “Oh, shut up, you.”

“Make me,” y/n’s teases. 

Greg tsks. “I would but I’m pretty sure my hobble steps would immediately turn you off. As fast as a light switch.”

“Oh goody, does that mean if I go over there I get to be on top tonight?” Y/n asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Get over here and see, you weirdo,” Greg chuckles, opening his arms for a woman he knows would place her faith in him forever, even if he knew he didn’t deserve it.

[ierr]

❥# — 𝘐𝘯𝘧𝘰 fluff, softie!bakugo, kissing

☆ — 𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 bakugo can’t sleep without your touches

❣︎ — 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦 heyoooo, I had this idea to write a cute lil fic about bakugo :). I’m slowly starting to write for different anime so if you have any in mind let me know!. enjoy the story.

“ 𝖳𝗈𝗎𝖼𝗁𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖢𝗎𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾𝗌 “ 𝖪𝖠𝖳𝖲𝖴𝖪𝖨 𝖡𝖠𝖪𝖴𝖦𝖮 𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍

❤︎︎︎# — 𝖡𝖠𝖪𝖴𝖦𝖮 It was strange that katsuki suddenly texted you, there was something probably going on but you didn't wanna assume, so you got up from bed to walk to the boys side of the dorm. it was dark and quiet considering everyone was sleep, making it to his door. you softly knocked against the wood, not even a minute he swings It open, he looked grumpy. "you know I can get in trouble right?." he rolled his eyes, "shut up stupid and come in." you gave a small chuckled, walking into his door leaning up to peck his lips, shutting the door behind you both. "you look grumpy. what's wrong?." he groaned, "I already told you nothing is wrong." — "then why am I here?." you raised a brow going to sit on his bed who looked away, he was quiet. "kat?." again he grumbled. was there something he didn't wanna say?. "katsuki bakugo." you squinted your eyes towards him who groaned finally looking back up to you, "I jus missed you.." he mumbled but you heard him, smiling softly. when he didn't get an answer, he just seen you pat the spot on the bed, he didn't complain, getting into his bed cuddling with you.

he looked flustered. "you miss me?." he snarled, "I'm not repeating myself you idiot." — "never told you to." you teased with a chuckle kissing his nose, you always loved moments like this, katsuki letting his guard down and being calm as you both cuddle with eachother in bed.. though he is a hot head he was yours. in reality, he didn't want to admit that your touches and warmth gave him comfort— comfortable enough to sleep peacefully, he was a fool for affection— but just from you. you were surprised at first that katsuki let you touch him going beyond playing his hair and kissing him considering he hates being touched but it's different when you're the one touching him. your hands are so warm and soft against his skin, the way you would play with his hair, or cuddle him, kiss him. it showed a complete different side of him. he sighed softly feeling your fingers in his hair messaging his scalp as he held you close, "you're such a baby." you scoffed hearing him mumble a small shut up with a pinch to the waist, "If you wanted to cuddle you could've said that~." again he pinched you but on your stomach, a bit harder this time, flinching from the stinging pain."shut up and sleep." he's one to talk. you got woken up from your sleep.

you rolled your eyes snickering, "you're one to talk tough guy. you woke me up." you pouted, was having a good ole dream. katsuki mumbled a small, "sorry." something that was rarely ever said but you could tell he was he getting sleepy, his breaths were going shallow as his body relaxed more into your arms, but before he could let his eyes betray him. he lifted his head to look up at you, your beautiful face..he leaned a bit with a small grin. “you look pretty." you tilted your head with a small smile feeling your heart flutter, "I do?." he hummed, "yeah.." he whispered back before leaning in close to take your lips with his. it was a small and gentle kiss, sighing in relief that his night can finally end. after a few seconds he broke apart the kiss cuddling against your neck finally letting sleep take over. seeing this side of bakugo really made your love for him grow stronger, he wasn't the same kid you knew since middle. he's grown. and you're proud of him for that. for a few minutes that went by of playing with his hair and listening to his soft snores sleep soon took over you as well.

[katsukikitten]

Teasing Bakugou, your husband of almost ten years, with a harmless prank by asking him "What do you think about sleeping in separate rooms?"

And he turns to you, giving you the WORST grimace he has and says immediately "Shut the fuck up." As he always does when you say something off the wall he knows you don't mean.

"No babe I'm serious they say we'll sleep better-"

"We'll sleep better? We'll fuckin sleep better? Are they us now?" He's rolling his eyes and back to his tasks, "Nah one room."

"Okay what about separate beds then?"

"What? Get the fuck outta here."

"Yea, like bunk beds or something." He freezes, shirtless and in his grey sweatpants, pausing his task of the dishes, even turning off the water so he can hear your answer to his question better.

"Yer telling me ya want fuckin bunk beds in our room? How are we gonna fuck baby? Ya gonna hang off the side of the top bunk and I eat it? Dumb ass."

You of course stick to the bit.

"But then we'd have our space to go if we argue."

"Are we arguing?"

"No-"

"Then we ain't changing shit. End of discussion." He then turns on the water and mumbles to himself "Fuck outta my face, bunk beds, separate bedrooms and shit."

Reckon it makes his blood pressure high enough he has to add one more thing.

"And another thing little miss cries on the phone when I can't come home from my monthly night hero shift cause it's hard to sleep without me. How the fuck would ya manage two nights without me when we've been sleeping together for a full fuckin decade."

"Deku body pillow." He blows up the plate in his hand, turns off the water and launches himself over the counter peninsula to pin you to the soft couch where he can tickle you and smack your ass until you admit defeat, "Okay okay! A Dynamight body pillow!"

He let's up, scarred chest all puffed out before he huffs

"Yer god damn right." His strong fingers squeezing your cheeks and puckering your lips, "Sides yer not sleeping in any bed but ours. Got it, princess?"

[adoresia]

✮⋆˙ UNDER THE MISTLETOE

𐙚⋆°. “I’ve been running from the past ⼃ hiding scars I thought would last ⼃ they say you can’t outrun the truth ⼃ but here I am ⼃ trying to find a way to trust again ⼃ but the walls keep closing in ⼃ and I’m wondering if this time I’ll finally win.”

꩜ .�� Itadori Yuji x fem!reader smau

Synopsis : A new school was supposed to mean a fresh start, but leaving the past behind is easier said than done. When Yuji Itadori, the class’s most cheerful and persistent student, takes an unexpected interest in them, the holiday season quickly becomes more chaotic—and more meaningful—than they ever imagined. In a whirlwind of festive group chats, late-night snowball fights, and surprising moments of vulnerability, they might just discover that some connections are worth the risk…

CW: mentions of bullying, social isolation, emotional distress, betrayal, mutual pinning, college au, suggestive jokes/ In general. I’ll add more as I go tbh

Status : Ongoing

Taglist : 15/?

ask on this post + I don’t mind where you ask !! 😋

Introductions ⼃ moodboards ⼃playlist

⋆.˚ ★ CHAPTERS : — Yuji’s Christmas countdown 🎄

⌗ 1 - New Beginnings and Old Wounds (dec 9th 11:00pm GMT)

⌗ 2 - Better people than before (dec 11th 16:00pm GMT)

⌗ 3 - Snow Day and Misunderstandings (dec 13th 22:00pm GMT)

⌗ 4 - Steps into the storm (dec 15th 22:00pm GMT)

⌗ 5 - A blizzard of questions (dec 18th 11:47pm GMT)

⌗ 6 - Shattered ornaments (dec 19th 11:40pm GMT)

⌗ 7 - Private baking session - a breakthrough (dec 22nd 22:00 GMT)

⌗ 8 - A serene of apologies (dec 23rd 22:00 GMT)

⌗ 9 - An eve of confessions (dec 24th 22:00 GMT)

⌗ 10 - Tis’ the season for love (dec 25th 22:00 GMT)

⌗ Prologue - new years special (dec 31st 22:00 GMT)

Sia here ! : FIRST SMAU SERIES WOOP WOOP! okay guys so this is gonna lead up to Christmas if you can’t tell but it’s gonna be a bit fast paced because obviously there’s not that much time before Christmas and I’m not gonna say I’m gonna post every single day because who’s doing that? Not me?!? Maybe I’ll let I continue on to new years if I’m feeling cheeky.

[soldearestsoulmate]

Something small that doesn't strongly relate to the update/spoilers for now? (really had the urge write for Sol again. So here we go. lol)

Sol x GN!Reader

Sol lightly fidgeted and squirmed in his seat. He was trying to stay calm but it was hard to. Especially with you sitting across from him, looking at him, staring at him...Your attention completely on him, as you worked to try to draw him.

"Sol...Relax? We've done this many times now." You chuckled as you lightly added some strands of hair on his portrait. Really enjoying drawing his hair...But then went to work on the eyes more. Which already had enough work done as is. But it could never compare to the real thing. His eyes were just...perfect to you.

"I know...I just...You're so beautiful it's overwhelming in times." Sol turned away as he muttered that last bit. Making you raise a brow, then leaned over close to him to gently grab his chin, to make him turn his head back to you. As you gazed deeply into his eyes, just to examine them again for the drawing.

Sol felt his heart race rapidly now, as his face turned a deep shade of red but didn't move from your touch. If anything, he leaned more into it, his eyes lowering, half lidded, clearly enchanted by you now as he gazed back at you.

"Keep looking at me like that and I might drop this drawing just to kiss you now, you know?" Sol only hummed in response to your words. As he grabbed your hand now, freeing himself from your grasp. To then gently kiss your hand, sighing out softly in content.

Now it was your turn to blush hard and feel your heart race.

"That wouldn't be so bad...Your hand need a break anyway, pumpkin~." He smirked as he kept your hand close to his face now, taking in your warmth...and scent.

"I've only been drawing for a few minutes?" You bit your bottom lip lightly, trying to hold back a smile but failed terribly.

"A few minutes far too long to me..." Sol didn't waste anymore time as he cupped your face into his hands, pressing his lips against yours softly. Then waited to see if you'd return the kiss before proceeding, then smiled when you did.

You broke the kiss for a moment, but Sol tried to chase you. Whining from the loss of contact. "Fine...Just...a small break. Then back to drawing you. Understood?"

Sol response to that was to kiss you again, only more deeper this time. It surprised you, enough to earn a moan from you, which Sol got excited from as he kissed you more. Then pulled you in to make you sit on top of him and straddle him, practically closing off any distance between you two now.

"S-Sol?!" He chuckled at your reaction to this, kissing your neck now and nibbling at your any exposed skin he could find. Then proceed to give you more stronger bites, to leave his mark on you, causing you to whimper.

"Mine~...All mine~..." His hands gripped onto the sides of your waist, pulling you in closer as he lightly started to grind against you now. Making your body heat up from the action and friction. All while you tried your hardest to stay quiet from this all, but it was to no avail.

His grinding, on top of him continuing his kisses and bites on your neck, shoulders, anywhere now honestly. Made you putty in his hands now, as you soon enough were a whimpering moaning mess before him. Which was music to his ears~... 💚

[chaiifluuf]

“i think you missed a spot.” 

you don’t even know how you and dazai got to this point but you were definitely not complaining and neither was he.

it all began with you wanting to test make-up on him for fun, then demonstrating how to apply lipstick and now you’re sitting on the bathroom floor with your greedy boyfriend who won’t stop asking for kisses. the cherry red shade on your lips matched all the kissing marks covering his face. his eyes look dazed and dilated, eyes which were trained on you and accompanied by a lazy smile. his messy hair that managed to make him even more attractive. dazai quite literally seemed like he was drunk off your kisses.

“you sure?” you murmur as you inspect every detail of his face. there aren’t many places left that haven’t gotten your attention and you think maybe this would be enough. dazai begs to differ. he hums affirmatively to your query, tapping a finger on his lips as if indicating for you to kiss there next. he can never have quite enough, can he? a soft smile rises to your mouth and without a second thought, you lean in again.

you’re certain that your lipstick is smeared by now but you couldn’t care any less. your soft lips in touch with his is all you can focus on, his hands cupping your face to bring you impossibly closer. he slightly nibbled on your lower lip as you sighed against his mouth, running a hand through his hair. he’s much more needier this time, a type of desire that you’re not unfamiliar with. the kiss lasted until both of you were left breathless, dazai’s hot breath tickling your skin as your forehead is still in contact with his.

“i want more,” he mumbles to you and your heart skips a beat. you swear you can see small hearts in his irises as he looks at you. there is so much love in his gaze that it makes every single doubt you might have had in this relationship disappear. it wasn’t even the teasing kind of glint that you usually see, just pure devotion and yearning that only you get to witness in moments like these. you must’ve been admiring him for a long moment because what he says next catches you a little off guard.

“please.”

he says your name as well and his voice is so tender yet desperate. dazai almost never begs. and if he does it’s either to annoy you or to get you to leave the agency with him early. but this is neither of those instances. your kisses really did something to him. or perhaps broke him.

“i don’t know… you seem like you’re on a bit of an overdose right now.” you tell him with a breathy laugh as you brush some of his hair strands behind his ear, taking this chance to tease him a little. his reaction doesn’t disappoint, the subtle pout appearing on his lips not going missed by you.

“i think i’ll go crazy if you stop here. my love, please.” you can feel the butterflies in your stomach because god this version of dazai makes you fall for him even more if that’s possible. besides, how could you ever say no to him when he’s like this? before responding, you plant another tender kiss on his forehead, which already had a few kissing stains here and there. you decide to whisper your next words, your tone having more warmth than previously.

“then let’s continue this in the bedroom, hm?”

eeee very short but kinda proud of this one ! wishing everyone a good day/night ( ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ )

[roseyjustice]

Baal was cradling the Lamb's bell between their paws, moving it back and forth to hear it's soft ting ting. The kits studied the lamb with twin stares brimming with curiosity.

Narinder felt his breath catch in his chest. 

“I found them in Anura,'' The Lamb explained, a worry furrow to their brows. Narinder felt their nervousness. Saw it in the way they shifted their arms, hiking Aym higher on their back and pulling Baal closer to their chest. 

He placed a calming paw on their back, noting the protective tension running along their spine. They felt as if they were attempting to shield the twins away from everything with just their body. 

I had a fic idea and immediately needed to doodle it + do a quick excerpt.

I miiight finish it eventually but rn I am holding Aym and Baal very close ;;

[love-that-we-were-in]

Let All Your Damage Damage Me

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader Summary: There's something to be said for patching up Camp Half-Blood, especially when you end up seeing more of Luke Castellan than you thought you ever would. Or 3 times Luke starts a fight and 1 time he doesn't. Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: smoking, mentions of low-grade drugs and underage drinking, implied sexual content and more teenage dirtbag luke because @initialchains was kind enough to let me steal him for evil!

a/n: this is the most brainrot i've ever brainrotted and again, all credit for this version of luke to noli. enjoy!!!

There’s this weight that carries the name Luke Castellan across Camp Half-Blood. Once, it was a new camper - years on the run with a young daughter of Athena and a fatality at the borders that drew interest. In the time since, it’s become something different, reshaped and frayed. A promising young demigod lingering on the outskirts where possible, creating his own tethers to the mortal world like it’ll detach itself from him if he doesn’t. 

It confuses new campers at first, the dichotomy between how Luke is spoken of and who he is. The best swordsman in almost three centuries, a once favorite son of Hermes. To look at him then, take in his scuffed shoes and the cigarette tucked behind his ear - it makes them wonder what it took for him to fall so far out of alignment. 

No one ever asks. 

1.

The conch sounds from your left and the rest of your campmates spread out across the land with a battle cry. You know how this evening goes, too many of them spent alone in the quiet of the med-bay. There’s three of you as it stands, all waiting for someone to show up with a cut to tend to as the game gets underway. Will stands outside, eyes wandering over the edges of the forest as if he can see through the trees to what’s happening within them. It’s his first summer, the thrill of camp yet to be lost on him, and you’re glad he can find excitement in being on the sidelines. Lee has already tucked himself into a corner, technically a part of the medical team but mostly waiting to tag into the game. A back-up player. 

You know that within the hour, you’ll likely lose both of them to the game. It’s not something you mind, dealing with the minor injuries alone. There’s an element of peace to it, tending to everyone else’s wounds and sending them on their way. It’s what you’re best at, a healed knife wound last year the reason you were claimed. Still, it makes capture the flag last for eons - every hint of action happening further than you can see, often too far away for you to even register until someone pushes their way through your door in need of help.

So you settle in, let the peace of the evening wash over you. When one of the younger Demeter kids rushes into the room, you observe Will treating the deep cut on her arm. Disinfectant, gauze, a small bandage. When he’s done, he looks at you and you’re all too familiar with it. The longing to be part of the action. At your nod, he takes off, hot on the heels of the young girl and into the thick of battle. 

Eventually one of Clarisse’s siblings bursts into the room, fire in his eyes and you can hardly blink before Lee is standing to attention. It’s the way of the game and you wave him off lightly, lowering yourself back into a chair and letting your head fall against the cool surface of the wall. 

Another hour. 

If you had to guess, you would say there’s less violence on the field today. It’s Annabeth’s first time leading a team, you know that, and you’re aware of the way her mind works - lower injuries, higher soldiers. There’s little doubt that she’s ran the numbers, with backup plans for her backup plans to find and steal the flag. You know you should be rooting against her, Apollo partnered with Ares this time around, but you want this victory for her. 

There’s a flurry of movement from outside moments later, a groan followed by a muttered “I’m fine, Annabeth” before the girl is in front of you, frown pulling across her features. 

Beside her, or rather resting his weight on her, is Luke Castellan, eyebrows scrunched together and arms covered in thin cuts. 

You don’t really have much of an opinion on Luke if you’re being honest. You know the basics - a crash course given to you by Silena when you arrived at camp, actual information littered between rumors. Son of Hermes, incredible swordsman. Snuck out of camp two years ago to get a tattoo because he was drunk. Bribed Katie to start growing weed in one of the rarely used greenhouses.

Now, faced with him in a bloodied camp t-shirt and lacking his usual cigarette, you sort of want to know what’s true. 

“What happened to him?” There should be more urgency to your actions, you know, but you help Annabeth guide him into one of the beds at the side of the room slowly. 

“He decided to pick a fight with a bunch of kids near the lake,” Annabeth says, rolling her eyes. Even as she does, there’s this adoration that seeps out of her, the same one you’ve always known her to carry where Luke is concerned. “Three on one.”

Luke groans as you shift his position, glaring at the girl in front of him. “They deserved it. The shit they were saying.” 

Part of you wants to ask, desperately. Annabeth chuckles, nudging his shoulder and says, “Yeah, I know. I already thanked you so stop fishing for compliments.” 

He laughs lowly and you almost forget that there’s a real reason Annabeth would’ve brought him here. You’ve only seen Luke in this room once, late last winter, so it’s odd that he’d be here now. He tilts his chin at her, and then at the door. “Go win that flag.”

She starts to protest, talking about having faith in her team and how making sure he’s safe is more important. Still, she glances towards the door. 

“He’s in good hands with me, Annabeth,” You say when she stops to breathe for a moment. She bites her lip. “I promise.”

“She promises,” Luke repeats from behind you and apparently, that’s all Annabeth needed. With a final glance between you, she retreats, working her way back into the game. “Just me and you now, Angel.” 

There’s some sort of shift with Annabeth’s absence, thicker in the air and not completely unwelcome. Maybe it’s the nickname, too familiar for people having their second conversation, but there’s this way Luke says it, no intention twisting around the letters but settling warmly into your system anyway. You ignore it. “Where are you hurt, Castellan?” 

He grimaces and it’s the first time you notice his hand clasped at his side. It drops and you take in the darker color of his camp t-shirt there, the way it sticks to the area damp with blood and probably a lot of sweat. 

“Holy shit.” 

“It’s not that bad,” he jokes and you raise an eyebrow at him. He shrugs. “I’ve had worse.”

You shake your head. “Come on then, let’s see it.” 

It’s something you don’t do often, this informality with a patient. Bedside manner means something in healing but right now, you can’t think of the right way to channel it. To be gentle with Luke would feel awkward, restrictive almost, and to be too formal would just be rude at this point. What you’re doing now seems to work, if the way he grins is any indication, and you excuse yourself to the supply cabinet as he does as requested.

When you turn back around, Luke has his shirt off, legs still hanging off the side of the bed. You almost want to tell him to lay down, for your own peace of mind. Make it so you can simply treat the wound without having to look at him properly. Because Luke is…

Luke is really fucking pretty. 

You’ve known he was attractive - everyone knew that. It wasn’t something openly spoken about, not with how he exists on the outskirts of camp most of the time, but it was mutually understood. For all his faults, Luke was incredibly attractive. 

Now, though, even with blood covering half of his torso, he’s really fucking pretty. 

“I’m just going to clean it first,” you say when you reach him and it comes out quieter than you intended. You stand in front of him and his head tilts back slightly to look at your face properly. “Do you mind if you just- I need to get a little closer to look at it.”

You expect him to turn to the side, let the wound face you a bit better. Instead, the space between Luke’s legs widens enough for you to take a step closer, almost like a challenge, and you take it anyway. 

You work on instinct, wiping the blood away, pressing gentle fingertips into the skin. Habits formed over months, usually steady hands shaking just slightly as you wipe the cloth against Luke’s torso, his even breaths hitting the side of your neck at this angle. 

It’s not as deep as you expected, the skin still open, completely raw but not as ugly as it could be. As what you expected it to be. Gently, you press the gauze to it, lifting your head to be met with Luke’s eyes. They’re brown. They’re brown and completely relaxed and you kind of really want to find out how wide they could get in the right situation. 

“I told you it wasn’t that bad,” Luke says and you feel it more than you hear it. It shoots through your veins and you distantly remember Silena telling you that she once caught him with a line of coke. They rattle together before falling silent and you can hear your own breathing again. Luke’s too, slower than yours but close enough that you can count the length of each one. 

“You still should’ve come to me when you got injured.” 

“I’ll remember that next time.” It drifts across your cheeks, warming the skin there and you look back down at your hand pressed against Luke’s side. Pulling the gauze away, you quickly replace it with a clean square, sticking it in place carefully.

You run a finger across the edges before muttering, “All done.” 

There’s a right thing to do. Take a step back, give Luke the privacy to redress and send him on his way with instructions for looking after the dressing. That’s what you’re supposed to do. It’s what your brain is screaming at you to do, actually, but Luke’s skin is still so warm under your palm and each breath makes you more aware of the dip in his collarbones and you can’t think of a single good reason to move away.

When his lips part, you think he’s going to give you one. Instead, he whispers, “Tell me no,” and it just makes more sense to meet him halfway than say yes. 

Turns out, Luke Castellan is a really good kisser. It matches him, the blase way he leans into the action, tilts his head and adjusts the pressure to match whatever you do. Distantly, you remember to move your hand, dropping it from the gauze and resting it on his thigh instead and there’s this noise Luke makes in the back of his throat as you do so that makes you want to do it again.

He breaks off in the end, drawing in deep breaths. To see him disheveled isn’t entirely new, not with the lack of care he puts into maintaining his camp uniform, but to see him like this - dark curls run through, cheeks flushed red and lips swollen - is something else entirely. Without thinking too hard, you dip your head and place a kiss to the skin where his neck meets his shoulder. He shivers and you take it as an invitation, pressing another to his shoulder and then one to his right collarbone. 

His loose grip on your hip tightens and you wonder how far you could take this before you would have to stop. Based on the low curse Luke lets out when you repeat the motions on the other side of his neck, it’ll probably take until another camper comes to find you. 

Dragging your gaze down Luke’s frame, you come to the reasonable conclusion that it’s a risk you’re just going to have to take. 

2.

You expect it to happen sooner, staring at the door each evening willing it to open. A week of counting the hours, locking the med bay every night and still no sign of Luke. He’s back from his quest - Will had rushed in with the news when he’d crossed the border back into camp - but you’re yet to see him at all. Silena tried to tell you about his quest, about his failure really, and you’d shut her down before she could give you anything more than that he’d been badly injured. 

Lee had been on duty the day he’d returned. Written the notes and left them filed away. 

Deep scarring on the face. Nectar and ambrosia required on arrival. Patient refused monitoring. 

He doesn’t offer any further insight when he catches you reading over them the next morning, just shrugs like he expected Luke to refuse his help. Like he’s surprised the other boy even showed up for treatment at all. It’s moments like that, where there’s this judgement surrounding Luke’s mere existence, that remind you of the weeks before his quest. The five hectic weeks of bruised knuckles and how soft they could be against your skin. Of how nice cigarette smoke could be coming from Luke’s lips instead of just lingering in the air. 

So it catches you off guard when the knock sounds on your door, the same familiar quick raps of knuckles on the wood that you grew accustomed to hearing late into the night. He’s there, when you pry the door open, and he’s nothing like you expected. 

He’s still Luke, from the ragged tee to staggered breathing, but there’s blood covering half of his face, dripping from the stretch of open skin running down his left cheek and a dip in his spine he never had before. 

“Do you want to berate me first or can I just come in?” 

Stepping out of the way, you gesture into the empty room. There’s a familiar routine to this now, despite the week without it, and Luke takes his usual path to the bed near the cabinets. It’s wrong, the way you attach yourself to the casualness of it, to the comfort of having him back in this space with you, instead of rushing to do your job. 

But it’s Luke, a little broken maybe, but still Luke. 

“Who’d you fight this time?” You ask as you dig through drawers for everything you might need. You tell yourself it’s to be prepared - you both know what it really is. “Don’t tell me the foxes are back.”

“If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” 

It’s a running joke, borne of concern the first time Luke showed up here after curfew with a cut on jaw and nose a little more crooked than before. Something to reassure you, to stop you shifting yourself into professional mode. A way of assuring you that there was no rush. 

“You didn’t have a healing scar before,” you mutter regardless, slotting yourself into the space between his legs like normal. There’s an overhead light and, from directly in front of him, you can make out the length of it, the shape of the raised skin. It’s still raw, a little puffy, but on the right track. “Or did you forget?” 

“It’s not exactly easy to ignore, is it?” He shrugs, sitting straighter. “Besides, Ares kids are never all that.”

Finally, you think, lifting your hand to touch the taut skin there, there’s the bitterness you’ve heard in his voice so many times before. It’s one of those things you’ve come to recognise in Luke’s tone, the cadence of it when he actually cares, pitching lower than usual, burying itself under nonchalance. 

He watches as your thumb swipes across his cheek, pulling back to observe the way it stains red. You’re used to seeing him a little damaged, easily put back together by your hand. This is something else, a reflection of how everyone else sees him - bloodied and broken and damn near unapproachable for fear of spilled blood - and you want to capture it in your brain for the future, maybe forever. 

“I’m starting to think you might like me,” Luke says, hands moving from where they sit on the bed to rest on your waist. Your eyes stay locked on the pad of your thumb, watching the blood begin to seep into your skin. A beat, the brush of his warm thumb against the skin on your waist, and then, “It doesn’t hurt that much.” 

It goes against so much of who you’ve always sworn to be, finding him so pretty in this moment. Taking in the red of his cheek, the way it stretches down his neck and drips onto his t-shirt. Short of taking a medical oath, you’ve promised yourself to heal. To mend. To treating the injured, regardless of your own feelings on the matter.

Of course it would only take Luke Castellan, dark eyes and tender hands, to challenge that. 

“Tell me if it does,” You whisper and he licks his lower lip as he nods, wiping away some of the blood staining it as he does. The end of his quiet “promise” catches itself between your lips, mingling with the metal on your tongue and making it sweeter than you could’ve ever anticipated. 

This part of Luke is all too familiar, the taste of him to the comfortable weight of yourself on him. You’d learnt on that first night what made him tick, what made its way through him and he would return to you tenfold. In the weeks since, you’ve studied them, picking them apart until there’s been nothing to do but follow them into freefall. 

Now, you use them to guide you. Those small hitches in his breathing, the clearing of his throat, the slip of his palm when you press your lips to the skin above his pulse on the left and let them stain the right to match. It’ll all fade when you come back to yourself, cleaning the wound and stitching him back up, but it’s there when you lean back to look at him again, the undeniable mark of you on Luke Castellan’s skin. 

“You’re really fucking pretty, you know that.”

Luke tilts his head, squinting a little to focus his gaze. It’s this thing he does whenever you get like this, observant and a tad shy, waiting for the ball to drop. You keep silent, arms still wrapped around his shoulders and knees digging into the mattress either side of his hips. It’ll pass, always. 

When it does, the air changes. Not quite the same heated urgency as before, less hazy and with Luke realising the inch he’s been given, taking the mile you’ve offered in the inbetween. He’s still broken, still stained despite your best efforts to remove it, and he settles a hand in the hair at the nape of your neck as you push closer to him. 

3.

Silena told you once that it only takes twenty-one days to form a habit. She was talking about finding cigarette ends scattered around the training centre, a sure sign of Luke’s presence there each day, and how his habits had become too ingrained in him after years for them to be broken. It wasn’t true, you’d known that much, but it stayed in the back of your mind with every new one you attempted to build - daily runs, the correct amount of sleep, offering help to someone you didn’t know too well at camp. None of them ever stuck, lasting a few days at most, but it strikes you again now, Luke pushing his way through your door.

Eight weeks. More than enough time to form an alleged habit. You think, observing the flex of his arm, the thin section of ink peeking out from under his camp tee when he does, that you’ve fallen into a habit with Luke Castellan. Possibly even the habit of Luke Castellan. 

It’s different this time, however. The lack of visible bruising on his own skin, for one. There’s hints of it, smatterings of black and purple stretching across his knuckles, the skin peeling slightly, but his face is unmarred save for his usual scar. You don’t often see Luke mean. Based on the clench of his fists, so tight you’re sure it must hurt, you’re not entirely sure you want to.

“Did you know that he was summoned?” He says through gritted teeth. Sometimes, you wonder if Luke knows how to start a conversation properly. It’s not something you’ve known him to do, never a hello or goodbye, just a topic spoken into the space around you both. Neverending. “Claimed while I was away getting my ass handed to me by a dragon and then summoned for a discussion with Hermes.” 

You understand, then, why his entire body is tense. A carefully curated reputation tumbling down around him after years. The fallen son of Hermes finally getting some comeuppance for his impudence. Being replaced, in spite of dedication given to people who couldn’t stand to be around him. It’s not the first time you’ve been upset for him, but it is the first time it’s made you ache for justice. 

“I heard he got back this morning.” 

Luke hums and you watch as his cheek hollows, knowing how his teeth are indenting on the skin inside. “Came to find me first thing. To tell me all about it.”

“He came to rub it in.”

“Good girl,” he smiles, the first since walking in, and the combination burns low in your gut. A habit takes twenty-one days to form and it took Luke seventeen to understand the effect those words had on you. “I swung for him before I even realised I was doing it.” 

You perch yourself on the edge of one of the beds, keeping careful track of his movements across the room. “This might be the first time you’ve come here and the other guy is actually going to look worse.” 

It does what you wanted it to, drags a chuckle out of him and releases the tension from his shoulders. “I bumped into Will on my way here. Sent him to patch him up and keep him far away from me.” 

“Are you telling me you planned to get me alone in the med bay, Castellan?”

His nose scrunches, stealing the last of his rage from the air and twisting it into something different. “You were already alone in the med bay. I just planned to take advantage of it.”

The change in dynamic isn’t lost on you, so unused to starting in these positions, but you let it linger for a moment anyway. Ground yourself in the knowledge that Luke knows you, knows your breathing and your movements and your heartbeat. It doesn’t take twenty-one days to build a habit, and you’re far from breaking this one.

“Tell me no,” Luke says and it echoes in a way it hasn’t before. Joins the dust in the air and settles in the sunlight from the high windows. You take a breath. He releases one. “Tell me yes.” 

It’s something you should think about more, letting him ingrain himself in your space the way you have been. Patching him up is one thing, borne from consideration and oath and demanded by a higher power than yourself. In the dark nights of camp, you can pretend the time you spend with him doesn’t count for much - that it barely exists if you want to. That’s how you’ve navigated it so far, pretending not to know the calluses on his hands during demonstrations, brushing it off when Silena points out how he’s been getting into more fights these past few months. 

You should leave Luke Castellan in the shadows, a boy mended in dim lighting and known through hushed conversations. 

But you know the taste of smoke from his lungs, the press of his lips on your skin. You know his blood and his sweat and his mumbled curses. You know more about him than anyone in this camp, maybe in this world, and you’re the only one who cares to trace it over again and again until you can recite him line by line. 

“Yes, Luke,” It comes out louder than intended, completely defined. “Please.” 

Whatever it is about it, the assuredness or the plea, it’s what he needs, crashing into you like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. There’s an easy confidence to the way he touches you now, swallows the sounds you make to keep them for himself, keeps you half-hidden from the daylight peering in like it’ll protect you both. You bury yourself under his skin, nails and teeth and take parts of him with you when you let go. 

It’s risky, slightly too hurried for how important it feels, but it makes sense with each breath you share. Fits itself to the bitterness that frays your edges, hems them into something more palatable. Luke’s mumbles are half-formed against your skin and yours are incomplete in air and they stick together as something no one else could translate. 

You can’t define this, not with a theory or a diagnosis, but you think it could fall neatly into your notes as a categorised addiction. 

With Luke’s soft curls between your fingers, you kind of forget how to care.

+1

“You know, I could probably beat you in a fight.” 

Luke chuckles, flicking the ash from his cigarette to the ground behind your cabin. It’s a new thing, hiding yourselves away in new locations, and you’re sort of fascinated with the way he chooses where to go. No rhyme or reason. “You think?”

“I would bet so much money on it if we actually got paid here,” You nod, rocking back on your heels. He’s nicer like this, bathed in moonlight and at peace with his surroundings. It’s something you’ve become accustomed to, the casual dichotomy of Luke at night, unburdened by rumours. “I would bet your chain on it.” 

You’re not serious, he knows that - the silver necklace is one of the few things he actually treasures - but it’s funny to see his face lift in disbelief as you say it. He presses the end of his cigarette out under his shoe and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop the smile threatening to come out. 

“You really think you could beat me in a fight?” 

You take a step back with each one he takes forward, only to find yourself pressed against your cabin seconds later. Luke’s smile changes, twists a little more into a smirk, and you let yourself relax into it. Instead of an answer, you hum lightly. His hands land either side of your head and you feel yourself smile before you remember to stop it. 

“Take it back,” he whispers and it drifts across your cheekbones. You drop your gaze to the peek of silver above his camp shirt, curling a finger underneath the metal so the charm dangling from it drops into full view. You glance back at him, his gaze dropping from your face to hand on his chest. “Please.” 

Wrapping your hand around the cool metal, you tug him the short distance between you and it feels like the better response when Luke smiles against your lips.

[ofbatsandballads]

a love like religion

jason todd x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings: smut MDNI, unprotected sex, gentle dom!jason, size difference, creampie, biting and scratching hard enough to draw blood, all the pet names from Jason (baby, sweetheart, ma, mama, darlin’, honey), lots of aftercare, hints of codependency from jay and reader.

a/n: was daydreaming about jason (as per usual) and got to thinking about how if he were real I would be so down bad for this man it would be borderline unhealthy. something something about your lover becoming your god or whatnot. ngl wrote this with a bit of a “bones and all” vibe in mind of just needing jay in every conceivable way and it uhhhh…spiraled. so here, have some fucking with copious amounts of aftercare and maybe codependency if you squint?

divider credit: cafekitsune

There aren’t many things in life you can be certain of. The ever changing tides of fate have washed you ashore and swept you back into drowning more times than you can count. You’d grown used to it, the ephemeral nature of being alive. You relied on the two things you knew to be unwaveringly true: you are currently living and breathing; and one day you will die, and the living and breathing will be over. You did not anticipate adding any other unchangeable qualities to this list. You now have one that supersedes every other: you love Jason Todd.

You love him more than anything in this universe or the next. You love him like you love air to breathe. He’s your entire world. The sun holds itself in the smiles he reserves only for you, the stars in the gleaming of his seafoam eyes when the moonlight hits them just right, gravity residing in the weight of his hands on your waist.

You love Jason so much you wish you could crawl into his chest, nestle yourself between his ribs and feel the beat of his heart from within. You can’t, of course. But right now, with his broad frame between your thighs and his hips rocking relentlessly into yours? It’s as close as you can get.

It’s intoxicating, the combination of physicality and emotion. Jason feels so good. His cock pushes against every sweet spot you have, delicious toe-curling drags that have you whimpering his name. And he’s so big. It feels like he’s splitting you in half even though he’d spent a good half hour prepping you on his fingers and his tongue. You wouldn’t have it any other way. Feeling your body give way to him, conforming to the shape and weight of him—it’s like nothing else you’ve ever experienced. Nothing compares to Jason.

That’s part of it too. Sure, the feeling of him driving his thick cock into you would be amazing no matter what. But doing this with him while knowing how much he loves you, how much you love him? It’s divine. No heaven could come close to this. You’d take an eternity with him over anything else.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, ma. Feel so fuckin’ good around me,” Jason moans as he trails kisses down your neck.

“Jay–Jason, please,” you whine.

You’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He’s giving you everything you need. His hips rock back and forth at the perfect pace, deep thrusts that you swear you can feel all the way in your throat. Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles crossing over his lower back in an effort to keep him close. He’s buried to the hilt inside you and yet you still want more.

“What is it, baby? Tell me what ya need,” he pants. “I’ll give you anythin’, sweetheart. Anythin’ you want.”

“You.”

The word tumbles from your mouth over and over and over again. He’s reduced you to a crying, needy mess, incapable of thinking about anything other than him. But he knows you all too well and indulges you in your request. He leans in closer, using all his weight to pin you between his warm body and your disheveled blankets.

All you know is Jason. His large frame above you, so big that he blocks the candlelit bedroom from your sight. His voice cooing praises in your ear—you’re so beautiful, takin’ me so well darlin’, I’m all yours sweetheart. His lips kissing and biting adoring bruises into your neck, your collarbone. How heavenly the wet strokes of his cock feel inside your over sensitive cunt. He moves his hand down to rub your clit at the same time that he licks his way into your mouth and you’re done for.

Burning, bright—a white hot supernova that explodes across every nerve ending from your head to your toes. Your legs lock around him as your whole body shudders. Your nails rake across his back and biceps, pretty red lines blooming over his scars. Your teeth sink into his shoulder and you recognize the coppery taste of his blood. The pleasure-pain of your bite draws forth Jason’s orgasm and the warmth that floods you makes you dig your claws in deeper. You mark him as he marks you. A permanent claim, tangible evidence of the love that hums between you. You have one semi-coherent thought before your mind becomes static: you’re as full of him as you can be; mouth, nails, pussy—you’ve got him in every part of you now.

You don’t realize you’re sobbing until you feel his gentle hands wipe the tears from your face.

“You with me, mama?” he whispers, forehead resting against yours.

You hiccup. It takes all your energy to nod weakly in confirmation. You cling to him, not letting him move an inch away from you. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you as close to him as physically possible. The movement causes his half hard cock to grind deliciously inside you and you’re gasping into the crook of his neck.

“Stay. Please,” you beg through tears.

Jason just holds you tighter to his chest, and you find safety in the strength of his embrace.

“I’m not going anywhere, baby. I’m stayin’ right here with you,” he assures you.

After a few moments, your head clears ever so slightly. You become conscious of touch. Your hands twitch back to life and you discover that Jason has placed them around his neck. Your fingers rest against his pulse, the steady badum badum badum lulling you back to lucidity. You blink open your teary eyes and see concern swirling in the deep sea green of your lover’s.

“Was it too much? I didn’t mean to overwhelm you, baby. I’m sorry,” he whispers, gentle as the winter rain that’s beginning to fall outside.

“Not overwhelmed,” you mumble into his neck. “I just love you.”

Your voice cracks on those four words. You break under the bruising weight of your love for him. You think it could kill you, could bury you six feet under, and you would happily die for it. You would happily die for him. You don’t think you’d want to go out any other way. His hand in yours; it’s the only way you can exist now.

Jason feels it too. He knows you almost as well as you know yourself. He knows how complete your devotion is to him, how he could ask for anything and you would offer it up without hesitation. He knows his is the same. You could demand his heart on a silver platter and he’d go grab his daggers that are displayed neatly on the wall and the fine china back at Wayne Manor. And maybe it’s a lot, maybe you’re both a little too attached. But how could either of you possibly care when loving each other felt this good?

So he handles you delicately. He soothes you when your sobbing returns as he goes to grab a warm washcloth. He wipes your tears as he cleans your combined spend off your thighs. He gently pulls a pair of his boxers over your hips, one of his hoodies over your head. He cradles you in his arms as he carries you to the living room to eat some snacks and continue binging The Great British Baking Show. You’ve come back to reality now. A soft peace settles across your overworked body and mind as you lie intertwined with Jason on the sofa.

“I’m sorry I lost it a little there,” you mumble into his chest, cheeks flushed and more than a tad embarrassed.

“You got nothin’ to apologize for, honey. How many times have I done the same?”

It’s true. Most times it’s Jason that’s the sobbing, fucked out mess in the afterglow. It’s part of why the come down hit you so hard this time. You feel almost guilty, like you should’ve been able to hold yourself together better for him. You swear he can read your mind when he gently grabs your chin and turns your head to face him.

“Hey, none of that feelin’ bad bullshit. We take care of each other. It’s what we do. You’re the one always sayin’ that, right?” he asks, softly nudging his hooked nose against yours.

“Yeah, we take care of each other,” you whisper. “Forever and always?”

Jason absolutely beams at you, and suddenly nothing matters but him and the love you share in this little bit of time and space that’s all yours.

“Forever and always.”

[confusionmeisss]

can you watch my boyfriend, please? - c. sturniolo

🫧 chris sturniolo x fem!reader

🫧 the “can you babysit my boyfriend” tiktok couples trend with chris!!

🫧 this is just fluff. there is the use of “y/n” apologies. some swears. that’s about it.

🫧 548 words.

🫧 hi lovelies!! thank u for wanting to read!!!! :) i’ve been seeing tons of videos of this trend & i was inspired. i thought it would fit chris soo well! i hope u enjoy reading bc this was very fun to write!! <3 nick version matt version masterlist

Chris was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping idly on a capri sun and scrolling away on his phone. He was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, he didn’t even hear the sound of your footsteps approaching.

Chris looks up when he hears your voice.

“Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend for me, please? I’ll be back quick, I promise, I just need to go and grab something.

Chris watches you say, smiling at your phone camera, propping it up against the vase of tulips. He looks up at you confused, but you just place a kiss in his hair and smile once more at the camera before leaving the kitchen.

“Uhm,” Chris mumbles out, looking confusedly at the camera.

His confusion only lasts a moment though before he starts speaking. “So I was up late last night, and I stumbled upon this video about analog horror and liminal spaces and the backrooms and such. And then I found this one guys youtube channel and I’ve been binging his videos since like three am. Dude, the backrooms are fucking freaky. I just know they would make Nick paranoid as fuck, so I definitely have to show them to him,” he says with a laugh.

He reaches for his capri sun. “Oh! I’ve been on such a capri sun kick for the past like week. Pepsi is still my number one though,” he says, making a heart with his hands.

“Hey, how do people make the heart with their fingers? Y/N can do it, and she’s tried teaching me, but I just can’t seem to get it!” Chris huffs out, attempting to make a heart with his fingers. He stares down at them trying to bend them into the shape he’s seen you do multiple times.

He lets out a huff, looking back up at the camera, and letting his hands fall onto the table. “See, I just can’t seem to get it!”

“Oh! Oh! We went out to eat yesterday for dinner, and,” Chris cuts himself off with a little giggle, “and we witnessed this guy scrape all the toppings off his pizza and then stack the pieces up on the tray. I’ve never in my twenty years seen someone do that!”

Chris looks up when hears you approaching.

You lean over his shoulder. “Hey, I’m back, thanks for watching him guys. I hope he wasn’t too much trouble.”

Chris looks up at you offended by this statement, but you just smile down at him, and place a hand in his hair, reaching with the other to end your recording.

—

comments

the way chris had to assure us that pepsi was still his number one beverage choice 😭

pls let us babysit him again, he was very well behaved. just talked our ears off, 10/10 very pleasant 😁

not chris wanting to show nick the backrooms knowing he’d be paranoid by them 😭

someone did what with their pizza????

capri suns are 🔥🔥🔥

him trying to do the finger heart is so 🥺💕

don’t worry chris, i too, cannot do the finger heart

his giggleeee 💞💞💞

how to be in a relationship like chris & y/n no borax no glue

they’re such cuties 🥰

the way she is with him 🥺 oh i want that badddd

[prettypei]

plot: you discover their childhood photos; fluff! crack!

reader: gn! Reader

pairings: childe, diluc, kazuha, ayato

warnings: some spoilers for story quests? kinda, pre-Snezhnaya

(a/n): was flippin thru the family album when I got the idea and I 4got childe's sister's name LMAO

✰CHILDE is surprised when he hears giggling in the attic. He's visiting his old home in Snezhnaya and he invited you along with him and now he realizes there might be... a little ghost girl up there? Not quite sure. So he's relieved when he finds out it's just you and his sister, although he scared you both awfully with a baseball bat in his hand when he came up. It turned out that you were...looking at his family album? He sits down next to the both of you, looking though them too. "Hey, remember when dad used to take us fishing?" Childe asked, smiling at his sister. "Oh yeah!" She giggles, "We failed a lot, didn't we? We only came home with two fish!" Childe chuckles. "Yeah, and the look on mom's face when we tried gutting the fish ourselves." All of a sudden, he hears a howl of laughter coming from...you? "What's so funny?" He scoots over and...oh. He slams the book shut and screeches:" OKAY THAT'S ENOUGH FOR TODAY! EVERYONE HEAD DOWN!!" You're still snickering to yourself as you head down the stairs and manage to gasp weakly:" Y-you never told me you fell in the river when you were young!"

✰DILUC thinks the tavern is especially loud today, but he dismisses it. It's probably due to Kaeya's outgoing personality and your chaotic brain. However, he pauses when he sees Kaeya passing...pictures around the bar? He's a little confused at why everyone thinks it's so hilarious. He sees a knight giggling at the picture in her hand, and he snatches it out of hers and looks at it himself. His eyes widen in embarrassment as he realizes what it is: it's an old picture of him and Kaeya playing in the mud, his clothes stained as he smiled a toothy and boyish grin at the camera. You walk over to him and wave the picture in front of his face. "Oh? What's this? Bartender and serious Diluc-" "Give that back." He snaps, taking the photo from you, his face flushing a deep shade of red. "You looked so cute in them though..." You tilt your head. "What happened?" "Ha ha, very funny." Diluc rolls his eyes. "But you were cute when you were a kid babe, that I gotta say." You grin as you pinch his cheek in a playful manner. He rolls his eyes once again, but he can't hide the tiny smile that's forming on his lips.

✰KAZUHA's trying out a new melody on his leaf when he saw something flutter past him. He snatches it just in time, examining the photo. He smiles when he realizes it's a picture of him when he was a kid, barely over 10, holding his first sword. "Kaz! Did you see- oh, it's in your hand." "Indeed it is." He chuckles as he hands it to you. "Why do you have this, (name)?" "Oh, I was checking out the library in your home and I found this! I'm really sorry it almost blew away..." "At least I caught it. Did you know this was the first sword I held?" Your eyes widen in awe. "Really? But you look so young in this!" "I was, I was probably about 13 years old." "Thirteen!" Your eyes nearly bulge out of your skull. "Yeah" he chuckles. "I was pretty young, wasn't I?"

✰AYATO hears a knocking on the door to this room and opens it, and he’s overjoyed when it’s you and not another merchant trying to scam him once again. “(name), darling what brings you here?” “Uh-uh-nothing.” You fail to hide the photos behind your back and ayato asks: “what are those, dear?” You sigh and confess: “Ayaka gave me these. These were childhood photos of you…I was just curious, I swear! I was going to return them to her today but…” you gesture helplessly at him. He chuckles and says “give me those.” You hand them to him and he examines them. Most of them were pictures of his achievements over the years: “winner of sword beginner competition”, “most likely to succeed”….but there was a picture of his family. He smiles at it and smiles at you. You hang your head in shame. “That’s your mom and dad isn’t it? I’m sorry that they’re gone.” He pulls your hand inside as he says “I have you as my family now, (name).”

[nvirskies]

til death do us part, and then some - c. la rue

warnings: reader suicide, angst hurt/no comfort, ruegard, asshole clarisse, descriptions of blood, infidelity, broken promises, not beta read

summary: clarisse never comes back from a quest and you take matters into your own hands to reunite.

unclaimed!fem!demigod!reader x unfaithful!clarisse la rue

word count: 2.1k

taglist: @lvrue @star-girl69 @petitegavotte @b0ok-lover @azrielsdiary

PROCEED WITH CAUTION, READ AT OWN RISK

men, nsfw, non-sapphic, 16-/19+ dni

Lord Dionysus, Chiron, or whomever may be reading this:

In the event that someone has been unfortunate enough to find this note upon my death, do not fret. This has been a decision I had been mulling over for weeks, months, if not years now. I do not know when I will feel compelled to take this step further, so this has been written entirely in advance. Know that I will be content with my life in the Fields of Asphodel, or the Gardens of Elysium should Lord Hades be so generous as to grant me that privilege.

I would like to thank everyone who did their best in making Camp Half-Blood a welcoming and home space. Special thanks to the Hermes cabin, and Lord Hermes for their gracious welcoming arms and making me feel like I belonged somewhere. My belongings should be distributed amongst whomever would like to keep them, and make sure they are put to good use.

Return any and all of Clarisse’s clothing found in my chest back to the Ares cabin, and let them figure out what to do with it on their own time. Lord Ares, I give my final thanks to you for graciously allowing your daughter to have been part of my life. 

To my fellow unclaimed demigods who are wondering if they should be mourning the loss of a sibling, I have no definitive answer for you beyond if you felt like you were close enough to call me a sibling, mourn me like you would a biological one. No matter if you are claimed tomorrow or never claimed at all, know you are not unworthy or inferior simply because of your divine parent’s lack of attention. 

You may be half-divine, but always remember to keep that human spark within you alive. Keep your compassion, your empathy, your sense of understanding. This world is not made for us, but never give up on creating spaces that are. We live heavy lives, and respite is hard to come by.

When you bury my body, put me to rest with my javelin, suit of armor, and the fragments of Clarisse’s shattered spear. Under my tongue, please place two coins instead of one. My love is waiting for me on the banks of the River Styx with no way across, and I would like to provide her with a way across alongside me. 

Underneath the last paragraph was your name, signed in neat print alongside your signature swooping cursive. The letter was found rolled neatly atop your chest of belongings, your lifeless body on the bunk bed you had claimed for yourself for the past four years of your life. Crimson blood seeped through the bed sheets and mattress, a fatal reminder for all of the fragility that even the strongest harbored. 

Upon the discovery of your body, ripples of whispers swept through the campers like a stone tossed in the midst of a serene waterfront. Your skin was just barely lukewarm, the blood streaming from the thin cut horizontal across the jugular vein was beginning to brown and oxidize. 

In one hand was the knife that had presumably made the cut, the blade pristine and glinting in the dim light save for the thin line of blood that ran across its edge. The other held Clarisse’s favorite shirt, all bundled up and cleaner than anyone had ever seen it before. Anyone who picked up said shirt could immediately tell that it had been doused in the cologne that she once wore on a daily basis, no doubt a purposeful move to make your last moments completely blissful in surrounding yourself with her scent.

She had been your home, after all.

Clarisse had comforted you through nightmares, the breakdowns about being unclaimed for years that happened whenever someone new was claimed and the jealousy and anger of it all. 

She had reassured you that even after Silena had died that you weren’t a rebound, and that her feelings for you were genuine, and you had believed her. 

You were her girl, after all. The one she let her walls down around, the one who had tried to patch together the spear her father had given her even after the Hephaestus children had given up. The one who she let braid her hair and be soft around. The one where she had promised over and over again that even in the afterlife, you would find each other in Elysium again.

Then, she had been sent out on a quest. One that she had vowed to return from, safe and sound. The rest of her group did, but her face was never again seen on the hills of Camp Half-Blood that the two of you called home. 

Gone were the moments wherein she would hold you and soothe all of your worries away. Gone were the times of squealing as she picked you up from behind and spun you around to face her mid-air. Gone were all the possibilities to make the most of your limited years together, because she was dead, off in a faraway land that you couldn’t even visit to see her corpse and offer her one last smile.

That was when the thoughts began to swirl in your mind. Months went by and everything seemed to go back to normal. You had been given three weeks off training to mourn, and after those three weeks you seemingly bounced back like nothing was wrong, like you hadn’t just lost the love of your life. 

The only difference was the streak of white that made itself apparent in your hair, its origins unknown, and the smile on your face that never seemed to quite reach your eyes no matter how many times you tried to convince (yourself) and the others that it was genuine. 

Months passed and all fell back into its routine. Things were looking up for the camp as a whole, and Chiron had been able to take a few steps back in managing thanks to Percy Jackson’s continued efforts to have gods and goddesses interact with their children more. 

But those thoughts still took root in your mind, their tendrils digging into the very essence of your psyche as every lonely moment was spent longing for her touch, for her warmth, for the security that she provided once upon a time. In your mind, there was no doubt that it was time to make good on your promise to each other. 

You would meet her in the gardens of Elysium and reunite once more.

After your burial, you made your way down to the banks of the River Styx, anxiously clutching the two coins in one hand and your javelin in the other. Your eyes scanned the crowds of souls, all clamoring to Charon, pleading that he take pity on them and take them across without payment.

The wails of the damned, sobs of the innocent, and screams of the guilty all flooded your senses. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar mess of brown curls and sprinted towards them, your footsteps leaving indents on the ash-sand lining the waterline of the Styx.

She was there. Your assumptions had been correct. 

As she had died out in the world and had never been given a proper burial, she had joined the crowd that lingered just at the edge of the Styx, taking every chance she had to try and get across. 

But now that you were there, she didn’t have to worry about sneaking aboard Charon’s boat. You had enough payment for the both of you to make it across safely, and finally live out the rest of your afterlives like you had promised each other.

It wasn’t until you were naught but a couple dozen feet away that you noticed she was rather busy with something. Or rather, someone. And she was looking at that person like they were the only one in the world right now. Your gut twisted, knowing that was the look that she had given you. 

But it wasn’t you she was looking at. It was Silena Beauregard, the daughter of Aphrodite, that Clarisse had spent countless hours reassuring you that she wasn’t just using you as a rebound to get over her death.

She had lied right through her teeth, all with the kindest smile on her face that you could imagine. It was becoming apparent that you were a fool, strung along for the sole purpose of keeping Clarisse’s arms full and warm while she thought of the Beauregard girl. 

Every kiss, every moment, every word shared between you two seemed hollow now. They had lost all meaning, all of the sentiment that once made your stomach fill with butterflies. 

You skidded to a stop just behind the pair, watching with a heavy heart and tightening in your chest as their lips collided over and over again in a series of passionate kisses, their hands roaming each others’ bodies. Just like she had done with you, countless times prior. They were too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence.

You had always been hers, but she had never been yours. 

There wasn’t much emotion left in you besides melancholic resignation, and your gut twisted every time you gripped the two coins in your hand, a reminder that they would never be used for their intended purpose. 

You waited there for a moment before tapping on Clarisse’s shoulder, causing her to break away from the kiss and turn to look at you. Surprise filled her features, then guilt. Overwhelming guilt as she realized the situation you had caught her in. Her lips were interlocked with another girl’s just a moment ago, the very same girl that she had reassured was not a problem or factor in your relationship.

Silena stood behind her, her eyes scrutinizing your appearance, taking note of the way you clutched two coins instead of the customary one. 

“Love-? What are you doing here?” Clarisse asked, the term of endearment slipping naturally off her tongue as it had countless times in the past. But it no longer held any meaning to you, not when you had just witnessed everything before your very own eyes. You didn’t respond beyond throwing the two coins down at her feet with a knowing look, a silent callback to the promise that the two of you had made. The coins clinked softly as they fell onto the fine ash that lines the shores of the River Styx, falling on top of each other.

Horror filled her features as she realized just exactly what you were doing down in the Underworld, and her eyes fell upon the thin scar that ran just along the jugular vein on your neck.

The one spot she had taught you to go for on an opponent if anything ever threatened your life, and you had used it on yourself to have a chance at forever with her. A chance that had been wasted.

“You- you didn’t-” she began, choking on her own words as tears filled her eyes at the thought of it, and the sight of you, now in front of her, very obviously dead. 

“It was for you, ‘Risse, but it seems I really was just a rebound after all.” You spat out, a dangerously bitter edge to your voice as you looked her up and down. 

“These,” you gestured to the coins on the ground, “were supposed to be for us, for the promise you made. But I guess I was the one foolish enough to listen to you, to fall for you in the first place.”

“Enjoy your time in Elysium, La Rue, and know that you were the cause of my death. Don’t forget. On the River Styx.” 

That last statement was the final nail in her metaphorical coffin. No one made a promise on the infamous river and broke it, not without terrible consequences. Any and all chances of her getting into the paradisal side of the Underworld were dashed in mere moments as the realization dawned on her about the gravity of her mistake. 

You bent down and picked up one of the coins on the ground and left without a word, turning on your heel and disappearing back into the crowd of souls before Clarisse could utter another word. 

You had left her with two choices by giving her that one coin: to take the coin for herself and cross with Charon with hopes of trying to win you back and leaving the Aphrodite girl in the dust, or giving it to Silena and letting her go because she was clearly the girl the daughter of Ares loved most. Either way, she lost something.

Her last name was right. You rued the day you ever met Clarisse.

[ierr]

↳ summary katsuki can’t stop visiting his favorite support tool.

¡ a.n ; hey yall! it’s been awhile I know 😔 I don’t have much to say but I will say updates are still gonna be coming slow, i’ve been busy with work and on top of that school so bare with me.! 🙏 hope you guys enjoy.

being a support tool for a pro hero was interesting to say the least. every time and you mean EVERY time he would come into your workshop your co workers would always tease you, whenever he came in with a broken gauntlet, or his belt, or anything for that matter, as soon as he would drop off his gear for you to work on they would tease you, says stuff like “I bet he likes youuuu.” said one “isn’t this his 2nd time coming today? he must really like seeing you~.” said another just smirking shaking your head working on his gauntlet.

you do have to admit, it’s nice being a support tool for a pro hero at that being dynamite. it was cool working on his stuff or even explaining your ideas for his gauntlets or even little gadgets you had in mind, like for his gloves for the winter, when you were explaining it to him you’ve never realized how much he actually listened to you keeping eye contact with you till one of your co workers said something. he doesn’t like admitting stuff but he loves when you talk about ideas that’s just for him. would nod his head in agreement everytime getting lost with your voice..”so for whenever winter comes you’ll have these!. there automatic hand warmer gloves to help you produce more sweat for your explosions. It’s still a project in mind but— dynamite?.” you paused furrowing your eyebrows seeing him stare at you, almost like he’s glaring at you??.

did you say something wrong?!. shit! you probably pissed him off..great work y/n!. while you were mentally cussing yourself out as he was deep in thought…he never liked when people talked his ear off but you? he can make an exception..he loved hearing every single idea you had for his suits or to help him. honestly he could listen to you ramble on and on if he had the chance, he didn’t even notice your panic up until you called his name getting him out his thoughts. “what?.” — “I said did I do anything..? you’re glaring at me.” you nervously chuckled, almost in an instant he cursed to himself. he’s always had this mean resting bitch face, so whenever he’s calm he still looks mad. dynamite shook his head oddly quickly, “no!— I mean no..uh you didn’t.” he cleared his throat. fuck! you furrowed your eyebrows but shook your head looking back down at the glove, “I’ll let you know when the full designed is completed.” you gave a small smile turning back around to place the glove back on your work bench.

some days your co workers would catch on how many times he’s came in, saying one day he came in three times! one was when his belt broke, two is when his gauntlet was malfunctioning and the third..? you don’t think you remember him saying anything about any of his stuff being broken. when you had asked he had this small blush on his cheeks as he tried to explain himself, grinning at him trying to find his words. at first you thought it was cute by how many times he’s came to see you but then you started to get curious, the night where it was just you in your workshop working on your project you heard heavy footsteps approach you from behind. you paused your work lifting your head up, the more the steps came closer the more your grip tightened on the screw driver. your quirk wasn’t as cool as the pro’s but it was very helpful..if a person is atleast 15 feet from you, you can feel there presence and hear their breathing.

as if someone was about to touch you, you whipped around fast pointing the screw driver at the persons neck but once you realized who it was your defenses dropped. “dynamight?.” you questioned, furrowing your eyebrows. he looked different? instead of his costume he was wearing casual attire, a white t-shirt, black jeans and sneakers. you think this is your first time seeing him wear something outside his costume, he was also holding flowers in his hand?. you felt your heart drop but you kept a smile on your face tilting your head, “what are you doing here? It’s late you know.” you chuckled as he sighed nodding his head. “yeah..I just thought I could stop by..” he was nervous. you could tell. you hummed looking back down at the flowers then him, “you’re all dressed up. you got a hot date tonight?.” you teased, though you didn’t want it to be true.

In an instant he shook his head furrowing his eyebrows, “no!. I..no. uh there actually for you..” he said quietly, you raised a brow. “there for me?.” he didn’t say anything but nod his head lifting them for you to grab. they were your favorite too..how did he..? “and there my favorite..” you smiled admiring them, “how did you know?.” dynamight shrugged looking away trying to cover the small blush, “I asked shitty hair.” of course, you shook your head chuckling softly. “dynamight—“ — “katsuki.” you paused. “call me katsuki.” he looked back at you and you swore he had a smile on his face, “katsuki..” It rolled off your tongue in a good way, “well then katsuki, why you get me flowers?.” this was the hard part. admitting he took a liking of you and wanted to ask you out on a date, he went to kirishima for advice since you’re basically his sister and he knows everything about you. though kirishima can be an idiot sometimes he’s actually really good at advice..

he cleared his throat trying to get the right words out. from the silence you gave a soft smile placing the flowers gently down on your desk, grabbing ahold of his hand squeezing it. “you know, you don’t have to tell me anything right now. I won’t force you.” the gentle in your voice could make anyone calm their nerves. it was calming his. he sighed squeezing your back, “well..I want to take you out or something.” — “like a date?.” he nodded his head, you smiled. when he didn’t get an answer he thought you were gonna decline but when he felt you kiss his cheek his eyes went wide, “I would love that.”

“I really would.”