Wanted to just pop in and say that I love your writing. Simon being a weird dude and picking up chicks by talking about bugs is just *chefs kiss*. I imagine he’d be one of those guys who brings his witchy s/o bones and stuff.
I actually don't know much abt "witchy" stuff ( ´△｀) but I can totally see ghost eagerly helping you out if you need bones or other stuff for whatever reason!!
On days when ghost feels more corpse than person, more like the after affects of roba than the living thing that calls himself your friend, he goes out to the woods. He likes to walk with nature, leave his human mind somewhere else and simply exist among the bugs and the leaves and the detritus.
That of course means he finds so many bones and plants and cool sticks. He keeps a little notebook no larger than his palm with all the things you collect from the woods on him so he knows what to take.
Your simon comes back to the apartment smelling like petrichor and soil, always with a new gift. Sometimes bones, sometimes plants you're running low on, sometimes a cool knife you're pretty sure is a murder weapon.
His eyes squint into a smile and his scars tug into odd creases whenever you praise him for the gift. He just likes being helpful :3
Basket seastar!hybrid reader who is used to being a little...left out. Too many branching limbs, the standard human-like trunk and shoulders extending at the elbow in not a single arm but multiple splits, a vast fern-like explosion of arm/hand/finger things, constantly shifting and exploring. A nightmare to manage with clothes so you often modify your uniform to be sleeveless, which means everyone gets a direct view of your limbs.
And none of them like it.
Too creepy, too weird and the movement freaks people out, the way the tiniest of phalanges curls and twists. You train yourself to wind the fronds tight together, make a single or double limb, but inevitably you lose control and it all explodes out again.
You learn to stay in the back of the room, to hide when possible, and even the skills that brought you to the 141- the way you can type a code, write a message, and field strip a weapon all simultaneously- are better off in the shadows, where your new team can't get too...upset. Can't snap and sneer, wiping off their arms and hands if they accidentally touch you, shoving you away if your fronds start to reach for them or anything they're holding.
"The fuck're you doin' back here?"
You look up at your lieutenant. Ghost is glaring down at you, dark eyes scowling out of his balaclava. "Um...eating?" Your hand-frond curls around another French fry. Salt, oil, potato, a preservative in the potato. Greasy fingers that prepped it all onto the tray.
"Yeah, and why alone? Team eats together, that's the rule," he says, and jerks his thumb over to the table he and the sergeants are at. He grabs your tray, and you don't have a choice but to follow.
The other men welcome you warmly, and to your astonishment, they don't skitter away as your phalanges spread over the table, touching their trays, an instinct you can't fully reign in. Soap's drink slides across the table towards you, and you wince, fronds peeling away from it. Aluminum, paint, fresh water in the condensation, and your microscopic hooks leave little marks in the logo.
"Sorry! Sorry, I can...get you a new one..." You trail off, because he's shrugging and taking his drink back, touching it easily.
"Eh, if I was that worried about it, I'd get it myself. You're fine, love," he adds, and your throat is tight. Is this really all it takes? One tiny kindness?
Gaz grins. "Look, I know you're worried, but we really do not give a shit about all- this," he gestures to your wide, branching baskets of arms, "outside of what it means for our missions. Do you know how many weird bugs that one has brought home?"
He nods to your left, and you look over to Ghost, where he's examining the delicate phalanges that have spread over his arm with the care and focus of a master watchmaker. He strips off a glove, and your breath catches in your chest as he touches the very tip of a frond with his finger- a tiny burst of taste, salt-skin-oil-cotton, the base building blocks of the man called Ghost- and shakes it solemnly, like he's meeting you for the first time.
Soap pats your shoulder, and doesn't twitch when your arm splits in surprise. "Not that you're a bug! But, y'know, when you get two hours in a transport home being told all about the way this beetle works and lives, you start to see the beauty in the strange. And nothing's stranger than our LT!"
He's grinning, easy and relaxed even as your arms start to steal his spoon. Stainless steel, oils from his skin, cheap plastic handle. Gaz loses a couple of his own French fries, and takes a few of yours in return, and you sit there with your arms wide open, a basket getting bigger with every surprised, delighted thump of your heart.
It’s not common for support techs to be out in the field, let alone caught mid-battle with a villain, but there’s a first time for everything.
content: comfort/fluff, pro hero!bakugo, support tech!reader, mentions of blood, wound care, talks of marriage. wc: ~ 900
Everything hurts. Your head, body, and now…your heart.
“Why didn’t you call me?!” Bakugo cries out from your shared bathroom, rustling through the closet for your first aid kit. He’s grumbling something to himself that you can’t quite make out, but you know he’s upset — understandably so. You should have taken time to call him from the agency when your phone died, but too much was happening and time got away from you.
He returns a few moments later, gripping your wrist and tugging you over to the couch. You settle into your normal spot as he rips open the metal tin, grabbing some cotton pads to soak them with alcohol. Bakugo carefully dabs away the dried blood from your cheeks and chin, causing you to wince at the stinging pain.
“What the fuck even happened, baby? Your shift ended at 9 and it’s past midnight.” His voice has descended from anger to pure concern. He knew you must have a reason why you didn’t call him, why you didn’t bother to let him know you were safe.
“I…got caught up in a villain attack. There was an emergency request for the nearby sector that needed replacement gear, and when I got there, it was chaos,” you explain, exhaustion littered all throughout your speech. “LeMillion’s suit ripped too much and he needed a patch up to continue using his quirk without repercussion. While helping him off to the side, the villain attacked us. The others did their best to distract him.”
“Christ,” Bakugo grumbles under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He pushes your hair out of your face to uncover the lone cut above your eyebrow, three fresh stitches holding it together. The glint of worry in his eyes softens once he sees them, knowing you had been evaluated by a medical team gave him some peace of mind.
“Get up,” he instructs, waiting for you to move out of your spot. And you do, long enough for him to take your place and pull you back into his lap. He does another once over of the damage on your face and collarbone, clicking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval.
“Med team let you walk out all bloody?”
You settle into his lap and place your hands on his shoulders. “Guess they thought I’d just wash it off at home.”
“Fuckin’ shitty if ya ask me. They didn’t even clean around your stitches,” Bakugo comments, examining them further before dabbing alcohol around the edges of the gash. When you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain, the wound releases a droplet of blood. He groans in annoyance, reaching for a proper wound cover to prevent anymore damage to your pretty face.
“M’gonna rip that team a new one tomorrow, fuckin’ shitty ass job patchin’ you up. This could get infected if not covered to let the stitches do their damn job.”
You knew this was gonna happen from the second you unlocked the door and Bakugo was in your face about where you were, anxiously waiting for you. Frowning, you shake your head. “Kats, baby, it’s not—”
“It’s a big fuckin’ deal to me when you’re comin’ home in the dead of night and covered in blood!” He cradles your cheeks in his hands, fingers trembling against your skin. The dim moonlight illuminating the living room highlights the glassiness of his crimson stare, making your heart sink deeper into your chest.
“I don’t wanna worry about getting a call about you bein’ in the hospital,” he whispers, voice cracking as he’s casting his eyes downward to avoid your gaze. “I…don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.“
"Hey,” you soothe, nuzzling your nose with his and placing your hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Bakugo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself down from the anxious thoughts clouding his mind. You’re right — you’re safe and sound, that’s what matters.
“Damn right, you’re stuck with me,” he leans forward to place a soft kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head tenderly. When you part, he stays close before mumbling, “Forever.”
“I dunno, my finger’s looking a little naked for being stuck with you forever,” you joke, giggling maniacally when Bakugo’s face and neck instantly flush pink. “I’m kidding, babe. You know I love—”
He cuts you off with a second kiss, deeper and rougher than the last. He moves his hand from the back of your head to your back for support. In between kisses, you think you hear him say, “Fine, marry me then.”
Now your face is beat red, body growing hot from his words that you’re…not even sure he actually said. You let out a quiet ‘huh?’ in response, speechless as you sit back in his lap. He cackles, shit-eating grin plastered across his face when he teasingly says, “Think you’re hearin’ shit, sweets. Let’s get ya in the shower and to bed.”
You get up from the couch and follow him to the bathroom, his shirt already off by the time you shut the door. You can’t help but wonder if you were hearing things…maybe it’s just your exhaustion.
Or maybe, just maybe…it was real, and you just have to be patient. For now, you’re more than content with what you two have now.
an old drabble from the peachsukii archives :) one of my personal faves! a little close call makes bakugo think about the bigger picture <3 (dividers : @/pixynari)
It’s not common for support techs to be out in the field, let alone caught mid-battle with a villain, but there’s a first time for everything.
content: comfort/fluff, pro hero!bakugo, support tech!reader, mentions of blood, wound care, talks of marriage. wc: ~ 900
Everything hurts. Your head, body, and now…your heart.
“Why didn’t you call me?!” Bakugo cries out from your shared bathroom, rustling through the closet for your first aid kit. He’s grumbling something to himself that you can’t quite make out, but you know he’s upset — understandably so. You should have taken time to call him from the agency when your phone died, but too much was happening and time got away from you.
He returns a few moments later, gripping your wrist and tugging you over to the couch. You settle into your normal spot as he rips open the metal tin, grabbing some cotton pads to soak them with alcohol. Bakugo carefully dabs away the dried blood from your cheeks and chin, causing you to wince at the stinging pain.
“What the fuck even happened, baby? Your shift ended at 9 and it’s past midnight.” His voice has descended from anger to pure concern. He knew you must have a reason why you didn’t call him, why you didn’t bother to let him know you were safe.
“I…got caught up in a villain attack. There was an emergency request for the nearby sector that needed replacement gear, and when I got there, it was chaos,” you explain, exhaustion littered all throughout your speech. “LeMillion’s suit ripped too much and he needed a patch up to continue using his quirk without repercussion. While helping him off to the side, the villain attacked us. The others did their best to distract him.”
“Christ,” Bakugo grumbles under his breath, biting the inside of his cheek. He pushes your hair out of your face to uncover the lone cut above your eyebrow, three fresh stitches holding it together. The glint of worry in his eyes softens once he sees them, knowing you had been evaluated by a medical team gave him some peace of mind.
“Get up,” he instructs, waiting for you to move out of your spot. And you do, long enough for him to take your place and pull you back into his lap. He does another once over of the damage on your face and collarbone, clicking his tongue against his teeth in disapproval.
“Med team let you walk out all bloody?”
You settle into his lap and place your hands on his shoulders. “Guess they thought I’d just wash it off at home.”
“Fuckin’ shitty if ya ask me. They didn’t even clean around your stitches,” Bakugo comments, examining them further before dabbing alcohol around the edges of the gash. When you squeeze your eyes shut at the pain, the wound releases a droplet of blood. He groans in annoyance, reaching for a proper wound cover to prevent anymore damage to your pretty face.
“M’gonna rip that team a new one tomorrow, fuckin’ shitty ass job patchin’ you up. This could get infected if not covered to let the stitches do their damn job.”
You knew this was gonna happen from the second you unlocked the door and Bakugo was in your face about where you were, anxiously waiting for you. Frowning, you shake your head. “Kats, baby, it’s not—”
“It’s a big fuckin’ deal to me when you’re comin’ home in the dead of night and covered in blood!” He cradles your cheeks in his hands, fingers trembling against your skin. The dim moonlight illuminating the living room highlights the glassiness of his crimson stare, making your heart sink deeper into your chest.
“I don’t wanna worry about getting a call about you bein’ in the hospital,” he whispers, voice cracking as he’s casting his eyes downward to avoid your gaze. “I…don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.“
"Hey,” you soothe, nuzzling your nose with his and placing your hand on the back of his neck to keep him close. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Bakugo takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to calm himself down from the anxious thoughts clouding his mind. You’re right — you’re safe and sound, that’s what matters.
“Damn right, you’re stuck with me,” he leans forward to place a soft kiss to your lips, holding the back of your head tenderly. When you part, he stays close before mumbling, “Forever.”
“I dunno, my finger’s looking a little naked for being stuck with you forever,” you joke, giggling maniacally when Bakugo’s face and neck instantly flush pink. “I’m kidding, babe. You know I love—”
He cuts you off with a second kiss, deeper and rougher than the last. He moves his hand from the back of your head to your back for support. In between kisses, you think you hear him say, “Fine, marry me then.”
Now your face is beat red, body growing hot from his words that you’re…not even sure he actually said. You let out a quiet ‘huh?’ in response, speechless as you sit back in his lap. He cackles, shit-eating grin plastered across his face when he teasingly says, “Think you’re hearin’ shit, sweets. Let’s get ya in the shower and to bed.”
You get up from the couch and follow him to the bathroom, his shirt already off by the time you shut the door. You can’t help but wonder if you were hearing things…maybe it’s just your exhaustion.
Or maybe, just maybe…it was real, and you just have to be patient. For now, you’re more than content with what you two have now.
an old drabble from the peachsukii archives :) one of my personal faves! a little close call makes bakugo think about the bigger picture <3 (dividers : @/pixynari)
SUMMARY - You receive a message from a random number and you two begin texting frequently. However, you accidentally figure out who it is.
CONTAINS - banter (crack to a point), aerion is aerion, modern AU, peep the small details!!
A/N - i keep getting vague modern aerion requests soo!
Your phone vibrated against your mattress late at night.
You rolled over, the glare of the screen hitting your eyes in your dark room. It was an unsaved number.
UNKNOWN: where the fuck is the link for davis’s class
You stared at the screen for a few seconds. You were wide awake, and you definitely didn’t have the energy to start on your own work.
You giggled at your own message before hitting send.
YOU: I sold it oops
The reply came before you could even exit the app.
UNKNOWN: stop fucking around man im not in the mood
YOU: I dont think this is the right number lol
A minute passed with the typing bubbles flickering on and off a couple times.
UNKNOWN: the fuck
YOU: If ur stuck on his class just check the 2022 archive
There was no response after that. You eventually drifted off to sleep, figuring that was the end of a weird interaction.
Four days passed, and you completely forgot about the random text until friday when you received a notification from the same number.
UNKNOWN: it worked
You blinked at the message, trying to remember who it even was.
YOU: Yeah
UNKNOWN: howd you know about that
YOU: I saw his desktop open with that site and took my chances
UNKNOWN: youre actually not michael?
YOU: No im pretty sure im not a guy
You thought the conversation would end there, but about ten minutes later, you got another text.
UNKNOWN: any other shortcuts u know about
YOU: Maybe
Over the next two weeks, the texts became a weird regular thing. It wasn’t a constant back and forth, but it turned into a daily routine.
You’d get a text in the middle of the afternoon about whatever, or you’d send a quick message about random things in your life.
You didn’t know each other. There was no pressure. You didn't have to put on a performance to try to impress whoever it was you were talking to.
UNKNOWN: what were u saying
UNKNOWN: just got to the gym
YOU: Tf didnt you just leave ur room
UNKNOWN: yeah
YOU: Is the gym right next to ur house or smth
UNKNOWN: the gyms downstairs
YOU: Oh you live in an apartment??
UNKNOWN: no
UNKNOWN: i have a gym in my house dumbass
YOU: Oh!!!!!
YOU: Different tax bracket
UNKNOWN: funny
You found yourself looking forward to those short, blunt messages. He was definitely arrogant, but he was always honest and that pulled you in.
By the third week, the conversations started stretching later into the night. You’d be lying in bed, messaging your friends, and a text would pop up at 1 AM.
👻: why the fuck are you awake
YOU: Im readingg
YOU: why are YOU awake
👻: driving
YOU: Ur gonna die
YOU: Get off ur phone
👻: You sound like my dad
👻: He’s the reason im driving
YOU: Shit is he at the hospital??
👻: no im clearing my head
YOU: Oh
YOU: You okay?
👻: family dinner was so fucking annoying
👻: just micromanaging my schedule like im some kid
YOU: I feel that, my parents keep controlling my life its so stupid
👻: exactly its pathetic
👻: honestly its weird talking to you
You: Ok whyd i catch a stray hello
👻: no i mean its off talking to someone who isnt trying to get something out of me
YOU: idek who u are so theres nothing to get
👻: keep it that way
Then during one morning, you walked into the lecture hall for Professor Davis’s class.
The room was already buzzing with students and you took your usual seat next to Tanselle who was busy drawing sketches on her paper.
“Did you finish the reading he gave last week?” Tanselle asked, not looking up from her page.
“Barely,” you muttered, pulling your laptop out of your bag. “I read like two pages.”
Down in the fourth row, right near the aisle, Aerion Targaryen was slouched back in his seat. He had his dark leather jacket slung over the back of his chair and was surrounded by his usual crowd.
One of them said something, and Aerion let out a short laugh. The guy looked around the group with triumph all over his face, proud that he managed to impress Aerion.
Just then, your professor began talking and it didn't take long for you to lose focus.
Bored out of your mind as Professor Davis started droning on about the text you guys were supposed to read, you pulled your phone out under the desk.
YOU: Im bored entertain me
You hit send.
You kept your eyes on your screen, but then out of habit, your gaze drifted back down toward the front of the room.
Down in row four, you watched Aerion reach into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, a small smirk tugging on the corner of his lip.
His jaw set as he read something, and his thumbs immediately typed out a fast response before he shoved the phone face down on his desk.
Your phone vibrated in your palm.
👻: go entertain yourself
Your breath hitched. You stared at the screen, your heart doing a weird thud against your ribs.
No way, you thought. The lecture hall is massive. At least forty people were on their phones. It’s a coincidence.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. You needed to be absolutely sure. You typed out a reply, keeping your eyes glued directly on the back of his silver head.
YOU: Ok unkind
YOU: So ur actually paying attention to class?
The exact moment your text delivered, you watched as Aerion’s head tilted down. He picked his phone back up, scoffing under his breath. His thumbs moved around the screen, typing quickly.
Buzz.
👻: no im looking at my phone because a dumbass is texting me
A cold wave of panic hit you.
Your eyes darted from the screen to the back of his leather jacket. Your mind was short-circuiting, trying to connect the dots.
Aerion Targaryen.
Aerion Targaryen who had a reputation for being, well, himself— was the exact same person who had been texting you until midnight.
You spent the remaining minutes of that lecture staring into the wall. Every time Aerion shifted, your eyes snapped straight to him.
When the bell finally rang, the sudden noise of chairs scraping against the floor made you jump.
“Thank god,” Tanselle muttered, slamming her notebook shut. “You coming to the library?”
“I don’t think so,” you replied after a beat, shoving your things into your bag.
At the front, Aerion was already walking. One of the guys threw an arm over his shoulder and Aerion swatted him off with a grin.
He didn’t look back once. He had absolutely no idea.
For the next three days, every time your phone buzzed, your stomach did a flip. You knew exactly who was on the other side of the screen now, while he remained clueless.
During a late saturday night, you were eating with your friends when your screen lit up.
👻: this movies terrible
👻: why would you recommend this
You stared at the text. Knowing it was Aerion, reading the texts felt completely surreal.
YOU: Ok my bad ill just die
YOU: Its good tho idk what ur on
👻: its not
You: Lol turn it off then
👻: im already an hour in
👻: wouldnt wanna hurt your feelings
YOU: Aww how sweet
YOU: Stubborn bitch…
You bit your lip as you sent the second message. No one would dare to call him that in person, it was thrilling.
👻: lmao
👻: what are you doing anyway
YOU: Eating cheesecake
YOU: Wait have u done the assignment due next week
👻: nah im dreading the partner assignment on monday
👻: if i get paired with one of the idiots im doing it alone
You swallowed hard, grabbing your glass to drink the strain away.
YOU: Maybe youll get someone decent
👻: doubt it
You closed your phone and pressed it onto your chest. He was so different in real life.
When monday came, the room was silenced as Professor Davis tapped his microphone, turning on the massive projector behind him.
“Alright, I’ve randomized the pairings for the research,” he announced. “Check the board, find your partner, and spend the rest of the period discussing with them.”
Your eyes scanned the list, stopping as you found your name near the center column.
Your lungs locked up.
Aerion Targaryen was written right next to it.
“Oh, jeez,” Tanselle said, looking at you with worry. “You got Aerion… Good luck babe.”
Down in row four, Aerion didn’t even bother looking back to find his partner. He simply opened his laptop, ignoring the rest of the room while his friends started moving around. He clearly expected whoever his partner was to come to him.
You took in a deep breath, grabbing your bag.
Walking down the steps felt like walking a plank. As you got closer to his seat, a couple of his friends looked up at you. One of them nudged the guy next to him to clear a seat for you, leaving an empty chair next to Aerion.
You gave them a light smile before sliding into the seat, setting your laptop on the desk. Up close, he smelled like expensive cologne and musk.
“You’re my partner?” he asked, his voice a careless drawl. He still didn’t look at you, opening a blank document.
“Yeah.” You kept your voice as even as possible.
“Type in your email,” he said, turning the laptop just an inch so you could see the screen. “I’ll do the body and everything else. You do the outline and introduction.”
You blinked at him, the contrast hitting you like a physical punch. No jokes, no banter, no casualty.
You were aware he had a reputation for being a ‘womanizer.’ So why was he so cold to you?
“Okay,” you mumbled as you awkwardly reached out to type in your email.
He didn’t say another word to you for the rest of the hour. You sat right next to him, occasionally looking at the side of his sharp profile, realizing this was the same guy who had texted you about the miserable movie you recommended to him just two nights ago.
By 10 PM that same day, you were sitting on your bed, staring at the shared Google Docs. He had already finished his sections before you did.
Your phone buzzed on your blanket.
👻: just wrapped up that history project early so i dont have to deal with it later
You read his message, a sour feeling building up in your chest. You picked it up, your expression hardening.
YOU: Lucky, im still doing mine
You lied.
👻: thats sad
Chewing on your inner cheek, your thumbs moved before you could stop.
YOU: Hows ur partner
The typing bubbles appeared immediately.
👻: its some girl in my section i didnt pay attention
👻: she didnt mess anything up, shes whatever
She’s whatever.
Your eyes fixed on his message until they blurred. You had spent weeks listening to him, laughing at his texts, sharing personal concerns to each other—and yet in real life, you were just a boring, insignificant whatever to him.
The irritation flared up. You tossed your laptop onto your bedside table and sat back against the headboard of your bed.
YOU: Cool
A minute passed without a response.
👻: just cool?
YOU: Yeah
👻: youre acting weird
You left the text on read. Not like it mattered, his read receipts were off. Throwing the phone somewhere in your bed, you didn’t reply.
For the next few days, you struggled returning to how you normally were.
He didn’t text you the next morning but eventually did at night, and you left it unreplied for two hours before sending a short answer.
👻: you alive?
YOU: Yes
👻: ok whats wrong then
YOU: Nothing
👻: ???
YOU: What
👻: fine
It felt petty, but each time you looked at your phone, you remembered him sitting right next to you and not even glancing your way. You felt stupid, but his words hurt too.
If you were just a blank space to him in person, you figured it would be better if you were that way on every platform.
By the end of the week, the silence between your texts was heavy. He didn’t text you back after the last chat, and you definitely weren’t going to break first.
You were sitting in class when Tanselle walked in, settling in the chair beside you.
Professor Davis cleared his throat before speaking. “Alright, before we start today’s lecture, I’ve set up a group thread for the upcoming peer reviews. Click on the link and make sure you’re in it by the end of the day.”
You opened your phone to join the chat, then automatically shoved the phone back into your bag. You had no intention of participating.
The period of the lecture ended with a few minutes remaining and your phone started vibrating nonstop.
You tried to ignore it, but the constant noise was getting frustrating. You reached into your bag and pulled it out, looking to mute the group.
A new message popped up at the bottom of the chat. A classmate tagged your number directly because you hadn’t put your name on the sheet yet.
Too annoyed with the whole class to care, you swiped the app and locked your screen.
Then, your eyes subconsciously drifted toward Aerion. You watched as he pulled his phone out.
He was scrolling through the mass text thread when suddenly, he froze.
His head tilted slightly. Narrowing his eyes, he looked at the only text tagging a number. The number he’d been texting every day.
Up front, the classmate who had sent the message lost his patience. He turned around, looking up at where you and Tanselle were sitting.
The guy called out your name, his voice turning multiple heads in the quiet room. “I just tagged your number in the group, you need to upload your topic.”
The sound of your name echoed through the lecture.
Aerion’s head snapped up.
He didn’t look at the guy talking to you. His eyes darted straight up until they locked dead onto you.
The usual expression on his face dropped away. His eyes searched your entire face, his brows drawing in closer.
He saw the phone in your hand before going back to your face.
It clicked.
You stilled under his gaze, the blood rushing loud in your ears.
Beside you, Tanselle nudged your shoulder. “Babe. Babe? He’s talking to you?”
“Yeah,” you managed to choke out. Your fingers felt like wood as you uploaded the topic into the sheet. “Done. It’s in there.”
The classmate muttered a quick thanks and turned back around.
But Aerion didn’t.
He stayed shifted in his seat, his body turned toward your row. One of his friends said something, laughing and clapping him on the shoulder, but Aerion blindly shrugged the guy’s hands off without looking at him. His dark gaze remained on you.
You looked down at your screen, pretending to type, but you could feel the weight of his stare.
A quick glance back down confirmed it. He was staring at you like he was seeing you for the first time, his mind putting the pieces together.
Some girl in my section, she’s whatever. He finally understood why you had iced him.
When the bell rang, you instantly stood up, already packing your bag.
“Why are you in such a rush?” Tanselle asked, shaking her head with confusion.
You gave her a tight smile. “I just need to get back.”
You wanted to wait out the crowd, hoping he’d leave first, but Aerion was already standing by the row exit.
He leaned his back against the desk, ignoring his friends as they stood confused as to why he was still there.
Panic flared in your chest. You didn’t think this through properly.
Without thinking, you threw yourself into the small crowd shuffling through the other exit at the top of the hall.
You basically sprinted across the stone of the parking lot, your keys already clutched in your hand. Unlocking the car, you threw your bag into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut.
You slumped on the headrest, gripping the steering wheel as you finally let out a breath.
Then, your phone lit up with two notifications.
There were two missed calls and above them another notification popped up. It was a text.
࿔.ᐟ summary Loving Damian means understanding that sometimes Gotham comes first. You’ve made peace with that, mostly. So when he can’t attend a Doctor Who convention you’ve been looking forward to, you understand. Mostly.
࿔.ᐟ tw angst, kissing, lots of nerding out about Doctor Who!!, tooth rotting fluff! (this oneshot is my pride and joy)
Being a Doctor Who enthusiast, from a young age, you had spent years waiting for something impossible to happen.
Not in some dramatic way. You weren’t standing in fields at midnight waiting for spaceships to land. But every time a stranger smiled like they knew something, every time you found a locked door where there shouldn’t be one, every time your phone glitched at exactly 11:11, some ridiculous hopeful part of you whispered: this could be it.
It never was.
Usually.
Then you met Damian Wayne.
In many ways, he was your impossible.
Not because he was a billionaire’s son. Not because he was intimidating, stubborn or frustratingly attractive. There was just something about him. Something that made you want to know more.
At the time you knew nothing about vigilantes, secret identities or the centuries of history tangled up in his family tree. You only knew that every conversation with him felt like finding a clue to a mystery you weren’t supposed to solve.
So naturally, you wormed your way into his life.
Damian being Damian, acted as though your presence was merely tolerable. If that had actually been true, however, you probably wouldn’t be dating him now. Nor would you be hopelessly and ridiculously in love with each other.
“And that’s why Ten is the best Doctor!” your said, ending your rant.
The manor was devoid of vigilante’s save from the one sitting on his bed across from where you stood, pacing around in small circles while you went on your rant about who the best Doctor Who Doctor is.
“Didn’t you say the same thing about Eleven last week?” Damian asked, his eyes following your moving figure as it came to an abrupt stop.
“No! No,” you stared at him in mock horror, “I most definitely did not say that. I think you’re a bit confused because what I actually said was that my favorite Doctor-companion relationship is Eleven and Amy Pond but Ten is my favorite Doctor!”
He knew what your exact words had been last week but it was fun to occasionally tease you, especially when you got so passionate. “My apologies, Beloved” he said entirely unapologetic, but there was a small smile on his face that you didn’t miss. Oh you knew exactly what he had done, a glare settled over your eyes but a smile was on your lips.
“You remember exactly what I actually said, don’t you?” You marched toward the bed.
“I remember everything you say.” The response came easily. Earnestly. And that was the thing about Damian. For all his sharp edges and carefully constructed walls, he listened. More than anyone else ever had.
Once you were close enough, Damian settled his hands on your waist and pulled you into his lap. You didn’t even flinch at the action, his hold was always so familiar, “Aww, you remember everything.”
Damian scrunched his face in that way he never really does for anyone but you, “I possess functioning ears.”
You lightly swat his chest, “Oh, stop it. You’re just a sap… or maybe you’re just secretly a massive Doctor Who fan! Those four episode you watched, sure as heck got you drawn in?” you teased him in return of his earlier teasing of you.
“An absurd conclusion.” He dismissed your words instead turning you both over in his hold until you were laying on the mattress beneath him. He had a devious look on his face and you knew what that meant.
Without warning, Damian attacked your sides.
You yelped. Then immediately dissolved into laughter. “Okay, okay, you’re not a massive nerd that likes Doctor Who!” you said in between laughter and he seized his attacks, “You’re just hopelessly in love with me.” You drew out the words to make them sound sappier.
They were sappy in a way, yes, but they were also very true and the both of you knew that. Damian leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your lips and then moved upwards to place one on your forehead. A gentle act. Damian had never been good at saying how he felt. He was much better at showing it.
You ran your hands through his hair. Moments like these were rare, not because it wasn’t both of your favorite moments, but because loving Damian often meant sharing him with responsibilities far bigger than either of you.
You allowed for the silence to settle before starting again, “Speaking of Doctor Who…”
Damian hummed in response.
You couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face, “The convention is in Metropolis in two weeks”
“Mm.” He beckoned in response, for you to continue. “I’m doing an Amy cosplay.”
“I know.”
“How?” you gasp.
“You’ve shown me 6 possible outfits of hers that you wish to choose from.”
The memory of you asking him which outfit he thinks you should do, because you’re far too indecisive to just decide on your own, entered your mind. “Right, right.” You turned on your side to face him as he had moved from hovering above you to lay on his back beside you.
You leaned against your one arm while the other came up to cup Damian’s cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch. You hesitated for a moment before saying, “You should come.”
Damian’s eyes meet yours and for a moment neither of you speak. Then his gaze shifts away. It’s brief and to anyone else barely noticeable, but not to you. You’ve spent enough time studying every one of his little expressions to spot the hesitation immediately.
“To the convention?” He asks.
“Well, yes.”
“Beloved…”
Ah, there it was.
You already knew it was coming. You were used to it by now. Or rather, you should be. All the dates that had been cancelled at the last minute. All the times you were supposed to spend together cut short because he had to go be something more than just your boyfriend. This was no different.
Damian was trying his best and it’s not an excuse, you know that, “There’s a league meeting scheduled on the same weekend and- and father really wants me to be there.”
You pull away from him and instead lean over to pick up the Robin teddy that sat against the pillows of the bed. You had made the teddy as a joke. Something to cuddle whenever Damian was off saving Gotham and somehow, over time, it have stopped feeling entirely like a joke. It had ended up Damian’s room. Your attention now remained on the bear. “It’s okay”
You forced a smile, focusing on the stitching of the tiny cape.
Out of the corner of your eye you watched as Damian sat up and his eyes were burning holes into the side of your head.
“Really, Dami. You don’t have to explain.”
You felt that it would be quite selfish to feel disappointed even if that’s exactly how you did feel so the least you could do was hide it away and not make it any more difficult for him. You know where you fall on Damian’s list of priorities. Not because you aren’t important, but because Gotham came first. It always would.
He immediately notices, not because you’re upset but because you’re pretending not to be.
Damian frowns, “You are disappointed.”
“What?” Your response is quick.
“You are disappointed.” He repeats, leaving you no room for escape.
You continue inspecting the teddy in your hands, “No, I’m not.” Again you see Damian shuffle out of the corner of your eye.
“You are.” Why does he have to be so blunt?
Shrugging your shoulders you exasperatedly respond, wanting the conversation to be over, “It’s not a big deal.” Of course he doesn’t believe you, “You’ve been speaking about this convention for 3 weeks.”
You know he’s aware of the act you’re putting on and you know he wants you to be truthful, he just doesn’t realize that’s going to hurt him. Dejectedly you finally respond, the words just above a whisper.
“You have more important things to do.”
And they were important things. Lives were on the line. Responsibilities that affected far more than just one disappointed girlfriend.
Damian said nothing, but you could feel his eyes on you. As if he were trying to solve something. As if he were trying to devise a plan on how he could fix this situation. Eventually, you stopped picking at the teddy’s fur, turned and smiled.
“Anyway.” You sat up, pushing down all that you were feeling, “You still haven’t helped me pick an Amy outfit.”
With that the conversation moved on, or at least you tried to make it. But the guilt lingered in Damian, as you once again showed him your outfit options. He’s never had to balance a relationship with duty because the way he grew up was always that duty came first. But now he had a duty to you too.
In the days that followed, you never mentioned the convention again. At first, Damian thought little of it. People moved on from disappointments all the time. You certainly seem to have and the conversation had ended in his room, right? Except it hadn’t.
For nearly a month, the convention had somehow found its way into every conversation. You had shown him countless cosplay ideas, debated which Doctor was superior (more so with yourself because he never argued back), and spent an alarming amount of time explaining obscure pieces of Doctor Who lore. Damian had never understood half of it, but he had listened because your passion and excitement were infectious.
And now suddenly, there was nothing. The convention had disappeared from conversation entirely as though it had never existed in the first place.
On your side, you were trying not to dwell on it. Trying not to imagine what it would’ve been like to drag Damian from booth to booth while he pretended to not be enjoying himself. You had told him it was okay, and it was. Mostly.
The morning of the convention had arrived far sooner than you expected to feel it arrive and you were halfway through fixing the final details of your Amy Pond outfit when your phone buzzed beside you. You turned away from the mirror to look at the lit up screen on your bed.
Damian.
A smile made its way to your face, regardless of the bittersweet feeling in your chest.
Dami <3: Come by the Manor before you leave.
You stared at the message.
You: Why?
The typing bubble appeared instantly.
Dami<3: I would like to see the finished cosplay.
A second message followed.
Dami<3: And kiss you goodbye.
Heat rushed to your cheeks and you couldn’t help the Cheshire grin that spread across your face.
You: You are such a sap.
Dami<3: Leave now before I change my mind.
Your grin only widened and you finished up fixing your outfit before grabbing your things to leave.
When you finally arrived at the Manor it was quiet. Unusually quiet for a house full of rowdy bat spawn. Then again, it was still early. You adjusted your backpack on your shoulder and smoothed down your skirt as Alfred opened the door and you were met with the familiar smile you always received upon coming to the Manor.
Alfred’s eyes swept over your costume, “You look lovely Miss y/n.”
You were absolutely glowing in your outfit, your excitement for the convention evident in the way you held yourself. “Thank you, Alfred.” You beamed.
For an odd moment the butler only looked at you and then very quickly, you almost missed it, something suspiciously close to amusement crossed his face. Your immediate thought was that it was something to do with your outfit but it was Alfred and he would never! So instead, you narrow your eyes.
“What?” Confusion evident in your voice.
“Nothing at all” he replied as he moves aside to let you in. “Alfred.” You stated as you made your way into the foyer.
“I believe Master Damian is waiting upstairs.” He brushes over your suspicions. That’s not an answer. Not even remotely.
You made your way up the stairs and to Damian’s room like you had many times before, not even having to think as your legs guided you. Once finally outside you pushed open the bedroom door.
And froze.
The moment you were greeted with the sight before you, your brain simply refused to process what it was seeing. There was absolutely no way you were seeing what you were seeing.
Brown pinstripes. Converse. A familiar brown tie with blue flowers. And 3D glasses.
Your eyes widened and then widened even further. You were rendered speechless, and then you spurted out the first thing that came to mind.
“No ways.” The words came out in pure disbelief, escaping before you could stop them.
Across the room, Damian Wayne stood with all the dignity of the son of Batman and heir to the Al Ghul Empire, rather than someone wearing a Doctor Who costume.
“Damian?” A smile was already creeping its way onto your face. His expression remained perfectly serious as he stood there, hand behind his back, like he was presenting himself to you, “Beloved.”
You opened your mouth to say something but you didn’t know what to say. Not even your knack for speaking without thinking was kicking in to help you, so you closed your mouth and continued staring. Damian straightened and then before you could ask a single question, he cleared his throat.
“I’m the Doctor.” He began.
You made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a choke. You knew exactly what he was doing, where this was going.
Damian continued, “I’m a time lord.”
Your hand flew to your mouth and your face was a mix of pure shock, surprise and just a whole lot of smiling. “Damian-”
But he only continued, “I’m from the planet Gallifrey in the constellation of Kasterborous.”
You were losing your mind. This was everything and mostly because you could not believe what was going on. Worse, or perhaps better, it was working on you far more than it should have. The entire thing was ridiculously attractive. You were just melting with every word he spoke. Meanwhile, Damian spoke the words with the same seriousness he reserved for when he was out on missions as Robin. He’s delivery was absolutely horrid, far too serious, but it didn’t even matter because he never missed a beat, going word for word.
When he finally finished, you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer. You ran straight into his arms that opened up for you the moment you move forward. Your arms flung around his neck and his wrapped around your waist, lifting you up so that you could rest your face in the crook of his neck. The both of you stayed like that for a while, Damian holding you for as long as you held on because he was waiting for your move. You eventually pulled away but only slightly so you could look at his face. His green eyes cast the softest gaze upon you and you could see the tinge of pride behind them for nailing his lines, but mostly because of the reaction he got out of you.
You leaned in and kissed him softly. He returned the kiss at the pace that you were going at. Again you pulled away and just stared at his handsome face. You were so overcome by something so tender at the gesture he had just made, that you began kissing his face all over. A peck on his lips, then his cheek, then his nose, then his forehead and any other part of his face. He smiled fondly, basking in the love you were giving him.
Once your attack of kisses were over you finally pulled away and Damian placed your hovering figure back on the ground. You took a step back and your eyes scanned over his outfit and then, without your smile of pure joy fading in the slightest, you said, “You are the wrong Doctor.”
You couldn’t help yourself, you were a massive Doctor Who nerd after all.
Damian blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift, “What?”
“You are the wrong Doctor.” You stated once again, your head cocking to the side.
“I am aware that Amy Pond travelled with the Eleventh Doctor.”
“So why are you Ten then?”
For the first time Damian looked vaguely confused by your question. It was obvious, wasn’t it?
“You said Ten was your favorite.”
Silence, just complete silence followed by an, “Oh.” Because your heart physically hurt, in the best possible way. Of course he had remembered that and of course he would dress up as your favorite, Damian never wanted to be anything else other than your favorite. And with that all the conversations and rambles came rushing back to you. Every time you had just assumed he was listening for the sake of you getting it over with when he was actually paying attention to every detail. Every single detail had stayed with him.
Your eyes raked over him again. The pinstripe suit. The converse. The tie. The sonic screwdriver you just noticed peeking out of his pocket. And for perhaps the hundredth time since meeting Damian Wayne, you found yourself falling in love with him all over again.
Coming out of your love induced trance, you checked your phone and then immediately cursed, “Oh shoot, I’m going to be late.” You grabbed your backpack that amidst your earlier surprise you had dropped on the bed and then moved toward him, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
“This is literally the greatest thing you’ve ever done!”
“I know.” Cocky bastard, but you laughed despite yourself. “I should go.” You stated. And a look of confusion came across Damian’s face, “Why?”
You paused, because it was self-explanatory, no? “…because the convention starts in three hours and it’s in Metropolis.”
“Correct.” He bluntly stated and now you felt like you were missing something self-explanatory.
You stared at him. Damian stared back. Then, slowly, realization began to dawn.
“Wait.” You almost yelled the word.
“Beloved.” Damian was smiling at you.
Your heart stopped as you watch him pick up the car keys from his desk, “Why would Amy Pond be going to a convention without her Doctor?”
You ran right into his arms, again. And for once it wasn’t about Gotham and what was important in the grand scheme of the universe. It was about what was important to Damian in that moment and what was important to him, what will always be important to him, is making you happy.
Likes/reblogs are always appreciated :)
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couple interviews were common among proheroes and their non-hero spouses for long before prohero!katsuki and you got together, so it was a given that you two would share time in the spotlight on a pink lovechair, your interviewer sat on a matching armchair in front of you.
side by side and holding hands, they asked you how you two met. you two turned to look at each other, before katsuki blinked at you with red eyes, as if inviting you to answer. “well, we ran into each other, like a lot,” you laughed at the memory, “i’d always like- absentmindedly find myself looking at him. i mean, he’s attractive so he caught my interest, but it wasn’t until he asked to walk me home late at night that we started dating.”
he nodded, tilting his head and letting it rest in his free-hand, “yeah.” he trailed off and seemed lost in thought for a moment.
because you didn’t know that it was only a partial truth. katsuki noticed you far earlier than you seemed to notice him.
how he fixed his hair before he walked beside you, lingering a second longer than normal (the man walks fast!) to check if you had a ring on your finger, almost crossing the street without looking and getting hit just to keep his eyes on you for a second longer.
you also didn’t remember, or tried your best to forget, his pathetic attempts to get your attention without words.
a loud slam of his umbrella to get you to look his way. opening manga, the only thing he had in hand, and resting his leg on the wall to look mysterious. trying his best to get recognized in front of you so he’d look more famous.
and the one time, the time he looked like shit after picking up an extra patrol because he owed kirishima a favor, with dark circles and a look in his eyes that could kill, you finally seemed to notice him, and looked up into those same eyes.
he felt all the sleep get instantly replaced by pure adrenaline, a red flush filling his face and spreading to his ears, as his mouth spoke before his mind could catch up, “thank you.”
he still remembers the feeling now, his soul leaving his body at the embarrassment, as he sucks in his breath and looks back at you.
The creators of Gotham literally said: "We're going to have to get really creative here because Warner Brothers and their legal team are not going to deny us the right to have the Joker on our show because of Jared Leto" 🤣🤣🤣
Nobody knows what to do with Jack Abbot. (afab!reader)
He's a good man on paper. Practically perfect in every way: handsome, well-off, and a hero in just about every way one can be. There's no shortage of men and women flocking to him on the rare occasion he goes out to a bar with Robby, but it always sours when he opens his mouth.
With the woman who had the butterfly tattoo: "You look like my wife. Don't worry, I'm not cheating. She's dead."
Or the man with that tacky v-neck: "I'll only bottom if you hold a knife to my throat... Oh, it's okay, it helps me come."
And the blond who Jack later learned has a mean right hook: "I'll only eat your ass if you thank me for it... but I'll still fuck it if you won't."
Sometimes, it works. He lucks out, typically by the sweet thing he's talking to mistaking his wants for jokes. That's rare, though. Excuses are nothing against the scalding heat in Jack's stare.
Then, there's you. You're a friend of John's that he's met maybe twice– wait, maybe you're Parker's friend. Who cares? Not Jack, because he doesn't even have the time to ask if you want to hit or be hit in bed before you pull him in by the belt loop.
"If I suck you off in the back alley, will you cum in my cunt?"
Reader have no idea that they're dating the batboys for a quite some time already, although reader does hope for it, they just thought that the batboys being so nice to them, while the batboys waiting for reader to be ready to do couple stuff, they just thought reader is shy 😭
I been thinking this for a while now
Reader: what you mean we're dating?!?!
Batboys: we've been dating for a while now???
“I like you so much, and you don’t even know it.”
Sorry lowkey disappeared again.Im having my daughter next month,scared asf💔💔.My fanny is gonna be DESTROYED.also random does anyone else hate podfics.Like it will have the perfect plot and then say” podfic” like turn that shit off omg.
Batboys x Reader: clueless Reader
Bruce Wayne
The “exclusive relationship” was IMPLIED, apparently
•Bruce thought things were very clear.
• In his defense:
•you spend most nights at the manor
• he takes you to galas
•Alfred refers to you as “Mr. Wayne’s partner”
•Bruce literally kisses you goodbye before meetings
•So naturally he assumes:
yes, this is my significant other.
•Meanwhile you’re spiraling internally every day.
•Because Bruce Wayne is:
•holding your hand
•buying you things
•resting his forehead against yours when tired
•But he’s never technically said:
“Will you be my partner?”
•So your brain goes:
Maybe he’s just emotionally confusing.
•The realization happens because someone at a gala says:
“You and your boyfriend make a lovely couple.”
•You laugh awkwardly.
“Oh..we’re not-“
•Bruce looks over immediately.
“…Not what?”
•You stare at him.
“Dating?”
•Silence.
•Bruce blinks once.
“..We’ve been exclusive for eight months.”
“EIGHT??!”
•You almost choke on your drink.
•Bruce is now deeply confused.
*“You sleep in my bed.”
“AS A FRIEND.”
“I kissed you.”
“PEOPLE KISS CASUALLY SOMETIMES-“
•Bruce just stares at you like your operating system is corrupted.
• Then realization slowly dawns on him.
“…You genuinely didn’t know.”
• You hide your face immediately.
“I thought you were being nice because you liked me as a person.”
•Bruce physically has to sit down.
•Because somehow this is more stressful than fighting Bane.
⸻
Dick Grayson
Actually devastated you didn’t know
•Dick is the MOST affectionate naturally.
•So this misunderstanding gets BAD.
•This man:
• calls you baby
•kisses your forehead
•cuddles you constantly
• takes you on dates
•says “missed you”
•introduced you to the Titans
•And you STILL think:
He’s probably just emotionally open.
•Dick genuinely thinks you’re just shy about labels.
•One day he casually says:
“My girlfriend’s coming over later.”
•You:
“Oh? Who?”
• Dick laughs.
•Then stops laughing.
“…You.”
•You stare at him.
“Wait.”
•He stares back.
“WAIT.”
“You didn’t know we were dating?!”
“I THOUGHT YOU WERE JUST REALLY FRIENDLY.”
•Dick falls backwards onto the couch dramatically.
“I HELD YOUR FACE AND TOLD YOU I ADORED YOU.”
“YEAH BUT YOU’RE DICK GRAYSON. YOU SAY THINGS.”
•He’s losing his mind now.
“I TOOK YOU ON ROMANTIC ROOFTOP DINNERS.”
• “I THOUGHT YOU WERE TESTING LOCATIONS.”
•He actually laughs so hard he can’t breathe.
•Then immediately crawls across the couch to grab your face.
“Okay,” he says, still laughing,
“just so we’re SUPER clear now-”
•Kisses you directly on the mouth.
“Boyfriend. Dating. Romantic. In love with you.”
•You’re bright red.
•Dick thinks this is the funniest thing that’s ever happened to him.
⸻
Jason Todd
• Jason absolutely assumed you knew.
•Because from his perspective:
•you wear his hoodies
•you sleep at his place
•he threatens people for disrespecting you
•you’ve made out multiple times
•Clearly:
Relationship.
• But you’re an overthinker.
•So every time something romantic happens you internally go:
Don’t assume. Don’t ruin the vibe. Stay calm.
•The realization happens when Roy casually says:
“So how long have you two been together now?”
•You immediately answer:
“Oh we’re not together-“
•Jason:
“…What.”
•Roy:
“…WHAT.”
•You panic immediately.
“I MEAN-unless-“
•Jason is staring at you like his soul just left his body.
“Baby.”
“DON’T BABY ME RIGHT NOW.”
“I literally told a guy at a bar you were my girl.”
“I thought that was… metaphorical.”
•Jason actually puts his hands over his face.
“How are you alive.”
•Then he starts laughing.
HARD.
“Oh my god,” he says between laughs,
“you really thought I was just casually obsessed with you.”
•You hide in your hoodie immediately.
His hoodie.
•Jason notices. Smirks.
“You know normal friends don’t share apartments keys either, right?”
Silence.
“…oh my god.”
⸻
Tim Drake
•Tim honestly can’t blame you because he ALSO never formally asked.
• But he thought the relationship progression was obvious.
•You:
•have toothbrushes at each other’s places
• share passwords
• nap together
•hold hands constantly
•went to a wedding together
• Tim categorized this as:
Relationship Acquired.
•You categorized it as:
Extremely emotionally intimate friendship.
•The moment happens because Kon asks:
“Wait, did you never ask them out officially?”
•Tim pauses.
“..I thought I did.”
• You immediately look over.
“You WHAT.”
•Tim starts mentally replaying every interaction you’ve ever had.
“I said ‘you’re my favorite person.’”
“THAT ISN’T A CONFESSION.”
“I BOUGHT YOU FLOWERS.”
“AS A FRIEND???”
•Tim puts his head in his hands.
“This explains SO MUCH.”
“LIKE WHAT?”
“WHY YOU LOOKED PANICKED EVERY TIME I HELD YOUR HAND.”
•You whisper:
“I thought I was imagining things…”
• Tim looks up immediately.
“…Wait, you LIKE liked me?”
“YES???”
⸻
Damian Wayne
Actually offended you thought he behaved this way platonically
•Damian is NOT naturally affectionate.
•Which means from his perspective, this should have been EXTREMELY obvious.
• He:
•seeks you out voluntarily
•touches you first
•allows prolonged physical affection
•lets you hold Titus
• says “beloved”
•In Damian Language this is basically a marriage certificate.
•Meanwhile you:
He’s just… intense.
• The realization happens when you say:
“You’ll make someone really happy one day.”
•Damian stops walking.
• Slowly turns around.
“…Excuse me?”
“What?”“What do you mean ‘someone’?”
•You blink.
“Your future partner?”
•Damian stares at you in complete disbelief.
“Beloved. We are together.”
You laugh nervously.
“Wait, seriously?”
He looks genuinely disturbed now.
“You believed I was behaving this way PLATONICALLY?”
“YOU NEVER ASKED.”
“I ALLOWED YOU IN MY PERSONAL SPACE.”
“…that’s fair actually.”
•Damian pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I have called you ‘my love’ repeatedly.”
“I thought you were being poetic.”
Long silence.
Then:
“…Father was correct. You are catastrophically oblivious.”
Gaz: God, how do they expect us to do this? We're so damn wash out, exhausted, and haven't had a good night's rest in weeks!
Ghost: Speak for yourself. I am a well-rested, iconic and fresh freak of nature
Gaz: What-?
Ghost: *runs off*
Soap: What did he say??
Price, exhausted: He's an icon... but he still can't drive
Graves on a boat fishing for lobsters because he woke up and decided that he needs a good ol' seafood boil but he is NOT buying his lobbies from the shop. No. For some reason he is entirely convinced he needs them fresh off the docks. Only the freshest for him and his hubs.
He, for some reason, drags Gaz along. Gaz is weirdly alright with being dragged out to go fishing for lobs. Ghost and Soap were left home and NOT notified about this trip at all. They get no lobster time.
Now, reasonably speaking lobsters are caught in traps that are left for a few days. For Graves purpose and Graves purposes only, he is somehow doing this in a few hours. Gaz is not questioning the methods used here.
Price and Nikolai come back to Graves in the middle of making the seafood boil. They are forced to wait despite the smell of food. They will get smacked by the spatula if they try to touch anything. Price sees a single boiled egg and tries to eat it without Graves noticing.
Graves notices. Price is awarded zero eggs.
The seafood boil is delicious. Gaz gets his own plate for doing a great job in assisting in lobster fishing.
(Gaz however has to ignore the aggressive slurping noises coming from Graves who is maintaining eye contact with Price and Nikolai)
As much as I would utterly LOVE to think Jason would use the Lazarus Pit if the Reader ever died, I just don’t think he would actually have the strength to.
Every night he remembered the burning pain in his lungs, his chest, his very soul. The way he was stolen from death’s hands and shoved back into his broken body to be used and abused once more.
And you, his love. His fragile, sweet love who lay dead in his arms. It wouldn’t feel right to rip you away from your newfound peace like he was. To inflict the same suffering that he would only wish upon his worst enemies.
So, instead, he would give you the burial he had taken from him. He would dig your grave with his own hands and gently lay you to rest with the flowers you oh so loved. And while nonreligious, after what he’s been through, he would find himself praying to any god that you would never be disturbed.
your hiss is short, blunt, and it makes kenma's eyes bulge out of his skull in fear. he had his phone on speaker, assuming you would want to say hi to his viewers- apparently, he was wrong- and he looks at the scrolling chat in shock, as if trying to make sure that the way you're speaking to him really just happened. he pauses before clearing his throat, "uh... i think this might be something we should discuss off stream-"
"no," you snap. "i want the whole fanbase to hear this. everyone deserves an answer."
kenma feels his heartrate spike, blinking and gnawing his lip anxiously. his knee starts to bounce, your scold making him pout slightly because he didn't do anything wrong for once.
"what's going on?" he asks, helplessly.
you take a deep breath in. kenma watches his chat flow with comments, some comments comforting and others joining his confusion- there's another part of his comments that tell him how hot you sound angry, but his moderators will take care of them.
he hears you sigh in annoyance, "so i just wanna know, husband-" your word is laced with venom, and he shudders at the sound of it slipping from your mouth.
"-why the fuck your mii 'happy' to be married to my mii, and my mii thinks your mii is her soulmate?"
kenma can't help but snort, hand flying to his face to hide his amusement from you. immediately, the chat changes from discourse to laughter, emoji's and "LMAOOO"'s scrolling through in hoards.
he hears you huff a laugh, but you try to contain yourself to continue the bit, "like what is up with that? if we can't have stability in tomodachi life, how am i supposed to trust you in real life? i literally made you to perfection and you still don't want me, so..."
kenma's mouth opens and closes, trying to formulate words as his mind swirls with so much relief and endearment for you. he shrugs, "well clearly my mii lost his mind, so-"
"no, because why are you just 'happy' to be with me?" you ask, boredom and disinterest in his tone. "like what could she not be giving you?"
kenma pokes his tongue in his cheek, blushing at the fact that you, his wife, are so in love with him, you berate him on live internet about a counterpart he didn't even know existed. he swings back and forth in his chair as you scold him further.
"if your mii doesn't straighten out, i'm making shoyo fall in love with me," you threaten.
his face grows serious, "no... wait, no, i'll talk to him, do not go marry shoyo, i cannot compete with him-"
"then fix it," you growl. then, you huff, "i love you, dick head."
"i love you too, goddess," he assures.
you hang up the phone, and kenma slowly turns back to his stream. "no one saw anything," he commands. "that didn't just happen..."
his stream reminds him of all the clips they just took, teasing him for being in love with his wife so disgustingly. "whatever, you guys are just jealous, let's just get back in it-"
it didn't take long for kenma to be interrupted once again, this time by hinata shoyo making a post that made him thunk his head on the mic, little laughs breaking up the pause menu music.
hinata_msby21 @/gamerkdzkn heard your missus isn't jazzed with your mii right now.... @/gamerkdzknswife my mii's got flowers with your name on them 😉
sammy and his pretty little wife are so cute. you drive him totally mad.
sammy had dogs growing up. golden retrievers, labs, a pitt bull for a week, before his dad gave it away. however, this, is something else. sammy's childhood dogs, slept outside, in the dog house. at most, they slept downstairs, in their crate. they were trained. good dogs. a man's best friend.
the exact opposite, of the tasmanian devil you brought home to him. a long haired golden mini dachshund. what good is a mini dachshund? not even big enough to fight off any intruders.
you tell him you've named her waffle. he should've said no. in fact, he did say no. then you started, with the kisses, and the sweet talk. he can't deny his baby. he tries and always fails.
waffle, is nothing but trouble. he's got a wife and a dog for trouble. trouble. trouble. trouble. it seems to follow him wherever he goes. the dog is more spoiled than you are. he's pretty sure you bought her a leash with swarovski crystals in it. he can't prove it yet, but he's waiting for the credit statement to come in. he just knows it.
it started off small. little things. but little things pile up overtime.
first, there's toys all over the stairs. he falls halfway down the stairs, grabbing onto the railing for some stability. it's one of his first weekends off in forever. "honey!" he yells on his ass. a pink chew bone is in his peripheral, the object of his current demise. "your dog is leaving shit on the stairs!"
you slip out of bed, rubbing sleep out of your eyes, waffle padding behind you. "what's wrong baby?" you push down the stairs groggy.
sammy is seething. his teeth are gritted. "waffle," he starts with vitriol, "left one of her chew bones on the damn stairs."
you help him up from his ass, not that he needed your assistance. though clearly, he could take a chill pill. you kiss his cheek. "morning baby."
he exhales heavily from his nose, "honey did you hear me? almost fell down the stairs and died. you would've had a vegetable for a husband."
"mm," you grunt. "glad you're still with us." you press a chaste kiss to his lips. "what do you want for breakfast?" you don't give him a chance to answer, before you walk down to the kitchen.
then, she started getting up on the couch. she'd tried it before. little jumps here and there. she'd landed on her back a few times. sammy, always rushes to her rescue. scooping her up in his arms rubbing her back. he heard somewhere minis have sensitive backs.
"you really gotta stop doing that." he talks to her, in full fledged conversation.
he never thinks, she'll actually find her way up to the couch. that's ridiculous. the little thing doesn't weigh more than ten pounds. but then, you got her a ramp. sammy thinks it's one of your little gadgets or something. he barely pays it attention till he sees it in action.
he's watching the game. you're cooking up some dinner. not a bad way to end the night. waffle comes waltzing into the living room, strutting her way up the ramp and onto the couch. she finds her way onto sammy's lap. he's not paying attention. at first he thinks it's a stray throw pillow. you're always decorating the house. that is until he hears a whining in his lap. he looks down and he can't believe it.
"honey," he calls over. "your dog's on the couch." he nurses his beer.
you don't even peer over from the kitchen. "yeah baby," you say casually. "she does that from time to time. just rub under her chin." sammy rolls his eyes. his finger runs under the golden girl's chin, tickled by her baby whiskers.
"she shouldn't be on the couch, honey." he calls over, though still stroking the baby.
"babe," you say ignoring the subject all together. "you want quinoa or rice tonight? the chicken should be done soon."
sammy squeezes his nose bridge. "quinoa's good baby." he calls back to you.
then, you pushed him to the edge. he was fine with her sleeping in your room. though, that defeats the purpose of a dog. since, they're supposed to guard the home, she should be downstairs. in a crate. but, you begged and begged to keep her upstairs. sammy just can't deny you. he never tells you no, even if he ends up shooting himself in the foot.
you'd set up a portion of the room for her. a little bed with her name monogrammed into it. she's got some blankets. even a few toys, in her area. the squeaking in the middle of the night drives him crazy. but he can ignore it, when you cuddle up into him in the middle of the night. your soft skin ontop of his.
it's fine. it's fine. that's all he keeps telling himself.
he comes home late one night. it's been a long shift. he missed you. he can't wait to just lay down and snuggle. he's slipped off his work shoes, tie's already loosened, buttons half undone. you'll be mad in the morning he didn't take a shower before he got in bed, but none of that matters now, as the sleep deprivation is slowly taking over his body.
sammy lifts up the covers and slips into bed. he goes to wrap an arm around you, and his arm is met with a stripe wetness. his face is filled with confusion. "what the fuck?" he's then met with a warm nuzzle. "i swear to god."
can't a man lay in bed with his wife in peace? clearly not.
"sammy?" you ask, the fog still in your voice from a good rest. "how was work?" you lean over for a kiss. he presses one to you.
"fine," he says. "dog's in the bed baby." he sighs. "she's in between the two of us. we're not gonna be able to cuddle."
"waffle keeps me safe," your hand goes to lay atop of his round stomach. "someone's got my back when you're not here. she missed you almost as much as i did."
"what about her bed?" sammy's trying to find an out. he wants to hold his wife tonight. that's all he wants.
"sammy," you whine. "i'm tired. got a pilates class in the morning." sammy sighs. he closes his eyes, trying his best to sleep off his agitation.
it doesn't help once you start dressing her. sammy's never seen such a thing. waffle's jumping up his leg and she's got some pink sweater on. sammy's scratching her head, while telling her down. girl doesn't listen anyway. he doesn't know why he bothers. you're getting ready to go out in the bathroom, putting some makeup on.
"baby," he's calling you over. "waffle's got some clothes on. i've never seen a dog with clothes baby."
you walk on out, with a matching sweater. your husband, cannot, believe you. "yeah hon, we're going to the dog park. we're matching!" you scoop your pretty girl up in your arms. "do we look cute?" you hold the puppy up to your face. "we're practically twins."
sammy shakes his head with a smile on his face. "very cute baby. the cutest girls," he grabs his phone to take a picture. "smile for the camera, hon." you pose for him and he snaps the photo.
on fridays, you bring sammy lunch. every friday without fail, he knows you'll be at the station with something for him.
he'd been working a case, hyper focused. you step to his desk, paper lunch bag in hand. you've got your purse on your shoulder. "made you a hoagie today baby," you place the bag on his desk. his back is still turned to you in his desk chair. he's typing something up for a case file. "had a little help from a friend."
sammy swivels around. he gets up from the leather stuffed memory foam to give you a kiss. to his surprise, he hears a bark. a bark.
"baby don't tell me," he raises a brow at you.
nate is watching from his desk, soda cup raised to his lip. "lovers quarrel," he utters to the desk next to him.
"ok," you smile. " so i won't tell you." waffle peaks her head out of your purse, tongue flopping out of her mouth.
"we've got a future k9 applicant up in the station bryant," nate teases. he pulls the burger to his mouth, chuckling through the beef.
sammy whips his head to him, face visibly scolding him. it bears no weight over his partner. "she missed you," you tell him. you bat your eyes. it's your eyes. always your eyes, makes him weak everytime.
sammy attempts to frown. he can't. you make his heart go a million miles a minute. "yeah, i missed my girls too." he reaches over to scratch her head. waffles body relaxes under his touch.
"sammy boy's whipped," nate chuckles.
"yeah yeah," sammy sighs to the unrelenting jeers of his partner.
sammy boy, is incredibly whipped.
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