Hi Again 😊 You Suggested I Could Send Another Prompt, Sooo… Maybe You & Jason Have Been Together

👀👀 let me throw you some kyle coded quotes. do what you wish with it 🫴

"If the choice is the mission or coming home to you, I’m coming home."

"There will always be another mission, _ , but there won’t always be another you."

This has been sitting in my inbox for a wee bit and I’m sorry it took so long. Thank you for sending this through! I hope I did it justice for you.

Pairing: Kyle Garrick x GN!Reader

CW: slight angst, relationship troubles, but comfort and happiness because Kyle is the sweetest boy <33

You loved your boyfriend. With all your heart. Kyle was the sweetest guy you’d dated, the most caring and attentive man you could have ever hoped for. But every relationship has their gripes and unfortunately, Kyle’s job was yours.

It was important, you knew that. He saved countless lives every time he went away, putting himself in danger in the process. But the fact he was gone so often made everything hard. He often missed important events; wasn’t home for your birthday or your anniversary or the holidays in general.

Despite you trying to be understanding, sometimes you couldn’t help but feel a sense of unwanted frustration towards your boyfriend. He made it up to you whenever he was back, you knew that, but it wasn’t the same. And you selfishly wished for more.

“I want you to be here more!” You yelled at him in frustration one night, having one too many drinks. “I know your job is hard—”

“No, you don’t know how hard it is. You have no idea what I go through.” Kyle snapped back, just as agitated.

“And you have no idea what it’s like sitting here waiting for you, watching all my friends and their partners and wishing I had that instead of praying you’re not dead.” Shaking your head in exasperation. He just laughed darkly, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry for getting my hands dirty so the world stays clean. Do you have any idea how dangerous some of these arseholes are?” Groaning in frustration, you push past him, walking down the hall to your shared bedroom.

“You’re missing the point.” Gritting your teeth, you huffed out a breath. “I’m not a priority for you.”

The harsh words make him stop, no longer stomping after you. It’s enough to make you turn around, and the hurt expression on his face immediately makes you feel guilty.

“What makes you think I don’t?” He whispered, voice barely audible as he blinked with uncertainty. Ducking your head, you look away from him, not being able to stomach the expression on his face anymore.

“It’s just… you always leave. There’s always something more important than me.” His expression twists with anguish and steps forward with two strides, hand closing around your wrist.

“Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that.” The dark brows on his forehead were pulled tightly together. His warm eyes, usually so calm and comforting, were wide and panicked. “You’ve always been a priority to me.”

The tears pricked in your eyes as his words dug into your skin, pulling down the defences you’d tried so hard to build around yourself. Shaking your head, you try to push him away, wiping furiously at your cheeks.

“I don’t feel like it, Kyle. You’re gone so often. And I know it’s important and I know I’m being selfish, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take!”

As if the universe decided to play a cruel joke on you, his phone began to ring. Kyle winced, closing his hand around your wrist tighter as he dug into his pocket. You knew whose name would appear on the screen before he even needed to tell you.

“It’s Price.” His voice sounded wounded, broken as he looked up at you, eyes desperate and pleading as the phone continued to buzz in his hand.

“Go on. Answer it. It’s important.” The iciness of your tone couldn’t be missed, despite trying to keep your expression dismissive.

“Fuck, babe, please.” He begged, keeping a firm hold on you and not letting you walk away. “I can fix this. We can fix this. I just—”

“You need to take it. Yeah, I know.” Shrugging, you leaned back against the wall, watching him as he gave in, putting the phone up to his ear.

“Sir?” The shift between Kyle and Sergeant Garrick was something you used to find attractive, enticing. Now, it just left a bitter taste in your mouth.

You watched the one sided conversation closely, Kyle’s face becoming more and more strained. His jaw twitched as he grit his teeth and you sighed, knowing what was inevitably coming. Flicking his eyes towards you, he saw the hurt on your face, the sad acceptance and his own heart pounded before opening his mouth.

“Actually, Captain, I was thinking about taking a bit of time off.” At his words, your ears pricked and head snapped up to meet his gaze. He met your eyes as his thumb tenderly grazed against the back of your hand. “Yeah, sir. Just something important that I need to attend to here.”

Dropping your wrist, he lifted his hand up to cup your cheek tenderly, pressing his forehead against yours. At this distance, you could hear the tinny voice of his captain coming through the phone speaker.

“Alright Kyle. Take care of yourself. And take care of that partner of yours. You’ve put them through hell this last year.”

“I know, sir. Need to sort out my priorities. See you in a few weeks.” And he hung up the phone, pushing it into his pocket and lifting the hand to join his other.

The pair of you remained there for longer than you cared to admit, your face tenderly held between his hands as you breathed deeply.

“You mean more to me than I ever could express. What you do for me, I couldn’t ask for someone better.” Curling your hands into the fabric of his shirt, you tugged him closer. Sliding under the cotton, you rested your palms on the warm, firm skin of his torso.

“I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t need to apologise. I’m sorry.” He lifted his head up to look down at you with sincerity. “I have been putting work first, and not you. It always should have been you.”

“But I said those hurtful things—”

“Because you were upset, love. It’s okay.” His voice was smooth as he pulled you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you. “I love you, babe. So fucking much. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”

Being wrapped in his arms had always made you feel safe, and this time was no different. Breathing in, you let his familiar scent surround you, settling deep into the back of your mind as you hugged him back tightly.

“Still no excuse for saying all that stuff before. The work you do is important. If you need to leave… I understand.” Deep down, you knew it was the right things to say. If Kyle was being called to work, it was something important and as much as you wanted him for yourself, others needed him more.

“No, love. I’m not going anywhere. There will always be another mission, but there won’t always be another you.”

Letting out a breathy chuckle, you lifted your head out of his chest, staring up at him with a soft smile.

“You really mean that?” His deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he backed you against the wall, tilting your chin up and lowering his face to seal his lips over yours.

His fingers curled into the hair at the base of your neck, holding you close as his lips moved slowly, dragging out the kiss. His warm breath fanned over your cheek as he groaned, cupping your cheek and letting his teeth drag across your bottom lip before pulling back.

You knew your lips were already swollen, the temperature of your body rising as your breath came out in short pants.

“If the choice is the mission or coming home to you, I’m coming home.” He whispered, thumbs tracing against your cheekbones. “You are what’s important to me.”

ON MY MIND (Roommate!Gaz x GN!Reader)

roommate!gaz masterlist

summary; you wear kyle’s hoodie and he’s forced to confront some suppressed emotions.

[WARNINGS; gaz is a smoker & is emotionally weary, fluff!]

“Kyle!”

His head tilts a bit from the call of his name, muffled and frustrated. His eyes focused on the glass plate in his hand, his other hand scrubbing the thing with an overly-used sponge. “Yeah?” He calls back, only turning his head by his left shoulder a tad bit so you can hear him better as he’s assuming you’re not near the kitchen.

Kyle hears you shuffling around, your shoes scuffing against the floorboards. You don’t respond for a second, but Kyle knows you’re focused on.. Whatever you were doing. He puts the soapy plate in the other side of the sink in the next tub, reaching for the next dish. However, his sleeve slips down his arm a bit, getting wet and soapy. “Ah..” He cringes out loud, his lips pulling uncomfortably as he uses two fingers to tug the now wet sleeve back into place.

Kyle hears your footsteps approach from the next room, causing him to tilt his body so he can keep his wet hands over the sink whilst also looking at you. You enter the room with a frustrated look upon your face, your eyebrows furrowed and your lip curled ever so slightly curled. Kyle chuckles, unable to help himself at how pathetic you look at the moment and he knows it’s not over anything important. “What’s wrong?” He murmurs, already amused.

You’re holding up one of Kyle’s hoodies, one the ones that has his last name sprawled across the back. He blinks for a moment before you begin to speak. “I gotta run to the corner store real quick and all of my hoodies are still damp in the dryer,” You exclaim, putting the hoodie down a bit so you can look at him. “Do you mind if I wear your hoodie to walk down there?” 

Kyle’s lips purse for a moment, a weird sensation manifesting in his chest cavity as he thinks about wearing his hoodie. “Go ahead, don’t need you getting sick, yeah?” Kyle utters as he turns back to the sink, pinching the front of his shirt and pulling it from his chest as if it’ll ease the sensation. “Sick! Thanks, Kyle. You want anything?” You ask, quickly pulling the hoodie on, adjusting the sleeves.

Kyle’s back is to you as he grabs another dish, mindlessly cleaning it. “‘Course, sweetness. Grab me some crisps, won’t you?” He says, putting the.. clean(?) dish into the other side of the sink on top of the soapy plate. “Yep, I got it. Bye, Ky!”

The door shuts.

Kyle blinks, staring at the soapy water with the tightness in his chest remaining, even after your exit. He sighs slowly, pushing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes—then he shouts, because now soap is in his eyes. “Shitshit—” He hisses, quickly turning on the faucet to wash his eyes out.

Kyle never asked for his hoodie back—a part of him expected for it to appear folded on his bed, washed and taken care of and the other part wished he never saw it again except for you wearing it. You always seemed to lose your hoodies after that, or you went through your collection much faster than you previously had. Neither of you pointed it out, especially Kyle. He was quite alright with a couple of his hoodies disappearing conveniently right at the times you were planning on leaving for a store, or just an outing in general.

Something sickly sweet twists in Kyle’s gut when he sees you wearing his hoodie. It’s something clawing at his insides, gnawing at his bones—energy that makes him want to bash his head into the wall and he isn’t completely understanding why. The second he sees you wearing one of his hoodies, especially the ones with his name on it.. It’s like a little feral squirrel in his body goes wild. 

Kyle turns in his bed, groaning softly as he rubs his hand over his face, trying to focus on the coolness of his sheets as he rolls over. He thinks about Soap and Price, thinking about the night where you embarrassed him in front of his mates. Kyle stares into the darkness of his room as he thinks about how proud you seemed to be after making them laugh—how you seemed to beam at him after sharing a reassuring look.

“Bloody hell.” Kyle mumbles, his words muffled as he turns his face against the warm of his pillow, his breathing harsh for a moment. A pleasant warmth trickles into his chest as he thinks about his missing hoodies. How he isn’t able to help the giddy smile on his face when he sees you walk through the door, coming home wearing something with his name on it. His. His. His.

Kyle lifts himself from his bed, grunting as his feet hit the cold floor. He patters across the floor, quietly exiting his bedroom. Kyle’s heart thumps harshly against his chest. He shakes his head and gently slaps his cheeks as he walks down the hall towards the living room and kitchen, trying to rid himself of these thoughts—of thinking of you like that. He pauses for a moment when he hears the television on, playing at a low volume. Kyle slows his footsteps as he makes his way past the hall, coming into the living room.

The television is gently illuminating the room and he hears you before he sees you. You’re sleeping on the couch, your favorite blanket sprawled across your lap, your back and head supported by the stupid throw pillows Kyle insisted that you two needed for the couch. Your head is tilted down in a position that looks slightly uncomfortable, your lips parted—wearing his hoodie.

Kyle stares for a minute, his eyes softening as he leans forward, his fingers gentle as he takes your head in his hands and slowly but surely, adjusts the positioning of your head. Kyle watches the way your eyebrows furrow for a moment, your lips pressing back together closed. His lips twitch into a soft smile as he watches you shift in your sleep, your face leaning more into his palm.

Kyle’s heart stops for just a second before he brushes the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, your skin hot under his touch. So warm and full of life.

His chest tightens again and Kyle carefully pulls his hand away from you, his feet quick as he grabs his cigarettes and lighter from the counter near the backdoor, escaping out the back to forget about what his feelings truly mean.

🏷️; @kivino @mlmxreader @soapybutt17 @microwavedcheetos @frazie99 @narcolepticduck @ch3rrykoolaid @kimdiedlater @glossysoap @thisuserloveshalloween @ornateorchid @missborntodiex @indefenseofkara @lieutenantlashfaz @queen-leviathan @specter319 @theunplannedvariable @spacelia @1117sblog @snoowply @dumb-fawkin-bitch @abigatorchomp @s8nsbride @talooolalolla @sstormyskyess @spicyspicyliving @nyushkawritesstuff

this is from my overall taglist which you can find here. if you would like there to be a roommate!gaz taglist, comment below! mistakenly tagged/wrongly tagged? let me know, no hard feelings.

“NOTHING’S GONNA HURT YOU BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your roommate is the menacing red hood — who just happens to have a soft spot for you WORD COUNT! 1.5k WARNINGS / TAGS! roommates jason & reader, cursing, smoking, mention of alcohol consumption, reader is described to wear makeup, use of petnames ( doll ) NOTES! i need a vigilante bf sb. based on this req.!! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THERE IS A STARVED DOG IN THE BACK OF JASON TODD’S THROAT.

It keeps barking, baring its sharp canines at whoever dares to step too close to comfort. It isn’t afraid to bite, to leave permanent marks in its wake because it had been hurt once before and the past hadn’t been so kind. So, it rips things apart, shows its strength to intimidate. A mechanism to keep itself safe. To remain whole.

The dog craves violence and roughness to represent the image it once created. It also craves touch, and not the bittersweet one. The kind that aches to feel, the kind that feels undeserving.

Jason isn’t a violent dog. He doesn’t know why he bites.

He’s chaos wrapped in leather. He’s the rumble of a motorbike tearing down an empty street, the smell of gasoline and adrenaline falling behind him. He’s sharp edges and electricity, the lighting that splits the sky just before the rain comes down. He’s a storm caged in a human shell, unpredictable and restless. Jason is late nights bathed in neon lights and the rush of speed that makes your heart race. He’s fire and fury, a protective shield made of calluses and scars.

You, on the other hand, are the softness in a world that’s far too loud. You’re the quiet that follows the first snowfall, the kind that blankets the earth in white stillness. You’re the warmth of vanilla in a kitchen. You’re the calmness of a gentle breeze, the soft glow of a candle against the darkness. There’s nothing harsh about you; you’re delicate without being fragile, a sweetness that lasts long after you first taste it. You’re a handwritten note, a favorite song played on repeat, kindness that doesn’t ask for anything in return.

Where Jason is a storm, you’re the eye. He’s the clash of thunder, you’re the calmness that follows. He’s leather jackets and combat boots, you’re large sweaters and bare feet on fluffy carpet. He pushes the word back with his fists while you disarm it with your smile.

Maybe that’s why he has such a soft spot for you.

Jason’s large combat boots were heavy on the hardwood as he stepped through the apartment door. He didn’t use one of the windows tonight since he had the luxury to change out of his vigilante clothing. The brown leather jacket still hung from his broad shoulders, but all the other equipment that created the complete look of Red Hood was safely stashed under the stairs of your fire escape.

Red Hood was one side of Jason’s many personalities he tried to shield you from.

He was quiet, mindful of his steps. He avoided the creaking spot on the floor, and he avoided closing the door too roughly. He had told you one too many times that he could take a look at the things that just made your life annoyingly difficult, but you waved him off with sweet words and he obeyed like a man possessed. The apartment was quiet, too quiet for his liking but he shook it off. You were supposed to be out anyway, something about a party your friends dragged you at.

The faint scent of cigarettes hit him before the quiet breeze of the night air rusted the curtains, and Red Hood was instantly on alert. His fingers moved before his mind could even process the situation, feeling the sharpness of his blade tucked in the belf of his pants.

His legs followed, taking him toward the balcony door and stepping outside into the night. He expected anything: a stray cat wandering through various apartments on a hunt for leftovers or even a rookie thief trying to break in. But he didn’t expect you, sitting on a plastic chair with a cigarette between your lips. One his cigarettes.

There you were, knees pulled close to your chest, the heels of your feet digging into the cheap plastic so you wouldn’t fall.

Draped in one of his hoodies he forgot on the couch earlier, you looked like you were ready to call it a day. Still, impossibly beautiful even with that tired look in your eyes. You pulled the cigarette out, puffing a white swirl of smoke into the darkness.

Jason stepped closer, his tall frame easily towering over yours. “You wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing out here?” The sight of you, your cheeks flushed with alcohol and your hair a little wild from the chill wind, tugged at something buried deep in his chest.

Your glassy eyes met his and your lips tugged into a beaming smile. “Hey, Jason,” you mumbled his name out like it was a melody you hadn’t quite learned yet. “You’re home.”

“Yeah, I’m home. And you’re drunk. Smoking my shit.”

“I stole it from your jacket’s pocket when I did the laundry. I figured you wouldn’t miss one,” you held up the cancer stick towards him, as if to say, ta-da! Look what I found.

You were holding a piece of him. He crouched in front of you, his gloved fingers gently plucking the cigarette from your hand before you could protest. “Smoking’s bad for you, you know. I guess I’m a bad influence for you,” he muttered while his thumb brushed over the filter, the bark of the dog in his throat quieting for a moment. There was a faint pink outline on the white paper. A mark of your lips.

You tilted your head, studying him like you were seeing him for the first time. “You could never be a bad influence.”

Jason didn’t answer right away. His jaw tightened as he put the cigarette against the railing, the faint hiss breaking the silence between you. Then, he flicked it over the edge of the railing, watching the embers spiral down into the darkness below. The city roared faintly beneath you, but here, on this tiny balcony, it was just the two of you.

“You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“Like what?” your brows knitted into the frown he grew to adore.

“That I’m not a bad influence,” his lips twitched, caught between a smirk and something bittersweet. It was all a big joke to him; you didn’t know his true nature and yet here you were defending the man you thought you knew. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “You don’t know me as well as you think, doll.”

Tilting your head to the side, you gazed up at Jason like he hung the moon just for you. The look in your eyes softened. “I know enough, Jay. I know you’d rather jump off this balcony than let anything happen to me. I know you leave food for the stray cat, even though you complain how she’s too noisy at night. And I know that when you’re quiet like this,” you bumped your knee against his, trailing slightly into a quieter tone of your voice, “it’s because you’re hiding something.”

The dog inside Jason growled lowly, warning him to keep his guard up. To start building thicker walls around his bleeding heart. This would only end in tears and anguish. But you weren’t barking back. You held your heart in an open palm, extended toward him.

You leaned forward after a minute of his silence, hand brushing against his knee, and Jason stiffened. “You’re not mad, right? About the cigarette” you voiced your thoughts hesitantly.

Jason sighed, running a hand through the dark strands of his hair. “I should be. But seeing you out here like this . . . ” he trailed off, his eyes flickering over your face and cataloging every single detail. The flush on your cheeks and glass in your eyes. The aftermath of alcohol. “I can’t be mad. Just–don’t do it again, okay? You don’t need to mess with that shit.”

Your lips parted like you were about to argue, but then you closed them again, nodding slowly. Jason exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He stood up, holding out a calloused hand to you. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before you catch a cold out here.”

You stared at his hand for a moment before slipping your smaller one into it. His grip was warm, steady, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he could feel the way your pulse quickened under his touch. He didn’t let go as he led you back into your shared apartment, the door clicking shut behind the two of you.

The dog in his chest stirred, restless and uneasy. It barked once, softly, a reminder of all the ways he could ruin this. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his jaw tightening against the weight of it. The dog craved destruction, violence, and chaos—it had always craved those things. But now, as he watched you drunkenly lean into him, the dog hesitated.

It whimpered. Then it lay down, its teeth still bared but its growl silenced, if only for tonight. Because for the first time in a long time, Jason felt something strange, something almost unfamiliar.

It wasn’t the absence of violence or the dull ache of longing. It was the quiet hope that maybe, just maybe, there was something in this world he didn’t have to break to keep.

TWENTY DEGREES — VERITAS RATIO

contains: female reader, reader sits on dr ratios lap, established relationship, spoilers for dr ratio character story iii, reverse comfort, soft dr ratio, lots of banter, this is a public threat to the aeon nous: acknowledge my man before we have issues. thank you!!!

veritas has been silent. there’s a letter on his desk when you come in, one that’s a bit crumpled at the corner as though it were clutched tightly in a fist. and veritas—well, veritas has been silent since you walked in.

“hello, love,” you murmur, coming behind him to gently knead at his shoulders. they seem tense—perhaps a bit extra stiff at your touch. you frown as you murmur, “bad day? have your students been giving you trouble?”

he’s quiet for a long moment. enough that you wonder if he’ll respond at all, until a sigh breaks the silence. “there’s been an invitation,” he murmurs, slowly reaching for the letter and handing it to you.

against the signs, the rigid the posture and heavy silence, the suffocating tenseness and lifelessness of the room, you seem to brighten. to have hope. veritas is a genius—a genius that is renowned far and wide among the cosmos, and should be recognized as such. an invitation surely means he’s been recognized by nous.

it’s what you—it’s what he’s been waiting on for so long. despite the signs that should tell you no, everything about veritas and his brilliance allows you to hope yes.

perhaps that’s why it’s all the more crushing when you notice the words interastral peace corporation at the top of the paper.

“the ipc?” you ask carefully, skimming the invite, “the intelligentsia guild. i see.”

“well, do say something,” he laughs, self-deprecating and bitter as he sets his pen down. “it’s not what you were expecting, i suppose?”

“oh, veritas,” you say softly, pulling his chair from his desk and letting yourself sit on his lap. he’s silent—as silent as when you walked in, as silent as someone who harbors the crushing weight of defeat, as silent as someone who has no hope left for goals—no, dreams that are just a fingertip’s bit out of distance.

“it is an opportunity worth taking, i suppose,” he gives you a tight, barely visible smile, “if by now i have not caught nous’s gaze, then it is safe to assume that i never will at any point. it’s alright, darling.”

veritas, despite all he is, is your lover first. before he allows himself to be a genius or doctor or professor, he makes sure to love you before all. you think it’s one of the reasons it’s so easy to love him yourself—but sometimes, you wish he didn’t love you so much. not enough to plaster on a fake smile and even faker words so as not to worry you, even as his every aspiration falls through the slips of his fingers like drops of water he’ll never be able to grip onto.

“it is alright,” you nod, “but not because the intelligentsia guild is all you’ll amount to—i know what you’re thinking, veritas,” you say sternly, poking his forehead. he frowns at the sudden gesture, only to stiffen momentarily as your hands gently cup his cheeks. “it’s alright because you have shown enough people that you are worthy of any acknowledgment from nous. many men have been bestowed upon such a gaze for far less—it’s okay, veritas, and it’s okay because it is simply that your talents are meant to align with a path that doesn’t follow nous. and i am proud of you regardless of that path.”

he lets out a soft, amused huff at that through his nose, closing his eyes as he hums, “such careful words. am i that delicate? it is alright to deem a failure as just that—a failure.”

“you are not a failure, veritas,” you scold firmly, “not to me or anyone who’s seen an ounce of your achievements. for such a smart man, you really can say such silly things.”

“i wasn’t referring to myself,” his lips tug upwards a bit more, eyeing you fondly, “but it is a rather…comforting feeling to know you think so passionately of my previous achievements. i only meant a failed attempt is still a failed attempt despite the other successes, i’m afraid. it seems i’m destined for failure at receiving such an acknowledgment—but the intelligentsia guild is better than nothing.”

“is a genius only a genius if an aeon says so?” you ask softly, pecking the corner of his lips.

“of course not,” he answers instantly.

“then you believe yourself to be one, no?”

“of course, darling,” he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against his chest, “just not a genius worthy of higher praise, perhaps.”

“does the gaze of nous mean more to you than mine?” you ask with a kiss to his cheek.

he looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “such odd questions run through that head of yours,” he murmurs.

“answer the question, veritas. would the praise of nous mean more to you than mine?”

“of course not,” he indulges you, rolling his eyes as he raises a questioning brow at you.

“well then,” you grin cheekily, “it seems you’ve already gathered the highest of praise in the cosmos.”

“and who’s would that be?” he snorts, humoring you.

“mine,” you pout, “you already have my praise, you fool.”

“and it is the highest praise of the cosmos,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss you softly, sighing against your mouth as you fingers weave into the waves of his hair, stroking the dark locks and trailing to the nape of his neck.

“i’ll tell you until you believe it,” you murmur against his lips, kissing them briefly between the words, “that you’re not a failure.”

“how can i be? when i have such brilliance in my arms,” he murmurs, letting out a soft sigh in content as your nails gently scratch over his scalp soothingly.

“surely i can’t be at the top of the list of your achievements,” you roll your eyes, “you have eight phd’s, for crying out loud.”

“you sell yourself short, darling,” he chuckles, “even a man with twenty degrees still couldn’t hope to understand your many…eccentricities.”

“veritas!” you huff, slapping his arm, making him chuckle.

veritas, before he is a genius, before he is a man who aspires to claim the highest of achievements a scholar can hope achieve and join the ranks of genius society, is your lover first. there is little to be disappointed in when even despite every failed attempt, you still cozy yourself into his arms, covering him in your warmth and sheltering him in your touch, safely kept away from all the self destructive thoughts.

“now, now,” he grins teasingly, “i only meant you’re worth more than twenty degrees. it’s a compliment.”

“don’t think you can sweet talk me, you treacherous man,” you sulk, “i am the greatest gift any man could hope to receive.”

“as much as it pains me to agree with you, i’m afraid you’re right.” he shakes his head, the beginnings of a smile forcing along the edges of his lips as he looks at you with something crossed between wonder and affection.

“i’m proud of you, veritas,” you remind him one more time, softly, “not simply because i love you. because you impress me every day, in ways no one manages to.”

“is that so?” he tilts his jaw, letting you kiss the angle of it sweetly.

“yes,” you whisper in between feather-light kisses.

“then that is enough,” he closes his eyes.

nous when i catch you nous. when i catch you nous. when. i. catch. you. nous. 🔪

hi! i was wondering if you could do angst prompt 29 with zhongli? thank you!

Hi so this fic kind of went from fluff to angst and back to fluff. For the first time ever I ended an angsty fic happily. Hope you like it!

Word count: 1165

Rules and masterlist

You let out a hiss of pain, jerking your arm away as Zhongli tightens the bandage wrapped around your arm, amber gaze filled with worry.

“My apologies. I did not mean to cause you more pain,” his amber gaze softens and you shake your head.

“It’s alright,” you can’t help but smile at him, lost in the reflection of the moonlight on the amber pools that are your boyfriend’s eyes. You’re glad you chose to come to Luhua Pool at night, the moon amplifies the glow of his eyes.

His fingers linger on your skin, tips brushing against your palm before almost reluctantly letting you go. You hop right back into the pools of water, running your hand through the cooling liquid and splashing the lotus head growing in the middle.

Zhongli’s gaze lingers on the white bandage around your arm. Humans were fragile, that gash would take at least a few days to heal. An archon on the other hand would have healed such a minor injury in a few seconds. 

Yet, humans were so resilient. He couldn’t understand why, and the question of whether he could ever truly learn to live as a mortal surfaced once again.

Was he good enough for you?

“Are you coming into the water?” you call, breaking his train of thought. 

“I will be right there,” he replies. Rolling up his pants, he carefully steps into the pool, the water lapping above his ankles. You grin, flicking water at him before quickly hiding behind a rock.

“Please do not cut yourself again,” he reminds you worriedly. The rock you were currently hiding behind was the very same one that had cut you.

“I’ll be careful!” you peek out from behind the rock, hoping it would be enough to reassure him. He smiles back, moving over to splash you back. You laugh, scooping up some water and throwing it at your boyfriend.

The move catches your boyfriend off guard and he yelps in shock. Water droplets bead off his hair, dripping onto his clothes and he pushes his damp hair out of his face.

Oh no, he's hotter now.

Red creeps up on your face and you try to avert your gaze, but Zhongli closes the gap and lifts your chin up.

“Are you alright?” his gaze flicks over you, checking for any signs of a fever. He couldn’t have you falling sick under his watch.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you laugh nervously at how close his face is to yours.

“We should return home,” he frowns, still unsure about whether you had a fever. Without waiting for a reply, he lifts you up as though you weighed no lighter than a feather and carries you back.

His inhumane strength reminds you that he’s simply a retired archon who chose to form a contract of love with you, an average human whose lifespan was nothing but a speck compared to the thousands of years he has lived for.

Who are you next to the God of Dust, Guizhong? Why did he choose you? Compared to his previous lover, you’re nothing, and you know it.

You sigh, leaning against his warm chest as the negative thoughts crowd out every other thought. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, setting you down, “I will make some tea to drink before we sleep, please dry yourself off in the meantime.”

You nod, heading to the bathroom to grab a towel while he heads towards the kitchen. Your thoughts follow you all the way to your bed and you groan into your pillow. 

You hate feeling like this. It felt wrong when he had told you before that he loved you for who you were. Yet you would lapse into cycles such as these and sleep it off.

The weight never goes away.

The bed dips as Zhongli climbs onto it, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Good night,” he murmurs into your ear, his breaths tickling your hair. You simply stare straight at the wall, unable to sleep. Your fingers curl into the sheets as you try to hold back the tears. Why couldn’t you just accept the love you were given?

Little did you know he felt the same way.

Zhongli watches the rise and fall of your shoulders and tucks your hair behind your ears. 

How did he ever end up with someone as understanding as you? You chose to spend your life with him, someone shouldering the burden of thousands of years of memories instead of a man who could understand you far better as a mortal. 

The two of you are so mismatched that he has half a mind to ask if you want to break up with him.

“You deserve better,” the words tumble out of his mouth and suddenly he can’t stop the cascade of thoughts.

“I am unable to provide you with experiences a mortal lover can, and instead of enjoying your mortal life, you spend it teaching me what a mortal life is like. You should not be with me, I cannot give you what you want,” tears slide down his face as he tries to muffle his sobs. He shouldn’t you wake you up.

You immediately roll around, slightly panicked and gently wipe his tears away, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You’re wrong. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. You’re an archon who has seen so much, and yet you choose to live your life with a simple average human,” you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

“I know I’m nothing compared to Guizhong, I can’t fight, I don't know so much, heck I can’t even defend myself from a rock! I don’t deserve an archon as a lover. Even a retired one,” you laugh, blinking away the tears that have started to form.

He frowns and pulls you into a tight hug, careful not to squeeze you too tightly.

“Do not say that about yourself. You have taught me so much, much more than you know, and I am eternally grateful to you for that,” he buries his face into your hair, breathing in your scent.

“Most of all, you are not Guizhong. Do not compare yourself to her.”

“Double negative makes a positive,” you blurt out before flushing in embarrassment. You did not mean to say that out loud.

“I...am afraid I do not understand,” Zhongli blinks at you, confused.

“I meant that since you were being self-deprecating and I was also self-deprecating, which is a negative thing to do, it results in both of us deserving each other, which is a positive thing. Or something like that,” you shift awkwardly. 

The joke is now ruined after the explanation, there is no salvaging your pride.

To your surprise, he lets out a chuckle, “I see. I suppose it makes sense.”

He runs his fingers through your hair, humming softly as you press against him, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

“Good night, my love.”

“kei, do you ever think about how strange it is that we've never fought?” you ask, limbs tangled with his as you cuddle on his bed.

it’s 10:03 PM and you’re doing your best to fight against the chilling, icy atmosphere of tsukishima’s room. for some reason, he likes to sleep like a vampire.

“do you want to?” he offers with an arm wrapped around your shoulders. tsukki doesn’t even open his eyes when he responds, too sleepy to entertain another one of your late night overthinking sessions.

“no,” you say calmly, “but we’ve been together for 7 months. we must either be like, the greatest couple of all time or the exact opposite.”

you feel his chest rise and deflate against your head as he lets an overly dramatic sigh.

you knew tsukishima kei wasn’t one for pda. hell, it was one of the things you loved about him. he knew how to make you feel loved without having to scream it to the world.

like that one time on one of your first dates, when you had accidentally fallen asleep on the soft grass of the park while waiting for his weekend practice to end. you woke up with a hand massaging your scalp.

“how long have you been waiting there?” you giggle, rising from your slumber as you rub your eyes awake. he pulls away, casually avoiding your gaze. “why didn’t you wake me?”

kei only shrugs, “you looked peaceful.”

or that other time you got sick for a week and couldn’t make it to school, so he immediately visited you as soon as you got better and brought his backpack with him.

“i got two copies of all the homeworks due next week, so you don’t have to ask the teachers for them.” he unpacks his notes and fishes out two pens from his bag before turning to you. “come, i’ll teach you everything you missed.”

your teachers praised you for how responsible you were, and told you how much they appreciated that you took the initiative to study.

yeah, you totally did that.

or like right now, and all the other nights you’ve spent at his place. because unbeknownst to you, tsukishima kei sets up his bedroom every single time you visit. he tidies up, cleaning even spots that you would never think to look at. but most importantly, and tsukishima knows this routine by heart, he turns the a/c to the highest setting so you’d be forced to cuddle against him underneath his sheets.

“the former,” is all replies with, and you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“but seriously though. how lucky are we to never have fought even after seven months.”

tsukki sighs again, before reluctantly revealing, “we don’t fight because i make it a point to always agree with you.”

you’re taken aback by his words, sitting up slightly as you look him in the eyes, though his are still closed as he tries to focus on sleeping.

“...huh?”

“idiot,” he teases. maybe he thinks calling you names will cover up for how unbelievably sweet he’s being right now, “why would i want to argue with you?” he shifts, trying to subtly move his face away so you don’t see him fully.

“but i can’t always have my way, you know. a relationship should be 50/50, right?”

“not ours.” he presses your head back against his chest, and you hear his heartbeat fasten a little. “you’re the boss.”

BONUS: “and you’ve never paid in your life anyway. you don’t believe in that 50/50 bullshit.” “hey!” “i don’t even know what your wallet looks like.”

@kokokoula this one’s for u <3

The noise has everyone startled but none like Jason. It was just specific enough that it resembled a very distinct clang of metal that brought forth a memory that was the wrong kind of surreal. Jason jumps up from his seat, hands flying up in front of him. His breathing is heavy and his body is tense as he braces for pain.

Dick immediately jumps into big brother mode, though knowing he’s never had much success before with Jason. He holds his hands out in front of him on reflex, like he’s ready to restrain a frightened animal.

Jason shoves him out of the way (expected). Jason lumbers over to you and wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck (unexpected).

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.” Your voice has lowered significantly and Dick can barely make out your words. He guesses that was probably the point. He clocks that Jason's breathing is heavy and he’s trying desperately to nudge you out of the room, likely wanting to be out of sight of his brother. You hold him steady though, cupping his face in your hands. Jason's head drops into your shoulder, holding your forearms to keep him anchored. One of your hands wraps around the back of his neck, rubbing soothing patterns against his skin. His chest starts inhaling faster with very little exhale and his grip on you tightens.

“Breathe, Jay.”      

Oh don’t tell him that, he does not like hearing that. The last time Dick tried to comfort him with those words he ended up getting clocked in the face.

“Breathe. In…Out…” he does as instructed, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly, repeating as told. It doesn’t take long at all for his breathing to revert back to its normal pace, posture relaxing.

…What?

Dick stands there dumbly, watching his little brother not only allow but embrace blatant affection. For once, he has nothing to say. He’s not even sure he can think right.

There hasn’t been a single moment since Jason returned that Dick had even had the chance to consider him being happy, in love. He’d come back so full of anger and resentment that it was borderline impossible to see through to any of who he used to be. A carefree, jovial kid. He’d hate to say it, but even after Jason came back to life, he thought that kid was still dead and gone. Everyone did, but…this is gentle and delicate. This is a side of Jason that he mourned and made his peace that he’d never see again.

But now Jason picks his head up and kisses your cheek, whispering something before pulling away. You murmur back to him softly, and Dick can only make out the word ‘water’ from his place across the room. Jason nods slowly, reluctantly releasing his hold on your wrists as you head out of the room.

He slumps into an armchair nearby and barely meets Dick’s stare before averting his gaze, muttering something like “Fuck off,” Dick just blinks, thoroughly thrown by the Jekyll-and-Hyde-like change in his brother’s attitude. He opens his mouth, though no noise comes out.

You return promptly, glass of water in hand. You give it to Jason, leaning lightly over the arm of his chair. He downs the water quickly, setting it on the coaster next to him and pulling your full weight onto the chair, holding you close. You look over at Dick, who’s still staring at you like he just saw the Easter Bunny walk into the room and steal a lamp. 

“What?” you ask him curiously, lacking all of the snap that he usually hears with the question from his brothers.

He stammers, “Uh…” Jason looks up at him, glaring. “Nothing.”

You tilt your head at him, silently inquiring about what he’s thinking. Dick ignores your gaze, turning back to his cards that had fallen somewhere in the course of the ado.

You furrow your brow and turn your attention back to Jason, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. He lets his head lull to the side and rest against your shoulder.

You move your hand higher up in his hair, “Do you want to eat? Just a banana or something?”

He blinks, eyes heavy, “Yeah, I’ll—” he stops you from standing up again, rising to his feet himself. “I’ll go, it’s alright.”

He exits the room sluggishly and you redirect your gaze over to Dick who’s once again focused intently on the cards. You move over to where he’s sat on the ground, crouching on the opposite side of his pyramid-in-progress. “What was that look for?”

Dick blinks up at you, not sure that it’s in his best interest to answer that question. “Um…just surprised me.” he gets out, “How fast you got Jason to calm down.”

You sit back on your heels. “Oh. I guess so.”

Dick shakes his head quickly, “No, that was honestly like a magic trick. How did you do that?”

You gape at him, “What do you mean?”

“I mean one time he pulled a gun on me when I tried to hug him. More than one time, actually,” He grimaces. “So did you, like…brainwash him or something? It’s okay, I won’t tell him, it clearly worked.”

You laugh, not acknowledging the at least partial sincerity in the question. “He’s just difficult to warm up, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, but I could leave him in the toaster oven for ten years and he still wouldn’t warm up to me like that.”

Your smile is accompanied by the raise of an eyebrow, “Well I’m not his brother, so that would be part of it.” You pick up a fallen spade from the floor, setting it atop his scattered pile. “I mean we live together, I’d be pretty ill-suited at my job if I couldn’t at least get him back to baseline by now.”

He squints at you, “You live together?”

You waver awkwardly, “..He said he told you.”

He smiles at that, genuinely, “Anytime Jason says he told anyone in this family anything, he’s lying.”

The call of your name from the doorway has you turning around, smiling. Jason holds his hand out to you and you happily cross the room to take it. The second you’re by his side he picks up the armchair throw pillow with his free hand and chuck it at Dick, successfully knocking him in the face and knocking his half-remade tower to shambles.

broken glass

simon riley doubts his worthiness of having you | hurt/comfort(?)

sorry i was gone for so long. i haven’t felt motivated in a while. this is just an attempt to get back into writing. i’ve been working on various projects, abandoning them halfway through. was relatively proud of this, so i’ve decided to post it.

mentions of abuse. insecurities. i don’t know, tell me if i missed any.

He was born into a home of broken glass, every argument a shard, every silence a fracture.

Simon Riley had been born into chaos. His earliest memories were of screams that echoed through the halls of a crumbling home, the heavy thuds of fists against thin walls, the sound of a door slamming as his mother stumbled from the house, her face bruised and hollow. His father, always drunk, was a constant presence—a shadow, a monster—who only softened when his fists fell silent, usually in a moment of fleeting remorse, or more likely, when his anger was spent.

He was a man who was shattered like thin glass, a splinter that made you bleed and quickly pull your hand away like there was fire. He drew blood, his hands rough and calloused, a man too harsh to be loved. War was all he had, and all he’d known, even if he wanted to know better. He had so many questions, and yet he choked on the words as he tried to ask, instead opting to drown deeply in the cacophony of screams. He searched for peace, a man who’d never experienced such, echoes of gunshots ringing in his ears and never offering any silence. He was engineered by a system to survive, to endure, but never to heal.

Simon didn’t sleep anymore, or, if he did, it was never rest.

His whole life had been dedicated to violence, actively seeking it as much as he avoided it. He felt stained with the blood he drew, scars along his back only indicating the pain he endured rather than that which he caused. Simon was a man who was supposed to be dead, and yet, the cruel God which seemed to have cursed him refused to let such a thing occur. His soul cracked in ways he couldn't articulate, his body a crumpled map of all he'd been through. He’d gone through existence without ever living.

He sought for warmth and comfort, even though he knew he could never be worthy of such a thing. He was a man who stained the snow-lands a deep scarlet. He was a wreck of a man who broke everything with his touch, strangling flowers in his grasp.

Perhaps that was why he fell so hard for you. You were like a beacon of light, granting him some solace. Giving him sympathies which he didn’t deserve, yet he yearned for. His head rested on your chest as he listened to your heart beat, assuring him that you were real and you were here. Whispered confessions of love still left doubt in his twisted mind, convinced you’d find someone better than him. He was convinced you might leave, holding on tightly to you and treating you as best as a man like him knew how to.

He’d never had a proper role model for love, most of the things he knew having been learned from books he’d stumbled upon or movies he’d watched. He was a man with a wicked father, and no matter the care of his mother, that evilness he believed was deep inside him could never be cancelled out. Love was a foreign language to him.

After all, there was no escaping the ghosts that haunted him, for he was one himself.

And yet you made him believe it might be possible.

His harsh voice would whisper your name like a secret prayer, his hand with its scarred knuckles gripping your gentle hand tightly. Perhaps he was finally starting to believe you might not go anywhere.

One night, in the capture of the moonlight which snuck through the cracks of the pulled curtains, Simon asked, slightly more loudly than he intended to, “why do you love me?”

Fingers that were previously toying with his slowed to a stop, and you adjusted yourself to stare at him. “What do you mean?” you replied. Your brows were furrowed, confusion evident on your face, and yet Simon could swear you looked like a deity. A blessing, was what you were to him. Someone who managed to let him know that maybe he wasn’t as ill as he’d convinced himself he was, a carefully-crafted facade having broken down more as the months turned into years.

He sat up, not sure how to word it. He was a man of few of those, after all. He plainly answered, “exactly what I asked,” slightly shrugging.

You bit your lip, seemingly thinking for a moment. It felt like a stupid question. Why did anyone love anyone, after all? Why did he love you, you could even ask. You swallowed, deciding to softly say, “because you’re worth loving.”

And perhaps he might one day start to believe he is, especially of the love of yours. The moments of bared insecurity were rare, occurring in only the latest times of night, the moon the only other witness of the confessions. They were caused by exhaustion, barely recalled when the sun rose. Yet, each night it happened, as he let himself sometimes cry in your arms after a nightmare, or letting drops of pain drip out of his soul, he was slowly starting to believe your honesty when you said you would not leave.

When you said that you love him.

He was a man with a shattered ego which he’d tried to tape back together flimsily, yet you made new parts of him which were whole. Certain parts could never be filled, but as long as you were in his arms, the pains of his soul may slowly fade away into nothing but background noise, lullabies of your words drowning them out as delicate fingers ran themselves over his scarred and tortured body.

A hand rough from holding knives and guns could tend for flowers as well, he was slowly starting to learn.

Jason Todd drawn by Dan Mora… INJECT IT IN MY VEINS

Gaz is in the 141. Not könig or keegan. Its gaz. Price, ghost, soap and Gaz. Pleaseeee understand this bc i swear im going insane listening to people talk about konig in the 141.