#gooping him once again

[sadisthetic]

normal kid. normal amount of tears

-

cropped in version so you can see his face and his goopy ghibli tears i had fun animating

[beepmon]

i’m panicking about my health, my car, school, my future, my relationships with ppl, about my entire life rn p much

[cadavercowboy]

Just Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).

The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.

You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together. 

This is all Bucky’s fault.

Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.

It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you. 

And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.

You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky. 

But you can’t.

Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there. 

In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether? 

As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device. 

Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night

You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else. 

Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI

So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial. 

Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you. 

It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise. 

If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.

“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.

You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.

“Send me your address.”

“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”

You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”

The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”

Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak. 

Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep. 

There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.

With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.

By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier. 

Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.

You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you. 

Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.

“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”

Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”

The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.

“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”

“So?”

Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.

“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.

It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”

“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.

You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.

“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”

Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question. 

“I’m here to finish what I started.”

He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.

“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.

“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”

He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.

“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”

You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.

“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat. 

Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.

“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”

He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.

“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”

Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.

“Buck. Please.”

You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.

“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”

Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.

A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.

As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him. 

Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you. 

Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.

Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy. 

With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost

[allophonicmess]

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 3

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

This is a fluff chapter. Gotta give you guys some candy after all that angst

Word count 4.1 K

Life resumed as normal after that. Or as normal as it could be when you are suddenly placed in the new timeline. Logan kept getting confused by little details that were different to the life he had lived before. Professor X ? Sure he exists but he had hair. Cyclops? Oh yeah. He was just as annoying as he remembered. Who are the fucking Avengers and what sort of rich nerd was Tony Stark? And what about Jean?

“A hot red head with the telekinetic powers?” Wade hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. “Uh, no. UNLESS! Charles used to have a beautiful flowing mane that I don’t know about. He is turning grey, you know… but it suits him. Silver fox”              

So Jean was out of the picture. That was good, right?

Logan groaned at Wade's bad joke. He shifted his focus outside, watching the landscape change from looming tall skyscrapers to even fields and trees that started changing colour with the season. It reminded him of home.

“Just to get this straight.” Logan shifted in his seat. The car that Wade had bought from the dealership had been heavily discounted and Logan now understood why. You would think it can’t get worse than the Odyssey? Oh boy, were you wrong. It was too small for 4 people, let alone 2 mutant men. He already felt sorry for whoever might have to sit in the back for whatever reason.

“Y/N has powers?” Logan asked, trying to play it cool. The whole drive had been a big Q&A.

“Yup,” Wade said with a pop. One hand on the steering wheel and the rest of him laid back in his seat.

“They call her Osmium, too?” Logan didn’t like this dependency on the wanna-be hero. But he had to make a good first impression.

“Osmimimum? Uh no. She is called Atom” Wade laughed “Don’t if she actually does stuff with atoms… It's more like…” Wade groaned as he tried to think of an example.

“She manipulates density.” Logan pointed out. They had trained together many times. But Y/n was never allowed to use her full potential with the X-men. They condemned violence and so she was often left out on mission and focused on keeping the school running.

“Ugh- I guess? She once told me in great, boring detail why ‘Atom’ is a bad superhero name for her but they kept it for the marketability. “ He shrugged “Oh! I remember that one time we stopped a child-mutant trafficking and she got mad, like REAL MAD, and then she turned this one guy into goop.” Wade nodded fondly, thinking back at that moment. “And I mean like Nickelodeon kids choice award goop, like slurpable slushy goo, like-“

“Okay, alright! I get it.” Logan groaned in annoyance. Shaking his head at Wade. He was thankful for the man’s support and friendship but god was he annoying. Constantly.

“I wish she would do that to me sometime. It’s on my ways-to-die bingo. But she keeps refusing!” Deadpool hit the wheel dramatically.

“You are disgusting,” Logan stated dryly. “The most disgusting person I ever met.”

“Don’t forget the most annoying!”

...

The decision to go back to teaching was not made out of fun or for the joy of doing it. Maybe partially, even though Logan would not openly confess so. It was made out of necessity. Living with Wade and Al became tiresome after the first few weeks. It was always the same antiques, the lack of schedule as well as a constant state of chaos that made him crave the ordered life at the school once again. He hoped that it would give him a sense of belonging. The X-men might be different here, with a few quips and details that didn’t match with his reality. But living at the school would tie him to a strict schedule and by god, he needed some structure in his life.

 But all in all, it meant home.

“Okay, peanut. Today is a big day. But I know you’ll do great and meet a lot of new friends.” Wade joked in a motherly tone as they arrived at the Mansion. “And no hair pulling or biting unless they ask for it, okay?”

“I can’t wait to be rid of you” Logan groaned as the car came to a halt. He exited the car with a low groan, stretching to lose stiffed muscles. Not having to constantly ride in Wade's joke of a car was another reason that he preferred living at Xavier’s Institution. Speaking off:

“There you are. Welcome, welcome.” Xavier rolled into the mansions yard.

“A pleasure to have you, Logan. I must say, I was very pleasantly surprised when I received your response to my inquiry.” He moved towards Logan, offering his hand for a handshake.

Logan inspected the man. He was older, in his 40s maybe. But younger than the Charles Xavier he had worked with. He sported shaggy longer hair that was starting to thin out. Soon he would need to get it trimmed to keep his professional exterior. Along with a beard that was rather spotty and seemed too reminisce of his look in the 70s. Xavier looked like a mix of the two versions that Logan got to meet during his time at the school and it made him wonder how time worked here. Events seemed to play out in different order, they didn’t happen at all or much later than seemed correct.

He shook Xavier’s hand, thanking him for the offer. “Of course. I was surprised when you contacted me.” Logan confessed. His gaze shifted towards the grand building in front of him. It was the same old English style build that he knew, with a few modern elements added here and there.

“Is it familiar to you? The school? I assume you have experienced quite a few dejá-vus since arriving here.” Charles observed Logan.

“I do. Some things are the same. Others don’t match what I know or didn’t happen at all.” He confessed. Already feeling the brother connection build, similar to the one he had with the other Charles.

“You will find your answers. I am sure of it.” Charles turned around motioning Logan to follow him inside. “I think it is best if we continue this conversation in my office.” He looked over his shoulder at Wade, who had waited in the car, listening in on the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be on my way. You call me if you need to get picked up, Pookie!” He waved at Logan in a motherly way.

“You aren’t coming?” He asked, somewhat confused. But then he saw Charle’s face, the intense stare he gave Wade.

“Uhhh, no I technically have a house ban for no apparent reason-“

“You burned down the west wing” Charles answered dryly.

Wade clicked his tongue, “Right, okay. Yeah… But! It’s very modern now.” He chuckled weakly. “You’ll still call me up for a mission, right?” He tried to persuade the professor.

“If the mission takes place outside of my building then yes.” Charles agreed, focusing back on Logan. And leading him inside. Neither of them commented on the cheer that Wade gave as he drove off.

Being back at the school felt surprisingly good to Logan. It was like coming back from a long holiday. Most everything was the same: Students running in the hallways, playing games in the gardens and-

“Fancy seeing you here!”

Logan turned around quickly, looking for whoever addressed him. Some children were buzzing along the halls, none of them too interested in him. Then he spotted her by the stairs. Leaning onto the dark wooden rails of the gallery. The light from the window behind her illuminating her figure.

“Y/n”, he breathed.

“Hi! Charles told me that you wanted to start teaching again.” She made her way downstairs, focus shifting between not falling and keeping her gaze on him. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him.

He turned more toward her, watching her get closer to ground level. With each step he felt his excitement grow “He contacted me, actually. Asked whether I wanted to work here…”

“Oh really? What a coincidence ”She grinned mischievously, stopping at the end of the stairs and leaning on one of the bannisters. She kept a little space between them. There might be some familiarity between them but she didn’t want to push him too far yet and give him the chance to get closer to her if he felt like it.

But Logan stayed in place: “Do you have anything to do with that?”

She smirked,  and he felt some of his charm return to him . He might be rusty but some things were just engraved in him.

“Maybe” She shrugged, smiling softly with a playful sparkle in her eyes “But I’m assuming that you won’t be teaching history, right?” Y/n teased carefully. The multiverse situation was a thing she wanted to be careful about. Wade had told her a little bit about what had happened to Logan before he transferred but she didn’t know any details.  

“No, I teach PE and defence classes. You do science, right?” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hoping to lose the tension in his body. He threw the tidbit of knowledge into the conversation, hoping that he was right and that the two versions of her had that much in common.

“Chemistry and Literature, yeah.” She smiled. She then looked at her watch before pointing towards another corridor with a sigh “I’d love to talk more, but I need to get to class. Maybe we could meet sometime.” She secured the book in her arms.

“Yes.” He answered with a stiff nod, his hands were getting sweaty.

They stood In awkward silence.

“Maybe over a coffee?” She asked, looking up at him, her lip curled upwards. Her look became more expecting as he watched her in silence.

 He would catch the bait she just threw, right? Scott had laughed when she asked him about what Logan had been like; What this version might be like.

 ‘He’s an asshole’ He said ‘a cocky asshole and who thinks he can charm any girl he likes’ she blushed at that comment ‘But he is into the dark, mysterious type if that is what you are after’

“Maybe”, Logan gave  cold and curtly.

He regretted his demeanor when he saw her smile slip for just a moment.

Fuck.

Her face slipped for a moment “Oh.. okay.” She huffed softly. “See you around then.” Y/n nodded quickly before running off.

...

A routine established itself after the first weeks back at the school. The work there itself was the same. Teach the children standard curricula, training them in controlling their powers and some extracurricular activities.

He would spend some evenings with the other members of Team X ,as they called themselves here. Sometimes he would meet Y/n in the hallway but he didn’t work up the courage to stop and talk to her beyond a quick ‘hello’.

What is wrong with you? You used to sweep women off their feet. She is offering herself to you at any chance and you still can’t manage to ask her out?

He sighed as he changed back into his regular clothes. The class had just ended. It was Friday, still fairly warm for October and the trees looked beautiful in all shades of red, orange and yellow.

 Would be perfect for a romantic walk… A charming, rugged man could ask a woman out for that.

“That guy died a long time ago…” He mumbled to himself. Picking up his bag and closing the locker.

He exited the gym, making his way to his room or rather apartment. Wade managed to burn down the teacher's quarters along with the kitchens and cafeteria in some wicked stunt. No one knew what happened and that was for the best, he guessed.

However, that incident resulted in a modernized reconstruction with more spacious rooms for the teachers and a communal cafeteria that students and members of Team X shared.  Great for extroverts but Logan had to pass it every time he went to his rooms, much to his dismay. To make it worse,  the communal space was separate from the hall via a glass wall, allowing for a perfect view of everyone who tried to sneak past. Which led to uncomfortable situations such as this.

“Logan!” Piotr called, waving his huge metallic arm to get the other man's attention. Logan's initial reaction was to ignore him as he had done many times with the members of his old team.

No, he wanted to do better. He needed to. It was that kind of behavior that made him spiral in the first place. So he took a deep breath and channeled all jolliness available to him after 6 hours of teaching and a generally low level of it to begin with.  He slowly made his way towards the teacher's table.

“Come, eat with us.” Piotr offered him the seat next to him on the thick wooden bench. A seat opposite of… fuck- of fucking course he was in on Wade’s plan to play matchmaker.

 “We can’t have you get scrawny, eh?” he joked.

“Not that that would be likely to occur” Y/n joked as Logan sat down. His look snapped towards her and her eyes widened in shock at what had just come out of her mouth.

A knowing, wicked grin spread across Colossus's face. That fucking asshole…

“What are we having?” Logan asked, ignoring the situation that had just occurred. He tried to keep his gaze on Piotr who was busy filling a plate with whatever was in the big metal pot on the side of the table. His eyes shifted to Y/n every so often.

“Pierogi. I am trying out new recipes for a cooking class with my students” He said proudly, placing the plate in front of Logan “Y/n said, they are very good. Right?” He asked her, putting the woman on the spot.

“Oh, uhm…yeah. I like the new… stuffing.” She said, the answer sounding more like a question, carefully looking at Logan when he tried it. She was thankful for Piotr’s brotherly demeanor and gentle nature. Yet sometimes he would tease her as any older brother liked to do. And they sure liked to do it in front of people that the younger sibling might fancy.

Logan nodded in agreement, complimenting the man for his cooking.

“You cook here regularly?” He asked with a mouthful.

“Of course! Cooking is a very important life skill. As well as baking. You should join one of Y/n’s baking classes, she is very talented.” Colossus complimented the woman, making her grin.

“I plan on holding a workshop on the weekend for older students and alumni. You should come.” She offered, a hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe she was too discrete the last time she tried to get Logan to ask her out. So this time she tried to be more direct with her offer.

“I don’t bake,” Logan answered in a backhanded comment as he continued to eat. He didn’t think too much about it. He had planned to ask her out after lunch. He was overly focused on what he would say to her once the others left to notice how he had sounded.

It only occurred to him when he saw how Y/n visibly deflated. “Oh, right” She hummed, swallowing another bite of her food, eyes looking anywhere but towards the man who had once again rejected her so swiftly.

Piotr, just sighed with disappointment, leaning back in his chair. His hard elbow bumped into Logan’s side.

You fucked it up. Again.

...

“Okay, stop. You mean to tell me that she tried to ask you out not once but TWICE and you rejected her?” Wade paced through the living room. Trying to make sense of what his friend had just told him. “You mean to tell me that you now spend 3 months at that school? Being in her proximity 24/7 and actively avoiding her?”

Logan sat on the familiar black couch that looked even more beaten up than the last time he was at the flat. With disgust, he realized that he didn’t even want to know what caused the new damage.

 “I don’t avoid her”

“Oh no? And yet the few times she does catch you creeping in the halls you manage to scare her off.” Deadpool said down one of the rotatable bar chairs. Swirling dramatically.

“No wonder the girl’s not interested in a sad drunk fuck like you,” Al commented from the table where she sat, carefully packaging her newest acquisition of sellable goods.

“ No, Al that’s the thing! The girl wants him DESPITE being a sad drunk fuck!”  Wade jumped from the chair to pace around some more. He had to come up with a plan to get the two to spend time together, and get to know each other better. Create some closeness to let the sparks fly and catch on.

“That’s even worse.” Al laughed, snoring.

“Thank you for the compliments… Reassuring.” Logan groaned, regretting to even have answered Wade when he asked him about how things were going with Y/n. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be with someone again. He liked her and wanted to get to know her but something was stopping him. The urge to protect her from danger and he still thought of himself as the greatest danger to her and his team.

“On the other hand, she is still interested after being rejected TWICE. So you still have a chance, Pookie.” Wade said, sitting down next to Logan, yet again way too close.

“I’m gonna help you, buddy, Don’t you worry.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing Logan's ears “Act three needs some lovin’ and I make sure you get all the loving you need, baby” He whispered towards Logan. And with dread, and a bit of disgust,  Logan accepted that he had no chance of stopping the man.

...

By the time the midterms rolled around, Logan had gotten familiar with the schedule and his  profession once again. He slept better, tended to snap less at people and even his drinking tendencies seemed to get better. Being part of a community felt good and it made him angry at his younger self for rejecting the people who loved him out of some ill-placed ideology: that to keep them safe, he had to distance himself from them.

And yet you are doing it again.

He sighed as he trotted into the community kitchen. He broke his coffee maker in a fit of frustration last week and hadn’t found the time or energy to tell Charles to get a new one. He stayed out of the professor's way for the most part, not wanting to be roped into some conversation about ‘needing therapy’. So he sourced his caffeine intake from the machine that sat in the big, homely department kitchen. Another benefit was that there was always a fresh pot ready and waiting for him. Downside, there were almost always people in the kitchen, waiting for others to join in for conversation and breakfast.

This morning he should be safe from conversation. Most students and some staff went home for the fall semester break, leaving the school running on a minimal level to accommodate those who had no home to go to. There were no classes, meaning that the school apparatus calmed to a halt.

In practice that meant that almost everyone slept in with no pressure to get up early. And for Logan, that meant that he could enjoy his drink in peace before people tried to talk to him.

Lost in thought he strolled into the kitchen. It seemed empty, thank god. He sighed in relief, stretching languidly. The air exiting his lungs in a low groan.

Then a soft click sounded through the room.

A fridge being closed.

“Oh hey, you’re up early.” Y/n appeared behind the full-size fridge door that had previously shielded her from his view. She looked a little tired, not yet fully awake and a bit tousled from sleep.

Aww C’mon. Maybe Wade was right about the universe wanting them to come together. But primarily to annoy him and allow for Wade to give him the ‘I told you so’ speech.

“So are you.”  He answered, leaving on the door frame and watching her pour some creamer into her cup. Upon closer inspection, she did look younger than her other iteration. Her features were softer looking with fewer wrinkles and scars. He needed to ask her about that at some point.

She leaned onto the counter to reach for another cup, taking it out of the overhead cabinet. Proceeding to pour some coffee in it. “How do you take your coffee?” She asked, turning towards him.

“I’ll take two sugars” He answered, moving towards her with slow even steps. The threat of Wade’s ‘help’ kept looming in the back of his mind, pushing him to be more open towards her and to come out of his shell. Who knows what that maniac had in mind?

Y/n hummed in agreement, dropping in two cubes of sugar and stirring the dark liquid before handing it to Logan.

He thanked her softly, holding the porcelain with his much larger hands. He had moved quite close to her, both leaning against the kitchen counter. The closeness and difference in height between them meant that Y/n had to look up to him, to make eye contact.

With a grin he noticed how she shifted her stand, one hand bunching up the material of her cardigan.

You still got it if you let it happen, man.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks and watching the sun paint pictures onto the kitchen surfaces, colored by the stained glass windows.

She was the one who broke the silence. “Are you ready for the training session today?” She asked, turning towards him, shifting her position so that her hip was pressed against the counter.

“Training?” He asked confused, setting down his cup to cross his arms over his chest, the muscles shifting visibly under his skin.

That’s right! Show her what you got!

“Yes, staff training? We got the call from Washington about a mutant security threat. Charles wants us to be ready just in case. Do you read your emails?” She teased, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I don’t know how that stuff works if I’m honest with ya.” He shrugged “Do you go on missions regularly? On Government orders?” He remembered that Xavier had mentioned something along the lines of that. Some complicated struggles between heroes about government regulation and so on.

“Yes, after the blip it was decided that an X-team force should be established to take care of mutant-related threats or endangerments.” She explained.

He had heard of that, too. “Right. What was that blip again?”

The energy in the room shifted suddenly.

Y/n huffed, almost spilling a bit of her drink. “Ha, that’s a bit of a heavy topic for morning coffee talks.” She looked around uncomfortably. Logan seems to have hit upon a heavy subject.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologized quickly. Beating himself up for screwing it up once again.

“No, no it’s fine.” She shook her head, setting down her drink to cross her arms as he did. Only that she seemed to do it defensively. “Half of all life stopped existing for five years and… that left a few scars.” She explained somberly, softly nodding to herself.

Logan blinked, his mind moving at high speed to get the conversation on a good topic again. Anything to turn it around and to prevent her from having a bitter aftertaste to their first proper talk.

Yet it was her, once again, that stepped up. She noticed how he got nervous, eyes wandering, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll explain it to you later. When we are not so pressed on time.” She reached out slowly, placing her hand on his arm, squeezing it in reassurance. Y/n smiled at him softly, moving around him to exit the kitchen and prepare for the day ahead.

Without thinking Logan placed a hand over hers, just in time before she pulled hers away. It had her stop in her tracks. Her eyes moved to where his rough callused palm warmed the back of her hand, up to his eyes. He was watching her with intention.

She was nervous. This was either going to be an invitation to finally get to know him or he had enough of her and told her to stop fancying him.

“You can explain it to me on a walk to the lake? Tonight?” He asked, one eyebrow raising in question. His hand squeezed hers gently.

A second of silence followed.

She exhaled, the stress leaving her body but she had to keep her composure. A grin spread across her face “Sounds like a plan.” She held eye contact for a few beats, then let her hand slip out of his hold as she left.

That’s how you do it, Tiger!

Her lips pressed together to keep from smiling too hard as she exited the hallway.

Taglist: @sarahskywalker-amidala @myu3ki @stinastar @zortlort @zeeader @lolurk @eddiesguitarskills @elianamarie-blog @byhuenii @sunfairyy @weallhaveadestiny @catiwinky @halerune@yawnzshit @sseleniaa @starfleetteddybear @ipreferreadingtocope @br1-11 @kalicox  @rushin--spy @poplottie @pushingdaisies1 @nikki-says-beautiful-lies  @lizlil @matchamidoriya @simonsbluee @beiroviski  @spideybv28 @suiien @prompto-is-a-chocobo@landlockedmermaid77@passionfruiticedtea @valorant-v  @onlyforyuto @fallen-angels2213  @danicl25 @meowmeowyoongles @qardasngan @savy-luvs-dilfs @i-dont-do-too-much  @kittykookies @hooomansstuff

I hope I got everyone on the taglist. Write to me if I missed you.

New requets for being added to the list via comments on the Masterlist post, please. That helps me to keep things organized :)

But please leave a comment on this post to provide me with serotonin 😍

[bunnyyyuu]

includes: implied f! reader, nothing but fluffff, PINK

for context, i dyed my hair hot pink this weekend with the help of my gf! but it came out red (though i love the red its my favorite hair color ive ever had). anyways that + yuuta brainrot =

yuuta’s eyes are squinted so small you worry if he can even see what he’s doing. his tongue is sticking out of his lips in concentration—how cute. his hair is out of his face in a little ponytail atop his head held up wjth one of your spare scrunchies. he’s gripping the brush with a gloved and as he meticulously worked.

you were tired of paying upwards of 200? 300? dollars for a new look. so, tonight, you’d asked your lovely boyfriend to dye your hair pink for you. he’d never dyed hair before, but, after studying a couple youtube videos with furrowed brows, he’s feeling relatively confident.

“sorry if i mess up your hair,” he murmurs for the upteenth time as he globs more hot pink goop on the naked section of your hair.

he was anxious—how could he not be? there was a chance he could ruin your hair and your confidence in just an hour or so. you just giggled, trying to stay as still as possible but your shoulders still shake a little.

“if you fuck my shit up and i have to go bald, will you still love me?” you ask. you can see him in the mirror hanging on your bedroom door you were seated in front of, a faint blush pinking your cheeks at just how adorably focused he looked.

“i’ll love you always,” he says simply, as if it was common sense.

“even if i’m bald? like shiny, not-a-single-strand-of-hair bald?” you continue pestering him.

“yes, yes, love your hair, but i would still love you without it." you can tell he’s struggling to juggle his task and your conversation, so you shut up.

he has you leaning over the edge of the tub an hour later, holding the detachable shower head. bright, neon pink water threatens to stain the porcelain white tub as he rinses your hair. your’re hissing at the freezing temperature of the water, eyes squeezed shut so tight as it streams down your face.

he keeps rinsing, occasionally running his hands through your sopping locks to check if there was any dye left on your scalp, until the water grew light enough to be safe.

he blow dries your hair after, mumbling apologies when you whine about the heat against your head. he’s not letting you look at yourself until it's all done, but you're pretty sure he likes it.

“it looks good,” he half-shouts over the sound of the hairdryer, “very pink!”

once your hair was all done, he pressed a kiss against the crown of your head before turning you to look at the mirror.

you’re looking at your reflection and he’s looking at you. he thinks you might be angel sent down from heaven as a reward for something great he did in a past life.

“yuuta!” you squeal, hands cautiously hovering over the bright strands, “it's so pretty!”

“you're so pretty,” he can't help to remind you—he does that a lot.

he just loves the way you're looking at yourself. he knows (for reasons he cannot even begin to comprehend) that you're not always satisfied with your appearance, even when he puts his best efforts to make you know just how gorgeous you are forth. but, now, you're staring at yourself with such glimmer in your eyes. he doesn't want you to ever look at yourself any other way again.

“do you like it?” he knows the answer before he asks it.

“i love it!” you turn to him, big grin painted on your lips, “i love you!” you throw yourself onto him and press a fat kiss against his forehead.

“i love you more.”

[dancingdonatello]

Hello, could you write a headcanon about Leo de Rottmnt on how he would react when he realizes he is in love with a human?

rise leo x gn reader

How many blind dates had he been on? Too many to count. He’d even agreed to be set up with Sunita’s cousin, who was the same sort of goop yokai except she was blue.

Every yokai he went out with, he always ended up ghosting them. Ignoring their messages, pretending not to know them when they ran into each other in the Hidden City. No matter how exasperated April and Sunita got, he just never felt right with any of them.

They all just seemed the same to him and he hated having to do small talk over and over again to just end up ignoring them a few hours after. It was a waste of time at this point. He should just pull a Donnie and write his age, favorite color, and hobbies down on a notecard and hand it off to the next yokai he went out with.

Not even at the bars or clubs he had followed Raph into had he spotted anyone. He always ended up slipping away into the crowd when everyone approached him.

His family was getting sick of him acting antisocial and then complaining about not having anyone. Hell, even Donnie was sneaking out at night, probably to meet someone.

The only one who ever listened to him without complaining was you now. Not that he could complain all the time, you were always busy and with your new… friends. He rolled his eyes at the thought of them.

You were always off with your completely 100% normal and human friend group, leaving him, his brothers, and April behind most of the time. April was always welcome but not them for obvious reasons.

You used to be at the lair everyday. Leo would share his comics. He’d teach you to skate. He’d throw popcorn at you when you ‘ooh’ed over a hot guy on love island. He barely saw you anymore. He’d portal into your room and it’d always be dark and empty.

And in every photo you had shown of your new friend group, there was always one bland looking dude right next to you. Always close, shoulders touching. Once you even giggled shyly when he mentioned it. It still made him mad just thinking about you going out with some shmuck that looked like every average guy walking around in the city.

He didn’t even look half as muscular as Leo. He didn’t have any of the flashy markings that glowed that Leo had. He couldn’t portal you to Paris or to the ancient pyramids. He didn’t even save the world. And yet you were probably more with him than with Leo.

Did you think of how Leo could effortlessly pick you up when that guy tried to do the same? Did he think of how Leo who could hold you up with one arm? Leo who could take you wherever you wanted?

At the very moment he was about to call you to find an excuse to complain about your guy friend, he finally realized what was actually doing on.

Of course he’d fall in love with someone he couldn’t have.

And it wasn’t like Leo could actually do everything with you like he tried to convince himself he could. You were a human and wanted to human things with human people. He couldn’t go into public with you. Kids would cry. Women would throw their purses at him. You’d be lonely with him.

So he didn’t call you. He’d let you hang out with your real friends and hopefully as you forgot about him, he’d be able to move on.

[selineram3421]

This has been in my drafts for a while.

The Slip Up

Alastor & Child Reader

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ food mention, cussing, terrible cooking decisions, moving dolls, sharing childhood trauma, mentions of murder ⚠

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, watching Angel try to make something called zuppa.

But it was turning out like a pile of brown goop.

"Fucking damn it!", the spider demon cussed as he tried to get the wooden spoon out of the food. "What the hell!? I followed the damn recipe!"

Taking a peek at the cook book, you saw what the food was supposed to look like and the instructions of how to make it. So far, Angel did everything, but in the wrong order.

"I think you jumped a few times..", you mumbled.

"Huh?", the fluffy demon responded but did not look back at the book.

"Do we have tomatoes?", you wondered out loud.

Then you see Alastor step out of the shadows and he makes his way over to look at the cook book.

"Creamy Tomato soup?", he reads.

"Oh, I couldn't find the tomatoes so I used ketchup."

You heard the static grow louder from the deer demon.

While the Radio Demon approaches the spider, he grabs slices of bread and finds brown slop instead of soup.

"Angel..", his smile is strained. "What is this?"

"Zuppa!"

With a quick maneuver, the demon in red gets the cook book and shows the fluffy white demon the image of what the soup should look like.

"Why is it brown? It should be orange.", then he points at the ingredients. "We have all of these ingredients! Why are you using ketchup!?"

"Like I told the little one, couldn't find them.", the spider says and tries to stir the spoon in the pot but it's still stuck.

Having enough, the Radio Demon tells the film star to eat the "soup."

Angel, not understanding what was wrong, eats the goop and then starts to cough.

"Oh shit!", he coughed again. "Ketchup was not the answer."

With a slap of bread on each side of the spider's face, Alastor asks a question. "What are you?", with a smile unnaturally wide due to annoyance.

"I'm -"

"You're an idiot sandwich.", he said.

You saw his antlers grow really big before it went back to normal.

"Now, tell me what you are?"

"An idiot sandwich.." Angel mumbles sadly, not even looking up to meet the Radio Demon's gaze.

"Haha! Papa called you an idiot!", you laughed but stopped after realizing just what you had said.

....

The two tall demons were quiet as they stared at you surprised.

Slowly, you got down from the counter, not breaking eye contact as you did so and then once your feet touched the floor, you quickly ran out of the kitchen.

.

Alastor was shocked.

Did they just call me Papa?

"Al?"

He's never heard that before.

Do they really see me in such a light?

"Hello?"

I did pick them up and cared for them.

"Oy."

Gave them food, shelter, and toys.. They gave me that card on Father's Day. I suppose I am like a father figure.

"Smiles!"

Snapping out of thought, the deer demon released the spider and tossed the bread before making his way to the door.

"Ah, yes.", he said and looked back at the film star. "Follow the recipe by the book or I'll do worse than that silly humiliation."

Alastor left before the arachnid could reply. He had something else to do and that was to check on his little terror.

Entering his hotel room, he looks around the space and tries to see if he can spot them.

"Little one?", he called out.

As he was searching for the little demon, he wondered why they ran away.

Perhaps they were scared? I don't understand though, I would never lay a hand on them... Maybe their actual father didn't like them and forbade them from calling him as such.

"My little nightmare, I'm not angry. Please come out and talk to me?"

But everything was still and silent.

Turning to the sliding door, he knocked before opening it, finding the stuffed animals that were on the bed. Staring at him.

Ah, yes. Their impenetrable army of stuffed animals.

"I'll-". he began but as soon as he took another step, the stuffed animals heads snapped up to meet his eyes. "...stay at the door."

"To be honest, it took me by surprise when you called me..Papa. And I can understand your fear of my reaction.", he sighed. "I was barely able to call my father, the loathsome scum, such a title."

"He'd yell at me sometimes..", they spoke up from somewhere in the room. "But that was when he had his smelly juice and when he was really mad."

Looking around the room, the radio demon noticed that the rug was kicked up a bit near the bed and knelt down. Taking a look under the bed, he found their hiding place.

"Why was he always mad?", they whispered to themselves.

"A question I've always asked as well.", Alastor said as he extended a hand out to the little demon.

They reached out slowly and took his hand.

"There we go.", he gently got them out from under the bed and held them as he stood up. "You can keep calling me Papa, I don't mind it."

"Really?", they asked with a hopeful look in their eyes.

"Yes, I'm more than alright with it.", he said and gave them a reassuring pat on the head.

They smiled and wrapped their arms around his neck, giving him a hug.

.

You were waiting for Alastor to pick you up from school. Standing by the gate with Ms. Mayberry, who surprisingly stopped smoking whenever you were around.

Somewhat bored, you looked around the school yard and saw some of the other kids waiting, having fun bullying each other. You grinned when they avoided eye contact with you. Mostly because you killed more annoying kids on the bus.

"Mon petite!"

Looking up, there stood your adoptive parent.

"Papa!", you cheered, running over to the tall red dressed demon.

He took your hand and both of you headed back to the hotel.

"Tell me, how was your day?"

"I decapitated someone on the bus today!"

I couldn't get the image of Alastor calling Angel an idiot sandwich out of my head. I'm not sorry.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @kcsketches (More in the comments.)

ML II Alastor🎙️

[plasticferal]

girl PLEASE write something for facetime/phone sex with matt (he was looking a little too fine on that ipad in the last vid omg)

kiss me through the phone | matt sturniolo.

authors note: matt is looking fine as fuck lately, i'm going absolutely feral. short and sweet 2.8k words. not proof read! just brain goop.

warnings: 18+ content. fem!reader, masturbation, facetime, sweet talk, praise, explicit language. reader discretion is advised.

the vibrating sound of your phone rattling against your side table echoes in your room. you’ve been waiting for matt to call you all night, and with how sick he’s been lately, it’s the only way to actually see him.

you eagerly answer the facetime call, holding your phone up as you lay in bed, revealing the intricate lace bra and pyjama shorts you’re wearing.

matt answers the call, slouching tiredly at his desk, headphones on. his hair is messy. he’s shaved his facial hair into a faint goatee, and he looks perfect. even when he's unwell.

“i can’t believe you look that good and i can’t touch you” his eyes are wide as he speaks, smiling the second you're in his sight.

“i can’t believe we’re talking through a screen” you pout, rolling over in bed and hugging a pillow close to your cheek.

“you can blame nick” matt scoffs, making you chuckle lightly, watching as his eyes dart between his display screens quickly, then focusing solely on you.

“how is my pretty girl?” he asks, scooting closer in his desk chair, rubbing his hands together in that way he does when he speaks, and you get lost staring at his hands.

you’re too familiar with their touch to ignore the thoughts running through your mind. how much you miss them on your body, even if it’s only been a couple of days of not seeing him face to face.

"y/n?" he snaps you out of your trance.

"sorry, i'm good. i just miss you" you huff, rolling over once again with your phone tight in your grip.

you get positioned in an angle that pans down your body as you shift on the mattress, and you hear matt hum through the screen.

"i miss you more," his smile is so infectious.

you're giddy like it's the first time you're speaking to a crush, despite being in a secure relationship with him.

"you look so good right now, you know that?" he sounds so smug, somehow being able to be alluring through a device as he would in person.

"you do too. i like this look on you" you nod toward the screen, as if he's physically ahead of you.

matt rubs his jaw and bites his lip, the same way he would to make his brothers laugh, and you roll your eyes playfully. you know it's to entertain you, but somehow hit little bit genuinely has an affect on you.

you rub your thighs together, feeling a buzz in stomach as your mind shifts, and goosebumps rise on your skin. he just looks so good.

"does it turn you on?" he charms.

"you could do anything and it'd turn me on" you speak sweetly, a light lace of tiredness in your voice that you can drives him insane.

you can tell by the way he drags his hand down his face. suddenly his little joke hit too close to home.

"ugh, don't say that" he groans into his palm.

"why? does it turn you on?" you mimic him, in a luring tone.

"i've been pent up for like four days" he huffs, shifting in his seat.

"alright baby, i'm sorry" you chuckle, watching him suddenly become tense.

"don't be, it's not your fault you're gorgeous" he winks through the screen and you roll your eyes with a smile.

"alright romeo, are you feeling any better?" you ask pleasantly, trying to redirect the conversation, realizing you haven't even asked him how he is.

"my head still kinda hurts" he scrunches his face.

"my poor boy" you frown, genuinely.

you hate seeing him sick, but you know he handles it well. the boredom makes him more uncomfortable than the actual illness. proof being the hundreds of messages he's sent you, having full conversations with himself through text. his screen time would have been off the charts.

"distract me, tell me what you did today" he coos, a dopey grin on his face as he leans into his hand while looking at you.

"nothing exciting. i did some shopping, bought some new panties. you'd love them" you flash a warm smile, knowing your words are going to get his skin hot.

"not exciting? i'm gonna get hard just thinking about it" he blurts out, an abrupt confidence in him that he's had lingering lately. it's awfully attractive.

you watch his hand dip under his desk, where your view is cut off. you assume he's adjusting himself in his pants. you're trying to squeeze your lips together to hide a smirk.

"don't even show me, i'm going insane as it is" matt adjusts his headset, but it looks like he's doing it to make sure he can hear you better. it's like he can read your mind.

"you don't even wanna see the pair i have on now?" you begin to shift your camera closer to your body, slowly, teasingly down your torso.

"fuck" you hear matt sigh, and you lose sight of him as your phone faces down on your waist.

you slip a thumb under the band of your shorts, tugging them down and only flashing him the lace that hugs the crease of your leg. your dainty fingers caress the skin at your hip.

"i thought about you when i chose them"

he grabs your attention through his lack of response. instead, he stifles a cough, as if he's covering up another sound. it's a soft strain in his throat.

you narrow your eyes, snapping your phone back up to your face, the brightness taking you aback for a moment, and you need to readjust your vision. you're laying on your back, neck perked up on your fluffed pillows, but you lean closer to the screen to observe his actions.

matt's mouth is open ajar, and his right arm is tucked tight to his side, moving ever so slowly. you can't see the view past his ribcage, but you can string together what's happening.

“matty?"

"y-yeah baby," he asks, clearing his throat soon after.

you squint, trying to envision what your full view would be, where his hand is hiding, and the way he's in a state of stupor.

"are you touching yourself?” you bite your lip.

"’m sorry baby. just hearing you speak. your body” his voice is breathy and coarse, and he's staring at you on his screen like he's watching porn, viciously lost in his own thoughts.

“it’s been lonely in that room, huh?”

"mmph-you have no idea," he shakes his head, hesitantly picking up the pace of his strokes, making his voice shake.

you're rolling your hips at the thought of him jerking off, knowing he hasn't been able to satisfy his needs unless you're the one helping him through it. it brings you more pleasure than it should, how quickly he crumbles. even when you're miles apart.

"do you want me to stop?" he asks, and you can tell he's slowly palming himself, shamlessly all of a sudden as he does so.

you can't deny the ache that's been growing between your thighs since you've realized what he's doing. your legs arch up on the bed, and he can't see you, but you're spreading them open slightly.

“keep going" you order, sliding a hand into your own panties, and matt sharply exhales through his nose.

matt nods, leaning in his chair. he silently shows you gratitude by the look in his eyes. they soften, but are full of lust. the office chair dips with him, and the further he leans back, the more of him that's revealed.

taking time to let both of you get more into it as he strokes himself, turning the volume of his phone up to hear the breathy sounds you try to hold back. your fingers working between your thighs as you listen to his soft grunts and moans.

"are you imagining that's my hand, matt?" your voice lowers an octave, using your most seductive shift in mannerisms, voice, and stare to guide matt through.

"or my mouth?" and when those words escape your lips, he throws his head back with a moan.

"i wish i could fuck your pretty mouth so bad" his teeth are tight as he speaks, chest rising and falling heavily.

pushing his chair back so he can finally release his cock from his sweatpants, your heart skips at a beat at the sight of him with his hard dick in his grip, leaking tip and veins prominent in his big hand.

"you touching yourself, baby?" he asks, giving long, wrist twisting strokes to himself.

"mhm" you strain a hum, and pan your phone down so he gets a preview of you your hand under your shorts, caressing through your folds steadily.

you circle your clit that's already soaked, spreading your juices, and you're seeping through the fabric of your pants. you know you need to pull them off, becoming impatient by your own restriction. plus, how badly matt wants to see you.

"you have no idea how bad i wanna be in-between those thighs right now" the nearly desperate moan that spilled from his lips makes you clench around your own touch, whimpering as you rock into your palm.

trying to find the same sweet spot matt has always manages to find, you put your phone down by your side, so the camera view is on your ceiling momentarily.

��don’t stop talking, y/n" he pants, focusing the pump of his hand on his swollen head.

"you wanna see this pussy, baby?" you speak while he doesn't have a visual source for a second.

"who's pussy is it, y/n?" matt growls, and you can hear the wet sounds coming from his hand moving more savagely.

you quickly, ferociously strip from your undergarments, discarding them. you whip out a decorative pillow from under your back and rest it at the edge of your bed, using it as a phone stand so matt can have the perfect view, as if he were actually between your legs.

"yours. all yours" you swallow as you look at your screen again with heavy eyelids.

you watch as matt spits into his hand, making your core tighten.

“bet your fingers don’t feel the same as mine. do they, sweetheart?” he huffs, pace of his hand picking up when you moan in response.

you start groping your breasts with closed eyes, imagining it was his strong hand grasping at you.

“you’re a tease” you murmur, pinching your nipples hard with one hand and squeezing your legs together against the other.

"say it" he chokes out, continuing to fuck himself hard and fast, eyes flicking between a narrow stare and shutting tight with a halted breath.

"n-nothing is better than your touch"

you want to get a better view of him. you can see the entirety of him in his chair, but it's just not close enough. his sweats cover most of his hand movements, and you're mentally begging for him to pull them off.

"for someone who's whole life is behind the camera, your angles could be better, baby" you tease, breathless, and matt glares at you.

he yanks his pants to his ankles first. the sight of his shirt pulled up enough to show the tensing muscles of his abdomen and throbbing erection begging to be relieved. needier moans and whines coming from both of you before he finally fixes his camera angle.

he reaches forward to the screen, bringing it closer, and panning down more. your screen is engulfed by a close up of matt's face and lap. a perfect view.

"better?" he rushes his question. you nod, chuckling lightly.

you continue to roll your fingers across your vulva, spreading yourself open for him and tease your own hole with your fingertips. his whole arm is shaking from the quick rhythm he’s set, drowning himself in the fantasy he’s creating as he watches your expressions of bliss.

pushing into yourself while you watch him, matt almost releases right then and there.

the sight of him masturbating is something you're going to be replaying in your mind, and you already know he's going to make this a more common occurrence.

“i’ve been aching all week for this,” he speaks, voice singing through the speakers of your phone, trying not to sound too much like he's whining.

“you have no idea how hard it is to not get myself off when i think about you, y/n.” matt continues, and it makes you fuck deeper into yourself, arching your back.

you feel yourself growing a sickeningly sweet pain in your stomach, a sharp feeling that bubbles like champagne and brings you such a overwhelming sensation. you're a moaning mess. anyone hearing your vocal exchanges would think it's an act, almost sounding scripted.

“matt-” his full name is cut off in a stuttered gasp, pleasure washing over you wave after wave until all you could do was pant and grind against your palm.

"ngh, keep going. that's my girl," you're both desperate to keep hearing each other and melt completely into your own touch, using nothing but desire and the memory of him devouring you to push you over the limit.

you can hear his skin slapping with how forceful his strokes are, almost like he's putting himself through misery by going fast, then slow. playing with himself, giving his cock the same feeling you would by changing the momentum.

"wish that was my fucking hand. oh, fuck” he groans through gritt teeth, following right behind you as his release spills out onto his stomach.

"mm-matty," you shriek, grinding into your quilt cover and pushing into your fingers to feel like your climax hit it's peak, abs tightening and a sharp inhale flooding your entire body. your pleasure slowly subsides.

your mouth feels dry from gasping and you need to lick your lips straight away, to bring some relief. to regain your composure. you lean forward, grabbing your phone with your clean, shaky hand.

"god that was so fucking hot" matt grabs at the armrests, head tossed back, staring at the ceiling in a post-orgasm daze.

you giggle at the state he's in, watching his cock slap against his lower stomach, resting next to his happy trail that you'd give anything to lick clean. he gives himself a few more lazy stokes, overstimulated as he jolts to his own touch.

you wipe your sticky fingers on your shorts beside you, so you can hold your phone more comfortably.

"i can't wait to touch you again" you admire, snuggling back into your pillow and curling into yourself, bringing the screen to your face.

"better be soon, i don't know how much longer i can last without you" matt pulls himself to slide back under desk, hiding the explicit sight. you know he won't be putting pants back on anytime soon.

"come closer to the screen" you implore.

"why? you want a kiss?" he jokes, and you play along.

"i do actually. c'mhere" you wave him over as you hold your phone to your lips, probably not your most flattering angle but matt adores you in any state. from any angle. even when you're virtual.

"you seriously want me to kiss the screen?" he snorts, shaking his head at you while flashing his teeth.

"if you don't, i'll hang up" you shrug to yourself, earning a grumble from matt.

"you're ridiculous" he laughs.

"kiss me through the phone, baby" you both exchange a fatigued half-smile, as you know it's past his bedtime, so you initiate a parting line.

your eyes strain to see the screen as you pucker at the circle camera on the black mirrored surface, and matt is trying to be serious as he leans forward with a 'mwah' sound, smacking his lips onto his more advanced ipad setup.

the messy burgundy silk sheets in his background shot look so enticing, and you're sure he wants nothing more than to tangle himself between them.

"was that your way of telling me to say goodnight?" he raises an eyebrow, and you nod, trying to be stern in your sentence.

"it was, my love" you speak in a gentle tone.

as much as you want nothing more than to fall asleep to his voice, or his light snores, or even the sound of him playing videos. he needs to rest. and you know it'll be a good sleep after his much deserved orgasm.

"alright my angel, i'll let you go" his eyes are getting darker, and heavier with each word.

"goodnight, matty bear" you slip the nickname in, knowing he's too delirious to argue against it.

"goodnight, baby. dream about me." he smiles with his flushed cheeks, blowing you one last kiss through the screen before it turns black.

you're left alone with the vision of him, and your own arms to wrap around before you drift into a sleep where you will absolutely be dreaming about matthew.

end.

tag list: @luverboychris @recklessmatt @floofparker @teampurpleforlife @letstripsturniolo @imwetforyourmom @fake-sturniolos @recklessmatt @kentahoe

[flamingpudding]

Part 5 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

For those that ask, yes an AO3 link is in the works. I will post it once its ready. Also fair warning, I will be focusing on DPxDC Family Week now so I have no idea when the next part will be up.

<<1 Previous Next

Thrill and chirp brother

Tim sipped on his n-th cup of specially made Tim-brand-not-Alfred-approved coffee as he shuffled into the dinning room and sat down on the breakfast table. The moment he sat down he opened the laptop again and stared at its screen for a couple of seconds. The scan of the post-it note got nothing. None of the squiggles was recognised in any of the so far known languages. Hell he even ran it through the leagues recordings of interdimensional and interplanetary known languages. No hits so far. Right now he was running a picture recognition program to see if any of these had appeared before it was on 90% with nothing found so far.

Good he hoped this really was just a prank from Cass and Steph. Because if it wasn't, Bruce would go nuts and overly paranoid as well as up the entire Manors security system a third time this month. Sadly, despite his hope, Tim knew that it wasn't a prank.

A cough resounded behind him and Tim blinked two times before sighting, closing the laptop and pushing it only a couple of inches away from him as Alfred put a plate with his breakfast before him. Knowing Alfreds rules about work at the table he would better not touch it again for now.

"Replacement, you look like the dead walking. Did you even sleep last night?" He glared at his brother before he blinked taking in his surroundings before his eyes rested on little Danny.

Tim could see that all of them, despite barely knowing the kid for a couple of hours, had already become attached to Danny. It didn't help that they had discovered Lichtenberg scarring running up Danny's left arm all the way to where his heart was after the child had finally let Damien take care of him. Hell Tim wanted to know who would give a child, a once dead then revived one, scares like that. If Talia had let the kid go through some sort of experimentation…. Well Tim knew where the explosives were stored and by the looks of it he probably could count on Jason's as well as Dick's help to blow up a league facility.

Either way Damien had become very protective of the child. The scarring didn't help calming that protectiveness either. In fact he was pretty sure it steered it more in the rest of them too. Also the fact that Danny spat out glowing Lazarus Water once they managed to wrangle the kid off Jason last night wasn't calming down a different kind of worry anytime soon either. No, it was another factor next to the scarring that spoke for the League having experimented on the poor child. He probably should start investing more time into what sort of facilities the League had built or was using lately.

On a good note, thankfully Danny had let up on Jason after he spat out the green goop and thanks to the fact that he apparently recognised Damien, let said teenager manhandle -cough- take care of the little biter for the rest of the night. It also seemed like the little guys biting obsession with Jason had calmed down, for now. He didn't trust the calm, especially not with the way Danny was still focused on his second oldest brother. Though everyone except for the demon brat was still getting the hissing treatment. Considering his theory that the League probably used the revived child to experiment with Lazarus Water, it wasn't that much of a surprise. Anyone would be feral after being subjected to experiments.

Thankfully it looked that whatever Pit Madness had overcome the child last night was not reacting towards them. But as he watched Dick trying really hard not to pout at Damien who had Danny in his lap in a protective hold, he wondered how long that would hold. Jason sat as far away from Danny and Damien as he could, probably because of the way the child was watching him with glowing blue eyes while munching on whatever food Damien gave to the little biter.

He could also see the reason for Dick's pouting as the elder reached out to attempt to ruffle Danny's hair but the child instantly snapped his head in their eldest brother's direction, hissing, bearing his teeth and even snapping at the air until Dick withdrew said hand again. A pout very evidently on his face. Like a switch flipped the child's focus would then redirect to watching Jason like a hawk again and munching on the food the Demon brat gave him.

At least he was the bitey type that would hiss as warning and not the stabby kind without warning like Damien.

"Yo, anyone at home up there?"

Turning his focus back to his second oldest brother Tim glared at him once more. "If you have to know. Yes I did sleep last night."

"More than one hour?" Dick asked next and Tim refused to look at the eldest. He was not going to answer that. He had coffee, who needed sleep when you have coffee. Besides, he was a perfectly functioning human being even with minimal amounts of sleep. He had not face planted his breakfast for three days now.

"What got you so obsessed that you didn't sleep, Drake? Another case? Or did you try to find out more from the League in regards to Danyal's scars?"

"That too but mostly the post-it note." He finally answered after stewing a little longer under the stares of his siblings. "Neither our nor the JL's language recognition programs got a hit and right now I am running a picture recognition to see if there ever was any kind of writing like that found before but it ran up to 90% before I came down and hadn't found anything like that before. And-"

"Slow down there Timber. I thought that's just a prank from Cass and Steph?" Dick interrupted him and Tim suppressed a groan.

"It couldn't be. I wish it was but both of them weren't in the Manor last night and I don't think Duke would do something like this so-"

"Hold up." Jason cut in and Tim glowered at them for getting interrupted again.

"What do you mean no language recognition program got a hit?"

"It means that there is no languages to translate-"

"Why would you need that? Yea its cryptic as fuck but its clearly written out!"

"Jason what are you talking about?" He opened his laptop again, turning the screen so it was facing Jason. "These are squiggles! How is it readable?!"

"The fuck you talking about?! Don't tell me your sleep deprived mind doesn't know how to read anymore?"

"Jason what does it say in your eyes?" Dick carefully cut in before Tim could question the other any more.

"'The daylight knight will tell the truth with eyes that see the light'. See cryptic as fuck." The older gesticulated towards Tim's laptop screen while Damien raised an eyebrow at him.

"The what now, will tell what?" Dick asked confusedly while Tim turned the laptop back towards him noting down what Jason just said. He was confused as to why Jason was able to read the squiggles but at least that gave him some kind of hint about the post-it. Aside from adding more questions to the already growing pile.

Suddenly a thrilling noise echoed in the room and the four looked at Danny. The child's now green eyes were focused on Jason. Tim could see Damiens hold tightening and Dick tensing when they noticed the green. Danny repeated the same nose he made earlier, still intensely staring at Jason.

"Who the fuck is clockwork?"

The green fated and Danny made a similar noise to chirping, his head tilting in confusion.

"The fuck you mean you don't know? You just said that Clockwork wrote the note?!"

"Todd. Did you just understand the noise Danyal was making?"

Once again the three of them stared at Jason who looked at them confused. "You didn't?"

They shake their heads and Jason let out a frustrated groan as he sat back down his head in his hands. "What did you assholes hear just now?"

"Danyal made some kind of thrilling, then chirping noise."

"Well I heard him say that someone named Clockwork wrote the note and then he said all confused that he doesn't know who Clockwork is." He looked at them frustrated. "Why do I hear the kid speak and you guys don't. You're his fucking twin, right? Shouldn't you know what the brat is saying?"

Damien glowered at their brother offended but didn't retort anything. Tim did see a hint of frustration with their formerly youngest and he could guess. Damien was most likely frustrated about the fact that Jason understood his twin's noises and he didn't. The only thing stopping him from possibly hurling the breakfast knife at Jasons, was most likely his hold on Danny.

Tim also thought about the fact for a while until it suddenly hit him. He looked up and made eye contact with Dick who most likely came to the same conclusion. The two turned towards their siblings.

"The Lazarus Water." Tim carefully offered, watching Jason and Damien tensed slightly.

"What about it?" The second oldest scoffed, turning his attention towards them.

"That's what you two have in common. Both of you got revived and came back through a Lazarus Pit. You still have the Pit in your mind right? And Danny most likely also has a lot of it in his system. It even mixed with his DNA."

After a beat of silence Jason let out a hearty groan. "Fuck. So because of the Pit I understand thrill and chirps now? Just fucking great!"

"Probably can speak it too if you try. That would be pretty cute. Come on, say something in a chirp!" Leave it to Dick to try to lighten the mood, though the glare Jason sent the eldest did make Tim hide a chuckle. He had to admit imaging Jason talking in chirps was a funny image. Should his brother ever do that he would need to make sure to take a video for his black mail folder.

"I will fucking not!"

"Come on, don't you want to communicate properly with our little teethling here?"

"Fuck off Dick!"

"You have to try it Jaybird! For little teethling!"

"Richard." Damien warned but Tim could only snicker as he watched Dick reach out to pat the kids head carelessly, apparently not hearing the warning nor hissing as the elder was too engrossed in convincing Jason to talk in chirp.

Dick let out a shriek of pain.

"Ha! Not so fun getting bitten is it now?" Jason laughed gloating with the fact that for once he was not the biting target.

Tim winched the moment he saw Danny clamp down with his sharp teeth on Dick's hand. Damien was instantly scowling both of them but the little biter refused to let go. He saw Alfred approaching the three and instantly stood up from his chair with a warning on the tip of his tongue as the butler reached out towards Danny.

"Master Danyal." Stunned and frozen the four brothers watched how the butler fearlessly patted the child's head who only let out a small hiss in acknowledgement, teeth still digging into the eldest brother's hand. "I request you let go of Master Dick's hand. I fear it will not taste as well as this snack I have prepared for you."

In an instant Danny let go and chirped, turning his attention towards Alfred who was still patting the child's head without getting hissed at or being in risk of getting bitten. Damien even let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you Pennyworth."

Dick was now cradling his hand, pouting and mumbling something about unfairness at the three as Jason laughed. Tim too couldn't help but chuckle, of course Alfred somehow became an exception towards Danny's biteyness.

It was at that moment that Duke entered the room, took one look at them, blinked, rubbed his eyes and then turned around and left again muttering something about it being too bright and early for any of this.

[haladriel]

Devourer of Light: How did Sauron regain his power in the Second Age?

So @cassey-fitzcassey and I have been doing some musing.

Since the end of the first season of Rings of Power, we’ve known that Sauron has been hiding under the guise of human Halbrand. 

Since the beginning of the second, we’ve known this isn’t by choice: that Sauron slid straight from powerful would-be ruler to powerless goop, festering in darkness before absorbing his way up the food chain, the passing of an unfortunate rat the true catalyst in this story.

‘Sauron lives because of you!'

When Sauron finally hijacks a body with functional hands, face and legs, the relief on his stolen face is clear. He is free from his squid ink spaghetti prison. And, for better or for worse, from his former life.

But Sauron has been debased: a great Maia, heir to Morgoth, forced into the body of a mortal man? Oof. If he had the power to do so, I have no doubt he would have changed his shape immediately, from the humiliation alone. 

But he doesn’t. Which means he can’t. 

When we see him having to warm his pitiful human body in the Northern Waste, he is dispirited. Resentful of his debasement. Rueing his sworn enemy who he’s had hundreds of years to bitterly, goopily hate.

When he meets the Southlanders, they’re heading away from the orcs: chances are he’s on his way to encounter Adar.

To what end, we don’t know. I’m not sure he does either. He’s almost visibly single-minded on this task, using the trail of humans as a wayfinder. When the Southlander with the sigil shares his wisdom, Sauron is surprised to be approached. He is apathetic towards the conversation, but his curiosity — or opportunism — is piqued enough to turn, and follow. Sauron’s opportunity weather-vane in action.

When the sea-wyrm (hi Ossë) attacks the Southlanders’ ship, once again, we do not see Sauron shapeshift into something more useful. Implication, he still can’t. Or, he’s committed to giving this good human life thing a go. Coin toss, but let's be honest, in such a situation, with no one watching me, I'd probably scrap that plan and disappear stealthily into the depths.

So when does Sauron regain enough power to do all of his usual shapeshifting and other demigodly shenanigans?

Well, by the second season, Sauron is able to put on The Jesus Show™ for Celebrimbor.

At this stage, he can do pretty light displays, give himself a booming voice, change his clothing and physical appearance (to an extent; presumably a vampiric bat is still beyond him) and perhaps (as some have suggested) even control the weather to make Brimby feel bad for him. So when did he regain power? And more importantly, how? 

Theory #0 Horror movie Sauron

It’s true that we have seen Sauron regain shape and form by devouring other beings.

But, presumably, this isn’t how he continues to regain his former strength, which continues to grow throughout Season 1 and into Season 2 — otherwise Rings of Power is at risk of becoming something a lot more sinister than it already is.

This gruesome mechanism seems more of a primitive way for a discorporated Maia to regain a physical form, not to reclaim all that Maia energy that burst from his body — something akin to morsels versus the feast, or long-term nourishment. All in all, while this might be how Sauron starts the process of regaining his strength, it feels unlikely it's how he continues, as any power from everyday creatures and humans simply wouldn’t be enough to restore him to his former self. But the possibility’s still, technically, on the table.

Given this is a high fantasy show, and (mostly) not a cosmic horror one… at this point, it’s worth consulting the source texts. What do we already know from Tolkien about Light and power in Aman and Middle-earth?

Elrond's Lore Interlude: Light and Darkness as interchangeable power sources

Anyone who’s read The Silmarillion remember Ungoliant, ancestor to Shelob? When telling her story in The Silmarillion, Tolkien has some interesting things to say about Light and Darkness: 

There … the shadows were deepest and thickest in the world … secret and unknown, Ungoliant had made her abode … She had crept towards the light of the Blessed Realm; for she hungered for light and hated it.  In a ravine she lived, and took shape as a spider of monstrous form, weaving her black webs in a cleft of the mountains. There she sucked up all light that she could find, and spun it forth again in dark nets of strangling gloom, until no light more could come to her abode; and she was famished. A cloak of darkness she wove about them when Melkor and Ungoliant set forth: an Unlight, in which things seemed to be no more, and which eyes could not pierce, for it was void. — J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion, 'Of the Darkening of Valinor'

In brief summary of What Goes Down, Morgoth promises Ungoliant all her desires in exchange for her service, and they temporarily ally to launch an attack on the Two Trees Laurelin and Telperion...

...causing the Darkening of Valinor:

…when both Trees were shining, and the silent city of Valmar was filled with a radiance of silver and gold … in that very hour Melkor and Ungoliant came hastening over the fields of Valinor, as the shadow of a black cloud upon the wind fleets over the sunlit earth… Then the Unlight of Ungoliant rose up even to the roots of the Trees, and Melkor sprang upon the mound; and with his black spear he smote each Tree to its core, wounded them deep, and their sap poured forth as it were their blood, and was spilled upon the ground. But Ungoliant sucked it up, and going then from Tree to Tree she set her black beak to their wounds, till they were drained … And still she thirsted, and going to the Wells of Varda she drank them dry; but Ungoliant belched forth black vapours as she drank, and swelled to a shape so vast and hideous that Melkor was afraid. So the great darkness fell upon Valinor.

Why is this relevant? Ungoliant shows that Light can be converted into Unlight, or Darkness. (Side note: Anyone read the Stormlight Archive by Brandon Sanderson? Yeah. That’s where he got it from.) Tolkien makes this relationship even more explicit in the next paragraph:

The Light failed; but the Darkness that followed was more than loss of light. In that hour was made a Darkness that seemed not lack but a thing with being of its own: for it was indeed made by malice out of Light, and it had power to pierce the eye, and to enter heart and mind, and strangle the very will.

And, importantly, Ungoliant grows more powerful by consuming Light.

So, back to Sauron. How might he regain his lost power?

Sauron, Devourer of Light

If Ungoliant’s example is anything to go by, it could be: simply, from encountering things that have Light in them. And devouring it. But what things, and when?

Theory #1 From the Mithril

So, @cassey-fitzcassey had the idea that Sauron might have regained his power when he touched the Mithril during the making of the rings.

Timeline-wise, this is certainly possible, as Sauron does not demonstrate any significant unseen-worldly powers until after meeting Celebrimbor (The Raft: Reprise). But given Sauron wants the rings to be as powerful as possible, there was only a small amount of Mithril available to he and Celebrimbor to work with (hence why it must be magnified using the ring shape), it’s less plausible he would take too much Light power from the Mithril, lest he weaken the end result. Still, however, a possibility.

Theory #2  From Middle-earth, including Lindon's tree

In his time spent as human Halbrand, as part of ‘the residue of evil’ that Morgoth had left behind, Sauron could have been slowly siphoning power off the land and its peoples.

At the beginning of the events in the Rings of Power, the whole of Middle-earth is at peace — the Light of the Eldar is the Light of Valinor, responsible for sustaining their immortality — and it follows that there would be Light both metaphorically and, in the Tolkien universe, literally saturating the lands and its people.

But that light is fading, and there is a blight upon the Great Tree of Lindon.

Darkness is seen elsewhere in Middle-earth, too. In the first scenes in the Southlands, Arondir examines a cow oozing black goop; she has been grazing in lands where there is Darkness, triggered — or, if Sauron himself spent this whole time quietly radiating Darkness from under his icy fortress, exacerbated — by the presence of the orcs.

The implication made clear here is that Light and Darkness can exist inside beings, and that the levels can vary. But, like trying to drink from a trickling creek, Sauron supping Light in this way enough to regain his former powers couldn’t happen quickly. So, given he shows no signs of using those powers in the Prologue, why the apparent acceleration after the shipwreck?

Theory #3  From the Lady of Light herself

You can see where this is going.

Galadriel is the Lady of Light, and lore goes the gold of her hair ‘was touched by some memory of the starlike silver of her mother, and the Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees had been snared in her tresses' (Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn'). 

In Tolkien’s world, where Light can be a source of power for a creature of Darkness to grow stronger, the Light in Galadriel is unlikely merely metaphorical.

The Eldar contain the Light of Valinor and bring this Light to Middle-earth: Galadriel, as one of those who basked in the Light of the Two Trees themselves, will contain more than most.

So when Sauron encounters her, with all her irresistible Light, he’s discovered a deep well of convertible power. Even a bit of her Light might have sped up the process. And, well, while she’s busy touching the darkness, she’s not going to notice a bit of it going missing, is she?

Bonus Theory: Reverse conversion

This has little bearing on where Sauron regains his power from, but as a thought: does Light replace Unlight, or Darkness? Or can it be internally converted?

As his discorporated form shows, Sauron is — spiritually speaking — made of Darkness. He is black ooze personified. Or Maia-ified. Maybe, just maybe, in a world where Light and Dark aren’t only metaphors for morality, Galadriel and Sauron spark a conversion reaction inside one another. Their internal battles become metachemical, with a little of Galadriel’s Light turning to Darkness, and Sauron’s Darkness… turning to Light. 

That may be stretching the bounds a little. But, either way, Sauron lives and regains his power because of Galadriel. And the rat.  ________________________________

Disclaimer: I haven’t read all of Tolkien’s legendarium yet. He wrote a lot of stuff. If there’s anything that’s been missed, I’d love to hear about it.

[noldsey]

thinking once again about how wade's endless rambles, mostly coming from the mess of voices inside his gooped-up head, are able to drown out the screaming voices inside logan's head.

thinking about how cassandra offered to silence those voices for logan, but logan probably doesn't want that in the first place. those are voices of his friends. his tether to his horrible decisions but also: the people in his past. just like the suit he kept on his skin.

however much of a relief it was to not hear them, silencing them is the last thing logan wants.

but wade is able to give him something louder than those voices. a noisy reminder that life goes on. a new annoying tether to the present and the future. pushing him to stop walking in circles and keep going.

"it's like an armadillo fucked a gremlin! angrily!"

stupid. stupid stupid stupid. words really just fall out of his mouth with the velocity of shooting stars.

and as wrong as this may sound, as much as wade hates himself for it, logan is forever grateful for whatever made wade such a loud, stupid, blabbering mess.

crossposted from twt with some edits

[xxsycamore]

@venulus HA! YOU THOUGHT! I bet you received the previous notification and thought it was all over!!! Guess who impulsively came up with the perfect little idea for an additional ficlet and just HAD TO make it a thing >:) is this how it feels to be Clavis's accomplice? Well, you know it better than me~ Happy Birthday once again, hope you enjoy <3

[🥺] 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐…

CLAVIS:

"Is something wrong, little bunny? You've been terribly tense all this time."

Clavis's words snap you out of your thoughts, but you don't allow yourself to relax just yet. That's precisely what he wants! To make you lower your guard so he can surprise you when you least expect it. For the longest time, or rather ever since you started dating this talented, handsome, scheming, charming, strange, beautiful creature that is your Clavis, your birthdays have been just that. One surprise after another.

And yes, this is the point, yes this is exactly what someone would want for their lover, to catch them by surprise with a loving gesture - but you can't help the side of you who craves the ultimate proof of love. Namely, knowing him well enough to predict exactly what he's got planned for you.

So every step you take, you stop in your tracks with exclamation. Aha, when you step on this tile, you'll activate some kind of mechanism that will launch a confetti attack! But it never comes.

"You're puzzling me, my darling. Let's get you to the balcony for some fresh air, shall we?"

The balcony?! Where Cyran and the others are waiting to recite an ode of love that yours truly wrote for you, finishing it off with artillery fire for maximum emotional impact?! You shake your head enthusiastically, telling him you want to eat some cake now. Clavis smiles and nods, guiding you by the shoulders to the table he decorated.

As his beautiful gloved hand removes the big cloche to uncover the cake, you've already taken a step back in caution. Who knows what will jump out from the cake - if Clavis wasn't right there where you can clearly see him, you'd think it would be him that jumps out from the cake.

It's a normal cake though. Wait, it's a normal cake??

"Believe it or not my bunny, it is I who baked you this cake. As you can see, there's nothing funny about it - not on the outside, not on the inside. It was extremely hard for me, and I must admit, I had helpers, but at last, the result is here for your eyes to see. Happy Birthday."

As your knife goes in, you're almost expecting for the cake to crumple down as a mass of purple goop oozes out of it, but it never happens. You even bring the forked bite to your mouth, chew on it, gulp it down - and the only thing out of the ordinary is just how amazing it is.

"Is it any good? It might be written all over my face now but, uh, I... I'm quite nervous, haha."

You feel like crying, so you just throw yourself on Clavis' neck, thanking him a hundred times and apologizing that you doubted him some more than that. Amidst it all, you also make sure to tell him how absolutely cute he is.

Clavis grins widely despite how obviously embarrassed your comment got him.

Little do you know, this only served to successfully lower your guard.

∎ (REQUESTS CLOSED) Steal My Heart!! - xxsycamore’s 1500 followers celebration event | 💌 event masterlist

[dimonds456]

Okay so I just had this REALLY vivid dream and I need to write it down before I forget

Basically, it starts with Stan knocking on Ford's door, and he does the "HAVE YOU COME TO STEAL MY EYES???" thing. Once Ford realizes it's Stan, he drags him into the house and checks his eyes. From there, Stan's like "hey uhh?? Explanation?? You look like shit btw" and Ford's just like "that's not important so long as I have full functionality over my body" and then he tripped over fucking nothing.

So Stan squints at him like "....when was the last time you slept?" and Ford genuinely thinks about it for a minute and then goes "Iiii don't know. But that doesn't matter, I need to show you something." Cuts to the basement.

Ford asks Stan to take his journal, phrasing it the same way as the show. Stan starts to get rightfully angry, asking what the fucking book as to do with ANYTHING. Also that doesn't explain why he's refusing to take a goddamn nap. Ford shakes his head, insisting that NO THIS IS IMPORTANT PLEASE. Stan, sensing that this is bigger than he's seeing, agrees to take the book, but only once he finally leaves the house.

Ford's like "what does that mean" and Stan's like "bro it's the middle of February and your heat isn't running. You are refusing to sleep. You look like shit. I don't know what the FUCK is going on and I'm not leaving until I'm sure that you're okay, okay?" Ford freaks out, insisting that he can't stay here because it's too dangerous, and hardened-streetboy Stan just rolls his eyes like "dude I've been shot AND stabbed before, whatever it is I can handle it."

Ford keeps trying to put his foot down, and it starts to escalate into an argument, until Ford yells "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE?!" and Stan yells back "BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU, DAMMIT"

This makes Ford pause. He looks down, shivering, and agrees to go back upstairs and try to explain this, but Stan can only stay here for a little while. It's too dangerous. Maybe... maybe he can come back once the book is hidden? Stan nods, saying he'll do that, but again, after he makes sure Ford is able to take care of himself.

As they go back upstairs, Ford keeps anxiously checking the windows and doors to the point of compulsion (i hc he has OCD, and this whole situation 1000% made it worse). Stan asks if he's looking for someone, and Ford says yes...? Maybe? He's not sure WHAT to look for, only that there's something coming. He's lost track of the exact time, but it should be soon.

They start another conversation where Stan tries to figure out what the fuck is happening to his brother and Ford refuses to let him in, just trying to appreciate his company instead, but Stan's not making it easy because he keeps prying. It builds to another argument, where Ford insists he'll tell Stan everything once he takes the book and hides it somewhere no one will ever find it. Stan offers to burn it instead, and Ford shouts NO ABSOLUTELY NOT. So we're back to talking in circles

While this argument is happening, black ooze starts to drip from one of the mirrors in the house. Neither brother notices, though, allowing the goop to grow more and more, until eventually, it starts moving towards them. Once it's just outside the door to the room they're in, it pauses, waiting a moment.

"If you're never gonna see this thing again, then what does it MATTER if it's still intact or not?"

"Because that's my life's work, Stanley! I can't just destroy it!"

"But you don't want anyone to ever see it again, right? So what's the point? You didn't even want me to tell YOU where I was gonna bury it!"

"That's not- RRR" Ford grabs at his hair and slams his eyes shut in frustration.

The goop attacks. It shoots forward, slamming into Ford and forming into a creature mid-air, something resembling the Hide Behind with with a more goblin-like face. It slams Ford to the floor with a laugh, and starts clawing at his eyes. "TIME'S UP!" it shouts.

Stan initially jumps back in surprise, but it only takes a moment before he's jumping in, too, trying to get this thing off of his brother. The Eye Stealer barely reacts, though, and keeps clawing at Ford's face. Stan launches himself full-body into the thing, throwing it off of Ford, who grabs at his left eye- or left eye socket, as it were.

The Eye Stealer holds up the stolen eye, and tells Stan that it won't hesitate to take his eyes, too. Stan yells at the thing to "COME AND GET EM" before throwing himself at it. Ford's screaming at him to run, and Stan watches as he gets to his feet. The Eye Stealer looks back at Ford, moving to lunge at him again, before Stan picks up the nearest object and hurls it at the creature. "You want both our eyes? Come and get me, dumbass!"

Then Stan runs out of the house. Ford's holding his head in pain and clearly isn't moving anywhere fast soon, so the Eye Stealer decides to follow Stan. If he can get both of them down to one eye, then all four are as good as his.

Stan runs out to his car and flings open the door. There, in the back seat, is the bat he had before. He grabs it, then waits for the Stealer to get right behind him before swinging it at the creature's head as fast as possible. Then he runs back inside while the creature is recovering.

"WHAT IS THAT THING??" he yells as he finds Ford again. Ford is trying to get up the stairs to find somewhere to hide, and Stan helps by grabbing his hand and dragging him up there faster.

"I don't know," Ford replies. "I was just told he was going to steal my eyes. I don't know anything else about him!"

Stan blanches. "Who the FUCK told you that?!"

Ford gets a dark look. "A monster."

Stan opens his mouth to ask more questions before the Eye Stealer comes up behind them. Stan takes a swing with the bat, missing it, but hitting a mirror instead. The Eye Stealer gasps, looking towards it, then tells Stan to watch it. Stan grins.

"What, you some kinda mirror monster? Well then, how about I go shatter every mirror in the house?"

"You think I'd let you?"

"Try me."

Attention once again on Stan, the Eye Stealer runs off to chase him while Ford tries to figure out something to do. His mind is sludge, though, from the sleep deprivation, and every few moments, he gets hallucinations of things just outside his peripheral and always jumps from it. His anxiety is through the roof, making it hard to focus.

Stan has been running through the house smashing every mirror he can, all while the Eye Stealer chases him. Stan is tired, and hungry, and desperate, but he's in a better physical state than Ford, so he's able to better hold his own- but not enough. Right before he's about to break the last mirror- the one the monster came through- it grabs his jacket and drags him back down to the floor. Stan swings again, but this time, the Stealer grabs the bat and hurls it away. It starts to claw at Stan's eyes this time.

Hearing Stan's screams from downstairs, Ford grabs one of the prisms that's laying around the place. He stumbles down there and initially aims to hurt the monster, but instead, he throws it so it cracks the last mirror. The monster wails, stumbling back, allowing Stan to get to his feet. The Stealer realizes that he's fucked if he stays here, so he moves towards the mirror.

"This isn't over. I have a quota. Bill was very insistent I complete my mission. I'll be back for you- BOTH of you." Then he went through the mirror, which Ford shatters as soon as it's gone.

Ford's down an eye and they're both pretty badly hurt, but they made it.

From there I think I woke up but that was my dream that I wanna make into a fic now, lol

[phoward89]

Jealous!Coryo x Reader, Odair!Ancestor x Reader.

Series Masterlist

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. That man is a walking blood red flag waving heavily in the wind! engagement (not reader), smut, infidelity, love triangle, manipulation, stalking?, gaslighting, fluff, Head Gamemaker!Coryo, District 4 Cruise Ship Heir!Odair OC. Dark!Coriolanus, Jealous!Coriolanus, Dom!Coriolanus

Chapter 6:

It's been too long since you've been to the spa. You forgot how relaxing it is. And maybe what makes it even better is that Coriolanus is paying for it. That you can have all the treatments your little heart desires and he's footing the bill.

“It's good to see you here again. What happen, did Coriolanus and you get into a lovers spat and he cut off your spa allowance?” The esthetician asked, applying a much needed cleansing jelly mask to your face as you laid down on the comfortable bed like table.

“He's not my lover, Adara. He's actually my boss now, plus he's engaged to Livia Cardew.” You pointed out to your beloved skin goddess, the best esthetician in Capitol City.

“Oh please.” The violet and blonde streaked young lady loudly cackled. “Nobody believes that shame for a lousy minute.”

“What? But they look-” You start to say only for Adara to cut you off with, “Coriolanus looks absolutely miserable next to her in pictures. He seriously looks like he's going to strangle her.” Shaking her head and applying more of the thick vitalizing goop on your face, she adds, “And that blonde shrew might look sweet and smiley next to him but she bad mouths him every chance she gets. Some things she's said has even gone viral on Pan-Tok, Pan-Tube, and Pan-X. She even shit talked him while a bit tipsy on her friend's Pangram Live stream.”

“I didn't know this. Why didn't I know this?”

“Probably since the aspiring Senator Snow doesn't have social media and you only have a Panbook- that you haven't been on in like over a month.”

“Fuck! So she's dragging his name in the mud via social media?!”

“Yes.” Adara confirms while finishing applying your facial mask treatment. “And practically all of Panem hates her.” She informed you while putting cucumbers on your eyes for a finishing touch.

Sitting down in the stool next to your bed Adara, who was a friend of sorts to you, says, “Livia’s worse than her older brother and Livinius is always getting into shenanigans with the two Capitol losers: Odysseus Odair, the pretty boy that drinks too much, and Hector Heavensbee, the stoned cousin of Hilarious Heavensbee.”

“Wait, what? How do you know this?”

“Social media, duh.” The blonde-violet girl rolled her eyes at you, even if you couldn't see them since your eyes are closed with little cucumbers on them. “Girl, you're too young not to be on social media.” Adara seriously told you. “Listen up, after we're done with your mask we’ll do your manicure then your pedicure. And after that you're signing up for all the social media accounts.”

“Yes, I think it's overdue for me to have more social media then Panbook.” You told her, a calculating smile hinting your lips.

Oh you're going to be creating social media accounts, but solely for the purpose of finding out what damage Livia Cardew's doing to Coriolanus’ image. Once you find out, you'll have to tell him and then come up with a plan to address it.

You're hairstylist, Fabian, was currently with another client so you're scrolling on your phone; looking at all the crazy shit that Livia Cardew's been posting on Pangram, while sitting in the lobby of the high end salon. Oh God, she's such a stick up bitch. Such a shrew. She seriously posted a picture of a bubble tea while complaining that they're wasn't enough bubbles in the tea.

Oh hell…

The receptionist was sitting at the front desk, flipping thru a rag mag whenever she gasped. Whatever she saw must be shocking.

Flipping the magazine in half, she held it up to you and said in a scandalous tone, “That farce of a political pony show going on between your Coriolanus and Livia.Cardew’s going to ruin his reputation.” Waving the magazine in the are, she told you, “Look, paparazzi’s got some pictures of her drunk and stumbling on the sidewalk. The accompanying article says the picture were taken while she was ranting to her socialite friends about how her fiance’s a freak in bed that scoffs at her purity ring, asked if he could stick it up her ass to keep her virginity intact, and she even said that Coriolanus has a thing for dirty district women; chased that former singing victor all those years ago just to screw around with her before his fall semester of University.”

“What?!” You loudly exclaimed, jumping out of you seat and rushing over to the reception desk to grab that trash gossip magazine from Xandra. “Oh Andraste’s tit, let me see that!” You curse, snatching up the magazine that's freely offered to you.

As your eyes look at the damning pictures and read the article, the receptionist tells you, “That's one of the magazine's that get delivered all over Panem; even the Districts get it. Particularly the PK bases as I understand.”

“Shit…” You mutter under your breath. You feel both pissed and lightheaded at the sudden revelation of what Livia Cardew's actions mean for Coriolanus' Senate run.

Damnit…

And it was that moment that Fabian’s client left and the stylist with perfectly feathered hair came up to you. “Y/N, it's been too long.” The hairstylist greeted you with a kiss to the cheek, which you returned in kind. Leading you back to his work station, he asked, “It's been over a month since you've had your hair done. Did Coriolanus not like my work last time?”

“No, Fabian.” You shook your head. “We just got into a spat, so we weren't talking “ You explain, taking your place in the salon chair.

“I hope you worked everything out since he called to fit you in; is picking up the tab like always too.” Fabian told you while placing a colorful smock around you.

“We worked things out as best as we could considering I'm his new assistant now. I'm his new campaign manager too.”

“Oh that's wonderful. Now if only we could toss that horrible Livia into that toxic sludge river over in 8 then everything’ll be perfect.”

“Fabian, that's horrible.”

“Yes, but you know it's true. Now, what're we doing with your hair today? Blow out, keratin treatments?”

*I want an entire new look.” You told your hairstylist.

“Ooo, new look for a new era.” Fabian clapped happily.

“I want hair that says I'm a bad boss bitch.” You smirked.

“Oh, honey, I know exactly what you need. Just leave it to me.” Fabian told you before hurrying off to the supply room to grab some supplies to make your hair new and to die for.

Your hairstylist was going to give you new hair that'll be the envy of everyone in the Capitol. Your new hairstyle will even have Coriolanus down on his knees, begging you to take him back. Oh, Fabian knows that what he has planned cut and color wise for your hair’s going to drive Coriolanus up the wall with desire. That he's going to be going crazy when he sees you.

The hairstylist views it as his personal mission to make sure that his best client stays with the only man in the Capitol that encourages his girl to routinely get her hair done. Most men aren't so generous like that when it comes to expensive salon visits every handful of weeks.

After your getting your hair done, you went home and drowned yourself in endless social media posts across various platforms for Livia Cardew. It seems like some were worse then others, but none of them were any good for your best friend. As long as he's connected to her, well, his campaign's going to tank.

You saw that Festus and Persephone weren't following Livia on social media. The newlyweds, whose wedding Coriolanus dragged you a few months prior, seemed to have either never added her, stopped following her, or blocked her from their accounts. You also saw that the couple had started to follow you on the social media accounts that you created earlier in the day with Adara in the spa.

You’re done scrolling thru Livia Cardew's accounts and decide to call Coryo to tell him all about what you uncovered. After three rings he answers his phone with a professional, “Head Gamemaker Snow speaking, to whom am I speaking with?”, before he realizes it's you

“It's me, Y/N.” You tell him as you pop up on the phone’s video screen. “I thought you would've programmed my new number from my application into your phone.” You chuckle while sitting up straighter on your sofa.

“I didn't even notice it, I just hit accept hire after after looking over your education and work history.”

“Oh.” You simply nod.

Before you could even tell Coriolanus why you're calling, he gives you a dazzling smile paired with the compliment of, “I like what you've done with your hair. The new cut and color suits you, my darling rose.”

Fabian was right, the hairstyle and color he gave you was going to drive Coriolanus wild. How did he know, who knows? But right now Coryo's baby blues are flashing with interest and mirth; they're locked into your face- he's in absolute awe of your new hairstyle/color.

A lopsided grin appeared on the platinum blonde's lush lips as he suggests, “Why don't I take you out to dinner to celebrate hiring you as both the Head Assistant Gamemaker and my Campaign Manager?”

“Don't forget your PR Liaison as well, Aspiring Senator Snow.” You teased Coryo, who still hasn't styled his platinum curls yet. “Oh, I did some digging while waiting for my appointment at the salon and found out why your campaign’s tanking.”

“Well, what did you uncover, my darling?” Coriolanus asks, leaning back in his sitting chair. The one in his living room to be exact.

“The problem isn't you, but it's your fiance: Livia Cardew. Everyone hates her.”

“That doesn't surprise me; I hate the shrew too.” The imposing blonde man, who's been your best friend for nearly 2 decades, chuckled.

Shaking your head, you sadly sigh, “Well, I think she hates you more than you hate her considering she's posting a lot of hate about you.”

Coriolanus arched a perfectly shaped brow at your words, causing you to tell him the blunt truth of your discoveries. “She’s spewing shitty remarks here and there; not to mention ranting about you on her friend's Pangram Live.” You take a tiny breath, only to sigh and tell him the most damning information of all. “Oh and then there's a story and some pap pics in a very popular and well circulated rag mag that has her stumbling drunk and ranting to her friends about you wanting to stick it up her ass cause she's wearing a purity; how you have a sexual attraction to district girls too.”

“Fucking hell…” Coriolanus groans, raking his lake hands thru his platinum curls- a nervous habit of his. “That's very damning for my campaign.”

“Yes,” You nod in agreement, “it is.”

“Well, I've been wanting out of the engagement and I've found a way to end it without looking like the bag guy.” Coriolanus told you, his lips in a thin pressed line. “But I can't tell you until we're alone in my car, it's not something I want to talk about over the phone.”

A few hours later you find yourself alone in a sleek, black sedan with Coriolanus behind the driver's seat. Since it's early spring, he's in a light grey suit with a wine hued waistcoat. It pairs lovely and really makes both his platinum hair, whose curls he just lightly gelled to keep from being messy, and his cerulean eyes pop.

“You look beautiful, baby.” Coriolanus smiles, looking between you and the road, as he pulls out of the parking garage.

“Thank you, but flattery’ll get you nowhere. You already complimented me on my dress when you picked me up, no need to do it again.”

“And only you, my darling rose, has the audacity to get your feathers ruffles over receiving multiple compliments from your lover.”

“My lover?” You scoff sardonicly, rolling your perfectly made up eyes.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, it's what we are, Y/N.” Coriolanus tells you, his baritone a bit softer then usual, as his hand slides off the clutch and onto your thigh- a thigh that's covered by the peachy pink skirt of your dress. A dress that was designed for you by Tigris, that had small white roses randomly embroidered on it.

Pushing his large hand off of your thigh, you give him a leveling look and state in a solid tone, “I thought that we're childhood best friends, who had a situationship that got a bit messy, but decided to work together for your political dreams.”

“We're working on our political ambitions. Don't forget, I did promise to make you my First Lady.” The platinum man with looks rivaling that of the gods themselves had the balls to tell you, all the while taking your hand in his. With a smirk, he changed the subject by giving you his opinion on your manicure. “I quite prefer your nails long and red, baby. They look much better then the short French tips you were wearing during our month long absence from each other.”

Of course he prefers long red stiletto nails on you over the short square French tips. Man sure does love red. You're not even surprised about that.

You don't make a comment about him liking your nails, but you do comment on his little making you his First Lady remark. “Last time I checked, Head Gamemaker Snow, the First Lady's married to the President and you're engaged to Livia Cardew.” After the little reminder of his reality, you decided to twist the knife in his heart and hurt his ego (because he broke your heart) by adding in, “Oh, and right now I wouldn't marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

Coriolanus’ Adam's apple felt thick and stuck in the hollow of his throat as a reaction to hearing your cruel words. He knows deep down in is black, head, shriveled up heart why you said that. That you're trying to hurt him because he broke your heart; his promise to you.

Except he's doing his best to right his wrong; to ensure that he keeps his promise to you.

Coriolanus’ Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows down the thickness trapped in his throat. Looking between you and the road as he weaves in and out of traffic lanes, he reveals, “I'm going to get out of my arranged engagement by framing the Cardew's for bank fraud.”

“What?” You blurt out, finding his idea to be a bit brash. “Can’t you just call off the engagement because of irreconcilable differences?”

“No, baby,” Coriolanus shook his head, “I can't just break it off due to irreconcilable differences.” He quickly switched lanes again, cutting off a car and getting honked at. “Livia’s being a frigid shrew and dragging my name in the mud; how do you think me dropping her like a hot potato’ll make me look? Hmm, how would it look for my campaign?”

Turning your head to give him an incredulous look, you ask, “So, what, you're going to destroy the family that runs the Capitol United Bank to effortlessly break off an arranged engagement and to gain sympathy votes for your campaign?”

“Yes.” The icy eyes man smiles widely, like a maniac. “It's a flawless plan, Y/N. I trust that as my right hand woman and future First Lady that I have your complete support with this.”

Honestly, it might sound horrible, but you didn't give a shit about Livia Cardew or her family. If Coriolanus had to destroy the top banking family in the country to end his engagement and save his campaign then so be it.

“You just do whatever you have to do to and when it's done I'll make sure that you come out smelling like a rose in the media.” You told the man next to you as he pulled over, without using his blinkers, into the entrance of the restaurant he's taking you to.

The Capitol Grille.

“Good.” Coriolanus nods while getting into the line for valet parking. “Tomorrow we need to start switching our banking accounts to the Capitol One Bank.”

You've been to The Capitol Grille a few times with Coryo, so when the maitre d greets you both with a smile and ushers you to a cozy table for two, while making the other patrons in line ahead of you wait, you're not surprised.

Coriolanus, like always, orders a bottle of the best wine and some glasses of water for you two. He also orders the go to appetizer for when you dine out at The Capitol Grille: shrimp cocktail. He also orders the usual for you two as well: the chef's suggestion of the slices filet mignon topped onions and wild mushrooms with cream spinach and au gratin potatoes. Oh, and he ordered the infamous Capitol made cheesecake the restaurant’s known for.

You didn't mind him doing the ordering since you two always got the same thing every time he took you out to eat at The Capitol Grille. You'd be shocked if he didn't insist on ordering, truth be told.

The waiter delivered both your glasses of water, wine, and the large shrimp cocktail to share all on one tray. Once he finishes delivering the items and pouring the wine, he assured Coriolanus and you that your food would be out shortly and left.

Coriolanus is fixing you up a small plate of shrimp cocktail and engaging in small talk with you about your upcoming job as his right hand woman in the Citadel whenever Odysseus’ voice reaches your ear from nearby as he smiles disparagingly. “I see it didn't take you too long to move on, sweetheart. But I didn't think you'd be moving on with Satan, or is he who you've been cheating with.”

“Oh, Odysseus Odair, I wish I could say seeing you while out celebrating Y/N’s new job as my assistant is a pleasant surprise, but then I'd be lying and I make it my utmost priority not to lie to or around my childhood best friend.” Coriolanus said in a very cool, calm, and collective way that has just enough zing to bite.

“Your what?” The bronze haired man asked, his voice hitched up in shock.

“I told you that I attended the Academy, Odysseus. Maybe you should've believed me instead of insisting I wasn't on the same level as you and Coryo.” You told your neighbor and new ex while gesturing between him and your Coryo with your hand.

“He what?” Coriolanus blinked his eyes slowly, like an offended cat. It reminded you of a cat you had as a child. Looking at you, he said with so much disdain in his deep baritone, “That manwhore insulted you by insisting you weren't good enough to attend the Academy?”

“Coryo, let it go.” You told him in a whisper hiss while Odysseus’ sea-green eyes bounced between you and the platinum blonde man you're dining with very suspiciously.

“I will not let it go, darling. He insulted you.” Coriolanus whisper hissed back.

Well, looks like chivalry’s not dead at all.

“I have a business meeting I need to attend, Y/N, but I'll call you later so we can talk things out.” Odysseus told you before booking it away from your table (since he didn't want to be around Coriolanus) and towards the table his father Posieden Odair, Mr. Larimer (a wealthy politician and investor) and Mr. Hearst (a wealthy newspaper mogul) was sitting at; waiting for him.

“You better not answer your phone when he calls.” Coriolanus tells you while making himself a small plate of shrimp cocktail with jerky, aggravated movements.

Grabbing a piece of shrimp from your plate and dipping it into the red cocktail sauce, you tell him, “I’ll answer it if I want to, Coriolanus. My relationship’s none of your business.”

Tossing the serving spoon back into the middle of the extravagant crystal serving bowl, causing some of the red sauce to splash up. Coriolanus face skewed up as he watched you eat your piece of shrimp. Taking his and dipping it into the sauce, he darkly chuckled, “I see you're going to play little minx and punish me for my arrangement by having a fling with the sluttiest man in all of Capitol City.”

“What's good for the goose's good for the gander.” You simply smirk, causing the man sitting across from you to nearly choke on his shrimp.

And then, as he's coughing and trying not to die from shrimp going down the wrong windpipe, Odysseus loudly tells somebody at his table to ‘Shut the hell up!’ before storming away from the table, right past yours, and out of the restaurant.

Hmm…

You wonder what happened at his table.

Coriolanus Snow, ever the gentleman, used his pristine white cloth napkin to spit his piece of shrimp that nearly made him choke and die. Folding his napkin and placing it back on his lap, he seriously told you, “He's a spoiled brat; I hope you get seeing him to punish me out of your system real fast because I don't like sharing what's mine, Y/N.”

“Last time I checked I didn't belong to you.” You smugly retorted while eating another piece of your shrimp cocktail.

Coriolanus leaned in close, nearly crossing the table, and declared in a low, dark timbre, “You’ve always been mine, baby. And, as you know, I'm going to ruin a family just to make you my wife; First Lady.”

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @dcylight-fciry @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress @cherrybaird @blurpleuni-squid

[insanescriptist]

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

[shoyoist]

.˚⊹ ꔫ — 𝐓𝐑. 𝐌𝐄𝐍 + 𝐂𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 !!

content: gn!reader. fluff. perhaps slightly suggestive. established relationship / implied marriage if you squint. characters are written as adults. hinted final timeline but not explicitly! ... note: so glad this one's done lmaoo i hope you like it! squeezed in all my faves hehehe<3

— ⊹˚. ♡ his voice always goes soft when he calls your name.

° 𐐒𐐚 . HANMA SHUJI. BAJI KEISUKE. SANO SHINICHIRO.

"babydoll," he hums, voice low and saccharine as he slides over to you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back to his chest. his voice is husky with sleep, hair messy and eyes lidded, as he hums a good mornin' into your ear and kisses the back of your neck.

you're in the cute little apron he'd got for you, fixing him a breakfast of waffles and coffee, currently in the middle of making the homemade jam you once came up with that he likes so much. "'s breakfast for me?" he asks, repeating the little petname, leaning down and pooling his weight onto your back as he rests his chin on the crook of your neck.

his shirtless chest is warm, and he smells good — sleepy, smoky and of fresh sheets because you'd both changed the bedsheets last night before tucking in. "it is for you, baby." you say, grinding berries into the little bowl you've got your hand around. "go brush your teeth and take a shower, m'kay? so you can have a nice morning meal before you leave for work."

"ain't it the weekend?" he sighs, not wanting to move off you. you're so soft, so sweet-smelling and so comforting to the touch. "fuck work. i'll stay home with you t'day."

"you can't, it's not the weekend. and it's not like you have weekends off anyway." you laugh, dropping the little glass pestle down and taking hold of his chin, tilting his face so you can kiss him on the cheek. "go on. and if you woke up earlier, you'd have more time to cuddle me before you leave."

he smiles at your little chide, and the lines of his cheek press into your lips. "what if we just cuddled now, hm?" his grip around your waist tightens. "right here, on the kitchen counter. prop you up like this, 'n kiss you here, there—"

he pushes the plates and bowls aside and lifts you up onto the counter easily, but just as he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss, there's a clink! and before either of you can react, the little bowl in which you'd been preparing his jam for him rolls off the counter and shatters onto the floor.

"fuck—" you exclaim, trying to jump down but he pushes you back and skirts some of the porcelain away with the bottom of his slipper, looking sheepishly down at the mess. "look what you did now!"

"uh," he runs a hand through his hair, stepping back and glancing at the broom before he looks back at you — teeth flashing as his lips pull into an apologetic grin. "sorry."

"no cuddles for you. and no nice morning meal of jammy waffles and hot coffee either, it seems." your own lips draw themselves into a tight line, unimpressed as he makes a big show of getting the broom and wet rag to clean up the berry goop and broken glass.

"aw, babydoll. don't be so fuckin' mean." he grumbles, jutting his bottom lip out in a fake pout. but as he finishes sweeping and clears the spill, his expression softens again — and he walks over to you, placing a gentle hand on your knee as he leans in for a make-up kiss.

"g'nna get you a real grinder, a'right? one of the fancy fuckin' ones from the department store. 's what my babydoll deserves." he mumbles against your lips, and you can't help but relieve your frown and smile. "in my favourite colour?"

"mhm," his voice cracks just a little as he hums, smiling back into the kiss. "in your favourite colour."

° 𐐒𐐚 . KISAKI TETTA. KAKUCHO. HAITANI RAN.

"honey," he calls, shutting the door behind him and waiting for the beep of the automatic lock before he lets go of the knob and walks into the house. "i'm home."

for a moment, there's no answer and only a serene sort of quiet emanates from beyond the front hall — and he wonders if you aren't home. but then, he makes his way upstairs and hears the sound of your voice, muffled by a closed door that stands between him and you. you're in the bath, he realizes, a little wave of relief washing over him.

"honey," he knocks on the bathroom door before opening it a crack and peeking in. "i'm home."

"sweetheart!" you look up and see him at the door, and he has to pause and stare for a moment because you're so lovely, covered in soap suds and with your wet hair slicked back, the pretty silver lights he'd got for you hung up on the ceiling and bathing you in a dim, ethereal glow. "you're home!<3 come here, baby."

you pat the edge of the bath tub, and though he's in a suit because he'd had to attend an event (a tiring one) today, he takes his socks off and walks into the bathroom, sitting on the edge as you'd asked him to before leaning in and sliding a hand into your wet hair, pulling you in for a soft, lingering kiss. "missed you today."

"hmm," you muse, tilting your head to a side and reaching up to cup his cheek in a wet palm. "more than usual?"

"more than usual," he agrees, and you notice the wear in his eyes, in his expression. your thumb caresses the lift of his cheekbone for a moment, before your hand slides down to his shoulder and presses against his chest. "come join me in the bath, baby."

"hm?" he mutters, having nearly dozed off sitting in the bathroom, your hand gentle and comforting on his person and the warm air of the bathroom that was so unexpectedly nice after the heavily air conditioned meeting room he'd been sitting in for hours and hours on end. "what did you say, honey?"

"come join me in the bath." you say, reaching out with your other hand to hook a finger into the knot of his tie, loosening it and letting him breathe a little. he frowns a little, as if hesitant to agree, and you jump back in — "it'll be good for you to relax, baby. i'll wash your back 'n your hair. please?"

and it's not that he doesn't want to get in the bath with you, it's that the tub isn't really big enough for the two of you— but the pleading look you give him and the weariness in his body that lulls him downwards along with the insistent tug you give to his elbow, is all enough to convince him.

"alright," he sighs, standing back up and sliding his suit jacket off his shoulders with a shrug, slipping his arms out the sleeves and hanging it on the hook meant for his towel. you watch as he undresses, welcoming him into the tub with a kiss to his shoulder when he squeezes in.

you end up seated on the edge of the tub yourself, letting him relax in the soapy water as you use the showerhead to run water through his hair and over his back. he sighs, shutting his eyes and feeling so thankful as a wave of relaxation washes over him via your gentle hands and the warm, fragrant water.

“thank you, honey.” he mumbles, voice low with wear.

you give him a smile and kiss his wet hair. “it's no problem, baby. i love taking care of you.”

° 𐐒𐐚 . RYUGUJI KEN. HAITANI RINDOU. KUROKAWA IZANA.

“princess,” he waves to you from across the street, seated on his motorcycle and leaning on the handlebars. your friends start giggling as you jump and spin around to look for him, fighting your blush.

his eyes are droopy as he meets your eyes from the distance, and he'd look bored if you didn't know him better. but you know he's just taking his time checking you out. and he's looking so good but also being so embarrassing, calling you cutesy names like that in public.

you nod to your friends, cheeks hot because they're winking at you and swooning over how perfect of a boyfriend your man is, and with a quick good-bye you hurry to the other side of the street.

he leans in and waits expectantly, and you give him a kiss on the cheek before climbing onto the back of his motorcycle. he takes your helmet from where he'd slung it on one of the handlebars, and you stand beside him feeling all pampered while he fits it carefully over your head and fastens the strap under your chin for you.

“you're embarrassing, baby.” you chide, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your cheek on his shoulder as he drives off.

“me? embarrassing?” he scoffs. “and how am i embarrassing? don't want me to come pick you up from work anymore?”

“no, it's not that!” you protest, and you see the grin that flits to his lips from the motorcycle mirror. rolling your eyes, you give him a pout that he won't see but knows is there on your pretty little mouth.

“then what is it, princess?” he chuckles fondly, and you twist your lips indignation before you continue.

“it just makes me shy when you call me that in public.” you confess, the heat returning to your cheeks again as you think about it. his voice just sounds so nice in your ear, and it reminds you of something else sometimes, when he calls you those names.

hearing it makes you feel hot in your cheeks and in your chest and in your stomach all in one go. “when i call you what in public, huh?” he asks, the smile on his face once more. you punch his shoulder gently, leaning back and shaking your head a little to free as much of your hair in the wind as you can with the helmet on. “that.”

“i don't know, princess, i'm not a mind reader.” he shrugs his shoulders, teasing, knowing exactly what you mean.

“you just said it again!” you cry out, as he starts to laugh. “when you call me princess! it makes me shy!”

he chuckles again, relaxing around your hold as you wrap your arms around him again, letting out a little hmph! that hits the back of his neck and sends a shiver down his spine.

“now princess,” he deadpans, slowing down and looking to the side as he makes a turn. “don't make a fuss.”

and ugh, it's just too easy for him to tease you. “baby!”