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dcxdpdabbles · 5 months ago

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need more mr flavor im thorsty

"You want to buy my soda?" Danny asks again as the man in a suit across from him smiles sickly sweet. They are crammed in the left-corner booth of Anthony's Pasta, with a stack of paperwork on the table.

Danny had just been getting ready to open a shop when this man strolled in wearing the same waxy grin Vlad wore whenever he spoke to his Dad. Danny had been on his guard as the man introduced himself, and while his smile and mannerisms were pleasant, Danny could tell by his eyes that he could not trust the other.

There was no emotion in them.

"That's correct, Mr. Flavor. You see, your brand is starting to stir quite a ruckus. But it's unfortunately, on such a small scale, the trend's popularity will lead to your brand dying out. We at Zesti want to help you reach a bigger audience before that happens. I personally think you have so much potential and I wouldn't want to see it go to waste." The man, Oscar, tells him. He leans back, open body language to try to put Danny at ease.

Danny frowns "My soda is a trend?"

"A passing one unless we don't make the smart choices now. Zesti can help with that," Oscar hinted. He pushes the contract he brought along with him towards Danny. "We'll handle the marketing, distribution, and you will make sixty percent of all final sales. All you need to provide is the tasty beverage."

Danny quickly glances over the contract. At first glance, it seems to be in his favor. But it's dragged out in a package of twenty pages where the wording slowly takes away from his own benefits.

They would handle marketing, but the funds would come from his sixty percent of profits—not all, but a good twenty percent. This left him with forty percent of sales.

Then, Zesti would cover the distribution outside of Gotham. Within Gotham, they would use his money again. That left Danny with only twenty percent of the sales since the other twenty would be used for Gotham distribution.

Since Zesti was going to help him start up, they would ask for a ten percent deposit for the first five years. That way, the sodas could help build a customer base to fund the other two costs.

By page eighteen, Danny would only be making ten percent of the promised income. He thought it was unethical business practices, but the conditions and wording they added to the contract made it legally possible.

Danny just had to sign, and he would agree to the horrid conditions. Now, he didn't really care about the soda. It wasn't like he invented it; he merely brought it over from another world, but it was the fact that they were trying to trick him that upset him.

If he could spot this in a quick read-through, what would he find if he had someone professional look over the contract? Danny bets there would be wording that made him irreverent and legally made Zesti the owner of his work.

They also sent a company representative to discuss legal details in a restaurant. Danny doesn't know the laws of this place (He thinks a lot of Gotham's issues with the Rouges could be solved if they were to include the Death Penalty, but that's just him) He feels a minor shouldn't be making legal decisions without some kind of lawyer.

He knows Oscar is clicking his pen to pressure him to sign as he reads. Jazz would do it whenever she wanted him to sign on for whatever community service she needed.

It was laughable to think that this man was attempting to use the same business psychology that his sister had trained him to notice. Zesti must believe he was an easy target.

"It says here that I would give Zesti complete creative freedom over my soda. How would that stop you from changing a thing about the recipe and then claiming I have no right to the new recipe?" he asks, flipping to page twelve and watching Oscar's oily smile never slip.

"That's just about the bottling and design of the brand. The leaping boy is nice, but we want to clean it up and give it more attention-grabbing details." Oscars assures. He failed to address Danny's concern, which told him everything he needed to hear.

"I'm not interested in selling. Thank you for the offer, though," he tells Oscar, pushing back the contract.

The other man laughs as if Danny has said something amusing. There is a bit of condensation in the undertones of his laughter as if he were speaking to a toddler and finding their confusion entertaining. "I'm not sure you understand, Mr. Flavor. This is an amazing opportunity that others would kill for."

Danny shrugs. "Then offer it to them."

Oscar sighs loudly, shaking his head. "Mr. Flavor, I don't think you understand. This could be what makes you a millionaire, and it's your only chance to make that dream a reality."

"What makes you think being rich is my dream? What if my dream is to become a ghost?"

That finally made the other man lose his smile for only a second before Oscar leaned forward. "Please think carefully. This is the best for you and your brand. Gotham makes people like you disappear from the public eye when a new trend comes by."

"Disappear?" As in intangible? As in ghost? As in Phantom, what part of himself has he been searching for?

Oscar seems to think Danny's wide eyes were because he was frightened instead of excited. Oscar leans back with a smirk, his eyes still hellishly cold and emotionless. It is strange to now always glance into a person's eyes to learn of their true intentions.

No matter how well a ghost hides among humans, they can never disguise their otherworldliness if Danny watches their eyes. He read somewhere that the eyes were the doors to the soul, and after being Phantom, knowing his eyes actually flash with his emotions, he knows it's true.

Oscar may appear human, but whatever humanity there was in him is long gone.

"It would be safer to sign, young man." He says again, this time in a mocking tone.

Danny laughs. "If I was worried about my safety, I wouldn't be jumping off buildings, would I? Have a good day Oscar."

He stands up, leaving the contract on the table, ignoring the stuttering man. Danny has other things to worry about like the restaurant is open for an hour and a line forming at his foldable table.

It wasn't that his soda was that personally important to him, but it was his main source of income. Phantom was still well out of reach despite the amount of life-threatening activities he was getting up to.

Danny even tried to bother the more violent ghosts of the area by strutting into their space while carrying a stupid little tea cup set. He figured they would react to a perceived attack on their pride—instead, the ghosts were so touched that he thought of them.

He tried to get hit by five more cars. One notable incident had him flying into a light pole. He had mistaken the feeling of finally getting his flight back until the ache in his back started.

Danny had even thrown himself into the Gotham River after being told by multiple people that it was filled with chemicals from illegal dumping from some local faculties.

He was starting to think he would never get his ghost side back until a mugger stabbed him in the stomach. Danny had been counting his bills while walking away from a lovely ghost couple in an alley by the old movie theater when the man had jumped out of the shadows, stabbed him, and ran off with his cash.

Danny had fallen to the ground, aware of Martha's scream and Thomas' swear as he choked on his blood. The ghosts were bound to the alley, but they had walked to the edge of it to watch him and felt horrible that they could do nothing for him.

Thomas had looked up at the sky, screaming, while also trying to push against the barrier that keeps anchored ghosts to their death space. "Bruce! Bruce! Please come here! Bruce! He's dying! He's just a kid! Bruce!"

Not sure who Bruce was or how he could help didn't mean anything to Danny when he felt a sort of burst of power from deep inside his chest that suppressed the pain.

The ghost couple had been horrified when Danny's blood had turned green and his hysterical laugh as his wound closed the second he ripped out the blade.

Phantom had healed him, which meant Danny just had to find a way to get Phantom to come back from whatever lock he was behind.

"Are you okay, Danny?" Heather asks him once he walks past the waitress. She glances at the table where Oscar sits, a wide customer smile still firmly on her friendly, open face, but her eyes are guarded. "He said anything strange to you?"

"Nah, he just wanted to buy my soda before Gotham made me "disappear" and die from lack of trend," Danny laughs, swinging open his little cooler. He ignores how she stiffens, and the first customer in line throws a wild, horrified look in his direction.

He lines up his flavors with a bit of hum, ignoring the tension growing in the restaurant. Oscar makes a show of leaving as if Danny will call out to stop him before he slams the door on his way out. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief when he vanishes, but Danny doesn't mind.

He continues on with his day. Let Oscar try the fear tactics- what is he going to do? Kill him? Ha.

Danny misses the long conversation Heather has with Anthony, who later asks Danny if he wants him to inform Red Hood of the threat. Danny laughs it away, packs up his things, and stores the table and cooler in Anthony's space closet.

Despite the warnings of the concerned staff- Danny had grown quite close with everyone there but not beyond occasional coworkers- he left for his motel. Danny attempted to get hit by a bus on the way home and nearly did had it not been for a driver's fast reflects.

The bus driver had been distracted by his phone- which is why Danny had targeted him- but he had waved away his horrified apologies. As Danny entered Crime Alley, he figured being loud and rumbustious like his Dad would hopefully get him shot.

Gotham had a limited amount of patience for loud people. He picked a silly gum commercial jingle popular in his home dimension and skipped down the sidewalks, yelling the lyrics at the top of his lungs.

Danny didn't even reach the end of the street before a van rolled up next to him. He had enough time to look at it curiously as the van door was flung open, and a group of masked men jumped out. They yanked him inside, throwing a gag over his mouth and slamming him onto the floor.

The wheels scream as the van speeds away, leaving Danny at the mercy of his kidnappers. He tries to wiggle up, but a hard thump against the back of his head- likely from the butt of one of their guns- causes him to crumble down.

"This isn't his usual mark." One commented, looking down at Danny with a cold indifference that he could make out from his eyeholes. "They're usually brown-haired, aren't they?"

"Who cares?" Another answer is, "Just as long as we get paid, who cares what they look like?"

Danny stares at him, wondering if anyone in the van knew this person cared very deeply. Their eyes showed concern, guilt, and the right amount of protective intent, and he felt he wasn't in danger.

He had regrets about what he was doing, to the point of betraying everyone here, or he was an undercover cop. Either option ruined his plan of being shot, though, so Danny wiggled about, ignoring the more hits it got him before he was able to have the gag fall down.

"Are you going to kill me?" He asks the group of four.

"No." One laughs. "But by the time the boss finishes with you, you will wish you were dead like all the others."

"Oh, so it's a waitlist kind of thing?" Danny asks, "Is the list by order of arrival, or did the others make appointments?"

There is a moment of stunned silence. Danny swings his head, looking between everyone, waiting for an answer, but when he receives nothing, he sighs, leaning back into a more comfortable position. They didn't tie him up or anything, so he easily crosses his legs under him and cracks his neck. "If we could kill me first, that would be ideal."

"You want to die?" The guilty one asks.

"Correction, I want to be a ghost."

"Damn, the kid is crazy." The last one- the driver- laughs. "No wonder the boss wanted him."

"By boss, you mean Oscar, don't you." Danny shakes his head. "No, wait, don't answer that. I already know it's him. He has the eyes for it. He's the reason the light-brown hair people are missing, huh? Cyrus mentioned it the last time we talked. Bet you he kidnapped that lady in the antique shop. He stared at us for a long time; Susan had to point him out; Susan is the ghost outside the shop. She taught me how to make the most delicious fudge from the rain of Gotham's downdraught youth- which reminds me of the nickname they gave Baja Blast."

No one speaks after his long-winded rant before Danny leans forward, locking gazes with the guilty one. "Have you ever had your Baja blasted?"

"Um, no?"

"You need to man."

"I can't listen to this shit anymore. Knock him out, but watch the face. The boss likes his merchandise clean."

Danny scoffs, twisting his head to snark at the one sitting in the passenger seat. "Just say, Oscar. We both know it's him."

He feels a hard thump on the back of his head, and the words turn dark. He prays that when he wakes up, he'll have snow-white hair and glowing green eyes.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Mr. Flavor #Part 3 #Danny's Pov #Oscar being creepy #The eyes are the doorway to the soul- literally #Danny may or may not come off as crazy #Yes he meet the Waynes ghosts.#He's running around daring things to kill him #Can you guess who the guilty one is?#tw: kidnapping

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galariangengar · 1 year ago

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I thought I only had today and tomorrow before midnight to study 250 flash cards for my pharmacology class, but the quiz for this set is due next Sunday, so I have time to study

#in other news I’ve sold 4 things on my depop the past 2 days #I’ve already dropped off all of the packages at the post office and they’re all in transit already #so I’m gonna clean my room a little/put away laundry and get to posting some more things on depop 👍🏼#jazz uses curse! 💜

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scealaiscoite · 2 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ one hundred paired prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

¹⁾ a pot of fresh coffee and split knuckles

²⁾ orange peels and a car battery

³⁾ sand dunes and leather boots

⁴⁾ a printer and a knife

⁵⁾ incense and handcuffs

⁶⁾ a crushed velvet sofa and a video camera

⁷⁾ stale cigarettes and cotton candy

⁸⁾ loose change and headlights

⁹⁾ grey hairs and a gold belt buckle

¹⁰⁾ burnt coffee and grass stains

¹¹⁾ cherry cola and blue jeans

¹²⁾ chipped green nail polish and an empty dinner table

¹³⁾ a stack of paperwork and metal music

¹⁴⁾ a patchwork quilt and sweet tea

¹⁵⁾ a hockey sweater and a two-seater sofa

¹⁶⁾ perfume oil and rolled up shirtsleeves

¹⁷⁾ fallen leaves and guilt

¹⁸⁾ radio channels and a birthday card

¹⁹⁾ ravens and meadowsweet

²⁰⁾ apologies and bitter red wine

²¹⁾ library books and pouring rain

²²⁾ a breathalyser and popcorn

²³⁾ princess plasters and iodine

²⁴⁾ a tote bag with one broken strap and a winding staircase

²⁵⁾ a parasol and a tumbler of straight whiskey

²⁶⁾ fresh honey and a cult

²⁷⁾ wisdom teeth and blue eyes

²⁸⁾ sour cherries and a stolen hoodie

²⁹⁾ the flu and a heatwave

³⁰⁾ a boonie hat and a sunset

³¹⁾ vanilla perfume and a kitchen counter

³²⁾ a buffalo skull and a leather armchair

³³⁾ a throw pillow and a doorway

³⁴⁾ pink fluffy handcuffs and an unexpected guest

³⁶⁾ a package and a divorce

³⁷⁾ a stripper pole and a hangover

³⁸⁾ familiar cologne and a black eye

³⁹⁾ a lit candle and a snowstorm

⁴⁰⁾ an unsealed letter and a fallen pine tree

⁴¹⁾ headlights and footprints

⁴²⁾ a blocked number and traffic lights

⁴³⁾ a racesuit and a countdown

⁴⁴⁾ a butcher’s apron and a phonecall

⁴⁵⁾ battered comic books and a broken window

⁴⁶⁾ cold floorboards and a roommate

⁴⁷⁾ smooth vermouth and gold rings

⁴⁸⁾ a lip piercing and a rough hand

⁴⁹⁾ someone’s spare room and an eclipse

⁵⁰⁾ a game of mahjong and bad jazz music

⁵¹⁾ a jigsaw puzzle and a mortuary

⁵²⁾ a broke-up sidewalk and a knitted scarf

⁵³⁾ a poundshop wig and broken glass

⁵⁴⁾ a bunk bed and a crush

⁵⁵⁾ a red ink tattoo and a dinner gone cold

⁵⁶⁾ a warm palm and a flannel shirt

⁵⁷⁾ fresh basil and a half-empty bottle of arrack

⁵⁸⁾ a nightclub bathroom and smeared eyeliner

⁵⁹⁾ a busted lip and strawberry icecream

⁶⁰⁾ a floral-patterned dress and a looming balcony

⁶¹⁾ peach pits and a pressed shirt collar

⁶²⁾ a white mercedes and cheap perfume

⁶³⁾ a fwb and a housekey

⁶⁴⁾ a blue sarong and a fingertip tracing over a scar

⁶⁵⁾ a sauna room and a terse exchange

⁶⁶⁾ fried plantains and a briefcase

⁶⁷⁾ dried lavender and a tiled bathtub

⁶⁸⁾ a hotel room and a bouquet of lilies

⁶⁹⁾ sweet mango lassi and a suitcase

⁷⁰⁾ orange streetlights and a nightmare

⁷¹⁾ a crucifix and a thigh tattoo

⁷²⁾ a palm tattoo and the thrum of a heartbeat

⁷³⁾ a champagne room and a police siren

⁷⁴⁾ blue nitrile gloves and a hickey

⁷⁵⁾ a double-wide trailer and shotgun shells

⁷⁶⁾ stitches and pyjama shorts

⁷⁷⁾ karaoke and a snowdrift

⁷⁸⁾ an older man and a twin bed

⁷⁹⁾ chinese takeout and a graveyard

⁸⁰⁾ wet clothes and ambulance sirens

⁸¹⁾ carbolic soap and a creaking staircase

⁸²⁾ an undercover assignment and wrung hands

⁸³⁾ the back seat of a limousine and bustling night streets

⁸⁴⁾ a steamed-up bathroom and cold floorboards

⁸⁵⁾ a grand prix and a breakup

⁸⁶⁾ a third place trophy and a picture frame

⁸⁷⁾ the last slice of birthday cake and crossed legs

⁸⁸⁾ squashed raspberries and heated cheeks

⁸⁹⁾ pink lipgloss and brass knuckles

⁹⁰⁾ a ghost mask and a late visit

⁹¹⁾ loose bullets and slashed tires

⁹²⁾ a tactical belt and patterned bedsheets

⁹³⁾ a goaltender’s stick and a lonely walk home

⁹⁴⁾ a dog bed and a migraine

⁹⁵⁾ lit billboards and a floor-length gown

⁹⁶⁾ a divebar negroni and a game of pool

⁹⁷⁾ olive trees at harvest time and divorce papers

⁹⁸⁾ a caviar bump and vanilla coke

⁹⁹⁾ a whale tail and pantsuit

¹⁰⁰⁾ legs thrown into a lap and calloused hands

#enjoy my prettiessss #another instalment of trio prompts on the way!!#prompts #paired prompts #aesthetic prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme #otp prompts #soft prompts #imagine your otp #otp writing #drabble prompts #drabble meme #writing inspiration #writing inspo

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often-daydreaming · 5 months ago

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Crossroads

Standing in the very center of the abandoned road Danny carefully pulls a stack of aged envelopes out of his bag, the dozens (Sixty four in total) of unsent letters were carefully bound with string and rubber bands and he hesitates for a second, his gaze lingering on the most recent one still left unsent before he sets it down in a bowl in front of him. He doesn't have much time. If he waits for too long then Jazz was bound to notice him missing and with the idea of her or anyone else noticing and trying to stop him Danny strikes a match and sets the bowl of ingredients on fire like he was taught.

Nothing would stop him. Not when they were running out of options.

'I, Daniel James Fenton, heir to Infinity and student of Hope and Time summon the fates. The three who are one. The one who is three. Show yourself to me Hecate.'

He calls for them like Pandora taught him to, his power cracking the ground around him and after a while they appear, in-between the roar of thunder and a bright flash of light. Each one is a different part of the same being. All three of them were wearing the faces of someone he knew and a stranger and in the privacy of this moment far away from everyone who ever knew him Danny averts his eyes, his head dipping slightly in acknowledgement. He can be polite when the situation calls for it.

'Daniel.' The youngest one wearing his sister's face smiles at him nearly drawing closer before the roar of thunder stops her advance. 'It's been so long.'

'Too long'

'This is the first time he's called us sister.'

'But not the last.' The middle one disguised as his mom doesn't need the same warning as the first but she crotches down to stare at him eye to eye. It's painful to look at but he knows it's not real. 'You look so thin Danny. Are you eating? Are you hungry?'

'He is, but not for food. Look at him. He wants something.' The last one cuts in. She's wearing the face of a stranger but his core knows her. Deep down some part of him recognizes this woman and her dismissive tone and he hates her.

She wasn't wrong though.

'I need answers and Clockwork told me to ask you.'

They all smile at that, large abnormal smiles but after dealing with the supernatural for so long it doesn't bother him so he holds out the small package meant as a gift to gain their help.

The middle one comes close enough to take it while the first cheerfully tells him.

'You can ask us three questions little prince.'

And the stranger finishes with 'But you'll only get one answer from each of us.'

'So think about your questions Danny.'

'Think carefully.'

Alright, nobody told him they worked like this but he's worked with worse before so for his first question he tells them. 'I want to know about my parents.'

He needs to know if they'll even be willing to help them out.

The above is more of a late night thought but basically an adopted Danny calls up the fates as a work around to things Clockwork can't do because of the Observers being annoying.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover

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redvexillum · 21 days ago

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I feel like the way I portray Alastor is all in the spectrum of Yandare. So, I tried my best to write...yandare Alastor in a way it makes sense for my head canon of him. I want to give a quick shout out to my friend @peach-flavored-flambe ! I thought the best way to welcome her is dedicating this unhinged Alastor story to her!

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, dead dove: do not eat, dub con, obsessive!alastor, p in v, gentle sex, gaslighting, entrapment, breeding kink, psychological, dark, mental torment, unhealthy relationship, orgasm denial, power dynamic, unhinged!alastor, reader is not okay, implied cannibalism, suicidal thoughts, depression, reader is delulu, alastor is delulu, extreme co-dependency, extreme denial, yandare!alastor

🙏 please mind your mental health before you read 🙏

The thought curled through you like poison, clinging to every corner of your mind: you wanted to die.

It was a siren song, cruel and haunting, a whisper that slithered deep into the crumbling fortress of your mind, eroding the defences you’d built to keep it out. Your hands shook as exhaustion seeped into every crack; bones weary from a battle that felt endless. It wasn’t just tiredness – it was a soul-deep weight, a leaden heaviness that hollowed you out.

In the background, soft jazz played from the kitchen, each note swirling with a warmth that felt so alien in the cold void within you. Sunlight poured through the window, a golden river that washed over everything it touched, indifferent to the shadows lurking within.

You noticed the knife on the counter – a sharp gleam that seemed to pulse with a dangerous allure, its polished blade catching the light with a slick, almost wet shine. It seemed to call out to you, offering a quick, dreamless eternity.

But even as your gaze lingered, your heart resisted, tethered stubbornly to someone who’d become both your prison and sanctuary.

Alastor.

A man you never should have crossed paths with. A man you should never have fallen for.

You sighed, holding the knife as you turned back to the chunk of meat. Its once bright crimson flesh changing to a dull, dead brown. The raw smell was overwhelming, thick and nearly spoiled in the oppressive Louisiana heat. Alastor left you with some tasks today, after you had begged him to give you something to do as you wait for his return. Your task was to package the meat, clean up the kitchen, polish the floor while you waited for his return.

The smell of raw meat brought images to flicker through your mind: men and women, faces frozen in terror as Alastor dragged them down to the cellar. A shiver ran down your spine, and a small whimper escaped, a whisper of fear against the tears that threatened to fall. You tore your gaze away from the knife and forced yourself to look outside. The bayou stretched out beyond the window, a bleak expanse of gnarly trees and dark water – silent, desolate, and as inescapable as him.

You took a steadying breath, mentally reciting the day’s tasks like a prayer to keep you grounded. Finish the meat, scrub the blood stains, bleach the floor, and when the last crimson smear was gone, he’d return. By then, you’d be ready, composed. With a sniff, you shoved your feelings back, burying them under the monotony of chores.

Finally, when every trace of red erased from the floor, you heard the front door click open. The sound echoed, a rhythmic click-click-click, each lock sliding free, the metal grating sharply against the silence. Your heart skipped as the door creaked, and there he stood – Alastor, haloed in the setting sun. His smile was gentle, but his eyes gleamed as he opened his arms.

“My love,” he murmured, setting down his bag and slipping off his coat with an air of practised ease.

You scrambled to your feet, the memory still fresh from the last time you hadn’t been there to greet him. He had panicked, refusing to leave your side for days. He held you then, whispering sweet words of devotion, his arms an unyielding cage, each word sinking deeper until it was all you knew. You didn’t know if he knew the truth – that every word bound you closer even as you longed to escape.

Fear wrapped around you, yet somewhere deep within, in a place even you struggled to reach, you needed him. The years of isolation had stripped you bare, leaving only the two of you locked in this strange dance.

Five years – five years of him as your only constant, your only company in this void. That had to be love. It was the only way to make sense of why you stayed, why you remained bound to him by something more powerful than chains.

It had to be love.

“Alastor,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, legs shaking from hours of kneeling on the hard floor, scrubbing away every crimson stain. You took a step forward, the chilling clink of metal grazing the wood beneath your feet with each uneven, hesitant step. The floorboards seemed to pulse below you, each creak an echo of your own heartbeat, until finally, you stopped, frozen four steps away from the exit.

He chuckled – a warm, resonant sound that should have been comforting but only heightened the chill trickling down your spine. With graceful steps, Alastor closed the distance between you, his arms circling around your shoulders. His chin rested gently against your head, the weight of him grounding you in place, his presence washing over you like a tide you couldn’t escape.

“I missed you,” you mumbled against his chest, nuzzling into his embrace. The heat of him, the solid reassurance of his touch, brought you back to yourself, to the one undeniable truth of your existence: you were here, alive, because he held you tethered. “Did you have a good day at work, my love?” you murmured, soft and tentative.

His hand slid over the back of your head; fingers gentle as he stroked you. He breathed in deeply, a wistful sigh slipping from his lips. “My love, you never left my thoughts for a single moment.” His voice was soft, warm, and his arms tightened around you, so tightly that for a second, you felt as though the air was slipping away.

Finally, he parted, just enough for you to breathe again, his fingers grazing along the warm curve of your cheek. “Let’s get you out of that, hmm?” His voice was gentle, and his whisky-brown eyes glittered with a kindness that made your chest ache.

A swell of relief surged in you, and you threw your arms around his shoulders. “Thank you, Alastor, thank you!” Laughter bubbled out of you, bright and involuntary, stretching your lips into a smile that felt foreign, almost unbelievable after everything.

He lifted you effortlessly, his strength both exhilarating and terrifying as he carried you toward the couch. Each step sent the faintest clinking of metal into the air, a reminder of the bond that held you captive.

As he set you down and took a step back, you could feel his gaze moving over you, slow and deliberate, like he could peel back each layer with a single look. You flushed under his scrutiny, your shoulders curling inward, a strange blend of shame and need warring within you. Despite your clothes, under his gaze you felt exposed, vulnerable, as if he could read every thought you’d ever dared to keep from him.

“Cher,” he murmured, his hand drifting over the outside of your calf, fingers tracing a path until they reached your ankle.

You heard the fabric rustling, and then – there it was, glinting between his fingers: a silver key. Your eyes focused on the key, and your heart skipped, hope blooming like wildflowers in a barren field. The promise of freedom lay in that tiny object, so close and yet, a lifetime away. You watched, hardly daring to breathe, as he took your ankle in his hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your bare foot. It was a reminder of the first time he’d ordered you to go without socks when you first escaped from this manacle.

He slid the key into the lock, and with a single twist, the manacle opened with the same familiar click that marked his return home every day. The cool metal fell away, clattering weakly to the floor. A rush of air hit the skin beneath, and you winced as blood surged back into your ankle, a dull ache flooding back into limbs so long constrained.

The shackles lay there, lifeless on the floor, the physical proof of your captivity now nothing more than a scrap of metal, stripped of its power. And yet, as you looked up at him, his eyes shining with something both possessive and achingly tender, you realized you could never truly cast off the chains that bound you to him.

Not as long as you believe you loved him.

“Oh, my poor cher,” Alastor murmured, his voice thick with a twisted blend of regret and possessive tenderness as his eyes traced the dark bruises wrapping around your ankle. His lips brushed softly over the tender skin, lingering in a gentle, reverent kiss before his forehead rested against your leg.

With his eyes closed, he sighed, pressing warmth into you. “It pains me,” he whispered, “to see even the slightest mark of discomfort on you.” His lips began a slow journey, grazing from your ankle upward along the sensitive skin of your inner calf, each kiss stealing a shiver from you. “But you understand, don’t you, cher? It’s a necessity.”

He lifted his eyes to meet yours, their intense gaze sending a shudder through you. His position – kneeling between your legs – made it impossible to think straight. Despite being in a servile pose, he was still the master of your heart.

“Yes...I understand,” you managed, your voice raspy and barely audible. His lips continued their climb, each kiss leaving a cool, tingling path against your skin. “But I’ve been good, Alastor.” Your breath hitched as his head came to rest in your lap, his fingers tracing languid circles along your thigh.

He chuckled softly, low and indulgent. “You have been,” he murmured, his warm breath fanning across your skin. “Perhaps if you continue to behave...I might let you roam freely around the house when I’m not here.” He looked up, giving you a small, playful smile that made your heart stutter.

The thought of moving freely, without the heavy, omnipresent clink of the chain dragging behind you, sent a thrill through your veins. You clenched your hands into fists, desperate to keep your excitement contained.

“I can be good,” you whispered, fingers drifting to his hair, threading through the soft strands as you stroked his head. “I can be good for you, Alastor...”

A groan escaped him, his eyes falling shut as he leaned into your touch, savouring the sensation like a man starving. Emboldened, you took a breath, letting words slip out – words you’d held back for so long, daring to hope he might grant them.

“Maybe...” you hesitated, voice barely a murmur. “Maybe sometimes in the distant future, I could go into t-town with you?” Your fingers froze in his hair as his body tensed, muscles stiffening under your touch. You held your breath, dread and hope tangling within you, afraid you’d crossed some unseen line. Alastor’s overprotective streak was ironclad – whenever he sensed a threat, real or imagined, his vigilance would lock you down even more tightly than before.

A heartbeat passed before he spoke. “Perhaps...” He rose to his feet slowly, drawing you up with him, a gentle smile curving his lips. “Perhaps one day, cher.” His hands slid under your legs, lifting you from the couch, his grip firm and desirous. “But for now...” he trailed off, leaving the sentence open, thick with suggestion as he carried you up the stairs.

The scent of him, rich and intoxicating, filled your senses, mingling with the sharp, metallic undertone of old blood. Recently, he had brought up the idea of family, his eyes lighting with a dark kind of joy when he saw your loneliness. The house felt hollow most days, empty but for him, and he’d suggested a child - a little soul to fill the silent rooms.

At first, the notion had left you reeling, uncertain, but the longer you were left alone with only your thoughts, the more the idea began to take root. Its appeal started to bloom uncontrollably like weeds in your mind.

Now, Alastor and you spent every waking moment together in his bed, until your wishes took fruit.

He lowered you onto the bed with an almost reverent tenderness, as though each touch was sacred, each look a silent promise. He shed his clothes slowly, his eyes never leaving you as his skin emerged, bare and raw. By the time he climbed onto bed, leaning over you, his desire was unmistakable – his cock hardening just from watching you laid out beneath him.

He hovered for a moment, his face close to yours, and his gaze softened as his hand brushed along your cheek. “Cher,” he murmured, a plea woven into his tone, his voice low and thick. His fingers traced down the side of your face as though memorizing you by touch alone. “Will you let me...feel you tonight?” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, slow and lingering, each word like a promise. “For the rest of the night?” His hips lowered, pressing himself against your thigh, his warmth branding you.

Heat flared through you, your body’s response instant and shameless. Every part of you remembered him – his hands, his mouth, the way he claimed you until the world slipped away. Your body answered before your mind could, a warmth pooling low in your stomach as he lifted the hem of your dress, slowly baring your skin. You sat up, letting the fabric fall away, and his eyes flickered, his gaze dropping to your bare breasts. Your only cover now a thin piece of cloth hiding the most intimate part of you.

Alastor’s grin widened, his gaze roving from the pebbled peaks of your nipples down to the damp fabric between your thighs. His hands traced down, catching the waistband and tugging it free. His touch lingered over each inch of exposed skin as he pulled it over your thighs, past the bruises on your ankle, until you lay just as bare before him.

Your legs fell open, your slick folds glistening in invitation, your body traitorous in its eagerness. Alastor’s eyes darkened, his fingers tightening around his cock as he gripped himself, slow strokes stoking his own arousal as he stared, captivated by your wetness.

“The thought of you carrying my child, cher...it drives me mad.” His voice was a rough whisper, his breaths shallow as he stroked himself harder, faster, his eyes on your throbbing core. “It drives me to the edge,” he murmured, his grin feral as he leaned closer, his gaze smouldering with dark intent. “Drives me to the point of bloodlust,” his adam’s apple bobbed up then down, his grin trembling as it couldn’t stretch further lest it tore through his cheeks.

You swallowed, your pulse quickening at the edge of his words, at the memory of the shadows he kept hidden – the bloodstained cellar, the bodies you helped him to clean. Whether you were here or not, you knew he would continue to kill, as relentless and ruthless as ever.

"Ah, cher,” he sighed, settling his body over yours, his hard length pressing flush against your entrance, teasing you with his warmth. “Cher, cher, cher,” he murmured, his voice a low chuckle as he brushed his fingers through your hair, wrapping it around his fingers. “Why do you have to be so lovely?” His nose skimmed your hairline, nuzzling his way to your temple, where he pressed a slow, heated kiss. “Why do you tempt me like this?”

“You’re all I think about, dream about,” he murmured, his voice honey-sweet as he pressed his mouth against your skin, each word a whisper trailing down your cheek, your neck, and finally, open-mouthed and lingering on the curve of your breast. “So much so, cher, that I sometimes imagine killing you.” His tone was soft, unsettlingly jovial as though he’d confessed a secret desire, his hands tracing delicate patterns over your skin.

Your heart pounded, memories flashing across your mind like dark, haunted snapshots – the cellar door muffling desperate cries, the hollow silence that followed. The scent of blood hung thick in those memories, the darkness swallowing up the faces that haunted you. Your hands trembled, a pulse of fear mingling with something deeper, something you could barely acknowledge.

“But I won’t,” he murmured against your skin, pulling you from the spiral of those memories. He lifted his hand to catch a tear that had slipped from your eye, his thumb brushing it away softly. He gazed at the glistening drop before licking it from his fingertip, his eyes darkened as he held you captive in his gaze. “I would never hurt you, cher. Have I ever hurt you?” His voice was quiet, coaxing yet intense, his question leaving no room for escape.

His eyes burned into yours, searching, unwavering. “Tell me, cher,” he pressed, his voice as smooth as silk but laced with a demand that made your pulse stutter. “Do you see me as a bad man?”

There were moments when Alastor felt so delicate, so gentle that he might as well have been made of glass, every touch featherlight. But there were others, moments like this, when he shifted – his possessive grip, his words, his gaze – all dark and consuming. When he asked these questions, you felt like a bird trapped in his cage, heart fluttering as you tried to find the right words.

Your lips quivered, unable to form a reply, the silence thick as more tears slipped down your cheeks. Alastor’s gaze softened just slightly, and he gathered you close, arms wrapping around you as he rocked you, as if you were a fragile, precious thing in his hold. “Shh,” he whispered, his lips against your hair, “I love you, cher. I love you, I love you,” he repeated, his voice lilting like a lullaby.

Your mind fractured, the edge of your memories sharp, each fragment glinting in the dark recesses of your mind. You reached out within yourself, searching, groping for the piece of you that had loved him first – the man you’d met one hazy night at the speakeasy, the man who seemed to light up the room just by existing.

Slowly, you let your hands drift to his back, your fingers pressing against the warmth of his skin. Your eyes closed, more tears slipping free as you tried to remember the feeling of joy, of laughter that you’d felt with him. Your lips brushed against his shoulder, a tentative sign of trust as he sighed, his body relaxing under your touch.

You dug deeper, sifting through memories of that laughter, of your first dance, your first kiss – all those quiet, gentle confessions that had once coloured his eyes in soft brows. You found yourself on your knees, clutching at those fragments with desperate hands, determined to recall the moments when his touch had felt safe, cherished.

“Shh,” Alastor’s mouth hovered over yours, his lips ghosting against yours, a barely there whisper of warmth. “It’s alright, cher. I have you.” He guided himself against you, pressing gently, his cock slipping slowly into your wet, pulsing heat. His mouth melded to yours as his tongue traced along the seam of your lips, savouring each taste as his low moans mingled with your soft gasps.

A hum escaped him, rich and satisfied, as he sank into you, his body pressed to yours, filling you with a quiet intensity that left you breathless. The salted trails on your cheeks lingered as your lips curved into a slow smile, your legs parting, welcoming him deeper, your heart opening despite everything, the echoes of his whispers filling the night.

“Good girl,” Alastor groaned, his hips pushing forward, stretching you around the hard, unyielding thickness of him. “Oh, cher, you’re perfect for me,” he murmured, his words a deep, reverent moan as he sank in deeper, inch by inch, until he was completely enveloped. His hands settled possessively on your hip, his eyes devouring the sight of you.

“I’m going to fill you with my seed all night, love,” he purred, rolling his hips with a languid, maddening rhythm. “After all, your body is begging me to take you – wouldn't you say?” His voice rose with playful amusement, the bed creaking beneath you as if echoing his delight.

“Yes,” you gasped, breathless, the sensation of him making you tremble. “Please,” you whispered, your nails pressing into his shoulders, urging him closer. Alastor drew his hips back slowly, agonizingly, until only the tip of him remained, only to push back in, the pace deliberate, every inch of him dragging against you with intent. Each movement seemed to ignite a new flame within you, stretching your pleasure, drawing it out until it was almost unbearable.

“Look how good you are for me,” he whispered against your flushed cheek, his lips tracing his words into your skin. “Look how perfect you are,” he breathed, sinking deeper as he tightened his arms around you, locking you into his rhythm. “No one will understand you the way I do. You were destined to be mine.” His voice was rich, warm, but tinged with darkness that was both thrilling and terrifying.

“Al-Alastor,” you whimpered, each thrust stoking the tension building inside, reaching deeper, pulling you into a spiral of desire and delirium. His moans, his heated words, his relentless pace – all of it washed over you like a fevered dream. Each breath, each sigh and whispered praise tangled together in a symphony of need.

The creaking of the bed became louder, and with a sudden surge, he lifted himself, teeth gritted, and drove into you harder. His hips snapped against yours; his pace relentless.

“Cher...cher...” he growled, beads of sweat glistening on his brow as he focused on you, his gaze hungry. “That’s right, cher,” he chuckled breathlessly, each laugh broken by the sound of his hips smacking against your own. “Oh, you’d make a perfect mother,” he panted, his words nearly incoherent as he picked up his pace. The final thrust left you both gasping, his grip on you tightening as he finally reached his own release, filling you with powerful, pulsing bursts of warmth.

You moaned in frustration, your pleasure still simmering, unsatisfied, leaving your skin taut with need. You tried to move, but Alastor held you firmly, pressing himself deep inside, his body still wrapped around yours.

He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face as he slowly softened within you, the warm rush of his seed starting to trickle down. When he finally withdrew, his fingers slipped to your entrance, pressing lightly to try and keep every last drop inside, as if marking you as his.

Lying on his side beside you, he gazed at you, his expression gentle as he took in your flushed, tear-streaked cheeks, still needy with unfulfilled desire. A smile tugged at his lips when you also turned to your side to face him. His eyes drifted down, and you knew he was watching his own essence escape, sluggishly slipping down and pooling on your inner thighs. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry, cher,” he said quietly, his voice low and calming. “I’ll take care of you, again and again, tonight.” He withdrew his fingers, now slicked with his and your arousal. “Until your body takes my seed, we’ll keep trying,” he promised, his gaze flickering down between you both before meeting yours with a playful, boyish grin.

With a breath that finally began to steady, you raised a hand to his face, touching his cheek tenderly. He turned to press a gentle kiss to your palm, a quiet moment of warmth shared in the aftermath.

In moments like these, in the field of fractured memories, you saw one shard glinting brighter than the rest, pulling you toward it. It was a piece of you – something essential, something more truthful and dangerous than anything else. It shimmered with dark clarity, cutting through the shadows of doubt and lingering despair.

You drifted past the memories that still haunted you, not quite registering the images that flooded your mind. Alastor’s eyes, once warm, turning nearly black with fury the night you tried to leave, his grip like iron as he vowed you’d belong to him. You passed by the moment he chained you to the cellar walls, his victims mere echoes in the darkness, his voice soothingly venomous, telling you that no one else could ever understand you as he did.

Each scar those memories left on your soul was still fresh, a raw edge in the depths of your mind, fragments of yourself that would never heal.

But in this one shard – this singular piece of undeniable truth – you saw something more. It was in these quiet, raw moments after he’d loved you, held you close, his breath mingling with yours. It was here, next to him in the aftermath, that you could almost believe he was the only soul in this world who would ever love you with such consuming fervour.

You dragged your body closer to him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, as his arms immediately circled protectively around you. His eyes softened as you leaned closer, drawing him into a gentle kiss. Your lips grazing his in a tender, slow exchange that felt achingly real. His fingers traced up and down your back, as if branding his name on your skin.

In this quiet, lonely world, he was your guiding light, a burning soul who consumed all but left you somehow whole. You wanted to hold on to him, to keep him by your side. You feared whatever darkness lurked beyond Alastor, the fear of the unknown paled in comparison to the thought of leaving the one person who had vowed to love every fractured, scarred piece of you.

He needed you, just as much as you needed him.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

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curlsincriminology · 17 days ago

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I’m so fucking mad!! I spent $150 on this tool for my bakery. It has one very specific use! There is no reason to keep it!

Of course they fucking deliver the package I’ve been waiting a month for to the wrong house. Literally the day before I need it.

#I’m sorry but if a package gets delivered to my house and it’s the wrong address I’m taking it to the right one #I’m so fucking mad!#I want to cry!#I want my stuff #I walked around my neighborhood trying to find the door that matched the delivery photo #fedex is absolutely no use #god I’m just on a fucking edge #I am hanging by a thread #shut up jazz

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yes-i-write-fanfiction · 5 months ago

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Reasons as to why I think it would be funny below:

-Cyclonus and Tailgate have been mentioned before but come on, it would be so funny. Here's Cyclonus that looks like a full on rogue even in his holoform and then there's his sunshine husband Tailgate that decides that he wants to be a hero. Cyclonus decides that sure, he'll go along with it if only to make his conjux happy. Too bad everyone thinks Cyclonus is the hero and Tailgate the sidekick.

-Ratchet has also already been mentioned but it would just be hilarious to see him try to tackle Gotham and all the shenanigans that comes with living in the city. I can also see him picking up Robin like a kitten.

-I just think Arcee and Damian would get along. Arcee is an ancient warrior that wields swords and Damian would take one look at her and go "I want to be like her when I grow up". Killer robot grandma and her little killer kid vigilante grandchild.

-Jazz would open a club and it would become the most popular place in Gotham. Fuck the Iceberg Lounge, Jazz's club is the place to be! Becomes the next Gotham celebrity, his himbo playboy persona on par with Brucie Wayne.

-Listen, Bumblebee is old. Old and tired and filled with rage. But he takes one look at the chaos that is Gotham, sees the homeless people and the struggling kids and decides that he has to do something to help. And if that means dropkicking Black Mask then by Primus-!

-Vigilante Drift. That's it. Gotham is so similar to Dead End and Drift knows that he could help people. So, he does. Mainly busts drug rings and protects the homeless population. Might accidentally become a gang leader.

-Riptide would 100% accidentally become a crime lord. He just stumbles into it. His goons know this but they just like him so much. He's nice to them, doesn't make them to terrible stuff and the pay is good. Riptide doesn't even know he's a crime lord, he thinks he's just in some kind of club.

-Accidental rogue/antihero Nautica. In her attempts to find a way back home to her own universe, she commits several crimes, breaks into Wayne Enterprise, leads the batfam on a 3 hour chase, starts a revolution and befriends Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy.

-Fortress Maximus to damn big for this damn city. Accidentally steps on the batmobile. Accidentally kidnaps Nightwing? Nightwing in turn listens to this 52 feet tall robot have an anxiety attack and calms him down. Now they are friends.

-Swerve living life in Gotham. He loves it. Yeah, it's chaos and people are a bit weird but it's also so exciting! The heroes and villains are so cool! He's got various fan blogs. Opens his own (human) bar and it becomes a hangout for rogue goons.

-Blurr starts working in the Iceberg Lounge as a bartender. His holoform is hot so he gets hit on a lot. He loves the attention. Penguin loves the revenue he brings in and promotes him to the poster boy of the place. Batman, as Bruce Wayne, decides to seduce Blurr to get some info on the Penguin. Shenanigans ensue.

-Little sad meow meow Waspinator gets found in the dumpsters by Damian and is subsequently adopted. Alfred takes one look at this pathetic bot and his heart breaks. Bruce returns home to find Waspinator in his living room, snuggled up in a blanket and asleep. Damian threatens to disown him if he makes Waspinator leave.

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evvyyypeters-fics · 3 months ago

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Oh My Days!

Cooper Day x f!reader

Warnings! Underage intoxication, fluff, way too much fluff

Reupload of a request by my lovely pookie wookie and numba one fan @jazz-berry

“STOP! NO! PLEASE!”

The woman on the TV screamed horrifically, practically piercing my ears from the speakers as she ran from the tall, menacing serial killer chasing after her with a bloodied ax. I jumped a little at the sound, my heart pounding in my chest as my breathing became unsteady. Cooper looked over at me, noticing my frightened behavior that I hadn’t seemed to realize as my eyes were glued to the screen in shock.

He wrapped a caring arm around my shoulder, causing me to look at him and see the gentle expression on his face which helped me rest my nerves a bit and come back to reality.

“Getting a little too invested, huh?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

I blush, a little shy and embarrassed that it had been so obvious I was enthralled.

“Want to watch something else? Is it too scary for you?” He asks, a genuine tone that swells my heart with even more affection for my sweet boyfriend.

I glance between him and the TV and nod.

“Alright. What do you want to watch?” He asks, scanning my face as I thought of an answer for a moment. He made sure to pause the TV, removing the distraction of the continuous bloody-murder screams.

“Can we watch The Princess Bride…?” I mumbled shyly. Even though he was my boyfriend of 3 years now, I was still anxious to ask him to watch corny romance movies and chick flicks with me. He knew that about me though, so he smiled even bigger as if to comfort me as he enthusiastically got up and walked back to the cabinet that was down the hall in his room to find the VHS in his collection. We both knew he had it because eventually he bought all of my favorite movies so we could watch them together. I waited patiently for him on the couch, folding my hands in my lap and swinging my legs over the end of the couch, brushing my socks against the carpet.

That’s when I noticed Cooper’s backpack in the corner of my eye appearing on the end of his side of the couch, now revealed once he got up from his seat. Cooper always carried snacks in his backpack for the both of us, and he didn’t mind that I borrowed the things inside of it. We had a mutual trust and understanding. So it wasn’t unusual for me when I opened the bag and dug through, coming across an opened package of colorful gummies. I had never seen this brand before, assuming it was some sort of off-brand convenience store gummy candy.

I opened the package, not bothering to read the label, and took one of the gummies out to taste it. I popped it in and savored the flavor. It was super fruity and sweet. Pleasantly surprised by the taste, I began eating more out of the bag. I had gotten through half of the bag until I finally had my fill of the super sugary treat. I left the bag on the coffee table, sure that Cooper wouldn’t even bat an eye at it.

He finally came back after scourging through the mess of DVDs, CDs and VHS tapes, The Princess Bride firmly in his hand. I turned my head up to look at him as he got closer to the couch and smirked, flashing his brow up as he shook the VHS gently in his hand. A strange tingle in my stomach that made me feel a little more ticklish than usual, causing the feeling of a trapped giggle in my throat to appear. He flashed another smile back at me as he walked over to the VHS player and took out the other movie, replacing them. Once the movie was set up and began to play, he got back up from the floor to sit back next to me on the couch, sneakily making sure to sit closer than he was before.

That’s when I noticed his eyes dart to the gummy bag on the table, a strange look of confusion on his face I hadn’t expected. He turned to me with that very same look.

“Did you eat those?” He asks in a calm, yet curious voice.

“Yes…” I trail, worrying if I should have to apologize. A pit in my stomach of guilt forming.

“You do know those are…weed gummies…,right?” He raises a brow.

My face drops for a minute and I begin to piece everything together, a flush of embarrassment now washing over my face and turning the apples of my cheeks visibly pink. Cooper knows that I don’t smoke or drink, so he was curious why I had eaten the gummies, or if I had even known.

“N-no…” I stuttered shyly.

“How many did you eat?” He asks, now amused as he chuckles a bit, a quiet smile appearing on his face.

“Like ... .half” I said hesitantly, my voice lowering into a squeak.

“Half of what? A gummy?” He asks quizzically, an open smile on his face as he watches me.

“....the bag..” I squeak in a soft voice again.

There’s a pause of silence and I almost expected him to get mad, but to my pleasant surprise he just begins laughing.

“Oh god, you didn’t!” He wheezes, wiping tears forming in the corner of his eyes as he holds his squeezing stomach as the laughter just keeps coming. My face became even more flushed, but a tickle from his laugh fluttered in my stomach and I began smiling, the smile turning into a giggle, the giggle turning into a fit of laughs. We laughed ourselves tired until our bodies practically couldn’t anymore.

The movie is already 10 minutes in and I wasn’t even paying attention. I lean back against the couch, the weed not even taking full effect yet, so I expected to just be able to sit back and watch the movie and be fine.

“Inkchosheviable…” I slurred in a purposeful ‘comedic’ accent 30 minutes later. I instantly burst into a fit of giggles afterwards and Cooper just looks at me as if he’s already exhausted from my ridiculous behavior.

“Look, look!” I look at him as I point at the TV screen and he just keeps his eyes focused on me, his chin in his hand as he listens to me with a gentle smile and a new amused look in his eyes; like he was curiously invested in how I was reacting to the gummies, yet it was if he was protecting me from making myself look too stupid. I hadn’t been able to realize at the moment because of the giggles bubbling inside of me.

“He…it’s like…he’s kinda reminds me of a…a ... ..a potato!” I instantly began laughing as my words were slow and felt light weight from my mouth. Each ‘joke’ I made was horrible, but from the way I was laughing, it could have convinced anyone it was the funniest joke in the world.

Cooper just continued to sit there and watch, that same protective and watchful demeanor looming over him like an aura.

I stood up from the couch and looked at Cooper, a stupid grin on my face. I grab a pillow and balance it on my head.

“Look, I’m Princess Teacup” I say in a terrible royal accent, I instantly start laughing when I realize I said the name wrong. “Princess Teacup!” I wheezed, kneeling over as I laughed. I lifted back up and placed the pillow back on my head and Cooper finally stood up and came over to me, looming over me as he titled his head down and swiped the pillow off my head.

“Come on.” He says, taking my hand carefully and sitting me back down on the couch.

“You want some water?” He asks, becoming a little concerned as I was acting out like crazy. I just looked up at him with a puzzled look, confused why he wasn’t laughing with me anymore.

“Yeah.” I say after an accidental pause, my gaze fixated on him as he slowly walked over to the kitchen to get me a cup of water.

“Stay there.” He warns with a soft voice, pointing a low finger as he turns his back to me.

I sit there on the couch, bored and patient. I fidgeted and looked around the room, eyes darting as I started feeling strangely lonely, even though I knew Cooper was only in the next room over. The distant sound of cups falling and the refrigerator opening and humming echoing from his presence in the kitchen. My heart sank a little and I felt strangely clingy, wanting to go in there and jump on him and squeeze him until neither of us could breathe anymore.

I felt like a dog left out in the rain, waiting for it’s owner to let them back in. I hated having to sit on the couch and wait for him, I didn’t even feel like watching the movie anymore. Not without him sitting next to me.

“Hey princess, here’s your water.” The words echo in my ears as I lift my head and look over to the doorway to see Cooper walking back over to me with a glass of iced water in his hand. My face instantly lights up as I lift myself up on the couch and take the water gratefully from his hand, my eyes glowing wide as saucers as I planted my gaze on him as I took a sip. He sat down next to me on the couch again and I felt happier than I have in the past two weeks even though I already spent most of that time with him anyways. Guess that’s what being on half a bag of weed gummies does to someone who barely even touched a beer in their life.

Cooper laughs shyly at me as he notices the brightness radiating from my energy now, my eyes boring onto him.

“What?” He chuckles through the syllables in a pillowy manner.

“Nothing.” I chirp in a starkly calm voice compared to before, entranced by the glow of his boba pearl eyes, outlined by the black eyeliner and eyeshadow he had on. “You’re just…so…pretty…” I say slowly, as if dazed by the boy in front of me. His cheeks turn a slight pink, embarrassed by my off-guarded confession.

“You’re seriously high off your rocker, drink your water.” He deflects, his gaze flicking to the glass still in my hand. I joined him and looked down at it before abiding and taking another small sip, and then another, before I was downing the whole glass eagerly.

“Guess I was right about you being thirsty…” He giggles while flashing a small mischievous grin.

“Yeah…” I put the glass down on the coffee table slowly, my words matching the pace. Raising my head back up from the table, I look at him, my eyes a bit more droopy. “I’m real thirsty…” I say, my mouth feeling like my teeth were too big for it when I spoke. Cooper watched me, confused, his eyes scanning my expression.

I leaned forward slowly, placing a warm palm to the side of his neck as I planted my lips onto the other side. I hear his breathing shudder for a moment, his shoulders relaxing, eyelashes fluttering closed as he silences a groan tickling the back of his throat while I plant slow kisses along his neck. He melts quickly like usual, seemingly never changing from the first time we got together. He realized he was getting distracted by my loving attack and instantly his eyes shot open and he grabbed my shoulders, gently pulling me away and removing the latch I had on his neck.

He looks me in the eyes, a stern almost serious look in them.

“You’re high, quit it.” He says, and that’s all I need to hear despite the disappointment. I pouted at him and nodded complicitly.

“Sorry, it’s just…we can do this tomorrow. Let’s just watch the movie right now and wait for it to wear off.” He says, his expression changing like he was worried he had upset me, trying to soften the initial blow of his rejection. It was the first time he had rejected me and my advances before.

I look at him with a soft look, feeling bad for putting him in an awkward spot. I glanced at the TV screen for a moment, flicking it in the corner of my eye and seeing that the movie had already ended.

“Aw man, I missed the ending..” I frowned, instantly distracted by what just happened already. I could feel he was relieved by this and he smiled at me.

“We can rewatch it.” He suggests.

“No, I’m over it now.” I could hear him stifle a giggle and I turned to him, giving a glare that he only categorized as ‘cute’.

“Fine, we can pick another and go to bed.” He shrugs. “So, what are we going to watch?”

We spent the rest of the afternoon and into the night cuddling in each other’s arms, almost still and quiet as we watched movies and chewed on popcorn. The occasional outburst or giggle coming from either of us every 30 minutes that sometimes lead into laughing fits. I think at some point I laughed myself to sleep, because I woke up in Cooper’s bed the next morning, wrapped in the sheets, as he sat leaning as far back as he could in his computer desk chair. His mouth stupidly agape and his neck tilted over the back of the chair, causing me to grin to myself before realizing how shitty I felt.

Guess I needed to learn to be careful reading labels of what’s in Cooper’s bag before I take anything, if we do share it.

Taglist:

@fear-is-truth @xkaisxjazzxsingerx @lemoniiiiiii @jazz-berry @marchsfreakshow @colinzabelswife

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