#role reversal prompt

[cheatsylu]

The LU Gift exchange was so much fun!! From my giftee's prompts and favourite characters I decided on a role reversal of Mask and Warriors, where Warriors is the child hero and Time the older hero!

[galaxylover06]

Role reversal!

[bubba-draws]

Narilamb. Reversed roles

Took longer with this one bc i wanted to design a Bishop Lamb that looked cool

Buy me a ko-fi?

BONUS:

[whomeidontknowthem]

I have a fun whumpy short story idea 👀

Living weapon, infamous for killing and torturing at the empress' order with no hesitation, made to torture the grown up survivor of the first (and worst) massacre the living weapon did. (Which happened because they were captured and tortured and wanted to escape -- but this part of the context is not known by anyone, of course, the common conclusion is that they're a bloodthirsty monster simply because they are)

They're a reluctant whumper to whumpee (the survivor), faced with the atrocities they'd committed and the pain they'd caused, forced to torture the survivor for information about the rebellion they're part on, their superior monitoring their actions and punishing them for any possible transgression.

Perhaps they get redemption? Perhaps they help the survivor escape? Maybe the survivor learns the truth of the events and sees the living weapon as a human being instead of a monster?

Stick around to find out! (If you wanna be tagged, let me know)

I wonder if I should do it as only one bigger story, or a few smaller parts 🤔 Eh I'm gonna outsource the decision

[whumblr]

Whump dialogue #58

"Hm, aren't you the stoic one," Whumper mused as he circled Whumpee, unable to draw out a sliver of fear. He stopped right in front of them and looked them in the eye, making sure they’d catch the swiftest glance towards Caretaker.

"I wonder what I could do to make you fly at me in a fit of rage..."

[cluescorner]

I gave myself a writing challenge and I am fascinated by it

So basically I put the robins in a randomizer to give them a new order/role (because I just...kinda wanted to see what would happen + I like role-reversal AUs) and got results that are giving me a fucking brain blast.

Stephanie, the first sidekick who defines the role

Tim, the sidekick who dies and comes back wrong

Dick, the sidekick who saves Batman from himself

Damian, the sidekick who was never supposed to be a sidekick but would go on to prove everyone wrong

Jason, the youngest sidekick who is still the Kid Wonder

...So this is fucking wild. I've got some ideas and several of these fit perfectly (Dick's role is pretty similar to his one in canon), but some of these are fucking INCREDIBLE to explore (Steph being the first Robin is something I never even considered but tbh I kinda love it).

I probably won't write a fic or anything because tbh I don't like publishing my writing that much, but I might expand this into a full AU and post about it. I might randomize other stuff too (ie, stuff that I cannot change vs stuff that I cannot keep the same) but this fucking rules as a starting point.

[aberrantcreature]

Obikin Prompt .5

Role reversal AU, MasterKin and PadObi, Rako Hardeen incident. That is all.

[deadgirlwalking91]

Girlthoughts Lute prompt: After having been together for a little while, Lute has noticed Adam has been ducking her on certain days. Curious as to why, she follows him, finding out he's been secretly going to the gym really late. While his forms bad, he's able to pull much higher weight than her, and she gets an eye full of his body midworkout which she's never seen before, muscles and veins bulging in all the right spots.

Hey Anon,

Sorry it’s taken so long, but here you go ❤️ full fic can be found at the link below.

Stakeout

'She craned her neck to see the barbell, and almost let out a gasp at the amount of weight that he’d loaded it with. It was far beyond anything that she could ever dream of lifting; in fact, it had to be at least three times heavier than her record—which she considered to be pretty impressive.

Adam moved away from the bench and stood behind the weights, wiping his hands on his pants before bending at the knees and gripping the bar. Lute’s eyes flickered to his meaty forearms straight away, his muscles rippling and veins bulging beneath his olive skin. No amount of willpower could have stopped the shaky sigh that left her lips; for she’d only ever seen his arms tense like that in one very, very specific scenario before.

One that involved him gripping his headboard as she lay beneath him, feeling the weight of his body on top of hers.

“Oh, holy shit, Adam,” she murmured to herself, momentarily forgetting that she was supposed to be hidden. Suddenly, she felt warm. So warm and very flustered.'

[skyward-floored]

Me: okay I’m going to actually work on figuring out ideas for other whumptober days, I will succeed I will prevail—

Day 2: >:)

[chickycherrycola]

feel you breathe

Today is my NUMBER ONE RIDE OR DIE BITCH @moriohpissky 's BIRTHDAY!!! Happy Leah Day!!! And what better gift could I possibly bestow upon her than the gift of SoMa smut? 😈 specifically SoMa smut of the Soul-getting-pegged variety 🔥😩👌

Nsfw below the cut 🔞 🔥

Link to read on Ao3

-

With her hand pressed flat on his back, she can feel everything.

The heat emanating from his skin–his skin, bare, slicked with sweat, golden tan against her ivory–and the familiar hum of his soul wavelength, completely in sync with her own as it beats along with the pulse in her veins. Each slight movement of his body–the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders, the tensing of muscle and flexing of tendons as his fingers grip the sheets in anticipation.

The rhythm of his breath, not quite as steady as she’d like.

“Soul...” Maka’s voice is a murmur as she smooths a reassuring hand gently down the curve of his back, as she traces her fingers softly, slowly, along the bumpy ridge of his spine. “Take a deep breath for me.” 

He does as she asks–a long, slow inhale followed by a shuddering exhale–and his body relaxes, tension melting away beneath her feather-light touch. She stops at the small of his back to rub little circles into his skin, to draw invisible patterns with her fingertips for a moment before lightly dragging her fingernails upward once more. He practically purrs beneath her. 

That’s more like it. 

“Feeling good?” 

“Mmm.” He shifts, angles his head to look at her over his bare shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good.” There’s a heady weight in his words, an undercurrent of nervous anticipation that turns her blood to pure electricity in her veins. “I’m ready, Maka.” 

And the trust in his voice–the sheer magnitude of it–makes her heart ache. 

She feels it, too, when she closes her eyes and focuses on his wavelength, just how much her partner trusts her. His soul is positively brimming with it, overflowing with it, pouring from his end of the link into hers and filling her from head to toe with heavy, intoxicating warmth. It’s a sensation she’s all too familiar with–whether it's in battle or in the bedroom. Whether it's the acknowledgement of his life being in her hands and the permission to charge headfirst into danger anyway, or just this–this reversal of roles. This willingness of his to be vulnerable and underneath her, completely, utterly at her mercy, and trusting her all the same. 

It arouses her like nothing else.

She could chalk this fact up to any number of things–the fact that she’s a Death Child, and Death Children are, by their nature, cut from a different sort of cloth. The fact that she’s a meister in every sense of the word, so wired for control that it bleeds into every aspect of her life, her sex life being no exception. The fact that Soul has never once fought her on it, not really–not even on the not-uncommon occasions when he steps in to be the voice of reason, because he knows better than anyone that once she’s made her mind up, there isn’t a force on this earth that can sway her, her own weapon included. 

Even still, she’s grateful for him. She’s grateful, and damn lucky, to have a weapon that bends to her will, that submits so readily to her pervasive need for control, even when their lives are at stake. Although, tonight is not a life-or-death situation, and arguably, he’s getting way more out of this than she is. 

Tonight–tonight isn’t about her.

Tonight is about Soul. About tending to his needs, as he's done for her so many times. It's about her returning the favor and giving him that which he so deserves. 

He deserves to feel good. He deserves to be taken care of. He deserves to let go, to relax, to surrender, to experience the bliss of complete submission–bliss that she's all too happy to give him. He deserves this.

If she thinks about everything her partner deserves for too long, she fears her heart may explode right out of her chest. 

So she doesn’t think about it. 

She thinks instead about how supple his skin feels as she runs her hands down the length of his back one last time, how firm his ass is under her touch as she palms his cheeks, the way he sighs contentedly when she squeezes and massages the toned flesh beneath her fingers. 

She thinks about the steps required of her in this process–how, much like when the roles are reversed and she’s the one on the receiving end of penetration, the foreplay is crucial. 

The bottle of lube is beside her on the bed. She shifts her knees, re-positions them atop the pillow she’s kneeling on–because damn Soul and his long, lanky legs, and damn all these reminders of just how much shorter than him she is–as she reaches for the bottle. She’s mindful of her extra appendage, the purple dildo strapped between her legs, as she does so, taking care not to bump it against her partner as she moves. 

The clear liquid is cold when it comes out of the bottle, so she rubs her hands together until the chill dissipates somewhat, until her fingers are coated and slippery.

His skin burns against her touch, simmering heat against her fingertips. With one hand, she cradles his balls, gives them a gentle squeeze, and with the other hand, she reaches around the bend of his hips to wrap her fingers around his cock. A few slow, sensual strokes has him sighing as he hardens in her hand, a slide of one lubricated thumb between his cheeks has him leaning back impatiently into her touch. She spreads him, pulls him apart and gently prods him, her fingertip pressing lightly against his entrance. The sound Soul makes, eager and breathless, has her wanting, leaves her itching to plunge her fingers in and fuck him senseless.

Patience, she reminds herself. She'll handle her weapon, and she'll handle him well.

She’ll handle him exactly the way he likes. 

She doesn’t let her finger sink inside him just yet, instead opting to trace a gentle circle around his puckered flesh, applying slight pressure while she rubs back and forth. His response is immediate.

“Maka,” he gasps, leaning into her with an arch of his back. The bed sheets rustle with the shifting of his knees as he spreads his legs further apart for her. “Ah, Maka, that’s–”

“How’s it feel?” Her voice is a heady whisper in the darkness.

“I-it– hah, it feels good –”

“Yeah? You want my finger inside?”

“Please –”

She slides her index finger inside him, lets it disappear to the first knuckle and then stops, holds it still there. Soul sucks in a sharp inhale; his body tenses and instinctively, without even a conscious directive from her brain, Maka smooths her other hand up the back of one of his thighs reassuringly before reaching around to grasp his hard cock. She starts to stroke him, up and down, with gentle motions of her loosely clasped fingers. 

“I’ve got you, Soul,” she murmurs. “Just relax for me. Your meister’s gonna take good care of you.” 

There’s a responding surge of emotion from his soul wavelength–a flutter of excitement, of hungry anticipation, and again, trust– and Maka lets her own wavelength reach out to entwine with his. It’s not like how they do it in battle, not exactly–it's a much lower resonance rate, a quieter, less intense frequency, just enough to tune into each others’ wavelengths and synchronize the beats of their souls, but it’s still a comforting, pleasant sensation. Warmth floods Maka’s senses, Soul relaxes around her finger, and she pushes deeper inside him. 

This time, she’s met with hardly any resistance as her finger sinks further in, all the way to the second knuckle. Soul moans, long and low, and his wavelength shudders deliciously as she slowly pulls her finger out and pushes it back in; she continues sliding it in and out of him, steadily working up to a comfortable rhythm, and the way he moans contentedly and sighs her name sends urgent, liquid heat coiling low in her gut. 

Gods, how she loves seeing him like this. How she loves seeing him come undone at her touch. How she loves knowing she’s the only one who can do this to him, who can touch him like this and make him submit in this way. The only one who's ever heard self-proclaimed cool guy and famed ‘Last Death Scythe’ Soul Evans whimper helplessly, the only one who gets to see this side of him.

How she wants him even more submissive than this, wants him drooling and panting her name desperately as she fucks him into her mattress. How she wants to hear him beg.

“M-Maka, o-oh fuck–” Soul gasps. His hips buck urgently against her finger as she fucks him, and his cock leaks pre-cum all over her other hand. “M-More, more, gimme more, I can handle it–”

“Hmmm.” Maka purses her lips and pulls her finger completely out of him. “Good weapons say please when making requests of their meisters.”

“F- fuuuuck,” Soul whines. “Please, Maka?”

“Please what? Be a little more specific.”

“Please–” his voice breaks. “P-Please give me two fingers, Maka–”

“That’s my good, obedient weapon. My good little Death Scythe,” Maka coos. She releases his cock and reaches for the bottle of lube once again, replenishing the slippery liquid on her fingers with a generous squeeze. With her other hand, she cups one side of his ass, spreading him open wider with a pull of her thumb. She presses her lubricated fingers, two of them this time, to his hole once again. “Or would you prefer to be called… good boy?” 

Soul groans her name in ecstasy as she enters him, as she pushes in and sinks her fingers all the way to the second knuckle in one fluid, seamless motion. He’s more relaxed now, his back arched and his ass angled up and into her as he eagerly ruts backward into her hand.

“Hah, f-fuck,” he whimpers. “Fuck, yes I wanna be your good boy Maka, please, please tell me I’m a good boy–”

“Shhhh.” She brings her free hand up to grip one side of his hips. “You're doing so good for me, Soul. Do you want a third finger?”

“Please–”

It slides inside him effortlessly. Maka feels his responding groan low in her gut, in the wet ache growing between her thighs. She works him open with long, languid thrusts of her fingers, in-and-out in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, and wishes, not for the first time tonight, that she could see his face while she does this. That she could watch his eyes roll shut and the stress lines on his forehead and around his eyes melt away, that she could watch his expression change as he surrenders to the pleasure she gives him. 

Yes, he’s a Death Scythe, and he’s got responsibilities on his shoulders, a worldwide peace treaty to enforce and a literal god as his boss. He spends weeks away from home sometimes, away from her, clocks upwards of sixty, even seventy hour work weeks, and yet somehow still never fails to prioritize her needs, as his roommate, partner, meister, girlfriend. Never fails to leave cute little notes around the apartment for her to find before he leaves for a conference, to surprise her with her favorite meal when he is home and she’s far too tired to even think about feeding herself. Never fails to satisfy her when she reaches for him desperately in the dark, on those nights in which they aren’t apart, nights they spend wrapped up in each others’ arms. 

It’s true that he is all those things, but he’s also merely a man– her man–and he deserves to have his needs catered to just as much as she does. 

She can’t see his expression as he buries his face into the pillow, but she feels the long, drawn out moan that escapes his throat in her very bones, feels the irresistible quiver of his soul wavelength along their interconnected link, and it's enough. It’s enough to make her fingers thrust faster, make her blood run hot in her veins and her pulse throb wetly between her legs with growing need. She shifts, re-adjusts her position atop the pillow to press the long, silicone shaft of the strap-on into the back of Soul’s thigh, and he whimpers.

“You’re taking my fingers so well, Soul,” Maka murmurs, and her voice has the thick, cloying texture of honey, syrupy and sweet as the words drip from her lips. “Think you’re ready for my cock?”

They’ve done this a handful of times now, yet the novelty of the role reversal has yet to wear off. It’s positively thrilling, having the strap between her legs, pressing it tauntingly against his ass, referring to it as though it were a part of her. Asking her boyfriend if he’s ready for her cock fills her with a giddy rush she hadn’t anticipated when they’d started this–when Soul had first nervously told her that getting pegged was a fantasy of his. When he’d asked if it was something she’d be willing to try in the bedroom, when they’d gone shopping together and took turns testing the weights of different dildos in their hands. It started out as fantasy fulfillment, as something Maka reckoned she’d try once just to see what it was like, and it’s turned out to be something that gets them both off in spades.

“Fu-uck,” he pants into the sheets. “Fuck, yes, yes, I’m ready for it, please–”

“I wanna hear you say it, Soul,” Maka commands. “Say you’re ready for my cock.”

“Fuckin’ Christ, ” he groans. “I’m ready for your cock, Maka, please give it to me–”

“Good boy.” 

She brings both of her hands to rest at the small of his back, traces them down slowly over the curve of his ass and back up again, lightly digging her nails into his skin all the while. Soul fidgets beneath her impatiently, and she brings one hand up and spanks him, strikes her palm against one of his cheeks with a swift, sharp motion. He moans her name in response, and her toes curl. 

“Don’t you worry, Soul,” she says, her voice equal parts soothing and sultry as she fits the head of her cock to his hole. She tilts her hips forward the slightest bit, slides the strap back and forth in the valley between his cheeks with slow, rolling thrusts. “Your meister’s gonna fuck you real good. Nice and hard and deep, just the way you like it.”

“Fuck, Maka,” he whines. “Please –” the pleading tone of his voice makes her pussy clench in anticipation as she reaches for the bottle of lube once more. She squirts a liberal amount into her palm and wraps her fingers around her purple silicone tool, gives a few pumps of her hand to thoroughly coat it with the slippery clear liquid. Another generous squeeze of lube between his cheeks, a few circles of her fingers against his hole to make sure it's good and slippery there too, and soon enough her small but capable hands are gripping her weapon’s hips, pulling his ass flush against the tip of her cock and holding him steady. She reaches for a button at the base of the dildo and switches it on, digs her teeth into her bottom lip when the steady pulse of vibrations sparks to life, thrumming urgently between her legs. 

“Breathe in deep for me, love,” she instructs. He obeys, and she breathes along with him as she enters him, as she pushes her hips forward and slides her cock inside him.

“Haaaaaaah– oh–oh fuck–” Soul gasps, the words rushing from between his lips in a sharp exhale. There's a surge of searing, sizzling pleasure from his end of the wavelength, and Maka appreciates the fact that their souls are connected for this moment, the way his wavelength trembles in utter delight as she penetrates him.

It's the closest she'll be able to get to feeling him.

She stops the motion of her hips when she's about halfway in, and Soul shudders. Maka wishes, fleetingly, that she could be surrounded by the sensation. That it was her own flesh buried inside of him rather than a shaft of silicone, that she could feel every minute little shift and shiver of his body from deep within him.

“Feeling good? Nice and full?”

“Ah— mmmm,” his voice and his wavelength are both drowsy, almost sluggish as he attempts to speak, and Maka smirks.

“Try real hard to use your words for me, love. Just a few will do.”

“Hmmm-mmm. Mm-hmm. Yeah,” he slurs. “Good. Full. Want more.”

She pushes deeper in, and when she’s fully inside him, his muffled groan of her name into the pillow sends her own arousal soaring, sends a sharp lick of heat to the apex of her thighs. She tightens her grip on his hips.

“And now? How’s that feel?” 

“Sooooo good–ahhhh–” the words devolve into incoherent sputtering when Maka pulls most of the way out of him, only to thrust back in all at once. She squeezes his hips and spanks him again.

“Yeah, tell me how good that feels, Soul,” Maka rasps. She starts to thrust steadily into him, rutting her hips against the backs of his thighs in a rhythmic in-and-out motion. “Tell me how much you love it when I fuck you.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” his voice trembles and his fingers fist in the sheets. “I fuckin’ love how you fuck me– hah –” Maka gives an especially hard, deep thrust then–"Y-yes, so good, don't stop, h-harder Maka please–”

“Death, listen to you,” she taunts. It’s an effort to keep her voice steady through the force of her thrusts and the vibrations of the dildo against her clit, but she manages. “You sound so pathetic. Whining and begging for my cock.” She spanks him a third time, the other cheek, hard enough that the sound echoes off the walls of her bedroom. 

“M-Maaaa-kaaaa–”

“Oh, am I gonna fuck you, Soul,” she slams her hips into him, savors the guttural groan he gives her. “I’m gonna fuck this ass of yours so hard. Gonna fuck you into my mattress, fuck you till you come, till you make a fucking mess of yourself. Would you like that, my love?”

“Y-yes, yes please–”

“Such a good boy.” She smirks, giving his ass a light smack and a firm squeeze. “So polite. So eager to submit.” Her thrusts increase in pace, and she suppresses a moan of her own with a long, deep inhale–how easy it would be to let herself unravel, to surrender to the carnal bliss of chasing her own release.

It would be so easy to lose herself now.

The heady rush of being in control, the thrill that domination brings her. Knowing her weapon is utterly at her mercy, and every movement, every breath, every sound reminding her of this fact–the smack of her skin against his, the squeak of the mattress beneath them. The tortured gasps that escape Soul’s throat with every thrust she gives him, her name on his lips like a fervent prayer between ecstatic moans. The white-hot pleasure coursing along their interconnected soul link, the delicious vibrations still urgently pulsing against her clit– 

It all feels good, so damn good, but she can’t lose herself yet. She’s got to hold it together just a little longer.

“Ohhhh fuck–” Soul’s voice is a muffled whimper with his face buried firmly in the pillow. He’s gone limp under her, his body slack and collapsed in the sheets. “Fuuuuck, Maka, yes, right there–”

The dull ache between her legs grows heavier with his pleading words. 

“Yeah?” She bucks her hips into him, short, staccato movements in quick succession, and Soul wails in response. “That’s the spot, huh? Are you gonna come for me?” 

“Uh-huh, o-oh–” Soul gasps. “Oh yeah, f-fuck , that’s it, h-hahhhh–”

Maka’s fingers hook into the sharp lines of his hip bones as she pulls him up and into her, as she kicks one of her legs up for a better angle. With one knee still on the pillow and the flat of her other foot on the mattress, she fucks him, her hips working up to a merciless rhythm. Each thrust pushes her closer to the edge, too, puts delicious, vibrating pleasure against her clit, and soon she’s panting, gasping for breath right along with him while she gets them both to the very brink of release. 

“FUCK–” Soul groans, his voice ragged with the force of his impending orgasm. “Oh, fuck, fuck, ah, fuckin’ CHRIST–” She knows the moment it happens–the moment the tension snaps and his wavelength soars. His body spasms and his hips jerk, bucking erratically into the mattress as he comes, and a molten wave of bliss crashes into Maka’s senses over the soul link. 

“Oh–” she gasps. “Ohhh, Soul–”

And finally, she lets go. Lets the wave take her, lets herself get caught up in the tide of it. Her eyes roll shut and she gives a final, urgent thrust of her hips before shuddering through her own release.

She imagines her orgasm is nowhere near as euphoric as Soul’s, but it’s still a sweet, sensual crescendo, a blissful high that ripples outward from between her legs and floods her senses, finding its way to the very tips of her extremities. She’s vaguely aware of her grip on Soul’s hips tightening as her vision goes white, the sound of his name on her lips as her pleasure peaks. As the rest of the world fades away for a fleeting, ephemeral moment, a moment of weightless ecstasy. 

When she returns to her senses, she’s panting, her chest heaving with labored breaths, and her weapon is a collapsed heap beneath her. Maka takes a deep, purposeful breath to steady herself, to ground herself back in reality before pressing her palms flat against the mattress on either side of his waist. Slowly, slowly she pulls out of him, drawing her hips back as gently as she can manage. The grunt Soul emits is not quite pained, but it’s close enough to it to stir the slightest twinge of panic in Maka’s chest. She wants to ask him if she’s hurting him, but knows that even simple yes or no questions are probably beyond him at the moment, so instead, she leans back as soon as she’s pulled all the way out and makes short work of the strap-on, hastily unclipping harness buckles and yanking the stretchy waistband down over her thighs. In merely a moment it’s a pile on the bedroom floor that she resolves to deal with later; in another moment, she’s crawling over him and brushing pale, slicked hair from his forehead, running her hands soothingly up his back and along the side of his face. 

He breathes her name as his hands reach for her, wincing with the effort of movement, and scarcely before in her life has she wanted so badly to hold him. To protect him. To curl her body around his and never let go.

It's pure instinct that settles in after that–instinct, and familiarity, from having done this so many times before. She knows exactly how to touch him, how to comfort him, how and where to put her arms around him to gently ease him upright. Knows to run her fingers tenderly through his hair and let him come down from the high, give him a few minutes of quiet before gently coaxing words out of him. 

“You with me, Soul?” Her voice is low and soft when she finally does speak.

“Mmmm. Mmm-hmmm.” He shifts, the corners of his mouth lifting in a breathless smile. “Yeah,” he manages. “I’m here, I'm good.”

His voice is thick and groggy, and Maka wants simultaneously to wrap herself up and drown in the aching vulnerability of it, and hold it tightly between her greedy little fingers, bottle it away for safekeeping. Soul’s raw, coarse bedroom voice, the one reserved only for her.

“Can I get you cleaned up, love?” She brushes a particularly stubborn lock of hair from between his brows. “Think we can manage that?”

“Mmmm…” he sighs, breath leaving his nose in a long, satisfied exhale. “That sounds good.” His speech is slightly slurred and Maka can’t help but smile to herself as she works, as she reaches for the towel they’d laid down atop the mattress in preparation for this. It’s a mess, as she expected, soiled and stained in several spots from his release, and there’s still more of it sticking stubbornly to his skin, clinging to the powdery-white hairs of his happy trail and smeared into his belly button. She cleans him with gentle, thorough strokes, wiping away the evidence of his orgasm with the towel for several silent moments. 

“Okay,” she finally says when she’s finished. “Come here.”

She helps him sit up and lean backward into her waiting arms, and the contented sigh he heaves when his head is settled comfortably between her breasts makes her heart ache with happiness. She presses her lips tenderly to his forehead, lingering there long enough to breathe in the scent of him–the salt of his skin and the familiar, amber musk of his shampoo. 

“I've got you, love,” she whispers into his hair as she reaches for the covers and gently pulls them up over the both of them. “I've got you, and I'm not letting go.” The warmth of the thick blankets and Soul’s body heat searing into her skin are enough to make her own eyelids feel heavy, and it hits her all at once that she's pretty exhausted too, after all that.

“Mmmmm… Mmmmmaka…” The stubble on his chin is rough against the soft skin of her chest as he stirs, as he tries to angle his face up to look at her.

“Shhhhhh.” Her fingers are in his hair once again, her other hand rubbing reassuringly at his arm through the covers. “Just sleep. It's okay.”

He doesn't fight her on it, and as she watches his eyes flutter shut, she recalls countless nights in which their roles were reversed, and she'd been the one falling asleep on his chest, completely spent and thoroughly satiated. How Soul would tangle her hair around his fingers and rub soothing circles between her shoulder blades, how he'd hum the melody of their song to her as she fell asleep.  

It's the very least she can do for him in return.

She starts humming the familiar tune, as off-key as it probably is with her musically challenged brain, and savors the way he practically melts into sleep. The way his face goes slack, the furrow between his brows and his ever-present scowl nowhere to be found. The look of sheer bliss on his face, how peaceful he looks as he drifts off. The pleasant hum of their entwined wavelengths pulsing in perfect harmony. 

There’s a spot of drool slipping from the corner of his open mouth, and her lips curl into a fond smile as she reaches to gently, oh so gently wipe it away. She runs her fingers through his hair with a tenderness bordering on devotion until she can no longer muster the strength to do so and watches his face until she can’t possibly keep her eyes open anymore.

She falls asleep to the soft sound of his snores and the rhythm of his breath, slow, soothing, and as achingly familiar to her as the song they share.

[hourcat]

pierre/charles and "Hot Single Parent and babysitter/nanny"

18. Hot Single Parent and babysitter/nanny

It's embarrassing, Charles thinks as he waits at the stoplight around the corner from his street, that he's on his way home now and not, you know, two and a half hours later than what he'd told the babysitter. He hadn’t even been out for more than an hour in the first place, including driving to the restaurant—

It’s the last time he lets Carlos set him up on a fucking date, so help him. You should stop using those single dad apps, he’d insisted while they were standing in line to pay for their cafeteria lunches, I know a guy.

And sure, Charles had been a little skeptical, especially because Carlos isn’t exactly known for his judgment around the office, but it’s been ages since he’s been out for real—Hervé is his life from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to sleep, and it’s been that way since he was born. There’d been no time for dating, or really anything that wasn’t his son.

But Carlos had been insistent that Charles would like this guy. He is fun, he’d promised, and Charles, because he’s terrible at saying no, had agreed.

Of course, that agreement had hinged upon his life-saving babysitter, Pierre, being available.

I'm going out tomorrow night, he'd texted after pulling into the preschool parking lot, are you around to watch Hervé for the night? Pierre, of course, because he is the most reliable babysitter Charles has ever known, is free—so it’d been set, and Charles had gone out after giving Pierre the usual walkthrough of the house even though they’ve done this plenty of times before. Pierre had smiled at him easily, nodded, promised that Hervé is in good hands (something Charles knows without even having to hear it from Pierre himself) and Charles had said I’ll be home by 11, you can use my card to buy whatever you like.

“Don’t worry, Charles,” Pierre had murmured, resting a comforting hand on his bicep. The warmth of his palm had seeped right through Charles’ dress shirt. “Go out and have fun.” His smile had gotten wider, then, and it’d only struck Charles there, moments before he was about to go out on his first date in over three years, that Pierre is handsome. Really, just—handsome is a tasteful way of putting it, which he’d begged himself to stick to because, again, date.

So Charles left. Drove to the restaurant that Carlos had texted him the address to.

And, half an hour in, he’d left. Max was—Charles is going to kill his coworker for this, making him think that it would be a good time. There’s no spark and Charles knew it the moment they’d sat down, but he’d tried to at least stick it out because, maybe he’s just rusty after all this time.

No. There’s no two ways around it, it is simply a bad date. Charles doesn’t even feel bad for excusing himself to the bathroom and then bolting because talking to drying paint would be more interesting than whatever had been happening between them.

He only remembers that he hadn’t actually told Pierre he was on his way home until now, though—five minutes away from his house, at the world’s longest red light. He grabs his phone to shoot off a quick omw back message only to realize, to his chagrin, that it’d died somewhere between the restaurant and here. Stupid Google Maps.

The light finally turns green, and Charles tries his damnedest not to speed the rest of the way back. He doesn’t care that he doesn’t have a romantic life right now. Hervé is the only thing that matters to him, really—he’s sure spending time making faces at his son and giggling with him over wooden puzzles would be a thousand times more interesting than whatever obnoxious commentary Max was trying to give about…shit, Charles doesn’t even remember. He’ll pay Pierre for the whole night anyway, because it’s only right, but…he just wants to be home. The sight of his driveway is a bigger relief than he could’ve possibly imagined. He all but tumbles out of the driver’s seat, locking his car haphazardly and practically skipping up his front steps to knock, once, on the door.

Wait, he realizes flatly, this is my house. He’s about to open the door himself when it swings backwards and…

There’s Pierre. The look on his face goes from at ease to surprised in a moment, and he shifts on his feet to balance Hervé on his hip, keeping him snugly held against him. “Charles,” he says, eyebrows high on his forehead. “I thought you were—on a date?” He steps aside and Charles enters his own house, entirely enchanted by the sight before him.

“Papa!” Hervé exclaims, reaching one arm out to grab for him. He doesn’t loosen his hold on Pierre, though. “Me ‘n Pear pizza!!” His face is so bright with joy, laughter twinkling in his eyes, and a lump forms in Charles’ throat at the sight of it: his whole world, babbling delightedly as the babysitter…is beaming his full attention right at him, both arms now keeping him carefully tucked close.

“Yeah, big man,” Pierre murmurs, and then turns to Charles, “I ordered pizza and thought you were, um, the guy.” He laughs softly, then shrugs. “It should be here any minute, now, so you two can—if you haven’t already eaten, I—”

“No,” Charles interrupts hastily, waving a hand. Pierre’s mouth closes, protest stopped. For a moment, he can only stare: Hervé with his cheek smushed on Pierre’s shoulder, Pierre’s hold so casual yet careful as they stand in the hall. His son is good with people, Charles knows, but this is different. The fondness rolling off of the babysitter in waves is different than anything Charles has ever felt before, even when he quirks his brows at the extended silence. Oh. “No, um, you should—you should stay for dinner, Pierre. It’s.” Why is he nervous? This is his babysitter he’s talking to, not some—some date he’s meeting for the first time. “I came back early, you should at least eat with us.”

Pierre’s eyes, already warm with affection for Hervé, light up even more at the invitation. “Are you sure?”

Charles is. “Yes, yes, of course.” He tilts his head towards the kitchenette. “I’ll pay you for the whole night, but you should at least stay for dinner. I—” he coughs. “I think Hervé would love that.”

“Pear, Pear!” Hervé exclaims in agreement. It only takes a few moments before Pierre is smiling hugely, nodding along. Charles feels like a whole ton has been lifted off his shoulders. He’s not entirely sure why.

[zsbrainrot]

I always draw Kazuki as the big spoon so I decided to switch it up!

Happy Buddy Daddies Friday!

@flufftober Day 13/Alt Prompt #6: Reverse the Roles.

[fandomtookoverlife]

Au where someone is trying to manipulate character A so they put a love charm on Character B

So the Manipulator knows A is in love with B so they put a charm on B to make them think they are in love with A and confess their feelings

The joy A feels at the prospect of their love being returned will have them so off guard/distracted they will be so much easier to subdue

M thinks they are absolutely brilliant! What could go wrong? A is going to be so enamoured and happy that the person they love loves them back they won’t even notice the trap they are walking into! B is under their spell so no worries there and there aren’t any other variables it’s fool proof!

Option #1

M sets their trap and sits back waiting for A to fall into it, only when it comes time it’s as though A is expecting it they completely side step it and counter it so that M is now at their mercy How did this happen! The Plan! How could A possibly have known?

The issue is that there is a critical fault in M’s plan they didn’t consider.

B loves A in return so when cursed!B confesses their fake feelings the curse is immediately undone by none other than true loves kiss rendering the curse completely useless

B immediately tells A everything: the plan, about M, all of it (B was subjected to a token villain monologue so they know about the trap) A is heartbroken now knowing it was all a lie

A goes to leave, angry, heartbroken, to take revenge on M for getting their hopes up, for ending their friendship bc now that B knows about A’s feelings they will leave, affronted and repulsed by A’s feelings

B is left confused and chasing after A, “what’s wrong? I know you’re angry but it’s ok, their plan fell through we are both safe, we know where they are going to be we can use this to our advantage! It’s a good thing! Why are you upset!”

A’s like “don’t you understand there is no we! M has ruined everything you’re going to leave me now, I would have never told you about my feelings I never wanted to because I couldn’t stand the thought of your rejection! Of you not loving me back! How are we supposed to move on from that! We can’t! I can’t!”

And then B gets to take A’s face in their hands, maybe kiss them, and say “of course I love you you idiot! How could I not love you? Don’t you see? Don’t you understand? You’re everything to me! Yes M is awful and we have to stop them, but I love you, I’ve dreamed of this moment for years, this is the best day of my life, tell me it’s yours too”

Cue happy ending and/or otp intensely making out in the middle of where ever they are standing

Option #2

M sets their trap and waits, only A never shows up? What is going on this was not apart of the plan!

What happened is that B was cursed and had no idea, one minute they are walking down the street the next they have the sudden urge to confess their feelings for A so they go do that

True loves kiss breaks the spell and B is left wondering where they got that sudden urge/confidence to finally confess but they quickly push that through to the side, after all it worked out so why question it?

Being so happy A and B change course abandoning their current path for a vacation to bask in their new love

Leaving M sitting, waiting and wondering where it all went wrong

[dotssu3]

ok but the other way around

[sandinthepipes]

You know what I wanna see? I want Crowley and aziraphale to start bickering, and at some point like Crowley, to make fun of the other, miracles himself with white hair and tan clothes and does a mocking impression of aziraphale. Or reverse.

Oof, it’d be so good

[entomolog-t]

My soul yearns for a ridiculous G/t scenario;

Picture this,

A superhero team/academy/school/association, take your pick, where two individuals are rivals to their core. Character A has the power to make themselves grow downright massive, while B can shrink things other than themselves. Since their powers negate one another's they naturally just can't stand one another. Both of them hate feeling small, and constantly have this pissing contest.

Like maybe after they finish a mission on a joint team, character A stays giant a little longer than necessary, looming over B. Annoyed, B shrinks them back, perhaps embarrassing them by shrinking them while they're holding something/someone. Just absolutely petty stuff.

It becomes this unspoken fight for power and both of them try to outwit the other. They both try to use whatever rules their counterparts powers have against them, desperate to look down on their rival.

But as the missions progress and they're forced to work together they learn to see eye to eye (pun intended). Like since character B can't shrink themselves, perhaps there's a scenario where they need someone small, and A is the perfect option since they can negate the shrinking if needed. A has to willingly let B shrink them. A is ready for B to be an ass about it, but they remain professional... and A finds themselves gaining maybe just a hint of respect for B.

Enemies to lovers maybe? Like the angst potential is mouthwatering. Two "Giants" with little man syndrome duking it out in a massive pissing contest?? Need.