#welcome to doozy

[blueshinefox]

There's a fourth one called GO! Cartoons, but I'm VERY embarrassed about it and I probably won't be telling anyone about it. I know what it's about, and my favorite shorts were The Summoning and Welcome to Doozy, but I'm too embarrassed of it nowadays.

I highly doubt that very many people know about Too Cool! Cartoons, since you have to have seen Bee and PuppyCat and/or Dead End to know about it, but it has still been revealed as something that is indeed being watched.

[hepbaestus]

:\

[donationwayne]

Feelin Good (Could be Better) Chapter Five

Hello, I'm behind posting chapters over here but I've updated my fic again!! We're officially at the halfway point. (its completely written just posting as my irls beta it!)

You can read the first, second, and third, fourth, fifth chapter of my fic over on AO3 right here

CHAPTER SUMMARY

In this chapter, Buck visits Eddie's while drunk off his ass, post dinner with his parents. He has a lil flashback of his childhood...

Summary

The Buckley parents come to town, turning Buck's already shaky mental status from precarious to worse. Despite avoiding a dreaded dinner at all costs, Buck consents to join Maddie, Chimney, and his parents for dinner. Buck is super fine thanks for asking, he'll just bake about it. And think about kissing Eddie, obviously. Secrets are revealed, leaving the 118 reeling.

a lil snip

Buck wants to blame the urge to kiss Eddie on the significant amount of booze in his system. But if he thought booze was the only reason, he was lying to himself. Kissing Eddie is an ever-present urge that's lived with him since the first day they’d met. From the very moment he’d spotted Eddie, shirtless and well-muscled, it had done something to his insides. Buck’s pretty sure that night his body chemistry was entirely rearranged. His attempts at flirting were bumbling and embarrassing. The 118 likened Buck to a dog pissing all over the fire station to mark his territory. Buck was never quite sure after that day how to classify his friendship with Eddie. There were times it felt so much closer and more intimate than friendship, but although they bantered, Buck had never been sure it could be considered outright flirting. At least not reciprocal. Through the years, they’ve always had a tactile friendship, always bumping shoulders, pressing their legs together, and even occasionally sharing a bed. He’s also mostly kept his crush under lock and key, outside of the one time Maddie very jokingly accused Buck of having a boy crush on Eddie. He’d almost blurted to her right there that it was more than a childish crush—so much more to him at least. Instead, he’s only confided in a single person at the 118. Hen always humored him, never pushed him, and had gone all soft around the edges when he’d confessed his feelings to her. They’d spent one night at a gay bar after his confession, getting deliriously drunk and discussing all their gay escapades through the years.

[sunshine-and-her-ikevil-stuff]

I DID IT!!!

[ratatatastic]

"Your first full season in the American League (Stockton Heat 2016-17; AHL) you played with Garnet Hathaway, Brandon Bollig and Jamie Devane. And I'm wondering—those are 3 tough guys. Did you guys do any work together? Did you ask them for tips and stuff? Because in prepping for this podcast, I'm watching all your fights and like, brother, you know what you're doin'! You know what I mean? You're counter-punching Maroon, you got a good grab, control, you're coming in, you know which guys are lefties so you're working that strategically. You really know what you're doing!"

"Yeah, that's—It's something that... I always love being aggressive and fighting, and stuff like that. So I was always drawn towards these guys—Growing up, watching the tough guys, you watched Don Cherry; my favourite part was always the fighting and the big hitting, and stuff like that. Once I turned pro—every tough guy I played with—I would ask to drop the gloves and for them to show me something.

Whether it's something they always do, something they don't want a small guy like me to do to them...just picking up tips from every single one of them. Huge shoutout to those guys! I played with a lot of tough guys, especially in the American League, and every one of them showed me something that I carry with me to this day.

Right to the first guy: [...] in my Stockton days. He was a Toronto legend growing up where I grew up. He was my stall-mate, he's such a badass, cool dude. I remember dropping the gloves with him in practise, and asking him to show me some things. I'm always trying to learn, and do different things.

When I first started fighting although I asked for—to show me... it's not too comparable because our fighting styles are a little bit different; he fights a different caliber-type of fighter than I do. When I first started fighting I was more a straight defensive fighter—you know, you hold on and when you see an opportunity you punch, and other than that it's a pretty boring fight. And then as you get more comfortable and you start to learn a little bit more—get punched in the face a couple times and realise, you know, it doesn't hurt all that much...then you can start to try new things. I still remember the first time I ever threw a left punch in a fight! Definitely a lot of trial and error...

Jamie Devane, specifically—actually, I remember I got in a fight...Jarred Tinordi blew up Rasmus Andersson in the middle of the ice. I can't remember the hit exactly, but it was elbow to the dome. It could've been clean, I don't know. I remember looking around... we had some tough guys on our team, like we said—none of them were on the ice. I'm looking around like 'Aw, fuck. I'm gonna have to...I guess it's my number, I'll go...'

I go over and I fight him, we grab on and he punched me once—whatever. I go to punch him, I'm like this far from his face...

...So I realise 'Oh god, this isn't gonna work out very well.' I kind-of just hold him out there as much as I can...He's just punching my helmet, I couldn't sleep on this (my left) side of my head for like 2 weeks! Helmet's broken, it doesn't click anymore—Helmet's broken.

I get in the locker room, I'm like throwin' my shit and Devane was actually—I don't know if he was hurt or scratched that game—comin' out of the shower and sees me all pissed off, he's like, 'What the fuck happened?' I'm like, 'This fucking—fuck, Tinordi!' and he was like right away, 'Did he string you out?' And I'm like, 'Yeah, I couldn't fucking touch him! I couldn't get in there!' He's like, 'Alright, tomorrow (because it was a back-to-back) I'll go out with you and I'll show you what to do when that happens.'

He showed me what to do. If it happens again I'm gonna revert back to what he said. I would imagine it's gonna work because he's been in that situation multiple times where he's stringed guys out. He told me what guys do against him and what works and what doesn't.

It's things like that: where I'll go out of my way or they would go out of their way—but just that respect to acknowledge how tough...these guys are...they're just as willing to help out a guy that's willing to do something like that for his teammates."

The Buzz Pod | 8.7.24 (x)(x)

"[Devane] is one tough customer! Obviously a lot of guys listening to this probably have no idea who he is 'cuz he's an AHL-lifer, but guys he's—"

"I've never seen that guy lose a hockey fight once! Never seen him lose a fight!"

"He's as tough as they come, man!"

[partyinthemysterymachine]

✨💖the moods of goomt💖✨

hello it's me again comin atcha live from my little corner of hell

just here to promise and solemnly swear that i will continue to be as insufferable and obnoxious about GOOMT as humanly possible at every opportunity, and i can assure you, from the bottom of my heart and hungry soul, It Will Only Get Worse™️

thank u for ur time

bonus judgment:

shut the fuck up Kidd

[bylightofdawn]

S C R E A M

Writing this Cody and Rex reunion has me going absolutely feral. I am legit listening to my sad romance breakup/makeup playlist on Spotify.

Not because I'm shipping Codex here but the vibes its the vibes of this scene.

No one warned Cody that Rex was alive because they either didn't know (Slick) or just assumed he'd been told (Echo and Gregor)

Meanwhile Rex knew and legit hauled ass from the other end of the galaxy but hasn't allowed himself to really believe it until he actually saw Cody.

I might vibrate through time and space because the emotions I am experiencing while writing this scene is gonna send me into another dimension. I just love my Rex and Cody reunion scenes which is why I wrote that purely self-indulgent post Geonosis Cody lands on planet after the battle trying to keep his shit together while trying to find out of Rex survived his first battle without him.

Which...Imma go re-read real quick so I can make some call backs cause ugh that fic also gives me all the feels.

EDIT: Ahahahaahahh I'd FORGOTTEN I'd written Slick into Dulce so it's kinda a perfect linear circle

[koshercosplay]

it's time for my yearly chanukah merchandise ratings! how are there always so many to choose from. as always, this year is a doozy and I am as bitter as ever lmao

this was quite literally labeled "hanukkah cone tree." gee I wonder which winter holiday is The One With The Trees. surely it's the jewish one with all the fire. let's make it blue and white just in case. 4/10 there is no excuse for this

why are the chairs so far apart. why is there nobody there. why are there so many grapes. what even are those green things. why is there soup. will the mysteries never cease. 7/10 purely because it's pretty

I for one welcome our jewish alien cousins. not sure what this has to do with chanukah but I want to hear about jewish life on mars so 8/10 friends come in out of the cold and have a latke with me

the more I looked at this, the worse it got. there's a literal christmas tree and tinsel but oh it's got blue lights so it's fine. and as we all know, children regularly hold fully lit candle menorahs with mittens while going door to door during a snowstorm. I guess who are we to stifle a child's latent desire for arson. 5/10 somebody save that poor dying kitten

this poor magen dovid is being forcefully converted to christianity and we need to help it. quick somebody put this on a sufganiyot stack. 4/10 we all know the intended target audience isn't interfaith families okay

do I even have to say it. please just. just stop. get One (1) Jew to weigh on your hanukkah products, I beg you. -392928373/10 walmart owes me a personal apology for making me see this with my own two eyeballs

I spent a full five minutes staring at this shirt desperately trying to make it make sense. I shouldn't have bothered. it's worse than the hebrew could ever be. 2/10 amposzu zusach mezchamal to you too

congratulations, once again you wrote gibberish. this says nothing. it's not chanukah, it's not happy holidays, it's nothing. the letters on the dreidel are an ACRONYM people! there's an order! 3/10 it's antisemitic that this has over 4,000 sales (thank you @quartzfox for sending this to me. now you all have to see it too.)

now these are CUTE. and the dreidel letters are in the correct order too, which is unfortunately impressive. 10/10 no notes, it has cats, would wear

(previous years 1, 2, 3)

[lomlhwa]

glory hole (v.c)

pairing: sex worker!reader x patron!vernon

preview: vernon's friends found a club that has secret glory holes. they know he's dying to get laid, so why not visit the glory holes?

tags/warnings: fem reader, reader is basically bent over a table and chained down, monster cock vernon, spanking, overstimulation, squirting, pet names (slut, whore, cumdump), degrading, reader calls vernon 'sir', unprotected penetration (wrap it before you tap it), creampies

trigger warnings: n/a

wc: 1.2k

song recs for this fic: gimmie more by britney spears

a/n: this one's a doozy

vernon anxiously nibbles on his fingernail as he waits for his friends to arrive. he’s standing outside a raunchy club, looking like a total creep. why did he agree to this? there’s no way he’s actually this desperate to get off. 

just as he’s about to walk away, his friends round the corner, laughing and carrying on. “yo vernon! you excited, buddy?” his friend, mingyu, asks. vernon shrugs. “i guess so.” mingyu throws his arm over vernon’s shoulder and guides him into the club.

they head straight for the back of the room, finding a small desk that looks like a reception desk. “hey, reservation for jeonghan?” his other friend walks up. reservations for glory holes is insane. “ah, welcome back sir. 4 of you today?” the receptionist asks and jeonghan nods. the receptionist smiles and types something into her computer.

“would any of you gentlemen like protection? we make sure our workers are all clean but if you’d like the extra precaution, let me know.” everyone shakes their heads so vernon follows suit. the woman smiles again. she hands all four of them waivers to sign. he reads it carefully before signing it and handing it back.

the receptionist rises from her chair and walks over to unlock the door beside the group of friends. “your rooms are numbers 5 through 8. remember, feel free to engage in any of your fantasies as long as you don’t seriously injure anyone. their chains are easy to rotate if you wanna change positions. enjoy your 2 hours with our lovely women.” with that, the door is shut. 

“alright boys, see you later,” mingyu shouts before running into a room and clicking it locked. all of the other disperse as well, leaving vernon alone. he wanders to the last one of their rooms available. room number 6. he can already hear the sounds of skin slapping coming from other rooms.

he opens the door hesitantly, finding you bent over, humming to yourself. when he clicks the door locked, you jump and stop humming. “welcome sir. feel free to use me as you please. i’m here for your pleasure,” you recite the standard welcome message to the new patron who has just walked in. you can only hope it’s not some gross middle aged man with a tiny cock again.

when you feel no contact for another 5 minutes, you get worried. “sorry, i don’t mean to not touch you, i got dragged here by my friends and i feel bad using you.” you can’t help but stifle a small giggle. a man feeling bad about using a glory hole? that’s a new one. “sir, this is my job. just fuck me already.” by now, you’re certain he’s an ugly, washed up man. 

finally, you hear his belt jingle and you know he’s sucking it up. you hear him take a deep breath before shoving into you. you gasp at the size, your walls stretching painfully around him. you grip your chains with such force that your knuckles turn white. 

“fuck, you feel so fucking good,” he mutters before beginning to move. he starts off slow, knowing that the stretch is painful. he grips your hips tightly, leaving finger indents in your soft skin. he snaps your hips against yours, driving his cock against your g-spot and prodding your cervix. it’s been so long since you actually enjoyed a patron, but this felt so good. you wished you could reach your arm back to hold his arm or something. 

“you’re such a good slut, aren’t you?” he says before landing a hard smack on your ass. clearly he has managed to get much more comfortable. you nod your head, agreeing with him. you can feel your release building up with every thrust. such a timid man fucking so well is unheard of. but you’re loving this. you grip your chains for dear life, gasping for air as your orgasm creeps up. “god, please sir i’m gonna cum,” you beg, barely fighting it off. 

“you can cum, but i’m not gonna stop fucking you. i’m not done yet. i’m gonna use your hole until i cum” vernon smacks your ass again and you fall over the edge. your legs shake violently. if it weren’t for the chains, you would be snapping your legs closed. he continues to jackhammer into your hole, pushing you past the edge and towards another orgasm. you notice that his thrusts are getting sloppy, signaling to you that he’s close. “please cum inside me, sir. i need it so bad,” you plead, your walls squeezing around him. he digs his nails into your sides as he cums, filling you to the brim. the sensation sends you into another orgasm, this time you squirt all over his legs and the floor.

“aw, the cumdump likes being filled so much that she couldn’t take it,” he snickers, running his fingers over your sensitive core. you shake and twitch at every small touch. “i’m gonna flip you over, i wanna see your pretty face.” he hooks his arms around your waist and rolls you over. being rolled over holds your arms down to your chest with the chains, still trapped. 

when you’re finally situated and you see his face, you’re astonished to see how beautiful this man is. you almost wish this wasn’t a business exchange, but you know better than to get attached to customers. “well aren’t you a pretty little thing. so pretty and such a whore,” he comments, stroking your face. he ducks down to situate your crossed legs around his waist. he reaches down between you to shove back into you.

“i have 15 minutes left, i’m gonna get another orgasm out of you.” 15 minutes? how has it already almost been 2 hours? he slides into you easier this time, your hole having yet to recover from his previous entry. your arms strain against your chains, wishing you could grab onto him to ground yourself. he pounds into you ruthlessly, his only focus being to drive you over the edge.

he reaches down to rub your clit and you throw your head back, your eyes crossing involuntarily. “oh my fucking god,” you croak, your voice getting caught in the back of your throat. you squeeze your legs around his waist, desperate for release. with 5 minutes left on the clock, you plead for your orgasm. “cum with me, slut. i’m gonna fill you up again,” he demands, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face. 

as he feels you tighten for a final time, he leans down to kiss you. you hadn’t been kissed in so long so this surprised you. you kiss him back, cumming onto his cock as he simultaneously fills you up to the brim.

he pulls out of you and flips you back over into your original position just as his time strikes zero. “h-have a good day sir. feel f-free to return whenever you’d like,” you stutter the standard goodbye message. he slaps your ass one last time before pulling his pants back up and walking out. 

as the door closes behind him, he finds his friends coming out of their own rooms as well. “so? how was it?” jun asks him, patting him on the back. “so good, and she’s so hot,” he says, gesturing back to his room. 

“i will be coming back.”

© lomlhwa 2024

[shotmrmiller]

Situationship into Relationship.

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x AFAB! Reader

TW: disgustingly explicit, p in v, pregnancy talk. Strap in, its a doozy.

Since the first time Simon physically ruined you for other men forever, the both of you spent half of his leave in the bedroom, and the other being the best friends you were. Eventually, you noticed Simon practically moved in with you. Toothbrush next to yours in the bathroom, black balaclavas inside your knickers because Simon is a closet pervert, and thinking back on how he's treated you in the past before this situationship— unsurprising.

Then things went from situationship to a relationship. Simon, in a manner that's all him, didn't even ask. Simon and you had been resting on your couch, book in your lap and feet tucked under his thick thighs, when his cell started ringing. Simon picks up the television remote with one hand to pause the movie and answers his phone with the other.

"Soap."

You glance up from your book to look at him.

"No." a pause.

"No, I don't care that you flew out here to visit," followed by a suck of his teeth and then a deep resigned sigh.

"I'm with my girl. No, you cannot ask what her name is. Now piss off.", and as if nothing happened, Simon just unmutes the television and wraps your foot with his hand. With a secret bashful smile, you look back down at your book.

Now that leads you to now. Simon has to leave to a mission for a possibly yearlong mission— and you knew what you were signing yourself up for— doesn't mean it didn't hurt every time he left.

Raising to your toes you pull him to you in a hug. You feel his arms wrap around your waist tightly and he shoves his unmasked face into your neck.

"I'll miss you," you whisper with a sniffle. He kisses your neck in a comforting manner before he says,

"I'll be back before you know it, sweetheart. You just make sure you're eating well."

He pulls away reluctantly and puts on his balaclava, then looks down at you. A mischievous glint in your eyes has him squinting his eyes at you.

"Maybe the next time, you can leave me with some company."

His eyebrows furrow as he says, "I didn't know you wanted a pet. I could look into—"

"A baby, Simon."

His blue eyes widen, and you can see the outline of his gaping mouth behind his mask. Giggling, you step forward, pressing your side to his and putting your hand on his chest as you— almost painfully— tilt your head up to look at him . He shakes from his stupor and makes eye contact, tossing an arm around you.

"Simon. Did you hear about the accident back at base?"

"No. What happened?"

"If you want the answer, come back home to me."

Nodding he says, "My heart will hold you when my arms cannot."

Your lip trembles in a pout and your eyes mist. Slapping his chest, you say in a shaky tone, "You bastard," and in a much smaller, vulnerable voice, "I love you too."

Simon nods before pressing a kiss to your hairline. He then turns, grabs his bags and leaves.

---

It's been 8 months since Simon left.

8 long months since you hugged him last. You got scarce calls from him, letting you know he was alright before having to cut it short, and for that you were grateful. But you still missed him. Hopefully today you'd get another call from him, you thought as you went to bed.

As you're burrowing in the comforter, you hear the door unlock. Ripping yourself from the bed, you scramble to the living room.

With a breathy tone, you say his name.

Si is back home. Your Simon's back.

He locks the door, drops his bags, and opens his arms wide. Your reaction is immediate and visceral. Launching yourself into his arms, you wrap your legs around his waist and arms around his neck— ripping his mask off, putting both hands on his cheeks and smothering him in kisses.

"If this is the welcome I get for being away for so long, maybe I should do it more often," he jokes.

"Don't you fucking dare. I was miserable without you."

Holding you up with his arms, he pulls his face away from you and asks, "Well? What accident happened at base?"

"Oh. A Humvee ran over a box of popcorn and killed 2 kernels."

He huffs from his nose.

"Good one, love."

Simon finally takes notice of what you're wearing — one of his black shirts and pink knickers underneath.

"I haven't forgotten about your little comment you blindsided me with. You want me to make you a mum? Beg me for it, pretty."

"Oh please, Si. We'd make such pretty little tots. It'd be half of me and half of you— I'd always have a part of you with me, even if you were across the world. I'm also ovulating this week and I'm," you dig your fingernails into his traps, "so irrationally aroused it's not even—"

He cuts you off with his mouth as he kicks off his boots, leaving them scattered by the front door and he's jogging to the bedroom. Throwing you on the bed, he grabs your hips, fingers curling into the waistband of your knickers, and pulls you to the edge of the bed— haphazardly pulling them off and tossing them over his shoulder as he kneels.

Your pussy is already slippery from arousal and the extra hormones in your body, and your face flushes. How embarrassing. Simon notices your expression because he says, "What a pretty little quim my girl's got. All this for me?" he leans in and inhales deeply, "You smell so sweet, love. I have to get a taste."

His long tongue immediately starts drawing languid small circles on your clit, and you're letting your head hang back with a moan before he stops and slaps your thighs with both hands— causing you to raise your head and look.

"You keep those eyes on me and watch what I'm doing to you, pretty."

With a fierce blush, you acquiesce, and he goes back in— eating pussy like it's his job— and you're approaching the end of the cliff at an alarming rate. He squeezes his fingers into the meat, forcing you to keep eye contact— your eyes staring into steel blue as his tongue flicks your swollen clit repeatedly before he lowers, stiffening his tongue and sticking it into your hole— and rubs his nose over your nub. Your thighs start to shake, digging the heels of your feet into his shoulders—and the intensity of his gaze holding your own sends you over the edge.

Toes curling and your feet hooking across the back of his head to pull his face further into your pulsating pussy to ride out your nerve-scraping orgasm. Getting down from your high, limbs loose and like molasses, you rub the only two brain cells you've got at this moment and wonder if you drowned him.

You glance down between your legs and Simon is there with an irritatingly smug grin as his nose shines with your come and drips from his chin.

"Be good for me now, pet. I ain't fuckin' you until you give me one more."

Before you even get to protest, he pacifies you with a, "I know you're painfully sensitive. I promise I'll be gentle."

And he does. He spits on your pussy, and you whimper at the contact before he oh-so softly starts tapping your clit directly with the bottom part of the tip of his tongue in a sharp, but feather-light, staccato rhythm while using the pad of his thumb to rub small delicate circles where your lips split open and you're coming in seconds.

You're drained. Empty of all thought and energy, your vision is hazy when you feel Simon take your foot that was pressing into his shoulder by the ankle and puts it into his mouth — tongue swirling around your toes— and lets out a filthy moan. The sensation of his tongue in between them sends a shiver from the bottom of your spine up to your scalp, body hair standing on end.

Dropping your foot, he gets up with a grunt, yanks off his shirt and undoes his trousers to free himself.

"How do you want me?"

He chuckles darkly and says, "Don't worry your pretty little head, pet. I'll take care of everything— you just lie there and let me take what's mine."

Maneuvering you on your back in the middle of the bed, he brings your legs together before shifting them to your right side, his left, knees bent at a 90° angle—and your upper body is still facing him—when he pushes your legs with one massive hand into the mattress and uses the other to hold himself up, palm digging into the bed by your head.

Simon pushes in, long hefty cock stretching you open in one solid stroke. There's a sting as he forces you open on him, and he's bottoming out with an obscene squelch bit but it's these first few minutes that are you love the most. The first firm strokes that feel so intense, you're pushed to your limits. The lack of time to adjust to him lights your nerve endings on fire, you love it.

In this position, he covers your body completely, like a shield. He's all you see. All you need to see.

Every time his balls are pressed up against your pussy, you feel a burn, deep inside as the tip of his cock presses firmly against your cervix and it forces a groan out of you with every thrust.

Now he's grabbing your arm—hand engulfing your elbow—as he lies down on his back, pulling you to straddle him. He takes his cock in his hand so you can lower yourself on it and you wince at how sensitive you feel, and his tip is barely in.

Simon takes notice, of course, he's always attentive to you and your needs— and he coos at you.

"Deep breath, sweetheart. You're doing perfect," he grunts as half of him disappears into you, " The only one that can take all of me so well." And like a stone dropping into a pond, surface tension giving into the weight, you drop and take the rest of him in your body.

It's too much, you think, but can't help and grind down on him. The pinch in your lower belly is too much but you twist that pain into pleasure— otherwise, Simon will notice and stop. You really don't want him to stop.

Peering up at you through his lashes, Simon takes pleasure in your expression. Lightly tapping your cheek with the pads of his fingers strong enough to jolt your head to the side a bit, but never to hurt you, and says, "Look at that cock-drunk look on your face. Fuckin' hell, I could stare at you all day."

Simon is so large, your knees barely skim the comforter— can't even bounce on his cock properly— that he just takes over. He tells you to flatten your feet on the bed, like you're sitting on your haunches and puts a palm on your chest to lean you back at an intense angle— pulling a loud mewl from your throat.

He raises his legs, knees bending and planting his own feet flat on the bed and shoves his forearms underneath your thighs to grip your ass and lifts you as if you weighed nothing. He lifts you, at the same time lowering his hips to bed, to leave just the tip at your entrance before he yanks you down— his own hips slamming straight up to meet you halfway to fuck you.

He's feeling you squeeze his cock in a tight vice, your moans getting high and whiny— all of your tell tales signs that you're close.

"This," he says with a particularly hard thrust, "is my favorite part." and focuses on making you come on his cock. The sheer strength behind his thrusts sends you careening straight into a blinding orgasm.

You're keening so loud you know the neighbors are going to put in a noise complaint, but you couldn't care less. You've probably had one of the most intense orgasms in a long time, and Simon just fucked you through it without a single stutter in his pace— the only sign you see that he was straining was the sweat dripping down his temple towards his jaw and the rapid intake of breaths coming out of his mouth.

He looks down at where you two are connected and you leaked cream on his happy trail, making it stick together, and he groans at the sight.

Now that you'd come, it was his turn to get his pleasure. And he was gonna take it. He's tossing you up and down like his own personal pocket pussy, and you swear you can feel him trying to open the plug of your womb with the flared head of his cock. His grunts are deep and get louder the closer he gets. It takes him 8 more brutal strokes and he's choking out, "Fuck, I'm gonna come. Fuck, fuck, fuck," and he bites his bottom lip and lets out a whimpered, pathetic wail— something you've never heard before—as he stiffens and grinds into you. You think you can feel his coming moving from the base of his length to the tip where it spurts into you in such a large quantity, it's spilling from in you and dripping down onto him.

Your hands are on his chest, putting all of your weight onto them, as your legs lower back down. Simon, underneath you, removes his arms from under you and straightens them out to where your legs are— grabbing onto your calves.

As he comes down from his high, his gaze clears and intensifies on yours— causing you to blush under the scrutiny of it— and with emphasis says, "I love you. Marry me."

You give a deep sigh. You should've known Simon would be as unorthodox as possible. It's almost like he only lets intrusive thoughts out when around you. Giving your walls a clench, making him hiss, you tell him, "Fine. But you're going to the Mexican restaurant down the street. I've worked up an appetite and they don't do delivery."

Chuckling quietly, he slaps both of your thighs saying, "A'right, love. Let me get dressed."

He gets changed at an alarming pace before leaving. You lie back on the bed, head on the pillow, and close your eyes for a minute before the door opens again. Simon comes back in and heads straight for the bathroom in long strides. After a second, he turns to head back out and you catch a glimpse of something— another obnoxious scrunchy, this time in a lime green, on his wrist. Again. You don't even wear those anymore because you cut your hair off into an asymmetrical pixie. Snorting, you figure that's as close to a wedding band that he's ever gonna wear.

A/N: ill be in the VIP section in hell, popping bottles.

@thychuvaluswife @corvusmorte

[jiubilant]

The racism present in TES does make me uncomfortable at times, but what's a real doozy is that I genuinely can't find any lore community where I don't see excessive fantasy racism that at best is just plain unfunny and at worse just actual irl racism. If I see another "The Snow Elves deserved extermination" post I might go crazy.

Its also another thing where if you don't have an analytical eye of the lore it can often seem like the games are actually justifying that sort of stuff, intentional or not.

Sorry, this was a bit of a vent ask after I was inspired by your posts on the topic. I've been recently playing a very modded playthrough of Oblivion and really enjoying it so far, so that got me back into the fandom.

well hey welcome back :) i might jump back into oblivion too once i've beaten bg3

i made a reddit account recently and one of the first things i saw in r/skyrim was several people tossing around an antisemitic dogwhistle. it's an unfortunate reality that any work of fantasy featuring racial essentialism as a plot point or gameplay mechanic is tailor-made for bigots whether bethesda intended them as the game's audience or not

[peppertoastuniverse]

more than a late night snack: – gojo satoru chapter 1: udon

contents: gojo satoru x reader, slice of life, fluff, tw!ptsd, gojo being annoying, gojo calls you babe

summary: reeling from your last mission, gojo irritatingly persuades you to make udon. you reluctantly learn to appreciate his company while gojo unexpectedly gets to know you better.

wc: 3.3K

“his presence was so lively that he couldn’t help but take up space even in his silence. you weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the udon comforting you or his presence.”

previous chapter ll master list ll next chapter

the dark shadows of the halls welcomed you as you dragged your tired body towards your room. resting your head on your closed door, you try to ease the fresh guilt in your mind after having to wake ieri at this ungodly hour.

sorry ieri.

you make a mental note to pick up something for her this week as a thank you.

ever since your recent promotion, the higher ups have gotten increasingly comfortable sending you out on longer missions. this one was a doozy – 3 weeks, the longest you’ve ever been away. Shirakawa was beautiful albeit too quiet, the chaotic cacophony that made up Tokyo was more comforting to your ears. It was a long and arduous 3 weeks, multiple curses with multiple people involved – you were nearing your limit and were ready to be consumed by your fluffy bed. exhausted. running on empty. you felt like your body was going to give out, exhausted by even the thought of having to shower. but deep down, it was the slow growing hollow feeling in your bones that you were concerned with. you were worried that it would devour you from the inside out until there was nothing left of you.

your head pulsed against the your still closed door, groaning softly as you superficially attempt to calm your irregularly beating heart. it was a new rhythm that you were strangely getting more and more acquainted, you were almost thankful for the noise – it was a reminder that you were still alive. you were even grateful for your audible panting for if it got too quiet you could still hear the screams of helplessness, see the massacred bodies, feel the adrenaline spikes accompanied by the burn of your lungs and –

the bandaged wound on your side jolts alive, a reminder of your service – your duty. a promise. growing pains sucker punch you back into the darkness of reality. glazed eyes glance down at your whitening knuckles, gripping the door knob.

breathe. nothing can hurt you, you’re safe. just breathe.

the rustle of an opening door shakes you out of the corners of your messy mind.

“well, well, well – look who’s still alive! how was the mission, babe?”

just fucking breathe.

you groan in annoyance.

ugh babe? ugh. not this. not right now. what was he doing up at this hour?

gojo’s voice was too cheerful, his taunting smile was too sharp for your dulled senses. you didn’t have the stamina for this right now.

“m’ not in the mood, gojo,” you mutter, voice foreign to your own ears. the hollowness threatened to spill into waking reality. opening the door with a click, you quickly turn your weary body away from the tall, lanky boy. wanting to hide yourself from him, you retreated into to the familiar darkness of your room. but before you could shut the door, an irritating foot stops the final barrier from closing.

“i’m hungry.”

you stare at him like he grew two heads – finally something to accurately represent his gigantic ego. what was he playing at? dark glasses slightly down his slender nose and unphased gojo takes a quick peek at your inscrutable stare, meeting it with a cheeky smile before speedily waltzing into your room and diving aggravatingly onto your neatly made bed.

“uuuuughhhhhhh gojo – oh my god – can you not – “

eyebrows furrowing, you run a hand through your unruly hair in irritation. you were home for a mere hour and you already wanted to strangle him – a new record. with someone blessed with six eyes, he truly couldn’t see a thing. blind to the little things, too preoccupied focusing on a bigger picture…and that bigger picture right now was to annoy you.

gojo had a playfulness that was usually more tolerable– but not tonight. tonight you were nearing a cliff and gojo was shoving you closer and closer to the edge of insanity.

he whines your name. “i said, I’m hungry,” he repeats stretching his long legs out, making himself comfortable on your bed.

“okay, so that’s my problem – why?” rolling your eyes as you walk deeper into your room, switching on the bedside lamp. a warm light illuminates the room, simultaneously emphasising your fatigue while radiating gojo’s mischief. his loose t-shirt rides up slightly as he picks up the pink bunny plushie on your bed – a gift from geto for your birthday.

“come with me to the convenience store?” he holds the bunny’s hands together in a begging motion, “pleasepleasepleaseplea–“ voice pitched up two octaves.

“no. go by yourself!” you huff as you rummage through your dresser finding some soft shorts and a baggy t-shirt before sitting on your bed, making sure to keep your distance from the white haired intruder in your room. you stare at him irritatingly, testily bouncing your knee up and down.

“but I want someone to come with me!” the bunny says with a hand on it’s hip, the other pink plush arm moving a long ear out of his face impatiently.

“then go wake up geto!” you snap. he whines your name as he aggressively hugs your bunny plushie.

“he left for a mission yesterday… and anyway I want you to come with me. c’mon just this once? I know you must be hungry. I can hear the ol’tummy grumbly grumble from hereeeeee.”

gojo’s pale face pouts with a frown at your silence. “c’mon look! you’re making Bun Bun sad, look at him – he’s crying!” gojo moves the bunny’s little hands over its face, the plushie’s sweet little body hunched over.

god damn. Bun Bun was actually crying. shit, you had to act fast.

irritated you rub your eyes, your headache was slowly building to a peak and your patience was running dangerously thin. if you didn’t stop him from whining, you’d just have to kill him.

“uuughhhh why don’t I just cook for us? I have shit in the fridge I think?,” you counter, desperately trying to find a way to stop his grovelling instantly.

he hesitated, considering your offer.

you exhaled in relief, enjoying the sweet, sweet silence. the joy of the almost absence of gojo.

but it was over too soon. “huh. I didn’t know you were the cooking type,” gojo counters with a questioning expression on his boyish face. he shifted slightly snuggling into your fluffy pillows.

“yeah, sure. I can cook,” you mumble, massaging your temple. you were not really paying attention to what he was saying, you were busy trying to convince yourself that this was the better option than murdering satoru gojo.

gojo impatiently uses one of your bunny’s stumpy pink arms to annoyingly paw at your cheek while you were in thought. “…so is that a yes to food?”

when did he get so close? ugh.

you slap his arm away, abruptly standing, stomping your way towards your bathroom.

“...babe? I said, is that a yes to food?”

wincing as you move to unbutton your uniform jacket aggressively, exposing a flimsy tank underneath you turn to him.

you watch as gojo’s bright eyes stare at your healing wound briefly before taking in your figure, gawking at the sight of your chest before a cocky smile paints his pale face, his ears going slightly pink.

“oOoOoh do you need me to help undress–“

“get out.”

“but what about – “

“fine- fucking fine! just leave – now.”

his lanky body springs up from your bed in victory. gojo gently lays down your bunny on the bed whispering “see Bun Bun? I knew we’d win. I always do.” kissing the top of his little head, before swiftly walking out of your room with a bright smile, “meet you in the kitchen!”

shaking your head as you into the bathroom, you turn on the shower faucet and can’t help but notice the growing silence in his absence. looking into the mirror before getting into the shower, you were surprised to find the ghost of the smallest grin on your face as well.

you walk into the kitchen with wet hair and comfy clothes to find gojo rummaging through the fridge. his tall frame hunched over, inspecting a jar of kimchi while he was humming what you recognized was the digimon theme song. the light of the refrigerator illuminated his firm, muscular body while you noticed that his eyes were now free from his usual dark glasses. his stark white hair tousled more messily than usual, courtesy of the habit that you recognized was from gojo running his hands through his hair.

joining him at the fridge, you ignore the warmth radiating off his body, and bump your hip to shove him out of the way. you hear his amused scoff and feel his judgey eyes on you. undaunted by his stare, you rustle in the fridge to find what you need.

placing a bundle of green onions and udon on the kitchen counter, you begin to fill a small pot with some water from the sink. you eye gojo expectedly, his hands deep in the pockets of his shorts, his head tilted curiously watching you.

was this asshole expecting you to do all the work? this fucking guy.

you jut out your elbow poking his firm side as he dramatically pouts at you, whining your name. you roll your eyes and place the pot on the stove.

“grab the dashi, mirin and soy sauce in my cupboard. then add some of each to this pot once the water boils,” you directed stiffly, beginning to finely chop the green onions.

perhaps mercifully sensing your quickly depleting energy, gojo dutifully returns with the ingredients and wordlessly does what you instructed. as he stirs the dashi, soy sauce and mirin into the broth, you add the udon, stirring with chopsticks separating the noodles carefully.

gojo begins rambling on about the increasing price of his favourite convenience store cake roll and how it’s still worth it because “…the Hokkaido whipped cream on the inside totally justifies the price increase. it really makes a difference, it’s so much richer, and that texture?! mmmpfffffhhh, it’s so fucking good, babe…”

you scrunch your nose in disgust at his overly enthusiastic moan.

gross. dude it’s just food.

“gojo, stop with the babe.”

“ehhh! what?? why? that’s you,” he pouts, moving one of hands on his hips while stirring the pot absentmindedly.

“i never agreed to that! anyway, I thought that was what you called geto,” reaching over, lowering the heat of the stove.

“nah, babe – suguru’s baby. you’re babe. big diff.” he explains leaning closer to you, eyes waiting for your challenge. but before you could argue, he was off rambling about his favourite cake rolls once again.

“… did ya hear that they were going to come out with a few new flavours? I know, crazy right? matcha and sesame!! wonder if it’ll be better than the original, i mean it’s hard to beat an icon. say… d’ya remember that one time – wait were you there that time? … or was it shoko? nah, it was probably shoko, I would’ve remembered if you were with us, babe. anyway, this one time I ate 6 of the cake rolls in one sitting and suguru – hey! are you listening to me?”

gojo cant help but drink in your appearance- were you paler than usual? your frame slightly swayed from exhaustion while you gently stirred the udon, staring into the bubbling broth mindlessly. your hair was still damp from your recent shower and you smelled slightly of lavender and vanilla. you smelled sweet, he wouldn’t mind smelling like you. he noticed how you’d favour your left side due to the wound, slightly wincing if you turned... it must have been pretty bad if shoko couldn’t heal it fully outright. but what worried him most was your almost unfamiliar eyes. you clearly weren’t listening to him, eyes dull, unfocused - there was no one there. usually your eyes were bright, full of life like when the early moon would illuminate the waves of the ocean. subtle and peaceful at first glance but vibrant and beautiful at a second glance. what he liked best was there was a sliver of rebellious glee in your gaze. a fleeting instance of chaotic delight. he caught a glimpse of it when you and shoko brainstormed lies to tell yaga to get out of training so you both could get that new blush in shinjuku, or when you finally pinned suguru for the first time after trying for months. gojo couldn’t help but be curious about your elusive nature. but currently your eyebrows furrowed like you were thinking about some that physically pained you, consumed by the chaos within.

“… uh hey – maybe you should sit down, babe. you don’t look so good right now..”

“oh now he’s concerned.” you quip. it didn’t take six eyes to see that your body was slowly reaching its limit. scrunching your eyes shut, tossing your body onto the nearest chair with a sigh. you weren’t in the mood to argue any longer.

he cringed slightly before softly protesting “hey. i knew you were fine - ”

“uh huh. don’t forget to add the green onions on top.”

“oh so bossy! but don’t not worry, I like-”

“gojo, can you like.. not be yourself for just 10 minutes? my head is killing me right now… please?” you interrupt his yapping, placing your pounding forehead on the table.

gojo snickers as turns his back from you, gently stirring the bubbling pot. he carefully places a bowl of steaming udon topped with green onions in front of you as well as a pair of chopsticks and a spoon. saying your thanks, you dip your spoon into the soup, swirling the clear broth. you watch the green onions float to the top. gathering the broth in your spoon, you almost groan as the warmth of the broth gently eases the pounding of your head while the light saltiness satisfyingly leaves a warm trail of comfort as it slid down your throat. glancing over at gojo curiously, you watch as he blows on his steaming noodles pinched between his chopsticks, slurping loudly before his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

pretty tasty, eh?

you and gojo eat in silence, the slurping of noodles enough of a conversation between you. admittedly, it was nice being in his company when he was quiet. his presence was so lively that he couldn’t help but take up space even in his silence. you weren’t sure if it was the warmth of the udon comforting you or his presence.

you’ve had udon like this before - just a few day ago a cute little grandma in Shirakawa made you the very same dish in her home. you could still feel her pleased smile as you complimented her cooking for the first time, the rasp in her voice when she protested when you helped her clean up, the warm touch of her wrinkly hands when she brushed the hair out of your face, the smell of her cozy house on fire, her blood staining –

putting down your chop sticks with more force than intended, you push the rest of your unfinished bowl towards gojo, his large hands instantly accepting the bowl without question. you feel the brush of his warm fingers against your cold shaking ones against the smooth porcelain of the bowl. hesitating at his touch briefly, you move quickly to creating more distance between the two of you.

“… where’d you learn to cook like that?’’ gojo questions through a mouthful of udon, unshaken.

“it’s just udon, gojo. it was really simple.”

“yeah.. but just because something is simple doesn’t mean it isn’t good! your mom teach you?”

“mnm, something like that. I’d used to watch my mom cook when I was younger. she hated cooking but begrudgingly learned because she had feed us. I guess she saw it as her duty as a mother.” you mused eyes closed.

“well, that’s stupid. she could have just bought food or hired a chef or something if she really hated it, couldn’t she?”

you huff in amusement, “you’re such a brat, y’know?”

“i’m just saying!! you shouldn’t have to do things that you don’t want to do.” gojo exclaims, putting down his spoon beside his second empty bowl.

“i mean, she did hated it. absolutely hated it but…her love for us was just stronger than her hate of the task. she learned our favourites and adjusted recipes to our liking, even though it would’ve been more work for her.”

“sounds like a dedicated woman.”

“she was, yeah. did … your… uh mother cook you dinner when you were a kid?” you realised you didn’t know anything about gojo’s family. you heard about his clan – the strength, power and influence that his family had – but you realised he never spoke about his family. his mother or his father, anyone at all. did he have any siblings? was he like his family? was he closer to his mother or his father? did he have his mother or father’s eyes? by name he was gojo, a part of a prestigious, ancient family but by spirit maybe… maybe he was just satoru.

oh god. imagine if his whole family was like him. your eyes narrow at the thought.

he hums thoughtfully, fiddling with his chopsticks, picking at the abandoned green onions in the bowl. “nah, the chef would make food for us, that was always good. but… my mother… she did make me dango one time.”

“is.. that your favourite dessert?”

“when she made it, it was.”

a silence fills the room, a thoughtful silence. when you dared to look into his eyes. there was something there that you didn’t recognize, the blue in his eyes was softer, more vulnerable. the usual mischievous spark behind his smile was missing, replaced with a forlorn thoughtfulness that you never associated with gojo.

this.. was new. you rest your heavy head on your palm and sighed. maybe there was more to gojo than cockiness, bravado and sheer power.

“Is that why you like cooking? reminds you of her?” gojo asks breaking the pregnant pause, drumming his fingers on the table.

“...babe? babe, you really gotta work on your listening skil-“ he peers across the table at your slumped figure, mouth slightly opened, breathing slowed with your head on the table.

gojo leans across the table to take a closer look at your face. it was a rare sight seeing you so defenseless, unshielded by your protective barriers you would put up around everyone. but even in sleep you still looked troubled, brows furrowing slightly. what was going on in that head of yours? gently, he touched the crease in between your eyebrows and chuckled when your face instantly relaxes to his touch. he smiles.

you could smell the blood sticking to your uniform, the screams of the villagers, their mutilated bodies beneath your feet as a disembodied hand reaches to grab your throat, squeezing painfully -

you jolt awake with a gasp, your soft comforter crumpling beside you. a thin sheen of sweat decorated your forehead. clammy fingers combing through your messy hair to self soothe.

you were in your room. you were safe. the sunlight across your wall indicated that it was probably early afternoon. you were alive.

but how.. how did you get here? did gojo.. carry you? ugh, god that’s embarrassing.

you put your head in your hands, groaning at the awkwardness. you reach on your beside table to grab your phone but you notice that Bun Bun was leaning against your lamp, posed to hold a hastily scribbled note with familiar handwriting:

thanks for the udon, babe xxxxx ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

beside the note was a cake roll.

rubbing the restlessness out of your eyes you wondered how someone who talked so much could make your busy head so quiet. scoffing at his antics, you smile.

a/n: gojo would 100% die for Bun Bun. woo hoo! it's here – thank you for all the support and love so far 🥺💓 -- head image credit: Poco's Udon World dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

[kyuureimu]

— Kyurem can feel his heartrate suddenly begin to spike, a thunderous pounding at his throat and a deafening ringing in his ears. Time slowed to a crawl. He doesn't remember the last time he felt so... vulnerable in such a way.

He had just said mere moments before that he had sworn off such connections. But this was different, he knew. He has witnessed this phenomenon countless times, he was not so blind to not be able to recognize it for what it might be. Though there was a key word there: witnessed.

The dragon has always kept a very healthy distance away from others, and an even unhealthier insistence that there was a boundary line that should never be crossed. He cannot commit himself to others, as his only commitment should ever be to his kingdom, to guard and protect and oversee her people. He could be close with reigning monarch of his choosing, but it was a different sort of connection and even that, he knew, was fleeting at best. He was their patron god first and foremost, and he cannot be distracted from his sacred duty.

...And that era was long gone, lost to the waves of time and war, as was the Great Dragon. 'Guardian of Nothing' was what he called himself since. A true Hero connection was the closest thing he ever had to an inseparable bond. And twice since he established it, twice his entire life has been burnt to ashes because he let the loss of which completely and utterly break him.

And he has since then proceeded to hurt everything he ever loved.

But the moment the stranger brushed their hand with his, everything stopped. His anxiety snuck up on him at the last moment, afraid that his turmoil will leak out and freeze the both of them over. Though what he instead found... was a warmth he thought he would never experience again, with a soothing hum to accompany it. His mind felt like static and before he knew it their hands threaded together like woven cloth, and that hum steadily grew into a harmonious little melody.

Kyurem has only ever known the beauties of the earth, but now he felt as if he was basking in the vast wonders of the cosmos itself. And it was breathtaking.

All at once his face flushed and a fresh wave of embarrassment flooded his senses. He so desperately wanted to look away, but when gold eyes met gold again he saw the growing signs of tears. He blinked, considering for just a moment, then gave a coy little smirk. He could offer a handkerchief, or simply ignore that he ever saw them, but instead he reached out once again with his free hand to cup the other's face. Delicately he ran his thumb across their cheek to brush the tear away before they fell, the touch so feather light and soft it felt no different than that of snow falling on warm skin.

His grip on their entangled hands tightened, idly circling his calloused thumb over their knuckles. Slowly he shifted their grasp to fully enclose his hand in theirs and he turned, ready lead them on their way. "R-Right, yes of course. It is just up the hill here, a short walk through this side of forest. Shall we?"

With a tug he took his first steps, slow and steady to allow the other to keep pace with him. The wild pokemon of the Giant Chasm popped in and out of view, curiously watching the two of them in awe; they know it was incredibly rare to ever see their Warden personally bring a stranger any further down their territory.

It wasn't long until he brought them to a peculiar spot along the cliff, not too far from the branching path that leads to the Victory Road. Kyurem approached, placing his free hand along the face of the rock and making a series of circular motions. An intricate pattern made itself visible and reacted to his touch, glowing and spiraling outward with his movements. With a sudden click the surrounding rocks began to rumble and part, revealing a hidden walkway.

It was dark upon entry, naturally, but with another swift gesture on rock the space began to illuminate from an array of runes lining the walls. It was a quaint and rustic little space, possessing only the essentials. Bed, table, countertop, cabinets, and a little area in the back separated by partitions. Curiously there was a distinct lack of obvious appliances, and many of the furniture was carefully handcrafted and built directly into the space itself. Kyurem rarely made use of it personally, as this was his forward outpost for his patrol more than anything. But it made do for his needs.

"Um... I know it is not much, but please make yourself comfortable," he offers, gesturing inside. He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck then proceeded to the kitchenette to start brewing the tea.

It felt like an agonizing eternity between their request and him displaying the inner turmoil Kyurem was dealing with, a personal conflict the stranger had not dared read, for fear of what might lay below his hidden depths and lonely chasms. Their drive to know him was so deep and personal, any mortal being might’ve considered it inappriopriate, no matter how removed from the burdens of blood and bone it may be. People generally tended to fear any sense of vulnerability with strangers, and for good reason.

Kyurem had no pheasable way of posing a threat to their life, even if he wanted to try. The strange could just snuff him out, but it would destroy them to do that kind of thing to him. The idea of reducing his gentle, tender face to nothing but the stardust he was made of forever ago hurted to even think about.

Especially now that Kyurem so readily reached out to them, despite his prior apprehensions.

He was so close, yet so far away. All it’d take was for this golden, sullen stranger to reach out and take his hand; to lock their fingers with his and to pull him close, feeling the life between his apprehensive frame, one so beautiful to them despite what may have been missing.

The stranger hesitated at first, Kyurem’s shy but warm smile touching their core. What if they broke him?

What if they killed him?

What if his fate was sealed and labeled for death the moment they touched him?

They reach out, slowly and almost automatically so. Their hand shakes, fighting its own desire to withdraw, afraid Kyurem might immediatly turn to dust and vapor, reduced by the strangers fire, their eternal zenith, the endless apex from which their life’s sun would never set.

Their fingertips find his, a sensation that could have reduced themself to ash with its intensity, had such a thing been possible. His fingers rougher than theirs, as though their tender yet perfect digits had taken all the gentleness from Kyurem’s. His skin was cool, but not unpleasantly so; an almost perfect companion to their own deep warmth.

The stranger couldn’t help themself anymore. Apprehensive yet hungry as their fingers were for the sensation of closeness, their fingers spread slowly in such a way to thread together with Kyurem’s, afraid to let go, afraid he’d disappear and leave them alone in the void again, with themselves, and their insurmountable grief.

They were terrified he would find out who, WHAT they were by this mere simple, yet scarily intimate touch, that he would revolt in shock and disgust, and tear away from them.

They felt the faint glimmer of tears, barely held back in the corners of their lustrous eyes. Their gaze could no longer hold his.

They didn’t want to let go.

Their hand finally found the courage close around his, sealing the simple, terrifying and beautiful beginning of their bond.

“I would… like tea. Thank you.”

Their voice found not the strength to fully surpress the wavering within, but they didn’t notice. Their eyes were only drawn to him, so close, and now no longer isolated from them.

They never wanted to let go of Kyurem ever again. How inappropriate, no?

[ad7red]

Hey!! Can I have Peter and his gf who's not rlly smart but catches a mistake Peter made in his hw and teases him but he doesn't mind? Thanks xx!

smarty pants | peter parker.

bf!peter parker x reader

this has been sitting in my inbox for a WHILEE i am sorry!

not proofread, no warnings

-

you had just bombed your math quiz and you could not feel any worse. math just wasn’t your thing, ela or history? sure, but math and you were never getting along. and that was a fact.

the only person who might’ve been able to raise your spirits was your one and only genius vigilante boyfriend, peter. which led to you vigorously knocking on his apartment door like you did many times, expecting to be greeted by a familiar peter, instead being met with his aunt may.

“hey, there sweet pea! peter won’t be home for a while, but would you like to come in and wait in his room for him?” you nodded while thanking her, being in his room would help remind you of him.

she walked you to his room, though being here so many times you know the place like the back of your hand.

when you walked into his room you were welcomed with messy algebra homework as well as half-done history homework scattered all over his desk.

you hopped down onto his undone bed and patiently waited for peter to come back to tell him all about how math was the worst subject known to man.

-

after what felt like forever you finally heard the bedroom door creek open, with the curly head following.

“hey, sunshine? how are you?” he said while placing a kiss on top of your forehead. you pouted before responding, and that’s when peter knew he was in for a doozy.

“terrible! peter, i failed my math quiz!” flapping your arms up and down for emphasis. peter patted your shoulder, his way of saying ‘i’m sorry’.

“c'mon, it can’t be that bad” peter was sorely mistaken. it was that bad.

“i got a 25%.” he made an ‘o’ shape with his mouth, as though it physically hurt him to hear that grade.

“i mean, whose bright idea was it to come up with trigonometric functions? when will i ever use that in my entire life?” you began to rant. the grade was irritating you considering you’ve never gotten lower than a c in math.

“okay, come show me what you need trouble with.” peter said while pulling you up from his bed and leading you to his untidy desk.

you told him what was confusing you and he thoroughly explained it, but you couldn't seem to focus with that history homework on his desk.

“it's italy.”

“what..?”

“which country did the renaissance begin in? you said germany but it's italy.” he quickly scanned over the question again, skimming over the small paragraph before it.

“you got me, good job smarty pants!” he wasn’t sour or bitter about it all. if anything, he was happy, he knew how much it would mean to you if you corrected the smartest person you knew.

“i am a bit of smarty pants aren’t i?” and with that both you and peter started to explode in a fit of giggles.

-

[itiswhatitisboi]

Golden Years.

synopsis: thinking back on being teammates with kate after she gets drafted, considering them the golden years — and regretting not doing anything about your feelings for her and thinking it’s just too late

warning(s): nothing except good ole’ angst

pairing (s): kate martin x iowa!reader

a/n: first time writing a fic and i kinda blacked out bc this is a doozy

the night your best friends got drafted had to be one of the best nights of your life. you, jada, gabbie and kate had gone to support caitlin and while you, of course, had deep down hoped that a certain blonde would get picked — it was still such a shock when her name got called from the audience. you all got to cheer her on as she walked up to a jersey that would hopefully have her name on the back.

it had ended in a night of celebration, the alcohol making you extra flirty, and kate extra touchy. a dangerous combo considering the feelings you had for. the same feelings you had downplayed for the past two years because this was kate. your captain, your teammate, one of your best friends at iowa.

“i can’t believe you got drafted tonight,” you had hiccuped into her ear with her arm dangling lazily around you as you sat in the booth next to her. the feel of her touch against you had caused you to tune all other conversation out, your attention solely her’s.

she had chuckled and you had felt her body rumble against you, “las vegas here i come.”

“i knew you could do it.” it had been such a light-hearted comment but if only kate knew the weight behind it. ever since she had introduced herself to you your freshman year at iowa, officially welcoming you to the team, it had been an instant connection. one that had grown into a powerful friendship until it eventually left you wanting something more. seeing the type of person she was, you fell for her smile, her kind heart, her laugh, the compassion she had so much of to give, her obsession with hot sauce — all of her. she had become the most attractive person to you and she was all you ever wanted. so when it came to pursuing her dreams, which she had very little vocalized, you were her biggest cheerleader and number one supporter. you always claimed she deserved more recognition, to which she would brush your words off with a bashful laugh, ducking her head humbly.

“i take it you knew i’d get drafted tonight then?” she had teased with you, nudging you with her body.

“without a doubt. they’re lucky to have you, you know that? you deserve this and so much more.”

she had beamed at you and pressed a tender kiss to your temple as thank you. you had no idea but it had take everything in her not to kiss you on the lips right then and there, your words being everything she had longed to ever hear. yes, her family was always proud of her but hearing praises from you just mattered so much more.

but following the draft you had gotten back and were instantly swamped with schoolwork, practically drowning in it. and kate had gotten so busy with packing up her life in iowa. you two had barely seen each other.

one morning you had been sitting at your desk, glaring at the notes that stared back up at you. your mind had naturally wandered to who you always thought about, which was kate. you found yourself dwelling on the seasons you’ve had during the years you had to play together. after that first year you had become an unstoppable duo, elevating the game in such a way that was noticeable to everyone around you, encouraging your teammates to be the best they could be, and overall improving the team. kate may have been the captain but you were damn near equally as important — bluder always liked to call kate the head and you the heart of the team. you both just worked like that.

and as your mind lingered on the thought of kate, you realized that you’d never get that chance to play with her again. that you’d never be out there on the same court with her, chest-bumping her after a crucial block, or giving her a high five following a beautiful three-pointer. you both would never wear the same uniform again. never be teammates again.

and then a horrible thought crossed your mind as you thought about how kate would be finishing her chapter there— would you two remain in each other’s lives?

maybe that was how you found yourself outside her apartment door that morning, knowing she was leaving for good later that day. leaving you behind as she started a new life. your hand hovered in the air until you forced yourself to knock, knowing that the worst that could happen was that you lost touch after she moved and you stayed acquaintances. as long as she’d be in your life, no matter how distant, you’d be able to manage. but one thing was for certain, you wouldn’t be able to handle not saying goodbye.

she opened the door shortly after you knocked softly. her hair was slightly disheveled in a way that made you think she’d been rushing around all morning until just then.

“hey, can i come in?”

kate blinked, as if surprised you were standing right there in front of her before she snapped out of it and stepped aside. “of course.”

the apartment felt like a ghost town the moment you stepped over its threshold. no pictures on the fridge, no display of hot sauces above a the cabinets, nothing.

“what’s up? i thought we said i’d stop by your’s before i left.”

you faced her and watched as she scratched at her brow like the was trying to rid herself of the slight confusion that nestled between her brows. “yeah i know- we did. i just.. i don’t know, i needed to see you.”

kate nodded slowly as you licked your lips, suddenly unsure of what to say. you hadn’t even intended to come here because you knew it’d make you too emotional, that was why you had made the plans to meet up in the first place.

“i guess it’s just really hit me that you’re gonna be across the world and i’m gonna miss you.”

“i’m gonna miss you too,” she smiles softly as she stuffed her hands in her pockets.

“no like, i don’t think you get it- i’m gonna miss you a lot. like really miss you.” you began to fidget with her hands as your heart began to beat loudly inside your chest.

you saw the confusion yet appreciation wash across her face. she was definitely confused on why you were so adamant that she didn’t understand where you were coming from. realistically though, she didn’t want to overthink your words because there was no way you returned the same feelings she had for you— right?

“i mean, how am i supposed to go about my day without my favorite person by my side? instead you’re a call away and if i want to see you i have to catch a flight- which they’re so pricy, what is up with that?” you felt yourself begin to ramble and you honestly had no idea why. you just felt like spilling your guts to her and you had no clue if you were going to stop or not.

“what are you saying,” she said softly. she walked closer to you so that she could place a gentle hand on your shoulder, in efforts to comfort you. it hurt late to see you so antsy and she had no idea her move would have so much of an impact on you. “we can call, facetime, text— whatever it is, we can talk as much as you want? okay?”

“it’s not okay— i just want to be with you,” you confessed, the words slipping from your lips without even giving it too much of a second thought. you watch kate’s eyes widen at your words but there was no going back now. “fuck it. kate, i want to be with you. like with you, with you.”

unknowingly to you, that was the best news kate had heard in a long time. hell, it might even beat the draft because hearing what you wanted was the same as what she wanted? nothing could be better.

“i have feelings for you, and i have for a while now.” you confessed. “and it’s okay if you don’t feel the same, but jesus— i think i was gonna go crazy if you left without at least knowing how i felt.”

you studied kate’s face as she said nothing, simply looking at you. you wondered if you broke her before wondering if you should just leave before you dealt with the embarrassment— or dealt with the reality of losing her friendship over this. fuck, maybe you should’ve watched your damn mouth.

but kate crossing the room and crashing her lips onto yours caught you by surprise and had you staggering back slightly. her hands came to cup your face as she bent down to you. she pulled you as close to her as possible as you came to your senses and wrapped your arms around her neck. you relished in this new feeling, a touch undiscovered as her lips moved against your own.

when you both finally pulled away, breathless, you both wore the brightest smiles on your faces.

kate’s breath fanned your face as she let out an airy laugh. you could’ve sworn she even had a smirk on her face, “who said i didn’t have feelings for you too?”

[confessedlyfannish]

DP x DC Writing Prompt #8

The day Bruce Wayne knocks on her apartment door Sam knows it's going to be a doozy.

"Mr. Wayne, I really do hope no one saw you," she says, ushering him in. "And for the record, a text ahead of time would be appreciated."

"I parked the car a few streets away," Bruce says, sticking a finger in his heel to peel his polished leather shoes off. Sam raises an eyebrow. "It's a sedan, not a Lamborghini."

"You own a sedan?"

"Taught Dick to drive in it...after he crashed the Lamborghini."

Sam snorts despite herself. The charm Bruce Wayne exhibits would usually rub her the wrong way, too reminiscent of wealthy men that feel comfortable placing a hand on the small of your back at a crowded gala, but Bruce is honest enough about his playacting that she has come to find its insincerity comforting. She's actually sought him out more than once, leading to several annoying headlines that can't seem to decide if she's aiming to date him or one of his eligible sons. None of whom are eligible by the way, as they are a) taken, b) legally dead, c) practically a minor, and d) an actual minor.

Sam's generational wealth is peanuts compared to Wayne Industries, so naturally her parents have been thrilled and rooting for option c.

"I also didn't want Danny to see I'd texted you. Or force you to lie to him."

Sam doesn't quite tense, but it's a near thing. She does slide to the other side of her kitchen island, under the context of finishing prepping her feta fried eggs, laid on a bed of smashed avocado and warm tortilla. She pulls a bottle of crunchy garlic oil out of the fridge and drizzles hot red crisps across the runny yolk. She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully, not so much as offering him a glass of water.

"You realize, Mr. Wayne, I have no intention of lying to Danny now?"

Bruce sits at the stool on the opposite side of the island. "I understand. And if you want to ask Danny to return home before we continue, I'd understand that as well. I didn't mean to discomfit you--"

"Please do not lie to me now, Mr. Wayne," Sam says, rolling her eyes. "By your own admission you showed up at noon without warning knowing my superhero boyfriend wouldn't be present. If I am discomfited, all the more likely you get your information, right?" Golden yolk runs down her fingers, and she sacrifices it to the napkin rather than lick up her arm in front of her boss, with no small amount of resentment. The yolk is the best part.

"Get to it then," she demands.

Bruce straightens in his stool, chin raising and firming in a jawline she most often sees under a cowl. His eyes attempt to pin her in place, but Sam has stared the Master of Time in the face and demand he reschedule so she is built. different. She takes another bite of egg taco.

"I was not aiming for you to feel threatened, and moreover, I doubt you could be."

Except a smart person should always feel threatened by a threat, no matter their capability of handling one. It keeps them alive.

"Can you tell me how I'm not like all the other girls after lunch? You'll spoil my appetite."

Bruce clears his throat. "I'll get to the point--"

"Thank you."

"--Danny has been exhibiting paranormal behaviors beyond his baseline. We welcome all biologies; human, alien, and paranormal alike, but I have observed actions unlike what he had previously established as his, for lack of a better word, 'normal'

"I want to make sure he is not experiencing any unwelcome outside influence. Or, if this is merely a facet of his evolution, I'd like to know if this is something we or his family should be monitoring."

Sam has been an eco-consultant with Wayne Industries and unofficially, the Batfamily, for half a year now and this is the most she's ever heard the man speak in one sitting.

"Wow," she says. "How long have you been rehearsing that one?"

"A while." Bruce grunts, voice finally taking that final drop into Batman's gravelly rasp. "I see you're not surprised by any of this."

"No, not really," Sam says. She pours him a tall glass of lemon water from the pitcher, freshly sliced that morning, and he takes a polite sip.

"So what can you tell me?"

"Probably a lot. And Danny would probably prefer that I do, knowing him, the big baby," Sam sighs. "Listen Mr. Wayne, I can appreciate that you came here from a place of caution rather than intrusion. And if Danny was undergoing something negative or from an 'unwelcome outside influence' that would be the right call, and I, albeit begrudgingly, encourage you to do so in the future."

"But he's not."

"He's not," Sam confirms. "And in fact, I think he could really use someone to talk to about it. Outside of his family."

"I see..." Bruce says, shifting.

"If you want to tag team this one with one of the higher EQ players, such as Superman, I give you permission." Sam does not think she's imagining that slight sag of relief.

"Thank you," Bruce says, sliding off the stool. "I don't suppose you have material we could consult...?"

"Actually yes, I happen to have a pamphlet right here. 'So your ghostly body is changing, and how.'"

"You're being more sarcastic than usual."

"You interrupted my lunch, Mr. Wayne."