#tired and mildly indignant

[inoreuct]

zosan caretaking fluff feat. hair washing, banter and very soft vibes. dinner is served.

Sanji sighed, sliding down until the back of his head pressed against the lip of the bathtub. The water was toeing the line between too hot and just right and he'd poured in enough lavender emulsion to coat it with dense, heady bubbles; they tickled his chin as he let his eyes slip shut.

It had been such a long day.

He'd been rudely woken up by the sound of a cannonball crashing through their hull, tossed out of his bunk a second later when the enemy ship rammed into their side; having to fight moments after being startled awake had already put him in a horrid mood, and then he'd realised that the galley had taken damage and he would have to restock more than half of everything he'd had in there. The fridge had lost power too so he'd had to cook all the meat that had thawed (which, to be fair, was never a problem with Luffy around) but then his whole crew had scattered during their supply run and he'd lugged a shit-ton of food back to the Sunny himself and now his brain was buzzing and his everything was aching and he was pretty sure he had gunpowder in his hair.

The steam filled his lungs when he breathed in, damp and dense and warm, settling heavy as he trailed his fingers through the milky water. His neck hurt from staring down at goods all day and he could feel the beginning of a tension headache behind his eyeballs. It was a small blessing that he had the bathroom to himself—

The door creaked open.

Goddammit. Sanji sucked down a fortifying breath before he looked up— and relaxed, because thankfully, the one possible person he might be able to tolerate at the moment was sliding inside with one arm behind his back.

Zoro pushed the door shut with his heel, loose pants wrapped low around his hips and hair already darkening from the humidity. "Hi."

"Hello, marimo," Sanji sighed, tilting his head to the side. He watched as Zoro trudged over and stuck his free hand into the water before yanking it back with a muffled hiss.

"That's hot."

"Nearly enough to boil a lobster," the cook agreed mildly, eyebrows flashing up as he turned his head to track Zoro pulling up a stool, lazy and languid. "Now did you need anything, or are you just here to kill off more of my brain cells?"

Zoro gave him a dry look.

A heavy exhale slipped from Sanji's nose before he reached behind him, fingers brushing Zoro's elbow and sliding down to take his hand. He spread the swordsman's fingers out, tracing over hard-earned callouses with featherlight swirls. "I'm sorry, mon chou," he sighed, letting his temple fall against Zoro's knuckles. "Just... tired, is all."

"I know." Zoro flipped his palm, rubbing a thumb over Sanji's cheekbone before pulling away. "Brought you something."

Sanji heard the sound of glass being picked up and nearly turned before he was presented with a dark, stout bottle, the labelling font reminiscent of chalk on a blackboard. "Pirate Blend," he read, huffing a chuckle. Fitting. "No glass?"

"As if you won't finish the whole thing."

He let out a faux-indignant gasp, reaching out to whack the back of his hand against Zoro's bare chest. "Ass."

"That was my tit, cook. Think the steam's getting to your head."

The laugh that peeled its way out of Sanji's throat was sticky with exhaustion, steeped through with lavender suds and underpinned by the ache in his muscles as he popped the cork with his teeth and took a swig. "...Where did you get this?"

"There was a tasting booth in the market. Thought you'd like this one."

"You thought right," Sanji admitted, lifting the bottle to his mouth again and letting the wine coat his tongue; a red by the taste of it, with a nearly savoury spiced vanilla and dark, syrupy cacao, a rich core of sweet berry, an almost silky hint of dry tannin. He held out the bottle, but Zoro shook his head with a soft quirk of his mouth.

"Got it for you, swirly."

The cook smirked. "Suit yourself. So that's where you ran off to while poor little me was stuck doing all the heavy lifting," he lamented, sighing and emphasising it with an exaggerated sip.

"Not just that."

He heard twine sliding across waxed paper, packaging rustling as it was unfolded—

The water sloshed as Sanji set his bottle down and turned around, holding onto the edge of the tub as Zoro pulled the last bit of paper away to reveal the set of soaps in his lap.

The cook's breath caught. Each of the five bars clearly had a different scent, and a design to match; the one with green and cream swirls was matcha, surely, and the translucent one with rose petals was obviously rose. One more was oat and honey, and the one with a herb sprig on top was definitely rosemary mint— But the last one was plain brown, mild enough that his nose couldn't pick out what it was supposed to be. "Marimo."

"Hm?"

"How much did these cost?"

Zoro shot him a smug grin. "Just a couple of logs that needed chopping... And some charm."

"You." The cook blinked, stretching out like a cat to rest his chin on his hands, lips twitching as he tried to hide his awed smile. "Charm."

"Oi! I can be charming when I want to be!" The swordsman scowled at Sanji's fond, disbelieving scoff. "I charmed you, didn't I?"

"Yes, well—" Sanji felt a little breathless, buoyant, like if he let go of the tub he'd float with no effort at all. "Yes, I suppose you did." He held still, heart fluttering in the hollow of his throat as Zoro's face softened, leaning forward to poke at something in his hair.

"You've got gunpowder in your bangs."

"I— Ugh, I know!" he complained, rolling over with a dramatic sigh.

"Well, hurry up and pick one, then!"

"Pick one?" Sanji lurched up again, bubbles sloshing everywhere, eyes flicking between Zoro and the soaps. "I can't just pick one, they all smell so good and they're too pretty to—"

"Oh, for the love of— Curly, can you just pick one and let me wash your hair?" Zoro deadpanned, crossing his arms over his chest and completely oblivious to the way he'd just made Sanji's entire system freeze, the inconsiderate moss-headed bastard.

If a cannonball crashed into their ship again, Sanji wouldn't have noticed. If the Sunny was sinking, he wouldn't have cared. He was much too preoccupied with staring at the man sitting in front of him, skin flushed with the warmth, green hair mussed as it always was, soaps that he'd bought for Sanji on a whim in his lap. The cook's fingers dug into the edge of the tub and gripped until ceramic squeaked. Zoro wanted to wash his hair.

Zoro's throat bobbed as he swallowed, clearly fighting the urge to look away. "Look, if you don't want—"

"No!" Sanji yelped, startling himself enough that he nearly clapped his hands over his own mouth. "No, I— This one," he breathed, reaching for the plain brown bar and pressing it into Zoro's palm. "This one." He knew that he probably looked nearly shocked, eyes so wide it must have been unsettling, but his chest ached something fierce when he breathed in deep down all the way to his gut and he couldn't help it. His water must have been getting cold by now but he didn't feel it at all.

Zoro's lashes fluttered as he shifted in his seat, carefully wrapping the rest of the soaps up and placing them aside. "Okay, then. Turn around."

Sanji flipped, sitting still as Zoro gently pulled the tie from his hair and slipped it around his own wrist, holding back a shiver when calloused hands cupped his face to guide him nearer the running tap. The water seemed warm, but not warmer than Zoro himself; the swordsman always seemed to run ridiculously hot and Sanji—

"Relax," Zoro murmured, his hand broad and steady against the back of Sanji's head. "I've got you, cook. Lean back."

And Sanji was slowly coming to realise that he was loathe to deny Zoro anything, so he did. He let his weight sink back against Zoro's hand, trusting the swordsman to hold him up, letting his eyes close as Zoro carefully poured water over his scalp until his curls were soaked. He didn't open them even as he was pushed back up, settling comfortably in the tub as Zoro lathered the soap in his hands. What remaining suds left in the tub lapped at his collarbones; the water was a soothing pressure all around his torso, and he didn't bother hiding his soft sigh when Zoro's fingers slid into his hair.

"S'getting long." Firm fingertips started scrubbing at his scalp, kneading into spots of tension Sanji didn't even know he had. "You gonna cut it?"

"Mm? No," he sighed, shuddering when Zoro dragged his thumbs up from his nape. "Think I w'na grow it out."

Zoro hummed at that, tipping the cook's head to the side. "You'll look pretty."

"I know I will. And you'll tell me every day."

"Oh, will I, now?"

"Mhm."

The swordsman scoffed without any bite, doing something with his fingers that made Sanji melt. "You're so cocky."

"Mhm," Sanji mumbled again, not even bothering to find out what he was agreeing to. He had better things to focus on. "Just... keep doing that."

He heard Zoro chuckle and then pretty much zoned out completely, tension bleeding from his muscles, letting Zoro move his head this way and that. His bathwater was tepid at this point; he didn't care. Zoro's hands were big and warm and as the bubbles drifted down to his shoulders, he finally realised what this bar was scented with.

Sandalwood suffused his senses, a deep creamy sweetness with an undercurrent of leather and earth. With what little wherewithal he had left, Sanji decided that it suited Zoro more than it did him. Maybe he'd try to convince the mosshead to take it for himself. A few kisses should be bribery enough. Fingertips dug beneath the bones just behind his ears, working until the ache dissipated, and Sanji felt his shoulders slump because God, that felt good.

He didn't know how long he sat there, drifting blissfully between sleep and Zoro's fingers scrubbing at his crown, gingerly detangling his hair, but if you had to ask him his answer would be not long enough. His eyes fluttered open when Zoro tapped his cheek, and he squinted at the light. "Wh—"

"Wake up, baby. Gotta rinse."

The pet name made something tucked inside his ribcage pull tight like a gasp, but Sanji just closed his eyes again. "Just a while longer..."

Zoro chuckled as Sanji's head lolled in his palm. "We should get you to bed."

"Noooooo." Was he whining? This was ridiculous. He really didn't care.

"You're a spoiled prince," Zoro said matter-of-factly.

"Your fault." Sanji discreetly cracked one eye open to gauge the swordsman's reaction and immediately closed it when he saw Zoro's expression, sucking in a hitched breath.

That was enough devotion in a glance to kill a man, and it tore through Sanji like a fucking bullet. Right through the ribs, in and out faster than he could stop it, so quick that he didn't even realise until his love was bleeding out of him, all over his hands, filling his mouth, colouring his teeth, honeyed at the back of his throat and finally he'd be able to see how much of it his heart held. He didn't mind. He didn't think he ever would, actually; he'd fill this bathtub with red if it meant that Zoro would see. If it meant that he would understand how every time he looked at Sanji like that it felt like he had Sanji's heart in his fist, his lungs in a vice, his goddamn life under his thumb.

Sanji had come to terms with it long ago. He put his soul in these battle-scarred hands every day and he trusted them to be gentle because he knew that they could, they would be, for him. Even now, Zoro took his weight easily, one palm at his nape and the other stopping suds from getting into his eyes and it meant far too much for something so simple, but that was just how it worked, wasn't it?

The cook swallowed hard, allowing himself one more moment before pushing up so Zoro wouldn't accidentally waterboard him. It would possibly be hilarious but he might also very possibly just die, considering how low his guard was. The thought made him laugh a little, strained with how his head was tipped back; he saw Zoro give him a weird look upside-down and decided that he was either more tired than he'd thought or he'd had more of the wine than he'd realised.

Zoro rinsed his hair quickly, but he was no less meticulous than he had been at the beginning. It was something that Sanji had refused to admit he admired at first, that single-minded intensity regarding the things Zoro cared about, and oh, wasn't that a thought? That he belonged within that distinction now. Sanji pulled his knees to his chest when the swordsman leaned over to grab the towel he had set out, scrunching the cook's hair dry as best he could and then dropping the fluffy white cloth over his head just to make him laugh.

The bottle of wine was relatively full when Sanji picked it up, holding it up to the light as Zoro dried his hair. "Guess I didn't finish it after all."

"Yeah, well." Zoro shrugged as he took it from him to put aside and tugged gently on a stray curl. "Nobody's gonna want it now that it has your spit in it."

Sanji scoffed. "You'd still drink it. You'd drink any booze."

"...Yeah, I would."

Zoro's eyes were a soft grey as he stood up. Sanji had a feeling that he could have left out the second part of that statement and the answer would still be the same.

He let Zoro pull him up out of the tub, wrap him in the towel and hold open the pair of briefs he'd left for him to step into. He held his arms up as Zoro pulled his soft sleep shirt over his head, brazen as if he didn't know full well the shirt was Zoro's to begin with. If it were any other time he might have protested against being helped to dress like a child— but for now he'd just refuse to admit that he enjoyed it, enjoyed being cared for, even in minute ways like this. Plausible deniability and all that.

Sanji didn't resist as the swordsman took his hand, leading him back to the men's quarters and tugging the covers up for him, patting them into place around his shoulders as he settled. The bed dipped by his hip where Zoro sat, and Sanji sighed as his damp bangs were brushed away from his face. Zoro liked seeing both his eyes, he'd noticed. Maybe he'd start wearing his hair back more often.

"Goodnight, cook," Zoro whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Sanji's temple.

Sanji's brain was full of cotton and sandalwood suds. He squeezed over underneath the blankets, cupping Zoro's face in his palms. "Stay."

The swordsman laughed under his breath. "Haven't showered."

Sanji considered letting him in anyway, but yep, nope, guess his brain wasn't that full of cotton. "Make it quick," he ordered, the effect broken by the massive yawn that interrupted his last word. Pulling Zoro down for a proper kiss was easier than breathing, the press of their lips just enough to wrap warmth over his skin like a blanket. "And use the soap from just now."

Zoro huffed at the words murmured against his mouth. "Spoiled."

"Your fault," Sanji yawned again, jabbing a finger into Zoro's chest before waving him away.

He heard his boyfriend's rumble of a laugh, smiled into his pillow as Zoro's acquiescence was brushed over his cheek, before the lamp was turned down and the door opened and shut. He'd been serious about Zoro being quick; they both slept better when they shared a bunk, and today had been more than enough of a shitshow for them to have earned a good night's rest.

Sanji snuggled down, fully intent on waiting.

He was asleep between one breath and the next.

(And if he woke briefly to curl closer when Zoro slid half-asleep into bed behind him, clean and warm and smelling of sandalwood, well. Neither of them would remember it in the morning.)

thank you for reading! part 2 where sanji takes care of zoro is already in the works, so keep your eyes peeled if you're interested :)

#wishing i was sanji rn #i'm telling you that man is fussy about his drinks but zoro knows his preference down to the last flavour note #that l.a.s. vino pirate blend is a real thing btw and it's absolutely delicious #zosan #zosan fanfic #one piece zosan #op zosan #zoro x sanji #roronoa zoro #black leg sanji #sanji #one piece sanji #zoro #one piece zoro #one piece #ino writes #it has been SUCH a long day it's 3am again #but writing this was like a balm to my soul

[six-white-venus]

the worst trait of me and my family is probably this: we never learned to say the word sorry.

i) my best friend and i, we are no people. knives? maybe. liars? definitely. but people? i’m not so sure.

knives were never forged to be tender (what a shame, what a shame) and we too, fall and slay what we meant to protect. him and i, we go for the throat when we clash. we hurt and bleed and oh, i should be terrified, i should be running for my life, but all i am is tired and a bit lonely and would really like his arms around me.

( “can we please stop fighting now.”

“oh god yes please.”)

because time and time again, this man has held my heart in his hands and cleaned its festering wounds with cotton dipped in alcohol (always the healer, always the lover) and wrapped gauze around them with clinical precision. and i have walked through the maze of his head and tended to his withering garden, have dragged the sun and fresh air and all the oceans to the barren land to make it bloom (always the poet, always the lover).

him and i, we have never needed words because we are knives forged in the same fire and at the end of the day, we both know that he will be the one who wordlessly stitches my broken heart and i will be the one who sings him to sleep.

ii) let me paint you a picture:

blue that fades into red that fades into black that fades into blue that fades into red. loud, clashing and nonsensical. a pit in your stomach that was dug with desperation and blunt fingernails. how do you colour anger that is also pain, grief, hate, love, fear and truth? the smell of the paint is foul and clogs your windpipes. blunt fingernails and blue and black and madness. can you bear to look at what you created without flinching?

that’s what anger looks like on my father. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

all his life, my father has been scorned, belittled, beaten, spat on. his mother didn’t love him right because her mother didn’t love her right. my dad loves like he hates. something is fucked in his head and heart and his words fade into black and blue and red and this shitshow always ends with me sobbing, bleeding, dying on the floor. my father watches with his hackles raised and his eyes red and wide and glowing. once wounded, an animal never sheathes its claws. it strikes the ones it loves and walks away with its head held high and hands trembling.

but here’s what happens when the curtains close: he pulls me into his arms and brings me tea. he wipes away my tears with hands that has moved mountains to make me smile. he kisses my forehead and tells me that his mom didn’t love him right. my grief is like anger and indignation and love. i wrap my arms around him and cry all the tears he never had the luxury to. who should say sorry, really? is it him or his mom or his mom’s mom or this stupid fucking world? my father has never said the word sorry. he never needed to. this is what love looks like on us. a horror. a mottled bruise. a hellfire.

iii) despite it all, i am not usually an angry person. i take after my father and my mother, after all. i rage like my mother (quick, loud, fire that burns out almost as quickly as it sparked to life) and fight like my father (aim, shoot, bullseye). my sister does something even mildly upsetting and before i know it, i’m cursing her to be miserable till she dies. not even an hour later i’m draping myself over her shoulder and bugging her till she rolls her eyes and smiles ever so slightly.

(“do you have no shame?”

“yeah no i don’t think so.”)

my family and i, we never learned to say the word sorry. because the word sorry never meant sorry, not to us. because at the end of the day, that’s all it is: a word. and it sticks to the back of my tongue and the dents of my molars and gets tangled in my mouth when i try to spit it out. so i grab it by its throat and thread it into my being. i find it so much easier to hide my pathetic inability to do one thing that doesn’t scream that there's something wrong with me with the truth of another three words:

“i love you”

and they are always echoed back to me, just a few million times more tender, in ways only we can understand.

“yeah, i know.”

“that’s great, but there’s no escaping dishes duty.”

“oh, shut up, you.”

“what’s that for?”

a pause and a hum.

“i love you too.”

#vi is back on their dysfuctionally healthy familial love agenda again #it's like. that one quote #love is a doing word #everything stems from love. everything gets its meaning because they are all doing words #maybe it's the way we've all benn raised/fucked over by the world but #saying sorry feels so.... wrong. hollow. it's simply not enough #i've grown up feeling like nothing i do is enough and that also travels to my way of apologising #we are all damaged in one way or another but we are all capable of so much love #and that's what my family and friends have taught me #it's okay if you're messed up and have no idea how to be a functional person. it's okay to screw up. we can sit and fix it #together #my writing #prose poetry #love #words #writeblr #prose #familial love #love languages #anger

[carnivorousmossbeast]

Transit

no content warnings

Summary: John “Soap” MacTavish & Simon “Ghost” Riley wait for a military convoy. Ghost finds out Soap knows a song that isn’t “Anarchy in the UK” by the Sex Pistols.

The only thing cutting through the silence of the pre-dawn darkness was the lieutenant opening and closing his mouth, clacking his bloody tongue piercing against his teeth — mindless and heedless of the phantom pain shooting through Soap’s mouth every time it happened. The wet sounds of lips parting, smacking, tongue licking and detaching from soft, spit-slicked gums were driving Soap up the walls.

“Gum?” There lieutenant’s voice cut through Soap’s unease.

“Gum- what?”

“Did ye want any?” Ghost asked, producing a sliver-wrapped strip from somewhere. Mysterious pocket candy, as likely to be fresh as it might have been plucked from a dead Russian operative seven months ago, and Ghost had simply forgotten to empty his pockets before laundry. Juicy Fruit mixed with old pocket sweat stains and Persil detergent didn’t seem like a flavour to chase the miserably watered down and microwaved coffee sachet he’d called his breakfast because mess didn’t open until five. Two full hours before they were scheduled to leave. Soap sighed and turned his face towards the window. They were supposed to be out on the road already, but the fucking convoy of course ran late — and now all they could do was stare at the silent radio and wait. He hated these hours wasted in limbo.

Ghost seemed oddly calm, for once. Aside from the whole mouth-smacking of course. Soap wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps the situation had him more on edge than usual.

“Bother ye if I start the motor?” Soap asked. The windows were fogging up and the used air was making him sleepier than it should, although given the three thirty wakeup call he decided to cut himself some slack. Still, being this tired without the convoy having reached base yet, let alone getting a move on, it didn’t seem like his best idea.

“Keep the lights down. Lieutenant Morrison gets weird about his boys and they’re facing us.” The lieutenant wiggled his leg. “Tell me about your basic,” Ghost finally asked.

“Wot? Story time because ye’s types didn’t have a good sergeant in basic?” Soap snorted. Ghost did that thing he liked to do where he could be staring at Soap, at Soap’s bones and nerves and delicate blood vessels, or something not-Soap which just so happened to occupy the same space as Soap. The eery glare didn’t really do it for Soap so he turned the key in the ignition and took a second to appreciate the warm red and orange lights popping up before he twisted the key one notch further and the old jeep coughed back to life. The machine was loud in the pre-dawn silence, cutting through the dreams and exhausted half-comas that their comrades surely still tried to escape in.

“Used to ah. We used to sing a lot. Had an Irish boy in our group, he knew all these songs from his ma’s pub.”

“Sing like a bird, the lot of you?”

“Ever heard a shoebill, Lt?” Soap asked.

“On YouTube,” his lieutenant admitted easily. Soap sniggered to himself.

“Surprised ye know what that is, sir.”

“Had to take basic somewhere, didn’t I?” Ghost asked mildly. The weirdly wet mouth-noises stopped, and instead he started popping one of the buttons on his thigh pocket.

“Yer right mad if ye think for a second I believe that Sir, all due respect.”

Ghost only hummed to Soap’s indignant reply. “Sing us a song then, Soap.”

“Ever heard a Kiwi?”

“Had one run up to me in the middle of a night training with Aussie SAS,” Ghost replied with what sounded like a grimace. “The poor sods that were sent to populate that continent really had to think they were being sent to hell.”

“They didn’t know how America would turn out,” Soap replied absently, trying not to focus too hard on the repetitive metallic plop of Ghost opening and closing the buttons on his trouser pockets.

“A right comedian before sunrise.” At least Ghost seemed amused by his disgruntled, short replies.

“Aye, Dante had shit on me,” Soap agreed easily and wondered for the umpteenth time why Ghost would be so fucking awake at this ungodly hour. He wasn’t used to superiors sitting awake while they waited for a convoy, wasn’t used to conversation beyond talking shit at the CO passed out snoring in the passenger seat.

“Not quite, Soap,” Ghost said with what sounded like a smile. “Promised me a song, sergeant.”

“Nae danger did I promise ye anything,” Soap tried.

“Don’t get cute with me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sir.”

“Go’an then.”

Soap sighed and rolled his eyes for good measure before adjusting the fan to heat the windows.

“There are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl,” he started and then stopped himself to clear his throat. “But give me a ramblin’ rover frae Orkney down to Dover. We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

“If you’re bent with arthritis, your bowels have colitis, you’ve gallopin’ bollockitis, and you’re thinkin’ it’s time you died,

“If you’ve been a man of action, though you’re lying there in traction, you may gain some satisfaction thinking ‘Jesus, at least I tried’.

“Oh there’s sober men and plenty, and drunkards barely twenty, there are men of over ninety that have never yet kissed a girl.”

“Missed your true callsign, didn’t you?” Ghost asked quietly, as if he regretted breaking the silence after Soap’s voice cracked on the last line. “Sing like a lark for me, Soap.”

“Not a happy song, Lt.” Soap exhaled through his nose, and tried not to think too hard about the way his voice had cracked. On how many notes he had missed. Why he had chosen that particular part of the song to sing.

“Doesn’t change that you sing it nicely, sergeant. Sound like a choir boy.” Soap bit his lip, uncomfortable with how easily Ghost had spoken about Soap’s childhood, regardless of if it stemmed from Soap’s personnel file — which Ghost has full access to, it would just be weird — or if it had come from conjecture — also weird to think of himself as so easily fitting into patterns, Soap thought.

“Think that’s the convoy up ahead, on the service road?” Soap noticed movement to his left, half hidden behind his lieutenant’s bulky form. Desperately wished for the moving string of lights to be his reprieve from Ghosts eery perception. Ghost turned in his seat, twisting his entire spine. Soap thought to himself that he’d have been both more and less surprised at the same time if his lieutenant had just swivelled his head like an owl.

“You good to drive, sergeant?” Ghost asked.

“Tell you when it changes, Lt,” Soap promised and watched Ghost’s satisfied little nod.

“Then hit the road,” he ordered lightly and started fiddling with that stupid pocket again.

“Yes, Sir.” Soap smiled to himself while he turned on the lights and pulled out of the parking space to slip between the guard vehicles of the MP.

We will roam the country over and together we’ll face the world.

He hummed to himself, quietly of course as to not disturb the night any further. If Ghost joined him, Soap pretended not to pay any attention to it and weaselled the soft sound away to keep safe in his breast pocket.

#fanfiction #fanfic #cod mwii #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #pre relationship #ghoap #short and sweet #fluff #bad flirting #they would deny that it’s flirting but it doesn’t get more homoerotic than sitting in a car at dark-thirty waiting for the convoy #the convoy that is perpetually late #this is fantasy military fanfiction after all #song: The Ramblin’ Rover by the Silly Wizards

[rriavian]

Close Enough

“Are you the tooth fairy?” The little girl asks, her eyes wide.

AKA: The Corinthian finds himself embroiled in a case of mistaken identity and Dream of the Endless can’t stop smirking about it.

(Honestly don't know if this has been done before. I wrote this at 1am while incredibly tired so blame sleep deprivation on why this is probably the silliest thing I’ve ever written for these two.)

(Edit: Should probably add the ao3 link to this here.)

-

“Are you the tooth fairy?” The little girl asks, her eyes wide.

There is only one reason the Corinthian doesn’t kill her immediately.

And it’s currently stood smirking beside him.

Dream of the Endless, the Prince of Stories—lips currently twitching upwards in delight, solemn demeanour almost failing him—looks like he’s trying not to laugh.

The Corinthian wants to wipe that smug expression right off his face.

Except he can’t, won’t, because while the delightful treat of inspiring Dream’s disapproval usually spurs him on rather than holds him back, there’s something the Corinthian wants first. He’s currently trying to get his reticent king to end the incredibly insulting period of probation he’s inflicted upon him. To do so he needs to impress rather than irritate, needs to prove himself worthy of being allowed to return to human dreams. Dream is petty even while dutiful—especially while dutiful—is vicious enough to multitask while he teaches, always finding time to punish. The result has been a series of humiliatingly supervised visits to mortal dreams, as if the Corinthian requires instruction, and they seemed to have stumbled into the dream of a six year old girl who’s just lost a tooth.

Which leads to the latest indignity.

The Corinthian pretends he hasn’t heard the question, this insult he won’t respond to, turns to Dream and snaps. “This is the wrong dream.”

“Is it?” Dream doesn’t even attempt faux surprise, flatly unapologetic as above his quirked lips cruel eyes glitter. “My mistake.”

Oh he definitely did this on purpose.

“Mister?” The girl says insistently; she’s also turned to Dream, seems to have realised that's where the authority is, little hand reaching up to tug gently on his robe.

Dream smiles like a sunrise. “Yes Alice?”

“You know my name!”

“Indeed.” He says gently, eyes soft for one of his dreamers, the glitter in them a nightlight for one of his precious humans. “Now—you had a question?”

Small fingers curl even tighter in Dream's black robe, perhaps chasing softness, perhaps marveling at it. Alice's eyes shift to the Corinthian for what amounts to half a second—they meet his ocular gaze, able to do so only because the glasses are oh so conspicuously missing—a quick glance as if she needs to double check.

Alice frowns.

Then she nods sharply, turns away, seems to have found whatever she was looking for. Alice gestures in the Corinthian’s general direction, still clutching Dream’s robe, but despite her clear frustration when she speaks her tone is shy. “He didn’t say whether he’s the tooth fairy.”

This time Dream does laugh.

It’s quiet but not restrained, a warmth that doesn’t demand attention, subtly chases away a chill. The mirth in his tone not at all held back. “He didn’t, did he?”

Alice agrees with a solemn little nod, the sort used for matters of the utmost importance.

“Can you ask him?”

Dream looks up, smile turning to night, shifting to the threat of a creeping shadow as this time he meets the teeth of the Corinthian's eyes. The glow there turns eerie, ghost silver, a strangely hollow thing for all that’s contained inside. There’s unease in how empty and full Dream can be at the same time, the vastness of a glacier so desolate when you’re alone. The demand is clear, even before Dream speaks, and the Corinthian knows he'll pay him back for this—

“Well?” Dream says mildly, eyes echoing with humour.

“Are you?”

#dream of the endless #the corinthian #corintheus #kinda #this doesn't really count for wip wednesday but i also have no idea what i'm gonna do for it #so an extra (and kinda silly) little drabble

[moregraceful]

I told myself I had to stay off tumblr until after my move and I still kinda am but I ran out of Tunnel Talk episodes and am honestly losing the will to live...I'm down to the "idk what this is and i'm throwing it in a box to deal with later" stage, which is the worst stage imho, bc you're dealing with current problems by creating worse future problems. I'm in so much trouble though bc I forgot I'm going to an SFG game before I move and I packed all my sweatshirts and jackets. Cracking open a cold one at the ballpark with the boys (I'm the cold one and I'm cracking open when those dummies play silly.)

anyway my point was wip wednesday but baseball for once lmao

Casey’s getting up in Blake’s face in the clubhouse.

“You think you’re a big man,” he says, puffing up his chest and shoving himself into Blake’s space. “You think you’re so much bigger than me, huh? Big guy? Big tough guy?”

They’re nose to nose. Blake has two inches and like, maybe, fifteen pounds on Casey. At best. At best. They’re basically the same size.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m so much bigger.” He makes a face, pushes his chest against Casey’s. “Bigger than you in every way–”

Yaz whips a towel at their hips as he passes. “Steady,” he says, mildly, when they both yelp and bump foreheads. “Someone might think you two don’t like each other.”

Casey wraps an arm around Blake’s neck while Blake’s distracted by Yaz and pulls him down to his chest. “Me and some of the guys were going out after,” he hisses in his ear. “Come out with me.”

Yaz throws his towel over Blake’s head and wanders off, singing to himself. Some rock song Blake can’t place while he’s distracted by Casey choking him. Yaz has a very gentle singing voice, Blake thinks.

“Bla-ake,” sings Casey. He throws the towel on the floor and presses his mouth a little too close to Blake’s head. “Bla-ake, come on, buddy, say yes. Please?”

Blake wraps an arm around Casey’s waist. Casey makes a soft noise. Blake pinches his hip as hard as he can and Casey drops him with an indignant yell. Blake stumbles forward and nearly falls over the Rogers twins’ chess game. Casey grabs his arm and yanks him back in time. The Rogers twins and their two-man audience of the Pitcher Alexs do not notice at all.

Casey wraps his arms around Blake’s chest and pins Blake against him. “Bro,” Blake says. He flops backwards against Casey, tired of the roughhousing. “If I say yes, will you knock it off?”

“If you say yes, will you actually come out with us?”

Blake will, this time, actually. Casey might still be mad about a couple weeks ago, when Blake said he would come out, and then he got too tired and bailed after the game. Or the time after that, where Sean was sad, so Blake left Casey alone with Pat and Tristan and Logan, which is like, not even a bad group of people to go out and get beers with. Casey was pretty steamed for some reason, but in that way where he looked uncharacteristically forlorn and subdued the next day, to the point that Kap asked if he was okay.

“Yes,” says Blake. “Promise.”

Casey hums a pleased sound. He squeezes Blake’s chest and lets go, pushing him away gently. “Yo Craw,” he yells across the club house. “Brandon! Craw! Brandon!” He bounds off.

#read a tim kawakami article abt sf giants rookies. felt emotions that don't exist. ended up here. so it goes. so it goes. #fresno oilers.txt

[unforestalledreturn]

Only Teeth

a starter for @saishuu-heiki

It had begun innocently enough. It was a  young child’s dream to find that place again in the world, to find that warmth that was lost. Beloved jewel to unspoken disgrace, overnight, without warning or explanation, Genesis was left yearning for something he could neither describe nor tangibly hold. It was the scorn of the Banoran townspeople’s eyes, the pensive looks, the whispers. Once, they were filled with adoration, with smiles and laughter. But now, after so many years, such things were rose-tinted echoes that the freshly recruited SOLDIER hardly recognized. 

One would think admission to the most coveted ranks in ShinRa’s imposing army would have been cause for celebration. But even at the entrance ceremony, Genesis stuck out like a sore thumb. Amongst the rows of fresh recruits, he was quite a bit older. He was far more freckle-faced, far less muscular, and if these were all overlooked, the bright red sash on his arm that no one else in the crowd bore truly did separate him from the rest. And it was not in a good way. Genesis had only been accepted via a niche, scarcely used program that specialized in magic and materia usage as a primary vector. At first, he thought there would be plenty of others like him, that he would rise through the ranks and prove every naysayer wrong, and turn every scornful eye to respect. 

Genesis was wrong. And as the weeks turned into months, he became intimately acquainted with just how wrong he was. SOLDIER was predicated on the strength enhancing properties of mako and those that could withstand it. And it turned out that even those who passed the initial tests often dropped out to infantry as their tolerance failed. They dropped like flies. They puked during physical exams, were overtaken by fever, by memory loss, by a whole host of ailments that disqualified them from becoming the best of the best. 

And, as it was in nature, when the environment was brutal, only the strongest would survive. 

“Well, well, well… I guess 17 times the charm, Rhapsodos.” A brutish SOLDIER 3rd’s voice cut across the training room where Genesis had been planking on a mat. Even if his strength requirements were not the same to maintain his good standing, he had bare minimums. Cloudy eyes glared forward as Genesis pretended to not hear. 

Then, a boot was placed square on his back, pressure mounting. 

“I even heard they were so tired of you trying that they made up a whole new program. Isn’t that rich?” The 3rd chuckled as his little posse echoed his sentiments, surrounding their prey like a jackal. 

Genesis’ breath labored, arms shaking beneath the weight, arms screaming. But he grit his teeth to hold his silence. He reminded himself of his own promise-- to turn every eye, make each disbeliever swallow their tongue. The example of stoicism and refinement that one lauded Sephiroth excluded was secretly every SOLDIER’s dream, even if they never had the chance to meet the prodigy face to face. Most were lucky to even be deployed with that one man army. With grace and skill like that, one had no use to respond to snapping dogs. 

Only… 

The more Genesis sweat, the more his muscles ached and stomach knotted, the more he was faced with a bitter reality; he was not Sephiroth. And his arms buckled, body flattened beneath the oppressive pressure. This was met with laughter, the 3rd’s sharp heel digging into his shoulder blades. “Awww. City life’s hard for a little country boy. You know, I heard there are still openings in infantry for a toilet scrubber. That is of course if your dainty little self can withstand such hard labor.” 

Genesis did not have the luxury of grace or decorum. He did not have the reputation. He had only his teeth, his bones, his wrath, his indignation. 

From outside the training hall, those passing were only mildly aware of the drama within. Some lingered at the doorway, curious, but knowing better than to get caught up on a SOLDIER’s ego trip and continued on. Others idly gossiped at the common room nearby or just got some much needed coffee in their sleep-deprived bodies. It was a more or less unremarkable scene, until the entire floor of the building shook with an explosion. Those in the hallway were immediately enveloped in the plume of a fireball, and the common room was filled with hoarse choking and blindly fumbling through the smoke. The thick metal walls encasing the training room began to crack and in some places even melted-- that was until the fire alarms began to blare, water steaming down in an attempt to put out the blaze.

#saishuu-heiki #rp: only teeth #verse: I'm Still Here #here you are! #hope this works!

[mxvladdy]

Bound (NSFW)

Lucifer x reader (ambiguous)

Word Count: 519

A/N: well howdy y'all it's been a bit and I'm on mobile so idk how this will look but ye. Sorry been gone, was coming back then got in a car accident at Xmas and shits been fucked since then lol but I'm alive and trying to get all my wips out now that I'm better!

Sorry this is short but I'm glad to be writing again!

_____________________

Lucifer wasn't sure what he found more beautiful at this very moment. Perhaps it was the way the lights above caught on the tears brimming in your eyes. The hunger and excitement in them caused the loveliest burn in his chest. His pants strain in sweet anticipation at the thoughts running through his mind. 

He walks around your restrained body trailing a gloved finger around the soft yet strong rope binding you to his office chair. He takes in his handy work marking the contrast between the bright redness of your swollen lips and the cool dark leather of his favorite belt between them. Cupping your jaw he raises your head to brush your lips lightly with his own. 

Your lips are scolding, hot from how he had worried them with his fangs earlier. They quivere when he pulls away. “You asked for this you know,” He smiles, pulling away before you can get your fill. “Am I not an excellent master? Fulfilling all of your greedy desires just so?" He smiles to himself at your indignant huff of anger. You had asked for this, after a long day of work and study you wanted a bit of his idea of fun. Not that this was the first time you were in this situation. Oh no. This particular scene was a mutual favorite. 

You blink away your tears trying with all your might to look angry with him. Delightful. “Am I not a merciful Master?” He repeats bemusedly. “If you do not feel that way perhaps some more alone time to reflect is in order.” That got the reaction he craved. Your groan is low and panicked watching him step away. Your back arching hard against your binds, tipping your chair dangerously to the side. “Ah-ah-ah.” Lucifer steps forward grabbing the sides to steady you. “Eager little minx aren’t you?” Your nose flairs, teeth leaving deep indents in the expensive leather. He chuckles, leaning in to nip your neck. “Bound, naked, and left wanting yet still you fight.” He brushes back your hair other hand snaking down to play with a nipple pinching it hard.  "We wouldn't want this any other way would we?" 

You mutter something that sounded mildly like a swear trying in vain to move from his questing hands. He grips harder, dragging a hand down to greet your sex. Lucifer plays with your entrance idly tracing his sigil into your wetness. 

"What will we do about your temper?" He wonders aloud to himself over the slick sounds of a finger delving into you. Your cry is wet with tears, the leather now stained with spit and salt. He will wear it with pride now in classes. Let all that lust after you see and smell you on his belongings. "I will never grow tired of this sweet torture, but I crave for more. All you have to do is obey me." He slips in another finger and curls it with delicious cruelty, stroking you just as he knew you liked. His other slipping down to the buttons of his trousers undoing them with unrestrained need. "Will you give me that?" He does nothing to hide his hunger when you finally nod.

#obey me fan fic #obey me luficer #it's a naughty one gang #hi it's been a bit

[marinecorvid]

Finally finished pokemon white (beating alder. Twice actually bc I wasn’t satisfied w my first run through) and Hilda <3 in my heart she’s a grungy carabiner-utilizer who wears the same clothes until they’re no longer wearable. The first thing she bought for herself with her first league paycheck was get a classic pair of doc martens (also has freckles. Very important). extensive headcanons under the cut

In my head all the games events happened over the course of a little over a year (starting from late 2011 autumn/winter cusp to early 2013 winter/spring) though plasma was metaphorically poking the bear for years prior until it reached a boiling point, coincidentally just when she finally had the chance to have a fun road trip with her gf and mean gay bestie. (Cheren chasing plasma thru castelia city: LETS GO LESBIANS! RUNNING THROUGH CASTELIA WITH A PACK OF WILD LESBIANS)

has a tendency to be blunt to the point of rudeness. tries to stay in her lane, but will finish shit if you start it. short temper, but very devoted to her friends n family, love language is acts of service. perpetually tired feeling, resting bitch face, but has a fun streak her pokemon and younger cousins (foremost being nate) can easily draw out. worked on her family’s tepig farm prior to going out into the world from the time she was young and doing a short stint in customer service rather than physical labor changed her for the worse (people disregarding rules abt where they can and cant go in the barns, feeding the pokemon outside food, nearly falling in the pignite paddock etc etc) and lowered her patience reserves to near zero. ran track in high school, grew up going to tailgate parties and bonfires and drinking cheap beer someone’s older brother bought bc there’s nothing better to do. adventuring out in unova and being in The Nature really decreases her stress and makes her general demeanor much less agitated/snappish

gets a little better on the mildly judgemental but “that’s none of my business” thing she’s got going after the N/Ghetsis final fight; dual character development of N and Hilda learning that someone else’s different worldview/way of thinking isn’t inherently bad/weird. simultaneously embraces and resents hero of ideals status; embraces giving in to her desires and wants and getting involved in stuff because she wants to (eldest daughter syndrome/grew up in a financially challenged household so didn’t apply to any college or technical school bc she didn’t want to put any financial strain on the household), but resents being initially shoved into the position by N and eventually the league.

she also resents technically being hailed as champion after beating N (who was also technically champion) but the board of directors made a rule deciding champion titles awarded with legendaries don’t count due to their godlike abilities in battle and told her if she wants to count as champion she has to fight them again without zekrom. (words can’t describe how angry-indignant she was. you practically strongarm her into the position then tell her actually she doesn’t get the respect and benefits and dignity?? cheren’s ears were ringing)

i know some ppl headcanon her as kinda getting along with N during the game and trying to reason with him, but not this hilda. girl was down to kick ass from first impromptu battle. N has to trick her with a zoroark illusion to get him on that ferris wheel and she nearly socks him in the face for it. only until Ghetsis earns his #1 father of the year award does it really sink in oh wow this guy was actually just a tool his whole life

used a variety of pokemon early in journey, releasing some and trading others to less intensive trainers locally once they felt they reached a threshold of battling they weren’t comfortable with. most consistent pokemon she’s had with her are neidr the serperior, llyffant the seismitoad, and gantroed the scolipede, eventually joined by adar the archeops, ysbryd the jellicent, and minipete the emolga for the final VS N battle. felt immense pressure to have a “competitive” battle team after passing driftveil city, kinda had a breakdown, chilled out and stayed with the pokemon she had connections with.

however, does restructure her team post-Ghetsis bc one) very rough battle, long term recovery and two) realistically if she wants to continue battling professionally/competitively, she doesn’t want pokemon not interested in battling so intensely to get hurt. she adds 4 new pokemon to the party, keeping neidr and llyffant: tyranitar, galvantula, haxorus, hydreigon. her preferred pokemon are largely tanks, with neidr providing niche coverage (serperior moveset sucks in bw) and galvantula thunder waving and then volt switching. also thunder w compound eyes is based 

full name is Hilda Gwynne, will tell you to call her Gwyn if she likes you. notorious lemonade lover. cheap shitty motel inhabitor. snowball fight enthusiast. twin sibling of hilbert (lives with his aunt in iccirus). father was a member of team rocket. thinks garbador is the coolest guy ever. went briefly diving in undella bay with and without cynthia, thinks it’s cursed and never wants to go back down. doesn’t know why shadow triad gave her the adamant + lustrous + griseous orbs and doesn’t want to find out, had them interred in dragonspiral tower in secret. the zekrom i got is defiant + bold natured which means xey’re nearly as stubborn as hilda and generally hostile to anyone she doesn’t explicitly like. when xey were still in dark stone form minipete (an emolga you can get via trade in mistralton) was practically entranced by it, constantly wanting to look at it, cheeks sparking whenever he touched it; now whenever xey’re sunbathing behind the barns, minipete’s the only one allowed to perch on xem. worked briefly with dr fennel, a pioneer in dream study and the entralink, and then did nothing else with that academic connection. thinks deerling are super cute. accidentally picked up a zorua in castelia city at some point and had looney toons shenanigans trying to get it home to lost woods. nickelback and carrie underwood fan. enjoys going mudding in her ma’s old pickup truck with the volume cranked up so high it rattles someone else’s car and still managing to holler loudly enough to be heard (she did a significant amount of this in the immediate aftermath of beating N as stress relief). can shout + pitch her voice real loud + deep. born during an early october snowstorm, has always had a fascination with storms of any kind. nicknames all her Pokémon in poke-welsh

mysteriously goes missing after leaving home to search for N; had semi-regularly with her mother and friends, but after being reportedly spotted around lacunosa town some time ago, seems to have vanished off the face of the earth except for three of her pokemon (archeops, scolipede, and emolga) found nearby, exhausted and nearly comatose, suffering extreme hypothermia despite being found during summertime.

#pokemon bw #pokemon black and white #hilda #redesign #kind of #my art #anyways time to go fight cynthia. wish me luck

[i-did-not-mean-to]

The Diary of Jane Doe (Part II)

@melkors-big-tits, you and me have to stop inspiring one another to do terrible things haha

-> Part I

-> @melkors-big-tits's amazing art on this ludicrous subject LOL

Words: 1,26k

Warnings: Blood, nudity, mention of underwear and...religious words being abused

October 19th – Part II

Confused, Jane – quite recklessly, one has to admit – poked her long-nailed finger into the eerily muscular-looking midriff of the tiny creature who had gone deadly still.

With a howl of indignation and pain, she threw herself back just a second later though as sharp, coal-black, needle-like fangs sunk deep into the flesh of her outstretched index; taken by sheer panic – only mildly dulled by the alcohol still slowing down her reflexes – and some considerable amount of discomfort, Jane first shook herself vehemently to get rid of the snappish thing and then simply flicked it off the bed with a broad swipe of her still bleeding hand.

On account of her impaired intellectual state, it took her a moment to fully process that the strange living doll had spoken to her; upon further reflection though, she thought it highly unlikely that someone would craft such an odd-looking toy.

Thus were the extraordinary musings of one Jane Doe who unerringly managed to completely miss the point.

She fully expected another slew of curses and angry words but, after a few seconds of breathless anticipation of the worst, only muted sniffling resounded from the outright ugly rug by her bed.

“What are you?” she asked, peeping carefully over the edge of the mattress.

“What…What am I?” A tiny head snapped up and luminous violet eyes put the full effect of their reproachful glare on her. “I am Melkor, the Great and Powerful, the Dark Lord, the most dreadful of the Valar!” 

“Did I hurt you?” she asked cautiously, feeling a bit guilty as she saw him rub his ridiculously strong thigh.

“No,” he huffed, desperate pride gleaming in those uncanny eyes. “My dad punched me around more than enough for me to laugh at your puny attack!”

“You bit me!” she cried defensively.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Woman, what are you conjuring the Dark Forces for if you don’t know a thing about them to begin with?”

Jane sighed and – very hesitatingly – extended her bloodied hand to him; this one was already mangled, and she was not about to have both of them torn to shreds by the savage pocket-sized demon she had summoned.

She flinched a little when she felt how cold he was.

“You scared the Bejesus out of me,” she admitted. “You’re so cold though…Are you all right?”

“Oh bullying me now, are we?” he snapped irritably. “That’s just what I am.”

A thought then evidently passed through his mind and his ferocious mien softened. “My little flame…” he sighed wistfully and looked back at the living room longingly.

Despite all his fighting words, Melkor – Miniature Might of Darkness – snuggled closer to her thumb and sat down on her palm as she lifted him back up onto the bed.

To think that the first naked ass of a male since changing her nephew’s diapers would be a demonic creature’s almost made her laugh.

“Are you the devil?” she then inquired cautiously, too tired and too drunk to do the reasonable thing and fling Melkor out of the window as somewhat smart women always did in the movies to unshakeable threats.

“Am I…what? How many dumb questions do you have, lady?” Melkor pouted. “I told you who I am.” He insinuated a bow that would have looked much more impressive if he had not been wrapped in his own hair. 

Jane fell back onto the bed and groaned, so much for her last resort! Instead of summoning Satan who might have taken her soul in exchange for a wish, she had saddled herself with a tiny lunatic who may well have infected her with rabies and tetanus. And she hadn’t even gotten the man of her dreams or a nice car in exchange.

Scrambling up, she turned to the bathroom to disinfect the wound but was halted by Melkor calling after her in a slightly shaky voice. “You’re not leaving me alone now, are you?”

A born follower – by nature and by choice – Jane let him hop onto her palm again and took him with her; she even spread her best towel on the toilet so he wouldn’t get cold while sitting on the closed lid and watching her treat the injury.

“What did you call a demon for then?” he asked conversationally as the silence became too long for him to bear; he was evidently a chatty little fellow.

“I am fed up with my life,” she confessed, “nothing ever happens. There’s so much I want and, clearly, I am unable to get those things by myself. I thought I’d get a boost from the other side.”

Understanding and something incredibly wicked and mischievous glinted in Melkor’s mesmerising eyes when she turned back to him.

“Tell you what, lady,” he purred, “you treat me well and, once my forces arrive, I shall make sure you’ll never be bored again.”

Somehow, Jane did not quite like the sound of that, but it was late, she was heartsick, and she was not the kind of woman to let a naked creature – not even a dark demon – sleep on her dusty rug and risk being stepped on in the middle of the night.

He was no taller than the length of a hand and so, she let him slip into her underwear drawer where he curled up in a padded bra and pulled a silken thong up as a blanket.

“What did you poke me in the belly for?” he then asked, muffled by the fortress of lace and cotton he was heaping around himself.

“I don’t know.” Jane stared at the ceiling and clasped her hand over her eyes in dismay. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you’re real.”

“I’m as real as can be,” he assured her cockily. “Can you sew?” 

“Hmmm? Yes, a little, why?” Jane yawned.

“I like this,” Melkor replied and patted the silken undergarment, “I want you to sew me clothing from this.”

“Can I poke you again?” she shot back, half in jest.

“No,” he growled, “but I may let you pat my head once. Good night, strange lady.”

“Good night, Dark Lord. I’ll take you shopping tomorrow.”

“We have to get our Master back!” Mairon screeched and threw himself through the shrinking portal without waiting for the others to stop bickering.

He had expected many things – he was meticulous and smart like that – but the awfully insipid room he found himself in still struck him dumb.

“Mairon,” Thuringwethil cackled, “my dear lieutenant, you look adorable!”

Hastening towards a truly horrendous silver flowerpot, Mairon had to discover – horrified beyond words – that he looked nothing like himself anymore: first of all, he was shrunken to the size of a small hammer’s head and – even worse – he did look cute.

His eyes were huge and golden in a soft, doll-like face and his powerful body seemed lithe and ephemeral in the dim light of the decorative lamp above him.

“Look at yourself,” he hissed and smirked. Both she and Gothmog had been turned into miniature versions of themselves, oddly endearing and eerily reminiscent of the playthings the blasted Eldar had once used to make for their bawling babes.

“We’ve…gone back in time?” Gothmog asked, perplexed. They were much as they had been imagined originally and it felt strange to see themselves and one another in forms unmarred by the decisions they had taken and the paths they had chosen brazenly.

“It matters not,” Mairon grunted, “let’s find our Master. The day is dawning already, and his vicious captor will be stirring all too soon.”

So, there's that...If anyone reads this....I might continue with Jane calling in sick, being attacked by a tiny bat and what she can only surmise is a haunted doll and a fucked-up lizard plushie, and going shopping in the children's section to find an appropriate dollhouse for the creepy crawlies she somehow has summoned.

In a word: fun, fun, fun lol

Lots of love from me <3

-> Part III

#fanfiction #crack #Mini-Melkor #check out Melkor (the user)'s drawings #Conjuring bad forces #and fumbling it #Worst OC in the world #the silm #the silmarillion #very much not serious

[somekndofnature]

Continuing to upload my older Doctor Who stories. Another of my favorite chapters. Jack is the best big brother and really takes the Doctor to task. If you want a tag when I upload a new chapter, reply to any of these posts. Also, If you have any tips or anything for how I can better mark these, I would appreciate any advice.

This story follows Rose Tyler and her unexpected return to the TARDIS during the year that never was. It has been a long separation for Earth's defender and she is not the same girl she once was. She is having a difficult time coming to terms with some major changes to her physiology, as well as battling her personal demons, while hiding from the Master. Against all odds, Rose needs to find her Doctor and reverse this hellish year before it is too late.

Prologue| Chp1| Chp2| Chp3| Chp4| Chp5| Chp6| Chp7| Chp8| Chp9| Chp10| Chp11| Chp12| Chp13

Chapter 14: If You had Stayed

AO3

The Doctor’s constant pacing was starting to annoy even him. The tap tap, squeak, tap, tap squeak of his trainers on the corridor floor felt like a sharp needle in his ears. He glanced at the infirmary door. They had waited for a half hour now with no word as to Rose’s condition. Martha was still confined in the med bay, doing Rassilon knows what. What could be taking so long? He should be in there with her, at least so he could hold her hand. Rose needed him. For about the hundredth time the Doctor ran his hand through his hair, causing the stylized mess to jut wildly in every direction.

He looked to Jack who sat against the wall, opposite the door, with his arms on his knees. His thunderous gaze was locked in place, exuding righteous indignation. It irritated the Doctor; that barb about respect was still ringing in his ears. Shame hunched his shoulders but, like the stubborn old mule that he was, the Doctor tried to fight it. What right did the Captain have to judge his actions? Rose maybe, but him? What did the Doctor need his respect for anyway? He glanced to the door again and winced, looking quickly away. As he passed the other man, he kicked his foot (just to fuck with him if he were honest).

“What do you want?” Jack growled without looking at him.

“Are you still angry?” he asked, resuming his pacing.

He released a tense breath through his nose. “Angry would be putting it mildly.”

The Doctor stayed silent for a minute, determined not to explain his actions to the Captain, of all people, but, in the end, his guilt won out. “You just don’t understand, Jack. The Master he...what was I supposed to...”

“Can we not talk?” he interrupted. “I don’t think I can sit here and listen to you justify your thoughtless...careless... stupid actions without clocking you right in the jaw. That would upset Rose, so please…shut up.”

The Doctor skidded to a halt, staring down the hot rage in the other man’s eyes. His bravado left him in a rush of breath and he leaned against the coral wall beside the door, fully aware that his actions were shameful. “I’m sorry, Jack. I didn’t mean to.... What I did to Rose…I’ll never be able to…” Rose, sweet kind impossible Rose. She saved him, from himself…from despair…and what had he ever given her? Only terror, pain and nightmares. Why did he keep doing these things? No answer was forthcoming. “Why?” the Doctor asked himself aloud in frustration. “Why would I do that to her?”

“I DON’T KNOW, DOCTOR!” Jack shouted, clearly tired of his self-pitying tone. “I don’t know why you would do that to her. I don’t even know you anymore. The Doctor I knew would never have done that. The Doctor I knew thought Rose was his everything. He would never ask her to sacrifice herself for a monster who wanted to wage war on the universe. And after what he did to her?”

“He was dying, Jack! I didn’t know it would hurt Rose. She shows up here after two years, wielding the power of the Vortex like she’s some kind of ancient omnipotent goddess. I couldn’t let him die. I had to use every device at my disposal.”

“Rose isn’t a device for you to use, Doctor! She’s a person!”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” He hid his face in his hands and sank down against the wall defeated. “I know that the Master hurt her but...”

“No, you don’t. You only saw the results of it.”

“I watched her die,” he snapped. “Isn’t that enough?!”

“No! It’s not,” Jack spat with disgust. “He brutalized her, Doctor. If you had only seen…” His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand through his hair. “She somehow convinced me to go out of the TARDIS and protect Martha because...Rose can’t help herself. Sit on the sidelines and let the plan play out? Heck no! She always has to jump in with both feet, blind to the consequences. Wonder where she learned that from?” He paused, swallowing hard. “The Master was waiting for us outside the TARDIS. He made all sorts of threats, had me shot, and you know how Rose gets.”

The Doctor nodded in agreement.

“She lost it, kicked him right in the berries but I didn’t get a second to be proud of her. Those stupid floating balls attacked her and tore her to shreds. They left her in a bloody heap on the floor but even then, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She taunted the Master like she was daring him to do something, and he did. He kicked her over and over and over and over again until she was choking on blood.”

The Doctor’s brows drew together. He didn’t want to hear anymore but knew he didn’t deserve the relief. Rose lived it...he should be able to listen to the details. The Doctor wouldn’t hide from this.

Jack sniffed, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “Rose always seems larger than life. Her spirit is so strong. She’s like an Amazon warrior woman. She always slips out of danger with little more than a scrape and a bruise. It’s so easy to look at her as invincible. But listening to her ribs crack, seeing her bloody and broken on that dirty floor.” He shook his head. “She looked so small and fragile. I-I thought she was going to die and you,” Jack gritted out through clenched teeth.  “You made her touch him... heal him, after everything he did to her. And why did Rose do it? She did it for you, because she would deny you nothing... You know that and you used it.”

The sharp accusation felt like a slap to the face. The Doctor swallowed the lump in his throat and dropped his head into his hands. Jack was right. Rose was the best of the best. She was sharp witted…brilliant really, and on more than one occasion she solved a problem before he even knew one existed. He came to depend on her so much during their time together. Rose always knew what to do, what to say, and he trusted her. She was selfless, always giving anything she had to save someone…anyone…good or bad. But he had taken advantage of these wonderful traits in her…using them as if they were his own. Damn! He dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was such an ass.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” he choked out. “I did use her.” His Rose. “How could I do that,” he whispered in disbelief at his own stupidity. “Why?”

Jack pinned him with a probing stare. “You tell me Doc, why?”

The Doctor searched his soul and then Jack’s eyes. He was giving him a chance to explain and, though the Doctor knew it wouldn’t absolve him, maybe his excuse could soothe some anger. Would he understand…would Rose?

“Jack,” he choked out, pleading his case. “I’ve lived for nine hundred years and I’ve traveled the universe for centuries. I have seen things…done things that would make you shudder. But, through it all, the good and the bad, I always knew that I could go home. And even if I wasn’t accepted or wanted there, I at least knew that there were others who understood how it felt…sensing the rotation of the planet…the slow tick of time…timelines shifting…seeing horrible things on the horizon and being unable to stop them.” The Doctor swallowed, staring into nothing. “I lost them all; my home and everyone who was like me. At the end of the Time War, I thought I was the only one left, the last of my kind. I felt hopeless, I was certain that I would spend the rest of my very long life alone. Imagine my relief when I found the Master. I know that he’s a monster. I know that he has done horrible things but, in spite of his madness, I also saw a being that knew how it felt to see and feel time. I saw home again. I saw hope. What I did to Rose was terrible and, if I could go back and change it, I would. But at that moment, watching the Master die, it felt like I was burning Gallifrey all over again…my home…my family. I wasn’t thinking.”

The Captain’s shrewd blue eyes studied him. “So what’s your excuse for the other stuff?”

The Doctor looked up, blinking. “What stuff?”

Jack took a deep, controlled breath. “Rose and I have been holed up in the TARDIS for about a month. That’s a lot of time to talk all about your adventures, the Sycorax, losing your hand, werewolves, Sarah Jane, Mickey…France.”

He looked away rubbing at the back of his neck.

“And there it is…” He chuckled but the sound held no trace of humor. “You know, I was hoping I wasn’t right.”

“Right about what?”

“About you and Rose and this…” Jack exhaled a shaky breath and let his legs straighten out. “Glorified concubine.”

The Doctor glared. “You weren’t there Captain. You don’t know anything.”

“I know you were trying to push her away,” he seethed. “I know that you deliberately tried to hurt Rose, to make her feel worthless, and I know that you succeeded. Because that’s what you always do. She gets a little too close, gets under that thick armor of yours, and you push her away. You call her a stupid little ape or some other degrading insult and put her right back in her place. How noble of you, Doctor.”

His hearts tripped over each other at his words and his mouth went dry. “The timelines- I had to…”

“Yeah, she made a lot of excuses for you too, all about responsibility and duty. Was it your duty to make her feel small? Can you imagine? Rose Tyler feeling worthless in the face of some French whore?”

“That’s an awfully judgmental tone coming from you Captain,” he snapped.

“I judge you, Doctor! I don’t judge her, I judge you! Don’t pretend that you and Rose had nothing, that there wasn’t something between you. You forget, I traveled with you both. I saw how you both felt about each other and you betrayed that!” He caught his breath, contemplating his next words. “Did you know that Rose thinks you slept with her?”

The Time Lord looked up, aghast. “What?”

He nodded. “Did you know that she thinks you loved her? This woman that you knew for less than two days?!”

“No.” 

“I was so angry,” Jack continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And do you know what she said to me?”

He shook his head.

“She said, ‘I have no claim to him, Jack.’ ‘He doesn’t owe me anything.’ I mean, godsdammit Doctor, this is Rose we’re talking about. You remember Rose? The woman who found us both in the darkest moments of our lives and made feel like we could live again? Like we could draw breath into our lungs again,” he entreated, tears gathering in his eyes. “I mean, let’s be honest. You wouldn’t have taken me on if she hadn’t asked. I owe her everything.”

Realization drew a sharp breath from the Doctor. “You love her.”

“Not like you’re thinking,” Jack answered, running his fingers through his hair. “Maybe at one time but, as Rose so eloquently stated, she was a lost cause long before we met. She’s loved you from the moment she knew you. Now, she’s just the kid sister I never had. You lucky fuckin’ bastard. You don’t deserve her and yet, with all of the good you’ve spread in this universe, maybe you do. That’s what is so infuriating. I’ve watched you dance around your feelings for each other way too long now. I watched you draw her close and push her away, watched it hurt both of you countless times. So, after all this time, tell me why. All the good that you do; why can’t you be good to her? What is so wrong with loving her?”

He weighed his answer, mindful of the Captain’s ire. He wouldn’t be able to deny his feelings for Rose, not to Jack. He knew the truth too well. “Rose told you about Sarah Jane?”

He nodded.

“I traveled with Sarah Jane in my fourth body. It was ridiculous, all riotous mass of curly hair and a multi-colored scarf that stretched for miles. Seeing her again, after all that time, was brilliant, of course it was. But she was different, she was...” He swallowed hard, unwilling to say the word aloud.

“Old. You can say it, Doctor. It’s what humans do...they get old.”

“Exactly! And she was still the same Sarah Jane; tenacious, brave, irreverent. But all I could see when I looked at her was Rose in thirty years’ time.”

“It’s funny, that’s what Rose said about her,” Jack interrupted. “She said it felt like looking into her future.”

“Did she?” he asked and ran an exasperated hand over his face when the other man nodded. “I would get another seventy maybe eighty years with Rose, if I was lucky, and then she was going leave. That’s how it would always end, she would leave me and it didn’t matter if it was by choice or not. Rose was going to leave, not the other way around. And I resented her for that.”

“Doc, you can’t resent her for aging,” he interjected.

“I didn’t resent her for aging,” he tried to explain. “I resented her for...” He hung his head, ashamed.

The Captain’s brows arched upward and he sat back, eyes wide with comprehension. “You resented her for making you fall in love with her, for making you need her.”

The Doctor sighed. “You were right, Jack. She did save me. After the Time War I had nothing, not even the will to carry on. But then Rose Tyler breezed into my life and suddenly she became my reason. I carried on just to make her smile, hear her laugh, and see that look of wonder on her face. It got to the point where I didn’t know how to do it without her anymore. I didn’t know how to be me without her and... she was going to leave me.”

“So France was all about proving to yourself that you could do it without her, that you didn’t need her?”

“Yep,” he replied, his fingers drawing circles into the floor of the corridor, so he didn’t have meet the other man’s eyes. “An experiment which failed in spectacular fashion because, even as I was trapped in France with the most beautiful woman of the time fawning over me, Rose was all I could think about. I already missed her. I was already dreading how long I would have to be away from her.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jack studied the Doctor’s heartbroken face as he hunched on floor, most likely drawing Rose’s name into it time after time. To be honest, Jack felt as though he was looking at himself. He had lived for a very long time and was already resigned to his fate. He would live on as everyone and everything around him turned to dust. Already, he had lost so many people to history. He thought of his friends, his team; he thought about watching them grow old and die without being able to do anything. He felt the Doctor’s pain as real and vibrant as if it were his own…because it was.

He rubbed at his tearing eyes. “Jesus Doc, why do you have to be so relatable. I really wanted to pummel you.”

“You’re still welcome to,” he replied. “It doesn’t change what I did. It was unforgivable.”

“Well, I won’t...mostly because it would upset Rose but also because...” Jack huffed out a breath. “I do. I forgive you, Doctor.”

His eyes snapped up, confusion drawing his brows together. “You do? Why?”

“Because I understand,” he explained. “I’ve lived for centuries. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

He shrugged.

“Have you talked to Rose about any of this?”

The Doctor tossed him a rueful smile. “I think you know me a bit better than that.”

“Coward. You should.”

“Why?” he asked, melancholy settling on his shoulders like a physical weight. “Nothing has changed.”

“What do you mean? Everything has changed.” At the Time Lord’s look of bewilderment Jack asked, “Did she not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

The door of the infirmary opened; Martha stepped out and shut it behind her. Both men scrambled to their feet. “Are you two done with your little row, then?” she chastised. “You were shouting so loud. It’s a testament to how tired she is that you didn’t disturb her.”

They looked down at their feet. “Sorry, Martha,” they said in unison.

“How…how is she?” the Doctor asked, scared to hope.

“She’s stable…finally. I’ve been giving her fluids and her vital stats are back within acceptable levels. She’s even got some color back in her cheeks. But she’s exhausted. Her body is drained. Rose needs rest. So, the two of you need to get out of this corridor and leave her be for a while.”

A big smile broke across both Jack and the Doctor’s faces as they grabbed Martha into a hug, laughing in relief. They held each other close, rejoicing in the fact that they were all alive and the worst had passed, for the moment.

“Well,” Jack breathed, relaxing back into his genial disposition. “Now that the waiting game is over, I think I’m going into the console room to get a jump on some of those repairs. Rose and I were working on it but it was slow. We only had a meager number of tools. I’m sure I can work much faster now that the Old Girl isn’t stunted by holding a paradox together.”

“Ta,” the Doctor replied, only now believing that the Captain had truly forgiven him. “But if you get tired, your room should be just how you left it.”

“Aww, you do care,” he gushed.

“Shut up.”

Jack gave a real laugh for the first time. “I love you too, Doc.”

He tried to walk away but the Time Lord grabbed his arm. “What is it Jack? What hasn’t Rose told me that’s going to change everything?”

His blue eyes sparkled with knowledge. “I think I’ll let Rose tell you that one, Doc.” He turned away, practically skipped down the grated hallways, back to the console room.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Doctor stared at Jack’ retreating back, puzzling over his cryptic words. Sighing, he turned back to Martha. “You’re sure she’ll be alright?”

“Yes, of course I’m sure Doctor,” she replied with a yawn. “I saw to her myself.”

“Martha,I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you. You’ve been brilliant, absolutely brilliant.” He grinned. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Doctor,” she dismissed. “It wasn’t as though I would let her die.”

“Maybe so,” he answered. “But you saved someone important to me when I was so blinded by fear that I couldn’t. You have no idea what that means to me.”

Martha winced and rubbed her arm.

“Are you hurt?” the Doctor asked, ghosting his hands over her shoulders, searching for an unseen injury.

She shrugged him off. “I don’t have any wounds. If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna go see to my family.”

His ears pricked at her delicate sidestep of his question, troubled by the weariness in her eyes, but the Doctor was torn. His hearts lie just beyond the infirmary door. It was distracting him. “Of course. I know that they are probably tired and confused.”

Martha nodded sadly and started to walk away. “Can I show them to some rooms here on the TARDIS where they can rest until we get home?”

“Sure, sure,” he said from behind her.

“When do you think that will be exactly?” she turned to ask him.

The Doctor was inching his way to the infirmary door but froze. “Oh,” he said rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “With Jack and I both working on it, the TARDIS should be fixed up enough in a day or so.”

She passed a critical eye over him. “Doctor.”

He raised his brows over brown eyes that were the picture of innocence. “What?”

“I mean it, you need to leave her alone for now. She needs to rest and, if I have to stay in front of this door, I will make sure she has it. Come on, surely you have something to do.”

He gave an agitated sigh. Yes, he did have many things that needed doing but, having just received such happy news, he was loath to do them.

“Well, Doctor?”

“Yes, yes of course,” he sniped.

“Good, “Martha replied, content with his answer. “I’m going to get my family now…are you coming?”

He lingered next to the infirmary door, even reaching out to give a tender brush across its surface. The Doctor’s hearts felt heavy. He would rather perform this unpleasant task with Rose at his side, but it looked as though he would face the cold reality of the Master’s funeral pyre alone. Taking a steadying breath, the Doctor followed Martha down the corridor, comforting himself with one thought. Even though he had lost one friend today, Rose was still alive and healing. What more could he really ask for?

#doctor who #the doctor #rose tyler #jack harkness #best big brother #Martha Jones #tenrose #tenxrose #the year that never was #sfw #the other side of the night #chp14

[i-am-my-own-angel]

Application for Immortality, part seven

Jake

Once home, she cooperated with me (mostly.) She put on shorts and her college hoodie, ate what she was given, and lounged on the couch.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired,” she said.

“When I first learned about Matekore, it was the same for me, being so tired. My advantage was that David delivered my Application and he had prepped me beforehand. So I and other possibles are eased into it. Even Mrs. Jenson was prepared for her Application. We’re all sorry that this shock was thrust on you like this. It’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”

“How did David tell you about it?”

“He and I had many discussions about lots of things over about two months. We talked about the theology of eternity and what we thought it would be like. We talked of angels and demons as spiritual beings, and of dreams being potential spiritual messages.”

“Do angels exist?” she asked.

“Absolutely!” I smiled.

“Have you met any?”

“Probably, but I can’t say for sure. Soph, Matekore are still humans as a species, and we’re not on the same plane as the spiritual world. I can’t visit Mom or Dad when in Matekore.” I paused. “I wish I could, but they’re in a different place than we are. Anyway, looking back, I can see that he’d been leading me to a place where I was ready to hear about it all.” I looked at her. She was still attentive, but probably needed to rest soon. “And you want to know the first words he said when he finally told me?” She nodded. “He said, ‘Fear not!’ as if he were an angel visiting a person. I didn’t know he was serious and he made me laugh. I think he meant for me to laugh. It softened the shock.”

“What did you say?”

“I asked a lot of questions, probably the same questions that you have. Like where did Matekore come from? Why are they secretive? Can they be invisible or fly? David was patient with me and explained that they are not superheroes, even with their gifts. He also told me that it wasn’t possible for me to understand everything right then and that it would take a long time to assimilate into their world. I would have to learn by being. Even that is difficult to understand but I’m learning.”

“How long have you been one?” See? Anthu and the concept of time, they just can’t get away from it.

“In Matekore, it’s impossible to say. It feels like I’m there for weeks sometimes, but then I’m back to my wamunthu body and I find it’s only been seconds in our world. But David told me about a year ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. She was indignant.

“Aren’t you listening? Because you weren’t ready, of course.” I was still her brother and we still fussed like all siblings do, even as adults. She caught my tone and knew that I was a touch irritated. “I know we share everything, Soph, but I couldn’t have told you even if I were allowed to. I didn’t know enough to explain anything. Once I did start learning, I understood the need for secrecy. You will, too.” Remember that meme with the mildly annoyed dog? She had that look on her face. I had to stifle a smile. That would have just made her mad. Neither of us needed that right now.

“How do you get there?”

“Because I’m still a catechumen, I have to use a medal as a kind of key.” I pulled a chain out from under my collar and showed it to her. She leaned forward and reached out to touch it, but hesitated. “Yes, it’s OK. Only works on me.” She caressed it for a few seconds.

“It’s just a Saint Christopher medal,” she said.

“That’s what it looks like to anthu eyes. When I want to visit, I sit down or lie down, relax my mind, and press it between my fingers. In the beginning, I wasn’t always able to enter Matekore. But after many tries, I got better with coaching from Papaz.”

“Papaz?”

“That’s David’s Name. We only use our Names with each other. I slip up sometimes and call him Father Papaz.” I smiled. “I tell people that it’s an inside joke. Papaz doesn’t seem to mind. But, now, I can go whenever I want to, but it’s not always a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because my body is still adjusting to the strain. Our mental capacity is stretched with each encounter. You don’t know it yet, but you strayed a tiny bit near a border of Matekore. It’s not a physical place, but it’s the only way to describe it to you. Our real selves, our essence, isn’t our bodies but are tied into our bodies. What we do with our bodies affects our minds. Remember that hike at Yellowstone? We were both so tired that we couldn’t think. It works the other way, too. Mental strain can wear us out. Because you weren’t ready, your mind ‘pulled a muscle’, so to speak. That’s why you’re so exhausted.”

I remembered the envelope she got yesterday. That was her ticket to Matekore. I went to get it and let her open it. It looked like an ordinary, garden variety pebble.

“This is it?” She was underwhelmed. “I would have expected a diamond or something.”

“It’s a one time only pass for Matekore. Papaz and I will work with you to start getting you ready. That is if you want to continue this?”

“What, are you new here?” I was right. She did see this as an adventure. “Of course, I do! When do we start?”

“Slow down. We aren’t in a hurry. First thing, you have to recover from this. That will take a few days. Call Dr. Tobias and tell her something so that you can take off a few days.”

Yeah, and at some point, I'm going to have to tell her that Dominic is Matekore, too. Poor girl.

----------------------------------------------------------

@callme-cursed @shikitsuka @1234yelarf @magicalus-godslayer @raccoonwitha-cypher @fuwapyon @whatsorryiwasntlistening @decisively-o-indecisive @quakeismyhero

#Application for Immortality #Creative Writing #Writing Prompt Response

[pikahlua]

Theory vs Theory: A Second Guess at Second’s Quirk

Y’all take me way too seriously sometimes.

Okay, I said I’d let y’all sit with my last theory post for a while--which was entirely meant to spark conversation, mind you. The deal is this: I had some incomplete pieces of spoilers that night and had only just sat on my translations for like an hour before I wrote my suggestion that time travel and/or alternate events/butterfly effects could play into the function of the Second’s mystery quirk. It was 3:30am and I was excited to throw an interesting idea out there, because gosh darn it that page in chapter 349 has to be hinting at something, and I’m determined to figure out what it is before the big reveal.

I want you to understand that half the time I’m throwing these theories out there, it’s because I’ve connected dots and want to see what other people will make of them. I’m not crafting a foolproof system of meta that the series must logically follow, nor am I saying I necessarily want my theories to be right (because all I’m usually saying is there’s SUPPORT for such a theory, not that I like it). So yes, these observations will contradict themselves at times, because the point is “LOOK AT THIS THING, IT COULD WORK OUT LIKE THIS MAYBE? OR MAYBE NOT? MAYBE THIS WAY?” This is guess work, friends.

I am the Todoroki Conspiracy Theorist meme given life.

Anyways, I told you that to tell you this: I have other theories.

This post isn’t even gonna go into my first guess at Second’s quirk from ages ago (the theory was a light-based quirk, btw). I’ve had further discussions with others, and I still cannot say with any certainty that I know what the mystery quirk actually is (even when I use hyperbolic titles like that for some of my posts). But this post is about those discussions, because there’s another big elephant in the room hinting at some things, and we should probably talk about it.

THEORY: Maybe the Second’s quirk has something to do with teleportation

Table of Contents I don’t need a ToC for this, we’re speedrunning it

1. Chapter 349 implies Izuku tries to use the Second’s quirk while thinking about how he could get to UA faster if only he could use faux 100%.

2. Chapter 349 isn’t the first time there have been allusions to speed/acceleration regarding the Second’s quirk. A particularly notable instance is the final page of chapter 310.

3. The series has made many allusions to the rarity and interest of warping quirks:

In the MHA canon, warping quirks are considered extremely rare

Class 1-A wondered if Mirio’s quirk was OP warping

AFO was interested in warping enough to steal a mediocre warping quirk and create a noumu specifically to combine multiple quirk factors just to create a superb warping quirk (and if you’re wondering how this ties to the Second’s quirk, see my point in the time travel theory about AFO’s obsession with OFA likely being linked to wanting the Second’s quirk)

4. A warping quirk, depending on its attributes, could require the equipment Second used on his arms (although I’m not convinced that has to be quirk-enhancing equipment like so many people seem to believe; see “red herring”).

5. I’m not saying time travel is necessarily part of Second’s quirk, but some unique version of teleportation could involve time travel, which definitely makes these two theories potentially compatible as opposed to contradictory.

The above panel is from just after Mirio vs Class 1-A, btw.

Anyways, there’s more food-for-thought for everyone. I’m tired now.

#mha 349 #mha spoilers #mha manga spoilers #my hero academia spoilers #my hero academia manga spoiler #second ofa user #second user's quirk #munch on that one #tired and mildly indignant #please stop taking me too seriously #i'm an ideas machine not a truth machine #covert venting post #meta #theory

[kariachi]

Concept: Natalie insinuates that Gwen is settling in front of quite literally any member of Kevin’s family. Responses range from pure indignance to “oh bless her heart, she thinks Tennysons are quality” depending on the specific relative.

#specifically in my head are aggy and eva #the first of which is far on the indignant side of the scale because this is his nephew- a hero and member of the imperial clan #and gwen may be quality but she's not '*settling* for a hero of the imperial clan' quality #and the other has not yet met a tennyson she liked and trusted and she's sorry but the girl is a tennyson #with no boundaries who idolizes fucking maxwell 'eva's least favorite' tennyson #as far as she's concerned her baby just has no taste #other members of the family would be nicer #but that's not as fun #kwarrel in the background mildly indignant but also not about to make a scene #just very tired #he's too old to be dealing with this shit #is this close to just grabbing the kids and wandering away #they get one proper adult figure and it's him #he never wanted this sort've pressure but no he had to adopt a disaster #from a long line of them

[hartigays]

big brain thot: wheezie being the one to get rafebarry together👀👀

“wheeze, you can’t just show up here like this.”

she hasn’t even gotten off her bicycle yet, helmet still in place and everything. she looks up at rafe with big eyes, rolling them as slowly and dramatically as humanly possible.

“i just did,” wheezie points out, unclipping her helmet and setting it in the front basket of her bike.

rafe eyes her warily, then relaxes a bit. his eyes flicker back towards the trailer. “how’d you even know i’d be here?”

“topper,” she tells him simply, shrugging.

“topper?”

another overly-dramatic eye roll. “yes, topper. he came by looking for sarah and i asked him if he knew where you were. i need help with something.”

“and topper told you i’d be here?” rafe asks, brows raised.

topper is a lot of things, but is he the type of person to send a kid to a coke dealer’s trailer? no, absolutely not.

“i encouraged him,” wheezie replies, a little too vague for rafe’s liking. he narrows his eyes and she sighs. “fine, i kicked him in the crotch until he gave it up. happy?”

rafe snorts at the mental image.

wheezie finally climbs off her bike, standing in front of rafe with her arms crossed. “so, are you going to help me or not?”

he really doesn’t want to say yes. but he’s sort of always had a soft spot for wheezie - she’s one of two people who don’t make him feel completely homicidal.

(the other is sitting back in the trailer, smoking a joint and watching some boxing match on his old as shit tv. the thing has antennas, for fuck’s sake.)

rafe glances back at the trailer again, then turns back to wheezie, scrubbing a hand over his face. “fine. but you can’t come inside, wheeze, i’m serious.”

“why, because of drugs?” wheezie snorts, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “please. i’m pretty sure you smoked weed in my room when i was like, five.”

“that’s not the point,” rafe huffs, his fuse shortening ever-so-slightly. “just tell me what you want.”

for the first time since her arrival, wheezie looks mildly uncomfortable. she bites her lip, looking towards the treeline.

“i want to learn how to fight,” she says, and her voice sounds so small that rafe sort of feels… bad.

which is like a new milestone or whatever, so this is sort of a big moment for him.

“why do you need to learn how to fight?”

wheezie doesn’t say anything for a long stretch. then, her cheeks get red, and the words burst out of her. “i’m getting picked on at school, alright? this girl keeps saying she’s going to beat me up after class and i can only hide from her for so long, you know?”

rafe is mildly taken aback, never figuring wheezie for the type to get bullied. she always seemed self-assured and well adjusted, with a sizable group of friends and an active social life. for a middle schooler, anyway.

“what’s her name?” rafe asks, indignant on his sister’s behalf.

if he had to choose a sister to be the target of bullying, it’d definitely be sarah. wheezie, on the other hand, is just a kid. and if someone is threatening to kick her ass, rafe sure as hell is going to find out who.

“i’m not telling you her name, rafe,” wheezie says. “i don’t want you going and knocking her door down to threaten her or whatever. i want you to teach me how to fight so i can hold my own.”

rafe would probably just kill the kid, not threaten her, whoever she is. but he doesn’t tell this to wheezie, biting his tongue for once.

he rocks back on his heels, then sighs, and beckons for wheezie to follow him into the trailer.

wheezie throws her arms up as if to say fucking finally, following rafe inside.

barry is still smoking on the couch, but when he sees wheezie trailing after rafe, he has the presence of mind to put the joint out with an awkward cough.

“you gonna tell me who your little friend is, country club?”

“i’m his sister, wheezie,” she says before rafe can speak, rolling her shoulders back and holding barry’s gaze steadily.

“wheezie?” barry repeats, then laughs, wagging his finger in her direction. “you funny, kid.”

wheezie gives rafe a look, clearly judging him for his choice of company.

“jury’s still out on you,” wheezie tells barry, eyeing him.

barry actually throws his head back when he laughs this time, and rafe can’t help but eye the line of his throat, his mouth going a little dry.

the worst part is, wheezie notices him staring. she raises a brow at rafe. he just coughs and looks away, regretting every decision he’s made in the last ten minutes.

“look, she wants to learn how to fight,” rafe tells barry. “i figured two heads would be better than one?”

“or you just a pussy and know you can’t beat nobody’s ass, rafe,” barry says, reclining back on the sofa, staring at him through heavily-lidded eyes.

“neither can you,” rafe reminds him.

always reminding him. where rafe has failed, barry has too. rather consistently, as a matter of fact.

“fair ‘nough,” barry says after a stretch, leaning forward again. “two heads, then.”

wheezie coughs, and they both turn to look at her. she gives them a bored look. “are you two done having a moment? or do you still need a minute? because i can step outside if- ”

“shut up, wheeze,” rafe groans, pushing her towards the couch.

they spend the next hour and a half discussing fighting techniques, and the cardinal rules of fighting. the ones rafe and barry abide by, anyway.

there aren’t many. they spend the majority of the time discussing technique.

when wheezie gets sick of listening to them yammer on about the different types of headlocks, she starts to get restless.

“oh my god, i didn’t come for the rules of fight club, alright? will one of you just show me how to punch this bitch in the face?”

both barry and rafe shut up immediately, barry’s mouth dropping open in mild surprise.

rafe just snorts, mumbling fair enough under his breath.

and that’s how rafe ends up watching barry do some sort of shadow boxing with wheezie in the living room. rafe re-lights the joint, watching the scene before him in amusement.

“no, kid, you ain’t gotta do all that fancy shit with your legs,” barry is saying at one point, then demonstrates some sort of kick for her.

rafe forgets sometimes that barry has military training, and despite the fact that he gets his ass beat on a regular basis, he’s a pretty damn good teacher.

the joint is long gone by the time wheezie looks at her watch, cursing.

“shit. rose is gonna kill me,” wheezie mutters, fumbling for her phone.

“just tell her you’re staying at a friend’s,” rafe suggests. “it’s too dark for you to bike back anyway.”

“you could always drive me, you know,” wheezie reminds him. then, her eyes flicker down to what’s left of the joint (basically, the filter) and backtracks. “well, he could.”

she’s pointing at barry, and barry shrugs.

rafe, however, finds himself wanting wheezie to stay. dare he say it, he might’ve actually missed his sister.

he’s pretty sure he’ll regret it later, but regardless he says, “we’ll get you something to eat and you can crash here if you’re too tired to go home after.”

something to eat ends up being freezer-burnt pizza rolls, but wheezie doesn’t complain. she eats her food while scrolling through her phone, glancing up at rafe and barry every now and then.

they’re conversing quietly about a drug deal they have set up later, a big one. rafe doesn’t think wheezie is listening, but he also doesn’t notice the way she keeps glancing up at them, her eyes flickering between them with an unreadable look on her face.

and then, out of nowhere, “are you guys dating?”

rafe looks at her sharply and he sees barry do the same out of the corner of his eye. barry’s mouth had shut so quickly that his teeth clacked together, and rafe can see him rubbing at his jaw.

“what the hell, wheeze?”

wheezie raises her hands in mock-surrender, but still rolls her eyes. “it’s just a question, geez. but thanks for the answer.”

“the fuck is she talkin’ about?” barry asks, his gaze flickering between rafe and wheezie.

“you two,” wheezie explains slowly, looking almost bored. again. rafe is starting to think he’s had a bad influence on her. “you’re dating, right? like that’s why you’re always here, right?”

the latter question is directed towards rafe, and he feels his stupid cheeks betray him, burning red.

“oh, right. you’re men, of course you haven’t talked about it,” wheezie sighs, then stands up and brushes invisible crumbs off her shorts. “well, i conveniently have to use the bathroom, so. use this time wisely, i guess?”

then wheezie disappears from the small kitchen, leaving rafe and barry sitting in thick, palpable silence.

“so… what the fuck just happened?” rafe asks when he can’t take the uncomfortable silence any longer, pointedly not looking at barry.

when barry shifts in his seat, rafe can feel it, and he realizes all at once just how close they’re sitting.

“she thinks… “ barry trails off, shifting in his seat again.

“that we’re dating,” rafe finishes, swallowing around the golf ball-sized lump that has mysteriously appeared in his throat.

rafe can feel barry looking at him. he can feel the heat of his gaze, and wow, wheezie is taking a really long time in the bathroom.

“that what we been doing, country club?” barry asks, and rafe looks over at him so quickly that his neck pops.

rafe searches barry’s face for any trace of humor, but comes up empty.

they’ve been practically living together for months, ever since rafe gave up trying to please ward and joined barry’s little side business. and if he really thinks about it, they have lapsed into something almost nauseatingly domestic.

it’s like. like rafe’s been in this weird, fucked up relationship this whole time, and he’s just now realizing it. and realizing, at the same time, that he doesn’t want it to end now that wheezie has gutted them both and laid everything out in the open, where neither of them can hide.

jesus fucking christ, is he in love with barry? barry the drug dealer?

well, rafe supposes that’s what he would call himself now, too, so. maybe it makes some sort of sense after all.

“i don’t think so, but i think we should now,” rafe finally says. he doesn’t know why he says that last bit, it just sort of slips out before he realizes what he’s saying.

but he doesn’t take it back either.

barry is too quiet next to him. the silence goes on for far too long, and rafe is starting to debate internally whether or not he should dump wheezie’s body in the swamp or somewhere off shore.

finally, barry speaks. “startin’ to think you may be onto somethin’, rafe cameron.”

“so is that a yes?” rafe huffs, already feeling exposed enough as it is. he doesn’t need barry speaking in shades of gray.

suddenly, there are fingers wrapping around his jaw, gentler than rafe would’ve anticipated, and then barry is turning rafe’s head and kissing him.

like, really kissing him. rafe feels like he’s being turned inside out, his insides shifting and adjusting, rearranging and adapting to make room for barry.

it’s not a particularly long kiss, but it’s sure as hell the best one rafe has experienced in his life.

“they teach you that in the army?” rafe asks when barry pulls away, aiming for nonchalant but failing due to the heavy rise and fall of his chest. and the fact that he can’t stop staring at barry’s mouth.

barry just smacks the back of rafe’s head, shoving him lightly. “get the fuck out my kitchen, country club.”

rafe is about to respond when the bathroom door opens, and wheezie pokes her head out.

“ugh, thank god you’re finally done. you should invest in a bathroom fan, you know,” wheezie tells barry, “i could literally hear everything.”

she shudders and gags, barry laughs, and rafe vaults himself out the nearest window.

well, he tries to. barry catches him by the waist easily, dragging him back into his seat. wheezie just rolls her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“okay, well, since you’re done being a drama queen, i think i’d like that ride home now.”

#rafebarry #outer banks #fanon rafe and canon rafe my beloveds #thank u for the request!! <3 #my fics #ask #anon

[dothwrites]

For your wine o’clock- maybe something in honor of Taylor Swifts rerelease of her Red album, something with Cas and his pop girlies? Like hearing a song that gives him that ‘oh’ or an impala soundtrack to some destiel shenanigans? Enjoy the wine!

bless you. wine o'clock is always the best hour. ❤️

---

"turn that shit off."

castiel turns with some surprise to look at dean. dean looks determinedly out the windshield of the impala, but castiel sees the small tick in his jaw. dean is pissed, though at what, remains a mystery.

"I like this album," Castiel protests mildly. "and you said i could pick the music."

against their disagreement, taylor swift's album 'folklore' plays. the music seems discordant against the emotions swirling around them. castiel finds himself mostly serene, but dean's fingers are twitching against the steering wheel, and his jaw is tightly clenched.

"yeah, well. driver picks the music, shotgun shuts their cakehole."

"you said I could pick," castiel stubbornly insists. it's not particularly that he wants to hear this album (though he does), but more dean's persistent refusal to hear any of the album. there's a deeper issue here, one that's more interesting and deeper than a simple dislike for pop music.

"pull over," castiel says suddenly, and the command is enough to make dean's fingers twitch on the steering wheel. "pull over," he demands, when dean looks like he's hesitating.

there's a second where castiel thinks dean is going to refuse, but then dean sighs, like castiel is interrupting his whole afternoon, before he pulls onto the dirt shoulder. the impala's tires bounce, but she's a sturdy vehicle and doesn't give much more than a token protest.

"what's your problem with the song?" castiel asks, keeping his tone mild. if he approaches like he's attacking, then dean will respond in kind, and the real point of the matter will be lost.

"i just don't like it," dean insists. he's clenching his jaw hard enough to crush diamonds.

"dean," castiel insists, and at the soft sound of his name, dean explodes.

"it's the fucking... the..." dean gestures at the stereo, helpless indignity in his expression.

beyond them, taylor swift sings: and i can go anywhere i want/anywhere i want, just not home, and castiel starts to understand.

"dean," he says softly, daring to place a hand on dean's arm, "you know I don't..."

"i kicked you out," dean says, his voice thick with restrained emotion. "you were human, and i..."

"i'm not angry," castiel interrupts, and dean snorts.

"i was at first," he continues, keeping his voice serene against the surging tempest of dean's emotions. "but then i realized you were just trying to keep your brother safe."

"It doesn't..." dean tries, and then starts again. "i shouldn't have..."

"no, you shouldn't have," castiel says, squeezing dean's arm when he senses him retreating behind the supposed anger. "but that was so long ago. and we're here now. who's to say that we would be here without you having done that?"

"who's to say we wouldn't have wound up here a lot sooner?" dean shoots back. when he dares to look at castiel, there are tears gleaming in the corner of his eyes.

"i don't know." castiel dares to slide his hand up dean's arm, to his shoulder, to press against the bolt of his jaw. he presses his thumb against dean's pulse until dean's jaw relaxes. "but i know that i like where we are now. and i wouldn't give that up for anything in the world."

dean sniffles. "fucking taylor swift," he says, his voice thick. he ducks his head, hiding his reactions.

"i know you like her music," castiel dares after a second.

"sam's a fucking bitch," dean says, his voice thick and muffled against his shoulder. he sniffles with a huge, wet sound.

"you told me that. one night, after you'd been drinking and i put you to bed," castiel offers. "you asked me to put 'shake it off' on."

"fuck," dean sighs, turning the single syllable into eight. "i forgot that."

"you were very humorous that night," castiel tries, like that's going to make things better.

dean doesn't respond, not that castiel expects him to. he knows that, even now, without the spectre of his father looming large over him, dean struggles with his own self-image. admitting that he enjoys this music would be one step too far. but castiel can still poke.

"do you want me to switch songs?" he asks.

dean labors underneath an invisible weight for a long moment before he sighs. "no." he looks towards castiel, his eyes red-rimmed, but a small smile tugging at his mouth. "i'm glad you're here, cas."

"i'm glad I am too," castiel answers, his own smile tugging at his mouth.

"good," dean says, using the word to bolster himself. "good." he inhales once, and inhales again. "that's good."

after a moment, dean rubs the back of his hand against his eyes. He jerks the steering wheel so that impala rumbles against the asphalt once more, but this time, as the double yellow lines flash by them, he reaches out for castiel's hand.

castiel wraps his fingers around dean's, and that's how they spend the rest of the trip, as taylor's voice serenades them through the miles.

---

#destiel #destiel fanfic #destiel fic #deancas #destiel ficlet #dean is a swiftie and no one will convince me otherwise #if this isn't what you wanted friend i'm so sorry #but this lyric has always struck home for me #concerning this situation #and i just wanted to address this issue #dothwrites #open inbox hours

[bukojuiice]

blue lagoon — gojo satoru

ೃ pairing: gojo satoru x fem! reader

ೃ  tags: smut 18+ (the rest of the tags are below the cut!)

ೃ  warnings: nsfw

ೃ wc: 2771 words

ೃ  Gojo Satoru’s high profile sorcerer life is plagued by malicious and good for nothing rumors that describe and entail him as a pompous casanova. To finally debunk said rumors, he comes to you, his loving girlfriend, for advice on how to publicly announce your relationship with him. all it takes is some loving and some teasing from you to finally gain the courage and come to his senses.

additional tags: teasing, bathroom sex, and overstimulation (enjoy!)

A skirt-chaser, womanizer, and possibly a gallivanter who jumps from woman to woman.

That’s mostly the perception that people have about him.

He was just too good to be true.

They didn’t dare to think that Gojo Satoru would be a perfect man on his own.

There should always be a catch.

Handsome, possibly the strongest sorcerer known to man, charming, tall, and sexy, and not to mention, a bad-ass.

No one could just act that part casually and nonchalantly without hiding some skeletons in the closet, right?

Even his three first-year students, who had some assumptions and have heard some rumors that maybe their beloved teacher was a ladies’ man who could possibly never just have one significant other in his life.

They were wrong. All of them are wrong.

There was you.

The first woman he fell in love with and the woman he would come back home to after a tiring day.

He met you when you were casually roaming about the blinding lights district that was Shinjuku, catching the next train ride home.

Just a small-town girl… living in a lonely world... she took the midnight train going anywhere…

The moment he saw you, he was entranced.

He stopped in his tracks, taking in your beauty as you continuously walk farther and farther away from him.

Gojo knew he had to find you again.

And as fate would have it, the two of you end up catching the same train, a week later. Engaged in small talk, some laughs and giggles, and you were automatically charmed by his personality and looks. The two of you then went on some casual dates before taking a few steps further, and now, here you are. It’s been a year and a half since you two started dating.

The white-haired man needed to shut down these rumors, once and for all.

He wants to proudly tell everybody that there was only one woman in his life and this woman is one worth spending the rest of his life with.

So, as he meets with you tonight in your apartment like he always does, he wants to ask you for advice on how to do so.

Only problem is, how can he be honest with you like this?

What if you react differently and be taken aback over the fact that the two of you aren’t necessarily considered as official yet on his side of things?

You bob your head up at the sound of your apartment door unlocking. Your captivating boyfriend enters inside, a soft and loving smile appearing on his face as soon as he sees you.

“Sorry if I’m a bit late today.” He pardons himself but you shake your head as you stood up from your seat to run towards him, enveloping him in an amorous hug. “It’s alright babe. Have you had dinner already?” You ask innocently, tiptoeing just a little bit to give him a greeting peck on the lips.

“Yup.” He says popping the p, trying his best to emanate his usual playful and energetic aura, As the two of you break free from the hug. He begins to stretch his arms and shoulders, groaning in the process. “I’m a bit soar though. Is it alright if I take a bath?”

“Of course, love! The water’s ready actually. I just poured in some hot water in the bath for my nightly wash, thinking you won’t arrive tonight.”

“A-aaaah! I’m sorry for making you wait!” He pulls you in for another hug, peppering kisses on your cheek, giggling as he does so. “What can I possibly do to cheer you up my mistress!?”

“Pfft. Like I said, It’s alright, my love. Just get in the tub, ‘Toru.” You laugh, pushing him away playfully as he heads for your bathroom. But before he completely enters, he steps back a little, turning to you dramatically.

“Oh, my woman, why must you wound me?”

You laugh once again at his little dramatic quip as you shoo him away.

Whilst waiting for Satoru to finish by waiting for him at the door, you feel as if there’s a strange air between the two of you. Like he was hiding something. You had to get him to talk and bare his heart to you and as your mind begins to think up ideas faster speed of light, you feel a lightbulb light up in your head.

What if you went inside the bathroom and surprise him? After all, despite his very tall yet alluring height, the two of you would fit perfectly in the Japanese tub you recently just bought with him in during your monthly IKEA.

It was perfect.

You quickly make loose of your clothes, dashing into the bathroom and make a beeline towards Gojo who was chilling in the tub, head most probably in the clouds, aimlessly playing with the bubbles in the tub.

Just from looking at him like this, you know something was up.

After you wet yourself down, you hop into the tub with Gojo.  As soon as he sees you dip in, he snaps back into reality, slightly bewildered and mouth agape at the sight of your beauty as you sit comfortably in front of him.

“(Y/N)!” He slightly jerks up from his position, but quickly recovers by pulling a playful pout. “I didn’t expect you to just barge in on me like this…” His fingers trace circles around your shoulder and then around the base of your neck, earning whimpers from you.

You lean back against him, and you feel him tense up even more at the touch of your bodies. “Toru… is there something up? Something you’re not telling me? You’ve been down in the dumps today…” You continue to lounge in the water, letting out a content yet exasperated sigh. Behind you, Gojo smiles half-heartedly.

If only he could tell you these conflicted emotions he’s been feeling recently.

“Everything’s fine love. Don’t worry.” He says in his usual cheeky and smug tone. He licks his lips seductively; lust fills his ethereal azure eyes as you feel Satoru’s hard cock against your ass. You perk up and push back against it slightly to get a better feel.

Gojo doesn’t react, but you hear him gulp down a lump on his throat, so you quietly reach your hand until-

“Not in the bathtub missy.” He teases you playfully, combing his hand through your mildly wet hair. “Wait just a l-little bit moree.”

Why does this man have to play with you like this?

You turn to him, the water rippling with you, shooting him an indignant stare as you lift your hands out of the water to show him you’ll behave. He sighs skittishly at the disappointed look you just gave him right now, getting goosebumps as you feel his breath against the back of your neck.

Gojo’s natural scent mixes with the bath’s hot steam. Somehow, it calms you down and gets you excited at the same time. He notices you shiver a bit as the cold breeze of wind passes by the two of you. This gives him another chance to tease you again.

“Keep your shoulders under the water so that you stay warm. It’ll help soothe away your fatigue. You had a long day today, after all~”

You roll your eyes, turning to him once more, cupping his cheek. “Pleaseeeee. You’ve had an even more draining day than I did as always.”

Gojo scoops up some bathwater, and began pouring it over your shoulders. Resulting in you relaxing even further in his arms.

Here you were right in front of him.

Completely bare and naked. Waiting for him to ravage you.

He just couldn’t help it. The teasing didn’t satisfy him enough, and now that the two of you are lying comfortably in this huge-ass bathtub, might as well use it all to your advantage, right?

Satoru’s carnal instincts kick in and all of a sudden, before you could even react probably, he grabs your boobs. Gently squeezing them and flicking your now perked up nipples. You mewl at his every touch, his touch feeling a bit more intense when it’s wet.

He pauses for a moment… and then,

“Shall we continue?”

“T-toru please… yes.” You say in between moans as he squeezes your breasts a little tighter, digging his fingers in.

“A-ah… that feels so good.”

Your white-haired lover smirks, pinching your nipples once more, steamy warmth radiating from his hands.

“They’re extra smooth and squishy today.” He teases once again, giving them an extra squeeze, earning giggles from you as his hands wander south. You practically twitch as a result of the combined stimulations that Satoru was giving you, as water flows out of the tub.

Meanwhile, you can feel that Gojo’s cock is at full mast now.

You scoot backwards a bit, spreading your legs wide so that you can get a good look at it.

Just then, Gojo’s hand comes into view as he reaches down to play with your clit. You continue to lull your head back, your bodies pressing even more than before as you feel a different sort of wetness between your legs, so you keep letting him do his thing.

“’Toru… put it in me.” You whisper in between your moans once more, the rush of sudden arousal and excitement coursing through your veins.

“Sure, I could do that, but… is it safe to have sex underwater?” He chuckles to his own joke, slightly ruining the momentum. You were about to react and shoot him a glare again but you knew that this was your time to get back at him.

You reach down and stroke the underside of his huge cock. Gojo moans softly at your sudden gesture, and he immediately bites down on your earlobe, almost reflexively.

“(Y/N)… who gave you the right to be this damn beautiful?” He licks and nibbles your neck carefully, making sure not to leave any obvious marks, making you shiver with anticipation and desire.

Your loud and his soft moans mix together like a harmonious tune, Satoru knew that he had to take this a step further now, holding you by the waist, and tracing circles on your stomach to try and ease you before hie makes his big move.

“I’m going to put it in now, okay? So, take a deep breath and just relax… stay right there and I’ll do the rest~” He whispers to your ear softly as you assume the position and Gojo slides his cock inside of you.

You mewl and cover your mouth as soon you feel his huge throbbing cock penetrate your insides. Your mind goes hazy for a moment as you feel all the ecstasy and excitement circulate around your body all at the same time, as you continue to stay in position for him to continue his full entrance.

“A-ah.. I f-feel it!” You murmur, your hand still covering your mouth.

“(Y/N)! You’re so tight!” Maybe it’s just the water, but Gojo’s cock feel way warmer than usual. Was it the stimulation or the fact that this was your first time doing it in the tub of all places?

The two of you pause for a moment to let your bodies adjust… then Gojo bounces you on his cock like you were a ragdoll.

“(Y/N)… if this hurts, please tell me alright? I’ll stop if you say so.” He says in between hitched breaths as he continues to bounce you up and down, each movement eliciting a loud and hot moan from you, you shake your head from side to side to let him know that it’s alright and he can keep going.

Over and over, he slams into your deepest parts, and before long you can’t feel your legs anymore from all this excitement and energy you were releasing.

“T-toru! Fuck me harder!” You finally scream out on the top of your lungs, and you notice Gojo slow his movements for just a second to process what you had just said as he continues.

With each motion, the bathwater ripples and rocks, loudly splashing over the edge and onto the floor. As Satoru continues to thrust, he wraps his arms around you from behind, holding you tight.

“(Y/N)!”

Gojo presses his face against your shoulder, kissing and nibbling every soft spot he could find. Your mind becomes blank again and you couldn’t do anything but continue bucking your hips to the rhythm, riding out the ecstasy.

Your pussy has become a revolving door of cock-water-cock-water. The heat making your brain all fuzzy.

“(Y/N)! I love you! This feels incredible… I’m a-about to!”

“I-I love you too…” You breathe heavily, your thighs slap together with increasing frequency, climax right around the corner.

“(Y/N)! I’m cumming!”

“A-ah! M-me too!”

His cock swells up inside of you, filling you with liquid even hotter than the bathwater. Your mind melts to mush as you achieve an absolutely transcendent orgasm.

Gojo continues to hold you in place as he empties all his load inside of you. You rest your weight against him as you come down from the climax, his cum trickling out of you and mixing with the bathwater.

“T-that was amazing…” You giggle, still trying to catch your breath as your boyfriend laughs along with you.

“I feel like I kinda lost control there.” says Gojo, who was trying to catch his breath just as much as you were.

“N-no… it’s alright.” You turn your head to him once again, cupping his cheek. Even after the orgasm, his cock is still hard enough to stay inside you.

“I think we spent too much time here.” Gojo whispers, resting his head on your shoulder. “The water’s getting cold and we can’t just sit here foreverrrr.” He pouts and you pat his head. You honestly bet he still enjoys the way your bodies are still perfectly connected, but alas, it was time to clean up.

“Alright. Alright. Let’s get out of here.”

Desperately suppressing the urge to keep fooling around, you get out of the tub. Gojo follows you out and the two of you have a quick shower. The two of you walk back to your room, hand in hand, with nothing but a towel before retreating to your room.

This is where he finally pops the question.

Waiting for you to finish drying your hair up, Gojo is laying down on your bed with newly laundered clothes he leaves at your apartment for whenever he sleeps over. He stares up at the ceiling, waiting for you to spark up a conversation. He takes a deep breath and sits up from the bed, watching you lovingly as you blow dry your hair.

“I need to tell you something…” He finally speaks up, fiddling with his hands as he says so. “The people in Jujutsu High don’t know we’re an item? Like- They have no idea that I have an absolutely amazing girlfriend and they think that I’m this shitty womanizer who only puts up a front-“

“Woah… calm down love.” You approach him, sitting beside him on the bed, a bit sad that your boyfriend fumbling with his words which was very unlikely and out of character for him. “Look, if you think it’s the right and appropriate time to tell them, then tell them. I’ll always be here to support you through every step of the way. I know it’s tough and I know they’ll relentlessly continue their shitty assumptions about you, but, I’m here now okay? I’ll be here for you.” You stand up from the bed, planting a kiss on his forehead. “I love you. You’re the best sorcerer out there and the most confident and loving man I know- let the haters hate.”

He looks up at you, his cerulean eyes sparkling in the dim bedroom light.

“I love you too.” He replies, finally, a soft and genuine smile appears on his face for the very first time tonight. “I guess I gotta get new haters since the old ones are starting to like me huh?”

“Now, let’s get to bed.”

“Awee. Shall we go for another round?”

“Toru… no.”

“Phah! Says the girl who literally went inside the tub with me like it was nothing!”

“My legs feel like jelly already… no.”

attempted to write this faster than the speed of light as soon as i finished watching jjk!!

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader smut