#he'd get bored without a planet to run around in

[orphic-gaze]

the way ppl talk about bart like he's not a person but an event that happens is so funny to me

wally why r u wrought with PTSD over ur 15 yr old cousin . there is a larger crisis going on my guy

wally when bart exists anywhere in any dimension ever during the 90's:

[dumbgoondog]

Jealous, Much? (P1)

Cw/Tw- Jealousy, possessiveness, threats

Tags- GN!Reader, pre-established relationship

Ft. Gojo, Geto, Nanami, and Choso

First chunk is exposition, then it’s the boys. What happens when your man sees you being flirted with?

PRELUDE

When a guy slides up next to you at the bar, grinning like he’d just won the lottery, you didn’t immediately brush him off. Mostly because he wasn’t annoying—yet—and partly because you were curious to see how far he'd go before he took the hint.

“Did it hurt?” he asked, eyes gleaming with anticipation.

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“When you fell from heaven,” he clarified, finger-gunning with zero irony. You actually laughed—not with him, more at him, but he didn’t seem to notice the difference.

“Wow,” you mused. “That’s vintage. Do you dust that one off for special occasions?”

He chuckled like you were flirting back. “Only when I see someone who makes it worth it.”

You rested your elbow on the bar and gave him a look, still smiling. He wasn’t threatening, just... kind of ridiculous. He probably meant well. Or maybe he was just drunk enough to think he stood a chance. Either way, it was easier to play along with a few sarcastic quips than to go full shutdown mode. You figured he’d get bored eventually… He didn’t.

“I’m serious,” he went on. “You’ve got this whole mysterious vibe. Like... someone with stories. I could listen to you talk all night.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“Then tell me.”

You tapped your fingers on your glass, swirling the last bit of your drink. “That’s usually how conversations go, huh? I tell you my name, then what? You try to guess my favorite color?”

“Let me guess—black,” he said confidently, eyes flicking to your outfit.

You snorted. “Wow. You cracked the code.”

He leaned in a little closer, clearly not getting the hint—or maybe refusing to. “You’ve got a great laugh, y’know that?”

You smile and roll your eyes, your boyfriend should have been here by now, and glancing to the clock? Oh he should’ve been here 10 minutes ago! Where is that-

SATORU GOJO

“Hey baby.”

The hand snakes around your waist and you feel that familiar sensation of what you’d describe as wind whipping past when riding a bike. Infinity. You’re straightening up though now, the nickname a giveaway that Toru isn’t as amused as you are with this guy.

“Huh? Who’s this, Angel?” The guy asks maybe starting to realize or maybe thinking it’s another guy to hit on you. Toru’s cursed energy prickles and spits at the nickname, like a mosquito just bit him. You were going to say anything but Satoru is already speaking, looking this guy over with a raised brow and his lips in a unamused pout.

“Who’s this?” Satoru repeats, his voice deceptively light. The kind of light that means someone might be about to have a very bad night. He doesn’t even glance at you, all his attention zeroed in on the guy like he’s calculating how many ways he could erase him from the planet—and which would be the most entertaining.

You recognize the look in his eye. It's not rage, not jealousy exactly. It's territorial. Protective. That unshakable confidence wrapped in smug arrogance that only Satoru Gojo can carry without getting punched in the face—most of the time.

The guy’s smile falters. “I was just talking to them, man. Didn’t know they were taken.”

“Mmm,” Gojo hums, pulling you tighter against him. “They are taken. Very taken. As in, point and home run taken.”

You elbow him in the ribs for that one, but it only makes him grin wider.

“Hey, no hard feelings,” the guy says, holding up his hands and starting to back off. “They didn’t say anything about a boyfriend.”

Gojo’s head tilts. “Well, maybe they were enjoying watching you crash and burn in slow motion. They do have a sense of humor.”

You bite your lip to hide your laugh, but it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“And for the record,” Gojo adds, slipping off his blindfold so the guy gets a clear look at those glowing blue eyes, “next time you use a pick-up line like that, make sure the person you’re talking to doesn’t already have the strongest sorcerer in the world wrapped around their finger.”

“Wha—?” the guy mutters, clearly confused now, staring between the two of you like maybe he missed a step.

“Oh,” you say, finally speaking up, resting your hand over Gojo’s. “This is Satoru Gojo. He’s... complicated. And very dramatic.”

Gojo gasps. “Rude! I bring you flowers once and now I’m dramatic?”

“You got them from Italy, Satoru.”

“Romance isn’t dead!”

The guy is already gone by now, muttering something under his breath as he retreats. Gojo watches him go with narrowed eyes, then finally turns to you, lips tugging into a pout that’s almost convincing.

“I was only ten minutes late,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “And look what happens. My sweetheart gets hit on by guys with middle school flirting skills.”

“More like fifth grade,” you mutter, but you’re already smiling again. “You’re lucky I was just bored and not tempted.”

“Tempted? Tempted?!” Gojo gasps again, hand clutching his chest like he’s been shot. “You wound me, angel.”

“Keep calling me that and I might actually leave with someone else next time.”

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “No you won’t. Because no one else makes you laugh like I do.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers lace with his anyway. He's right. And he knows it.

“C’mon,” he says, dragging you off the barstool like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s go somewhere less... pedestrian. I owe you a real date.”

“You owe me two.”

“Fine. Two dates. And dessert.”

“And flowers?”

He grins. “You drive a hard bargain.”

You don’t look back. Neither does he. And the night, finally, starts to feel like yours again.

SUGURU GETO

“Hey.”

The voice behind you is calm. Unhurried. But it settles like a weight in your chest, immediately familiar—low, smooth, and with just enough edge to make your skin prickle.

You glance back, and there he is: Suguru Geto, dressed down but somehow still managing to look like power incarnate in a black button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark hair tied back like he hadn’t rushed at all… even though he absolutely did.

His eyes flicker past you to the guy at the bar, not bothering to hide the calculation in them. And just like that, the easy buzz of the night turns thick. The air shifts. Tense.

You open your mouth to say something—maybe a casual “Hey, you’re late,” maybe a warning not to hex the guy into another plane—but Suguru moves first. Not with violence. Just presence.

He steps in close behind you, hand sliding around your waist like it belongs there—because it does—fingers splaying firm over your side. There’s nothing showy about it. It’s not possessive. Just final. Like a signature.

“Oh,” the guy says, straightening up, smile faltering. “Didn’t realize you were, uh… waiting on someone.”

“I was,” you nervously chuckle, “And he’s very late.”

Geto doesn’t break eye contact with the guy. His mouth curves into something polite, but the warmth doesn’t reach his eyes. “Traffic.”

“Traffic,” you echo dryly.

“There was a... delay.”Translation: Gojo. You sigh internally.

The guy shifts awkwardly. “Well, uh, I wasn’t trying to step on any toes.”

Suguru smiles now, slow and knowing. “you stepped on mine anyway.”

The man goes pale. “Right—uh—yeah.” He slides off his stool and makes a hasty exit, muttering an apology to no one in particular. Silence lingers for a beat after he’s gone.

“You were late,” you say, turning slightly to face Suguru, your hand resting on his chest. “And you missed the pick-up line of the century!”

“Let me guess,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle under your chin, lifting it just enough to meet your eyes. “Something about heaven?”

You laugh. “You did hear him!”

“I didn’t like how close it was,” he murmurs into your ear. “Didn’t like the way that monkey was looking at you.”

“You don’t like anyone looking at me.”

“Touché,” he laughs, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You raise an eyebrow. “So, what, if he hadn’t backed off, you were gonna sick curses on him?”

Suguru hums, noncommittal. “Wasn’t sure yet. I was weighing options.”

You laugh now giving a smack to his chest, “You're lucky I was bored and not tempted!”

His gaze flickers to yours again, sharper this time. “I’m not worried about temptation.“

You search his face for a second, and something softens in you. He doesn’t need to say it aloud, but you knew if you asked—“You're mine. I’m yours. That doesn’t change.”

“Good,” you chirp, kissing his cheek. “Because next time you're late, I’m making that guy buy me two drinks.”

Suguru grins. “Next time let’s just have Larou or Miguel cook for a home date hmm?”

Then he pauses. “Actually… next time, I’ll just bring you with me.”

You smile. Yeah. That sounds more like him.

KENTO NANAMI

“Apologies.”

A new voice cut through the noise. Calm. Deep. Precise.

You didn’t need to turn around. The shift in the atmosphere was immediate. Your shoulders relaxed. Your drink suddenly tasted better.

The guy blinked in confusion as Kento stepped into your space, not quite brushing you, but close enough that you could feel the warmth of him. His hand resting on the back of your chair.

Nanami adjusted his tie with one hand, gaze directed firmly at the man beside you. Not angry. Not even annoyed. Just... done.

“I believe you’re in my seat,” he said simply.

“Wha—?” the guy stammered. “I was just talking to them.”

“So I gathered.” Nanami’s expression didn’t change. “And now you’re done.”

The guy laughed, weakly. “Hey, look, no offense, man. I didn’t know they were with anyone—”

“They are.”

You didn’t even need to say anything. Nanami was already calmly intercepting, laying down the boundary like it was protocol. Professional. Efficient.

The guy raised his hands and stood up, clearly deciding not to argue with someone who looked like he could file a tax return and break your wrist in the same motion. “Alright, alright. Chill, man.”

Nanami didn’t respond. He waited until the guy disappeared into the crowd before turning to you. His expression softened marginally.

“Sorry I’m late.”

You gave him a dry look. “That was almost twenty minutes, Kento.”

“There was a call from the higher-ups,” he said, and you could already hear the disdain layered into the words. “It ran longer than necessary.”

“You didn’t pick up when I called.”

“I didn’t want to answer in the middle of a meeting just to say, ‘Yes, I’m still being held hostage by incompetence.’”

You huffed a quiet laugh, then let your fingers slip over his wrist, tugging him into the seat beside you.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself,” he noted as he sat. “Am I interrupting?”

“Oh, absolutely. He was this close to asking me my name after 15 minutes of failed pick up lines.”

Nanami arched a brow. “Wow.”

You raised your glass in mock toast. “And he still didn’t even get it.”

A faint smile touched his lips as he reached for your hand under the bar, lacing his fingers with yours.

“Next time,” he said, “you’re not waiting alone.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean you should have to.”

You didn’t argue. Not because you agreed, necessarily—but because Nanami didn’t say things he didn’t mean. And behind every calm word, every small gesture, there was always care. Consideration. The kind that said: you matter. I saw you. I came for you.

And just like that, the rest of the night felt right again. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just... steady. Safe.

CHOSO KAMO

“Your name, is it Mine?” he added, leaning in like that would help his case. You were seconds from telling him your very large, very intense, sometimes-blood-covered boyfriend would be here any minute, when—

“Back away from them.” The voice wasn’t loud. But it didn’t need to be. Low. Flat. Final.

Your shoulders dropped in relief even before you turned. The guy next to you froze, his smile faltering as Choso stepped into view.

He wasn’t glaring. Not exactly. But something about his presence—the stiff set of his shoulders, the way his eyes never left the man’s face—spoke louder than any threat could.

“Uh,” the guy said, eyes flicking between you and Choso. “Hey, man, we were just talking—”

“No.” Choso's tone sharpened like a blade. “You were talking. They weren’t interested.”

You placed a hand on Choso’s arm, trying to gently keep him from escalating. Feeling your hand his gaze flickers briefly down to you, then back up like he was recalibrating how mad he could get with you so close.

The guy laughed nervously. “Alright, alright. Didn’t realize they were taken.”

“You did. You just didn’t care.” Choso’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the cursed energy rolled off him in a low, unseen pulse. Not enough to draw attention—but enough to make the man shift uneasy.

“Okay,” the guy muttered, backing off. “I’m gone.”

Once he was gone, Choso turned to you, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over the fabric of his sleeve. “He was just annoying.”

Choso nodded slowly. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.”

“You’re late,” you said not to accuse, just to shift the mood. “I thought you got lost.”

“I didn’t,” he said, glancing down. “I stopped by the market. I thought you’d want these.”

He pulled something from his vest—a little bundle of dried flowers. They weren’t pretty in a traditional sense. No roses. No bright colors. But they were carefully chosen: yarrow, mugwort, something fragrant and earthy you couldn’t quite place.

“Protection,” he murmured. “Old ones. For wards.”

You blinked. “You brought me spell herbs instead of regular flowers?”

“Yes,” he said, completely sincere. “Why would I not?”

Your mouth twitched. You took the little bundle from him and held it to your chest, “I love them,”

Choso visibly relaxed. The last of the tension left his shoulders as he pulled you in gently, like you were something he could still break if he wasn’t careful.

“I should’ve been here sooner,” he whispered.

“You’re here now,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “And you brought me anti-creep herbs. I think that evens it out.”

He didn’t smile exactly—but his eyes softened and when his arms wrapped around you, shielding you from the rest of the bar, the world finally felt quiet again.

[mindless-existence1]

More sfw Mha boyfriend headcanons

Authors note: Kinda a part 2 but does relate to the other one at all. My friend helped me with the Ida stuff so thanks pookie. Also this is kinda an in-between fic just so then I can keep myself motivated to write the requests I have

Contents: I think like one curse word

Pt1

Mha Masterlist

My Masterlist

Includes: Bakugo, Denki, Ida, and Tokoyami

Ida would schedule times to hang out with you when he's free. Not because he like hates you or smth but he just has a very set schedule he likes to stick to. If you want to hang out outside of the set time then most likely it'll turn into a study date.

Denki is a yapper and he often yaps about you. His poor friends have to deal with him mentioning you constantly. Something completely random comes up and he's going "Oh I remember y/n was talking about that one time, speaking of them..." he's a simple man you loves his partner.

Tokoyami is a drawer I feel. He'd have a sketch book/journal he carries around for sure. In a not creepy way he'd draw yiu a lot. Like a muse kind of way. He'd never show you butbthen you find it and he has to explain how he just finds you so perfect and then after that he shows you his drawings.

Bakugo would definitely not even realize how in love with you he is untill kirishima or someone mentions it and then he's noticing how different he acts with you. Have him tied around you damn finger.

Ida definitely wakes up hella early to exercise and specifically run (obviously). He'll try to get you to wake up early to but often times he wants to wake up way to early. You just kiss him goodbye most mornings and fall promptly back to sleep.

Tokoyami is a poet I bet. Or at least a song writer which is basically the same thing. His muse? You. In his journel/sketch book he has poems along with the drawings. Another thing he's probably embarrassed about bit high key he's just in love. He has so much to say but is too embarrassed to say it.

Denki would love to share headphones with you. I fear his tase in music would either be shit or the best in the planet. If it's bad you help him shape it to be better. He'd love to keep his in during class so then he can think about you isntead of whatever boring thing you are getting taught. Also I fear he'd forget to charge them all the time.

Bakugo is the type of guy to tell you no while simultaneously doing it. Like you ask him "could you get me a glass of water?" "No is already getting up to get a glass" or he'd tell you know and wait all of 15 seconds before doing it for you.

Denki when he gets nervous will let out little zaps on accident. As most the tickle or leave a slight sting but nothing crazy. So for your first kiss he's freaking out, obviously, and accidently zaps you. Face is bright red and he's now embarrassed for the rest of his life. Definitely wants to go die in a hole but when you start laughing and kiss him anyway he's fine.

Tokoyami would also like to share earbuds with you but like I said before his music taste is immaculate. Personally I like Korn and maybe im biased but I think he'd like that band to. And just all around metal/rock bands. But also just good music in general. Unlike denki he'd charge his earbuds religiously. He'd die without his music same bro.

Bakugo after a hard day of training would go straight to your dorm. Somehow he thinks it's way more comfortable then his. He just plop down on your bed before a shower before changing clothes anything. Which would be ew but he'd eventually do all that but first he needs a kiss and small cuddle with his partner first.

Ida would look up relationship stuff. This is probably cringe but like I fear he'd get nervous about his first relationship and then all the sudden he's looking up "how long should you date before you kiss your partner?" Eventually he realizes he just needs to take everything at his own speed.

[adventuringblind]

Make Me Yours

Oscar Piastri x Reader

Genre: chaotic smut (I'm a slut for this man)

Summary: Daniel mentions something to Oscar and he takes a shot in the dark.

Warnings: KNIFE PLAY, blood, intensive aftercare, Max and Daniel being big brothers, Oscar is a dork and we love him for it, enemies to lovers if you squint, soft dom Oscar, Reader is a mess for Oscar and he loves it.

Notes: This was an anonymous request! I hope you like it!! Please remember to communicate and take care of yourselves if you engage in a kink like this!! Reader is a Redbull rookie which I know is ridiculous but it's fiction.

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

She wouldn't say her sex life is vanilla. Definitely the opposite, actually. Most people would look at Oscar and assume he is the most boring human on the planet.

They are all wrong.

Most the drivers, including herself, teased him about how he knows two positions maximum. He'd gotten fed up with it and showed her exactly why everyone is wrong.

Turns out pent up tension from being rivals from F3 and F2 leads to these situations. The situation being mind-blowing sex with the one guy who you didn't want to admit feelings for.

Formula 1 is an unforgiving world. She didn't need feelings getting in the way. Until Oscar came along and ruined it all.

Until that night, at least. Now they are stuck together like glue. It drives Max and Daniel insane with how much he's around the Redbul garage.

She tried to use the 'best friends' excuse until Daniel caught them in her driver's room.

"It's always the rookies."

That being said, her problem isn't the sex, or Oscar, or her relationship at all. The problem is how to bring up something she would like to try.

Both of them like trying new things and have been very clear on boundaries and keep open communication about the subject. He's never judged her for anything she's brought up. So why can't she just ask him?

"Something on your mind?" Daniel appears from thin air, and she slams her phone down out of view. She prays he didn't see the pictures of the silver blades and thinks she a psycho.

"Nope," she squeaks. A terrible recovery on her end.

"Watching porn? Looking at Mr. Piartri's nudes? Come one, you can tell me!"

Max pokes his head out from around the corner. "Are we talking about sex?" Here she thought the secluded space would be far away enough for them to come bother her. Then again, Daniel could help her out. He's good at talking to people.

"Pretty sure you and Charles talked about it last night." She quips without looking at him.

She's blushing and embarrassed. Her brain is yelling at her to run as far away as possible before she does something stupid-

"Hey Daniel, you know about sex stuff right?" Wow, that doesn't sound awkward at all.

"Yes?" He quirks his eyebrow at her. "But if you're looking for a threesome I'm going to have to decline. For now, at least," he winks.

She chokes at the notion. She's going to explode at this rate. Time to bail out. "Never mind, it's not that, but it's dumb."

Max appears fully in her line of sight. "You can't leave us hanging now! Oscar not performing well anymore?" His expression suddenly goes dark. "Or if he hurt you, I won't hesitate to send him into the barriers."

"No! no, it's not him it's me. I don't know how to ask him about something."

Both the males soften. It eases the anxiety a tiny bit, but she'd still rather not be here.

"Hmm, can I ask what it is?"

"A kink," she whispers away from him.

Daniel hears it anyway. "Yours or his?"

"Mine."

Daniel, now seeing he's not going to get anywhere like this, tries a new approach. "Look, this is a no judgment zone, right? Max talks about Charles and their sex life any chance he gets. I am an open book. No laughing or cringing, okay?"

It still feels weird having this conversation. But Daniel isn't going to let it sit now. Curse her impulsive mouth. "Knives. I want him to use a knife on me."

~~~~~

Oscar is sitting in wait around the Redbull motorhome. His girlfriend had said she'd meet him out here and he hasn't seen her all day, so he came early.

Media days are usually difficult for her. The journalists manage to find some new sexist thing to point out every race weekend. It drives all the drivers insane. They can't just let it go and move on to something new.

"Hiya mate!" Daniel appears around the corner and Oscar manages (just barely) to not jump out of his skin. "You waiting for your girl?"

"Yeah, I'm early though. Do I need to go?"

"Nah, you're fine." Daniel throws him a grin. "I'm curious how you keep the marks on her hidden. Been wondering for a while now."

Oscar blinks. His brain is trying to process the last Statement. "You mean... like a hickey?"

"No! The scars." Daniel looks like he's just said the most obvious thing. Oscar is still trying to remain neutral in what is definitely an odd conversation.

Scars? What scars is he talking about? "I-"

"Don't tell me you don't see it! That girl totally has some kind of knife kink."

Knife kink?! Where is this coming from? He tries to think back to any hint of it on her end. It's not like he's opposed to trying new things and he wouldn't be shocked if she felt weird about bringing it up.

"I'd ask her about it mate." Daniel winks and disappears into the crowd of people.

Oscar tries not to think too hard on it. It's just a weird comment made by Daniel in passing.

At least, that's what it started as.

Oscar then finds himself doing research on it. A deep rabbit hole that now occupies far too much space in his brain.

The idea of her permanently some kind of mark he puts there drives him wild. Which is odd, because it hasn't before. A visible hickey every now and then does the trick. Satisfies him when they go out places.

After the first 'I don't see your boyfriend,' he started putting one on her collar bone. Not visible unless she deems it so amd fresh enough to ward off any suspicious characters.

Curse Daniel for giving him this stupid idea. Something more permanent than a hickey sounds appealing.

If it were up to him, he'd keep her in his pocket. It's funny, really, how she thought he didn't know about her feelings. Oscar had played the game for two years. Then he couldn't take it anymore and he snapped.

Yes, she's snarky and moody, and as picky as Lando, until you get past the hard exterior and see she's all soft and squishy. Most of the time, anyway.

He asks her about it after Silverstone. He's coming down off his high and drunk on the adrenaline paired with a shot of success. The confidence boost is really what he needs to put the idea out there. As outrageous as it seems, Daniel might have a point.

"I was thinking about something." He starts off with. She flops onto her bed. Not his since Lando manages to get into his room at the worst times.

"Something good I hope?"

"Depends." Oscar adjusts their position so he can cradle her. The way she snuggles into him like an affectionate cat makes him melt. "It's kinky."

"The best kind of thoughts to have!" She taps his nose with her index finger to accentuate each word.

Oscar steels himself for the possible outcomes. "What if we tried knives."

There is an unmatched look of pure shock on her face. Oscar is prepared to reassure that she doesn't have to, until he notices the glint.

"Yes! I mean - yeah, we should give it a try."

Huh, so Daniel was right. Oscar will have to thank him later for the tip. "We need to talk about it first. I'm thinking either talk now and do it or we save it for a later date."

"How about we talk now, then see?"

"Sounds lovely."

~~~~~

The more Oscar talks, the more she wants it. It's ridiculous what he does to her with merely his voice. Or maybe it's the constant regard for her wants, needs, and safety.

Yeah, it's true what they say: consent really is sexy.

"Love? Did you hear what I was saying?" His voice has they soft mellowness about it that calms the raging see of her emotions.

"No..."

"Stay with me, yeah? I'll put this off if you aren't coherent enough to truly consent to anything." Yep, sexy. No doubt about it.

"I'm here, promise! Just got distracting... thinking."

"About?"

She waits a beat to see if he's willing g to drop it. He makes no indication he'll be moving on, however, making her forced to answer. "Your voice..."

She is going to combust at this rate. It's embarrassing how wrecked she is already. Oscar hasn't even touched her, but the sight of him with the glinting silver blade in his hands has her going feral. The crazy eyed, drooling kind that makes her seem like she should be locked up.

The fact Oscar spent over two hours in discussion and has research to back up every point her makes drivers her wild. She would happily spend the rest of her life with him even after a measly two years together.

He's ruined her. Oscar has made it so she will never be able to leave. So what if she's dramatic? Can you really blame her when she has Oscar Piastri standing in front of her looking ready to devour her?

Oscar takes his time. It's slow and gentle kisses, nimble fingers finding their way around the canvas he knows so well. "Fucking hell you're gorgeous."

She takes a mental note of the way she's in no clothes and he's got all his own. It's unfair and she tugs at his sleeve to signal she wants it off. Oscar complies and pulls the fabric off.

He goes back to licking his way around the inside of her mouth. Her hands relax around his body, taking comfort in the warmth and closeness of the skin-on-skin contact.

His fingers slip through her folds and like muscle memory locate her clit. It's pathetic the sounds he's getting her to make. Specifically, while holding the pocketknife, unopened, in his free hand.

"So pretty for me love. I would cut you up and put you in my pocket if I could. Carry your cute ass around with me like a good luck charm."

She's so far down the rabbit hole of her favorite headspace. Oscar's words are just swimming around her, until the sound of the black clicking open pulls her back into reality.

He presses the flat part of the blade against her arm. The cold of the metal sends a shiver running down her spine.

Oscar is looking deep in the eyes, mapping out every emotion and physical reaction she's having to the sensation. "Color?"

"Green, very green, the brightest of greens-" Oscar shuts her up with a kiss to her temple. It's gentle and meaningful. Enough to turn her right into a blushing mess.

Oscar checks in frequently every time the blade moves. The masochist is jumping for joy when the tip barely rests against her shoulder blade. "Are you ready? Want me to mark you? Shall I make you bleed for me?"

"Please," She whines.

"Keep your eyes on me yeah? You say red and I stop."

She signals that she understands and would like to continue. Oscar traces the line he wants to make.

She hisses when the knife presses downwards. Oscar panics, but he watches her eyes roll back and knows to continue. "Eyes on me, love. I want to see how pretty you look."

The cold stinging sensation makes her whimper in pain and moan in ecstasy all at the same time. He's still talking to her. Voice still calm and gentle. He's watching her intently, tracking every shift until he's done.

He keeps a hand on her to let her know he's still present as he tucks the, now closed knife, safely onto the bedside table. Despite looking so composed to everyone else, she notices the small thing about Oscar's shift in demeanor. Like how his pupils are staring at her, just the slightest bit tinged with the desire tor take her in the next ten seconds.

He resists and makes sure she is ready for that first. "Color?"

She slurs through an ungodly number of praises and words resembling 'green'. Oscar basks in it. He sits and caresses her skin as he watches the cut to make sure he really did go light enough.

Small beads of red appear at the surface, but not enough that he's concerned with first aid at the Moment. He breathes a sigh of relief.

"Osc? Are you still green?"

Oscar softens again. "Yeah, I'm green, just taking in the sight and - happy I didn't stab you." He's breathless and panting. His jeans straining and her hands aching to get her hands on him.

There is so much love and kindness leading up to him finally getting inside of her. The towel underneath her shoulder catches the run-off red. It falls away with every thrust of his hips and rock of her body.

They hit the edge to quickly. Falling over it in white hot pleasure and moans of joy.

"You're such a good girl for me. You did such a good job." Oscar whispers in her ear as he wipes the cut with disinfectant.

Oscar carries her blissed out body to the bathroom and lets her look at the wound before bandaging it. A perfect heart now rests on the peak of her shoulder. Not massive, but enough to be seen without looking to close.

"I love it."

"Yeah? You ready to bandage it?"

"Do we have to?"

She doesn't get her way. Oscar bandages the heart and gets them cleaned up. Then it's water and snacks in bed.

"I never thought you'd be into it."

"I wasn't until Daniel brought it up."

Her entire being stills. Maybe even goes pale and Oscar looks at her in confused worry.

"I might have asked him for advice on how to ask you... about this."

Once again, his face softens. "You know you never have to be afraid of asking me." A gentle smile appears on his face. "I do think we'll have to thank him for this later."

"You're just going to inflate his ego."

"Maybe it's worth it if he keeps giving me advice." Oscar winks at her and smirks.

Yeah, maybe Daniel's pestering isn't to bad.

~~~~~

Oscar stands waiting for the drivers parade the next race weekend with all the other drivers. He's waiting patiently for his favorite rookie to come and join him.

Instead, he is once again jumping out of his skin because Danile is grabbing his shoulders from out of nowhere. "Could you not, like, scare me? Please?"

"But this is more fun! Certainly not as much fun as you had, I'm sure. I saw the scar." Daniel wiggles his eyebrows.

Oscar is blushing, he can feel it in his face. The words he wants to say are not coming out like he intends. "yep, I - um... thanks."

"Let me know if you need any other advice." Daniel smirks and claps him on the shoulder, Leaving Oscar a mess.

This is why I get teased; he thinks.

[firstfirerebel]

̷H̷u̷m̷a̷n̷

Sumary: Reader is autistic, but a jealous duchess won't get that

Pairing: Obi Wan x fem! autistic! padawan! reader

Warnings: ableism, protective Obi Wan, jealousy, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, implied age gap > reader is over 18, but still his padawan so, mild language

Satine may be out of character, but I could see her being like that (yep, I hate her, but if you like her, she's jealous)

You weren't exactly a boring or normal padawan, but due to you getting diagnosed with autism as a youngling, it wasn't a big problem with most jedis. Especially your master, Obi Wan, didn't bother that you were different.

Yeah, he had to tell you about every mission and training two weeks prior so you could prepare yourself. But your character was pure gold to him.

To describe you, he'd definitely use the words 'sweetest' and 'kindest' person in the galaxy. In every living being, you saw something good. On missions, you always managed to cuddle even the wildest/ shyest animals and helped as many people as you could.

You didn't understand humans' social needs and language, but again, that didn't mind the auburn haired man at all cause you just tried to help.

You always remained nice, even when a person didn't deserve it, which he found inspiring and lovely.

So, the news of having to go to Mandalore with you and be the duchess bodyguard for a weekend while some politicians yelled at each other to achieve peace or something was fine.

Once, he would've felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of getting to see Satine again, but now? Not really. He was more worried about you, to be honest.

At such events, there were many people and large groups of loud and rude humans that wasn't exactly your cup of tea...

He'd have to remind you of bringing your headphones and maybe the essential oil he gifted you. It smelled like your favorite herbals and helped calming you down when it smelled weird around you or things became too much to handle.

And if it still would overwhelm you, he could surley let you go back to your quarters earlier or let you get out for a little to calm down.

Since he got you as his padawan, he always found himself thinking about how to help or support you. Like checking if a planet/cantina had some of your safe food and, if not, bring enough so you didn't have to eat things that could trigger you. Sometimes, it was enough if it was just a weird color or having a weird substance.

And you temoprary being obsessed with one topic was adorable. One time, you read everything about the old jedi history, and he listened to you while drinking his favorite tea. Your cute expression when you told him a part you loved melted his heart.

Obi Wan knew he could never grow bored of you or wish for another padawan. Sure, the first few months with you were a little exhausting, but now he helped you with things he knew you struggled with.

But what you loved about your master was that he never treated you like a child or someone dumb. He saw and understood your problems, but they didn't make you helpless or stupid. Most other Jedi Knights immediately treated you like a baby when they got to know about your autism.

Some even had the audacity to carry you up/down the stairs without asking. Yes, you had some problems with your balance, and since it came from your autism it wouldn't improve much, but still! It was invasive in many ways!

Not to mention how some other Jedi Knights on missions wanted to put you on a leash, so you wouldn't run away for a wild animal or something else interesting. Luckily Obi Wan immediately told them his opinion in a not so nice way, but that's what happened to your master when someone was mean to you, then he easily forgets that he's normally a gentleman.

In general, you and him were closer than the council would like, but you doubted that he felt the same way. Most likely, he saw you as his sister (maybe even daughter), and that's why he was so protective of you.

Only that Obi Wan thought the exact same thing about you...

He was in love before, but you were his padawan, another Jedi! How was that supposed to work?! If you even felt the same, most likely you saw him as an older brother or, worse, a father.

Okay, maybe he was overprotecrive of you. But how often you were confronted with ableism was crazy, even in the Jedi Order. On the last mission with Ki Adi Mundi, another Jedi Master who was in the council, made mean comments here and there about autism. To make sure you wouldn't get distracted by other things that could get you in danger, both Masters wanted to make sure you wouldn't run off. But while Obi Wan told you how important this is and held your hand to make sure you stay close, Mundi got a rope he wanted to tie around your waist and use it as a leash, again without asking.

Luckily, Obi Wan said that it won't be necessary. In fact, it wasn't. You understood when something was important and serious. You weren't Jar Jar Binks! And if you got a little too curious, Obi Wan softly squezzed your hand to remind you of the mission.

Isn't it funny how ones first instinct was to hold your hand and the other ones were to put you on a leash like a kath dog.

Just that thought made Obi Wans blood boil. Did people see you like an animal? Like some pet they could punish, train to behave or give treats? Damn, you were a human being just like him! Your autism didn't erase that! And this was in the order. The senators often were worse. Expect maybe Padmè Amidala and Bail Organa.

But how often were you treated like a stupid child or some alien who didn't understand Basic by other politicians? Too often, to count on your hands sadly...

You were used to it at some point, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt you. And what if someone your master looks up to makes him believe such nonsense about you?

The thought was horror.

Landing on Mandalore was like you expected. The guards didn't matter you two and led you to the duchess. When she saw Obi Wan, she smiled, but then she saw you, and that smile faded immediately.

Of course, she wouldn't tell you that she didn't like you here, but she heavily implied it.

"I don't mean to be rude, but if something should happen, shouldn't this mission be for Jedi Knights or Masters? Our lives should be a little more important than learning, right?" she giggled,but you knew what this was about.

It wasn't about you being a padawan. It was about you being autistic. Her prejudices made her believe you couldn't handle such a situation. Most likely, she thought you'd run off for some animal or distract the senate with tipping or whatever.

"With all respect, duchess. Where I go, my padawan goes. I know her and know 'such a situation' will be her warming up. Now, where were we?"

Obi Wan always had your back. The duchess would have to learn to deal with that fact. For a second, she put on a pout but changed her expression when Obi Wan looked at her.

"My guard will lead your padawan to your quarters, I need to talk with you. Let's go for a walk. " With that, the duchess left the room and expected Obi Wan to follow her. He gave you a nod and went after the blonde.

☬ ☬ ☬

The quarters were just like the ones at the temple, so it was no big deal. You and your master shared the room, which was fine by you, even if your master had tendencies to snore in the night (which he'd never admit).

You settled everything in, and after that, you grabbed your datapad to read something. The duchess would surley lead Obi Wan to the quarters when the conversation was over.

But after a while, you wanted to get some fresh air in the garden and continue to read there. Since it was basically just the stairs down, you immediately found a place behind a bush that gave you some shadow.

The book was at an interesting point when you suddenly heard your masters voice in the garden. The problem was that he seemed to stand before the bush you hid behind.

"No, that's not the point, Satine," he awnserd.

You tried to crawl away so they didn't see you, which worked to the point you got close to a small tree that was near the stairs that led to the floor to your quarters but you could still hear them and when you wanted to sneak up the stairs you heard it.

"Oh my dear, such a padawan doesn't fit you. Autistic people are really hard to deal with. You're lucky she's not disabled in her mind. Just think of all the changes you had to do since you're her master. Aren't you tired of it? Tired of her behavior? Tired of her?"

"What?"

"Come on, you can be honest with me, Obi"

You skipped the part of sneaking and ran up the stairs, but they didn't seem to hear you anyway, and you definitely heard enough. In your quarters, your vision started to become blurry, and with one blink, the tears were already escaping your eyes.

You can't even remember when you last cried, but now the tears didn't want to stop. The few friends you had were everything to you, and now you felt so dumb and naive.

You seriously thought he, your master, would be a friend? No, you were his duty. Something the council forced him to train. Something he wished to be away.

So, all the times he was nice was just a facade to somehow deal with you.

He even called the duchess by her name, and so did she, again, something you didn't know.

What did you even know at this point?!

Okay, you didn't know if or how Obi Wan awnserd the question, but you honestly didn't want to know. If you heard a "yes," it would crush your already broken heart.

He normally always protected you, but that was when you were beside him...

What if these were his true thoughts about you?!

Let's be honest. You were a burden. You constantly had to be told about every detail on a mission so you wouldn't freak out. Things normal people loved to eat made you want to throw up because of a weird color. You couldn't look people into their eyes for too long. It made you uncomfortable. When you want to read humans' emotions in their faces, you had to think you didn't just know or feel it like a normal person does. And your emotions were also messed up. You didn't cry when a tropper you were close with died, but now you cried like a waterfall because of some not so nice comments an almost completely stranger made.

[This is not what you are! We may be different but that's not something bad!]

Without caring about anything else, you dropped onto your bed and cried yourself into sleep, which luckily didn't take long since crying was always tiring you.

But your sleep wasn't calm or refreshing at all.

Before you were your master, holding hands with the duchess, he had loving eyes for her, but then he turned to you, and his eyes spoke another language. In them was disgust and despise...

"Argh, why does the force give me you as a padawan? What did I do to deserve this? Out of all padawans, I got you? That's a waste of my teaching! You can't even pay attention to something for too long cause of your 'ADD'. What nonsense! You're just not exerting yourself! Do you even know how tiering you are?! Every time, I need to tell you every single detail about a simple mission! I wish you'd just dissappear or di-"

"(Y/n), it's time," Softly the ginger haired male petted your shoulder, pulling his hand back when you were awake.

You sat up and started to prepare yourself, not talking a word. Which made Obi Wan suspicious. You were normally so cheerful and talkative, but now? Must be because you just woke up, right?

No, and he soon realized that. Even when you brought the duchess to the political rooms, you were silent. No joking, no funny comments on specific words that some politician screamed around. Just complete silence.

"Hey, what's up?" He tried to break the ice and leaned his face over to you since you were looking at the floor.

"Nothing, master. We're just doing our job", now he tried something that always made you two laugh.

He lowered his face to meet your gaze and gave you a similar face you were making. But you didn't even giggle. You just stared at him with dead eyes.

"Okay, now what is it, (Y/n)? Please, you're normally not like this, "

"I told you that I'm fine. I'm just my disabled self who won't get into the way of anyone anymore, "

Now, he was completely clueless. Your disabled self? Yes, you didn't like having autism but you never called it a disability. You were just a little different, no big deal, everyone was weird in their own way.

"I heard what the duchess said in the garden," you finally confessed. "About me being a burden since I'm autistic. I was finally starting to accept it, but now... Even you agreed with her, "

"W-what? (Y/n) Did you listen to the whole conversation?",

"I didn't need to. She called you Obi Wan and had a soft like voice when she talked about me and other autistic people being burdens and -",

"I never said that you were a burden! In fact you're the best thing that happened to me! Yeah, some things aren't easy with your autism but that's a part of you! And if I have to tell you about a mission two weeks before, I don't mind cause I know it helps you!",

"Master?" He was talking like he was upset. Upset about the situation that some people really thought of you being a burden...

"Listen, I know these feelings are wrong, and if you want a new master, I completely understand. I just..... Sorry that I started to complicate everything. It's just....argh", he was walking around the whole time, nervously his fingers played with his auburn hair. Obviously, he was holding something back.

"What is it, master? You're hiding something, please tell me. I promise, nothing could ever make me want a new master, I care for you, "

Obi Wan sighed:"That's the problem. We - I shouldn't feel like this! For you, I'm something like a father, but what I want is more complicated. I shouldn't feel like this!",

Wait, he thought that you thought you were like a father to him? By the force.... Were you so bad at showing your feelings?

"Master, I don't see you as a father. You're more than family for me, and that's why it hurt like that when I heard Satine", you stepped closer to him but couldn't look at him. He wasn't cruel. If he knew of your feelings, he'd make sure you'd get a new master, or he'd tell you to forget these feelings. But instead of doing something like you expected, he softly took your hands in his, soft enough so you could pull back if it was too much. It wasn't. Yeah, physical touch often made you feel uncomfortable, but with him? You didn't mind it at all.

"I feel the same. I love you. Oh please tell me I read you right, (Y/n)", he asked, what made you look at him. Your eyes met his ice blue ones, and all you could do was blush and nod.

That was enough for Obi Wan. He waited so long for this moment.... He leaned his head down and softly kissed you, with enough space for you to pull away again.

But that's not what you did. Instead, you leaned closer to him. Drowning in the love you both shared.

Guess this mission and the duchess were good for something...

[supermanshield]

@t-oriand said:

i’ve been thinking a lot abt bruce helping clark do some research on his kryptonian features. like does clark need food? or just sun? how long can he go without the sun? thinking a lot of tender moments in the bat cave, and bruce realizing how much clark trusts him,,, that sort of thing. also could be some fun gadgety stuff bruce makes to measure clark’s various skills and fun training montage type stuff with superman running comically fast on a treadmill

I'm really sorry this prompt fill is - checks calendar - 4 months late, but here it finally is. I hope you still enjoy it! I'm trying to get back into things and writing a bit more again.

I love this prompt! I changed it a little bit (hope it's okay) and now we're not in the bat cave anymore, we're only testing one thing, not many gadgets involved, and I went with a pretty smug Clark and Bruce with the biggest crush on him. I hope you like it!

---

The icy blue clouds of Neptune drain the red from Clark's costume, leaving him clad in monotones of navy and black. He reaches up again, extending his arms and straining the fabric of his suit, distracting Bruce once more, and they haven't even started yet. He's only setting up all the equipment they've brought over.

"I want to test my strength again and I need someone on the controls. Do you want to help?" Clark had asked the day before, a welcome break in Bruce's more-boring-than-boring monitor duty.

"Yes," he'd replied too fast and too eager.

A hesitant smile danced around Clark's lips. "Okay... Now you'll have to tell me whether you got so excited because you actually want to see me exert myself or because you want to record the data for the sake of the League."

"Who says it can't be both?" Bruce had dared to say.

And so, now they're setting up equipment from the fortress and the watchtower on Neptune, because Clark didn't want to mess with Earth's gravity. He had said it so casually, but it reminded Bruce how nothing was normal for a man who could push planets. Something as simple as maxing out on squats or shoulder press had to be done at the edge of the solar system.

Even from behind the thick glass shielding and inside the body of inch-thick metal of their ship, Bruce can sense the weight of the equipment Clark is putting in its place, as he goes over his controls and monitors inside the rig one more time.

"Ready?" Clark's voice finally crackles through the comms. Outside he's already holding up one thumb and grinning at Bruce, the question echoed in his eyes. It should not send butterflies to Bruce's belly but it does.

"All set," he replies.

Clark gets into place, and he looks comically small underneath the structure he's about to test the limits of. It should not be possible. It isn't physically possible, and yet there Clark is. It still breaks Bruce's brain a little after all this time. Clark still breaks Bruce's brain a little.

"Batman? Don't tell me you're bored," Clark teases through the comms.

"Right." Quite the opposite, he thinks. He's supposed to initiate the countdown. He scrambles for the controls, pressing the logging button and locking in Neptune's position to be able to monitor that Clark doesn't accidentally move it. Gravity is about 14% higher here, which they've accounted for in their calculations, and should help mitigate the risk of breaking laws of physics.

They start. As Clark is pushing up against the thing, and Bruce incrementally increases the force pushing down on him past what he's ever seen him lift, he's reminded once again that Clark is always holding back, and hopes he never has to see him use all his strength. It seems impossible, but he's afraid he might get scared. Scared of what it all means, scared of what it would do to his perception of the world and to science. Scared of Clark. Scared of what it would do to Clark.

"Superman," Bruce has to break their steady back and forth after a while. "The weight is approaching critical mass. That of the planet you're standing on."

"Hrm." At least Clark sounds like he's actually reaching his limit. His biceps are bulging, his suit pulled taut across his abs and thighs, and still Clark is smiling right at him. Bruce bites his lip to refrain from sighing at the sight.

"No conclusive answer today, I'm sorry." Bruce slowly turns down the dial again. The scientist in him is disappointed, but maybe it's just as well, he thinks on a different level. Because now hope remains that there's always a way

At least now I know what I can lift," Clark says, predictably, too stubborn to admit the test was not satisfactory. Too stubborn to acknowledge that there might be a limit to who he can help, because there's always a way. 

Clark waves at him after he sets down the structure again. “Your heart rate is elevated. Everything okay?”

“Uhh, yes, all good,” Bruce scrambles to say. “So is yours.”

Clark laughs. It's a warm thing, as if Bruce made a joke that only he understands. “I just lifted a planet, Batman.” 

“Which you now still have to bench press, Superman.” Bruce doesn't mean to, but he's smiling. Clark just draws it out of him. 

“Alright, alright.” Outside, Clarks small figure moves around and starts disassembling and reassembling his setup. Bruce wonders how often he uses it in the fortress. As Clark casually displaces a ton of weight over his head, his voice crackles through the comms again. “It's always good watching you lift your weights in the cave. Thought I'd return the favor for once.”

Bruce almost chokes. If he didn't know any better he'd swear Clark was flirting with him. “Ugh, you don't know half the things you do to me,” he mutters under his breath. 

“What was that? The atmosphere is thinner up here. You have to use the communicator, B.” Of course Clark could still hear him. 

“I said I'd spot you but I can't exactly return that favor,” he manages somehow.

“And yet, you're doing literally just that right now.” Clark turns to watch him.

All Bruce is doing is pressing buttons and reading dials, and yet Clark finds a way to bring him to his level. Maybe that's his only power that matters. He smiles, and lets his feelings for Clark wash over him. It's warm. It's good to be in love. Suddenly, Bruce doesn't mind. But Clark doesn't need to know that, yet.

“Hrm. Focus, Superman. There's still a lot to be done.” 

Clark shakes his head. “You're insufferable,” he says, and gets into position again. Out there, in the icy blue clouds of Neptune lifting the weight of the earth for warm up sits the man Bruce is madly in love with. He'll tell him, some day. After all, there's always a way. Bruce just has to find the right time. 

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Dripping Poison

Author's note: Zaarius's debut in Space Marine Husbandry!

Summary: Zaarius has fun messing with a planet and a beleaguered Lamenter, without the Lamenter knowing that he's behind some of his Suffering. Then he lands on Ancient Terra and has some troubles with his poison. And some rude Scout Apothecary tackles him to the floor and tapes jars to his hands. Rude. At least he gets his issue fixed.

Warnings: Chaos Space Marines- Variant Slaneshi Emperor's Child. Poison, uh, let me know if I need to add more.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k

Oh, to be a member of a warband of brothers, in service to the Chaos God of Excess has been truly a journey of the greatest highs and the worst of the lows he's ever felt in his life. He's from one of the war bands of Emperor's Children who don't meet with Father often, not as Powerful or Important as some of the other warbands, but they make do and have a couple of Daemon Worlds that they run, and he's just finished a mission to help seed more Cultists for the God of Excess.

It's fun to see how the pathetic mortals will crumple under his claws. How the poison gift that he was given, watered down, to nearly be ineffective becomes such a sought-after drug to the base line humans and Xenos alike. He's got a lot of resources- in terms of monetary, intelligence, and other things. Still, he's made sure to keep an eye on his people, after all, one never knows when one will be attacked- and someone will try to take more than they should, and he's far more than any can handle.

Still, stringing along that one particularly stupid Planetary Governor, with honeyed wine dripped with just the smallest touch of the poison that he drips from his claws. The poison of Carnality. He watches with a smirk underneath his helmet as he watches the guests at this part start to be affected by the Poison of Carnality, more than a few people will be indulging in Excessive Lust and Carnality in a way that will empower Slanesh.

It's so fun to drip that particular poison into the goblets of the Nobility and Highest politicians. As it's so delightful to see the way the fall out of such a thing happens. Blackmail, intrigue, scandals and other salacious delights. He's been sure to not poison the goblet of the Loyalist Marine. He's the sole one on this wretched planet, who's been fighting the incursion of those dreadful Orks, no sense of style or beauty, and they weren't a good source of material for worship and empowerment for Slaneesh.

Honestly watching the Golden Loyalist suffer and fight has been such a delightful symphony of Excess emotions. Watching Haggo? Haggie? Huggo? Hagiel? Hagiel He things, suffer and fight and try his bet to succeed as been very amusing for Zaarius, at turns he's whispered things to those around him to either help or hinder the younger Marine, and it very much depended on his mood and how entertaining Hagiel has been.

Finding out to his utter shocked delight that the golden marine is of Blood Angel stock, and not an Imperial Fist or one of their shout-y menaces had him doubled over cackling with laughter. This poor bastard has such bad luck it might be a curse. Also, helping the screeching member of the Pomposity- wait no Ecclisarchy evade Hagiel long enough to cause More Drama- which he so loves to watch and grin maniacally as he watches the other suffer. Such a delightful symphony of emotions in the populace and in the younger cousin.

Also, he'd been getting almost bored, until the fall out of the drops of Carnality bloomed beautifully with the scandals and how the base lines screeched and yowled and fought amongst each other, ignoring the threat that was more important as he whispered and inflamed a few people here and there and why, somehow, for some reason the entire planet erupted into civil war! Oh, what a marvelous thing to happen! What an ecstatic joke. Oh- his sides haven't hurt like that from laughing in centuries. That poor little Blood Angel Successor Chapter Space Marine, running around, ragged, hungry, and bewildered at how little sense Base Line humans make.

He does pout and sulk a little that the Loyalist had managed pull things together just enough that the inspection team didn't arrive to complete, and utter Chaos or chaos and disaster. Urgh. Ultramarines. So boring and dull. He's getting off this miserable planet. He's had his fill of fun, and his vacation time is over, time to go back to doing really work and more Chaos. Several months later he's fighting and something explodes, and he blinks, waking up and looking around with a frown of confusion as his eyebrows wrinkle as he doesn't recognize the planet that he's on.

After all, the planet he was on before was a swamp, and this is a forest. How strange, is he in a dream? An Illusion? Or something else? He's waiting to reform his body back into being in the materium, it's taking far longer than it should as he wanders from one part of the forest to another as he takes in the scenery. The plants are nice, and while he can taste the scent of pollution it's almost a pleasure world quality to the vivid colors of the plants and animals, as well as the diversity of them. He stops as he hears a call and turns, greeting a few of his fellow Chaos Marines with a cautious, yet cheerful greeting as he follows these cousins he doesn't know further in, to a Base.

Slowly he gets drip fed information, on where and when he is now, and he explains where and when he is from. Learning about… these 'bonds' sounds definingly like the Warp is up to Something strange, and potentially very suspicious. After all, why would the Warp tie a lowly base line human to a Space Marine? Why did it effect all kind of Space Marines? From Loyalist to Chaos, no chapter was safe, nor indeed, was any future Era safe from having Space Marines snatched from their original time to the here and now. Truly, what a strange and fascinating phenomenon. He's having quite a fun time, until his claws start to drip poison, and he can't stop it.

So, he heads to the nearest Space Marine Clinic, it's one that is mostly run by Loyalists, but needs must. He waits in the lobby and greets the Apothecary who's going to treat him. Before the rude, and giant fucker slams him to the ground and straps empty jars to his hands. He protests that he's not a threat and gets growled at. At least the Salamanders are swift on their approach to get the hot headed little shit off of him.

When asked for reparations he'd like the rude brat to apologize, or have his time stuck within the base doubled. They hem and haw and speak with the brat-apothecary and he's told he's not going to get an apology, but the length of time for the younger Space Marine being unable to leave the base is what he'd requested. Honestly, it was more his pride was hurt, than actually being damaged.

A different loyalist Apothecary was able to help him out with his issue. Apparently, he'd need to milk the poison from his claws occasionally, otherwise it would build up and uncontrollably drip out of his claws and the… concentrated form of the poison is the deadliest form of it. At least, he sighs, he knows what was wrong and how to fix it, he'll pass the information on to his other brothers who have that particular blessing of Slaneesh. The poisons are weaker in this Ancient Version of Terra, but still dangerous. So fascinating, yet so strange how things are so different, and yet the same in some ways.

[fleetsonourgecentral]

Yoo thought of a headcanon scenario, where Scourge somehow dreams about his super form[s] one night. 

His interaction with if it was the good Super form the opportunity to at least make a compromise would be fumbled so hard due to their clashing mindsets. And they’re both stubborn as hell in changing their tune. Shit definitely goes out the window when Super looks at Scourge the same way Prime looked at him when he got tricked into powering down saying something along the lines of, “What fucking goals do you even have, Scourge? At least I want to help people be something bigger and better than just being mean.” You can imagine how well Scourge takes it hearing the all too familiar words. So tragically, nothing really gets solved between them, just strengthened feelings of resentment and the need to fight for control when they can. 

Evil Super would however, strike a deal. 

He finds Scourge and his friends very entertaining. Why ruin that? He’s also seen Super Sonic being contained/in his eyes, become a withered shell of his former self, so it might be partially for his own self-preservation as well. He is chaos but so are they. One frightful dream ass-beating later (wasn’t even pissed at Scourge, who despite tried throwing hands like the green bozo he is, he just did it because he can), he offers his hand the way Scourge did with Prime, promising not to kill them only if… honestly idfk something like this???

“The road goes both ways, y’know. You’re full of untapped potential. To keep things running around on this stupid little planet, how about you acknowledge me as my own person? Don’t you even think getting rid of me. Then everyone can continue to rock on this universe, doing as we please. What do you say?”

Just simple acknowledgement as their own person and leave him as he is i guess.

He takes the deal [?] but….Scourge, how are you going to explain to everyone else that you can’t get rid of this super form like Sonic has done? On top of that, better count your lucky stars that your super form never gets bored one day.

who knows maybe Scourge finds another way to stabilize things before that happens maybe- hey wait a second how about a deal for the fucking ankles—

Scourge and a good super form would throw hands. I mean Scourge is throwing hands either way but he would throw hands even faster, and then proceed to tell everyone about the dream bc that is Not Normal even for chaos energy. I think the idea of a super form gaining sentience without being split from Scourge first would freak Sonic out and he'd make it a priority to try and suppress that chaos energy or get it out of Scourge entirely. Here's to hoping they could get it out of Scourge without it coming to life like Super did, though, or it would probably view Scourge as a villain to be dealt with. And, by extension, would have to fight the rest of the freedom fighters, too

I could see an evil super form trying to make a deal, but I also don't know if Scourge would trust it?? His instinct is to distrust and assume people are lying to him or trying to manipulate him, so even if he did take a deal, I don't think he'd trust his super form to hold up his end of the deal. He probably wouldn't tell the freedom fighters or Sonic about it, and he'd brush off any attempts to get rid of his chaos energy so his super form doesn't have an excuse to try and backstab him, but I think he'd be prepared for betrayal anyway and put back-up plans of his own in place. Scourge doesn't always think things through, but he isn't stupid; he'd be well aware he'd be entirely reliant on his super form's mercy, and he'd hate that. So he'd come up with a plan, even if he didn't tell Sonic about it

Ahjdhjsdjh smh the super forms will never realise all they need to do to get in Scourge's good graces is fix his ankles

[blurglesmurfklaine]

@newsiestober2023 Day 7: Rain

I'm incredibly late to the party, but I was so inspired by @the-woild-is-y-erster 's Jack/Davey art that I had to write a teensy little something for it!

*****

It's not that Jack can't afford an umbrella for himself.

He's saved enough over the years to splurge on something nice like that if he wanted, and New York is close enough to the coast for something like that to be considered a necessity. Especially when you work outdoors.

Jack Kelly can damn well afford an umbrella if he needs one. What he can't afford is one for himself, and one for Crutchie, and one for Racer, and one for--well, everyone else. So if he has to sell out in the rain for a couple of days a year with only his hat for shelter, so be it. But he'll be damned if he's going to be the only newsie to make it out of this downpour dry while everyone else gets soaked to the bone.

Rain or shine, papes have to be sold. Jack tucks the last remaining copies of The World into his bag and hunches over it for good measure. People hardly want to buy the paper when it's not soaked in rain water.

If he's not watching where he's running, it's certainly not his fault. When he bumps into a solid form and his bag goes flying right into a puddle, Jack's initial reaction is anger.

"Dammit!" He cries, wiping rain from his face and chastising the stranger he's run into. "Look what you've gone and done! That's half a day's pay right th--Davey?"

"Jack!"

Davey's face is ecstatic, despite the gloomy weather and their combined clumsiness. Jack is less than prepared for the way Davey reels him in beneath his umbrella for a bone crushing hug, he nearly loses his grip on the concrete.

His chin hooks over Davey's shoulder, and the shelter of the canopy above them offers Jack short reprieve from the heavy raindrops on his back. If there's a shiver that runs down Jack's spine, it has nothing to do with anything he might feel for Davey, but--Christ, he hadn't even realized he'd been freezing until he felt Davey's warmth.

Jack's never believed in magic, but this makes him want to.

"Crap!" Davey cries, reaching down to pick up the soaked copies of the news. "Your papes. I'm so sorry, Jack. I'll get yours for you when I go selling for the Friday evening edition."

Davey pulls away and the absence of his body heat drags Jack back down to planet earth, where summer is over, and Davey's been back at school the last few weeks. Where Jack only sees Davey on Friday nights and Sundays.

"Don't worry about it," Jack finally manages. It's impressive to even himself that he sounds as composed as he does. "How's school been?" Jack asks the question, but isn't sure he really wants to know all the great times Davey's probably having without him. All the new friends he's making.

But he's not ready to say goodbye yet, either.

Davey shrugs nonchalantly. "Same old tired thing. Boring. I'm headed there now, actually. It's hard to go back to, you know. After doing something that matters."

"School matters."

"Yeah, sorry. Guess I should be grateful and all."

"You should stop sayin' sorry so much."

"Oh, uh, sor--" Davey exhales a laugh of relief. "I hate when you do that."

Jack grins. "I'll keep doin' it, and one day, you actually won't say it, and all will be right with the world."

A comfortable silence settles between them, the kind Jack's come to more than just appreciate, but long for. He knows the natural progression from here is to say goodbye. No matter how he dreads it.

"I uh. Guess you'd better get goin', huh? Wouldn't want you to be late."

"No. Guess not." Davey must realize he's staring, because he clears his throat in that way he does when he's feeling awkward and scans the ground around them. "Did you drop your umbrella, or--"

"Don't have one," Jack replies easily.

"Don't hav--in this weather? Jack!" Davey scolds. "Take it," he orders, firmly pressing his umbrella into Jack's unsuspecting hand.

Jack scoffs. "I ain't taking this. You're gonna get your school clothes all wet!"

"Ma'll wash and dry them."

"I don't know when I'll get a chance to give it back--"

"Jack." Davey grasps Jack's other free hand, staring him down compassionately. From afar it must almost look like they're locked in some sort of dance. "Shut up and take the damn umbrella."

If Jack didn't know any better, he'd say they are. Stuck, in this back and forth of almost flirting and near misses and entirely too many emotional exchanges between them than is appropriate for two young men.

Except Jack does know better.

Davey is miles smarter than anyone he's ever met. He's dedicated, and passionate, and while Jack's the one with the reputation for being a sweet-talker, it's Davey who's got a knack for persuasion.

Davey is going places.

Jack will be stuck in some sort of storm forever.

"Okay," Jack finally says in quiet resignation. He doesn't miss the twitch in Davey's brow--the slightest confusion at Jack's surrender--as Jack grips the smooth wooden handle.

"Bye, Jack."

"Bye, Dave."

Watching Davey walk away is just something Jack will have to get used to, and he decides to start right then. He might never hold Davey as close as he did a few moments ago ever again, but at least he has shelter from the rain.

[marta-bee]

Pressing on with the great Good Omens read-through, I do believe I've imprinted on our Newt Pulsifer; or at least identified with him to a perhaps extreme degree.

He's just some guy, you know? Looking for a job, he winds up working for Shadwell for a pittance. Bored and more than a bit stultified by being locked in a small room with his nonsense, he grasps at the chance to run an errand and even volunteers to pay his own way. I get it; we've all been in an office where the walls are closing in a bit and we jump at the chance to make a Starbucks run for everyone. And then:

Firstly, however, Newt had to do something about the flying saucer. It landed in the road ahead of him just as he was trying to find the Lower Tadfield turning and had the map spread over the steering wheel. He had to brake hard. It looked like every cartoon of a flying saucer Newt had ever seen. As he stared over the top of his map, a door in the saucer slid aside with a satisfying whoosh, revealing a gleaming walkway which extended automatically down to the road. Brilliant blue light shone out, outlining three alien shapes. They walked down the ramp. At least, two of them walked. The one that looked like a pepper pot just skidded down it, and fell over at the bottom. The other two ignored its frantic beeping and walked over to the car quite slowly, in the worldwide approved manner of policemen already compiling the charge sheet in their heads. The tallest one, a yellow toad dressed in kitchen foil, rapped on Newt's window. He wound it down. The thing was wearing the kind of mirror-finished sunglasses that Newt always thought of as Cool Hand Luke shades. "Morning, sir or madam or neuter," the thing said. "This your planet, is it?" The other alien, which was stubby and green, had wandered off into the woods by the side of the road. Out of the corner of his eye Newt saw it kick a tree, and then run a leaf through some complicated gadget on its belt. It didn't look very pleased. "Well, yes. I suppose so," he said. The toad stared thoughtfully at the skyline. "Had it long, have we, sir?" it said. "Er. Not personally. I mean, as a species, about half a million years. I think." The alien exchanged glances with its colleague. "Been letting the old acid rain build up, haven't we, sir?" it said. "Been letting ourselves go a bit with the old hydrocarbons, perhaps?" "I'm sorry?" "Could you tell me your planet's albedo, sir?" said the toad, still staring levelly at the horizon as though it was doing something interesting. "Er. No." "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, that your polar ice caps are below regulation size for a planet of this category, sir." "Oh, dear," said Newt. He was wondering who he could tell about this, and realizing that there was absolutely no one who would believe him. The toad bent closer. It seemed to be worried about something, insofar as Newt was any judge of the expressions of an alien race he'd never encountered before. "We'll overlook it on this occasion, sir." Newt gabbled. "Oh. Er. I'll see to it-well, when I say I, I mean, I think Antarctica or something belongs to every country, or something, and-" "The fact is, sir, that we have been asked to give you a message." "Oh?" "Message runs 'We give you a message of universal peace and cosmic harmony an' suchlike.' Message ends," said the toad. "Oh." Newt turned this over in his mind. "Oh. That's very kind." "Have you got any idea why we have been asked to bring you this message, sir?" said the toad. Newt brightened. "Well, er, I suppose," he flailed, "what with Mankind's, er, harnessing of the atom and-" "Neither have we, sir." The toad stood up. "One of them phenomena, I expect. Well, we'd better be going." It shook its head vaguely, turned around and waddled back to the saucer without another word. Newt stuck his head out of the window. "Thank you!" The small alien walked past the car. "CO2 level up 0.5 percent," it rasped, giving him a meaningful look. "You do know you could find yourself charged with being a dominant species while under the influence of impulse-driven consumerism, don't you?"

The two of them righted the third alien, dragged it back up the ramp, and shut the door. Newt waited for a while, in case there were any spectacular light displays, but it just stood there. Evnetually he drove up on the verge and around it. When he looked in his rear-view mirror it had gone. I must be overdoing something, he thought guiltily. But what? And I can't even tell Shadwell, because he'd probably bawl me out for not counting their nipples.

I mean, what the heck is he supposed to do with all that? That's kind of the point at the end of the day. We are all Newt's, I guess, and what can any of us do, either on our own or to escalate it to someone who actually has the ability to respond? It's kind of a reminder of just how young Adam is, to imagine a response to all the environmenta damage that was really that straightforward and simply-handled. And he is that young, and the world really is that complicated (and therefore so thoroughly screwed). Not that there's not work to do or hope for improvement, but it's certainly not so simple as delivering a police citation.

But it's also just hilarious. Poor, poor Newt.

**************

On a different note, the bit about Agnes Nutter was really interesting. I think she cursed God (or its functional equivalent at least) for acting when They didn't really understand the issues at play. But I'm going to have to think about just what's going on with that little reference, probably reread it,, or more likely than not move on without fully unpacking it, because life is busy and I am a tired little Marta these days. But there's most definitely something going on there.

There's also something fascinating about Agnes's acceptance of the label 'witch': For wytch I am, for soe I am judged, yette I knoe not what my true Cryme may be. She's not scared of the word but precisely because it only means others attached it to her and she's not done anything wrong (quite the contrary, she's quite clearheaded and is mostly known for having helped her neighbors live more healthily), the word itself doesn't mean anythin bad.

She's a bit fearless, isn't she? Or at least has a broader view by virtue of her foresight. A badass certainly. I do hope we get more snippets about her as the story progresses.

[channoticedmeuwu]

𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 ; 𝐀 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

p — YEONJUN × FEM!READER | g — slice of life, coming of age, slight fluff &/or angst | w — none ¿?

a/n — got emo, needed a change of usual writing environment

he's the boy you've always known you've wanted. from the moment you saw him til the moment you left him, you know he was the one. love with yeonjun was nothing like you've ever felt before. it was bittersweet, it was a rush, it was a race. but it was also a slow paced rhythm, a soft melody, a drag of the soft fingers against the warmth of skin.

there was nothing you'd find more comfortable than familiarity. and yeonjun grew from the unrecognizable to the irresistible, like a child experiencing rainfall for the first time, or a new experience proving to be nothing but something you'd think to yourself like, "oh, I could get used to this."

yeonjun was nothing but a star in your night of constellations; a mere spec of dust that would appear in anyone else's life and leave just like that. but again, like stars, your worlds would come crashing into each other as he would kiss you, and the sequin of your skies would dissolve as he gazed at you with his ever-so loving eyes.

yeonjun's eyes would turn lighter in the presence of sunlight, and he'd smile as he'd run his fingers through your hair lazily, reminiscing about moments spent together. it wasn't uncommon for yeonjun to love you so tenderly, like you were the sun his planets would orbit.

but the orbit came to an end, and you still remember the look in his eyes as you kissed him goodbye for the final time. instead of the red string of fate, tied around your wrists was the grey thread of dread as you'd hold hands, and something began to fade in your worlds—like all stars were beginning to fall.

yeonjun was, yet again, just a star in your night of constellations. so you'd hug yourself and remind yourself that “getting used” to yeonjun was just a matter of growing up. and you were going to continue your life without him, like a closed chapter you desperately wanted to reopen, if it wasn't for your greater good.

so it caught you off guard when you'd face yeonjun years later, the same glint in his eyes of a slightly matured face, the same smile of a sharper jaw. yeonjun was more reserved, but even he knew that there was something brighter about the color of the string attaching your hands. and he saw the way you looked at him like he was the night to your day.

swift glances and stolen kisses behind alleyways, you never fail to leave yeonjun breathless. and your smile grew tender as you'd see the boy, sheepish smiles as he told you jokes and pink cheeks as your hands would brush again, and again, and again.

yeonjun grew comfortable with your familiarity. and there he was again, middle of the night at your doorstep, out of breath and drunk on the missed feeling of your skin against his and his lips against yours, desperately craving you back. and with a tumble of his words, he'd heave a sigh as his eyes bore into your skin.

“can we try again?”

txt — masterlist

main taglist (hmu to get added!) — @koishua @navyhyuck @allegxdly @daystiny  @kdyism  @neotism  @bluejaem  @radiorenjun  @sleepylixie @oifelixcmerebrou @mrkcore @imdamnconfused  @sicluvz @abhirami20 @tyongishs @emvrd @brxght-world

I’d appreciate if you’d give me a little feedback on the drabble if you read, whether it’s an ask, a reply or in the tags of the rb! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

[photogirl894]

Oh my dear Echo...how I love him so much!! I can most certainly do this for you, @intelligentdonut , my dear!

"As Beautiful As You Are Kind"

8. “I don’t care what they say. You matter more to me than anything else.”

23. “I’ll never be enough.”

18. Neck kisses

Pairing: Echo x fem reader

***

Sometimes, you hated the way you looked. You weren't overly pretty like a lot of women you'd seen around Coruscant. Many were quick to point out how plain you looked and that you weren't anything special. Why would any man even bother looking your way?

You thought that had all finally changed when you met Echo of Clone Force 99, the sweetest and most wonderful man you'd ever encountered.

He had told you a few times that you were as beautiful as you were kind and he doted on you highly whenever he was on planet. Some days, you both just sat in your apartment and talked, enjoying each other's company and, to you, those days were simply perfect. The first time he had kissed you, he had been a gentleman and asked your consent first, which you hadn't been expecting yet appreciated nonetheless. He was a brave soldier and an amazing man that you felt lucky to know.

However, the comments didn't stop. People told you it wouldn't last, that he would get bored of you really fast because you were no one special, that he'd find someone better and more worth his time...and those words were starting to affect you.

One day, you got a comm from Echo that he was back on Coruscant and he couldn't wait to see you. You wanted to be excited to see him, but the negative thoughts from everyone else kept running through your mind. What if this didn't last after all? What if Echo did get bored of you and his messages of "I can't wait to see you" suddenly stopped? You didn't want to believe any of it, but at the present, it was difficult.

Echo walked into your apartment not too long later, since you lived near the spaceport, and found you on your couch crying. His protective instincts kicked in immediately as he cried out your name and rushed to you, falling to his knees in front of you.

"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" he asked, grasping your arms and looking you over for any signs of harm. When you shook your head in reply, he then asked, "What's happened? Why are you crying?"

"It's...it's just...everyone says I'll never be enough. That you'll grow bored of me before long and move on to someone better; someone prettier, so I shouldn't get my hopes up of things working out with you," you told him through your sobs.

Echo's eyes widened. "That's what you're worried about?" he questioned. "Darling, they're wrong about that. I don't care what they say. You matter more to me than anything else." His good hand came up to your cheek. "You are an amazing woman and I don't think I could ever find anyone better."

More tears fell from your eyes. "I'm nothing special, Echo, and I'm not attractive like a lot of women," you protested.

"I've told you before: you are as beautiful as you are kind...and you are the kindest person I have ever known," he countered. He leaned forward and kissed you firmly on your lips, hoping to convey the depths of his feelings for you. He wasn't going to let you continue wallowing in this misery, not if he could help it. He pulled back just barely and whispered, "I love you so much...and I refuse to let you worry like this because I don't want anyone different. You are who I want with me."

"You...you love me?" you repeated.

"Yes, I do," he answered without hesitation. He kissed you again and seconds later, his lips worked their way down your cheek and to your neck, not in a lustful way, but in a comforting way, assuring you that he meant every word. "Other people may say you're not pretty or worth my time, but they don't speak for me. Only my thoughts about you matter and there's nobody else I want at my side; to come back to after each mission. You are the loveliest woman in my eyes and everyone else is wrong. You hear me? I love you. Everything about you and nothing will change that."

Your heart was near to bursting at his declaration and finally, you lifted his face back to yours and kissed him gratefully. "I love you, too," you said softly as you came apart. "I know I shouldn't have listened to everyone else...it's just been hard without you."

"I know. I can't be here all the time, so you have to be strong without me," he told you, resting his forehead on yours.

"Now that I know you love me...," you replied, "...your love will strengthen me enough."

"Good, that's what I want to hear," he said. "Now, how about we go meet up with the boys and get something to eat?"

You smiled. "I think that sounds great."

With one final kiss, the two of you left your apartment hand in hand and, with him at your side, you felt you could take on the whole world.

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[nikkialena]

Ninety Days

Goku x reader Vegeta x reader black reader god of destruction reader op reader

Pathetic; you sighed holding the unconscious head of one of the so called legendary Saiyans in-between your fingers.

"And here I thought you boys would be a challenge, come on Vegeta where's that fire in your eyes, didn't you say you were going to kill me I'M WAITING".

You'd hissed down at the bruised and battered male, he staggered to his feet slowly breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes darted around looking for an escape but you had no intentions of letting him go.

Like a caged animal he bared his teeth pearly fangs martyred with crimson pools spilling down his lips and chin like a running river, he'd lost all his fighting spirit.

And panic began to settle in his heart like a poison it seeped from every nerve and pained him further as his breathing became labored, sweat dripping down his temples as he tried desperately to focus.

His mouth fell open to speak but in the literal blink of an eye you were in front of him clutching his throat in your stealy grip. His eyes rolled back into his skull as his face contorted in pain, a wheezing gurgle sound fell from his lips as you checked your nails.

They looked nice this day, trembling hand's grasped your wrist and so you returned your attention to the Saiyan male whilst dropping the other one.

He looked positively pitiful writhing in the floor air trying to breathe through the vice you held against his windpipe. It was pathetic really; you thought. One of the most powerful of the Saiyans reduced to a trembling weakling so soon.

You had at least expected him to play a little longer, "STOP IT" came a shrill voice from below you, one of their little gremlins shouted at you with glossy eyes.

With a bored expression you dropped Vegeta, allowing gravity to take him as you flew down to the little boy, "PLEASE DON'T" shouted Bulma as you scooped up the little boy in your arms.

"One I would never directly harm a child Two know your place mortal", you spat and her jaw snapped shut with a audible click.

Turning back to the boy in your arms you could feel him trembling in your gasp, "what's your name", you commaned and he weakly mumbled "Goten".

"Listen very clearly Goten, your answer just might save your father's and his buddies life, when a god is eating do you bother them?"

You cooed in a baby voice, he shook his head no but you grabbed his chin between your fingers, "use your words, your a big boy aren't you?"

Swallowing nervously he sighed "n-no Ma'am" he whispered.

"Then why did your brainless father and his lackey do so?"

You feigned in a fake confused voice while dropping the boy, he quickly jumped to his feet, trailing after you as you stalked towards Bulma.

"uh um.....b-because he's dumb and he didn't understand the gravity of the situation?"

He tried closing one eye just encase you snapped at him, stopping in your tracks you fell into the air preforming a lazy summer salt in the air.

You booped his nose "good job you just saved their lives, now Bulma", turning to Bulma she flinched and began sweating profusely "we had a deal Bulma".

"I get a comfortable meal, and your miserable planet gets a extension....so tell me Bulma...are you a woman of your word because I AM but I'm not exactly feeling comfortable.....BULMA".

She nodded her head so vigorously you thought it would pop off her neck, "I'm word k-keep I-I-I keep word... I mean yes I'll feed comfortable to you. I-I-I mean I'll feed you to comfortable I-I-I mean-".

You grabbed her lips growing tired of her mindless speech, "go prepare food now or everyone dies", without another word she took off and you turned your sight's to the little boy he flinched.

"Where is your most comfortable bed playing around with Saiyan children makes me tired", he nodded and lead you into the house.--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Goku woke up with a sharp pain...... everywhere, you really knew how to throw a punch sucking in a deep breath, he pulled himself off the floor tensing as a wave of nausea sent right back onto it.

Last thing he remembered before passing out was you beating him within an inch of his life and CHICHI, he had to get to Chichi.

Dragging himself from the floor he threw open the door nearly tearing it off it's hinges, stumbling down the stairs he bit his tongue due to the pain but kept going.

The soft whisper of chatter drew him to the kitchen; where he found you legs crossed bowl in hand slurping down noodles while Bulma frantically ran around the kitchen.

His blood boiled and he went to attack you but you cut him off, "the boy's already lost one parent today do you really want to make it two?"

You hissed [E/C] eyes piercing through him like swords; Goku swallowed hard body slumping in defeat, Chichi.....was dead sure they had their problems but.

He couldn't stop the feeling of his heart shredding slowly, part of him thought this to be his fault, tears swelled in his eyes as he glared at you but you were unbothered.

He left silently walking out of the house without looking back, he felt sicker than ever.

It was then that he felt the cold seeping into his bones, as he saw the grave, the fresh dirt covering her, without thinking he dug up her body and just cradled it.

Breaking down into tears and allowing himself to say his goodbyes; by the time he was finished who knows what hour it was he was determined.

He was going to bring her back with the dragon balls, storming into the house however he over heard your conversation with Bulma.

"My beautiful goddess.... please reconsider destroying our planet", that halted his steps as he waited for your answer "no, my mind is made the humans will die. I'm already behind schedule anyway, y'all were supposed to be destroyed a while ago be grateful you got to live a good life and cherish your last moments".

Storming into the kitchen he practically kicked down the door, "YOU CAN'T DESTROY THE EARTH", he shouted but you continued to eat unphased.

"Why not", you question stumped him stealing the words from his tongue and snapping him out his angry stupor, "uh w-well because there's innocent people".

You took a sip of water from a glass before turning to face him with a hard glare, "nobody is truly innocent everyone has secrets sins they do behind closed doors, and so that makes them punishable".

Goku was stumped racking his brain for a response, "well um but we have our on judges shouldn't they judge", licking the sauce from your lips you dabbed your lips with a napkin and stood up.

"You mean the very judges who allow rapist, murderers and pedophiles to roam the streets and lock up innocents, or the judges who won't take cases because of someone's racial background?"

"Face it Goku human beings are terrible, they promote the genocide lesser intelligent species, still practice slavery, steal from each other all the time and are slowly poisoning your birth planet".

Walking over to the door you began to unlock but stopped, "their an blemish to our universe and a pague, I will not allow them to spread to other planets".

"Wait" Goku shouted watching you leave; flying through the house he searched for you and found you outside, jeez you were quick he thought to himself.

Grabbing your wrist before you could fly away him spun you around, and you glared daggers at him, "what if we can prove to you their worth sparing".

You tried to shake him off but his grip was persistently getting stronger, "it's not going to happen let me go or I'll kill you".

"Then do it; either way I'll die anyway if you destroy this planet", that was it this was Goku's big plan, from the corner of his eye he saw Goten come out the house.

You looked just about ready to kill him but at the sight of Goten reasonably calmed, a low sigh fell from your lips, "fine....you have ninety days if you fail you and everyone and thing on this planet will die by my hand" she barked.

Yanking her hand free of his grasp Goku's shoulders slumped in relief and he almost fell out the air, "okay that's doable I won't let you down" he mumbled with a smile.

Your lips turned up in a smile as well "good because everyone is counting on you" you sneered, patting his shoulder "no pressure or anything" you stang flying away leaving a endless pit in his gut.

Yeah......no.... pressure

@tiana-maxivar @dreamnior

[transfemlogan]

always the fool with the slowest heart (Ao3)

Words: 534

Warning/s: unsure of the warnings. It is a short sad snippet. Hurt/no comfort (?)

Pairing/s: none, unless you want to count Thomas and Logan

Author's Note: Dialogue is taken from The Banshees of Inisherin. I found it from an audio on an Instagram Reel, realised I couldn't make an animatic, and decided to write it instead. Cross posted on Ao3 ; song in title is Gilded Lily by Cults.

Summary:

And for a moment, he feels rebellious. Defiant. Just for a moment. The feeling is barely flickering.

But the feeling is rising and that's all the moment he needs.

alternatively, in a moment of need and desperation, Logan speaks up to Thomas and realises he's infinitesimal compared to His Sun.

MASTERLIST

Heat slowly builds in Logan's chest cavity. It starts in his heart and crawls and clings to his lungs and rakes down into his arms and into his fingers. It spreads across his shoulders; shocking and prickling. The sparks are begging, revolting, beseeching in his head and into his mouth.

And for a moment, he feels rebellious. Defiant. Just for a moment. The feeling is barely flickering.

But the feeling is rising and that's all the moment he needs.

"You used to be nice."

There are lights glaring in the corner of his vision and a camera— unmoving, unblinking— as it bores a hole into the side of Logan's head. Sparse green light on the camera reflects on Logan's glasses and Logan reflects in the camera's eye.

He is squeezing his tie. Fingers wrapped very tightly around the fabric. His still mouth partially open from his... outburst. Thomas is staring at him, eyebrows furrowed... he looks utterly lost. His mouth is one thin line and his cheeks are slender; there is not a single word on his tongue as he narrows his eyes. Tilting his head slightly, like a confused dog, like what Logan had just blurted out didn't comprehend in his mind. Or as if he didn't hear him at all (it's familiar).

And Logan is staring at Thomas.

"What are you on about, calculator watch?" Logan can hear Roman distantly from across the room. A little speck of dust on the floor— all of them are. Roman, Patton, Virgil, they're all infinitesimal. They're the empty spaces in between the words on his schedule.

"You... used to be nice..." Logan repeats, "kind." Fingers running up and down his tie; a safety net.

He remembers distinct words, blaring in his head as if it's his morning alarm.

"But who do you really want to scream that at?"

He squeezes his eyes shut. Multicoloured stars dance in the abyss.

The sound of feet running down the stairs, clothes being ripped off their hangers and tossed to the floor callously, a box kicked, and empty promises that taste like the yellow of a lemon. ("Another day, Logan, I promise.") The door clicks shut. And Logan is standing there.

Alone.

He feels his clipboard go cold underneath his fingers, despite him never releasing it from his iron tight grip.

Logan opens his eyes, pressure building in his head. It beats against the inside of his skull. "Or... did you never used to be?"

His world towers over him... or perhaps... his sun (his star) is a better word. Bright and blinding and blazing. Logan feels as if he is orbiting around Him, absorbing as much heat as he can get without reaching forward and simply touching Him (he's worried he'd get burned). Logan is the earth. Needing the sun in order to breathe and survive. The Sun doesn't need him, though. Peacefully spinning. Blissfully unaware of the planets around him. The same planets that are colliding with each other without His connection. The same connection that is slipping through his fingers.

His Sun is enormous in front of Logan.

And Logan realises he's infinitesimal, too.

"Oh god," Logan says.

He pauses.

"Maybe you never used to be."

[paarke]

It should have been the day he finally turned pro, but now it was all in ruins, along with the theatre where the contest he'd been working so hard to prepare for had been taking place. Everyone was back stage, getting tanned and pumped up when strange tremors started to rock the building. Everyone ignored them at first, but they quickly grew stronger and got to the point where people were struggling to stay on their feet, and lights, equipment and furniture not fixed began to fall.

Just when everything fell silent, before anyone had chance to decide what to do next, the ear piercing sound of tearing metal and shattering concrete filled the building as the entire roof was peeled off like it was the lid on a can. All hell broke loose as spectators, half naked muscle men, staff all tried to flee the ruined building, pushing, shoving, and jumping over one another in a race to the exits.

One man stood exactly where he was. He instantly knew what was happening and who was behind up, and slowly looked up to see the face of his former training partner, and now his greatest enemy and biggest rival looming way above, dwarfing the tiny theatre. The man that tricked him out of his sponsorship deal, the man that had all the supplements and gear that should have been his. The man that had laughed in his face when he'd told him he wanted to be the biggest and the best, and would go pro without him. He struggled to process what he was thinking and feeling. It should have been him, striding through the city causing a mass panic and evacuation. It should have been him casually sitting on an office block like it was a stool, collapsing the top few floors into a cloud of dust without giving a fuck about whether anyone was in there or not. It should have been him with football field pecs, guns no army could ever beat, and legs that looked like they could hold the planet.

His former friend rifled through the remains of the building, sending car and truck sized chunks of steel and concrete flying around. He toyed with people trying to flee, almost like he was bored with them, picking up a swat van, wondering just what good they thought that was going to do.

The defeated bodybuilder ran out of the building before he fell victim to the debris crashing down and ran into the office building across the street. He sprinted all the way up to the top and ran out onto the roof. He looked down and loved how small the hordes of people running manically around looked. Chaos seemed to be between his feet, cars crashing as people tried to get away from the colossal muscle mountain that had appeared. He loved the perspective, how small the buildings and the city appeared from the roof top. He almost felt like he could grab a plane or a helicopter out of the sky. It should have been him.

[tache-noire]

Every Mark's Dream

Rating: 18+ (explicit sexual content)

Pair: MJF/Reader (dedicated to @rickrude for valentine's day :D )

Content: Blowjob, face-fucking, degradation, facial

Warnings: MJF being MJF

Summary: Oops, you got off the elevator on the wrong floor. Oops, turns out MJF's room is directly above yours! Surely he won't assume you're a horny stalker trying to break into his room, right? Right????

AO3 link

--

"Well, get on with it. I don't have all day, bud."

You don't think you've ever seen anyone look this bored with their dick out before. Like this is such an inconvenience for The Salt Of The Earth, Greatest Champion Ever Maxwell Jacob Friedman, but he's doing it for you. Granting you the honor of sucking him off in his hotel room (which you weren't trying to break into, you didn't realize you got off on the wrong floor, but he's not listening). Well... You can't lie to yourself and say this isn't a wet dream come true, at least. He's so sickeningly cocky and self-absorbed, and if he was literally anyone else that's where it'd end. But instead, he has to have that lopsided smile and perfect body and unbelievable ass packed in his trunks that you swear is burned into your retinas from how long you've spent staring at it on every screen available.

Oh yeah, and the cock currently hanging right in your face.

You raise your hands, then place them back in your lap. Maxwell scoffs above you.

"Don't be a little bitch about it. You really wanna waste the opportunity of a lifetime?"

No, you don't. With his permission, you run your hands up his thighs-- tan and impossibly smooth, freshly waxed and moisturized-- and give them a tentative squeeze. Firm, like you've always dreamed. You scoot a little closer, glancing up for some hint of approval. It's not much, but the champion's boredom has turned to a sardonic smirk, and that's enough for you. He's generous enough to hold his cock out for you --only half hard-- so you can keep feeling him up as you wrap your lips around his tip.

"Fuckin' finally. I put my busy routine on pause for some ring rat stalker, and they can't even do the one thing they're good for without my help. Unbelievable."

You moan softly at that, sucking Maxwell's cock down to the base while it still fits in your mouth. He's heavy on your tongue, tasting like clean skin and nothing else, smelling like hotel soap where your nose is buried in his pubes. He'd opened the door in nothing but a towel the third time your keycard was declined, after all... Fuck, you wish you could have had him somewhere else, some other time, in the locker room right after a match... You press a hand between your own legs and grind against your palm. Once you've worked him to full hardness (thick and perfect, like everything else), Maxwell moves his hand to the back of your head. He guides your mouth up and down his length at a leisurely pace, just testing the waters. You take what he gives you with ease. He doesn't give you much more than a little huff and hitch in his breath, but you can feel the muscles in his thighs tense when you flick the tip of your tongue under the head of his cock.

You look up at him again while you hollow your cheeks and suck hard, from root to tip. And finally, you get a real reaction. His brow furrows and he groans through his teeth, tightening his grip on the back of your neck.

"Oh, fuck, that's a good slut."

This time, he feels you moan around him. And he doesn't let it go.

"You like that, you dumb whore? Oh, of fucking course you do."

You catch a glimpse of that cruel, lopsided smile right before Maxwell forces his dick down your throat. Your hands fly up to his hips on instinct, but he's too strong. You can't push him away or pry yourself off, just take what he's giving you.

"Of course you love this. Every braindead mark on the planet is the same, everybody pretends they wanna fight with MJF, but deep down, they're all just like you."

He gives you a few slow thrusts to adjust, before really starting to fuck your face. He holds your head in both hands, keeping your face tilted up to look him in the eye, even though tears are starting to blur your vision.

"Just a stupid fucking rat that gets off on knowing they're beneath me."

You gag on him with every single thrust and you've never been so fucking turned on in your life. You're not pushing anymore, just holding on, probably leaving marks with how hard you're gripping his hips. And because he's right and you're just some trashy mark slut, you can't help but reach around to squeeze his ass like you've always wanted. And that gets a hell of a reaction out of him. He pulls you off and smacks you in the side of the head, hard enough to rattle you for a moment.

"You wanna do that shit, it's gonna cost you."

You stare, wide-eyed and panting... Then glance at your suitcase. Your wallet's in there---

"Oh my god, you thought I was serious! God, you're really that fucking pathetic!"

Maxwell grabs you by the jaw, holding your mouth open with his thumb pressed to your tongue. He's still chuckling to himself while he jerks off, just inches from your face. In spite of everything-- the humiliation, the slap to the head, your own last shreds of dignity-- you whine and try to get him back in your mouth. He easily holds you back. He streaks your face with his cum instead, smearing the last drops on your lip before letting you go. You lick them off as soon as your tongue is free, savoring the taste. You'd hoped he would have come in your mouth, or down your throat...

"Here. Don't wanna waste the opportunity of a lifetime again, do we?"

Maxwell wipes the rest of his spunk off your face with two fingers, and holds them out for you, still smirking. You gladly take them, sucking and running your tongue between the digits. You don't protest or pull back even when he curls them and purposely gags you. You don't let go until every last trace of him is gone.

"Hm. Not bad, I can't lie. Might even be in the top 20."

You smile dumbly. It's pretty high praise, coming from Maxwell Jacob Friedman.

And then he kicks you in the chest, knocking you aside and out of his way.

"Now get the fuck out of my room. I have to get ready for you shitty goddamn marks. Go."

You scramble to your feet and mumble a 'thank you.' He responds with a bellowed 'FUCK OFF ALREADY!' when you're already halfway out the door.