#yeah that's a perfectly sane thing to do

[whenthegoldrays]

🦢

[dadsbongos]

local adventurers get body swapped and fuck sloppy style

2.5 K words / warnings - unprotected pinv sex, fem body for reader, oral (m+f receiving), slight choking, pwp, not super proofread

summary - something something marcille and senshi need medicinal herbs… its not important. you and chilchuck and laios get it on in each other's bodies

~~~

“Laios, I don’t know if you should touch those…”

“He definitely shouldn’t!”

Laios touches the vibrant orange flower petals, grazing his fingertips from the outer curl towards the neon yellow stigma, “I think if I press right here, then…”

“Laios!” Chilchuck shrieks at the same time you gasp, “No!”

A yellow powder spews from the now gaping stigma, clogging Laios’ entire head. In your shared panic to rescue the man, you and Chilchuck also inhale traces of the pollen. It tastes unexpectedly sweet, like ripe apples fresh from their tree -- it’s also incredibly disorienting. Head spinning and throat tight, you’re forced to clench your eyes while stumbling for either of the familiar bodies you’d arrived with.

You find one -- cold metal flattening your palm, though it’s strange -- what you’re touching is only the waist of Laios’ cuirass, but you’re reaching up. Your fingers just barely graze the lip of his arm opening.

Certain you’re not kneeling, and now uncertain that you’re sane, you open your eyes to gaze into the beaming reflection of… yourself. But this version of you has her hands skimming down her sides, nails biting the pouch over your tummy.

Glancing up, you find brown fingerless gloves covering your hand. You also find that you have to really stretch your neck to look up at Laios, who is staring down at you with a disturbed flinch.

“Laios?”

It's your own voice that heeds, “Yeah?”

Slowly, you swing your(?) head to face yourself, eyes wide, “Laios?”

“Yeah?”

With an uncertain, shivery hand, you point up at the armored blonde, “Chilchuck…?”

Laios’ voice whispers back your name before gently pleading, “Get out of my body…”

“I don’t know how!” you wail, tugging on brown hair just to feel the sting that confirms this isn’t some horrible nightmare, “Laios, what’d you do?!”

“If you squeeze this flower right, then it goes into self-defense mode and releases a pollen-like substance that switches people’s souls and bodies. Pretty neat, right?” his excitement with the flower is interrupted by a more carnal curiosity, “Can I feel?” he hovers your own hands over your chest and makes a squeezing motion, “I wonder if they’re as squishy as they look?”

“Sure…”

“Yay,” he murmurs, immediately latching to your chest, “Your breasts are so soft, and warm.”

“Thanks,” your naturally gentle tonation sounds odd, dissonant with Chilchuck’s agitated and shrill voice.

“Don’t let him fondle you!” Chilchuck, bizarrely, sounds natural in Laios’ body. Loud and resolute, “That’s so inappropriate!”

“I don’t mind, Chilchuck, really.”

“And don’t say my name with my own voice!”

“Sorry…”

“I wonder how you feel inside.”

Disturbed, you and Chilchuck’s heads turn toward where Laios continues to grope your (his?) chest -- his breaths shortening to gasps and lip sucked between his teeth.

“What’d you just say?” Chilchuck points a shaky finger at Laios.

If Laios finds looking himself in the face strange, he makes no indication. Merely beaming at Chilchuck in his body and shrugging while squeezing your boobs, “Isn’t it so cool that just pollen can swap us so perfectly? Why wouldn’t we try to explore each other’s bodies in a situation like this?”

Chilchuck’s embarrassment makes Laios’ cheeks flare red hot, an annoyed huff spiking past his clenched teeth, “It’ll only make things worse for the party in the long run! Inter-party romance is a terrible idea!”

“It’s not romance, just investigation.”

Before a punch can be thrown from the flustered Chilchuck, you lay a lithe hand on either man’s shoulder (pushing into the back of your mind how strange it is to call a hand smaller than your own yours), “Laios, you have to see how strange that sounds to people not as… curious as you.”

“But I’ve always wanted to know how your bodies work,” Laios frowns, “I get that we’re all humans, so it's basically the same thing and not as interesting, but when it comes to you two I just can’t help it. I want to know how soft your mouths are and how your joints roll in action,” he then peers specifically at Chilchuck, batting your lashes pathetically, “Especially your body, Chil, since I rarely see you do more than deactivate traps.”

“That’s because that’s my job! I don’t fight!”

“Chilchuck, he’s not judging you,” you move the hand on his shoulder down to his hand, Laios’ large palm massively overwhelming Chilchuck’s -- you’re captivated by the difference, “If Laios had a problem with you not fighting, I’m sure you wouldn’t still be in the party.”

“I just want to know how you both feel,” you could cringe at the sound of your voice saying something so naughty, but for the sake of Laios’ feelings you don’t, “Inside and out.”

“Did you consider how that’d be for us? Having to look our own faces in their face during something like that.”

“Like what? I just want to poke,” Laios stretches your fingers with a wiggle, “Maybe some fingering.”

That’d be more believable if Laios wasn’t such a terrible liar, his tells making your back straightening impossibly and knees buckling. Laios starkly dodges both yours and Chilchuck’s scrutinizing stares.

“We know you better than that. You’ll wanna go all out,” despite your inclination to give Laios the benefit of doubt, you’re forced to nod alongside Chilchuck’s accusation.

“Is that so bad?”

Is it?

You’re not as anatomically intrigued as Laios (at least pretends to be), but you can’t lie to yourself and say the men aren’t attractive. Laios is beefy yet kind, piercing amber eyes and soft blonde hair -- his arms look perfect for holding you down as he impales you with his cock. Chilchuck is slight and nimble, big brown eyes with thick lashes and silver hairs sprinkled through brown locks -- his dominable frame would be easy to ride until he’s got tears in his eyes and pleas flowing from his fussy lips.

“I don’t think so,” you move, stepping over to Laios’ side, “I think it could be worth a try.”

“No way!” Chilchuck glares at you for your betrayal, “There is no chance I’d ever do something so depraved!”

.

.

.

“This is so weird…” Chilchuck whines from Laios’ throat, throwing an arm over his eyes to block out the sight before him.

You, in Chilchuck’s own body, knelt beside Laios occupying your body as you both lick over his flushed erection. Laios seems to show no shyness, eagerly teasing your soft lips across his skin until he’s tonguing the underside. Meanwhile, you’ve got the smoldering head twitching on your tongue -- suckling softly before releasing your lips with a pop and laving the side with attention. Eventually, Laios bores of kitten licks and lowers towards the balls, giving you room to suck his penis into your mouth fully.

Chilchuck winds a hand, larger than he’s used to controlling, through your hair, peeking under his spare arm to watch Laios abuse your likeness. Blinking sweetly and humming while warming his own nuts with gurgled saliva. With advanced hearing, you can make out even the minute sound of Laios’ inferior gag reflex choking on his own balls.

You can also make out the deep rumble of Chilchuck panting and swallowing around his own arousal, lodged in his throat. Hoping to coax out the desire, you relax your gullet and bury your nose against flaxen pubes, making Chilchuck shudder and buck further into your throat.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs, squeezing tighter around brown hair and shaking out your head before wrenching you back, “Wanna fuck your face.”

If you didn’t want him to as well, you’d be busy pointing out how your face is really his.

Instead, you moan eagerly and let your mouth hang open. Digging blunt nails into the handles on his hips for leverage as Chilchuck snaps into your gaping, velvety mouth. Spit gurgles past the rim of your lips, your sudden super hearing picking up every soft, throaty groan that spills from his chest. Despite his every effort to drown the sounds in kisses with Laios, you hear it -- you even hear how their lips mesh above your head.

Silky moans let out by your own voice, it’s startling. And arousing. Which makes it even more startling.

Chilchuck gasps and huffs abruptly, pulling you back to beat his cock against your puffy, raw lips. His whole body scrunches as broken, spotty moans dribble through him, shooting cum down your throat -- though having to bury his face into Laios’ neck (technically your neck) to avoid seeing his own face swallowing his seed.

With your own voice, heady and ragged with lust, Laios sprawls to the ground with spread legs, “I’m so hot,” he brainlessly bucks up against his roaming hand, eyes snapping to you, “How do you live like this?”

“I’m not horny all the time, Laios!”

Completely bypassing your protest, as per usual, Laios whimpers and undoes your trousers -- tickling a trembling finger down his (your) slit, “I need someone in me, please, please?”

You and Chilchuck stare at each other for a short while, silently debating who would be the one -- with newfound stamina in Laios’ body, Chilchuck could theoretically do it if he felt so greedy. Thankfully, he does not, and reclines beside Laios before pressing kisses into his neck while yanking you over by the belt. With eyes closed, he expertly undoes the pants to pull your brand new cock out.

Calloused, yet warm, hands stroke along your shaft in slow pumps before feeding your (his) tip into Laios.

Yours and Laios’ inexperience at the shared sensation is abundant in how you’re both gasping, sweat-slick messes. Laios wiggles further onto your cock, keening and back arching at the intrusion, while your hands are clammy and shaking on his hips. Your eyes can only stray as high as the breasts before things feel… weird… so you choose instead to obsess over the sight of your cock sliding in and out of a soaked cunt. Messy slick glinting in the sunlight, face melting with need, and all rational thought sucked into the tight clench of Laios.

Whining and leisurely thrusting into Laios, you close your eyes to fully absorb the sensations around you. Still, your heightened hearing can pick up the downright obscene gush of your sloppy, wet cunt being fucked open.

Chilchuck lays beside Laios, making you flinch at the unseen act of tracing his fingers around your cock in Laios to gather the splashing wetness before swirling the sodden pads into Laios’ clit.

“Ah!” your voice spikes, Laios grabbing Chilchuck’s wrist as if he could use your dwindling might to bat off his own strength. Chilchuck grins despite himself and continues abusing the bundle of nerves as desperation makes your drilling speed up. Laios wails and bunts eager hips to meet your thrusts, “Ah, ah, ah, ah- so good! This feels amazing!”

Laios presses the hand not clutching Chilchuck’s against your tummy, fingers prodding where cock batters his insides. Huffy little fuck, fuck, oh fucks leaving pouty, raw-bitten lips.

“Does it feel good?” Chilchuck laughs at you both, his sarcasm only being met with varied, broken ‘uh-huh’ responses. A thought brews in his following silence before he reaches up with a spare hand, “How about this, then?”

Suddenly, Laios’ large hand is wrapped around your neck, pressuring the sides to make your head spin.

Oh.

Oh that shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

Sudden restricted air pushes your hammering hips into overdrive, gut fizzling and tightening until you’re certain you’ll combust from the inside. You squeeze bruises into your own hips as you slam into Laios’ pliant body.

“Oh my God,” he suddenly wails from your mouth, “I think I’m- fuck! - am I?” his breath hitches, eyes wide and thighs cinching around your pumping hips, “Oh my God, I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum!”

“Do it, then,” Chilchuck snides with lips still pressed to Laios’ neck, rudely pinching his clit, “Cum for us.”

“I’m cumming,” he babbles, throwing his head back, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Laios’ complete lack of will obliterates your own, the intense milking of his orgasm around you practically pulling cum from your cock. You gasp under Chilchuck’s choking while stuffing Laios full.

As soon as you’ve pulled Chilchuck’s softening cock out, Laios darts a hand down to finger your abused cunt. Puffy lips parting around curious fingers, thighs twitching at the unwelcomed overstimulation. Mixed cum leaks onto his digits before he accidentally brushes a thumb over his own clit, sending his thighs clenching around his hand as he forces another orgasm from your body.

You blink, suddenly much drowsier than before, and when you open your eyes you’re on the ground. With twitching, aching thighs and a hand between your legs.

Before you can acclimate to the realization you’re returned to your proper body, large hands are spreading your thighs again. Laios dives in, much too excited, and licks along your slit with a seedy groan and pinched brows. As if he’s deriving pure pleasure from sucking your combined release out of your pussy. If anything, the unadulterated oddity and grossness confirms that Laios is, in fact, back in his own body.

“I remember you were needing a little something, big guy,” Chilchuck tiredly slumps against Laios’ side, reaching below the belt to tug Laios’ hardening cock, “Guess you do have a lot of stamina.”

“I wanted to taste it on my fingers before we switched back, but now I can have it on my real tongue,” Laios deliriously giggles, “How lucky is that?”

You’re given no pause to respond before he’s returning to tongue-fucking your spasming hole.

Chilchuck presses lazy kissing along Laios’ flushed skin, jostled slightly when Laios abruptly sits straight, bucking his hips into Chilchuck’s fist as he asks, “Can I cum on you? I want to taste us all together. I need to know- !”

“Fine!” you’re borderline shrieking, sniveling and sobbing in the overstimulation, “Yes, yes, cum on my cunt, Laios. Do whatever you want!”

As if waiting permission, once those words are uttered, Laios spurts across your heated groin. He wastes no time basking in his euphoria before drunkenly lapping up his cum dribbling across your pussy and into yours and Chilchuck’s juices.

“Feral,” Chilchuck notes, smearing the excess sperm across Laios’ thigh and collapsing by your side.

Quicker and more violent than you’d like, another orgasm swells from your tummy to your hips. Thighs clapping against Laios’ ears as his tongue lulls out to sap up your cum. Your nails scrape Laios’ scalp as you wrangle him back when you notice him trying to sink in for more.

“Laios, please!” you tiredly protest.

“Off,” Chilchuck says it short and curt, like training a puppy, as he bats Laios’ head.

Laios lifts his head and drops beside you as well, turning onto his side to stare at you both -- hands curled towards his chest for comfort, “That was fun. We should do it again, but with our normal bodies.”

Unbeknownst to Laios, both you and Chilchuck are passed out and tangled around on another. And unknown to all three of you, Marcille and Senshi are coughing and hacking out a plan to crawl out and search for your group on the hunt for medicinal herbs.

[lovlidollie]

Can we get a prequel to how Rafe Cameron and Crybaby reader met and got together? Please 🙏

of course !! i’m so sorry it took so long 😓 also i personally think crybaby!reader can be either kook or pogue, but for this she’s a pogue <3 not proof read ^^

cw crybaby flinches when a character raises his hand but nothing happens, slightly pervy rafe ;)

the first time rafe saw crybaby!reader was when she was working up at the little cafe inside the country club, eyes red ‘n face wet as an older man yelled at her. she was wearing an apron over a brown short-sleeved top that looked one size too small, with hair tied up using white ribbons, and a pair of roughed up sneakers on her feet. her skirt isn’t that short, perfectly acceptable for workplaces, but it has rafe wondering what her panties look like. he was sure he would have noticed the pretty little thing long before, so he assumed she was a new hire. automatically rafe knew she was one of the pogues. everyone on figure 8 knew each other, had grown up around one another from the very beginning. but she didn’t look like she belonged on the cut. no, she had the face of a kook, someone who should have more money than they can count, someone who deserved to live in luxury.

it’s like some sort of instinct comes over him, vision blurring around the edges as he watches her shrink further into herself, head shaking as she spews out stuttered apologies he’s too far to hear properly. when the man’s hands come up in frustration and she flinches back, rafe can’t stop his feet from marching towards the guy, chest puffed out ‘n shoulders squared. “hey man. what’s uh — what’s goin’ on?” his voice is gritty, barely restrained, as he looks him up and down.

“she messed up my order!” the man — bob, rafe recognises as a regular — snarls, lip upturned as he looks at her with utter disgust. “been coming here every single weekend for the past ten years and not once have i ever been given the wrong thing. disgraceful is what it is!”

rafe spares a glance down at the little thing next to him, heart flaring at the way her eyes widen and fill with fresh tears. “i-i- ‘m real sorry — sir — it - it was a mistake ‘m really sorry!” her voice is all blubbery, airy and high the way someone talks when they’re trying not to burst into sobs. it makes rafe dizzy with desire, makes him furious.

he gestures between the two, “i mean, shit man — she looks like a freshie, ‘s probably her first shift,” rafe drawls out, charming smirk on his face. “cut her some slack, yeah? if you don’t want her servin’ you then tha’s fine. we’ll go get someone else for you, a’ight?” she’s shaking like a leaf and it’s taking all of him not to reach out and clasp her shoulders, to get down on his knees and talk her out of it.

“yeah whatever. fuckin’ pogues can’t never do shit right..” bob mutters, eyeing crybaby distastefully once more before strutting away, barking at another waitress to get him a drink.

rafe sighs, rubbing a hand across his mouth, tongue poking his cheek as he thinks about whether or not it would be worth beating him up. he’s brought back to earth when he hears the distressed sniffles next to him. she’s wrapped her arms around herself, right thumb placed suspiciously close to her mouth crybaby’s eyes are all bloodshot, mascara smudged around her puffy lids, ‘n she’s bitten through her lips so hard that rafe can see the previous indentations. with a furrowed brow, he notices that she’s biting on the tip of her thumb, pink tongue peeking every now and then. (rafe tries not to groan at the sight.) he gently, ever so slowly reaches out with his larger hand, pauses when she jerks slightly, and continues to softly pull her hand away from her mouth.

“‘s not a nice man is he, huh?” rafe says quietly, trying to ignore the way her mouth chases the finger he’s pulling away. the action sends a jolt of heat through to his stomach, mind going straight to the gutter. the sane part of him understands it must be some sort of self-soothing technique, but the images it plants in his head are anything but innocent.

crybaby shakes her head roughly, eyes on her scuffed shoes. “‘m sorry — i - i really am,” she stutters, voice so soft rafe almost doesn’t hear it over the noise in the background. his jaw tightens as he tries to focus on anything but how close she is, how nice she smells. “y’don’t gotta ‘pologise to me,” he says almost affronted. “not your fault he’s an asshole.”

rafe takes a step closer, eyes flickering down to her chest where the tiny little name badge was pinned. “you — uh — you come here often?” he says her name ‘n it feels so right on his tongue. he tries to joke and it looks like it works, crybaby’s eyes blinking rapidly at his question. “i- um — yeah. jus’ started today..” her glassy eyes reflect his face in them as they begin watering again moments after. “… ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry - i —.” her lips look so fucking delectable in that little pout, he just wants to shove — rafe shakes his head and reaches out before he can stop himself. “look at me,” he says, voice firmer than before as he tilts her chin up. her skin is so soft and smooth he’s almost too distracted by it to talk. “it is okay,” he enunciates for her. “alright? jus’ — uhh — take a deep breath — yeah, do that. no more sorry’s, yeah? i got you.”

rafe’s never been good at handling emotions — his or anyone else’s — but there’s something about her that wills him into being just a smidge more patient. he feels the urge to say something comforting, something to make her feel better, but the only thing that comes out is, “y’too pretty to be crying over some dickhead.”

it’s not the most appropriate thing to say — this being their first meeting and all — but he can’t help himself. it seems to do the trick though, so he can’t really complain can he? the way her cheeks warm at his words, the way her eyes grow wider — it’s almost too much. she’s so innocent, so naïve, and he knows he shouldn’t be thinking about her on her knees for him, but he just can’t stop.

“y’doing just fine. first day’s always rough, mistakes happen. you’ll get the hang of it.” not that he’d know, rafe’s never had to work a day in his life. the reassurance soothes crybaby enough for her to nod her head jerkily, teeth catching the flesh of her lips again. rafe has to look away for a second, pretending to glance around the cafe so he doesn’t do something stupid like drag her into the back room and let his hands roam. “y-you really think so?” she asks softly, voice all small ‘n shaky, like she needs his answer in order to believe it.

“i know so,” he responds, full of confidence. “how ‘bout this. anyone gives you any trouble — ‘n i mean any — you come find me ‘n i’ll deal with it.”

crybaby looks up at him starstruck, almost honoured that he’d be willing to do that for her. “that— tha’s so nice of you,” she mouths, sniffling. shyly, with her fingers rubbing away the drying tears on her cheeks, she adds, “wh-what should i call you? like — like what’s your name?” she seems flustered, embarrassed for even asking.

rafe smirks, shit eating grin on his face as he steps back and crosses his arms. oh there were plenty of things she could call him he sucks his teeth and arches a brow at her. “name’s rafe. rafe cameron.” he assumes that because she’s a pogue, she at the very least has some sort of idea of who he is, of his reputation. he knows johnb and co have nothing better to do than shittalk, but when she gives him a tentative smile instead of shrinking away in disgust, rafe knows he’s got her.

“r-rafe,” she repeats, like she’s committing it to memory, and it does something to him, hearing his name on her lips like that. he wants to hear more. needs it more than air and it should scare him how quickly he’s developed a fixation on her. “mmh — don’t you forget it.”

crybaby’s clearly not used to this sort of attention, with the way she can’t keep her eyes on him, the way she fiddles with her fingers ‘n can’t stay still. it only makes rafe want to push further, but he forces himself to reel it in. there was plenty of time to explore this later, to see how far he could take it before she broke.

“i - uh - gotta go,” rafe says, voice a little scratchier. “boys are waitin’ f’me on the green. but i’ll uh — see you ‘round, yeah?” she wipes her hands against her apron, nodding again with the tiniest, cutest smile on her lips.

he spares her one last look before he pushes through to the golf course, already making up reasons to blow of top ‘n kelce so he can instead find out as much as he can about crybaby. immediately, rafe’s thinking of excuses to come see her again tomorrow.

[theemporium]

Smut merry daquri with Luke and number 12?

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

12. "No underwear?"

.

It was no surprise to anyone that the social responsibilities and duties were Luke’s least favourite part of being a hockey player.

He understood why he had to do it. He understood why management wanted to parade the players around sometimes, why they had to show face. He didn’t mind it all the time, when there were still links to hockey like coaching junior teams or meeting fans. But the fancy galas and events were a whole other story. 

He was shoved into a suit, slapped on the back and passed around a bunch of rich businessmen and businesswomen he did not know and expected to keep them happy. It wasn’t exactly the area he thrived in, not in the way Jack seemed to. 

He wanted to support the cause, he just didn’t like the superficial conversations and awkward small talk with people who thought they knew hockey better than the players on the ice. 

And yet, that wasn’t even Luke’s biggest issue at the annual Devils Charity Gala. 

No, his biggest issue was the fact he was expected to be sane and normal and so completely fine whilst you were parading around in a dress that looked downright sinful on you. 

“Hey, Moose, you good?” 

Luke blinked, turning his head to look away from where you were chatting away to Curtis and Reanne to look at his brother approaching him. “Yeah, why?” 

“Your face is all red,” Jack mused, hiding his smile behind his drink. “You’re not sick, are you?”

Luke narrowed his eyes. “Shut up.” 

Jack’s grin widened. “Maybe we should get the medics over—”

“Go bother Nico or something,” Luke grumbled as he placed his empty glass on the bar behind him, ignoring his brother’s giggling as he made his way over to you. His hands found your waist easily, his body fitting behind you perfectly. “Hey.” 

You turned back to look at him after Curtis and Reanne wandered off, smiling up at the boy. “Hey back,” you mused as you felt his arms tighten around you. “You good?”

“Mhm,” Luke hummed, his fingers skimming over the fabric of your dress. “You look really pretty.” 

“Yeah, you like the dress?” You questioned, smoothing out the lapels of his blazer. 

“Mhm,” he nodded, his cheeks burning red. “You could’ve given me a warning.”

“Where’s the fun in that? I wanted to see your genuine reaction,” you retorted, something quite like mischief shining in your eyes. “I like surprising you.” 

Luke’s lips twitched upwards, his tone lighthearted and joking. “Got any more surprises?” 

Your smirk widened. “Maybe.”

His interest piqued. “Yeah?” 

Your arms wound around his neck, sweet and innocent enough that if anyone looked over at the two of you, it just seemed like a wholesome moment between the couple. A moment to themselves, whispering sweet nothings as you leaned up close enough for your lips to brush against his jaw as you spoke. 

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Like this dress being the only thing I’m wearing.”

Luke blinked, his voice shaky. “What?”

“You heard me.”

He gulped. “No underwear?”

“No underwear,” you confirmed with a nod.

“Fuck,” Luke muttered under his breath, his hands squeezing your waist. “You…shit, babe, you can’t just say that.” 

“No?” Your smile was anything but innocent as you straightened his tie. 

“We still—” Luke could feel his face heating up. “We can’t leave yet. We still have the dinner.”

You mockingly pouted, patting his chest. “Guess you’ll have to wait.” 

Luke pressed his lips together. “You’re evil.” 

“Save the dirty talk for later, babe,” you snorted before pulling away from him. “C’mon, I promised Reanne we would sit next to her and Curtis for the meal.”

“It’s like you want to put me through hell.”

“Maybe.”

.

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

⛐ 𝟔𝟗 𝐌𝐏𝐇⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

synopsis: sfw+ nsfw headcannons for Racer Diluc!

tags: riding, car sex, creampie, clitplay, vulgar, explicit, spanking, dirty talk

a/n: repost/rewrite from first acc!

^ྀི racer!diluc who always sprints over to you after each event is over, bringing the winning medal to drape around your neck right after giving you the sweetest and warmest kiss. Even if he lost, he always won in the end if you were there in the crowd.

^ྀི racer!diluc who let you design his outfit. Every small patch is a little showpieces to him. If any happened to come off, he'd be sewing them back on as soon as he got the chance. Every event was an opportunity to show off your amazing work.

^ྀི racer!diluc who can't help but need you as his prize after a race. Even if he won, you're the thing he's after the most.

Driving home, impressing you every now with a few tricks while his hand is stationed on your thigh; his grip slightly tightening while the tires burn and create marks on the road. Thoughts of all the marks he'd put on you racing through his mind at each red light.

^ྀི racer!diluc who's obsessed with watching you ride him in the front seat. His hands grip the crease of skin between your hips and thighs, thumb resting inbetween as he helps you move up and down on his thick cock; head thrown back over the lowered headrest of his car, any sane person would never let such an expensive car get sullied. But Diluc was anything but sane right now, ravenous was a better word for it. Starved, feral, not many words could describe the sheer need he had for you in the moment.

"Fuck...you're so perfect..." He'd groan, the red strands of his hair fell perfectly around him, bangs sticking to his sweaty face as the length layed onto one of his shoulders. Perfect for grabbing while you pulled yourself towards him; cunt grinding against him as his cock pressed against be spongy part inside your walls, threatening to ruin the leather seats.

With a swift hand, he pulled the lever to the left of him and lowered the entire seat down, his hair now dangling off the seat while your tits did the same above his face; taking the opportunity to put your buds in his mouth.

"Diluc...shit..." You moan, fingers gripping onto his chest as he sucks, flicking his tongue on your nipples until they were even harder and more sensitive. He smirks against your skin, his hand now reaching up to palm your ass, giving it a rewarding smack that only made you jolt up and back down on his cock.

You feel it throbbing inside you, hips thrusting up to meet yours, the car rocking with each movement. You couldn't help but let out a loud moan, feeling the pleasure building up inside you. Diluc's lips move to yours, his hand finds its way to your neck, gripping it firmly as he whispers dirty words into your ear, telling you how good you're taking him, how he can feel your clit pulse against him, how much he wants to fuck his cum inside you til you're so full you can't speak.

He begins to thrust into you, his hand now moving down to rub your swollen clit, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as he fucks up into you; desperately you try and ride into your orgasm.

"Just like that princess...you're almost there yeah? Come for me."

And then, with one final thrust, you both reach your climax, bodies shaking and moans escaping your lips. You collapse onto each other, breathless and satisfied.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[mara-and-its-the-same]

let’s understand that this is Mara immediately post breakup so this means i get to have it as wild as i want it to be...but anyway, all i’ve been thinking about is rebounding with Danny, duh. Beyond suggestive, it's directly implied, 2k words and a big thank you to @frnchgirls, rose is a most gracious help. Enjoy 🥰

“What about like this?”

If anyone asked Danny the series of events that led him here, there would be no sane answer. Friday night he meets you at the Vandals’ bar, Saturday night he learns that you live in Chicago but were dating another Vandal in a different chapter and just suffered a messy break up, and by Sunday afternoon he’s got you posing on his bed with the brand new knowledge that before you got into that relationship you were a lingerie model until that guy made you quit. 

“Danny?” You ask him again, leaning on your elbows and one knee slightly bent to the side over the other.

He shakes himself out of his daydreaming to realize that reality is ten times better and hopes you don’t notice his dazed off gaze from your side of the camera. “Yeah?”

“Is this a good pose?” 

Kathy told you that you should get back into modeling, then offered Danny to help you practice, maybe get new photos to show some agents.  Neither of you were busy this weekend, so now here you are in a brand new soft blue babydoll negligee that she made you buy the minute she heard about the split, on Danny’s bed. 

God, how he washed those sheets and cleaned all over his apartment as soon as you asked if you could do it at his place. It hasn’t been so neat since he toured the place. But now there you are wanting him to tell you if you look good in your lingerie on his bed. But photography is his job, he’s a professional, he can do this.

He could do this, if his tongue wasn’t suddenly tied until he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, maybe you just lean back a little more?”

“Like this?”

“Perfect.” He captures the picture and tries some more from a few different angles. “What about laying down?”

“Mhm,” you move a bit further down the bed and let your hair fall around you as best it could on its own. “Here?”

“Yeah, can I move your hair?”

“Yeah,” he rearranges your strands so they frame your face perfectly and look as effortless as possible.

“Gorgeous.” The shudder clicks right as he said it, so fast that he hits it a second time just to catch your smile when he says it.

“Really?” He catches the moment your face changes from eyes closed and sultry, to open and joyous.

“Beautiful.”

“Me? Or just your pictures? 

“You, and the pictures of you.”

“Thank you,” you roll over again and he gets one from another angle. 

It was never anything crazy, the sets you modeled. Just some odd jobs for more local boutiques, never anything obscene or ridiculously lavish. Danny refuses to believe that though. You make plastic rhinestones shine like diamonds. Machine spun cotton lace looks like hand threaded silk from Paris the second it touches your skin. 

“Do you think we got enough of this one?” you ask.

“I think so. I can get these developed and have them ready in a few days,” he starts packing his camera away. “What size did you say you wanted?”

“Oh I don’t know, but— Well actually I brought one more thing to try on. Unless you want to be done?”

He’s not sure how much more of this he can really take. How much longer can he be in the same room as you before he busts just from looking at you. 

“Yeah, sure- I’ll be in the kitchen.”

He tries not to stare as you slide of the bed and start looking through the bag you brought on his way out the door. 

3 minutes later your head is poked out of the door and into the kitchen, “Danny, you can come in now.”

Oh what a sight you are. The black nightgown reaches down all the way to your ankles, the silky fabric falls over your hips so perfectly, and the only thing between the air and your chest is a thin layer of the finest lace he’s ever seen. “I haven’t worn this in years.”

“That’s a shame.” He can’t believe he’s said that, especially in the tone he did, like he couldn’t believe you wouldn’t even wear it just by yourself. You must know how you look in it, how it looks tailored to your body in every square inch. 

“I know. But he didn’t like it. It’s vintage Chantelle, all silk. Didn’t know how to appreciate it properly.” You sit back on the bed again and just then he notices the slit up one side that just about nears the top of your thigh. 

You’re about to take a new pose when he asks you a most peculiar question. 

“I’m sorry?” You ask.

“Do you mind if I move you?” He says with more confidence this time and what a gift that he did.

“Sure.”

He sets the camera down on his dresser and comes towards you. With his hands on your shoulders— your nearly bare shoulders, his thumbs fitting perfectly just into the dips of your clavicles —he leads you to lay down against the pillows and rearranges your hair. He takes one of your hands and places it beside your head, the other he moves across your torso with your hand cusping your hip bone. He steps back a bit to consider your legs, with respect to the slit. After slowly, so slowly coasting down the length of your leg, he softly pulls one ankle down straight, and pushes the other slitted one up so that it is slightly bent at the knee and tilts it towards the other. 

He takes a second to look at you, really look at you, and he can’t believe anyone would ever try to keep you from this. 

Maybe he’s just getting to know your form, for the sake of the composition, you think. But only for a moment before you see him suck his bottom lip between his teeth, just for a second but you notice. 

Finally, finally, he takes the first picture of you like this. With the click of the shutter you’ve made your mind up, you decide to press your luck. “What if I like…” you bring the hand that was on your hip up to your mouth and bite the top knuckle of your index finger.

“Yes.”

“What’s the look you’re thinking though?”

“They’re your pictures. I’m thinking whatever you want me to think.”

“But you’re the photographer, the artist.”

“You’re the art.”

“Would you kiss me?”

He nearly drops the camera. “What?”

“They like when pictures tell stories, the story would be that I’m messy and ravished and the clothes are serving their intended purpose. If you’re alright with that?”

He so absolutely, most certainly, positively is more than just alright with that. “Yeah, ok.”

You push yourself back up on the bed while he positions himself at the edge. “So how do you wa—“ he’s cut off by your pull to his collar and the press of your lips. Surpassing his initial surprise he brings a hand up around you to hold your waist, and the other up to your jaw. Messy, you want it messy. And salacious, lascivious even. Beyond suggestive, obvious is what you need. He can tell from the way you continue to pull him into you even as his chest is flush against yours. 

You pull away panting for no more than a second to order “Get the camera off the bed.” How sweet of you to be concerned, he nearly leaps over you to put it on the nightstand and he’d like to say ‘if it were any less expensive’ he would have just thrown it, but he knows that the price of it wasn’t what stopped him, it was the fear of damaging even a single one of those pictures of you. 

As he’s leaning over you, you slide down a little further on the bed so he can reach you easier. Or maybe to muss your hair up a little more if it’s against the pillows, or any other excuse you could make to make it seem like this is all for the picture and not your own desires. 

From there it is licks, bites, tugs, sucks of lips. And you’re trying, you’re both trying to keep your hands out of it, but how could you when his hair is so soft and the back of his neck is the perfect shape for you to hold. And how could he when your skin is so perfect and your bare leg is right there.

“I want a hickey.”

“Huh?”

“Kiss my neck.” He kisses you twice more on his way to your throat and you can’t help the sound you make when he reaches the perfect spot. Already he has you gasping for air. “Oh god.” His hand slithers up the slit, sliding even higher in search of your hip bone or waist to hold. 

“Wait,” He lifts himself to be eye level with you, “wait—“

“Hm?”

“Sorry, just…You’re—This is real now, right?”

“Yes, yes, very real.” You rush to pull him back down to your lips and nearly crash noses with the way he rushes down to meet you. 

“Mmph,” he groans at the scratch of your nails across his scalp and just the sound makes your back arch. Moving down again, he passes soft kisses down the valley of your chest. You’re positive he can feel the beat of your heart through every inch of your skin. How you’ve missed this, being wanted, being adored. And how he’s missed crossing beyond the other side of the lens, the feel of sculpting another body just by the skill of his touch. 

As he’s pushing the side of your skirt up and away a sudden fear strikes you, “Wait!”

“What is it?” He immediately sits back and takes his hands away, looking into your eyes for any cause for concern.

“I’m so sorry, but I really don’t want to rip it.”

“Oh,” you see him immediately relax, “So…”

You make no answer, though you do sit up to your knees and move the skirt out from underneath you. With a gesture to the strap that has fallen off your shoulder, he finally gets the message. However, in the spirit of fairness, his own shirt is the first thing to go and before you have time to remember your original intent you both rise on your knees just to kiss again. You feel before you look while your hands roam his torso. 

And slowly, so slowly, through wandering presses, pulls, and squeezes, he reaches the sides of your thighs and takes your nightgown by the seams to lift it over your head. He takes it by the straps to hang by the corner of the headboard rather than tossing it to the floor. 

You guide him forwards as you move to your back again, his knee moves between your legs while his fingertips smooth along your jaw. His eyes dance around your face, and as embarrassed as he may be to admit it, he takes a fleeting glance down the space between your bodies. An idea flashes before him, a bold one, but at this point in the afternoon he’s not sure there’s much left that could happen between you two that’d be too bold. He reaches for the camera slowly enough that you knew exactly what he wants. You resist the instinct to shy away when you still see his soft gaze over the camera. The shudder clicks and he drops it back on the nightstand, “That one’s not making it into the book,” Danny smirks at his own teasing before leaning back into you to finish what he started with a smile still on his lips. 

[satoshy12]

Shazam Billy Batson x Dani

Dani was already a few weeks outside of Amity Park, trying to find her own kind of thing. And as Danny sends her money, gold, or whatever she wants from the Ghost Zone, She didn't even have to look much for money or something similar.

So she started to be a villain, just as Danny was a hero. She wanted something else! And this way the After a short time, she had a new power.

To change from her child body to an adult body. That way, she is getting better at this, and her secret identity helped aloud.

+

Billy Batson, also known as Shazam or Captain Marvel, had no idea what to feel about the new thief in town.

On one hand She is a thief, and on the other, she steals from the evil rich. So what should he do? And as he found out, she was like a child in an adult body; he had no idea how to feel.

But over time, he found ways to have fun with her, fighting her and spending time with her in civilian form.

The gods told him he was in love and he should court her. But as a hero and a villain, he has no idea what to say. So Solomon told him to ask if it's okay to ask Batman.

So he asked Batman about what to do when he was in love. And Batman gave him permission to ask her on a date and follow his heart.

+

While in a battle with Phantom, Shazam said it loud and clear: "I love you! I knew from the first moment we met that you were the only one for me. I just needed to tell you that."

Dani was shocked as she blushed, let the stolen goods fall to the ground, and looked at the hero. "Wo wo wait! We are mortal enemies! Have you lost it!?"

Shazam wasn't sure what he did wrong. The people around them looked just as shocked. "I am perfectly sane."

Dani looked at him, unsure; she knew him as Billy, but she didn't think he would ask her as a hero after all, she is a villain." "Yeah, I am not buying it, your justice friends would be angry."

Billy: "No worry, Batman gave me permission, so no fear."

Dani stopped when she heard about Batman dating Villainess, so maybe he is telling the truth. And with one punch, she punched him to the ground as he crashed.".... Pick me up at 7 pm! And don't you dare to be late!" And then she escaped.

Billy is not sure: "So that was a yes?"

Civilians: " Yes, that was a yes. Get ready for your date, my boy!"

Billy really had a Pretty supportive city. After all.

+

In the Watch Tower.

The newspaper talked about the villainess and hero romance that Shazam was doing.

Oliver:" So... you want to explain?"

Diana:"Yeah, what were you thinking?"

Billy:" But Batman said it's okay... He gave me permission to follow my heart."

++

A/N

Danny doesn't accept that Dani is a villainess. So whenever someone says something about that he refuse to accept it.

Adorable Dani stays a good girl!

So people around him gave up, as even Jazz saw it that way.

[cherryslyce]

Holding Hands With Shadows | Tom Riddle

Synopsis: Being the Minister of Magic was not easy for Tom, but you are always there to keep chaos from erupting. OR, you are Tom's assistant and the babysitter of the group and Tom finally confesses.

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Notes: Not canon compliant (sane!Tom, no Voldemort), Abraxas keeps insulting orphans, Y/N is tired (Knights of Walpurgis? More like Kids of Walpurgis)

You could almost feel the grey hairs sprouting from your head, and not even in a fun, attractive way either. It was a wonder you hadn't even thought about drafting up your letter of resignation until right now.

"Abraxas, you may not buy out that land to raise your peacocks. The Department of Care for Magical Children plan to use it for future projects."

Tom shoots you an amused look from across the room, lips quirked up into a smirk at your exasperated tone. The infuriating man was leaning back in his armchair, far too at ease, as you tried to restrain yourself from slamming your head through the table.

"Frankly, that just seems like a waste of good resources. I mean why do they need it so bad? Could they not just simply find another plot? After all, these children grew up in austere conditions, so they won't even miss it."

"Abraxas."

"Yes?"

"Get out."

"Excuse--"

"Now. Please."

The man looks over to his best friend for help, but Tom simply shrugs as if conceding that you were the one in charge.

"Fine. However, this conversation is far from over. I will see you both tonight, yes?"

"Of course. Safe travels, and please send Lady Malfoy my regards."

The man sends you a pleased nod before twirling on his heels, his cloak billowing dramatically. The door clicks shut behind him just as you drop your face into your hands.

"Stressed, darling?"

You huff and rub your forehead before answering with more bite than intended, "Perfectly fine".

The insufferable man, as unbothered as always, lets out a noise of amusement before slowly striding towards your desk. You slowly raise your head as his shadow falls over you, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Anything I can do to help?"

"Yeah, fire off your best hex at me and put me out of my misery."

"Abraxas‘ dramatics has rubbed off on you, my love."

The pet name sends a shiver down your spine and you try your hardest to school your expression. You had grown up with Tom at the orphanage, which basically made you his closest confidant, friend, and ally. At times it felt like you were a breathing, judgmental diary to him.

You were privy to all that was bad and ugly in his life, so it was only right that you were by his side when he rose to power and suddenly had access to all the material goods in the world.

And to him--whatever he had, you had by extension.

Of course, you fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now, rebuking any effort Tom made to give you preferential treatment.

Everything would be fine if it weren't for your affections toward him. Growing up, he never expressed interest in pursuing a romantic relationship, he had only ever wanted to subvert the stereotypes and malice aimed at the both of you during your years at Hogwarts.

The closest thing to romance that you could associate Tom with was when he wooed Druella Rosier in sixth year with his signature smile and a kiss to her hand in order to siphon information about her father from her.

The poor girl was an inconsolable lump of misery after Tom got what he needed and tossed her aside like a used handkerchief.

Tom's always been romantically inept like that.

Your spiral of reminiscing didn't cease, not even when you and Tom showed up to Malfoy Manor for their annual ball later that night.

When would it be socially acceptable to turn tail and run?

"Assistant L/N! What a pleasure it is! Is the minister trekking about nearby?"

You spin from looking out the window and come face to face with an older man who you recognized from around the Department of Magical Games and Sports.

His vest hugged him tightly and only served to accentuate his red, puffy face.

Was he about to hit on you or try and kiss your ass so he could get acquainted with Tom?

Merlin. Did you have enough in your savings to retire yet?

"Good evening. I believe Tom is busy discussing foreign deals with Lord Greengrass."

"Ah yes, Cyrus Greengrass is quite ingenious. You and Minister Riddle were friends with him during school, yes?"

Your lip twitched at how casual he was addressing Cyrus. Cyrus would be disconcerted by the man's informality, but Abraxas would surely become vexed on his friend's behalf if he heard.

"Yes. We are childhood friends I suppose."

"Wonderful! Well I was coming to you because I'm sure you're aware that the rules for Quidditch are being tossed into the air. The Ministro di Magia in Italy is trying to--"

You started tuning him out and looked around the room for one of your friends, starting to sweat in the formal wear you had on.

Luckily, Tom caught your eye. Unfortunately, he had somehow rounded up all of your friends and they were all looking quite entertained at your expense.

"Sorry sir. If you'll excuse me, it seems that the Minister is in need of me."

Without waiting for a response, you chugged what was left in your champagne flute before practically stomping over to the circle of men.

As you neared, Tom stepped out to welcome you, encircling a hand around your waist like it was the most casual thing in the world.

"Good evening boys. Thank you for throwing me out to the wolves."

"Y/N! So I assume this would be a bad time to try and renegotiate the land you're throwing away to those orphans."

Bloody hell, he was forgetting that he was saying that in front of two orphans.

Without answering Abraxas, you turned to Tom and let out a sigh, "I'm handing in my letter of resignation tomorrow, I promise it".

The hand around your waist tightened ever so slightly and you ignored the amused looks your friends sent each other, having picked up on your little school girl crush on Tom eons ago.

Damn them.

"Now, now, don't make hasty decisions. I could simply smite Abraxas‘ peacocks and the problem would be solved."

Abraxas let out an undignified noise while Parkinson and Bulstrode snorted into their drinks. Cyrus patted Abraxas‘ shoulder in feign pity, but he knew that Tom would likely make good on his threat if you asked him to.

"I hate you all. How is it that even after all these years, I still feel like an underpaid, underappreciated nanny."

Abraxas looked offended at your words and quickly reassured you, "We love you though. Underpaid, yes. Underappreciated? Never."

Your banter with the group went on for a while longer and as the night started coming to a close, Tom steered you away from peering eyes and towards a vacant balcony.

"Are you alright, darling?"

You only nodded tiredly to the man, leaning your elbows on the railing. You rubbed your eyes as you could sense the man behind you shifting in uncertainty (which was so uncharacteristic of him that you had half the mind to pull out your wand and threaten him to tell you where the real Tom was).

A few beats of peaceful silence pass before you're jumping up at the feeling of hands coming to hug your waist, a hard chest pressing against your back.

"Tom--?"

His chin gently rested atop of your shoulder, loosening his grip slightly to give you the opportunity to push him away.

"Are you unusually more clueless nowadays or are you purposely torturing me?"

"You're going to have to elaborate. Did you accidentally kill someone or do something I would disapprove of? This affection is quite sudden."

"But you don't hate it. Quite the contrary."

"That confidence of yours is going to get you into trouble one day."

"If it's you, I don't mind the trouble."

You don't bother responding, but your silence was satisfactory enough for him.

Clearing your throat, you awkwardly move your hands to rest atop of his, patting them gently.

It felt like the world spun on its head and was reborn anew before Tom spoke again, "Marry me."

His words threw you for a loop and you sputtered a choked, "What?"

"Marry me. I mean we're practically married anyway. You flounder around and make sure the boys are okay, and I rein them in so they don't blow up the country and make me lose face."

"Yes. We are a true dynamic duo."

Your dry response has his chest rumbling in contained laughter, tilting his head and gently knocking it against your cheek.

"We're the parents of the group, haven't you noticed? Abraxas asked me a few days ago if we would end their suffering and ours by just wedding each other."

"I was not aware we were even dating."

"Dating--being partners-- would not even come close to what we are. Don't you feel the same? We are in sync in everything we do. Even hundreds of miles apart, I breathe as you breathe, my heart beats in rhythm with yours, my mind does not simply revolve around you--it is completely infused with your every essence. It is a wonder we aren't already married with three cats."

"Three cats," Tom despised cats, "But...yes, I feel the same. You know I do. I thought that...well, I thought you weren't interested in romance."

"I am interested in pursuing anything and everything with you. Only you. If you'll have me, of course."

Your laughter comes out wet and heavy, filled with relief and disbelief. You turn your gaze upward and watch as the stars blink down on you, permeated across the sky the same way love begins to flow through your veins.

"It was always you, Tom. Thank you for telling me."

Tom pulls back briefly before gently turning you around to face him.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against yours, eyes conveying a tender emotion that you've never seen until now. But now you knew, every time in the past when his eyes flickered across your face and softened, it was out of love.

"Tell me you'll marry me."

You don't give him a verbal response, but as you press your lips to his, he knows that domesticity together is all the both of you have ever needed.

"Tom...does this mean we have to make Abraxas the best man now?"

"Don't be silly, he'll give us no choice in the matter."

(And give them no choice, he did)

masterlist

[whyse7vn]

BABY FEVER -

[ ot7 x reader ]

TAEHYUNG -

tae: have my cubs

y/n: STOP TALKING TO ME NOW

tae: i want 8

y/n: i’ve actually never been so srs in my life

let’s break up

like fr

i’m over this relationship i’m over you

tae: i can settle for 5 if it’s too much

y/n: let’s settle for a break up

tae: our little family 🥺

y/n: i would rather shoot myself

tae: why?

y/n: WHY?

are you really asking my why rn?

tae: yeah??

y/n: “have my cubs”

tae: i can’t get pregnant what is wrong with you

someone didn’t go to school 😭😭

y/n: who in their right mind says shit like that

tae: me??

y/n: stop talking to me

tae: babe

i’m being for real

y/n: i know

and i’m scared

tae: don’t be scared

i’ll protect you

and the kids

real alpha i am

y/n: stop

tae: are you getting emotional?

omg are you pregnant rn?????

hormones and that stuff?

is that what you wanted to say this whole time??

were you trying to hide it from me??

ur so cute >.<

y/n: i’m blocking you now

tae: we are gonna get through this together

do you think we need a bigger house?

y/n: genuinely are you ok in the head?

tae: ofc wtf??

i know ur not because of the pregnancy

but it’s okay

you don’t need to stress at all

i’ll think for the both of us

the love of ur life taetae be the sane one for the next 6 months

y/n: there is so much to unpack there

tae: omg have you been clothes shopping without me >.<

y/n: i am perfectly fine

you and sane don’t belong in the same sentence

never call yourself taetae again

and it’s 9 months not 6 you fucking idiot

tae: what is ur actual problem??

don’t swear around my child you’ll poison their mind

and i think i know more about babies than you do so just leave everything to me ok?

y/n: again i would rather shoot myself

tae: if you die i’ll protect the baby

y/n: there is no baby

tae: are you not ready to be a mother or something?

i swear we can do this babe

y/n: are you actually listening to me??

tae: ofc i am??

y/n: …

tae: i’m omw home btw can’t wait to see you both!!!!!!!

y/n: it’s like you only take in the information you want to hear

tae: i love you too

y/n: or maybe you just can’t read

tae: <333333333

YOONGI -

yoongi: no

y/n: i don’t like when you read my mind like that

yoongi: no

y/n: i’m gonna ask anyways

yoongi: no

y/n: let’s have a baby 😁🙏🏽

yoongi: no

y/n: if we don’t have a baby now ur gonna be an old dad

ur gonna die before our baby turns 10

we don’t want that do we?

think of all the precious memories you’ll miss

yoongi: i’m fine with that

y/n: are you really?

yoongi: …

no

y/n: let’s have a baby rn

yoongi: but that’s so much work

y/n: #inittogether

our little baby made out of our love for each other

isn’t that sososoos cute yoongi 🥺

yoongi: i guess

y/n: so we’re having a baby?

yoongi: go away

y/n: ur not saying no

i’m taking this as a yes

i continue to win in this life

yoongi: what if you die before me

and i’m left with a baby?

y/n: the old thing really got to you huh?

yoongi: no i’m just saying you might die first

y/n: there is no way i’m dying first

ur literally 30

yoongi: and???

y/n: like jin is ur age mate that’s saying aLOT

yoongi: ur pissing me off

y/n: okay old bitch

yoongi: you expect me to have children with you after you bully me??

y/n: pls put me in ur will

i’m in jin’s yk?

yoongi: why are you in jin’s will?

y/n: why? mad ur not?

yoongi: how do you know i’m not

in his will?

matter of fact why tf does he have a will??

y/n: aren’t you an inquisitive one

yoongi: saying big words doesn’t make you look smart

y/n: jin knows it’s almost his time

you better start writing yours

yoongi: leaving everything to holly

y/n: i’ll literally cook holly

yoongi: what is wrong with you

y/n: i am not with child rn

that’s what’s wrong

yoongi: that sounded gross

never say that again

y/n: i’ve come to the conclusion that ur my biggest enemy

yoongi: i’m glad you know

y/n: ur dying

yoongi: ur next

y/n: don’t ever say that

i’m literally in my prime

yoongi: ur prime?

couldn’t tell

y/n: find someone else to carry your children

i can no longer stand the idea of mini yous running around

yoongi: ok :(

y/n: ??

don’t frown at me

you brought this on urself

yoongi: 😔

y/n: you bitch

yoongi: come make a baby with me 😄

NAMJOON -

y/n: let’s have a child

namjoon: ok

y/n: i lied

namjoon: oh

y/n: what is wrong with you

namjoon: what is wrong with you?

y/n: did adding a question mark make you feel better bitch??

namjoon: very

y/n: this is why i lie to you

namjoon: that’s not nice

y/n: ur literally a nasty little gaslighter

namjoon: i’m not?

y/n: you are?

namjoon: if anything ur the gaslighter

y/n: fake claims i’ll sue

namjoon: you tell me you want to have children and then you tell me ur lying or you never said that

y/n: what is ur actual issue i’ve never said i want kids??

if you want kids ig we can talk about it but i’ve literally never brought that up

namjoon: see?

y/n: i see very clearly actually 20/20 vision the eye people told me

namjoon: you wear glasses?

y/n: occasionally

like what is ur issue?

ur so obsessed with me it’s not right

namjoon: ig i’m a little obsessed

y/n: it’s really not right

wait…

don’t you fucking wear glasses

what is ur issue four eyes???

namjoon: i do

i’ve never claimed to have 20/20 vision

y/n: ur blind as hell

namjoon: maybe i don’t want to have kids with you

they fr won’t be able to see anything

y/n: HOW DARE YOU SAY YOI DONT WANT KIDS WITH ME

YOURE SICK IN TBE HEAD

namjoon: put ur glasses on

ur spelling stuff wrong

y/n: it’s my charm

namjoon: not wearing ur glasses?

y/n: we need to go on a break

namjoon: how can we go on a break when we have kids to take care of?

y/n: and you say ur not a gaslighter?

what if i was a weak woman and fell for ur sick lies

namjoon: we would have kids by now

y/n: ur messed up

that’s so messed up

namjoon: shoot me

y/n: don’t say stuff like that

cuz i will

then you’ll be mad

and dead

namjoon: what are you bothering me for?

y/n: can i not just message my bf like omg?

namjoon: you miss me or something?

y/n: not anymore

namjoon: cute

y/n: fuck ur cute

namjoon: accepting a compliment won’t kill you yk?

y/n: stop communicating with me

namjoon: you messaged me first?

y/n: no i didn’t

namjoon: whatever

y/n: omg don’t speak to me like you hate me i’ll kms

namjoon: so kids?

y/n: idk what ur on about tbh

namjoon: fine

y/n: fine

namjoon: fine?

y/n: fine?

namjoon: idk what you want from me

y/n: children

namjoon: you stop communicating with me

y/n: wow

namjoon: yeah

y/n: ur a LOSER

SEOKJIN -

jin: it’s time we reproduce

y/n: no

jin: no?

this would be a blessing to many

y/n: ok??

jin: ok?

i’ll just kms then

if you hate me just say that

y/n: i hate you

jin: what is ur problem???

y/n: what’s urs??

you told me to say it

jin: i said if you hate me

IF

y/n: ???

jin: oh my god

leave me alone

y/n: oh my god by gidle

jin: you have to stop speaking to hobi

y/n: why :(

jin: ur starting to talk like him

and it’s gross

the mother of my children a hoseok clone??

no thank you

y/n: what children??

jin: you need to keep up

we are having kids

y/n: but you said mother of your children

like as in you have kids rn

and last time i checked i never gave birth

who is this other woman seokjin???

jin: ew why would you say my full name like that

y/n: why would you cheat on me?

jin: bored?

y/n: all men are the same

jin: i am like no other man

y/n: true you dumb as hell

jin: now ur talking shit

y/n: maybe the shit talks you

jin: what

y/n: what

jin: can we make babies pls

y/n: ew

you actually make me wanna throw up

jin: wtf

this is why i don’t talk to you

y/n: you talk to me everyday?

in fact you loose ur mind if you don’t talk to me for more than 2 hours

jin: you literally have no proof

once again ur talking SHIT

y/n: don’t raise ur voice at me tf

jin: see you would be such a good mother

that’s such a parent thing to say

lowkey got me feeling a little hot and bothered rn 🙈

i’m sorry

you might need to put me in my place again mommy 🙈🙈🙈🙈🙈🙉🙉🙉

y/n: what the fuck

jin: you’re not into it???

y/n: how can you go from talking about children to sex?

jin: don’t say that makes me sound like a perv

y/n: you are a perv

jin: no i’m not

ur just lame

like you need to have sex to have children

i was just helping start the process

y/n: you’ve got like a screw loose or something

jin: stop speaking to me in riddles

or don’t

i do love a smart girl 😉

y/n: stop speaking to me like a bitch in heat

jin: people lame nowadays

by people i mean you

y/n: cry about it

jin: i just might

y/n: good

JUNGKOOK -

y/n: do you want to have a baby?

jk: doesn’t giving birth hurt?

y/n: so?

jk: i don’t want you to get hurt

y/n: life is pain

jk: i’ll give birth

y/n: that’s not how it works

jk: pls let me do it

y/n: ok

jk: thank you

y/n: ur welcome

jk: do you think i’ll look good pregnant?

y/n: idk

jk: will you still love me when i get big?

y/n: i might leave you if you get pregnant

jk: wtf?

y/n: it might creep me out

jk: why wtf

y/n: i don’t want to imagine you pregnant

jk: but our baby ☹️

y/n: i would rather never have kids than see you pregnant

jk: wow

you think i would be that ugly

y/n: i’m sorry

jk: are you?

y/n: ummm

jk: ok then

y/n: we can always adopt

jk: but that’s not my baby

y/n: legally they would be

jk: we won’t have the same spit

y/n: the same spit?

jk: yk like our insides won’t be the same

y/n: ur dna?

jk: yeah my dna

y/n: ur not supposed to have the exact same dna as ur baby anyways

jk: okay but it’s like a mix of us

and a adopted one would have no mix at all

y/n: so what do you want to do?

jk: give birth

y/n: i really don’t think it’s possible babe

jk: i will do it

y/n: sure

jk: why don’t you believe in me?

y/n: i do

jk: act like it

y/n: wooo?

jk: not good enough

y/n: sorry i’m tired

jk: ok?

y/n: fuck you?

jk: i’m about to have a baby and ur talking to me like that?

y/n: i’ll believe it when i see it

jk: so you fr don’t believe in me?

y/n: yeah

not one bit of belief in me

jk: crazy how people switch up

when you want to come back into me and MY babies lives we won’t let you

y/n: i’m crying

honestly

jk: i’m glad

y/n: i’m actually not

i don’t care at all

and that’s the truth

jk: so you just lie for fun

y/n: pretty much

jk: wow

ur crazy

y/n: 4 u

jk: waittt why am i blushing rn 😖

are you in love with me be honest?

y/n: idk…

jk: oh

y/n: embarrassing…

ur just a fuck buddy tbh

jk: for 8 years i’ve been a fuck buddy?

y/n: yur

jk: are you lying to me?

y/n: i could be

jk: i could be pregnant rn

y/n: are you?

jk: no

but i could be

y/n: are you lying to me?

jk: yeah :(

y/n: it’s okay

jk: is it really??

y/n: you don’t want me to answer that

JIMIN -

y/n: i’ve been getting congratulation texts all day today

jimin: omg people are so crazy wtf 😭?

y/n: i’m fr so confused

did we win an award i didn’t know about or something??

jimin: maybe idk lol

y/n: would it be rude if i asked what tf they’re talking about?

jimin: unbelievably rude

don’t do it

i’m for real

y/n: but i wanna know

jimin: just accept the congrats and go

y/n: do you know something i don’t?

jimin: wtf no?

y/n. ur lying

jimin: i’m not

y/n: jimin

jimin: love of my life

apple of my eye

babe

y/n: tell me

jimin: omg i LOVE that song

tell me tell me ttttell me

y/n: now

jimin: sorry idk what ur talking about

hello??

babe?

where did you go?

come back

talk to me

y/n: YOU TOLD PEOPLE I WAS PREGNANT???

jimin: I TOLD YOU NOT TO ASK

WAHT IS WRONG WITH YOU???

y/n: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT

jimin: i’m preparing people for the future

y/n: ??????????

i’m NOT pregnant

jimin: you will be when i’m done with you ;)

y/n: wtf is wrong with you

jimin: a lot

y/n: i can tell

jimin: do you think i’m ugly be honest

y/n: right now yes

jimin: so you think i’m pretty other times 🥺🥺🥺

let’s have a baby

y/n: no

jimin: okay wtf

why not

y/n: ur literally about to be shipped off

you want to leave me with a baby??

jimin: why would you say that

now i’m upset

i’ll take the baby with me

y/n: …

jimin: no?

y/n: no

jimin: fine

our baby would be lowkey ugly anyways

y/n: excuse me?

jimin: problem?

y/n: why would our baby be ugly??

jimin: i mean…

y/n: you mean????

jimin: ur gonna have to just prove me wrong babe

y/n: ur not funny

jimin: did i make a joke???

y/n: you are the joke

jimin: i actually am not the joke

i never joke

super serious guy park jimin is

super shy too

new jeans core >.<

y/n: i’m done with you

HOSEOK -

y/n: baby?

hobi: me?

y/n: no like an actual baby

hobi: ur having one?

congrats!!!!!

y/n: no??

i’m not having one

hobi: oh

i’m sorry for ur loss

y/n: there was no loss

hobi: oh

was there a gain?

y/n: do you want there to be?

hobi: depends on the gain

y/n: the gain would be a baby

hobi: yikesss

that’s a pretty lame gain

why would i want you to have a baby?

y/n: um because you love me?

hobi: i wouldn’t be the father

i don’t see the point

y/n: ???

why wouldn’t you be the father?

hobi: i thought you were asking me if you could have a baby with someone else

y/n: what?

hobi: what?

i’m confused

y/n: I’M confused

hobi: why are we confused??

y/n: why would i ask you if i could have a baby with someone else???

hobi: feminism?

tho i do think it would be more of a feminist move if you didn’t ask me

ur spirt was in the right place tho

i’m sure the women will forgive you

y/n: what?

hobi: was i wrong??

y/n: what do you think?

hobi: it’s not my place to decide for a strong woman like urself

y/n: get a grip

hobi: grip gotten

y/n: is this ur way of dodging my baby proposal?

hobi: a baby what?

that sounds wrong

tf is a baby doing proposing???

ur a baby like drink milk or something

y/n: are you drunk??

hobi: nooooooooooooooooooooooooo

y/n: so ur tipsy?

hobi: tipsy topsy who cares

y/n: i do

i’m trying to ask you if you want to have a baby with me oh my god

hobi: omg do you love me or something???

that’s so crazy

y/n: bye have fun drinking

hobi: drinking heals me

y/n: that’s concerning

hobi: will i be a good dad

y/n: i’m sure you will

hobi: or will i kill myself due to the stress

y/n: oh

hobi: let’s find out babe

i’m ready

y/n: that did not sound like ready talk to me

we can talk about this tomorrow

hobi: if we think about it what can a baby do that i can’t???

y/n: keep me company

hobi: i do that all the time

do you hate me

if you hate me say 1

if you hate me and want me dead in a ditch by saturday night say 7

y/n: where are you right now?

hobi: jin’s house

i think

y/n: you think?

anyways

that’s the point

i’m all alone a baby would never leave me to go drink with jin

hobi: jin would be dead by the time our baby was born

he’s old

dojn’t tell him i said that

he might kick me out

i would be so upset

like this :cccccccccccc

and this 😭😭😭😪😓😓😓😰😰😨😨

WOAHHH THIJS DRINK HITTING OH MY GOD BABE WOW

FEELS LIKE I JUST DID COKE

OH MY GOF

not that i’ve done cokr befr don’t be scared of me babe

y/n: wow okay!

hobi: babies can’t even dance to dynamite i don’t see why you would want that in ur life

and i totally can dance to dynamite

sO i win

y/n: you are so right babe you go and have fun with jin!

hobi: see ur just so silly

and btw i realllly donnt do coke i swear it

y/n: 7

hobi: OH MY GIF I KNEW ITT

[wickedsmille]

de-aged!Jason and it's tim's problem

Warnings for Jason being a wee little bean (sort of), Tim's super stellar skills with teenagers and the lack of any kind of editing. I wrote this and abandoned it so long ago but discovered it and was like aw, ok, s'kinda cute. :v

It's a tame gen fic with platonic cuddles and vague mentions to Jason and Tim's not so fantastic childhoods.

So. *vague hand wave*

“No. No way.” Tim is freaking out. 

He has ample reason to freak out because -

“Who the fuck are you?” Jason demands. 

Except, it isn’t Jason because Jason is over six inches taller with over a hundred pounds of extra muscle. Jason is nearly Bruce’s size, not some long limbed, gangly teenager just starting to grow into his shoulders. Granted, the surly scowl and inner fire is all Jason, as is the narrow eyed suspicion. So is the far too large leather jacket and armor hanging off him and the domino barely holding on. It’s a small blessing he’d forwent his helmet for patrol. 

“Your worst nightmare,” Tim replies automatically. 

Realizing the inappropriateness of what he’s said, regardless of his always wanting to say it, makes him grimace because, yeah, for a while he kind of was Jason’s worst nightmare. They’ve slipped into something approaching civil co-workers since Jason decided to invade Titans Tower to test him via a vicious beatdown but they are nowhere near take care of each other after a magical mishap territory. 

At Tim’s words, Jason drops down lower into a fighting stance and squares up with Tim, unafraid and ready to brawl even if Tim is obviously trained because only the rare few decided to go out at night in a costume and mask without the skills to back it up. And Tim is bigger than Jason. By maybe an inch but he’ll take it. It’s still a victory considering adult, not magically de-aged Jason is a behemoth. 

Waving his hands frantically, Tim amends his previous statement. “That came out wrong.”

“How does ‘Your worst nightmare’ come out wrong?” Jason spits.

“Okay, tell me you’ve never wanted to quote a movie in the middle of a fight,” Tim shoots back.

Jason seems to chew on Tim’s words before he loosens up and stands though the tension refuses to leave and the wariness remains. “If you make one wrong move I’ll smack the shit out of you.”

“Been there, done that,” Tim says as his mouth gets away from him again. 

“Wait, what?”

Later, when he’s alone, Tim is going to bang his head against a wall and smother himself with his own pillow. He can’t <i>wait</i> so long as it makes him forget the misery that is this moment in which he can’t keep his mouth shut and he has a teenage Jason Todd staring him down like he’s crazy. Which, fair. None of the Bats are sane, per say.

“What do you remember?” Tim asks tiredly.

Jason chews over his words, coiled tight and still ready to strike. His gaze roves over Tim before he finally says, “I am. Was? Robin, I think. But I was just living on the street. So, I don’t,” Jason trails off, unsure. 

“So you remember some stuff from being Robin and some from before that but not everything?” Tim guesses.

Nodding hesitantly, Tim fights the urge to slap a hand to his head. Why not make things more complicated by not only taking years off Jason’s life but also jumbling the memories he does have? Tim doesn’t mind. This is perfectly fine. Without going over each detail, there’s no way to accurately tell how much Jason does or does not remember. It’s clear he remembers being Robin but not moving in with Bruce. The two things are so closely linked, it doesn’t bode well for what other holes are in Jason’s mind. But it’s fine. 

Tim decides not to say anything else and runs his hands through his hair. It’s a good thing Bruce isn’t in town, JL business as usual these days unless one of the big name Gotham Rogues starts causing trouble, or he’d be all over tiny Jason. There is one other plausible candidate to stick on Jason Duty. A candidate already in Gotham and primed for endless cuddles and forced bonding sessions since his newest victim is spending a few weeks respite at the Kent Farm. Dick is going to be ecstatic.

Reaching up, Tim turns his com back on and pretends like Jason doesn’t flinch. “Nightwing?”

“RR,” Dick greets cheerily. “What can I do you for?”

“I’ve got a situation.”

The shift between Dick the Brother and Nightwing the Protector is stark as he asks, “Are you in trouble?”

Hesitantly, Tim hedges, “Well, not <i>me</i>, but. You’ll want to see this. Meet us back at the Cave in twenty.”

“Us?”

Tim clicks off the com and mutes it. Sure, it’ll drive Dick up a wall to not know what’s going on but Tim doesn’t feel like getting badgered into telling the whole sordid tale of Red Robin and Red Hood getting bested by a two bit magician with a splintered down piece of wood and a pointed hat. Embarrassing would not even begin to cover it so he doesn’t fancy having anyone else drop into the conversation, Barbara.

The lesser of the two evils is obviously to let Dick stew in the knowledge that Tim is safe and whole but hiding a secret. There is no other possible resource. None that would save Tim’s already wounded and dying pride. 

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Jason tells him harshly.

Tim fixes him with a flat look. “I’m not dealing with this, your brother can so you can either come with willingly or I’m tossing you over my shoulder and you’re still coming with.” How crazy is it to think he could easily carry Jason.

Jason tries to stare him down but Tim cocks a hip, crosses his arms and waits patiently. Eventually, Jason relaxes by inches. 

“Something happened to me, didn’t it?”

Tim can’t help but roll his eyes no matter how unfair it is to Jason since he can’t remember. “No,” Tim replies sarcastically, again knowing he’s being unfair but the universe started it by getting him into this mess. 

“You don’t need to be a bag of dicks.”

“You don’t need to use such language, young man.”

Jason looks like he sucked on something sour as he crosses his arms and hunches his shoulder inward. There’s a faint dusting of pink over his cheeks. It makes Tim feel a little bad. As far as he can tell, Jason is fifteen again, which sends a pang of hurt through Tim’s chest with the implications, which means he has all the false bluster and bravado that comes with being a teenager with the added bonus of being hypersensitive to embarrassment and criticism. He should stop being such an ass. 

Heaving a sigh, Tim waves Jason over as he turns his back and starts making his way down the alley to where his bike is parked. Hesitantly, Jason follows but his steps quicken as they draw near and he gets a look at Tim’s bike. The resistance is gone and replaced with awe as he circles the machine despite Tim swinging his leg over and mounting it. Patiently, like a saint, he allows Jason his moment of wonder. It is a beautiful work of ingenuity and power. 

Then the seconds drag out. Looking over his shoulder, Tim raises a brow and shrugs a shoulder towards the back of his bike. “So, I did tell Nightwing twenty minutes.”

“And the longer I keep us here the faster you’ll have to drive,” Jason replies without missing a beat, bent over and inspecting the anti-locking mechanism on the back brakes.

Tim grins, small and dangerous. “Alright. I’ll give you a couple more minutes.”

He gives Jason more than a few minutes because he knows the streets are empty and he can safely push his bike faster than he would without an excuse like chasing bad guys or coming to someone’s rescue. It took some coaxing to get Jason on and even longer to get him to wrap his arms securely around Tim but, once they had set off and Tim ran his third red light, both of them settled in for the too fast ride. Midway, Tim decides to show off and skid through a particularly sharp turn. It’s a flawless maneuver and Jason shows his appreciation by whooping loudly.

Tim does it again once they reach the cave. This time, he drifts into a narrow parking spot between the Batmobile and Nightwing’s bike. Jason’s arms tighten around him as they skirt the edges of the Batmobile by millimeters and he doesn’t let go even after they’ve come to a stop and Tim has killed the engine. Eventually, Tim has to pat Jason’s arms to get him off so Tim can breathe properly again. Jason promptly scrambles off at that. 

By the time Tim is turning around to face the main part of the Cave, Dick already by their side with a worried furrow to his brow. He blinks once at Jason, looks at Tim, blinks again at Jason then melts. 

“Oh my gods,” Dick says softly. He looks delighted and Tim does not envy Jason who’s eyeing him critically.

“When did you get so old?” Jason asks unkindly. 

Dick throws a hand over his heart and actually looks slightly offended. “Wow, okay, so I’m not <i>old</i> -”

“Yes, you are.”

“And, wow, I forgot how much of a little shit you were,” Dick finishes fondly. 

Jason bristles and looks like he wants to shove his hands in his pockets but the armored cargo pants are hanging too low for him to manage it without looking ridiculous. 

To make up for his earlier mistakes, Tim cuts in to take pity on Jason. “Turns out the guy we were chasing was the real deal. I assume you can give Zatanna a call and handle it?”

Together, Dick and Jason both ask, “You’re not sticking around?”

Tim glances between the two of them, bewildered. “Uh, no? I get enough second hand teenage angst from Damian.”

Jason doesn’t look happy about it but Dick does. He nods amicably and smiles widely. “That’s alright, I volunteer myself as tribute.” 

Without warning, he moves towards Jason with his arms raised and posed to envelope the teen in a patented Dick Grayson Hug. Swiftly, Jason side steps him and slides behind Tim so he’s blocking any other attempts Dick might make. Some of Dick’s joy falls but he looks undeterred as he lowers his arms and doesn’t move forward again. If Tim weren’t hanging onto some old hurts still and feeling petty, he’d feel a little bad for Dick. 

Tim shifts, trying to edge his way over to the computer so he can type up his report and be on his merry way but Jason gets closer and follows him like Tim’s shadow. The entire time, Dick keeps staring. The longer it goes on, the more Jason scowls at him. It is hilarious and, were Tim a casual observer, he would have burst out laughing long ago. As it is, he’s an unwilling participant in Dick and Jason’s detente and caught in the middle as Dick barely restrains himself from draping himself over Jason while Jason looks more and more like he wants to kick Dick in the nuts. 

Pointedly, Tim sits down in the computer chair which leaves Jason nowhere to go. He sticks by Tim’s side regardless, eyeing Dick who has followed them like a puppy waiting for a treat. Cuddles with his younger than normal little brother being the treat. 

There’s quiet for a few blessed minutes before Jason asks awkwardly, “What’s your name? I didn’t get it before.”

“You never asked before,” Tim says absently as he starts to write up his report. His fingers may go a little faster than usual in an attempt to hurry his escape. “But it’s Red Robin.”

“Like the restaurant?” Tim doesn’t have to look at Jason to know he’s judging. He can hear it.

“Yum,” Tim says flatly. 

“And,” Jason starts. Tim can make out Jason shifting awkwardly. “What about your real name?”

Tim cuts a glance Jason’s way and takes in the frown, the hardened edge to his eyes as they look between the Cave and Tim, the uncertainty. He shouldn’t feel guilty. He doesn’t. It’s not like he did anything wrong. But Jason didn’t either. The wannabe mage got lucky and it could’ve easily been Tim drowning in his uniform and overwhelmed by the way everything has changed from what he remembered. 

Looking back at the computer and continuing the report, Tim caves and answers, “Tim. My name is Tim. I was the Robin that came after you.”

“So this,” Jason pauses to wiggle in his armor, “was my idea when I passed on Robin?” Tim looks to see Jason giving the guns hanging from hips a dubious look. Right, he probably should have taken away the firearms.

There is so much wrong with what Jason said and has left unsaid. In no universe does Tim want to volunteer himself to answer. No amount of cutting edge tech, unlimited Zesti or epic W&W campaigns could make him handle this conversation. 

Tim searches for Dick who’s apparently made himself look busy at one of the closer work benches. His hands have stopped tinkering with the grapple gun he’d been poking moments ago and his back goes rigid. No matter how miffed he is with Dick, he doesn’t have the heart to make him handle answering Jason either. Lying is an option. Lying is a fantastic option but Jason deserves more than that.

Carefully, Tim settles on, “Yes, all that was your idea. You didn’t really pass on Robin but I don’t think we should get into it. I hope you’ll trust me and leave it alone for now.”

The silence stretches on between them, broken up only by Tim’s typing. 

“Okay,” Jason eventually answers. “Don’t get me wrong, I trust you about as far as I can throw you.”

“Let’s not test that.”

“What if I want to?” Jason asks cheekily. 

“Then we’ll see how far I can toss you,” Tim tells him simply.

“Oh, it is on, Tim.”

“Like Donkey Kong,” Tim agrees. “Later though. I’m trying to finish this and then I need to leave.”

“Didn’t peg you for a cut and run kind of person.”

“More the strategic retreat kind.”

“Sounds like you’re scared,” Jason goads him.

Tim spares him an unimpressed frown. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Jason smiles, sincere and cocky. “Is it working?”

“Hardly,” Tim drawls as he puts the finishing touches on the report.

He stands to leave once he’s saved and exited out of the file. Immediately, Jason’s hand shoots out and grabs Tim’s wrist. Surprised, Tim looks at him and doesn’t fight the tight grip Jason has on him. 

“Don’t leave me with him,” Jason mutters.

Tim looks at Dick who has the audacity to plaster on an innocent smile while leaning casually against the workbench. He can see it now. As soon as he leaves, Dick will be all over Jason. It won’t be the regular, suffocating attention Dick focuses on a sibling when he zeroes in on a member of the family. Oh no, it’ll be a hellish combination of guilt and excessive affection to make up for time lost and amend mistakes years in the past. Tim pinches the bridge of his nose just thinking about it. 

“Why don’t I drop you off with Alfred?” Tim counters.

Jason brightens but he doesn’t let go of Tim. “Alfie’s here?”

“Indeed,” Alfred says primly from his spot next to where the Cave connects with the manor. “Master Tim, why don’t you help Master Jason out of suit while Master Dick and I see to finding him something more suitable to wear and finishing dinner?” Alfred says it like a question but it’s far from it. 

Dick starts to protest but one look from Alfred has him clamming up. He scurries over to the lockers at Alfred’s prompting to change and shower before coming up where he’ll be waiting. Dawlding is strongly discouraged. 

Tim can recognize when his plans to flee have been thoroughly foiled. Looking Heaven-ward to plead the universe for mercy, Tim spins in the chair to face Jason. He looks a little terrified so Tim smiles gently. 

“He’s right. It can’t be comfortable wearing that and I’m familiar with the security measures built into the suit. Is it alright if I help?” Tim asks him first. Slowly, Jason nods and Tim watches as he swallows hard. Tell you what, why don’t I take the guns and I’ll walk you through everything else?” Tim offers.

“Oh gods, please,” Jason says quickly. His mouth snaps shut after, the flush on his cheeks moving up to the tips of his ears. “I mean, yeah, sounds good.”

Tim bites his lip to keep from laughing and silently disengages the security on the holsters and slips it off. He instructs Jason on how to do the same with the rest of the armor. He keeps his voice level and void of any condemnation or coddling as he does so. Surprisingly, it’s mostly painless. At least on Tim’s part. Jason looks about ready to bolt which Tim gets it, he does. The whole thing reminds him of school locker rooms and playing catch up on social norms in the worst setting possible.

That mildly traumatizing experience over with, Tim slaps his thighs and stands. “Why don’t we grab something to eat and get you into something less,” Tim stops and waves his hand at Jason but doesn’t continue. 

Even the compression shirt and pants underneath the suit are too large on Jason. He frowns down at the clothes and says sourly, “It’s not my fault I grow up to be a behemoth.”

“True,” Tim concedes. Again, they’re skating the edges of an endless rabbit hole he doesn’t want Jason to fall down. While he seems to be handling the situation well, no doubt prepped by Bruce for all manner of insane contingencies as a part of his training, Tim doubts a recounting of Jason’s death would go over as well. “Clothes and dinner then?”

“I’m not a kid so don’t treat me like one,” Jason snaps. 

“Stop looking like one and I will,” Tim counters. “I’m going to go change but you know the way up if you don’t want to wait.”

Although Tim isn’t expecting Jason to still be in the cave by the time he’s dressed down in sweatpants and a t-shirt after a sorely needed shower, he hurries through his usual after patrol routine. Just in case. The foresight turns out to be fruitful since Jason is meandering around the Cave, pausing to examine something he doesn’t recognize. When Tim comes out from the locker area, Jason’s head swivels around. 

This time Tim has no plausible reason for Jason to blush but blush he does as he looks over Tim. Deciding to ignore it, Tim finishes drying his hair and lets the towel sit around his shoulders. He nods towards the exit up to the manor. 

The trip up is uneventful. Alfred appears beside them as they emerge from the Cave and holds out a neatly folded pile of clothes. Jason takes them gratefully and ducks away to the nearest bathroom while Tim makes his way to the kitchen. With so few in the house, it’s rare they sit down in the family dining room and, as he anticipated, Alfred has dinner spread out on the nook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen. The food looks delicious, smells delicious, but Tim’s itching to leave and he knows, if he sits down with everyone, he’ll get wrangled into staying. 

From behind, Jason appears once more and Dick follows after, hovering as one does when their little brother has been demoted to extra tiny little brother. Jason, for the most part, takes it with grace by giving Dick only one heated glare over his shoulder. Jason comes to stand before Tim then Dick falls into line too. He descends on the food, plating it up and chattering away. Tim indulges him, hums where he needs to and answers any questions Dick throws his way, but Jason stays quiet. 

He doesn’t make a move to grab any food for himself which is not Tim’s problem. Jason has shown he remembers living in the manor, being Robin and Bruce’s son, so there’s no reason he can’t help himself. Tim leaves him to it so he can dig around in the pantry for one of the energy bars he knows he squirreled away in the back when he moved out for exactly this situation. As he’s shutting the pantry door, victorious with a couple bars in his hand, Jason is looking at him. He’s eyeing the food in Tim’s hand then looking at Alfred’s spread like it’ll bite him. 

It takes a second for the pieces to click together but Ra’s doesn’t call Tim Detective for no reason.

Sidling up to Jason’s side, he holds out one of the bars which Jason takes hesitantly. 

“I get it. I can grab more if you want,” Tim tells him kindly. 

Jason looks ready to beat him with the protein bar as he hisses, “What would you know, rich boy? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your Bristol accent.”

“Packaged food is safe, right?” Tim asks him rhetorically, his voice cold. Jason’s comment rubs him the wrong way. “Don’t have to worry about something being in it or being spoiled. Hard habit to shake when you fall back on old conditioning.”

Jason flinches back. 

“Hey, you guys coming?” Dick asks through a mouthful of food from where he’s seated at the table.

“Nah, neither of us is very hungry,” Tim lies smoothly. “We’ll probably grab a couple snacks.”

Dick looks upset about the change in course, frowning around another forkful of food. Like magic, Alfred sweeps into the room before Dick can protest. 

“Perhaps retire to the sitting room? I can have an assortment of snack items brought in. I dare say a calm night in would do this family good.” There’s a knowing glint in Alfred’s eye.

Remembering Dick’s propensity for cuddles and Jason’s resistance to it, Tim bumps Jason’s shoulder as he says, “What do you think? Or do you want to pick?”

“Library, I’d prefer the library,” Jason says automatically.

Alfred smiles without smiling. “Very good, Master Jason. I’ll bring a few things up to you and Master Tim if you’d like to go get settled now.”

“Actually-” Tim tries to interject. Jason will be fine. From what Tim’s learned, the library is Jason’s safe space, he’ll have food to eat and he’ll have Alfred to help him through. Tim isn’t needed. He’s not even sure why he’s being so nice.

It’s not them. With no idea on how to overcome the bad blood between himself and Jason, Tim hasn’t tried to repair their relationship and Jason hasn’t made any effort to either. Really, Tim should’ve left Jason to Dick and Alfred back in the cave. Putting his foot down would’ve had him gone already, sitting in his nest and ordering pizza while going over his active cases. 

But Jason looks so lost. He’s fronting, falling on the familiar anger and confidence he’s always had. He’s regressing back into a mindset more befitting the streets now that he’s so uncomfortable and likely feeling cornered. It’s so unlike the Jason Tim knows. Jason’s always been full of piss and vinegar but this softer version? It makes Tim’s heart hurt a little but in a way he can’t ignore. 

Like Jason has read Tim’s mind, his hand wraps around Tim’s wrist again and he pulls him out of the kitchen.

Leading them into the foyer and up the stairs, with his back to Tim, he asks, “How did you know? About the food.”

Taken aback by Jason’s aggressive exit and his new role as a tow-along, the truth slips out. “Uh, my parents. They left me alone a lot and forgot sometimes about the groceries. I got sick a couple times from eating spoiled stuff so I stuck to non-perishables.”

In answer, Jason grunts. “That’s fucked up.”

“My therapist agrees.”

“You have a therapist?”

Tim laughs. “Of course not. What respectable Bat does?”

When Jason laughs with him, it shakes loose something warm in Tim’s chest. He shakes away the feeling as Jason pushes into the library. Once they’re inside, Jason releases him. He doesn’t move right away, instead choosing to stand and survey the room.

Working on another hunch, Tim walks past Jason to a closet tucked away in the corner. Throwing the door open, he gatherers as many of the pillows and blankets inside as he can fit in his arms, kicks the door shut and dumps his haul on the bay window overseeing the back gardens. He arranges it all to make a comfortable looking nest. Once done, he nods in approval and gives himself a pat on the back. He cracks open the window as a finishing touch and presents his handiwork with a flourish.

“Easy exit, sight lines to all access points and extra pillows perfect for relaxing,” Tim says. Jason stays locked looking at him so Tim raises a brow. “Are you going to grab a book or stare at me all day?”

Jason jolts out of whatever trance he’d fallen into and quickly says, “Yeah, yep, I’ll go do the book thing with the reading.”

Tim smiles fondly as Jason trots into the shelves to retrieve a book. Tim can hear Jason as he searches for a book. The sounds are not encouraging. There’s a lot of murmured curses, grunting and frustrated growls. Once more, Tim resigns himself to helping out Jason. It doesn’t feel as much like a chore anymore.

“Issues?” Tim calls.

“They’re all 1st editions!” Jason yells back. “Who does that?”

“Give me a second,” Tim hollers back. 

Because Tim had a hard time leaving well enough alone as a kid, he knows Jason’s old room has several well worn copies of Jason’s favorites. Ones that could get thrown in a fire and he’d be out a couple bucks to replace it, cheap copies he can use over and over again till the pages are fraying and the spines have separated. Tim picks the lock on Jason’s old room and grabs a couple of the most worn down paperbacks. A young Tim may have been armed with curiosity and a lack of boundaries but he didn’t go so far as to read Jason’s favorites. Definitely not. That wasn’t a thing. 

Back in the library, Jason has settled into the seat of the bay window. He holds out the books to Jason who takes them and inspects each. 

“Are you a mind reading meta or something?” Jason asks him suspiciously. 

“No, nothing like that,” Tim replies.

“So someone just fucked you up real good like me?”

Grinning ruefully, Tim shrugs. “I like to think I turned out alright.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jason clamps his mouth shut after his off hand comment and his face goes red. Suddenly, he’s a lot more focused on the books in his hands than talking to Tim.

Tim’s not touching that with a ten foot pole but it’s still amusing. He settles on the floor, content to wait for Alfred, snacks and the excuse that it’s getting late so he can slip away guilt-free.

“You’re seriously going to sit down there?” Jason eventually asks to break the companionable silence between them. 

Seeing a possible out, Tim responds, “I can go somewhere else if you’d rather be alone?” He doubts it since Jason has imprinted on him or somehow deemed Tim a safe person and latched on but a man can hope.

When he looks up, he meets Jason’s eye. The blush is back in full force. “No, I don’t like being alone,” he admits grudgingly. 

The something warm in Tim’s chest is back again, stronger than before. It makes his brain soupy, or it’s the exhaustion and need for sleep. Either way, Tim tells him, “Neither do I.”

“So get up here,” Jason demands. Very pointedly, Tim looks at the bay window and the distinct lack of space to fit an extra person. Aggressively opening one of his books, scowling at the pages, Jason mutters, “Just fucking get up here.”

When Jason hops out of burrow of blankets and points at the window seat, Tim figures he can humor him. What’s the harm, after all? If anything it proves the point that although it is incredibly comfortable with the way Tim layered the blankets there’s no way they could both fit. He spreads his arms wide to encompass the fact that there isn’t enough room for them to share. 

The humor drains right out of him as Jason steps up to the window, his expression twists together in a curious mix of angry fear and climbs into Tim’s lap. Tim would like to amend that. Jason awkwardly climbs up into his lap. Actually, it is super awkward. 

Tim’s so stunned by the forwardness of the actions that all the words he wants to push past his lips get stuck and die on his tongue. 

Like this is any old day and not what’s shaping up to be one of the weirdest days of Tim’s life, Jason scooches over as far as he can till his back is pressed against the window. He’s half turned towards the ceiling but tucked tightly against Tim’s side. It’s not cuddling, not really with Tim’s arm pinned between them and Jason doing his best to squeeze back so they don’t touch even though it’s unavoidable. It is tangentially related to cuddling though. 

Jason starts reading. Tim starts staring at him blankly.

“You’re shit at cuddling,” Jason grumbles.

As if Tim’s brain couldn’t break anymore, here comes a teenage Jason to bulldoze over the semblance of a higher thinking he’d been able to scrape together. With his mind officially offline, Tim’s mouth takes the wheel.

“I haven’t had much practice.”

Taking Tim’s arm, he pulls it out from between them and sits up enough he can get it around his shoulders. Once satisfied, he grabs Tim’s other arm and drapes it around his chest as he lies fully on his side. He even nuzzles into Tim’s chest then goes back to reading.  

What.

“My mom used to cuddle me like this,” Jason whispers, eyes never leaving the pages of his paperback.

How is Tim supposed to handle that? He is not equipped for this. They have officially bumbled, dived head first, into things better handled by Dick. Or Steph. Or Cass. Not Tim. But is he mad about it? He has to stop and think about that.

Tim tightens his arms and scoots down a little to get into a more comfortable position. He’s no expert on cuddling but it seems like something that can take a while. Until Jason is back to his fire-fed-gasoline attitude, Tim can deal with this, he decides. He’s already caved to every other whim Jason has had, has helped him feel more centered when his entire world has shifted, so he may as well stop fighting it so much and get it over with before Jason gets the chip back on his shoulder. It’s like ripping off a bandaid. 

Sleepily, Jason asks him, “You keep watch, yeah?”

Patting his arm, Tim hums, “Yeah, no worries. I’ll be the look out.”

[inkpot909]

First Love Headcanons: Pannacotta Fugo x Reader

↳ Gender neutral reader.

A/n: This was so much fun to write! Fugo is such an interesting character to write for that I couldn’t help but fuss over this one for a good while. I hope y’all enjoy it as well. <3

Warning(s): None.

It started out innocently enough, as Fugo is not the type to fall in love overnight.

Curiosity itself is a perfectly normal reaction to have regarding a new member of Bucciarati’s team. Fugo is no exception to this, as he no doubt harbored questions about you when you initially joined.

That said, his approach is different compared to the others on the team. If you join after Mista, Narancia, and Abbacchio, they do just fine on their own intimating you at the very start.

Past the initial meeting, where some lighthearted hazing is likely to occur from everyone, Fugo sees no reason to contribute to any form of poking and prodding outside of missions. You already have to get used to so many strong personalities at once, after all.

He’s been with Bucciarati since the formation of his team, so he’s quite accustomed to getting used to someone new being around. Hell, if he wasn’t so closed off, he would’ve thought to feel bad for you.

Due to the walls he’s long put up, he prefers to remain observant from afar for a good while. Regardless of when you enter the picture, he’s going to keep his distance.

He’s not as good at reading people as someone like Giorno, but he trusts what he can decipher.

This will likely result in Fugo making some assumptions about you prior to the two of you finding equal footing. Whether or not his judgements turn out correct is unknown to you, as he doesn’t care share them with you to begin with.

This does lead to some aspects of your personality to be surprising to him. Nothing bad, just little details about you that he wasn’t expecting.

Your hobbies may be what’s shocking, or perhaps the type of media you prefer to consume. Little aspects of life and personality that unfold because of how much time the team spends together. The discovery of such things is what likely makes him feel more inclined to get to know you better.

Little by little, Fugo will eventually start including you in conversations and vise versa. Especially when Narancia and Mista are involved, he begins to turn to you it in an attempt to keep himself sane:

Mista and Narancia’s relentless chatter is still intimating.

How can you even approach a guy like Mista? He’s more than proven himself to be the type that says anything and everything that pops into his brain. Although he is certainly the relaxed type, his words can be quite vicious if he’s in the mood to tease and you just so happen to be in his line of sight. Sit him next to a full-time enabler like Narancia, and the two can go off on pretty much any topic imaginable.

Their conversations at the dinner table are wild, spontaneous, and still- even after more than a month of knowing them -manage to catch you off guard. Sometimes it’s thought-provoking and other times… not so much.

Which leads to their current conversation, one you sincerely wish wouldn’t take place while you’re trying to eat.

“I’m just saying-“ Mista argues, waving his fork in the air, “If it promotes a soothing and relaxing environment within the human body, I don’t see why it’s so unbelievable that it could also theoretically resonate with your bowels as well.”

“Yeah, maybe-“ Narancia rolls his eyes, “But that doesn’t mean it’s gonna make you crap your freaking pants! That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous; it’s psychology.” Mista retorts, raising a brow. His smug expression does nothing to convince you, or a bewildered Fugo sitting next to you, his knowledge on the subject. But it is enough to grind Narancia’s gears, which ultimately, is probably the key to his actual intent.

Still… you think, staring at your food with a pinched nose. It’s the brown noise. They’re actually trying to prove or disprove the psychological effects of the brown noise. Why on earth… no, how on earth can either of them discuss such a thing with a straight face?

“What kind of messed up psychoglogy-“

“Psychology,” Fugo cuts in with a sigh.

“-Yeah, whatever,” Narancia dismisses with a wave of his hand, “What kind of messed up psycho-logically are you reading up on?”

Grunting in frustration, Fugo drops his forehead onto the table with an exaggerated thud. Mista and Narancia continue to argue amongst the two of them, but you instead direct your attention to the grumbling blonde.

“Umm… Fugo?” you ask, hesitant to even address him.

He raises his head from the table, looking at you with desperation in his dark violet eyes. “Please don’t tell me you think this is worth discussing.”

You raise both your hands in the air. “Are you kidding? I just wanted to eat, but apparently that’s unheard of here.”

Sighing once more, he runs his hand through his hair. His hand stops at his neck and rubs the back of it. “Trust me, I don’t get them either,” he shakes his head, hand finally returning to his lap, “I’m glad you don’t encourage this nonsense, though.”

You let out a chuckle, a little surprised. Sure, you’ve spoken with Fugo before, but hardly ever this casually. The notion brings a tiny smile to your face. “I can’t believe you’d ever think I would,” you reply lightheartedly.

“Well, hanging around these two must be making me lose critical thinking skills… my apologies,” he replies. Despite his words, a smile crawls it’s way onto his face too.

Casual conversations held between the two of you opens the door to the beginning of a genuine friendship.

Unlike Abbacchio, Fugo knows better than to be contrarian to everything you say and do just because you’re new. Considering his intellect, he has always done his best to be objective. And there eventually comes a point where, upon reflection, he figures that you’re alright.

By then, off missions, he started asking you- quite bluntly -questions about yourself.

Although forward, he won’t overwhelm you all at once. From time to time, you might catch him staring at you thoughtfully out the corner of your eye (Do not bring this up to him; he will deny it to his grave). A round of questions often followed his stares.

And it’s when he feels he really knows you on a personal level that he’s able to truly relax around you.

He started greeting you with the same kindness and courtesy he offers the others. He gave you encouragement throughout both your private and work life… a lot of it. Turning to you during conversations comes to be as natural as it is for anyone else on the team.

Fugo’s caring side may be blocked off behind walls he keeps up for the sake of self preservation and the result of an unhappy childhood, but once you’re allowed to peek beyond them, his sweetness really knows no limit.

And it’s through his behavior that developing feelings start to shine through.

Fugo’s not going to at all realize his feelings toward you until the truth is smacking him across the face. But his actions show a certain kind of fondness before he himself recognizes anything.

His expressed love languages are most commonly words of affirmation and acts of service. This is very much so the case in the early stages of him developing feelings.

The words of affirmation were never explicitly affectionate, but always careful and supportive.

Fugo beats himself up over his temper often, so when he can think straight, he’s using his mind to its full extent. In other words, because he’s easily blinded by rage, he chooses his words very carefully whenever he can.

So after a particularly rough mission, he may get upset at one point or another. During the quiet moments after the fact, when adrenaline isn’t flowing any longer, he always gives credit where credit is due. He’ll gently comment on your work throughout the job, expressing he thought you did good with examples to boot.

Or it can be something as simple as offering you a job well done after making yourself a dinner.

From always holding his tongue unless he disagreed with your actions or input, to showering you with praise constantly. It comes to him so naturally he doesn’t even think twice.

And soon, even others in the group start to take notice:

“I don’t wanna do this right now… Fugo’s not even here yet, can’t I just wait?” Narancia whines.

His head is resting on top of an open notebook, his right cheek squished against crumpled paper. Pencil lead is smushed on his cheek, but pointing out he’s likely ruining his work would be a waste of time.

Resting your elbows on the table, you give Narancia a playful smile. “He’s supposed to get here with Abbacchio in thirty minutes. You know you should’ve gotten more done by now…”

Narancia let out an obnoxious groan, rolling his head onto his opposite cheek so he no longer has to look you in the eye.

“Narancia…” you sigh, smile falling. “I’m sorry if it seems harsh, but Fugo asked me to make sure you practiced on his recent lesson. He and Abbacchio are out doing the heavy lifting for the team right now, so it’s the least I can do.”

Narancia replies, but mutters it out so quietly you don’t pick up on his words.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he says at a volume you can hear, half bitter and half teasing.

“Narancia-“

“I said,” he lifts his head from the table, “You think like that ‘cause he’s always so nice to you.”

“What?” you blurt, heart skipping a beat.

“He compliments you all the time,” he chuckles. The smugness in his tone only grows, and as he continues, heat rushes to your cheeks. “‘Oh, Y/n, you did such a good job today, Y/n.’ And, ‘Oh, Y/n, you’re so very smart why don’t you help out Narancia?’ And who could forget, ‘Oh, Y/n, you look very beautiful today. Why don’t you kiss me on my big fat mouth?’”

“H-He doesn’t say that!” you exclaim, absentmindedly pulling at your fingertips underneath the safety of the tablecloth.

“You gotta know what I mean, though!” he insists. Pausing in order to read your expression, another laugh escapes him. “What? You haven’t noticed?”

“Umm, well.” Your lips pucker out, unsure if you should feel intrigued or embarrassed. After a short pause, you continue, “Fugo compliments everyone; including you… you know? He believes you can do this. He wouldn’t put care into teaching you if he didn’t. And I’ve seen what you’ve accomplished myself too. I certainly know you can get this.”

“You’re changing the subject,” he points out.

“And that not what you’re trying to do?” you ask, gesturing towards his notebook.

Narancia blinks dumbly, bewildered by your response. For a moment, you become pleased with yourself. Seemingly, you’d backed him into a corner and couldn’t help but be a little proud of yourself for it.

“You really don’t know…” he utters, eyes suddenly brightening.

Wait, what? you think, confidence quickly dwindling.

A fit of laughter erupts from him, kicking his feet in the limited space underneath the table. The movement halts your hands. His chair creaks and squeaks in distress, quickly quieting down when he once again slams both feet back on the floor.

He eagerly hunches over his notebook, eyes wide. Snatching up his pencil, he finally begins scribbling on the paper once more.

You’re left staring at him in awe. “What…? So now… you’re good then? You’re just… you’re just going to continue your work?”

Narancia lets out another laugh. “Ha! Well, the sooner I finish, the sooner I can tell Mista about this. I can’t believe you’re so clueless!”

Narancia is calling you clueless… yikes.

The confusion you may have felt that afternoon is nothing compared to Fugo’s reeling mind when the others started pointing things out and teasing him over his supposed affection.

Fugo doesn’t remember when it started, but they didn’t wait long after noticing his feelings to begin teasing him over them.

He would cross his arms, turning away with an annoyed expression while a pool of denials flood from his mouth. With a reaction like that, Narancia and Mista especially enjoyed pushing his buttons on the subject.

Abbacchio would partake in teasing as well in his own little way. Namely, he began making straight-faced comments and turning smug the moment Fugo’s voice raises. Bucciarati mostly keeps quiet on the matter, but no one could miss the fond grin he wears when the others get on his case.

Once, Giorno called you Fugo’s boyfriend/girlfriend. A bashed remote and a broken plate later, Fugo is shocked to learn Giorno wasn’t picking on him and genuinely thought the two of you were together.

The guy must be either super egotistical or is just not at all used to being wrong about this kind of thing, Fugo distinctly thought.

But of course he’s wrong about this! Everyone’s comments made no sense to him at all! There’s no way he felt that much towards you. That kind of thing… is not for him. He may take note when someone’s attractive, but he’s never really thought too seriously about romantic relationships. Just because you’re attractive, doesn’t mean-

Nope… nope, nope, nope, nope. He’s not touching that one with a ten foot pole. No way.

But by the next time he’s helping you with dishes the concept pops into his brain. When he’s dotting on you after a mission it’s plaguing his mind. And he can’t help but notice how meticulous he is when retrieving your additions to the group’s grocery list.

Shit.

Fugo doesn’t know what to think. He really… does go out of his way for you at times. Well, okay, all the time. Looking back, he finds some of his actions to be a little embarrassing. And the more the notion is stuck in his brain, the more he starts understanding that he really does care about you more than just as a friend.

Which is a whole other problem. Fugo’s going to get completely stuck in his own head.

This is the very first time he’s felt this way about someone, and he’s a mess over his lack of knowledge on the subject.

Because what the hell is he supposed to do? Tell you…? Don’t be ridiculous. That notion is met with a mocking tone, as if the mere idea of doing so is itself far too absurd.

But still… there’s this overwhelming urge telling him he has to do something. According to the others he’s already doing something, apparently. But you’re not saying anything about it. Wouldn’t you say something about it if you noticed? What if you never notice on your own? You won’t know unless he makes some sort of move…. but surely that would cause the sky to fall and mark the beginning of end times.

It’s a real echo chamber of insecurity in his head.

Yet… he feels a weird compulsion to be closer to you despite himself. He gets a weirdly beautiful feeling when he’s around you and it flutters his heart so much he doesn’t want to just let it go. It’s brand new to him, and as much as he stresses, he holds onto his affection tight.

Even though it’s more annoying than not, the others are consistent enough with their jabs that it gives Fugo hope that just maybe…

One of the only times Bucciarati explicitly commented on it himself, he mentioned that he believes Fugo’s frustration with his feelings will eventually pass.

The tone he carried indicated that he must know something that Fugo doesn’t, which only made his mind run wild further. Because if you’re going to tell anyone on the team about your feelings, it would probably be him.

Regardless of how much Fugo begs, Bucciarati doesn’t confirm nor deny that hunch. He’s rather adamant that Fugo should just “Ask Y/n and find out on your own.”

And after months of pushing, the others begin echoing that sentiment.

The likelihood of him making the first move is still slim, he figures, but he does hold onto hope that he’ll get a chance one day. Daydreams and “what if” scenarios are a common occurrence for him.

He procrastinates waits for the perfect opportunity, but it never seems to come. Mista mocks him for it, laughing that “There’s no such thing as a perfect opportunity.” Fugo only grows more defensive in response.

I’m already so nervous about expressing myself to Y/n, Fugo fusses, I don’t know what I’d do if I mess this up. If I can’t sweep them off their feet, how can I even-

“Pannacotta?” you ask, pulling him away from his thoughts.

He blinks a couple of times, focusing his attention back on you.

When Giorno is absent, Fugo’s the best source of first aid on the team. All you had to do was walk up to him, apologetic and sheepish. Without a word, he eagerly jumped at the opportunity to help patch you up after a particularly rough mission. It’s the closest he ever physically gets to you.

He calmly led you into a bathroom, gesturing for you to sit atop the sink. His fingers were light and gentle as he worked with what he has on hand. You gave him reassurance that Giorno will likely return soon, so he has no need to stress.

A smile played on his lips, thankful that you know him well enough to guess his own worry.

But slowing movements and focused eyes told you his mind began wandering elsewhere. The cutely taken aback expression on his face after you spoke up is also more than enough evidence to confirm your suspicion.

“You with me?” you ask, playfully trying to get him to respond.

You’re not used to him being this quiet after you’ve gotten hurt. He either talks you through the pain or feels the need to give a lecture. Even when Giorno’s healing you, he’s right by your side whenever he can. Just the thought of his usual behavior can bring warmth to your heart.

“My apologies, you’re just distracting,” he says, hands immediately snapping from your person. Oh god, oh god, it’s not like him to speak without thinking. He stutters trying to cover up his words and only digs a bigger hole for himself in the process. “I-I mean you’re distracted- I’m distracted.”

You laugh, but it dies out fast as you clutch your side at the sting of pain rippling though your body. Fugo’s hands instinctively fly to your side as well, his fingertips brushing up against your own.

Slowly, he lifts his head only to meet your gaze closer to him than it was mere moments ago. You seem just as surprised as he is, and there’s a brief pause while both of you wait for the other to pull away.

Neither of you do.

He’s so close he can feel your breath fanning his face. Normally his face would burn red and he’d retreat to his bedroom as soon as he could, where he’d proceed to reply the moment in his head for the rest of the night. But your eyes… your breathtaking gaze is locked on his own so intently he can’t bring himself to pull away.

And they give him courage he never knew he has.

With a nervous gulp, he leans forward and plants a single kiss to your lips. His own lips are unimaginably soft and hesitant, yet linger against your own longingly. Even when he pulls away far too soon, his nose nuzzles against yours as he plays with the idea of brushing his lips against yours again.

Just to have felt you… to have the briefest taste of what it’s like being closer to you than anyone else he’s ever known before…

“I-“ he pulls himself away, joy dissolving into self-consciousness. You open your mouth to speak, but in his haste, he cuts you off by accident, “I’m sorry… I-I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You… didn’t want to?”

Your reply is spoken in a whisper, voice so faint not even someone standing in the doorway could pick up on it. Fugo’s heart thuds against his ribcage at the crestfallen look on your face. Are you… really disappointed? He’s understanding this correctly… right?

There’s no time to think, and once again he lets his mouth move faster than his mind. “Well, I… you deserve better, you know?” he reasons, “I should’ve explained myself first and then asked… not just go for it… you know. This- I-… I’m not doing this right, aren’t I?”

You adjust yourself on the sink top, glancing away from him for only a second. “If you were to have explained yourself… what would you have said?” you gently plead.

“I-…” he shakes his head.

“Please, Pannacotta, I want to know…”

“I-…” he starts again, taking in a deep breath, “I think I would’ve said… that I think you’re very remarkable. That I’ve never met someone like you before… someone who makes me feel this way… someone who makes me-… umm…”

A hopeful smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you finish for him, “Makes you… want to kiss me?”

He nods, clearing his throat for a couple moments too long. “Not just that, though… you know? It makes me want to take care of you and look after you if I may. I-I-“ he hesitates, “I’m sorry… I’ve thought about this for so long. What I’d say to you if… if I got the impression that you wanted to hear it.”

“I do want to hear it,” you tell him, still grinning from ear to ear, “Pannacotta… I’ve been wanting to say something too for a while now. But you’ve taken the words right out of my mouth.”

He would think he’s dreaming if it weren’t for your hand reaching out and holding his with a gentle squeeze.

“I like you a lot…” you softly confess, “And I need you to know that. It’s always really cute to see you so shy… but for a moment I got to see you push yourself a little. And I think that was beautiful.”

His head falls, staring down at your interlocked hands. Your words stir something within him, taking a tiny step forward in trying to grasp that burst of confidence he felt when he kissed you. “You’re beautiful…” he mumbles, squeezing your hand.

Just a quick glance your way, a brief view of the bright smile on your face, is the best reassurance he could’ve hoped for. He took the plunge, and not only is chaos not ascending to the world’s surface, but his eyes finally open to the affection you feel for him in return.

He ultimately had a love-hate relationship with the way he feels about you before anything concrete happened between the two of you, but that didn’t stop him for falling for you more and more.

And with hindsight, he’s a little timid over not having told you how he feels sooner. But it doesn’t consume him as it may once have before.

With you now at his side, you his and him yours, his heart can only flutter with joy at the prospect of finding his first love.

[thekatebridgerton]

More humorous takes about the Bridgerton brothers that make me laugh is that I cannot stress enough, how much I love their 'unhinged for wife' energy. Because it's just so funny

Anthony, like, you can see it, he's not even trying to hide it, he can and will be a meanie to his nemesis Kate who he also happens to love more than life itself, and to everyone if they don't fall in line. that's his whole mojo. People meet him and know at first glance that Anthony Bridgerton will not hesitate to use a gun if the occasion calls for it, because he outright intimidates people into submission. So good luck trying to mess with him or with his wife. He will end you. Have you seen him play against his wife in Pall Mall. He loves her, but he will not lose to this woman! She will one day respect him!. He's the boss of the house dammit (he's not, it's Kate, but she lets him think he is)

Colin is my favorite. because he looks nice and he looks friendly, and he would totally sink to the deepest of the low to have Penelope the moment he kissed her. This man is absolutely as unhinged as Anthony possibly more so, and he hides it so well, that everyone thinks he's the most charming brother. In fact the only person who knows how crazy Colin really is, has to be Penelope. Colin can talk his way out of anything (even a murder sentence. Do you ever wonder why nobody has ever sued Penelope for defamation? Because I sure don't), he's a people person. It's maddening, I want to convince people that Colin is the worst of the worst, and people are still like 'but he looks like such a harmless guy, just look at him eat that eclair' yeah! I know! that's how he got to Penelope! he was all cute, pretending to be nice and by the time she discovered he was the devil in disguise, he already had blackmail material on her!!. Men like Colin scare me, because I know he's bats*t but I just can't prove it.

Benedict and Gregory are just the same version of unhinged, just in a different font. Because they actually believed themselves to be the sane ones and then they met their true loves and you see that sanity? it went out the window.

Benedict used to think he was such a gentleman, who respected ladies and would never dishonor one, and guess what kind of obsessive idiot he turned into the moment Sophie said 'no' to his seduction tactics, be my mistress this, be my mistress that, Sophie ( and I) just knows Benedict's thought process alone should be landing him in jail instead of her, but he gets away with it, because apparently annoying her to death doesn't actually count as a crime. And the thing is, that she's the only one who triggers the crazy in Benedict, he's perfectly sane with everyone else, but it's her and only her who has him going all naked swimming in the lake, and obsessive paintings of her face plastered on all his sketchbooks (and his home, actually I'm pretty sure Benedict has a secret Lady in Silver shrine somewhere in My Cottage, that he took down before Sophie could find out about it) , not to mention his whole 'F society if I can't f Sophie' love at first sight excuse that somehow everyone swallows without questioning how crazy Benedict actually is.

And then he had to go teach that to Gregory! And Gregory was such a sweetheart, I actually thought he was going to make it to half of his book without going unhinged and then Lucy tells him the name of her fiancee and he goes ' wait, I know the guy, he's super gay, I can't let you marry him... ' my brother in the force what is your problem! Leave the girl alone. She's your friend, stop stalking her, she's got her own problems to deal with!! Lucy did nothing to deserve how Gregory randomly went from nice guy she was super supportive of in the courtship of her best friend, to kinda obsessive dude who won't leave her alone and wants to ruin her arranged marriage (let's ignore that said arranged marriage needed to be ruined and it might as well be by him). Guy was a green flag for Hermione but the moment he began fixating on Lucy, homegirl kinda saw the light and was like ' he's crazy, yup, totally mad.. about me sure, but this guy... He's never been told no in his life and it shows, it shows for miles'

And I just laugh so hard because people look at Anthony's fed up face and somehow think that he's the worst to fear in in the Bridgerton family. But nobody knows just how crazy his brothers are, except their wives. At this point Anthony's resting B face has to be some sort of defense mechanism because he had to grow up with Benedict and Colin while trying to raise Gregory. He may look intimidating but he's actually a reasonable man if you think about it. But his brothers, those three are just hiding their unhinged for wife energy a lot better. And you just don't want to know what kinda chaotic crazy thing they're capable of doing if they think it would impress Penelope, Sophie and Lucy

And that's the tea.

[gotham-daydreams]

Sorry for the bit of spam! Just going through some asks at the moment, I love reading all of your own headcanons and what music you guys associate with the series if you couldn't tell! Makes me super happy, and I just generally love people engaging with it so well, especially when I consider it a really small story in the grand scheme of things- but hey! I'm happy regardless!

I do have some other things brewing as I've said, and I'm so normal about this family... trust... ignore the most where I said I have 17+ individual ideas for just them alone... not including the other people from DC or versions of those ideas that involve other people instead...

I'm so normal guys, you have to believe me..

Ahem, anyways, I'll be trying to answer some asks while I'm doing my thing, and if anyone wants to hear my (totally normal and perfectly sane) rambling about any of my ideas (romantic, platonic, or 'mixed'), then just let me know and I'll make a post about it! Though, of course, for that, if anyone is actually interested then I'll make a whole list because... yeah, we're definitely going to need one, I assure you.

Also, small side note: Don't get too comfortable with kidnappings. Despite the Not [ ] series and everything going forward, they aren't exactly my thing believe it or not! I actually forgot they were a thing I could make the yandere's do until I got my first ask about one! LMAO

However, do think more 'kidnapping adjacent', though. I'm not opposed or against the idea of course, but I like to go in different directions of I can help it- especially if (in my opinion) makes things interesting! Which I'll hopefully be able to show in the future... after the Not [ ] Series of course :]

[captainpulisic]

the rust that grew between telephones - c. pulisic

authors note: saw a video on twitter where christians parents called him a 'shy, soft spoken kind of guy' and I got really soft over him gif credit to owner word count: 2.6 k

you’re dead asleep when the phone screen begins to light up the room. you blindly reach for the it on your nightstand, refusing to fully exit your slumbered state. surely you had set your alarm clock to the wrong time last night, because there was no fucking way it was already time to start the day. you’d bet your life that you had just fallen asleep, at max, an hour ago. 

it’s okay, you try to convince yourself. it’s probably only midnight and I have many, many hours of sleep left. 

yet, as you peek one eye open, it is not your blaring alarm illuminating your screen and room. you’re met with christians contact photo. suddenly, you feel wide awake. the sleepiness and appeal to go back to bed is long forgotten, now only eager to hear his voice. 

answering the call, his raspiness indicated he’d also just woken up. you hear his low voice, “hey baby.”

oh.

oh how you missed his voice, especially as the first thing to hear in the morning. if you closed your eyes, you could perfectly envision waking up by his side. tired eyes and soft giggles, as he pulls you close to him. you feel slightly pathetic over how your heart begins to hurt. it had only been a few weeks since you’d last seen him, yet the yearning was unbearable. you missed him. you always do when you’re apart, but recently it has been worse. your skin itched for his, lonely nights spent counting down the minutes until the season would be over and he’d be coming back home. 

��hey you,” trying to sound as awake as you can, stifiling a yawn that wants to escape you. he must not realize how late it is on your end. sitting up, you pinch yourself a few times to become more alert. you manage out a somewhat energetic, “everything okay?”

“yeah, everythings okay over here.” his voice is softer than usual, sadder if anything. he pauses for a moment, you can feel his hesitation before speaking. soon enough he whispers his confession, uncertain and slightly embarrassed. you might have missed it if you weren’t hanging on to every word he was saying. “I just really miss you.” 

your heart aches even more, if possible. “i miss you, too.”

“like, really bad y/n,” he’s always struggled with properly articulating his feelings. he prefers to affirm his love for you with simple, small acts and sweet, shy touches. telling you his true feelings always resulted in him turning a blushing and stuttering mess. therefore, you know how much this must really be affecting him, for him to outwardly say this. your heart breaks as he goes on, “do you know how much it sucks to wake up and not have you right next to me? it’s horrible.”

you do know, you always feel like that in his absence. 

“i know, my love.” you sit up, trying to wipe away the weariness from your eyes. “but we’ll be together soon, yeah?”

“soon.” he confirms, it’s the only promise that's managed to keep him sane. 

hoping to keep him on the line and distracted from the ungodly hour he woke you up, you ask him about what he has planned for the day. its meaningless talk, really. he goes on about the scheduled training and new tricks they’ve been working on, occasionally complaining about the team's current slump. once in a while you hum, letting him know you're attentive to every word he’s saying. yet you’re more focused on how soothing his voice was, it was all warmth and safeness to you.

still clueless of the time, he asks what your plans are. you begin to mumble about the exams and work you have planned for tomorrow- well, for today. you too, in return, complain of how exhausted uni life has been treating you and the endless pile of assignments you can never seem to finish. 

your error is droning on about how tiring it all is, because it just makes you revert back to your drowsy state. you don’t even realize when your words begin to die off and a rather large yawn breaks loose.

“y/n? are you falling asleep?” christian frowns. he had been too wrapped up in the horrible mood he had woken up in, he hadn’t thought of the wretched time difference. “wait, what time is it?” 

“uhm,” your hesitation lasts too long for his liking. instantly, it all clicks for him.

“fuck”, he groans. “it’s the middle of the night, isn’t it?”

“no.”

deny deny deny. 

if he realized it was so fucking late, he’d send you back to sleep. that was the worst fate he could condemn you to, you were sure of it. with him training all day and the drastic time difference, moments to properly talk were rare. you weren't going to give up this precious, stolen time with him. your scarce phone calls consisted of quick recounts of what you'd both done that day and gentle whispers of how much you’d missed each other. too soon, one of you would have to hang up to either get started on your day while the other had to unwind from their day already spent. 

you didn’t care how childish you sounded, you weren’t going to let him make you go to sleep. he couldn't make you! 

“y/n.” he was much more serious, more stern. when he got like this, you liked to tease him, calling it his ‘captain voice’. that’d usually leave him with reddened cheeks and arguments long forgotten.

it comes out more of a question, then an assurance. “I was already awake?”  

“y/n.” he repeats. yeah, it was a long shot that he’d believe that. 

you mock him, “christian.” 

you hear him begin to huff out his disapproval of your childish antics. much to your dismay, another damned yawn escapes you. no point in trying to win now, you rest your head back on the pillow and accept your defeat. you sigh, “okay, I was asleep.”

he makes a noise that sounds like a mixture of a disappointed groan and a victorious ‘hmph’. 

oh my sweet boy, how I miss you. 

“i’m so sorry,” he’s sputtering out apologies faster than you can try to assure him it’s all okay. “I was dreaming of you and then I woke up and you weren’t here. I felt horrible. I needed to hear your voice before I went insane. I called without thinking, i’m so sorry I woke you. go back to sleep, please.”

your reply is automatic, “no.”

“yes.” he tries (and fails) to reason with you, “you just told me how busy you’re going to be in the morning!”

“you can’t make me!” you argue.

“y/n.”

“so i’ve been called.”

“go back to sleep,” he tries again. you’re tempted to do it just because it’s him asking you. you would do anything he’d ask of you, it's quite humiliating how you’re putty in his hands. no, you have to stand your ground. you had missed him too much and you weren’t ready to say your goodbyes. back to his shy state, “i’m now very embarrassed that I called.”

that irks something in you. you’re stupidly obsessed with him, you’d go days without sleeping if it meant you could always talk to him. the fact that he doesn’t get that offends you quite a bit. if he’s embarrassed over how much he misses you, then you should be utterly humiliated. 

“christian,” your voice comes out harder than you’d planned. “listen to me.”

instantaneously, his protest had stopped and the line had gone silent. you pull the phone away from your face, unsure if he’d hung up to make you go back to your unwanted slumber. no, the call was still connected. putting the phone back to your ear, you barely caught his faint, “yeah?”

“i’m glad you called.” suddenly, you feel as shy as you imagined he did. you also struggle to express your feelings but you’re desperate to keep him on the call, not wanting to part ways yet. “i’ve missed you terribly.”

another pause, “really?”

“I can’t believe you’d even question it,” you utter in disbelief. “of course idiot, ‘m always missing you.”

“i’m not questioning it!” all the clatter on his end of the line has stopped. you’d assumed he was getting ready to leave for training and now you were both left in silence. it takes him a few seconds to gather his thoughts and words. eventually, “i’m sorry, i’m just in my head right now. have i told you how much this distance sucks?”

“i know, my love” the urge to hold him and kiss him is borderline pathetic. trying harder to distract him from the sad thoughts and prior argument, you have to think fast. you drop your voice a tad lower. you try your best to sound as alluring as possible, “that’s why we should really take advantage of the time we have right now. c'mon, think of the fun things we could do at this late, late hour.”

you begin to mumble half-hearted details of what you had in mind, yet christian hums his disapproval.

“y/n, stop trying to seduce me.” the ‘captain voice’ reappears. “it’s only late for you and you’re about to go back to sleep, or else.” 

it’s a teasing threat. you both can’t deny the smiles you’re fighting as the conversation unravels. scolding words but you know him, this was your usual banter. 

“oh, yeah?” you counter back. “what are you going to do when you’re thousands of miles away, huh? and like i’ve said countless times, i’m not even tired!” 

“you yawned three times as you told me ‘all the filthy things’ you wanted to do to me, i’m positive you’re tired.”

“oh baby, I think you need to get your hearing checked because I was not yawning.” you scoff, scolding yourself for getting caught. your brain fumbles trying to think of a good comeback. you blurt the first thing that comes to mind, “that's just how I breathe.”

“then you’re the one who needs to go get checked because thats some weird fucking breathing.”

you snort, “has anyone ever told you how good of a flirt you are?”

“no,” he deadpans, the captain voice more present than ever.

“hmm, I wonder why. should we, maybe, try to figure out why that is?” 

“y/n,” he’s not letting you sidetrack him again. “please, go to sleep.”

you whine once more, “but I wanna keep talking to you.” 

“i know, pretty girl but you have to sleep.”

you feel yourself losing this fight. trying to find some common ground, “will you stay on the call if I go to sleep?”

christian weighs his options, “promise to actually go to sleep?”

“promise to keep talking?” you counter back.

“if i promise, will you stop answering my questions with a question?”

you force yourself to hold back your laughter, “will you?”

he laughs and you’re unashamedly proud that you’re the cause of it. you’re sure you hear him call you a ‘smart ass’ but he swiftly denies it. 

much to your delight, christian begins to tell you an in depth play by play of their last game and how he thought they could improve. half of you wants to fight the sleepiness and continue listening to his rambles, but the sane part of you begs for some needed rest. you don’t even notice when you drift off, slipping back into dreams of the next time you’ll see christian. 

meanwhile, christian chatters on, even after you’ve fallen asleep. as he gathers his things to leave, he talks about everything and nothing. he tells you about how mason gave up on learning chess within the first ten minutes of christian trying to teach him. he tells you about how he found a new restaurant for the both of you to try next time you visit. the whole drive to the bridge, he recounts funny things that had happened with the guys and the latest gossips he knew you liked hearing about. he even managed into sneaking in a few, shy ‘i love yous’. as he went on and on, he knew you’d want to hear this again, once conscious, but he didn’t mind. he’d happily repeat himself a million times for you. 

-

he’s gotten even more handsome, you’re sure of it. you hadn’t thought it was possible but here he was, in all his glory. big brown eyes and now close enough to chart the freckles across his cheeks. those stupid phone calls and banter don’t measure up to the way he’s looking at you right now.

he had told you there was no need to pick him up from the airport, that you shouldn’t subject yourself to the hassle. clearly you went against his wishes, tackling him as soon as you had sights on him. that's how you were now, pressed flush against him, arms entangled around each other with promises of never letting go. 

“hey baby,” he whispers, lips pressed to your ear. “lets go home, yeah?”

instead of replying, your wrapped arms give him a gentle squeeze. unaware of the few curious glances directed towards the pair of you, you wonder if it’s physically possible to get any closer to him. 

“i’m never leaving your side again.” you mumble, face pressed to his chest. you try to peek up a glance at him, looking away immediately when you see his heavy gaze already on you. why does he have to look at me like that? it makes me feel like i’m on fire. slightly shaking your head, “i’m serious, one day they’re going to have to pry my corpse from yours.”

his dimple is more prominent than ever, “y/n, you really need to stop trying to seduce me.”

you both laugh, basking in each other's presence. christian presses a kiss to your hair, reaffirming how much he had missed you. his left arm never unwrapping from your waist, even when you begin to walk to the car.  

it’s a quick drive from the airport to your shared home. after unpacking and dinner and intimate touches were shared, you’d found yourselves laid in bed. your head resting on his chest, your fingers were mindlessly tracing the outlines on his tattooed arm. 

christian lets out a content sigh, “you have no idea how much i’ve missed this, missed you.” 

“i missed you more.”

after the busy evening you had just spent, it’s no surprise when you see him begin to snooze off. you don’t mind, you finally had him in arms reach and reassurance that you had many days to have the conversations that had been too scant. 

 

you murmur, soft and quietly, “go to sleep, baby.”

“hey,” he barely peeks one eye open, the corner of his lip threatening to quirk up. “that's my line.”

you roll your eyes, giving him one final kiss to his bare shoulder “night, i love you.”

instead of responding, he wraps his arms around your waist and flips you to your side. you let out a surprised yelp but nonetheless, your body automatically finds the perfect way to fit with his. instantly, he pulls you close to him, leaving a delicate kiss on your earlobe. you barely hear his low, “i love you too.”

after that, his faint snores are all that is heard. you follow in his steps, eyes growing heavier by the seconds. yes, sleeping is much better when christians voice rings right next to you and not through a phone.

feedback is greatly appreciated please!

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 4: Spellbound

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

“...and I’m sorry.” Pomni wiped at her eyes, dragging her drooping gaze up from Ragatha’s torn, tear-soaked dress. “The other day, when I was yelling at you — and everyone else? I was being a jerk.”

Ragatha laughed. “A little. But you’re not a bad person, Pomni — if you were, you wouldn’t have apologized. That takes maturity.”

Pomni sniffed. And sniveled. And sniffed again. “What does it matter? Everyone still hates me…”

“Nobody hates you. Especially not me.” Ragatha sighed. “You’re going through so much, Pomni — we understand.”

Pomni shook her head with a shaky sigh. “I just…” Her voice warbled. Another tear dropped from her shimmering eyes, “...I just want to go home...”

“Oh, Sweetheart. Come here…” Ragatha pulled Pomni closer. She rubbed circles around the little jester’s shuddering back, patiently comforting her until her tears ran dry again — however long it would take. 

“...I don’t understand. How do you do it?” Pomni’s voice, still shriveled and small, eventually found the strength to speak again. “You’ve been trapped in this horrible place for years now. How do you stay sane? How do you just…accept it?”

Ragatha stirred her head. Had it really been that long? 

“...I try not to dwell on things that are out of my control. To focus on the little things that make life worth living.” she said. “It’s easy to be miserable — cathartic, even — but to focus on the silver lining, even if you have to squint to see it? It’s not easy, but I think it’s worth the trouble. Because it’s always, always, always there.”

Pomni was perfectly still for the longest time, quietly breathing, silently squeezing tear after tear from her weepy eyes. When at last she met Ragatha’s gaze, she opened her mouth to speak — but no words spilled forth. Instead, Pomni simply pressed her cheek against Ragatha’s chest, holding the doll tighter than she ever had before.

And Ragatha smiled. “Yeah…?” 

Pomni nodded. 

Ragatha hummed softly, brushing her finger through Pomni’s hair. “I’m glad I met you, too.”

🎪  

The memory was still fresh. 

Ragatha groaned, stirred from her sleep by the court of wild ravens clicking and cawing in the stony branches above. Just like every other morning, her drowsy eyes remained stubbornly shut, but the persistent tap-tap-tapping of woodpeckers kept her mind from sneaking back into slumber. 

Propped against the pruned, petrified redwood, Ragatha shifted her head and took in a long, soothing breath. The forest air had thickened overnight, for better and for worse; the aroma of dewy wildflowers just barely masked the foul musk of rotting wood. 

She grit her teeth, exhaling through her nose. Ow — Ragatha had forgotten how much it hurt just to breathe. The countless rips and tears carved into her fragile form worked in synergy to maximize her suffering; any slight movement was immediately punished with a cacophonous chorus of pain, pain, and more pain. 

Reluctant to even open her eyes, Ragatha remained perfectly still, spacing out her shallow breaths as far apart as she possibly could. Slowly, the roaring in her chest faded into a rumble, the screaming pain in her legs hushed to whispers, and the boiling discomfort in her right arm cooled to a bubbling simmer. 

Even as the choir’s shrill song faded into silence, however, a single voice continued its grating chant. 

It was odd — Ragatha’s left arm laid just as still as its opposite, yet a bothersome, prickling pain still coiled around the appendage. Even stranger, it was a far different sensation than the rest: instead of a blunt, radiant agony that flared up whenever she tried to move, the pain was…precise. Targeted. And dreadfully persistent. 

Every few seconds, something sharp would harass a certain spot on her arm — poking, prodding, stabbing — until her soft skin finally broke. The point would burrow deep into the fresh puncture, dragging something long, dry, and frayed behind it; it tickled as it passed through.

It was an uncomfortable sensation, to say the least, but Ragatha was hardly phased. After all, she’d been living in a body fashioned from cotton and fabric for years at this point —  she was rather accustomed to the unique body horror of being stitched back together. The procedure was just a fact of life now, no different than the uncomfortable routines she’d followed to maintain her old, human body—

Wait. Did that mean…?

Where was she? Had she and Pomni failed the adventure? Had they been teleported back to the tent? No, no — of course not. There’d be no need for anyone to stitch her back together if that were the case; Caine could simply snap his fingers and repair her in the blink of an eye. 

Not wanting to give herself away, Ragatha sat forward — slightly and slowly. Her good eye was closed, but the periwinkle button that served as its twin would be her secret spyglass. 

She concentrated, and the gloomy woods slowly came into focus — as much focus as her barely-functional button eye could handle, at least. She glanced down at her chest, and for a moment, a profound melancholy overcame her: her dear friend Pomni, who had been snuggled so tightly against her the night before, was nowhere to be found. 

Her eye scrambled to find her — she didn’t have to look very far. 

A blurry blob, roughly the shape of a certain anxious jester, kneeled on the ground beside her. One of the woman’s little hands held Ragatha’s arm in place; the other held some sort of needle. Where had she found a needle!? It trembled, stumbling around the wounded limb with whatever the exact opposite of ‘surgical precision’ was. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull. 

Ragatha ground her teeth together as the needle passed over, under, and through her fabric skin, slowly but surely mending the tear in her arm. It took everything she had to keep up the act, to not flinch and squirm with every pointed bite — but some outside force compelled her to hold in the urge. 

In fact, in some strange, backward way, the pain almost felt pleasant — and Ragatha found herself fighting the slight smirk twitching her cheek. She just couldn’t help it, just like she couldn't help how hard her heart was beating, or the brilliant warmth spreading out from her core. 

Each jab was a reminder. Proof positive that even Pomni  — the anxious, angry shut-in who hated everything and couldn’t care less if everyone around her died in a horrible accident — had a kind heart underneath all of that harsh, prickly angst. 

Ragatha surrendered, letting her smirk blossom into a full smile. She knew it. 

Prick, pull. 

Prick, pull.

Stab—

“Oh, go #!$% yourself!” Ragatha yelped. She sat up in a snap, roughly snatching her stinging arm away. 

Pomni quailed in fright. “O-O-Oh my gosh! Ragatha! I’m so sorry, are you—” 

There was a pause. And then a longer one after that. 

The jester blinked. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing! I—” Ragatha was as white as a ghost. “I didn’t mean that!”

“Did you just say the F-word?” 

Ragatha cringed. The pain of her injuries was nothing compared to this mental torment. “I’m so, so, sorry! That just slipped out! You have to believe me — I would never!”

“Ragatha, it’s okay! Really! Think about who you’re talking to right now.” Pomni giggled. She was smiling now. “Honestly, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

Ragatha struggled to swallow the embarrassment sizzling in the back of her throat. With her mind too scrambled to think anywhere close to straight, her gaze bounced around the darkness, desperately searching for something she could latch onto to change the subject. It took several moments of hemming and hawing before the obvious pivot she was searching for popped into her head.

Her face still hot, Ragatha looked over herself. Just like she had suspected, Pomni had been hard at work mending her wounds — but it was clear that the younger woman didn’t have much experience with sewing. And by ‘not much’, of course, she meant ‘none whatsoever’.

Frayed threads stuck out from hundreds of jagged stitches. Fluffy chunks of cotton bulged out of hastily-sewn seams that were already starting to come apart. Parts of Ragatha’s delicate fabric skin, stretched and compressed at seemingly random points, were far tighter or looser than they were supposed to be, which made movement even more of a struggle than it already was.

Pomni had done a laughably-poor job; nevertheless, her earnest efforts drove an arrow straight through Ragatha’s soft heart. “I…You…” Ragatha could barely get a word out, “How…?”

“Kind of a long story, actually.” Pomni stared at the gound, rubbing the back of her neck. “So, basically…”

Pomni’s flustered explanation was long, rambling, and hard to parse through all the stuttering. Suffice it to say: over the past several hours, she had gathered the pieces of Ragatha’s torn dress, painstakingly de-threaded them, and twisted them up into thin ropes. Her ‘needle’ was actually the feather from her cap — she’d cut off the end, poked a hole through it using one of the redwood’s thorns, then sharpened its pointed tip.

“...and…yeah.” Pomni tugged on her collar. “I woke up early, so I figured I might as well keep myself busy...”

Unconsciously, Ragatha parted her lips. “You did all that?” she said, “For me?”

“I mean, we’re friends now, right?” Pomni shrugged the most awkward shrug in the history of shrugs. “I wanted you to get better.”

Ragatha was enchanted — and the nagging doubt that had strangled her heart since Pomni’s chaotic debut at last loosened its vice grip. That sealed it. Of course she had been right not to trust her first impression. Of course Pomni cared. To the jester, at least, this unremarkable ragdoll was someone worth protecting. Someone she considered a friend. Someone…beautiful.

Recalling the memory did to Ragatha’s heart as sunbeams did to April blossoms. Beautiful — when had she last heard that word? Since when had she felt so wanted? So cherished and valued? Had she ever?

The raggedy doll cast a yearning look toward the jester. “I don’t know what to say. This is…” she hesitated softly, “...Thank you, Pomni.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I still need to finish your arm.” Pomni’s tone was the same she might use to describe the weather. She pointed at the limb still held tightly against Ragatha’s chest. “So, um, if you wouldn’t mind…?”

“...Oh.” Ragatha touched her face. “Oh! Of course — yeah!” she nodded, cautiously surrendering her arm. She wore an anxious smile, and wore it poorly. “Just try to be a bit more delicate this time…?”

“I dunno. Now that I know what happens when I poke you the wrong way, a small part of me wants to know what you’re gonna say next—”

“Try it. I dare you.” 

Pomni chuckled, sinking her makeshift needle into Ragatha’s arm yet again. “Okay, okay. I’ll be careful.” she said. Gently, she pulled the tool through. The doll’s pliable skin tightened, and the deep gash stretching across her arm shrank in turn. 

Ragatha watched Pomni work in silence. The woman, normally a twitching little bundle of nerves, was so…calm. Controlled. Confident, even. It was as if the pitiful, sobbing mess that Ragatha had soothed to sleep the previous night had transformed into an entirely different person overnight. 

Once Pomni had stopped her crying, she and Ragatha had just…talked. And talked. And talked. They vented about the things that annoyed them, chatted about their common interests, and listened to each other’s infodumping about their particular hyperfixations. 

In the midst of it, Ragatha’s troubles had melted away. She and Pomni, holding each other close, were lost in their own little world — but now that Ragatha was back in reality, a nagging worry snuck its way into her mind, and no matter what, it refused to give her peace: 

Exactly what had Pomni been trying to say before her meltdown? 

Why did Ragatha…what? Why did she what? 

The question sat like a boulder in Ragatha’s stomach. She hadn’t done something wrong…had she?

Ragatha looked at Pomni. She shifted her posture, then shifted again. The question, harassing her psyche like a bothersome itch, needed an answer — and yet, Ragatha stayed silent, drowsy eyes admiring the calm smile on Pomni’s face. 

Why would she say anything that might make it disappear?

🎪  🎪  🎪 

Pomni squinted. Her tongue peeked out from between her lips as she carefully — very, very carefully — triple-knotted the thick thread in her hands. With one final tug, the stitches were taut, sealing shut the long gash carved into Ragatha’s arm. “...voilà! Okay, you can open your eyes now!”

Ragatha still leaned against the petrified redwood. Her hand covered her eyes, and, despite her darling companion’s command, didn’t budge an inch. “Again, Pomni, what exactly is the point of this…?”

“What do you mean? This is it — the big reveal!”

“Well, I get that…” Ragatha said, “but I’ve already seen everything. Five minutes ago.”

“But you haven’t seen the whole picture!”

Ragatha breathed in the world’s most angelically-patient breath. “Sweetheart—”

“Ugh, come on! You’re ruining the moment!” Pomni pulled Ragatha’s hand away from her face. Practically bouncing, the jester stepped back, gesturing at Ragatha as if the doll had just been revealed from underneath a sheet. “Ta-da!”

Ragatha shook her head; a relaxed smile brightened her face. She was tickled pink to see that Pomni was finally comfortable enough to show off her goofier side — especially after seeing her at such a low point last night. 

Pomni’s expectant grin didn’t flinch. “So? What do you think?”

Ragatha tilted her head downward. A familiar warmth spread across her face as her eyes retreaded the sloppily-mended tears scattered across her body. Ragatha knew she could have done a much better job herself — but she didn’t care. If it were up to her, she would choose Pomni’s subpar stitching every time. 

She swayed, crossing her hands over her thumping heart. “Gosh, who would’ve guessed you were so talented with a needle and thread, Pomni?” Ragatha batted her hand, “One pales to imagine what this helpless princess would have done without her dashing knight at her side~”

“It’s…It’s not that big a deal.” Pomni swallowed, hands curling around her middle. Her bubbly affect popped just like that. “Really. I-It’s the least I could do…”

“And so modest! Mercy me. Are you just getting into character, or are you always this chivalrous?”

“Um…!” Pomni, wearing an apocalyptic blush, quickly averted her gaze. She awkwardly offered her hand. “S-So, a-anyway, we should probably get going, right…?”

Pomni already looked like a tomato just offering her clammy hand — words could hardly describe the look on her face when, at last, Ragatha grabbed hold.

Sweating, Pomni wrapped her other arm around Ragatha’s back and carefully helped the injured doll to her feet. “You look like you’re in pain.” She frowned, watching Ragatha struggle to stand even with her assistance. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

“I’m a big girl. I think I can handle it.” Ragatha winked. Steadying herself against Pomni, she broke away from the jester’s support. She carefully shifted her weight onto her feet, and— 

An agonized shout, paired with the sickening sound of tearing fabric, echoed beneath the canopy. Ragatha collapsed, clutching her stomach. 

Pomni just barely caught her. 

“Ragatha!” Pomni shrieked. Cotton spilled freely from the reopened wound slashed across the older woman’s chest — now twice as long as it had been before. 

Pain was spelled in bold all across Ragatha’s face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. “Th-Thanks…” she trembled; a loose tear traveled between the twisted creases that wound across her face. “...for catching me...”

Pomni plummeted to her knees; Ragatha was draped across her lap. “No…no, NO!” she clawed her face, each panicked breath ringing louder than the last. Her pupils quivered in a sea of bloodshot white, beholding the sum of all of her hard work: absolutely nothing.

“Why did I— Why did I think—” Cackling, she bared her teeth — sharp and pointed. “Of course! Why did I think I could do anything right?!”

“Woah, woah!” Ragatha forced herself to speak through the pain. A throaty grunt punctuated her next words, “Calm down — It’s going to be okay!”

“Okay?! How is any of this okay?! What could someone like you ever do to deserve this?!” Pomni seethed. “Is this Caine’s idea of a sick joke? Is that why that psychopath paired us together? So I could lose my mind watching you suffer?” 

“Pomni! Please—”

“What now? Are we just stuck here forever?! Are we both going to die here because of me?!” Pomni’s voice cracked at the realization. “Oh, God. Oh my GOD! Please, please, please—”

“POMNI!” To the tune of another gut-wrenching tear, Ragatha sat up to grab Pomni’s trembling hand. “Listen to me! We’re not out of options, okay?!” Her thumb drew tight, soothing circles on the back of the jester’s palm. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…why don’t you just go on by yourself? I can just stay behind and—”

“NO!” 

Ragatha dropped Pomni’s hand like hot iron. 

Pomni flinched — the hurt on Ragatha’s face finally snapped her out of her insanity spiral. “I…I didn’t mean to—” she shivered. Her mouth twisted into a hundred different shapes until, at last, she managed to say: “I’m sorry...” 

“Just take a deep breath for me. Please.” Ragatha soothed, reaching for Pomni’s hand again. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Pomni didn’t hesitate, sandwiching Ragatha’s trembling hand between both of hers. She nodded, filling her chest with a trio of long, shaky breaths. Her racing pulse began to lag. 

“I’m not leaving you all alone.” Pomni said after a beat of silence, peering straight into Ragatha’s eyes. “I already…” she hesitated, shaking her head. “What if something happens, and I’m not there to save you?”

Ragatha couldn’t help but perk up at the look on Pomni’s face. The jester looked just like a guard dog, determined to protect her at all costs. “How about we just wait here together, then?” she said, “The others probably finished this adventure hours ago — and adventures don’t go on forever. If we take long enough, Caine will eventually just force us out and say we failed.”

“Eventually isn’t good enough! You need help now!” 

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I wish I could tell you otherwise, but I just…” she sighed, “…can’t.”

Pomni furrowed her brow, gently turning over Ragatha’s arm. She inched her face closer to the doll’s roughly-sutured wounds, squinting as if the answer to their predicament were spelled out somewhere in the frayed silk stitches. Her voice broke the silence. “What are you stuffed with, anyway? Cotton?”

Ragatha raised an eyebrow at that. It was Pomni’s turn, apparently, to ask a question totally out of left field. 

“More or less…?” Ragatha’s hand rapped on her chest, “But if you really want to know, I’m pretty sure I’ve got a heart crammed in here, too. Something that beats, at least.” she shrugged. She’d probably never know what the organ really looked like, but she'd always imagined a cartoon heart fashioned from the same patchy felt as the rest of her body. 

“So you really are just a walking, talking doll…?” Pomni let out a huge breath — one she’d apparently been holding in for quite a while. “Oh, perfect! This is perfect!”

Ragatha rubbed her face — how hard had Pomni’s head hit the ground yesterday? “Perfect…?” she spoke slowly, “How do you figure?"

“Well…” Pomni’s forced laugh was painful to listen to. “D-Do you think you’d be light enough to, uh…” she glanced away, stroking her hair. “W-Would it be okay if I…”

Ragatha wondered if her plush body came with a stomach as well; she definitely felt something fluttering around in the place she’d expect one to be. She just couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was pint-sized Pomni really about to suggest using her frail little arms to —

“Let me carry you!” Pomni exhaled sharply. Her stammer was gone, burned away by the heat of her passionate glare.  “There’s no way I’m gonna let you just sit here and suffer! We’re finishing this stupid adventure and getting you fixed up — today!”

Spellbound. Ragatha was utterly, completely, hopelessly spellbound — but the sly smirk spreading across her face hid her true sentiments well. “Oh, nooo! You’re just too kind…” she closed her good eye and swooned just like a debutante. Her button spied on Pomni’s reaction — watching the new girl get all hot and bothered over her, of all people, was Ragatha’s special form of self-care. “I suppose you could, but, gosh, I wouldn't want to be a burden~”

Wearing a determined look, Pomni stood up, scooping the lightweight doll into her arms. The way Ragatha’s big, bulky limbs spilled beyond the edges of Pomni’s puny frame, even when curled up, was almost comedic — but Pomni was hardly laughing. “Burden. Give me a break. You weigh fifteen pounds soaking wet.”

Ragatha sighed, leaning her head against Pomni’s chest. “My hero…”

“I-I…” Pomni glanced away, “...Don’t make it weird. You’re not even heavy.”

“Oh, but you would still carry me even if I were stuffed with sand, wouldn’t you?”

Pomni looked down with a nervous smile; her glowing cheeks did all the talking for her. Holding her damsel a little more snugly now, she launched down the path, eyeing the distant, window-studded spires peeking through the trees.

“Woah! Pomni! Take it easy!”

🎪  🎪  🎪 

The moon slept soundly in the sky, silvery light outlining the decrepit mansion’s twisted silhouette. A stark shadow stretched to the bottom of the steep hill on which the manor was perched; from all the way up there, one could see for themselves how truly endless the surrounding sea of trees really was. 

“Almost there! C’mon!” Ragatha whooped, arms curled tightly around Pomni’s waist. “You’ve got this, Girlie!”

Girlie did not, in fact, have this. Pomni huffed and puffed, puny legs wobbling for their lives as they crested the hill — and the obnoxiously-long staircase that wound all the way around it.

“What, so now you’re—” Pomni paused to suck down a breath, “— now you’re cheering me on?”

“What do you expect? Nagging you to slow down wasn’t working. If you’re determined to faint from exhaustion, you might as well do it past the finish line.”

“As if. You’re just mad—” Pomni huffed, “— You’re just mad that I was right.”

“Don’t count your chickens just yet, Sweetheart. You’ve still got a few more steps to go.”

Pomni grumbled, pressing on.

A baroque fence, punctuated by gargoyle-topped columns, hugged the perimeter of the dilapidated estate — as if the manor’s remoteness weren’t already enough to keep out the riff-raff. Pomni stumbled through the iron gate, and the very second she was through, an ethereal presence slammed the egress shut with a startling clang. 

“See?” Gasping for air, Pomni slumped over. Ragatha nearly rolled out of her arms and onto the manor’s overgrown lawn. “I…told you…” she gasped again, “...we would finish the adventure…today…” another gasp, “...and I meant it!”

Ragatha huffed. Again and again, she had begged Pomni to slow down, to stop and rest, to take a break, for the love of God. But Pomni, obstinate as usual, had refused to listen every time.

Shame weighed heavily on Ragatha’s soul as she stared up at Pomni’s pale, exhausted face. The poor woman looked absolutely awful — as if she were ready to faint at any second. 

“Ugh! You could have hurt yourself! Then what would we have done?!” Ragatha huffed, “God. Why do you have to be so stubborn?!”

Pomni’s breathing was finally beginning to slow down. “That’s not a serious question is it?.” 

“Wh-What…?” Ragatha blinked. “Of course it is!”

“Come on.” Pomni, stared straight ahead into one of the mansion’s myriad windows; the flickering candle behind the dusty glass reflected in her eyes. “After all you’ve done for me, don’t you think I owe you at least this much?”

Ragatha exhaled.

A swift tide of emotion washed away her anger, leaving behind…something else. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, or what it really was — but she knew it was a good feeling. Better than good. Much, much better.

Just like Pomni, Ragatha yearned for freedom. She dreamed of wrapping her arms around Mom and Dad just one more time, even if she could hardly remember their voices anymore. She couldn’t recall the distinctive fur patterns on her pet cat’s paws, yet she still worried herself sick about who was feeding him — if at all. By her third year of captivity, the names and faces of her two-dozen kindergarten students had all melded together, and Ragatha couldn’t help but wonder: had her little bundles of joy forgotten their teacher’s name, too? How old were they now? Ten? Eleven? Even older?

For so very long, Ragatha had believed that the only cure to her heartache was to find a way out, to return to the life she had left behind. Yet, if an exit door were to appear in front of her right this second — as the wind nipped her skin, as her entire being roared with pain, as the knowledge that another leg of this adventure still stood between herself and her soft, warm bed — she would hesitate to walk through. 

She must have been going crazy. The idea of remaining in the circus forever was horrifying, yet if she were to make the choice right this instant, she just might choose to stay here in Pomni’s arms forever.

Ragatha’s heart hammered away in her chest; she just couldn’t stay upset at her knight in shining armor. “You’re right.” she spoke softly on purpose, toying with the cute little pompoms that dangled from her protector’s handsome tunic, “Maybe I’m overreacting…”

Struggling to make out the doll’s words, Pomni leaned in closer. Closer than she’d ever been before. Close enough for Ragatha to catch the mild aroma swimming in Pomni’s auburn hair. It smelled sweet. Complex. A patchwork potpourri with notes of vanilla and dried leaves and crisp morning air.  

“You’re a good person, Pomni.” Ragatha lifted her neck, even though it pained her terribly. She closed her eyes and planted a dainty little peck on Pomni’s dainty little cheek. 

Pomni’s breathing turned shallow. She stared at the woman in her arms, mouth slack, then snapping shut, and finally falling open again. 

Ragatha, feeling herself slowly slipping out of Pomni’s loosening grip, wrapped her arms snugly around the jester’s neck. She moved her face closer, gazing up with a dreamy, expectant look — but the longer Pomni just stared down, unblinking, the more Ragatha’s smile faded. She… didn’t break the poor thing, did she?

Another well-placed smooch would snap her out of it, Ragatha thought, but even she knew that was just a sorry excuse to indulge herself further. “Goodness gracious. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” she said with a playful chuckle, placing two more kisses near the corner of Pomni’s mouth. “I’m just showing my appreciation, Sunshine. No need to overthink it.”

It happened so fast. 

Knees buckled, Pomni fainted, plummeting backwards onto the manor’s lawn like a felled tree. Ragatha went right down with her, landing roughly on top of her smaller friend — and another handful of amateur stitches burst open.

Ragatha’s everything roared with horrible, splitting pain. She would have screamed, but she was too busy cackling harder than she ever had in her life. 

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

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HUGE thank you to @spitinsideme and @blukiar, who were kind enough to illustrate a scenes from this chapter! Go check them out!

@spitinsideme: https://www.tumblr.com/spitinsideme/744502650373062656/read-a-really-good-ragapom-fanfiction?source=share

@BlukiaR: https://www.tumblr.com/blukiar/748666035752812544/long-time-no-ragapom-did-this-one-based-on

[brainrotcharacters]

Regarding the lovely Logan

something I've felt consistently throughout the movie and something that should've rang warning bells for me that the credits would make me cry is this

I've never genuinely referred to him as Wolverine.

I know that's his title! His superhero name or whatever. But every moment that solidifies what he is to the rest of the world, his own or otherwise, fell hollow to me...? And I felt guilty that I'm not appreciating him with the rest of the characters. I'm perfectly aware it's something to be celebrated (or disapproved, in the case of the worst Wolverine).

But I don't know him like that. I knew him as Logan, one of the many members of the X-Men no matter how he says he doesn't identify with it. Logan who listened to Charles Xavier and joined other X-Men in the battlefield and protected daughters like Rogue and Laura. THAT is Logan to me. That's all Logan ever needed to be, for me.

Thank God for this because it lets me read his character in Deadpool and Wolverine the way that I do. Him smiling with Deadpool's gun to his head equates to years and movies of him surviving that same thing, but wishing he didn't. Him dealing that first move during the Honda scene isn't just him being angry, but it's also him grieving the X-Men and the love he pretended he doesn't have for them. It's that sweetheart attribute you can never write out of Logan Howlett if you're a sane writer where he suddenly can't see the red flags in someone's promise if it means there's a delusional chance he can deserve the X Men.

In my perspective, it just so happens that this Logan loyally followed the yellow suit from the comics. Which I wasn't even ever exposed to. Good on the older fans tho. I'm so happy for you all.

But yeah. Um. I love Logan. I'll never refer to him as Wolverine unless he really really wants me to with bonus begging, and unless I've been kidnapped and held for ransom at 10 mil and above.