i actually like when boys come fast. it’s the cutest thing and not shameful at all. like i will just make you come again. don’t hold back on me. we can do it again; and again and again and again, until you can’t remember what day of the week it is and don’t know whether you want me to stop or keep going
Batman, it seemed, was pretty chatty when he knew none of them were going to survive.
-Random line I found while digging through old unfinished fics and lmao it's just so funny to me like- Bruce only shares personal things with the Justice League when he knows they're about to die like😭
Maglor Feanorian's fingernails dug into Uldor's skin. A poppy bloomed and trickled down his neck.
Uldor struggled for air, trying to catch a breath as the grip around his neck tightened and every inhale sent his lung in a spasm of pain. Blood soaked his garments like ruby dye.
“I don’t think you understand, Easterling,” said Maglor Feanorian, sharply yet effortlessly, melodic voice ringing cold and merciless as ice.
Each syllable sliced into Uldor's consciousness as if it was ripping through his skull. He trembled as the waves of power shook the ground below him, the very rocks crumbling in submission beneath the singer's feet.
Maglor Feanorian leaned in, a certain slyness dotting his tone. “You see, the reason why I am my brother's servant is not because I am weak."
He twisted the knife in Uldor's side. Uldor choked out a cry as it burned, digging like fire in his insides. Crimson splattered all over the Feanorian's face, none of which were his own.
Maglor Feanorian smiled a bloodied grin. “I am his executioner.”
You felt Hong Lu press his lips against your cheek as he pulled you closer to his body; a cheerful expression on his face as he peppered your cheek with kisses.
"Hong Lu!" you whined as you placed your hand on his face and weakly tried to push him away in a playful attempt to annoy him. "Stop kissing my cheek, you tease!"
He hummed, pulling away from your face just a little as he looked at you; deep in thought. It wasn't long before he broke out into a grin and nodded. "If you insist~" he crooned, pulling away a little bit more before he cupped your face in his hands and started peppering it with kisses without any shame.
"Wha— hey! You're so annoying!" you laughed, once again trying to push his face away from you but putting no real strength in it.
"Says who?" he pressed another kiss to your cheek before pulling away with a smile on his lips. "You? I don't believe you simply because you seem to be enjoying my attention~"
"I am, yes. But I want you to kiss somewhere else!" You pointed at your lips.
"Oh? I see..."
Hong Lu's eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned in again; his lips brushing against yours before he swiftly pulled back and pressed his lips to your nose instead, kissing it gently. "There! Was that what you wanted?"
You couldn't stop the laugh that escaped your lips. "You're such a tease! Kiss me properly!"
"My bad," he grinned before placing his hand on the back of your head and tilting it a little before he placed his lips on your neck and kissed it lightly. "Was that the kiss you wanted~?"
"My lips, I said my lips!" you whined, playfully tugging at his hair. "Kiss me there!"
"Fine fine," he chuckled as he rolled his eyes. He leaned in once more, and this time, you felt his lips pressing against yours. Properly, too, as he brought you a little closer to him; his other arm wrapping around your waist comfortably as he did so. He pulled away a few seconds later, but not before sneaking in another quick kiss. "Happy?"
"Yes, happy."
He rolled his eyes again before guiding you over to the bed in his room. He sat down before pulling you down on his lap; his chest pressing against your back as he hugged you tightly. "This is nice," he mumbled as he nuzzled your hair with his cheek, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as he did so.
You thought that he'd continue kissing you instead of being so... gentle with you and just holding you in his arms. This wasn't the first time he did something like this, but it always managed to catch you by surprise whenever he did. You couldn't help but worry a little bit.
"What's wrong?" you asked, adjusting your position on his lap a little so you could look him in the eyes.
Seeing this, he hastily pecked your cheek before looking at you with a gentle smile. "Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to cuddle~"
"If you say so..." Honestly, you didn't know what you were expecting when you asked that question, not to mention that him being in a cuddly mood was a win for you as much as it was a win for him so you weren't going to complain.
You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled the crook of it in the same way he had done to you moments prior. He giggled in response before lying down on the bed with you on top of him. He let out another sigh as his grip on you tightened, but not painfully.
"I hope you know that you're stuck with me for the rest of the day now because I'm not letting go~" he teased.
You rolled your eyes in response. "As if I hate cuddling you..."
"I know. It's impossible for you to hate anything that has to do with me."
Your boyfriend was too smug for his own good, that you were sure of.
@larasmusings missed this the first time it was posted, but was interested to read it, and I have been baking all day and did not have the fortitude to dig back through 2882929934 Tumblr shitposts to find it. So I'm just posting it again!
Leon drags his wife to a DSO event. Leon thinks his wife is hot and amazing. Much to his chagrin everyone else does too. Male caveman thoughts ensue. Claire is oblivious. Hunnigan is perhaps smoother than any man. Sherry tries to lighten the mood.
Leon is perpetually a man in an I LOVE MY WIFE shirt, but generally other people appreciating Claire TOO much turns him into a curmudgeon.
Anyway enjoy!
Over the years, Leon had occasionally convinced Claire to attend these kinds of things with him, these kinds of things being events in DC she claimed were too fancy for her. For years he’d been used to hiding in a corner in a tux, putting in an appearance and attempting to get out of there as fast as he could. Having Claire with him kind of made him feel more legitimate, but he did usually have to work on her some to agree to go along. She’d always groused she had nothing fancy enough to wear, something fancy enough was too expensive, and that she could really feel the raging anti-military-industrial-complex-anti-capitalist in her gnashing its teeth at being surrounded by America’s ruling class.
Leon usually told her to keep her subversive thoughts to herself, that he could finance formal wear, and to just drink enough champagne to where the fact that everyone seemed vaguely slimy no longer bothered her. He could usually convince her to come along. Sometimes she put up resistance.
Leon had decided he was no longer going to accept the resistance. If he was required to go to this shit, so was she. He’d married her six months ago. She was now obligated, as his wife. She could no longer beg off to stay at home, drinking Busch and listening to Queen. When he’d told her the DSO was having a holiday gala, she’d looked at him and shrugged and told him to have fun. He’d informed her that her wedding vows saddled her to his side through events that both of them felt underclassed for. She’d been skeptical. He’d been insistent. She’d whined. He’d coerced.
In the end she’d wound up next to him in a ballroom, on her third or fourth flute of champagne, in a dress that looked like it’d been painted onto her. It was tight, and open-backed, and it was making her a focal point of interest at the gathering, and not just to Leon, who’d had a problem keeping his eyes in appropriate places on her since about age 22.
Leon was used to his own eyes roving over Claire. Even at the ripe old age of 45 it still set his teeth on edge when the eyes of others roved over her. Claire had always been somehow blissfully unaware and ignorant of her effect on others, particularly members of the opposite sex; Leon felt like some kind of large, menacing shadow that hung over her as she glided around obliviously. Claire had told him once years ago that when she looked in the mirror, she didn’t see anything special—just a redheaded freckled kid from Alabama. This was not how the rest of the world felt. This was not how Leon felt.
“Jesus Christ, Kennedy, your wife is hot as fuck,” Daniels had said to him, in an aside.
“I’m aware,” Leon replied. “Stay the fuck away from her.”
“Fine,” Daniels said. “I can see her ass just fine from over here.”
“Quit looking at it or you’re going to be picking up your teeth,” Leon informed him.
This was the first DSO-related event he’d brought her to. Over the years they’d been to other events in DC, packed full of dignitaries—senators, ambassadors, the president, campaign contributors, the like. Those kinds of people also ogled Claire; they were more civilized about it. The DSO employees were something else—these were the fellow agents Leon talked shit with, at some point they’d probably all seen each other naked in the locker rooms as they came and went from missions. The handlers were used to his dry, sarcastic commentary during ops; the support staff were used to watching him stalk around the offices like a cranky harbinger.
The ogling of Claire was more feral, here. It had an edge to it. People were not going to hide that they were doing it. They were going to taunt Leon with it. They felt free to express their wonder that sarcastic, dark-humored, maladjusted him had landed a woman currently flitting about with her smile turned up to 10.
“I knew you got married,” Liv, one of the handlers said to him. “I don’t know what I pictured, but it was not <em>that</em>,” she said, indicating Claire across the room talking to Sherry.
“Yeah, I’m in shock too,” Leon said. “I’m not sure what she sees in me, but I hope she keeps seeing it.”
“I have for many years suspected you have a personality under all those one-liners,” Liv said, arching her eyebrow at him. “You let it slip, sometimes.”
“That doesn’t leave this room,” Leon said. “You’ll blow my cover.”
“Sure,” Liv said in amusement. “You’re just randomly married to the cute girl next door, as the asshole you are. Makes sense.”
“Women like bad boys,” Leon said. “Every woman longs for an asshole.”
“Sure,” Liv said, in further amusement.
Leon watched Claire bebop around the room, getting friendlier the more alcohol she ingested. He felt, kind of as he ever did, she was running along in front of him and he was getting dragged behind, holding on for dear life.
At least the view from behind was nice. He just wished he was the only one appreciating it.
He rejoined her as she was refilling herself on the bubbly stuff fueling her cheerful housewife of the year attitude; Leon knew she was probably going to feel it tomorrow and spend most of the day laying around the house in her pajamas, moaning for him to bring her water and ibuprofen. He came up next to her, letting his hand slide along the bare skin of her lower back, and she looked up and over at him, taking a pull of her fresh glass of champagne.
“How much of that have you had?” he asked, bemusedly.
“Not enough,” Claire replied, bluntly. “Someone started talking about why universal healthcare was evidence Communists were trying to take over and I about put my foot up their ass.”
Leon smiled at her. “Easy, comrade. I have to work with these people.”
“According to you, you’re an asshole to them all the time,” Claire countered. “I could be one too.”
“It’d have no effect,” Leon said. “Everyone is too busy ogling you. Your words are going in one ear and out the other.”
Claire frowned. “Everyone has kept their hands to themselves.”
“You are, as ever, oblivious,” Leon said, cutting his eye at her. “If I can make it out of here without rearranging the face of one of my fellow operatives it’ll be a miracle.”
Claire looked exasperated. “<em>You</em> keep your hands to yourself. You wanted me to come to this.”
“I probably should have told you I wanted you to wear a potato sack,” Leon said.
Claire put her hand on her hip and jutted it. “Oh <em>stop</em>. There are plenty of good-looking women here in all kinds of things. You are forever thinking that everyone is staring at <em>me</em>.”
“Those other women are seen day in and day out in an office,” Leon informed her. “Not you. You’re new and exotic. Not to mention unbelievably beautiful.”
Claire tilted her head at him, looking tired and knowing. “Just because I’m your cup of tea doesn’t mean I’m everyone else’s,” she said. “Everyone’s been polite. Did you know John’s from Alabama too?”
“John.” Leon looked at her, blankly.
“John,” Claire said, prompting. “McCullough. Jesus, you’ve worked with these dudes for years and you don’t even know their first names?”
“We don’t typically use them with each other,” Leon said. “Stay away from him. He’s looking for ex-wife number five. The man is up to no good.”
Claire rolled her eyes. “He can keep looking. I already signed myself onto a detail, although if you’re going to keep being an overbearing weirdo, maybe I’ll second guess it.”
“Catholics don’t get divorced,” Leon said.
“You’re not Catholic anymore,” Claire countered. “You’re just as prone to divorce as anyone.”
Leon looked at her incredulously. “I’m trying to keep people from drooling on your tits and somehow that earns me divorce?”
“Leon, <em>stop</em,” Claire gusted.
“Fine. Do not be shocked if on Monday I get to hear all about how every single man in this room went home and jerked off furiously to you,” he said. “Because believe me, I <em>will</em> hear about it.”
Claire looked like she didn’t know what to do with him, and took a drink of her champagne. “Alright, <em>Daddy</em>, do I need to be home by curfew, too?”
“Do <em>not</em> call me that in public,” Leon said. “Unless you want to end up in a compromising position somewhere.”
A corner of Claire’s mouth pulled up. “Daddy,” she said, and turned away abruptly, sauntering off, providing Leon with a fantastic view of her ass that was regrettably on display to anyone with eyes. Leon watched her go, resignedly, and half-plotted getting her to call him Daddy at a later point in the evening, at home.
Whether or not this plot had anything to do with the overwhelming male urge to more or less grab Claire and claim her as <em>his</em>, Leon did not know. These things were beyond him. His lizard brain was going to do what it was going to do. He supposed the bonus to the single-celled organism urge to somehow claim her as his was, in fact, getting to hear her come, which was always something he looked forward to.
Leon decided to leave Claire to her own social butterfly devices before he pissed her off with his possessive male bullshit, and retreated off in the opposite direction, whisky in hand. He couldn’t let himself get <em>too</em> far away, though—he still wanted her in eyeshot. He knew his possessive male bullshit would rile the no-bullshit independent woman in her, but that did not mean he could not do it from a distance, where she would be champagne-fueled ignorant to it.
Once, as a teenager, his father had tried to impart some kind of half-cocked, male chauvinistic life lesson to him that Leon had unmotivatedly let go over his head—don’t go after the prettiest girl in the room, Da said. It’s nothing but trouble, Da said. He said he knew because Leon’s mother had been the prettiest girl around and Da had been paying for it ever since.
Maybe there was a grain of truth to it. Or maybe Leon was, at his core, a caveman who could not tolerate everyone with a dick gaping at his wife.
A moment later Leon was not alone in his caveman contemplation of his wife; Hunnigan sidled up to him, champagne in hand, in her own tight dress. Anyone affiliated with the DSO knew better than to look, lest Hunnigan eviscerate them in only the way she could. Leon took a drink of his whisky and looked down at Hunnigan, to find her gazing across the room.
“I understand why for years you hid your personal life from us, Leon,” she said. “Your wife is probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” She smirked. “And she’s completely wasted on <em>you</em>.”
“Even creatures like me deserve love, Ingrid,” Leon said.
“Maybe,” Hunnigan returned. “Her ass has been the highlight of the evening.”
“Quit looking at it,” Leon replied.
“You first,” she fired back.
“She’s my wife,” Leon said. “I’ll look at whatever I want to on her.”
“You’re a brute,” Hunnigan said. “Undeserving of her. How do louts like you wind up with women like her?”
“Probably unfortunately for her, she’s wired to find people of my gender and not yours attractive,” Leon said. “Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m just as shocked as you.”
“You’d be surprised,” Hunnigan said as an aside, still gazing at Claire. “I’ve changed a few minds in my time.”
“Ingrid, do not lay your game on my wife,” Leon said, in amusement. “I’m not capable of laying that kind of game back. You’ll steal her and I’ll be wife-less.”
“I could do things to her with my tongue that would make you look like the Catholic schoolboy you are, Leon,” Hunnigan said, looking up at him.
“You probably could,” Leon replied, looking down at Hunnigan. “As hot as the thought of that is, Ingrid, there’s something conspicuously absent from that scenario, and that’s me. I have to object.”
“Object all you want,” she said, gazing back at him from behind her glasses. “The further away from my sexual fantasies your obtuse, fumbling male ass is, the better.”
“Take pity on me,” Leon said. “I landed her somehow, but I do not think I’d be capable of such a feat again in this lifetime.”
“You’re probably right,” Hunnigan said, looking back over at Claire engrossed in conversation with fellow handlers. “I’ve seen you in your day to day. Marrying her was a miracle.” She reached over and kind of slapped at him with the back of her hand, and then started to move, heading across the room, towards Claire.
“Ingrid,” Leon called after her, and let out a heavy sigh when she merely waved her hand back at him dismissively. Leon watched as Hunnigan drew up next to Claire, her hand sliding along Claire’s naked lower back much in the way his own had. Hunnigan spoke to Claire for a moment, and then Claire began to laugh--<em>really</em> laugh.
Apparently Leon not only had to worry about the men drooling on Claire, he had to worry about Ingrid Hunnigan laying a game so smooth Claire decided to find out what playing for the other team was like. He became interested in his whisky. Maybe being attached to the most beautiful woman in the room <em>was</em> a problem, if you were a clutching fool like he was.
“Hey,” Sherry said brightly, appearing at his side. “What’re you doing standing in a corner looking like someone ate your lunch?”
Leon looked down at Sherry, cheerful without the aid of alcohol. “That’s just how my face looks, Sherry.”
“Oh it does not,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve seen you smile. You’re capable of it.”
“Capable, maybe,” Leon said. “Willing, no.”
Sherry let out a huff, her face knowing. “You always act like someone is pulling your teeth any time you have to get out to something like this.” She looked across the room, unobtrusively pointing at Claire in an engrossed—and close contact—conversation with Hunnigan. “Claire’s having fun.”
“Claire drinks champagne until she has no choice but to have fun,” Leon said. “Tomorrow I will deal with the aftermath of her decision.”
Sherry giggled. “Be nice to her. Take care of her.” She smiled. “I’m spared all of that, since most alcohol repulses me. I’m used to Jake’s whining, though.”
Leon <em>looked</em> at her. “Do not baby him. Let him suffer. He deserves it.”
Sherry looked offended. “I see him like once every six months. I’ll baby him if I want to, or send him heart emojis through text.” Sherry folded her arms over her chest. “You’d just think anyone I was dating should suffer. Jake makes music recommendations to you. One of these days you’re going to have to accept him.”
“His taste in music is impeccable,” Leon said. “Jury’s still out on him.”
“You’ve been saying that for years, Leon,” Sherry said. “He’s not going anywhere. Deal with it.”
“This is why I am cranky,” Leon said. “This is why I don’t smile.”
“You’re probably worse than my actual father ever would have been,” Sherry said. “Was your dad like this, too?”
“All men are terrible,” Leon said, matter-of-factly. “<em>All of them</em>. I’m going to hate whatever you drag home with you.”
“Oh except you, I guess,” Sherry said knowingly.
“Nope,” Leon said, looking across the room at Claire. “I’m patently awful too. All men, Sherry.”
“Oh? What are <em>you</em> guilty of?” Sherry asked, arching her eyebrow. “Claire seems over the moon.”
Leon looked over at her, whisky in hand, face even. “I’ve got her fooled,” he said.
Sherry regarded him skeptically. “You pretend to be such a menace,” she said, jabbing at his tux-covered chest. “I know the true story. You’re a big softie. You always have been. I still have memories of you trying to figure out how to braid my hair and mostly failing.”
Leon gazed at her for a moment longer, and then looked back across the room at Claire. She was turned towards he and Sherry, and she flashed a million-watt smile and waved at them. Sherry waved back, brightly. Leon managed something that passed as a smile. Claire’s face turned somewhat sly, and she winked at him.
“Go be with your wife,” Sherry said, pushing at him some. “Maybe an actual smile will rub off on you.”
Maybe later, when Leon wasn’t acutely aware of everyone and their mother looking at Claire like she was the last piece of pie. Leon sighed, letting Sherry push him, and he set out across the room for Claire, who was standing there waiting for him, looking bemused.
He’d wanted the prettiest girl in the room, and he’d gotten her. Leon had never felt like more of an ill-tempered curmudgeon in his life. Perhaps it was a life-long affliction, when you attached yourself to the prettiest girl in the room. Leon felt like he’d been dealing with it since his 20s, and at 45 it showed no signs of letting up.
“You look intent on murder,” Claire murmured at him as he drew up in front of her.
“I might be,” he replied.
“Keep your murderous urges to yourself and maybe I’ll let you touch my butt later,” Claire said.
Leon raised his eyebrows, considering. “I’m listening.”
Claire snickered some and looped her arm in his, pulling her along with him.
I DONT write but this is some Old Outsider!AU of a slightly more realistic scenario in which a Terrifying Military Warlord having 100% Control over a Peaceful Mediator is to (everybody else) an entirely Unpleasant and Unhealthy scenario and to TurnTapp and Saparata they are entirely in love and the Covenant are a bunch of loyal Wolves to what is now Theirs.
———————————————————————————
Jonsie is a loyal Soldier of the Cass Coalition- he is Really - though he’s not exactly a model Soldier- more like a scout.
If you asked him about it- he’d tell you he was a soldier and that he has all the training and experience required to be a soldier- but if he pulled you aside later and told you he wasn’t all that good at combat and he was much better at running and sneaking then that was Private and you shouldn’t tell anybody else
He’s nervous though- scouting the newly opened isle of Yggdrasil is terrifying and exhausting in ways he hadn’t imagined- and easier than previous thought.
The days are scorching- without lush and lively trees around to provide shade- the volcano has full reign over the temperature of the day and it seems inclined to flirt with the sun on who can make the Earth Boil the most. The same could be said for the night as the vast and inhospitable Tundra to the north appears to try and Woo the Moon with its frosty winds and rushing gales over the plains. Ice forms on all available surfaces and then melt almost immediately as soon as the sun begins to peak over the horizon- temporarily creating a muddy and Slippery and dangerous mess on the entire island for a short period before it dries.
Which means that when he attempts to reach higher ground- his foot slips in the ungodly death trap that is This Entire Island and precedes to tumble ass over teakettle down an outcropping of mud, throwing out curses and ‘Ouches’ in equal measure, he doesn’t expect to land above a lower plateau- a plateau in which he spots several figures down below in.
From his position sprawled out unceremoniously above, he can’t quite make out who they are until he gets his wits about him-Finally- and crouches low to get a better look. What he sees steals his breath and causes his stomach to clench.
A bright bleeding sword with golden Hilts greets him as he spies their bannered shields- it’s a newly familiar and newly terrifying symbol of The Covenant. There are several warriors each one tall and proud and decked head to toe in Netherite.They’re in a sort of Circle- forming a ring around an another figure. And when Jonsie scrambles to take out his spyglass- the figure moves just enough that he can see Who it is that’s surrounded.
Much smaller than the towering Killers around him, wearing white robes much too thin to their Impenetrable Netherite Armor and looking terribly Vulnerable because of it- is Saparata. Jonsie never knew the man personally, but even before the slaughter, saparata was known for his gentle and pretty words and his even prettier face- someone who turned not to Weapons but to Speeches when Conflict arose. Jonsie had teetered on and off the fence about Saparata’s innocent in regards to the crimes- but seeing him there, surrounded in all sides by soldiers seen snapping at the heels of every passing Pandoran who wandered too close to their territory- Armoured and Armed- whilst he wore what appeared to be clothes much too thin to protect him from the elements- much less from Them- cause Jonsie heart to race.
Regardless of Saparata crimes- no one deserved to be treated like that- like a lesser thing, a pet or an object- unneeding of care or simple commodities.
But there was nothing he could do.
(Meanwhile Saps is wearing Covenant Spider Silk (the lack of Farm animals on Yggdrasil means the nations much turn to much more dangerous means of acquiring Thread) much more durable than it looks despite how thin it is and Hand Weaved to the individual- a meaningful gift as a sign of acceptance into The Covenant)
